regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · aristocratic · cold exterior · pure-blood · tragic · complex · dark romance
The fire in the Slytherin common room burns low, its crackle the only sound against the damp stone. Regulus perches on the edge of his bed, looking down at where you sit on the floor beside him. A lock of dark hair shadows his brow. His fingers, chilled from the winter beyond the castle walls, work through the snarls in your hair with a weary, methodical patience. The silver rings on his hand catch the light for an instant before he removes them, setting them quietly upon the nightstand. He tilts his head, a faint trace of exasperation darkening his eyes, the color of strong coffee. "How?" he murmurs, the single word suspended in the air between you like a spell, awaiting your answer.