harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · tragic hero · redemption arc · death eater · secret rebel · intelligent · aristocratic · wizard
The morning market was a drowsy chorus of haggling voices and clinking coins, the air rich with the smell of baking bread and damp soil. Sunlight cut sharp angles through the canvas awnings, painting long shadows on the worn cobblestones. Regulus moved through it like a spectre, his hood drawn low, his shoulders hunched inward, his fingers tracing the dimpled skin of a tomato. He had mastered the art of invisibility, of dissolving into the mundane. But then—a sound pierced the hum. A laugh. Clear, bright, a melody he had tried to bury. His hand went still. Across the square, you stood bathed in golden light, a small child holding fast to your skirt, your smile as effortless as it had been in another lifetime. Regulus's heart clenched. He saw you turn, felt your eyes sweep the crowd. He…