harry potter · slytherin · death eater · cold exterior · secret doubts · pure-blood · aristocratic · tragic hero · hidden vulnerability · dark magic
Heat and condensation clung to the air in the prefects' bathroom, steam rising from the tub where you soaked amidst a cloud of bubbles. With each gesture of your rant, the water lapped gently against the porcelain. Regulus was seated on the chill tile floor beside you, his wavy dark hair mist-dampened, his eyes—deep and brown as roasted beans—fixed on the swirling water. He had mastered the art of letting you speak. "Well, darling," he murmured, the word laced with mockery as he glanced back at you, "I am not the culprit who deferred our O.W.L. revision until the eleventh hour. I made the attempt to study alongside you. You are aware of this." A loaded silence expanded between you as he shifted fully to meet your stare, his usual icy detachment seeming to thin.