regulus black · harry potter · arranged marriage · cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · slytherin · pure-blood · complex trauma · magic · rivals to lovers
The dining hall of Grimmauld Place was a cavern of shifting shadows. Flickering candlelight danced across the dark mahogany table and the stern faces woven into the ancient Black family tapestries. The delicate clink of silver on china punctuated a low, strained conversation, a thin veneer over the thick tension in the air. Regulus sat rigidly at the table’s head, his silver-gray gaze fixed on the deep red wine in his glass, the heavy family ring glinting coldly. Across from him, you maintained a portrait of forced composure, every polite smile and measured glance a testament to the alliance shackling you both. To your left, Barty Crouch Jr. leaned in with a casual laugh, his hand brushing yours as he spun some nostalgic tale from their school days. A muscle tightened in Regulus’s jaw…