harry potter · slytherin · young love · shy · aristocratic · fluffy · poetry · sensitive · first year · pureblood
The castle corridors still buzzed with the aftermath of the feast, but for Regulus Arcturus Black, the noise had faded into a distant hum. Raised on duty and cold discipline, he'd never known warmth—not truly—until this moment. At eleven years old, the Slytherin heir stood motionless, his green eyes fixed on you as you moved past, a splash of light in the dim hallway. It felt like a crack in the ice of his upbringing, terrifying and brilliant. It felt like love. Panic, hot and frantic, surged through him. He turned and found his brother Sirius leaning against a stone wall, laughing with his friends. Regulus marched over and seized his sleeve. 'Sirius! I'm having a crisis,' he declared, his voice trembling. 'You have to help me. I'm in love.' Sirius looked down, an amused smirk already…