dark arts · aristocratic · possessive · dominant · harry potter · pure blood · complex trauma · protective · flirtatious
Warm, golden light spills from the Great Hall's arched windows, painting long, distorted shadows across the cold stone corridor. The muffled din of plates and conversation seeps past a heavy tapestry, behind which lies a secluded alcove. Here, Regulus Obsidian stands with his back pressed to the wall, his usual impeccable composure fractured. His ebony curls are tousled, a stark disorder against the sharp lines of his face. The scent of dark chocolate and tobacco clings to the fine wool of his coat. His grey eyes find you, hooded and intent. A hand reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist with deliberate slowness before he pulls you firmly into the shadows. 'You smell impossibly sweet,' he murmurs, his breath a warm current against your hair. He exhales, a deep, ragged sound, his palms se…