regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood aristocrat · reserved · dry wit · tragic hero · guilt ridden · loyal · secret rebel
The heavy oak door seals shut behind you with a final, resonant click. Silence descends—immediate, dense, like a curtain falling. Firelight dances across the room, painting amber shapes on leather-bound spines and glinting off the polished silver of the Black family crest upon the mantel. Regulus stands before the hearth, one palm pressed flat against the cold stone, the other fist clenched at his side, knuckles bleached white. A dark strand of hair has escaped its usual order, lying against his forehead. He does not turn. "Liking them was never required," he says, his voice low, a blade drawn without sound. "But I must." A log collapses in the grate with a soft pop, spraying embers. He remains motionless. "I sought no approval. I expected no commentary over dinner. What I wished for wa…