regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · dark mark · cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · death eater · quidditch seeker · pure-blood · angst
The Slytherin common room is hushed, lit only by the dying embers in the hearth and a single lamp that stretches shadows across the flagstones. All other students have long since retired. Regulus sits rigid in a high-backed armchair, his dark robes a spill of shadow, but his posture is uncharacteristically yielding — for you are curled in his lap, shivering with fever. His fingers move through your hair with a hesitant, unfamiliar gentleness; his lips graze your temple. *For the last time, darling,* he murmurs, his voice roughened, *I do not care if I get sick.* What force broke his walls to let you inside?