╰┈➤ regulus black x oc
❝ you're bleeding. ❞
❝ why thank you for pointing out the obvious, potter. ❞
☄. *. ⋆ in which ophelia potter's life is struck by a wizarding war, the death of her parents, and the bombshell that is her death eater ex, regulus...
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ophelia was pathetic.
perhaps it was just another thing that came with age and the development of her frontal lobe; but she felt pathetic. one aspect of her newfound self-image was the impending guilt. it was not the sort that came in waves, merely the occasional pang that made her purse her lips, having to exhale through her teeth in the hopes of dispelling it.
two things. regulus had been exteriorly influenced into becoming a death eater, and he had discovered one of voldemort's greatest secrets. and she had been a dick to him. a cunt, alternatively.
it had to be said, that she of all people, could tell when he was being genuine. the slight set of his jaw when he was lying, the pleading that crept into the edges of such a cold, gray stare.
but then again, there was a part of him that was what his parents were. superiority complex. arrogant. haughty. bigoted. asshole-coded. after hearing his telling of what had occurred in the cave, and the locket that kreacher had gained, and then lost (how he had done so, she had no idea), she was certain his retaliation wasn't purely out of the goodness of his heart.
an attempt on kreacher's life had been an insult to him, to house black. that was what made him dangerous.
ophelia was also pathetic, as that was all she had needed to let him pitifully slink into her bed.
his arms were looped loosely around her waist, his forearm resting gently on the slight plush of her stomach, the sheets a mess, not because of anything of vulgar value, but rather because his sleeping had been so restless that he'd caused an uproar in the linens.
she'd been writing a letter to remus to wish him well on the night of the full moon, attaching a chocolate frog she had used a charm to survey for a very rare card, when regulus had appeared, expression of smugness in place.
he knew he'd gotten back into her good books. he knew it was enough to allow him the comfort of something more comfortable than her couch, which was bouncy, yes, but tended to contort his back (and he'd often fall off it).
she lay awake, staring at the woven lantern that clasped the lightbulb, not asleep in the slightest. it wasn't insomnia, as an auror, moody had insisted that they conform themselves to a norm of only sleeping for a minimal span of time at night– as investigations could often while away into the early hours of the morning.
darkness, as cliche as it was, tended to be where the death eaters met.
there was a faint stir beside her, as regulus, with his mouth slightly ajar, smushed against the side of her neck, seemed to regain a moment of consciousness. he made a slight sound of protest when she shifted, earning him a snort from her.
