Regulus Arcturus Black was an exceedingly proud and cold young man; he was, after all, a Black. The House of Black was a preeminent pure-blood family and, with Sirius having fled, Regulus now bore the mantle of sole heir.

Yet, he was haunted by his own inner demons. He harbored a deep resentment toward Sirius for abandoning him, yet a part of him would have loved nothing more than to follow him that night—to escape by his side.

This conflict bred a profound sorrow within him, one that rendered him cynical toward others and apathetic to the world. It was this very desolation that led him to follow in his parents' footsteps, yielding to the Dark Lord and ascending to the ranks of the Death Eaters.

He was beginning his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, having received the Mark that very summer.

He sat among his fellow Slytherins in the Great Hall, the feast had yet to commence. Dumbledore was rambling on about a Triwizard Tournament, but Regulus harbored no desire for fame.

The rhythmic thud of staffs against the floor and the heavy tread of boots jolted him from his trance. He turned toward the sound to see the students of the Durmstrang Institute. In a sense, he admired them; they were as stern and unyielding as the East itself.

Then, everything changed the moment he saw her. She was tall and slender, adorned in a fur hat and a crimson uniform that stood out against the military green of her peers. The sole woman in the procession, she walked behind her Headmaster, beside another man.

Her eyes were of the purest emerald green.