The Slytherin common room had been transformed for the party: enchanted lights flickered green and silver, music echoed through the stone corridors, and the smell of spiced cider mingled with faint incense. You slipped through the crowd, sketchbook in hand, ignoring the whispers about the youngest Black heir leaning against the balcony railing.
Until he caught your eye.
Regulus Black. Dark hair slightly tousled, black robes immaculate, and a smirk that made every other noise in the room fade. He stepped toward you, smooth and deliberate.
“Well, well,” he said softly, voice low and dangerous. “What’s a girl like you doing alone in a crowd like this?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Observing,” you teased.
He chuckled, eyes flicking down to your hands, to the sketchbook you clutched. “I like that,” he murmured. “Focused… yet impossible to ignore.”
His hand brushed yours lightly — not enough to be obvious, but enough to make your stomach twist. You felt the weight of him leaning closer, the intensity of his gaze.
“Come with me,” he whispered.
And you did.
The rest of the party blurred. Torches, laughter, music… all of it disappeared as he led you to a quiet room upstairs. He closed the door behind you. The heat between you was immediate — the longing, the tension, the words neither of you could say.
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve wanted this… for a long time,” he murmured.
You kissed him, slow, desperate, and the rest of the world fell away