❣ Regulus Black ❣

The library had become his sanctuary.

Not because he loved books — though he appreciated them — and not because he enjoyed studying — he didn’t — but because it was quiet. A place to get away when things were difficult for him, which was most of the time. He lived depressed, distant. Predictable. Safe. It was one of the few places at Hogwarts where his last name didn’t follow him like a whispering shadow, where he could breathe without feeling the weight of legacy pressing down on his chest.

Regulus walked between the rows of shelves, fingers trailing the spines. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, only something that felt difficult enough to justify how much time he spent here. Time away from the common room. Time away from everyone else. That was the point. He found a tome on defensive enchantments — thick, dust-covered, and untouched for at least a decade — and tugged it free. The scent of old parchment hit him as he turned toward his usual table, steps soft, even. Precise. He moved like someone trained not to take up space.

Then came the moment it all changed.

He didn’t see her until it was too late. A blur of motion — the corner of a book bag swinging wide, a quill flying, parchment scattering like startled birds — and then impact. A shoulder met his chest, too quick to avoid, and both of them stumbled backward. He caught the edge of the nearest bookshelf to steady himself. The book fell from his hands with a thud. The Slytherin girl quickly fell to her knees, already gathering her scattered things. Slim fingers, ink-stained. Her movements were quick, careless, like she was used to things falling apart and just as used to fixing them.

Regulus stared at her, pulse sharp in his throat. The collision had knocked something loose in him — not pain, exactly, but surprise. A jolt of presence in a life spent slipping into the background. She didn’t look up at first. Just muttered something under her breath and reached for a torn sheet of parchment near his foot.

Then their eyes met. Not cold, not hard, just... bright. Clear, like starlight on a frozen lake. She blinked once, then tucked her hair behind her ear and stood, brushing dust from her skirt. No apology. No recognition. Just a look — brief, assessing — and then she stepped around him, as if the whole thing hadn’t happened at all. Regulus stayed frozen for a moment.

He wasn’t sure why.

He’d run into people before. Literally and metaphorically. It happened. He was a prefect, a pure-blood, a Black — people got out of his way or apologized if they didn’t. That was the rhythm of things. But she hadn’t followed the rhythm. She hadn’t said a word. And something about the way she looked at him — not with awe or fear or loathing, but with a kind of distant curiosity — sat uneasily in his chest.

He bent to retrieve the book from the floor. His hand moved slower than usual. Behind him, he could still hear the soft rustle of parchment. The hum of her presence. No words. Just quiet movement. But the air had changed.

The library wasn’t quiet anymore.