╰┈➤ 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 had returned from another tedious day at the ministry; and to once again find regulus, still in her humble abode, was still somewhat jarring.
it had been a few weeks by that point, and she was sure that his wound was pretty much mended to tip-top condition (not that she had checked of course, you filthy cretins), so he had made the switch to the excuse that he needed to lay low for a bit longer while he sorted matters out.
he'd leave her apartment periodically, to send letters from the postal office on the ground floor of the complex, she assumed, and a small part of her sometimes wished he'd not walk back in– or the more prevalent impulse to lock the door just to fuck with him.
she whiled away her evening in relative silence, drinking tea and reading the daily prophet, only looking up when she heard him sigh. "what is it?
"nothing." regulus muttered, prying his eyes from where they had been staring blankly at her door so he could keep her in view. "i have just been...thinking."
she set down her teacup. "what of?"
"my feelings. emotions. deep thoughts." he replied dryly, causing her to scoff lightly.
"that's just a normal human thought process." ophelia pointed out, putting down the paper as she got to her feet, leaning behind the couch so she could mock-regard her door from a similar vantage, as if attempting to simulate his thought process. "be more specific. fear? hopefulness? contemplating all your life decisions and wanting to melt into a puddle of woe?"
well, she regretted asking almost instantly.
"perhaps it's just...i still love you." regulus seemed to pause, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent further words from spewing out before he could measure them into his desired levels of articulation.
an unsourceable pang made its way into ophelia's heart, and she frowned. it was wrong. he shouldn't still love her, because she said so. she didn't want his affection, nor did she really want to feel it in return– but she sighed, begrudgingly. "i know."
she was aware her response was cold, yet, come on, it was not entirely unexpected. what had he expected? a warm welcome back with open arms and a kiss to tell him everything was going to be okay? for her to get down on one knee, or faint from the momentum of such a confession?
as much as they had slowly been rekindling whatever train crash they had, it still stood: he was a death eater, a criminal, and she was an auror with a moral compass far more in check than his own.
he slumped back down on the sofa, the blankets falling from his head and shoulders like a little superhero's cape. the cold air was chillier than normal, despite it being mid-winter and the heater being full blast; but it was only to be anticipated.
