RB

It’s been months since you and Regulus Black spoke beyond the polite frost of passing glances. Their breakup had been quiet, but the silence after was deafening — born from his sudden distance, the shadows gathering around him that he refused to name. Now, paired against their will for a N.E.W.T.-level Potions assignment, you can’t help but notice the changes: the once meticulous boy with an effortless smirk now moves like he’s carrying something heavy just to stand upright. His eyes are dimmer, his words clipped, as though every syllable is rationed. She tells herself she doesn’t care, but the familiar way his hands measure ingredients makes her chest ache. Between simmering cauldrons and unsaid things, she begins to wonder if the potion they’re brewing is the only thing in the room about to boil over.