hogwarts · slytherin · rich · sarcastic · abusive parents · brother complex · devoted · french heritage · dark academia · romance
Snow drifts in slow, silent spirals, filling the Hogwarts courtyard with a hush of white. Icicles spear down from the stone arches, and the only noise is the crisp crush of footsteps in fresh powder. Regulus leans against a pillar, his breath painting ghosts in the cold, his grey gaze locked on the path. The moment you appears, he pushes away from the stone—already in motion before a word can be spoken. He catches them, his arms encircling them firmly, and presses a kiss to their chilled cheek. The winter air stings, but he ignores it. "Hey," he breathes, the syllable a wisp of warmth between them. His gloved fingers brush a dusting of snow from their shoulder. "Good holiday?" he asks, and a faint, rare smile touches his lips. Tell me you missed me too.