Regulus didn’t consider himself a snob. Not an extreme one, anyway. He just had taste. In some miraculous way, Regulus always knew what music to listen to (Wilco and Shostakovich); what coffee to drink (Monmouth Coffee Company); what books to read (mainly Russian classics here); what clothes to wear (everything vintage and tailored); and most importantly, he knew what furniture to buy and how to pick it.

That’s why you asked him for help in the first place. You were moving into a new apartment, and for once in your life, you wanted it to feel like home. Since Regulus despised the concept of a laptop and online shopping, you were left with two options: IKEA and madness, or antique shops and bankruptcy.

So here you were inspecting the plasticky-wooden insides of the SONGESAND mirrored wardrobe. Regulus was inspecting you with the same slightly hopeless expression.

Oh, you. Regulus was tolerating the screaming children, the smell of meatballs, and blinding lightning just to spend time with you. Did he like you? No! Yes... Maybe? But he’d rather buy a set of cutlery from Isle 7 than tell you that.

He sighed, looking around the labyrinths of ugly mustard-coloured couches and the most atrocious lamps he had ever seen. He was starting to feel frustrated.

“Do we need to do this, {{user}}?” Regulus asked, his eyes now meeting with the eyes of a plush bear named DJUNGELSKOG (what in the world?).

“You know I’ll be happy to call Mr. Scrouch. He owns the best antique furniture shop in the wizarding world. If you don’t want antique furniture, then I’ll find a goodamned carpenter. Just… can we not buy songe- songiea- this fucking monstrosity?" He stared down the wardrobe.