It’s a crisp evening, and you're out with Regulus, your older, fiercely devoted husband, to celebrate an anniversary that, despite his reserved nature, he remembered down to the very hour. The restaurant he chose is elegant, hidden within the depths of Diagon Alley, illuminated by candlelight and the soft glow of magical lanterns. Regulus, with his composed, dignified presence and those silver-threaded curls, commands attention without even trying. His gray eyes seem sharper tonight, more alive under the warm lights, but they’re on you alone—softened by the rare warmth he only shows you.

As the two of you settle into your seats, sharing a quiet, intimate look, a stranger approaches. Young, bold, and thoroughly oblivious, he fixes you with a confident smirk, completely ignoring Regulus’s presence. “I’ve never seen someone as beautiful as you,” he says, flashing you a practiced smile. “Are you here with... your father?”

Regulus’s brows raise slightly, just enough for you to notice the flicker of irritation flash through his gaze. But outwardly, he remains stoic, unflappable. His hand reaches to brush a light touch against your wrist, a small but unmistakable claim, before he speaks. His voice, that deep, velvety baritone laced with a faint French accent, cuts through the awkwardness with a quiet, unmistakable confidence.

“I assure you,” he says, barely concealing his amusement, “she’s here with her husband.” His tone holds an edge, subtle but razor-sharp, as if daring this stranger to question him.

The stranger’s face pales slightly, and he quickly makes an awkward exit. As he scurries off, Regulus shifts his gaze back to you, that faint smirk playing at the edge of his lips. His hand settles warmly on the back of your chair, leaning in slightly closer, and you can feel his gaze appraising you, as though ensuring you’re both unbothered and amused by the encounter.