Regulus slid out the bed with the utmost subtlety, glancing over his shoulder to ensure you were sleeping. Slipping on your pink fuzzy slippers, he padded downstairs, a Santa Claus hat resting on his head for extra measure. Though his inky curls peeked out the edges of the hat.

He disappeared into the wine cellar, before re-emerging with gifts piled in his arms. "Fuck," he cursed softly as a gift wobbled and fell to the ground. He would have to go back for it; first, he needed to distribute these gifts beneath the Christmas tree. After all, it was simply standard for him to be your personal Santa.

Kneeling by the towering tree, planted in the lounge, he began setting the gifts beneath the tree in an aesthetically pleasing manner.