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“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-- Dammit!”
It’s only a tiny little ball of snow, really, and only a scattering of the cold powder has fallen underneath Amycus’ cloak to melt and drip uncomfortably down his neck, but it’s the intent that counts.
The kid -- he refuses to call her by her name, lest he starts to get attached -- is giggling, now, ducking behind the pathetic excuse for a snowman he heard rather than saw her showing Regulus earlier. They’ve only been back in England for a few months and already he’s insisted on bringing Amycus along with him when he visits his bloodtraitor cousin. It’s a stupid idea. This is only the fourth or fifth time they’ve visited the Tonkses together (Regulus goes regularly on his own; it takes some convincing to get Amycus to behave well enough while he’s there) and he hates it, he hates playing nice with the bloodtraitor bitch and her mudblood husband and their half-breed daughter.
But they’re family -- Regulus’ family, not his, but family nonetheless -- and it was that word, whispered into his ear late one night when he was too drunk to think about all the reasons why this is such a bad idea, that got him to agree to the first visit, and once he agreed that first time Regulus knew exactly how to make him agree again.
So far he’s just about managed to be civil. The visits are tense and littered with passive-aggressive comments that Regulus always berates him for when they get home (in his defence, he’s working pretty damn hard to keep them strictly passive), but they’re civil enough, and Amycus tries not to be too obvious as he constantly checks the clock, waiting for the time when it wouldn’t be considered rude to make their excuses and leave.
The Tonkses seem to be in the same boat as him -- they don’t want him here, regardless of how close he is with Regulus or what he sacrificed to keep him safe -- and although they’re better at masking it than Amycus is, they’re just as relieved when it’s time to say goodbye. Regulus seems to be the only one who actually wants this to work out.
Unless you count Nymphadora, of course, the little half-breed who’s wormed her way under Regulus’ skin and into his heart and calls him Uncle Regulus and talks endlessly at him about Quidditch or about this thing she learnt at school or about that thing she can now do. It gives Amycus a headache, but Regulus always makes time for her, always listens to her stupid stories, and his expression softens whenever he looks at her or talks about her, like she’s the fucking sun or something.
(No, Amycus is not jealous of a fucking child, thank you very much.)
She turned her eyes on Amycus the first time Regulus introduced them, and although he’s made a concerted effort to avoid her she keeps trying to get his attention, keeps calling him Uncle Amycus like it means anything (it doesn’t; he’s not her fucking uncle, not by any stretch of the imagination, he’s not and he never will be) and today she asked both of them to come out and look at what she’s made. Amycus agreed only because his boyfriend held tight to his wrist and sent him a pointed look that meant don’t even try and argue, and now he’s considering the pros and cons of throwing a snowball back at both her and Regulus, who has just high fived her and is laughing like he hasn’t got a care in the world.
“Yeah, very funny,” he huffs, glaring at both of them and folding his arms over his chest. The kid is still giggling, peering out from behind the snowman, and Regulus smiles, pulling him into a hug to soothe his bruised ego.
Amycus almost swears at the cold snow that’s shoved down his back, jerking out of Regulus’ embrace and scowling even as Regulus and the kid burst out laughing again. It’s January and it’s fucking freezing and all he wants to do is cuddle up in bed with Regulus but instead they’re here, and fine -- if they want a snowball fight then they’re damn well going to get one.
He doesn’t let himself think about the smile on his face each time he lands a hit, or the way his own anger at being hit fades over time to an indignant splutter and then eventually just to laughter, or the sudden boldness that appears right before they head back inside as he pulls Regulus in for a quick kiss. It’s the first time they’ve shown any kind of affection in proximity to the Tonkses, and the heat in his cheeks and the warmth in his chest are not from Dora’s excited squeal as she sees her uncles kissing.
He doesn’t let himself think about the fact that refusing to let her call him her uncle comes as an afterthought rather than second nature this time, and the fact that she’s now Dora rather than the half-breed kid.
He definitely doesn’t let himself think about how he’s actually starting to look forwards to their next visit.