- ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
"You. Me. Hogsmeade. Tomorrow" Romie demands, leaving no room for objection.
Regulus slowly lifts his head from his book, briefly wondering if he's managed to land himself into a similar alternate dimension,
"Come again...
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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽omie chuckles under her breath, chest flooding with mirth.
As much as the great study of Ancient Runes electrifies every bone in her body, fascinates her to the ends of the earth, there's some things that are just indisputably better. More thrilling. What's currently being exhibited in front of her very eyes passes with flying colours as one of those things. Over the mahogany table, directly across from Romie, wonderfully thoughtful and benevolent, Pandora Lovegood, unravelling Hestia's threads of knit. Except the unravelling is going terribly wrong and instead, it could be fathomed she's having a good go at the Muggle game, Cat's Cradle.
Or maybe that was her intention all along. It's hard to know with Pandora. Either way, Romie was thoroughly enjoying it, thoroughly enjoying Hestia's deer brown eyes lifting briefly every third loop to check how much or little yarn she has left. Or if Pandora's managed to detangle her pale fingers that Romie's losing sight of amidst the thickening arctic blue. A pair of mittens, this time, to keep the Ravenclaw's hands cosy and warm during the fast approaching colder months. Romie already received hers, slipping them on every-time she ventures outdoors to make them Hufflepuff happy. The traditional Gryffindor ones weren't her colour.
Pandora hums quietly to herself, something about truths and lies whilst carefully plucking a strand or two from each side, staring directly down the middle.
"If it isn't our favourite ladies that we were definitely not searching every level of the castle for"
An distinctive sharp shushing shortly follows on from the overly cheerful declaration from none other than Evan Rosier. The kind that Romie doesn't think is the typical reminder to keep voices down in the library, more of a reminder of what one should reveal and what shouldn't to others. Because she doubts that Regulus Black wants her to know he's been searching every level of the castle, high and low, friends dragged along, in hopes to stumble across her. Just like he had been for days.
Romie's not an easy girl, not the type to leave herself wide open and make things straightforward for the benefit of someone else. She's not the type of girl that'll fall to her knees, be won over with a charming smile and simple apology. No. They had to work for it, grovel practically, and that's only if she fancies giving them the time of day to do so. She's unsure whether Regulus is worth her time of day, not after she gave up her afternoon to watch him practice Quidditch, only to be insulted afterwards.
Either side of her, she draws back the wooden chairs, patting the seat friendlily, "Rosier, Crouch, come sit"
Regulus' eyes narrow at her flashed smile, too sweet to be any good. Romie Lupin isn't sweet, she's wily, stubborn, strong-willed. She'd have made an excellent Slytherin if she wasn't so frustratingly lionhearted. Punishing. She's punishing him still, for what he'd said, what he'd done, ensuring he knows where he stands.
