- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕬gainst the wishes of his decorum, Regulus lets Romie pull open the pub door and enter first.
It's not as crowded as the winter months, the short breaks indoors to forestall frozen fingers and toes falling off not needed now Spring was springing. It's not exactly deserted either, the lion's share of Hogwarts students and staff holding a weakness for Rosmerta's one of a kind butterbeers. No one does it like Rosie.
"I'll take this one" Romie decides right off the bat, encouraging Regulus to go and find a table for them.
Humming to herself, she makes her way over to the small gap amid the engaged bar, liking the change of being on the customer side. Immediately, Rosmerta excuses herself from the friendly chat with a couple of the familiar regulars, glad to serve her favourite little weekend helper.
"Hey, honey! Drinks on you this time?" She chirps, already fetching two tankards from the freshly washed batch in the back.
Romie blinks at the empty spot, mystified by how she just knew who she was here with. For five years, Romie's trips to Hogsmeade had been spent with her friends, from time to time Remus and his merry men. For all she knows, any of them could be waiting in the back. Yet, Regulus had been the automatic candidate winner, almost as if he was standing right behind Romie.
Arching an eyebrow, Romie rolls off the balls of her feet onto heels, leaning back a fraction to where there should be a big, wide nothingness. Should be. Testing the water, risking an embarrassing tumble to the ground, she leans back further, hunches confirmed, when, flush against her spine, something firm and solid and definitely in existence presses.
Her head shakes slightly, eyeing the arms slowly emerging out from nowhere, artful hands too, planting down against the bar's wiped wooden surface, locking Romie in place. A fencing, a barricade that nothing, no one is knocking down. At the same time she nestles backward, he does forward, separate forms moulding into one.
"Need to be near me that badly?" Baits Romie in a voice doused with a honey Pooh would thoroughly enjoy.
Regulus raps his middle fingers against the bar's counter, the colliding metal of his rings making a noise almost as appealing as the strong, fresh breath fanning the curved shell of her ear. Peppermint. He's sucking on a peppermint. A nasty combination with butter beer, Romie imagines.
"Yes, my heart can hardly bear the three minute separation"
Flat, snarky, amusing. Regulus could bear the three minute separation, he's a self-reliant soul, had to be when leaving is a common phenomenon in his life. But he'd clocked the huge uplift in spirits from the senior creeps in the corner the second Romie stepped over the threshold, wrinkled eyes practically perving. Their profuse tipping may be paying for drinks, but that's where Regulus draws the line. A thick, bold, black line.
