꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7

It takes her a minute or two to truly comprehend what he said, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "No, there's five"

"Six" Regulus corrects again, tone sounding so bored with her already that she's tempted to shove at his chest or smack it right out of him.

Before she could make a move, she's being distracted, one that fizzes away those ideas into a dissolved nothingness like they had never been there to begin with. Because, at their either side, Regulus' ring adorned hands have made an appearance, and are bunching up the extended material of her grey school skirt just below her hips, a motion to accentuate his next declaration,

"Rule number six, we fix this nun skirt. If you're going to be devoted to someone, it'll be me, not some muggle God"

Romie attempts to wiggle away from him and his grabbing hands, protesting, "You can't just make up rules on the spot!"

A smirk twists at the corner of his mouth, looking so incredibly smug and lofty that all those nice thoughts to hit him came rushing back, and in full force, especially when he offers a half shrugs and states, "I just did"

What is she going to do about it, is a silent addition onto the end that has her acting immediately, batting at his hands, arms and chests. Unfortunately for Romie, fortunately for Hestia — entertainment wise — Regulus persists on, resolute on sorting out this nonsense that's she's dragged out for far too long. She made her point, she won against him in the duel in it, now she can let it go and they can move on in properly fitted clothes.

"Piss off, Black! The younger girls look up to me, they've all had their skirts charmed longer, what message would I send shortening it back up?" Romie huffs exasperatedly.

It was the truth. Ever since Romie's stubborn debut of this floor-length skirt, the impressionable young girls of Hogwarts had decided they wanted to jump in on the accidental trend, and charm their already knee-length skirts to be the same. Bless their souls, they're all drowning in their uniforms. Romie hadn't known she had such an impact, but it was a fairly nice revelation.

Obviously Regulus draws to the polar opposite conclusion, pausing briefly to fix her with an odd look, and muttering, "I'm not sure that's as much as a compliment as you think it is"

And there it was. Roaring fires of violet tearing up into flames, hot and flaring and vigorously growing. He was being brutally attacked by a Romie Lupin glare. He stares back at her, briefly wondering whether she can see the reflection of her glow in his stormy clouds. If it's tinting them from the intensity. He follows them when they flicker downwards, to where her tanned, lithe hands are encasing his pale wrists, stuck in motion. Like the pause button has been pressed.

Then, a couple of seconds later, they're being resumed, back to wrestling, back to quarrelling, back to being Regulus Black and Romie Lupin. Passer-by's nosy and watch with amusement at them grappling at one another like a pair of riled up kittens. At the side, Hestia smiles blindingly and waves to each of them, occasionally reminding to move on so a busy queue doesn't form in the middle of hallway.

Strong surges of victory and triumph flood Romie's veins when she manages to somehow break free from his captive hold and flee, altered skirt swishing against her ankles. A grin breaks out across her face at the irritable grunt that floats into her ears, speeding up quicker at the sound of frustrated footsteps following briskly on behind.

She turns a corner, and sneaks a glance around the edge of the wall, a-ha-ing at the realisation that he's lost her. No sign of Regulus Black and his persistence to fix her perfectly fine skirt in sight. An empty corridor. That's all she sees. In front of her. That's all she sees in front of her. Unbeknownst to her, behind, is a completely different story.