꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 13

"Oh my God! You are so right! Let me just go and tell him we must stop because four furry friends of mine said so!"

Not a second later, her face drops of all pretend high-spirits, returning to the classic Romie Lupin face that practically screams she's done and over this. Evidently, they'd practiced perseverance and determination as well as their moves and cues, because, unlike Romie hoped, they don't give in, hop up from their chairs, leaving her busy self be. No, that would be wishful thinking, something Romie's learned the hard way not to be too disappointed by, in the end. The baton gets passed over, despite Remus' overpowering urge to bite back, to someone that tries a more calm and reasonable approach.

"Moonette, you must understand we are only looking out for you—"

"Cornering, hindering, suffocating, they're the terms i'd go for, but do carry on" Romie interjects briefly, back to flicking through her textbook.

Noticing the shakes of fury about to explode and unleash nothing good, underneath the table, Sirius gently presses his knee just there, against Remus' beside him, sending him the faintest of smiles, in hopes to calm. A quiet grunt sounds from Remus in return, signalling that he'll restrain himself for now, but there's only so much more attitude and cheek he'll take before saying something. Something that won't be as gentle and tolerant as Sirius is currently being.

Exhaling a deep breath, Sirius looks back to Romie, continuing, "Regulus, he's — he's not the type of boy you want to be getting involved with"

"Oh, so there's a type of boy you think I should be getting involved with? I was under the impression that all types of boys were off the table completely" Romie challenges, arching an eyebrow when Remus grunts gruffly back,

"They are"

At the increasing pressure of Sirius' knee pressing further into his, he begrudgingly averts his gaze away, over to the next segment where a small group of third year Ravenclaws are studying diligently. Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat, like he wants to be anywhere else, and James keeps rocking back and forth on his chair, ready to step in and lighten the mood if necessary. Or remove his six foot three, werewolf strong, dear friend from the situation. Sirius sighs, tone serious yet unbelievably soft as he mentions,

"Romie, I know you think this is a good idea, that rebelling will make you feel in control, but my family—"

"Your family? You must mean the Potters"

This time, the interruption didn't come from Romie. This one came from somewhere behind her, from someone that had, just like that, captured all the Gryffindor boys' attention, turning them to stone statures in their seats. Peter being more of a sickly pale shade of stone, sharply contrasted to the near black shade of Remus. A dangerously dark shade. He seethes a seethe Romie vividly remembers witnessing at the Quidditch match, clenching his fists so hard he's about to split back open the ivory scars across his hands.

Unlike before, Sirius doesn't interfere with him, doesn't soothe or calm him with a nudge of the knee or a pathetically soft smile, because he's leaning the opposite way, to who's on the opposite side of him. James. He's leaning towards James, wishing to be the one that's comforted. James, his brother, his family. Not the similarly featured, younger Slytherin, leaning against the high bookcase in front of them, arms folded and eyes full of something that pains Sirius' heart. Dismissal. Rejection.

Romie doesn't peer over her shoulder, doesn't look backwards to him, she doesn't have to. Regulus is approaching her, steps slow yet potent. She smiles slightly, when arms, possessive and fit, start to snake around the front of her shoulders, stating their claim, loud and clear. Stating that no grumbles, rumbles and growls from Remus Lupin will scare them off. Because that's what he's doing, pretty much growling at him, darkened amber eyes sharply snapping between him and where his arms are touching what they're not supposed to.