꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 31

"Just look at those sparks flying"

The pair stop in their tracks shooting daggers at Barty, diverted by a flash of flamboyant colour overhead. Narrowly skimming their heads. Flying sparks. Sparks flying. Five or six seats away, down the table, nearest the doors, James Potter grins proudly, completely and utterly unaffected by the earful he's receiving from Sirius and Remus. Well mostly Remus, unhappy of James' encouragement for the relationship.

Much to everyone's great surprise, Lily leans in, nearly causing a collapsing faint when instead of siding with Remus, she backs up James, stating it's only a little bit of fun, no harm done. Remus huffs, but doesn't continue, hesitant to dig in his sharp claws and drag down his best friend from the high he's currently experiencing. Especially when Lily then turns to James, ever so sweetly asking if he wants to walk with her to their first lesson. Faster than Romie's ever seen anything move in her sixteen years of being, he scrambles up, crashing down to the floor less than a second later at the sheer velocity of it all.

Booming laughter breaks out amongst the great hall, yet James isn't embarrassed in the smallest degree. How could he when Lily Evans, bright and beautiful, hair like fire, eyes like lilypad ponds, asked him to walk her to class. Regulus scoffs at his ridiculously foolish enthusiasm, scoffs again at the soft smile gracing Romie's lips, as though she's watching a wonderful love unfold before her very eyes and it's lovely and sweet and makes her heart warm better than Evan's rash compliments ever could. Wistful. There's a hint of wistfulness too.

"You can't seriously want that?" He mutters in mild disbelief, eyebrows knitting together when Romie fixes him with an odd look, returning,

"One of the main reasons we're doing this is because I want that"

She bends down, picking up her frayed school bag holding on for dear life, oblivious to the flurry of emotions striking the Slytherin's mien one after the other. Taut with frustration, glazed over with pensiveness. Oblivious to the peeks to the wide open oak doors and table of badgers, and the fleshy palms being pierced by ruthless nails. Sunny boys, sweet boys, the boys that stutter and blush and make themselves look like blithering idiots incessantly, that's her goal, her end game.

"Twenty minutes, give or take"

Romie hums absentmindedly, attempting to fix the hole on the bottom gusset she reckons will grow to the size of Pluto and lose her half of her belongings by the time she gets to class. If it weren't for exhaustion slowing her down to the speed of a sloth, she might've snapped up her head, glared fiercely at the thieving hands snatching her bag away. The hole closes up, vanishes so easily Romie nearly whimpers, wondering miserably why the one in her chest keeping her up at night won't do the same.

Upwards, her gaze flickers, from the hand working the easy magic to the unforgettable face her mind's plagued with. Realising, then, that he had been talking. Her head cocks to one side, processing what he actually says this time.

"Twenty minutes, give or take and you'll be bored out of your fucking skull"

With a boy like James, like Romeo Fawley, that's what he means. Using up what little energy she has saved up, Romie snatches her fixed bag back off him, swinging it over her right shoulder.

"Twenty minutes, damn, that's what, three, four rounds? Don't know about bored Black, maybe satisfied"

Off, she walks towards the exiting doors, her confident strut missing that mesmerising hip sway that usually holds Regulus for a long moment of appreciation. The pang of disappointment doesn't sting too bad, because he's already taking off after her, catching up until the left front blade of his shoulder bumps against her back right and the ends of his curls flirt with her glossy tresses wafting wild and free.