꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 43

When his accompanying duty's done, he bids a cheerio and loudly wishes a brilliant lesson with jolly old Sluggy. The vast majority of the tired, hormonal sixth years gathered in groups outside grunt at him. Surprisingly, Regulus wasn't included in that vast majority, too busy silently imploring the nearing Gryffindor to make direct eye contact with him. She doesn't, and it shouldn't matter. It does.

He takes that as initiative to quit, looking elsewhere, the rusting gargoyles surveying on the peak of the archway, the spider that crawls dangerously close to petrified Evan's head. It's a short lived thing. Revived by the gentle weight sinking against, not Hestia's chest, not Pandora's chest, but his own, transparent in its administrations. Months ago, weeks ago, Regulus would've stiffened, unsure of how to react to such an open, a vulnerable, a needy touch. And whilst to him, she's still an enigma, she's also his volcano. Doused and put out, how it never should be.

His head lowers until his senses are overwhelmed with the smell of lavender, much stronger than the likes of any normal day. It's the right call, moving closer instead of moving away, because then, down at his side, weak and mild, his fore and middle finger are being grasped, guided discreetly to the lower left portion of her abdomen. The portion she had frantically stripped bare in a moment of distress after hearing of the werewolf attacks.

Regulus doesn't know much, only that when he tentatively presses down his freezing palm, the hisses of pain transform into light intakes of breath every so often and the willowy arms wound around his middle relax from their tight position. Also that James' wishes aren't needed this time. Around the back of their peers filing into the classroom in a disorderly fashion, he ushers her, slipping away from jolly old Sluggy's clutches, pretending not to notice the soft, knowing smile Hestia's shooting his way.

His concern only grows when Romie doesn't protest him leading her, merely following behind with a haunted look in her eyes that makes them seem more grey than purple. Thankfully, the walk's not much of a distance, the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room only a few twists and turns away. Inside, it's practically empty, the exception a couple of uninterested third years enjoying their free period.

He takes her straight to the dorms, shutting the door behind them. Kicking off her shoes, Romie perches down on the edge of the bed she knows to be his, silently watching as he begins rooting through his drawers. She feels like she might burst into tears when he hands over some comfier clothes, short length clothes and faces the opposite direction. As quickly as her heavy limbs will allow, Romie lifts over her head the grey school sweater and stripy tie, unbuttoning the shirt and wriggling out of the skirt.

"You can turn back around now" She quietly informs once dressed, adjusting the bottom hem of the t-shirt to cover what it needs.

Regulus doesn't hesitate, returning to where she's staring at him, drowning preciously in his clothes, in his scent, in him. He blows out a shaky breath and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure out why she's not yet crawled underneath the covers and settled into the most comfortable position possible. He's a big part of the most comfortable position possible. She's waiting for him, waiting to see if he's going to join her or not.

When he spies her lips twitching at his fancy oxford shoes joining her tatty buckle strap brogues, he's even quicker working the metal buckle of his restrictive belt. He doesn't find any stand out reason to keep on his shirt, remembering how she's seen all there is to see, essentially undressed him for the great massage of 1978. In just his trousers and the ribbon secured around his wrist, he climbs in the corner strip left open for him, settling in next to her.

"You think I've been avoiding you, I haven't" Romie whispers into the tiny gap separating them, fear fading away when, wonderfully calmly, he whispers back,

"I know, baby"

It seems stupid, silly now to have thought such a thing when this is bigger than him, bigger than them. Regulus wouldn't classify many things as bigger than them, but this was one of the far few. The private things, secret things, dark things in her past. He outlines the dark smears of exhaustion underneath her eyes, hating how they put the colour of her irises to shame. It's only his favourite when it's her eyes, radiating that ultraviolet light they warn you to be careful about.

He catches the hand that sneaks out of the covers and sweeps back the rogue curls, placing it into perfect position betwixt them for what soothes her best. They both watch the pad of his forefinger slowly rise up to the sensitive summit between the ridges of her knuckles and back down the slope, repeating the motion over and over. Just the one for now, featherlight pressure, that hits the jackpot, Regulus has learned.

It is, unquestionably, the most overtly romantic moment of Romie's life. Overthrowing the shiny entrance, tension filled dance and unlacing of the gown at the Potter's winter ball, overthrowing the first proper kiss, overthrowing the admission under the moon and stars that's been at the forefront of her mind the night of her birthday and every one since. This, this somehow outshone them all. A simple, little thing.

She blinks, tearing away her gaze from their hands, thinking it'll subdue the butterflies in her stomach. It doesn't. Looking at him, his smooth skin free of any imperfections, his piercing stare, his dark cluster of curls, only intensifies them, makes them wilder, makes them multiply. She slams shut her eyes, trying to think of anything else. Anything else besides him, the flaring pain in her abdomen and the fact her brother physically couldn't look her in the eye this morning.

Her heart stops when she feels the caress of lips against the creased skin between her brows, softening the hard frown. She whispers his name, unsure whether this might be another case of he knows more and there's a double meaning behind what he mumbles back,

"Don't fight it, Mon volcan"

Whether he means the sleep luring her or not, Romie forfeits, knowing that no large, viscous brutes with matted grey hair, damaging sharp claws and a soft spot for ruining families will be waiting for her. Not when she's with him. He's the peculiar charm people hang over their beds for protection against nightmares.

Regulus persists on with the delicate knuckle strokes, even when the forced crinkles in the corners ease and her breathing slows to match the sleepy beat of her heart. Wary of the little to no proximity, he gradually adjusts the position of his head until counting the freckles spattered across her cheeks and nose is an easy game to play. They're faint, barely noticeable to the naked eye, Regulus can't wait for the summer months, see what they're like thriving in the sun.

He doesn't like the feeling of the realisation sinking in his gut that, that study may be one taken from a distance, not up close and personal like this. Not when she's cocooned in his sheets, against him, feeling safe enough, trusting enough to lower down her guards the most a person can, around him. He doesn't like it as much as when her face twists in what knows to be pain, coaxing out his free hand from where it's lying limp down by his waist.

Like in the corridor outside of Slughorn's classroom, he presses a tentative palm to the place she'd granted touch. The pain visible in her features lessens, but doesn't totally go away. Regulus bites his lower lip, at the awfully awkward angle, managing to sneak his hand up the loose fabric of the t-shirt, a fingertip down the waistband of the boxers and try again, this time skin to skin. Freezing cold to burning hot.

It works, does the trick exquisitely, he can tell as much when a light sigh swirls into the air around them and there's a face burying into the crook of his neck. He releases the breath he'd been holding, releases all aspects of fear and apprehension and nagging reminders that the agreed on, signed on five rules probably won't take kindly to this and soaks up how good this feels. How right this feels.

How he'd be quite happy to sign away the rest of his life to be Romie Lupin's comfort.

——————

Hi :))
I know some people are iffy about baby as a pet name (I myself included) but it's so Romie. I feel like certain characters have certain pet names that suit them best, like Melody is love and Willow is darling. Romie is baby, it just makes sense to me!! So I hope no one minds too much <33