꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 60

Instead of mentioning the ridiculousness of their stereotypical hats pointed high as they arrive at last, he's forced to judge from afar. Forced to admire the one of a kind, fierce glare of Romie's from afar.

"Where the fuck have you been?" She barks, the brunt of her glare taking to her reticent older brother.

It's not just Remus reticent, one survey around the close-knit clan reveals they're all in the same boat. Withholding any means of explanation. Or atleast the ones who seem to have got the message.

"Dumbledore's office" Peter informs plainly, stopping dead in his tracks when all eyes snap to him, lead, naturally, by Remus.

Romie extinguishes the urge to release hell's fire down on them for the obvious case of singling out occurring, absorbing what's been fed. Dumbledore's Office. The owlish and startlingly secretive Headmaster had requested to see not just one or two, but each of them. All at once. A meeting of sorts.

Interest piqued, Romie turns to Remus, interrupting, much to Peter's relief, his hair-raising intimidation session as she asks,

"What about?"

"If you were to know, you'd have been there" He mutters abrasively, ignoring the narrow of her eyes and adjusting the position of the walking cane that's become his best friend of late.

Feathers ruffled, Romie turns to Sirius and then to James when the former avoids her eye and reaches for the jug of water he'll slyly transfigure to rum. The bespectacled boy offers nothing but a small smile that reads plain as day it's for her own good. That's always the answer. And saying she's fed up of it would be understatement of the year. Sometimes Romie wonders if it's forgotten she's a single year below, not a wet behind the ears, wide-eyed school girl.

Underestimating her is a grave mistake on their part and won't they know it soon enough. Not so discreetly, she huffs, willing only to make amends if they offer a helping hand for what's popped into her head.

"Will you atleast tell me the password?"

"No" Remus scoffs, scar littered face screwing up, like it's the most absurd thing. Romie's expression isn't a far cry when she scoffs back,

"Why not?"

Swooping in and taking the lead on this one, James sets down his knife and fork, clears his throat and explains to the best of his ability,

"Because, our dear, sweet Moonette, quite frankly it would be beneficial if good ole Dumbles remains in good health"

Incapable of resisting, Sirius bursts into a fit of chuckles that he attempts to hide and fails miserably, the violent quaking of his shoulders a firm give away. Romie's scowl transfers to him from a crooked grinning James, in one swift movement, leaning across the table and smacking clean the stupid hat off the top of his head.

"Oh dear, look at that hat hair. I think I'd die, wouldn't you?" Romie speaks to no one in particular, loudly kissing her teeth.

Predictable. Sirius' reaction is so predictable that two seats down, on the other side of her boyfriend, the brightest witch of the age eyes rolls his dramatics before the silver spoon could be picked up to check his stately image. A huge sigh of relief escapes him upon discovering that no, the dreaded hat hair hasn't taken effect, his raven locks still as breathtaking as his bellybutton.

Above the spoon his grey eyes lift, pinching playfully at the corners when they meet that of Romie's dear, sweet violet.

"You are bloody lucky that—"