꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 82

"Dead" He answers, his tone and face as impassive as he feels.

Despite the growing split in his walls made out of impenetrable steel, the gateway materialising is too narrow to fit the full monty. He's feeling. But for the minority he possess the want to feel for. Mustering up feeling for the dirty roots that trap him is a struggle Regulus isn't certain he'd like to overcome. Those roots aren't what grounds him. She is.

She who's the noise in hush. Just like her current position, it's massively inappropriate considering the sorrowful context, but Romie didn't know of Uncle Alphard besides the fact his gold's primarily paid for the flat their nuts about brothers are sharing. She knows Regulus though. And how, for him, the subject of family is just about as icky and sticky as it is for her.

So, Romie doesn't bother muffle her snort, disguise in a cough that'll make the looks earned less weird. As long as his muscles stay this floppy and loose, drumming pulse steady against the two fingers slipping under the wrist enclosing strip of purple silk, she'll have everyone's disapproval. Happily.

Slughorn's recovery is quick, his delayed blinks coming in fast as soon as Romie breaks up the looming silence full of uncertainty. He gulps down a healthy gulp of the magically ever topping up spiced mead, announcing to the whole table,

"Ah, I must've missed that spot of news, if it was summer before last, I had tickets to the Quidditch World Cup hosted in Peru, gifted free by Gwenogg Jones herself"

Out of the corner of their eyes, Romie and Regulus exchange a glance indecipherable to anyone else, and she's forced to weigh her chin down hard against the stand of her knees in order to keep her mouth shut. He overturns his forearm, trapping hers, the playfulness a sharp contrast to his blank reply,

"Yes. That must have been the reason"

"It'll be you soon, my boy" The leech firmly determines, the glint of greed in his eyes turning into amusement when Romie retorts,

"What, the long stay at the six feet under hotel or the Quidditch World Cup?"

He darts between the pair, the couple to all intents and purposes, lingering on the fierce Head Girl next in line for cross examining for his response,

"I think we both strongly hope the latter"

The gentle but warning pressure Regulus adds against her stolen limb, clamps her mouth shut to prevent a comment that'll probably burst her future invitations into flames. She reckons strike one has already long set sail from the horribly embarrassing Amortentia incident last year. The aftermath was worth it.

She sighs and nods, adamant on the inside that her strong hope centres around him actually living rather than merely existing to feed off fortune. Though, she couldn't deny the World Cup's momentous and valuable Golden Snitch would be a nice addition to her little nightstand collection.

"And what say your parents?" Slughorn wonders, completely oblivious to the sudden painful sharpen of bone structure nearby.

Romie's quite the opposite, hyperaware an understatement of her recognition to Regulus' change of demeanour. Seething. He's seething not only because she's been made to think of the disgrace to the name human being that is absent Lyall Lupin, but also because he's referred to as such. A parent. A heart-warming title he doesn't deserve.

A heart-warming title he doesn't holds in Romie's eyes. Not anymore. In her eyes, he's as numb as Uncle Alphard, as dead as Uncle Alphard. Instead, in his place, irksome yet caring to an unconditional degree eyes of dark amber and sandy curl tufts. Remus is her brother, parent and family all in one. Who she searches and grabs the hand of amongst busy crowds, who she turns to at the end of the day. Who she knows she can depend on, no matter how badly through the ruins the relationship is going, how history strains their bond.