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𝕽omie chuckles under her breath, chest flooding with mirth.
As much as the great study of Ancient Runes electrifies every bone in her body, fascinates her to the ends of the earth, there's some things that are just indisputably better. More thrilling. What's currently being exhibited in front of her very eyes passes with flying colours as one of those things. Over the mahogany table, directly across from Romie, wonderfully thoughtful and benevolent, Pandora Lovegood, unravelling Hestia's threads of knit. Except the unravelling is going terribly wrong and instead, it could be fathomed she's having a good go at the Muggle game, Cat's Cradle.
Or maybe that was her intention all along. It's hard to know with Pandora. Either way, Romie was thoroughly enjoying it, thoroughly enjoying Hestia's deer brown eyes lifting briefly every third loop to check how much or little yarn she has left. Or if Pandora's managed to detangle her pale fingers that Romie's losing sight of amidst the thickening arctic blue. A pair of mittens, this time, to keep the Ravenclaw's hands cosy and warm during the fast approaching colder months. Romie already received hers, slipping them on every-time she ventures outdoors to make them Hufflepuff happy. The traditional Gryffindor ones weren't her colour.
Pandora hums quietly to herself, something about truths and lies whilst carefully plucking a strand or two from each side, staring directly down the middle.
"If it isn't our favourite ladies that we were definitely not searching every level of the castle for"
An distinctive sharp shushing shortly follows on from the overly cheerful declaration from none other than Evan Rosier. The kind that Romie doesn't think is the typical reminder to keep voices down in the library, more of a reminder of what one should reveal and what shouldn't to others. Because she doubts that Regulus Black wants her to know he's been searching every level of the castle, high and low, friends dragged along, in hopes to stumble across her. Just like he had been for days.
Romie's not an easy girl, not the type to leave herself wide open and make things straightforward for the benefit of someone else. She's not the type of girl that'll fall to her knees, be won over with a charming smile and simple apology. No. They had to work for it, grovel practically, and that's only if she fancies giving them the time of day to do so. She's unsure whether Regulus is worth her time of day, not after she gave up her afternoon to watch him practice Quidditch, only to be insulted afterwards.
Either side of her, she draws back the wooden chairs, patting the seat friendlily, "Rosier, Crouch, come sit"
Regulus' eyes narrow at her flashed smile, too sweet to be any good. Romie Lupin isn't sweet, she's wily, stubborn, strong-willed. She'd have made an excellent Slytherin if she wasn't so frustratingly lionhearted. Punishing. She's punishing him still, for what he'd said, what he'd done, ensuring he knows where he stands.
He's certainly knows where he's standing.
Hestia shot him a timid smile, apology laced in the corners, for she knows all too well how Romie is. Pandora was far too engrossed in her cat's cradle, luring Barty in to perceive his way of being. Truths and lies. Evan, on the other hand, chose to provoke the provoked further, grinning at Regulus, his arm slinging across the back of Romie's chair,
"Looks like you'll have to pull up another chair, over there on the end, Reg"
Romie ignores him, ignores the arm that her inner self is itching to knock off to keep to himself, boring her eyes into her work. She didn't like just anyone touching her, it had gotten better over time, the agonising response to cower away and curl up in a ball fading into something more controlled, a few deep breaths and a minor shuffle away if that didn't help. Four year old Romie, beyond petrified of being handled would be proud of how far she's come.
The arm drops, returning back into his own space where it should be, but Romie doesn't realise, not at first. Because something else has taken it's place, something that makes the table move away with an awful screech, making her nose crinkle. Romie barely has the chance to think, to breathe, only a glimpse of the mahogany table suddenly free of her belongings before it's gone, no longer in sight. Pandora and Hestia are no longer in sight.
It wasn't the table moving, it was her. She was being pulled back, creating a roomy pathway for what's replaced her belongings. Romie, still refusing to lock eyes, crosses her arms over her chest, voice resolute and insistent when she says,
"This is incredibly rude. I can't see my friends"
Her head turns, not by her own doing, by Regulus'. His curled knuckle tilts her chin, up and up, and up, levelling with him, until there's no other option but for Romie to finally meet his gaze. There's a darkness to it, a charcoal ring around the striking grey that tells Romie her firm perseverance has thoroughly pissed him off.
"It's your own doing. You are, without a doubt, the most insufferably stubborn girl I know" Regulus declares, unsure what to feel when Romie's violet gleams furiously and she fumes, "You know other girls?"
Bouncy vanilla curls, perfect cherry lips crosses her mind, Anna Pucey and her relentless seeking of Regulus' attention. And she's not the only one, Romie couldn't count the number of times she's passed a band of giggling girls gushing over Regulus Black's dreamy hair and alluring persona they would die for a taste of. The muscles of her stomach twist and she tries to look away. She couldn't. Regulus wouldn't let her.
"Yes, Lupin, i'm acquainted with the female population. But don't worry, you're the one that makes me want to rip my hair out on a daily basis" He mutters, jaw ticking.
It ticks progressively more, when Barty decides to butt in to the conversation, opining, "Oh, don't do that. You'd make a hideous bald"
"I'd knit you a hat" Hestia offers kindly, perking up greatly at Evan's noise of interest, "Oh, knitted hats are on offer? I'll take one, Pufflehuff"
"She makes lovely mittens, you should ask for those too" Pandora suggests airily, her compliment flustering Hestia to rosy pink cheeks.
Regulus, who'd at some point peered over his shoulder as the conversation blossomed to a whole group discussion about Hestia's hobby, returned back to the Gryffindor, slightly surprised to find her eyes had remained on him. He'd blocked her vision of anyone else, that's why, kept hold of her chin, in place. Disinclined to more intrusions, he lowers his hand, reaches down before he can stop himself, grabbing at the wooden base between her thighs, pulling her chair closer. Pulling her closer.
It means Romie has to crane her neck further to be able to prolong their eye contact, which quite frankly, in her opinion, wasn't worthy of the uncomfortable strain. Not for him. Naturally, her vision levels to his chest, his sternum that's considerably nearer than Romie had originally anticipated, the tip of her nose millimetres away from brushing against the smooth linen of his shirt.
All at once, a plethora of aromas start to attack at her senses, all effusing powerfully from the pompous bastard that is Regulus Black. Romie doesn't have the chance to rigorously unravel each one for it's own, for she's being coerced again, that same knuckle positioning under her chin. But she does manage to learn something. Masculine. Regulus smells impossibly dark, and masculine.
The Slytherin peers down at her, and Romie nearly scoffs at the irony, nearly bats away his hand when he says quietly,
"You can't keep this against me forever"
He should've known. Regulus should've known that would only challenge the Gryffindor, that's all she's done since returning back to school. Romie huffs, response as adamant as he'd expected,
"I can if I bloody-well want to, Black"
An exasperated sigh ripples through the dark, twisted depths of his chest, through his throat, having to remind himself that raising his voice the way he wants will only earn him a life-long ban from Hogwarts' stately library.
He shakes his head, claiming gruffly, "You're impossible"
"Fantastic. That's exactly what I was going for" Romie retorts, fixing him with the pettiest smile a girl could give.
Tearing his gaze away to anywhere but her, Regulus is forced to bite his tongue in order to refrain himself from saying something that'll only fuck this up more. He busies his hands too, stuffs them as deep inside his trouser pockets as they'll go, Barty's chime echoing in his mind. He would make a hideous bald. Besides, Black's are born and bred for not just their purity, their appearance too. It's principle that he, as the sole heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, maintains a good reputation for himself. That means looking his best, toujours. No one will like him if he's unattractive.
His gaze lingers on the nearby window, not because the riots of crimson and gold invading that of forest green outside caught his eye — his own reflection. An outline of shadowed darkness, so black his throat runs dry. Upon instinct, he sits up straight, listens to his intruding mother's chastising to fix his posture and ignores the command to get off the desk at once. He couldn't anyway. Not now.
Because there's a wall growing, right in front of him, blocking him in. A wall that's the bewitching colour of purplish-pink sunset, practically towering over him, and commanding his undivided attention. A wall that's not a wall at all, not in the slightest. It's Romie Lupin, the most insufferably stubborn Elfin bitch in existence. She's standing, swapping the roles that Regulus is the one that has to look up at her, like she's some high Goddess he should falls to his knees before, kiss the ground her feet blesses in walk.
Romie holds his chin, holds it up high, and in place as he had done her as she murmurs,
"You keep underestimating me, Black, and it's showing. Don't worry, though, I don't mind putting you back in your place. Every — single — time"
She can handle him, it's been visibly proven, Hestia, Pandora, Barty, Evan — they've all witnessed it firsthand, time and time again. He can't handle her, not yet, that's what she's reinforcing. Romie's not like other girls who'll make things easy just to jump into his good graces, she's all about making things hard for him and not being afraid to stand up for herself, not being afraid to secure her own benefits in the mean time.
Regulus eyes narrow, minimising the honed, stabbing swords into flecks of icy shards, cutting and sharp,
"You're too confident for someone who's ploy relies heavily on my involvement. I don't have to do this, I can walk away and leave you to your own meddling brother"
It's a fair point, but Romie isn't fazed. She's quite confident, that's one thing he's right about, "You won't"
"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Regulus challenges, tongue in cheek.
Again, Romie isn't fazed, not by his daring demeanour or his flippant attitude. If anything she's encouraged, motivated to bestow him a smile so devious and knowing he falls down the slippery slope of doubt. She lifts his chin higher, until there's a crystal clear view of the prominent adam's apple that's bound to bob thickly when she answers slyly,
"For reasons that you and I both know you don't want to be said out loud"
Regulus' facade slips, only for a split second, yet she manages to notice, he knows she does. Knows that's the reason behind the sudden haloed glow to the violet that consistently holds the top spot to his list of curiosities. Reasons he and her both know he doesn't want to be said out loud. A topic that he makes it his life's purpose to avoid. His older brother. Because as much as his self-preserving mind persists that he absolutely hates Sirius Black with every fibre of his being, his poor, pathetic heart wants him happy. And happy is what he is, with Remus Lupin.
Taking the falter to her advantage, Romie leans closer, closes the proximity between them, lips barely a touch away from his ear as she whispers,
"Now, use your fancy pureblood arse to walk me to dinner before I change my mind"
Begrudgingly, Regulus agrees, his reply causing Romie, this time, to falter slightly, "Yes, Ma'am"
"You're heading to dinner?" Hestia wonders, turning them both around at the same time, nodding.
Pandora smiles airily, hands still wrapped up in in cat's cradle that's been entertaining the other two Slytherin's this entire time, "You two go ahead. We'll catch you up"
"You'll be doing the catching up first, Reg" Evan grins, rocking back on his chair to peer around to something in the distance behind his friend.
Regulus' eyebrows knit together at that, chiselled chin tipping over his right shoulder in hopes to make any sense of Evan's odd comment. Sure enough, it does, and Regulus can't help the groan that tears out of his throat.
Hips mesmerisingly swaying and head confidently held high, Romie's already set off ahead of him, down the main aisle towards the grand Library doors.
Ensuring that Regulus knows where he stands, that he's in his place.
Behind her.
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Update! Happy Weekend!! 💜