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𝕬ll eyes were on them.
Every corner they turned, every corridor they walked through, every room they entered, backs straightened, whispers loudened and eyes, beady and keen, latched onto them, watching every single move like hawks. The hot topic. Romie and Regulus had quite quickly become the hot topic of Hogwarts. There was no escape, the names of Romie Lupin and Regulus Black covered ninety percent of the school's vocabulary. The last ten percent belonged to none other than the biggest bunch of misfits Hogwarts has ever seen.
The Marauders.
Surprisingly, Romie hadn't seen much of them, hadn't been accosted or confronted by her outrageously protective werewolf of an older brother as she originally expected to be after the show made of the Quidditch match. There'd barely been so much as an angry furrow of brows or scarily tight clench of a jaw. There'd barely been his presence at all.
Until now.
Chairs. All four of them, surrounding the library table the Gryffindor girl tenanted privately for the afternoon, flew backwards, rather impeccably, in sync with one another. Most likely rehearsed exhaustively. The same for the swift scoots back in to the table. Exceedingly familiar with the wacky antics of the group, Romie merely flips to the next page of her borrowed book copy on advanced potions, not bothering to even spare them a glance.
"You cannot date Regulus Black"
Blunt. Direct. Straight to the point. Romie's eyebrows rose a fraction, flipping through the next couple of pages rather loud and exaggerated as she retorts in return,
"My day has been relatively pleasant, thank you ever so much for asking. And yours?"
Ever the people pleaser, James leans forwards on his chair, cracking that big goofy grin that could fill the most emptiest of hearts with boundless joy, answering in a tone so enthusiastic Romie couldn't help the slight twitch to her lips,
"Brilliant, thanks! Lily and I had not one, but two whole conversations! I reckon by tonight, we could be at three but i'm trying not to jinx—"
He suddenly halts, finally catching sight of the three incredulous stares that had been shooting his way since his mouth opened and he decided to entertain Romie's sarcasm. His nose crinkles and his head hangs slightly, retreating back into his chair, relinquishing control back to who they'd all agreed would lead the tough talk. Romie snickers quietly at the mental image of them practicing this up in their dorm the last couple of days, snickers more at the fact they had very foolishly thought she could immediately surrender and concede to their apparently favourite phrase.
"You cannot date Regulus Black"
For the very first time since their arrival, Romie raises her head, meeting their gazes. Meeting the gaze of her older brother, who's darkened scowl intensifies massively at her next reaction. Hands, tanned and lithe, flying up in the air, waving wildly as she gasps, feigning a high-pitch girly voice that Peter shudders at,
"Oh my God! You are so right! Let me just go and tell him we must stop because four furry friends of mine said so!"
Not a second later, her face drops of all pretend high-spirits, returning to the classic Romie Lupin face that practically screams she's done and over this. Evidently, they'd practiced perseverance and determination as well as their moves and cues, because, unlike Romie hoped, they don't give in, hop up from their chairs, leaving her busy self be. No, that would be wishful thinking, something Romie's learned the hard way not to be too disappointed by, in the end. The baton gets passed over, despite Remus' overpowering urge to bite back, to someone that tries a more calm and reasonable approach.
"Moonette, you must understand we are only looking out for you—"
"Cornering, hindering, suffocating, they're the terms i'd go for, but do carry on" Romie interjects briefly, back to flicking through her textbook.
Noticing the shakes of fury about to explode and unleash nothing good, underneath the table, Sirius gently presses his knee just there, against Remus' beside him, sending him the faintest of smiles, in hopes to calm. A quiet grunt sounds from Remus in return, signalling that he'll restrain himself for now, but there's only so much more attitude and cheek he'll take before saying something. Something that won't be as gentle and tolerant as Sirius is currently being.
Exhaling a deep breath, Sirius looks back to Romie, continuing, "Regulus, he's — he's not the type of boy you want to be getting involved with"
"Oh, so there's a type of boy you think I should be getting involved with? I was under the impression that all types of boys were off the table completely" Romie challenges, arching an eyebrow when Remus grunts gruffly back,
"They are"
At the increasing pressure of Sirius' knee pressing further into his, he begrudgingly averts his gaze away, over to the next segment where a small group of third year Ravenclaws are studying diligently. Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat, like he wants to be anywhere else, and James keeps rocking back and forth on his chair, ready to step in and lighten the mood if necessary. Or remove his six foot three, werewolf strong, dear friend from the situation. Sirius sighs, tone serious yet unbelievably soft as he mentions,
"Romie, I know you think this is a good idea, that rebelling will make you feel in control, but my family—"
"Your family? You must mean the Potters"
This time, the interruption didn't come from Romie. This one came from somewhere behind her, from someone that had, just like that, captured all the Gryffindor boys' attention, turning them to stone statures in their seats. Peter being more of a sickly pale shade of stone, sharply contrasted to the near black shade of Remus. A dangerously dark shade. He seethes a seethe Romie vividly remembers witnessing at the Quidditch match, clenching his fists so hard he's about to split back open the ivory scars across his hands.
Unlike before, Sirius doesn't interfere with him, doesn't soothe or calm him with a nudge of the knee or a pathetically soft smile, because he's leaning the opposite way, to who's on the opposite side of him. James. He's leaning towards James, wishing to be the one that's comforted. James, his brother, his family. Not the similarly featured, younger Slytherin, leaning against the high bookcase in front of them, arms folded and eyes full of something that pains Sirius' heart. Dismissal. Rejection.
Romie doesn't peer over her shoulder, doesn't look backwards to him, she doesn't have to. Regulus is approaching her, steps slow yet potent. She smiles slightly, when arms, possessive and fit, start to snake around the front of her shoulders, stating their claim, loud and clear. Stating that no grumbles, rumbles and growls from Remus Lupin will scare them off. Because that's what he's doing, pretty much growling at him, darkened amber eyes sharply snapping between him and where his arms are touching what they're not supposed to.
And to make matters better, or worse in the case of the Marauders, Regulus doesn't stop at that. Not when the, cut open and loose, neckline of Romie's jumper falls down her left shoulder, revealing the prominent jutting collar bone Regulus' thumb happens to brush over, demanding touch. Demanding to be stroked gently. He doesn't mind to oblige, not in the slightest when it elicits these rewarding reactions from her guarding lions. And from the precious crown jewel herself.
She hums, in what Regulus thinks is content, knows in content, because then, she's leaning that tiny bit backwards into him, resting her head against his chest. To sell the part. Her lips part, speaking before any of the disapproving boys can,
"James, Peter, do you mind quickly completing your lines so we can all be done with this?"
"We are far, far, far away from being done with this" Remus insists firmly, seconds away from banging his fist down on the table when his little sister refuses to acknowledge him again, awed gaze fixed on the other two,
"Wow! Ventriloquism! I never knew you two had that trick up your sleeve! Definitely show Lily later, James, conversation number three"
Regulus is quick to stamp out the traitorous urge to snort at that, re-directing his attention elsewhere. The uncommonly silent stranger sitting opposite, staring almost pleadingly at him. Pleading to do what, Regulus doesn't know, doesn't care. He only does favours for very few, a number of people able to be counted on his hand, and none of those include Sirius. He doesn't care anymore, he learnt not to when it became abundantly clear that care wasn't reciprocated. When in Sirius' mind, only, bright and chirpy, James Potter comes to mind at the mention of a brother.
He breaks eye contact first, ducking his head down next to Romie's. There had been a question on his mind, about to be asked, but it dies in his throat. Because something hits him, hits him like a strong punch to the nose. A scent. Romie Lupin's scent. It's delicate, soothing and sweet, nothing at all like the fiery, stubborn elfin bitch he's caressing the soft skin of in rather suggestive circular motions now. He doesn't exactly have the chance to pinpoint what it is exactly, for the Gryffindor girl shifts on her chair, snapping him out of his odd daze.
"Ready to go?" He mumbles against the warm shell of her ear, lingering there long enough to hear her quiet hum of agreement.
She was, very ready to go. Very done with this. Never had she thought the day would come that she was willingly choose to leave the company of the Marauders to be with Regulus Black. Never had she thought the day would come that she would be fake dating Regulus Black. It was certainly something her past self would be seriously startled at. Something that sometimes her present self feels startled at, in disbelief of what she's truly doing. Necessary. It was all necessary though. Remus pushed her into Regulus' arms, it's his own fault.
Scooting her chair back once Regulus stepped out of the way, Romie rose, collecting up her belongings scattered messily across the table. One book, however, didn't end up sliding towards her when she reached out. It went the opposite way. Right into Remus' impeding hands. She stares at him, violet eyes aglow, and he stares back, both engaging in this silent sort of telepathic conversation that Peter and James couldn't even begin to understand. Sirius and Regulus broke eye contact as soon as it was made. It's been a long time since they did that.
Much to Regulus' surprise, it's Romie who relents eventually, huffing, "Fine, keep the book, you tosser. You can return it to Madame Pince"
He lets her take the first step, take the second, take the lead, and it's better this way. Better because he can watch the effects of his smirk on Remus, watch the reaction earned from Romie's final departing words, getting in the last word as she does,
"Oh and Remus-John, better be quick. It's two weeks overdue, and you know how Madam Pince gets"
Nasty. She gets nasty.
They don't speak, not until they're far out of the grand, ornate library doors, back into the stone corridors of the castle. But they do briefly catch eyes at the sound of the Marauders' gutted noises of defeat, at the not-so-quiet whispers between their older brothers, very much in agreement they didn't like at all what they just saw. At the ridiculously soft, comforting words of Sirius, easing Remus' ill-temper and dreaded sense of apprehension.
"Was that library book really two weeks overdue?" Regulus asks, quirking a brow of intrigue at the grin of the Cheshire cat growing across her face.
"No" Romie says simply, deflating Regulus' shoulders a little, more than he cared to admit.
He nods, and turns away, peering at the godawful Gryffindor styled tapestry they're passing by. Red. It's the wrong colour.
"It's a month and two days overdue"
Regulus' head whips back in her direction, at both the truthful confession and the song of laughter that's bubbling up her throat, filling up the whole corridor.
Purple.
Better than red, he thinks, maybe.
——————
Are we acknowledging tomorrow or no?