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𝖂ith some guarantee and assurance from Dumbledore the castle's walls are impenetrable, Romie's mind had been at ease.
The only werewolf crawling the corridors would be her older brother in disguise. No other furry surprises. Remus had been torn after finding out what had happened, unsure whether to comfort his little sister or distance himself, lie low in his dorm. It's his kind, after all, that puts the fear of God into her.
James and Sirius insisted that was stupid and they were right, Remus barely had a foot through the portrait hole when the wind was knocked from his lungs. Strong, firm hugs like that don't exactly scream I'm terrified of you and never want to see your face again. More like I love you and don't ever want to let go. Romie didn't want to let go, that night, Remus was her blanket, promising safety and comfort.
The next night, they were back to the squabbling siblings Gryffindor Tower know and love. The latest top Hestia had lovingly patched up hadn't been to his liking. Too small. Too thin. Too revealing. Taking his concerns on board, naturally, Romie wore it to breakfast.
"Oh, I hope he's not angry with me" Hestia whispers nervously, peering down the table and catching sight of his hardened glare.
Taking a healthy bite out of her buttery toast, Romie shakes her head, advising, "Just ignore him. I love it, that's what matters most"
"It is rather pretty. Really brings out the colour in your eyes, Romie" Pandora compliments, choosing a pickled dirigible plum from the centre of the table.
Romie's overjoyed the wobble of her smile goes unnoticed by the pair, Hestia already considering their Ravenclaw friend with an adorably bright and excited gleam in her eyes.
"I'm glad you think so, because I've already started on yours. Pastel shades"
"Oo, and what colour will I have, Pufflehuff?"
Hestia twists around to the source of the terribly intrigued voice, colour flooding her cheeks when she meets the toothy grin of Evan Rosier's. He's already wearing his hat and gloves, the shamrock green standing out immensely amongst the table of predominately red.
"Why are you wearing those indoors?" Romie asks, finishing off the crust of wiping away the residual crumbs with the back of her hand.
Evan shrugs one shoulder, answering simply, "Walk's cold from the dungeons"
"And you're after one of these? Your little nipples would freeze off" Romie retorts, his hand over wounded heart and gasp of mock offense not bothering her in the slightest.
Theatrical antics like these are exceedingly common around the people she surrounds herself with. Throwing his legs over the wooden bench, he nudges Barty, pouting,
"Did you hear that? She insulted my nipples. Tell her how glorious they truly are"
Romie watches in amusement as Barty's gaze drops lower than face and neck territory, landing blatantly on his chest. A smirk twists at his mouth, obviously imagining what's hidden underneath Evan's layers. It's a backfiring move because then he's somewhat licking his lips, flushing Evan beyond recovery.
Ever the Elfin Bitch, Romie speaks up, eyes widening in exaggeration, "Oh wow, must be really glorious"
Pandora and Hestia's palms fly up to their mouths to muffle their laughter, shoulders silently quaking. Romie's not nearly as discreet, the cackling laughter brewing inside her chest spilling from her unsealed lips. Regaining composure, Evan straightens and avoids Barty's eye, firing back,
"Coming from the girl that drools when she sees a certain head of curls"
Despite the big eye roll at the dig, Romie's smiling, questioning the two as she lifts her glass of ice cold water, "Where is he anyway?"
"I'm here"
Hestia has to hide her smile when Romie immediately perks up at the sound of a familiar gruff voice. Her eyes flash with something special, reserved only for him as he fills the gap on her left, sweeping aside the curls that fall in front of his face. The motion distracts her long enough to steal the glass of water her lips barely touched, the realisation sinking in too late. He'd already gulped down two thirds.
"Bastard" Romie huffs, elbowing him and taking to re-filling the glass with her perfected Aguamenti charm.
Across the width table, Evan, the little shit, smacks his lips together and touches his throat, humming, "You know, I could do with some water"
"You could do with an extensive assessment at St Mungo's" Romie bites back, sliding the freshly made water well out of his grabbing reach.
Again, Evan reacts dramatically, holding up two fingers to signify two mean insults in the past ten minutes. First his poor nipples and now his perfectly lucid mind. Goading, Romie angles her eyebrows in Barty's direction to see what he has to say this time. Much to the girls' entertainment, Barty merely pats Evan's gloved hand, refusing to comment on the matter.
The blonde scoffs loudly, feeling stabbed in the back, "Yeah, well your nipples have holes in them!"
"Because they're pierced, which I seem to recall you saying is sick" Barty reminds unabashedly, shaking his head when, rather passionately, Evan declares,
"Yes, sick as in, there's now metal slicing through your nice places"
Wild gestures are made to the protrusions visible on Barty's shirt, kicking up the girls' giggles to roars of laughter. Romie's practically crying when toned arms start to snake around her upper half from the side, performing their established greeting. Only the happy hormones from the laughter now released into her bloodstream muddles up her ability to think straight, and instead of just leaning in, she's turning at the last second, Regulus' lips aiming for the cheek, hitting her square on the mouth.
The laughter suddenly dies down to pin drop silence, numerous mouths hanging open. They draw back at the same time, eyes round and minds working overdrive to comprehend what on earth's just happened. The moment Regulus' stare flickers to her mouth, realisation dawns on Romie. Earth shattering, heart racing realisation. Realisation that makes it damn near impossible to face him any longer.
She shifts around at the pace of a sloth, a sharp contrast to the rapid speed she's blinking down at her plate. Volcanic lava, hot and ferocious, floods her ears, drowning out the rest of the Great Hall until it's just her and her marathon sprinting thoughts and the silver stare intense and unwilling to move from its placement on her side profile. On the lips alive with the memory of his against them.
"I — uh forgot I needed to speak with McGonagall about the Apparition classes"
Romie excuses, standing and fleeing the Hall, glad no one mentioned the Head of House was currently sitting at the Professor's table. She paces through the sparse halls, dithering between, laughing, crying or throwing up. Because there's a rule on the line here and the traitorous tingle of her lips is making her want to do bad things, wrong things. Forbidden things. And, even worse, she can't bring herself to be mad about it.
She's too immersed in scolding her mind, heart and soul, ears now joining the list for failing to alert her to the brisk footsteps following behind. Catching up. A firm hand suddenly clamps around her wrist, forcing her around. It's gone as soon as she's facing the direction she came from, repositioning with the other somewhere else.
Romie hardly has the chance to register the coldness, the softness against her cheeks. Hardly has the chance to breathe. Because then, faster than she could say the colour purple, crashing against hers, the lips her memory will forbid forgetting. This time, intentional and deliberate. His moves are often intentional and deliberate, she's slowly discovering.
Regulus couldn't let her go on thinking that fucking chicken peck was the extent of his kissing abilities. It's not, he can kiss quite well, magnificent in fact. But not as magnificent as her. Never as magnificent as her. Nothing, no one can amount to what she is. He barely has a taste, a glimpse of what it's like to kiss Romie Lupin when it's over, the hand fisting his jumper and gently pushing at his chest, demanding stoppage.
His eyes flit open and he swallows roughly, whispering, "No?"
Romie notes the slight tremble in his voice slipping through the genuine softness that tells her that's ok if so. And it makes her heart pump impossibly faster, on the verge of beating out of her chest, because whilst he's willing to walk away, pretend that never happened, he's also willing to risk it all, risk everything.
And apparently she is too, a different earth shattering, heart racing realisation hitting when her mouth parts to release a soft, choked,
"Yes"
Yes, yes, yes, she whispers closing the remaining distance that separates them. Yes, yes, yes, she whispers into his opening mouth, teeth and tongue banishing every weak 'no' surviving in her body. If there was any at the outset. She can't imagine there was, it would be wrong, criminal, when kissing him feels like this. Feels like one of the main reasons they're doing this in the first place.
She doesn't realise they're moving. Not until the hands starting to warm from the heat spiking in her cheeks disappear, smoothly curving around and cupping her shoulder blades, creating a barrier that bears the brunt of the hard force of hitting the wall. It's unbeknown to Romie, whether the dark groan that tears through his throat is in response to harsh impact or the fingers trespassing no-man's land, tangling in his curls.
From the way he deepens the kiss, enforcing the punishment that is stealing away her ability to think, ability to breathe, she knows it to be the latter. He's kissing her like how he'd looked at her when it was her time to shine at the Potter's Winter Ball, kissing her like her heart is the Golden Snitch it's his sole duty to catch and never let go. Kissing her like she's his favourite colour. And fuck, it nearly destroys her because how could that be.
It's Romie's turn to make a noise, the devastatingly alluring sound doing the same things to Regulus' heart he's been ignoring for weeks. Months. He's almost glad they hadn't got this far that wintry night over the holidays, that hadn't been her, this was her, all fiendfyre curses and erupting volcanoes. A Heffalump, terrifying to approach because she's single-handedly stealing away for her self what he'd decided long ago to keep locked up, out of reach.
He huffs at the curve of those puffy pink lips when he reluctantly retreats to catch his breath. Always catching up. No, this time, she's catching up, pressing kiss after kiss to his fresh peppermint tasting, swollen mouth until she can hardly call her lungs her own and has no other choice but to pull away.
Romie jolts at the cold stone suddenly flush against her skin, jolts at the two shaking thumbs meeting at the middle and splitting ways to thoroughly trace the shape of her mouth. It's odd because typically after a kiss like that, you touch your own mouth first not the other person's. He's searching for something. Something his heavy lidded eyes yet couldn't. And she hands it to him on a silver platter.
"Four" Regulus breathes, knitting together the eyebrows saying close, friendly hellos to his. Between slow, deep breaths to take back control of the unsteady rhythm, Romie counters,
"No, no, higher. I lost count — but I — you're higher than four"
Regulus presses his forehead deeper into hers, as though it's an easier method of communication. And apparently it works, because at the same time he manages to find the right words in his foggy brain, her frown relaxes, puffy lips slowly parting.
"Not counting outwitting you anymore. Haven't been for ages"
Merlin have mercy.
Romie slumps into him, into his irresistible magnetism, at a complete loss for words. She's not at a loss for thoughts, though, one unabating and straying from the rest of the jumbled mess.
She might need Evan's appointment slot at St Mungo's.
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