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𝕿ickled.
What stirs Romie from the soundest slumber she's had in what feels like an eternity, is the unmistakable sensation of being tickled, the tingle too prominent to ignore. Whilst the rational part of her mind tells her features to scrunch, pull away all-together, her bolshie, little heart tells her something else. Something also impossible to ignore.
She leans in further, embracing with open arms the spreading tingles, blowing out a soft breath when the button of her nose prods against skin. Supple skin, pale skin, skin that she's had the privilege of marking. More than once. More than twice. Romie's not alone in that deed, though the intentions and motives are stark contrast. Her want to make him feel good, make him hers, theirs to make feel him bad. Make him hurt.
In all likelihood why he's not moved a muscle throughout the night, rooted in that curl up Romie's ended up adhering to at some stage. Lower limbs cosily tucked up, front, to the hilt, plastered against back, spooning.
It's not the only plastering taking place, the fore of her arm loosely draped over his torso, flat against the long length of his sternum. From how he's tucked it beneath his own, it's crystal clear there's been a possession stake claim, a full custody battle Romie's missed and subsequently lost.
She's not too miffed about the whole ordeal, especially when she registers another tickle to embrace with open arms. This one not the doing of debilitatingly handsome curls, but long, slick fingertips. Running so lightly up and down the back of her hand, into the tiny, hypersensitive gaps between fingers, she nearly misses it. Nearly misses the little peppering of kisses there too.
He's awake.
Mia's regurgitated words from experienced Sirius echo in the back of her mind, sparking up questions Romie's not certain she wants the answers to right now. Answers she has a hunch she already deep down knows. He might have been pretending last time. He's not so much this time.
Her eyes slide back shut after glimpsing through hair chinks a couple of his caressing cycles, basking in what she's fallen short of lately. Him there. Romie doesn't know how much time passes, only that he's just about kissed every inch of skin her hand has when he finally makes a sound, a vocalisation.
"Am I in it?"
It's so vague, so inexplicit that Romie reckons even if she wasn't half asleep, fresh as daises, she wouldn't have a single clue what the fuck he's on about now. A rather deep, groggy, elongated hum leaves her, the vibrations of which thrumming through his skin, his core. He blames his faint groan on sleepiness, explaining in a raspy morning voice that does unspeakable things to her,
"Last night — or well this morning, you said I was totally out of it. Am I in it now?"
Romie suddenly feels wide awake, recalling precisely what he'd slurred out moments prior to her announcing he was talking right out of his arse. He hadn't argued then because he planned to re-broach now, when there's a higher chance she might believe his every word.
She wills her heart to slow down on the marathon sprint it's decided to participate in, which to Romie's luck, he can probably feel, murmuring,
"That's what your first thought is?"
"No, my first thought was if Kreacher scared you out of your wits" He mutters, risking an ugly double chin in favour of idly sucking kiss after kiss after kiss into her knuckles.
Second thought was that he missed the golden opportunity to introduce them. Or atleast witness their very first interaction. Third thought of the morning was this. If she would now accept as true the confession spilled over lavender scented baths and dulcet, tender energy. Or if he'll spend the rest of his days proving himself.
"He said I had eyes like Medusa" Romie utters, falling deeper into his raven nest of curls when he tilts back again, humming,,
"He's always one to analyse"
"He also said I had the voice of a banshee" She mentions, voice losing its sleepy edge and gaining a hardening one.
For a moment, Regulus holds still, both his caress and breath, before releasing in a small, light puff of air, "Well I didn't say it was always complimentary"
He doesn't have to twist, turn around to check if what he earns in return is an eye roll, there's not a single doubt in his mind. Just like his crabby little house elf is always partial to an analysis, his fierce volcano is always partial to an eye roll. Nevertheless, he shifts, gingerly rolling onto his other side. The side that faces said fierce volcano.
Under those appraising eyes a glowing shade of violet, he's quick to disguise the discomfort etching across his face. It's no use, she knows him just as meticulously as he knows her. But the fresh twinges of pain subside from the sight of her, soft from sleep, anyway and there's nothing left to disguise. Except maybe the feeling she's not ready for.
He's too immersed in the rosy warmth lightly dusting her prominent freckled cheeks and nose to notice, she too, is immersed in him. Particularly something that she has no recollection of seeing in the early hours. Regulus starts when he feels nimble fingers enclose around his right wrist, enclosing around what's snuggly tied there.
"Where's this come from? You weren't wearing this yesterday" Romie declares, frown deepening when, ever so languidly, Regulus mumbles,
"Was"
"You were not. I think I'd remember if you were, considering it's mine" She argues, slipping two fingers under the strip of purple silk, feeling the rhythm of his pulse.
Slow and steady. Not fast and erratic like the pulse of someone with something to hide, afraid of being found out. He's not afraid of being found out, if anything, he's bemused. Bemused because why would she, under any circumstances, be under the impression he'd take it off. Hadn't he been obvious?
"Concealment charm" He divulges simply, flickering his eyes between hers and oh.
Oh.
Romie gulps thickly, suddenly feeling quite stupid. Not quite, enormously. Because he was in fact all along was wearing her ribbon, their ribbon. Hadn't taken it off, set fire to it like she initially presumed. A now worn off concealment charm had hidden its arrant existence, hidden not because he was ashamed of the connection to her it holds, because he didn't want anything to happen to it.
Her gaze averts away from his, unable to take the sincerity shining impossibly bright. Pure. It's too pure and it scares her because that might mean he wasn't as out of it as she originally thought. Scares her because she might fall for it again.
"Remember the first day of term?"
His tone's full of that gentleness she's only ever heard when it's exclusively her around, no exceptions. Not Pandora or Evan. Not Sirius. Just Romie. Reminisce too, an ample amount she measures up to as she hums,
"Vividly. My nun skirt self had you dangling in the air from your ankles"
A sigh emits from him, half indignant, half playful. Heavier on the latter. Because of course that's the chunk of the day the Elfin Bitch vividly harks back on. Besting him in that outrageous leg coverer. He narrowly manages refraining from stealing a healthy glimpse at said legs, bare and willowy and alarmingly close to his, instead continuing,
"Prior to that lovely interaction, out in the corridor. You didn't think my—"
"Fancy pureblood arse" Romie naturally jumps to fill in, toying around with the ribbon pieces dangling from the stupidly perfect bow.
Regulus nods a little, finishing, "— Knew what a Convent actually was. I proved you wrong"
At long last, Romie's ultraviolet finds their way back to his mercurial grey, scanning for clarification. Clarification for what he's alluding to. Plain as day, it's there, nestled within that pure sincerity from before. He's proven her wrong once before, he can do it again. He will do it again. And not for some silly little game of who can score the most outwitting points.
He's not counting outwitting her anymore. Hasn't been for ages.
Romie's suddenly dry mouth parts to speak, but a few quiet knocks on the door followed by warm voice interrupts. She's secretly thrilled, uncertain of what she's supposed to say to that. To him.
"Romie, honey, your Hogwarts letter has arrived. It feels rather heavy"
Romie's too busy clambering out of the sheets and rushing to the door to think too hard on the last part, unsure of how she could possibly explain the presence of a certain blast from the past, taking over her bed, half naked.
She squeezes out the tiny gap cracked open to minimise view, joining a smiling Mia Potter on the landing. The smile she displays in return is unquestionably too wide and toothy to be Romie Lupin, so she drops it in a flash, reaching out to take the letter.
And yes, Dear Merlin, it is rather heavy, weighing more than her previous six school letters combined. She frowns, wondering what on earth the Professor's have demanded she bring along this year. Surely the curriculum follows on from sixth year.
It takes her ages. Ages to register that Mia's still standing there, green fingers freely tapping away on what's held to her chest. Any deliberation on how many shifts she'll have to pick up at Rosie's to pay for it all fizzle away, about to ask why Mia's took it back. But the weight in her hands hasn't gone, she's still holding her letter. And Mia's holding another.
Her smile doesn't fade, warmth doesn't fade, "Wise man, Dumbledore. Though, naturally, sometimes even the wisest of folk make mistakes—"
"It's not" Romie reluctantly admits, cheeks pinking. Burning fiercely when it occurs to Mia she's the motherly figure in this situation and, much to Romie's mortification, whispers,
"I hope you're using pro—"
Before she could even finish her sentence, Romie blurts out, "I can assure you Remus has seen to that! And that's not what it is at all"
Hesitantly Mia nods, pausing briefly when it sinks in what Romie's just said, "Remus has done what?"
"You don't want to know" Romie grits out, feeling the volcano inside her chest rumble violently at the mere memory.
Mia takes her word for it and passes over the second letter, which is just as weirdly heavily, before retreating down the hallway, warm smile back in full swing. After a couple of deep breaths, Romie slips back through her bedroom door, hoping the surprise of his letter distracts from the glowing colour of red she currently is.
Her eyes instantly find him, still tucked in her covers like he has no aspiration to leave anytime soon, but now laying flat on his back instead of side. It makes sense, she's no longer there. His eyebrows disappear into his hairline when not one, but two Hogwarts letters are brandished, making to prop himself up against the headboard.
It's tougher than he cares to admit, his nasty injuries relieved, not fully healed. His heart lodges itself into his throat when, without thinking twice, Romie crawls over, scooping two hands under his arms in assistance. She doesn't even seem to notice she's helped him, cared for him. Again. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, if he's fortunate.
The suspicious weight has seized the entirety of her attention, wasting no time ripping open the enveloped and prying out the equipment list folded neatly inside. It's no longer than in previous years, escalating her frown. It's then, it decides to reveal itself.
"What the fuck" She breathes, staring down at the little shapely something shining brilliantly up at her.
Nothing could have prepared her for this.
"What the fuck indeed"
Nothing could have prepared her for his agreed hum, placing down an identical little shapely something to shine brilliantly next to hers. Up at them. Together.
Together, as they'll be.
As Hogwarts' newest Head Boy and Girl.
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Oh my god, I'm obsessed with how this chapter turned out, and I haven't felt like this in a long time. I'm telling you it's because they're talking and actually together! Hope you liked it just as much as I did (I can be a bit biased sometimes)