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"— 𝕬ND TO THINK I CONSIDERED YOU ONE OF US — A MARAUDER —"
Ouch, Romie's going to have a difficult time recovering from that emotional blow. In fact, she fears she just might never be the same again, her whole life over as she casually takes another bite of buttery toast.
The entirety of the usually bustling Great Hall is silent bar the occasional snorts and giggles as they listen to James over-the-top Potter's howler. Romie suspected making the year without receiving, at the minimum, one of the notorious envelopes a hot berry red would be a likely story, she atleast hoped to be further along.
Wishful thinking. Something tells her any of the waggish boys at any given time would quite happily post a howler with her name on it for just about anything. Something tells her this is the epitome of getting the show on the road. And what a show it is.
"— She'll barely touch me now! A man has needs, and those needs are not being met thanks to you, you bloody Roman Cockblocker—"
Chocolate eyes growing as wide as saucers, Hestia peers down the long table's length to the broad collection of meek first years as green as grass, all ears. There's no doubt by lunch the unofficially decided word of the week will be cockblocker. She prays that decisions made on the grounds of the silly sound, not the dirty meaning.
Regulus rubs his lips free of the water he's just sipped, leaning into Romie to say, "Well if he wasn't getting any before, he definitely won't be now when this gets back to Evans"
A concurring hum sounds from Romie, imagining discreet and low key favouring Lily Evans won't take too kindly to her big mouthed boyfriend enlightening Hogwarts, students, staff, ghosts and all, about their sex life. Or lack of. At this rate, James will assume the role of cockblocker himself.
"Blimey, his dry spell's going to end up longer than yours, Reg" Evan chirps cheekily across the table, grinning toothily to the flat look shot back at him in return.
His glee doesn't last long, grin wiping clean off his colour draining face when Romie joins in the shots fired, warning,
"I'd button it if I were you, unless you want to remind me of your little shenanigans"
To be specific, the little house tie swapping shenanigans she's yet to chew them up and spit them out for. Regulus looks smugly to both his silenced friends scared stiff, aware Romie Lupin isn't one to hand out threats she has no intentions of following through. To the fullest extent. He scoots closer to the fierce lump of his, small smile turning wry at the corners when she affirms,
"Only I can take the piss out of you"
"You'll give me toothache if you don't stop" He deadpans, barely stifling an eye roll when Romie merely lifts the toast triangle back to her mouth, replying,
"There's me thinking I give you a horrible bitter taste not ten butterbeers could subside"
A string of protests escape her when the tasty toast is pinched by thieving ring clad hands, glancing sideways just in time to see him snaffle the crust. Out of the four already accumulated on her plate, he just had to have the one she wasn't finished with yet. She sighs exasperatedly, but lightly pushes her plate along to him, pretending not to notice Hestia's syrupy eyes. Legend has it, crusts do wonders for curls, her main motive behind saving them for him. That's all.
Regulus quirks an eyebrow at the expression that can only mean business she turns to him with, finding himself adjusting the angle of his body to face her better, face her properly. He quickly finishes up the last crust and wipes his crumby hands on his bent knees now bumping hers, leaning in a fraction when she informs,
"Grimblehawk approached me whilst you were at practice. She can't do Thursday"
"Why?" The Slytherin asks on natural instinct, rubbing the outer corners of his mouth.
The personal business and random reasons behind Grimblehawk's lack of availability to show up for Thursday's scheduled patrol couldn't be further from his interest realm, but his bright-eyed and bushy-tailed spirit of inquiry thirsted for every piece of knowledge up for grabs. And to make matters a win-win situation, he also gets to listen to the dulcet tones that soothe his damaged, broken soul. He gets to talk more to Romie, an automatic selling point.
"Something about a Peruvian Salamander, a birthday or funeral — I wasn't really paying attention because I saw yo—"
Her mouth abruptly snaps shut, praying to whoever's listening that he didn't clock on to what she nearly let slip. Some flattery and sweet talk is good every now and then, but too often will harm the disposition she's crafted herself beyond repair. Needless to say Regulus, ever the Romie committed listener, soaking up every single syllable dripping from her tongue, instantly cottoned on, hints of a cocky smirk tugging at his mouth as he prompts,
"Wasn't paying attention because you saw whom exactly, Heffalump?"
Romie's lips purse, determinedly avoiding making eye contact with him. A task proven most difficult, impossible really, when the slick git adjusts his one on one position even more. Forward pointed dark trouser attired knees now either side of the wooden bench they're on, providing the perfect rest for the prop of his elbows. His attention wholly and utterly, unshared and undivided on her. Full stop.
Romie's stomach swoops and she tries to save face by chiding, "You're so rude, you've excluded Panda"
"I don't mind" The Ravenclaw sitting behind his turned back breezily hums, busy doing some witchy ritual with her crystals.
Regulus doesn't falter, on the contrary, grows more smug at the faint pink dotting her cheeks as she fires a fierce look around him to the seriously unhelpful pearly haired girl. He edges further forward, hands itching to touch her, lips hungry for something toast crusts can't satisfy, even if they're her toast crusts. Not in the Great Hall. Not now. It wouldn't be the best nor most convincing somewhat relationship launch if she smacks him one for stealing a quick kiss.
"Did you see me, Romie?"
"Yes. You were all sweaty and horrible, my skin crawled" Romie huffs out, considering getting the hell out of there, considering first degree murder when Barty decides to butt in,
"Nah, he's quite fit when he's sweaty"
Regulus' nose twitches a tad, mulling over the use of the degree adverb. Quite. He's more than quite fit, he knows it, Barty knows it. Romie knows it. Otherwise she wouldn't be so delightfully flustered, half glaring at his friend for the unhelpfulness on his part too, half glaring in difference in opinion. Feeling a twinge of sympathy, he reaches out, forefinger fitting to the far side line of her jaw, gently nudging until it's him her glowing eyes are set upon.
Playfully, he flicks the silver star distinct from the gold pieces dangling from her earlobe, mumbling, "Tell Grimblehawk we'll do her Thursday patrol"
"What am I, your owl?" Romie snaps, batting his hand away with one of the fierce scowls that sets his heart on fire.
He basks in the blazing burn, relishes in every last remnant leaving their imprint on his inside walls and cavities. As much as he'd like to say something that'll repeat the motion, he's terribly impatient for that kiss. And the kiss in questions is no scene for anyone fourth year and under. He finally corrects his posture, not to the imposing stance drilled in, but a fairly relaxed upright, urging,
"Come on then. Let's go update the notice board before Charms"
"Is that what it's code for these days?" Evan wonders, making over exaggerated kissy faces at the couple.
Romie carelessly flips him off as she swings her legs over the bench, plucking her loyal tote from Regulus. He just about dodges the punishing swing evilly aiming for the ribs, shooting her a sly look that reads crystal clear he's on to her little games and tricks. It's not as disappointing as Romie expected, forced to hide the betraying twitches of her lips by pivoting on her heels. Regulus is hot on them, stopping in the nick of time to prevent any brutal scrapes when they're brought to stoppage.
Turning back around, Romie peeks over his shoulder to the green velvet robed professor racing after them, heels clicking loud as she impatiently waves a hand,
"Lupin! For the love of Merlin, take that with you or get rid of it!"
Romie's about to ask for clarification, but then Regulus cocks his head in the direction of the table they've hopped up from and the lively red envelope hovering above it. For the love of Merlin indeed. James' howler is still going, after all this time. Her nose crinkles slightly, muttering a very valuable point to the elder witch as pale as the Bloody Baron,
"He wouldn't have sent this if you hadn't snitched on me for snitch—"
Before she could finish her rather pert blame pinning, Regulus casts a spell that hurries up the last sentences in double time and bursts the damn thing up into tiny flames. He grabs Romie's elbow, hurrying her along out the hall as he flashes a tight-lipped smile over his shoulder to McGonagall. They did so well worming themselves out of trouble for incredibly being late to class, it would all be for nothing to earn a detention now.
Out the grand double doors, into the portrait packed hallways, Romie detaches herself free from him, elfishly skipping on ahead, turning down a less crowded corridor. She's anticipating it, the fizzy feeling in her belly proof, but it doesn't moderate the squeal of surprise that leaves her when it happens.
Backward, using the fast track leverage of her bag, she's suddenly snatched, slender arms firmly securing across and around her front. Holding. Holding her so close that her spine's pressed flush against his chest and they have to do some sort of outward-waddling thing to forestall tripping and tumbling to the ground in a messy heap of limbs.
Satisfaction rushes through Regulus' blood-steam when Romie's spell of hearty laughter morphs into an audible hitch of breath, his lips barely grazing the goosebump inducing spot right behind her ear before retreating to mumble,
"You could pass as one of those, you know?"
"What, a howler?" Romie snorts, torn between feeling flattered and insulted at the almost amused puff of air he releases in response,
"Hmm, that too. But I meant a Peruvian Salamander"
Romie can't suss out the tipping scales, too riveted by the nose nuzzling the unduly delicate column of her neck to think straight. She struggles enough as it is when his eyes are on her, she stands no chance when he's all that surrounds her, taking for his own, each of the five senses. Her hands curl up to hold the locking cross of his forearms, hips teasingly pushing back against his as he utters,
"Purple, fire-dwelling. If you were clumped together, I'm uncertain I'd be able to differentiate"
His one of a kind allure fails to withhold a brief eye roll, Romie's voice oozing with sheer sarcasm when she retorts,
"Yes, I've heard i'm widely known for my lizard-like qualities"
Punishingly, Regulus' teeth scrape at her earlobe, pay back for the tongue-in-cheek attitude she embodies day and night. He wouldn't have anything else, in fact he's dyed in the wool positive nothing else will suffice for him. Past, present, future. The irrepressible flames of her fiendfyre curse have devoured him whole, destroyed any prospects of any other involvements. He burns for her, heart, body and soul. He burns for Romie Lupin. Willingly.
When she squirms in his hold, bubbling out
a laughter that's light and carefree and beautiful in every sense, Regulus' heart turns alight beneath his ribs and he very nearly cold-shoulder's the unmistakeable jolly voice calling out to him from behind.
"Regulus, my boy!"
His hand whips up to muffle the loud groan of annoyance emitting from Romie, pinching her side as strict order to behave as he shuffles them around to face the professor doubled over his beer-belly, out of breath. He hobbles forward, wiry eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise to see the package deal in one. That saves him exhaustive another trip.
"Aho, and Romie, my girl! Just the twosome I was hoping to catch. What do you say to a spot of supper a couple days time in my rooms?"
Every muscle in Regulus' body tenses, not having to flicker down to know Romie isn't bothering to hide her obvious aversion. He can practically feel it radiating off her being. The Slug Club. He's inviting them to be members of the Slug Club, collecting them as promising little pawns to leech future fame and glory off. Lily might've looked past it, aiming to see the best of people, Romie's the opposite in that aspect. Especially men. She's had about enough of them.
Which is why Regulus nearly loses a finger or something else that's of a similar shape when he clears his throat, replying cool yet pleasantly,
"Of course, sir. We look forward to it"
We.
Romie practically spits the plural term when Slughorn shambles away, bustling with joy at his great success. Regulus swoops down, bending to peck her cheek as he sighs,
"I know you don't like others speaking for you, but you would've said no"
"Yeah, damn fucking right I would. Arsehole" Romie scoffs, storming off down the hallway without him, hips swaying and hair swishing.
Head tipped all the way back, grey eyes to the ceiling, Regulus swivels around on the spot once before jogging off to catch up with her.
Slim down his chances of joining James in the not getting any club.
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There's going to be quite a lot more of fillers coming up because I want to drag this story out as long as possible, so apologies if you're not a fan of those, but I kind of like them! <33