- ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
"You. Me. Hogsmeade. Tomorrow" Romie demands, leaving no room for objection.
Regulus slowly lifts his head from his book, briefly wondering if he's managed to land himself into a similar alternate dimension,
"Come again...
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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽egulus is still recovering from the awful nausea that comes hand in hand with magical transportation when he receives a swat to the arm.
"Yes?! What kind of idiot says 'yes' to going somewhere unknown?!"
Romie swoops in for another swat, both for reasons for idiocy and to knock some bloody sense into because what the fuck. Regulus jumps out of the way of her and her wounding hands, already developing a painful bruise on his bicep from the last. Between this and the physical struggles the night previous, he'll end up worse at the end of the break than he would returning to Grimmauld Place.
"What was I supposed to say?" He bites back, breathing a small sigh of relief when Romie stops her efforts to mutilate him to teeny tiny pieces.
It's a rookie mistake, dismissing his defences and assuming she's finished. Because after she calmly adjusts her rather messy ponytail, she goes back into attack mode, advancing faster than Regulus can dodge, whacking wherever she can with every syllable that growls out from those glossy lips for extra emphasis,
"You — were — supposed — to — say — no!"
Regulus huffed out a big puff, catching her wrists before any more damage can be done, his hands becoming preventive handcuffs. He meets her mighty fierce glare, refusing to acknowledge the things it does to his heart as he argues pointedly,
"They would have skinned me alive if I stayed!"
Romie rolls her eyes, loudly. Whilst she thinks it was pretty brilliant, he had only himself to blame. Making a suggestive, dirty comment like that in front of three fourths of her own personal Secret Service was bound to ruffle a few feathers. Specifically her moon-howler, older brother. She nearly forgets that his freezing cold hands are still clutching her wrists until she hears him muttering thoughtfully,
"Mind you, my chances of survival are probably higher with the three of them in comparison to you"
Her narrowed eyes bore into his, unsure whether to take that as insult or compliment. The decision sways towards the latter, clocking the not so subtle roll of his shoulders, relieving the tension stiff from apprehension. Yeah, a compliment. She wiggles free her wrists from his grip, turning away to hide the traitorous twitch to her lips.
"Fine. Look after this"
Regulus glances downward to examine the object thrusted into his hands, nose crinkling up at the spell shrunken trophy, a polished gold. The emblem of the house of brave lions guffaws victoriously in his face and when he raises his head to profusely thank Romie for the painful reminder of who won the Quidditch cup two years ago, he really shouldn't be surprised to discover she's already taken off towards the shabby cottage metres away. Forever in the lead, keeping him in his place.
