꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 35

꧁✧✧✧꧂

𝕿he grassy route to the Quidditch pitch feels longer than Romie remembers.

She's picked up a slight jog, overly conscious of the tiny grains of sand already lost to the lower half of the hour glass. Time ticking on, ticking away. Waiting however long for him to come to her wasn't written in their cards, not this time. For once, Romie's the one needed to make the extra effort, to do the grovelling, to come crawling back. And by the looks of it, it's going to be exactly how it would if the roles were reversed. The opposite of an easy ride.

Because Regulus Black's face is a storm, not a single speck of clear blue skies in sight. All harsh lines and sharp angles. If it wasn't for time, for Romie being on the receiving end, wholly accountable she may have taken a moment to appreciate the sight. The rather sexy sight. She can't stop the tingles in her spine when he soars across the sky, weaving between the teammates he's collapsing the huge ego's of in one bite.

One by one, they slowly descend, nearly flaking out as soon as they touch ground. A strenuous, gruelling practice then. Perfect. Romie scurries forward when the sweaty, defeated boys disappear into the changing tents, leaving just two. Regulus irately chucks away the equipment, appearing milliseconds away from throttling Evan Rosier as he talks off his ear, chirpy as ever.

It's him that notices Romie's presence first, the dimples in his cheeks taking shape the second their eyes meet. Smirking or smiling, Romie doesn't know for sure, doesn't care, she's not here for blonde hair and blue eyes. He raises his hand, grubby from the quaffle, wiggling fingers in a sort of wave she imagines evil predators and groomers do to greet underage children.

"Hello, Miss Leggy Lupin"

Before she can say or do anything, Regulus is expelling a violent, irritated puff of air coming deep from his bones, snarling,

"I told you to quit that. I'm not falling for it anymore"

Evan's eyebrows raise high on his forehead, yet he doesn't defend himself, doesn't respond at all. It's not his turn to talk. It's hers.

"Anymore? How many times did you fall for it before now?"

Regulus straightens, immediately turning around to see the girl the familiar voice belongs to. Fifteen. That's how many times he's fallen for it before now, the majority fuelled by hope, not gullibility. Any traces of surprise and delight are gone as quickly as they surface, his mind reminding his heart he's angry. Livid.

"Not many. After-all, we're talking about the girl that thinks the world revolves around herself" He remarks, reaching down to pick up the whistle thoroughly used this training session.

He doesn't spare another glance in her direction, hauling up the case of enclosed apparatus and making his way over to the storage shed to put it away. Evan takes that as his cue to leave, offering Romie two finger guns and a toothy smile as he backs away, giggling to himself. Sighing, she trails after him, destroying the fired stubbornness trying to overthrow the good, the rational.