꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 38

꧁✧✧✧꧂

𝕽omie smiles from where she watches Hestia and Amelia happily dance.

She's taken up refuge on the shadowed outskirts of the room, having fled front and centre once spotting the serious faces of the two main chiefs of her personal Secret Service steadily approaching. The drinks certainly weren't in short supply and Romie's had her fair share, the very last thing on her list of wants is a stern lecture.

And frankly, she's not one hundred percent confident she'd succeed holding back what the entirety of the Universe is desperate to spell out to Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.
Watching the ruddy faced, drunken teenagers, high on cloud nine, sway, bump and grind on the makeshift dance floor was harmless. Safe.

And a phenomenal distraction technique, Romie's hardly thought about the tight pressure of her throat as her skin darkens to a shade similar to her top. Or the cataclysmic mouth responsible still in the same room, the same planet. Hardly at all.

Her smile twists into a smirk as Hesita approaches, splitting away from her girlfriend.

"Having fun?"

The radiant Hufflepuff needn't to answer, glowing flush doing the job for her. She pants a full beam, chocolate eyes skipping over her friend, widening at what has her not double, triple taking at her throat.

"Yes, but I don't think I'm the only one. Helga, Romie" She breathes, leaning in to properly inspect the bruising mark. Even in the dim, red lighting it's distinctively obvious.

Romie lightly nudges her away, brushing off, "It's nothing. I bet half of the population in here have atleast one"

Hestia's nose twitches, unable to argue with that. The second part, she could probably find something to say about the first half if she deemed necessary. Romie's a big girl, a smart girl, at this stage, Hestia has no major worries, happy to stand back and support her best friend acting like the dopamine-craving teenage girl she is. Besides, she had no room to talk, no she wasn't included in that half of the population yet, but the glint in Amelia's eyes upon departure indicated that may not be the case for much longer.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she scans the jam-packed lion den, seeking out the thief of her heart. Something terminates the scan before completion, however, Hestia's hand at once reaching out to notify Romie. Over her shoulder, the Gryffindor tilts down, chasing the thin line of view to what's stopped her still. Ah, of fucking course.

Vanilla curls, cherry lips.

She's not in his lap, but may as well be, spilling off the arm of the chair he's moved his forearms off. The sole thing that's preventing Romie from storming over there and showing exactly what she has to offer is the total lack of regard to her extensive efforts of seduction. She's pulling out all the stops, using every line, every charm, every trick in the book and yet Regulus is giving nothing. Not even non-committal nods purely out of courtesy. Nothing.