꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 41

꧁✧✧✧꧂

𝕽omie winces, shouting an apology to the first year she nearly mowed down in passing.

Another day, another chase down through the castle. Only this occasion, Filch and Mrs Norris weren't the chasers. Romie almost wishes they were, she'd take his wistful talk of students chained upside down and screaming in the dungeons any day over this.

Her eyes light up, spotting her escape, her getaway car up ahead.

Regulus startles, eyebrows vanishing into his hairline when his hand's suddenly ripped away from his book and someone terribly out of breath is worming themself into his robes, stating there's no time to explain. The explanation isn't imperative, baffling puzzle pieces falling into perfect place when, from the same direction, advancing in speedy gallops that rival that of the centaurs deep within the Forbidden forest, the celebrity girl trio of Gryffindor Tower.

Regulus takes back the book into both hands, acting nonchalant and blissfully unaware when, like foreseen, he's called upon.

"Black!"

Slowing down, Lily, Marlene and Mary approach the younger Slytherin loitering around the fringe of the hall. Naturally being the first to catch her breath thanks to the stamina extensive Quidditch training provides, Marlene questions,

"Have you seen Romie anywhere?"

"Who?" hums Regulus, flipping to the next page using nonverbal magic. Just because he can.

Mary smiles, big and wide, describing, "You know, face of a goddess — about yea big — oh, and a sucker for Quidditch guys"

Internally, Regulus smirks, deducing from the forehead that forcefully flumps against the first ridge of his spine that the added detail on the end hadn't been desired. Still, he couldn't help but notice the use of the plural noun, unwanted mugshots of all the school's male quidditch players filling his mind. Something dark and violent claws at his chest, fuelling the language of the response he disguises with his calm and cool tone.

"Oh, you mean the gorgeously fierce lump of mine that just nearly took me out. Oui, I've seen her"

"I bet you have" Marlene snickers rather suggestively, not deterred at all by the jab taken to her ribs. Again, thank Quidditch.

Swaying slightly on her classic Mary Jane attired feet, Mary asks, a hint of hope in her sweet voice, "Well did you see where she went?"

The Slytherin hums again, gaze flickering away from the ink filled pages to who's been remarkably silent throughout this entire exchange. His head tilts, not liking where the brightest witch of the age was studying. His feet. Or rather the pair behind, toes flexed up and digging into his achilles heel. Emerald green meets striking silver, shining with a knowingness that overflows when his shoulders hike up to his ears in reflex.