- 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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𝕹ormal muggle deaths, that's what they announced.
According to the newspapers, Lily's parents died normal muggle deaths in the sanctuary of their home, whatever that means. She knew better, her non magical older sister Petunia knew better. They hadn't been well in their years, hadn't been battling sickness, hadn't out of the blue dropped dead within days, hours, minutes of each other. Too coincidental. Magic had to be involved, dark, evil, unforgivable magic.
Naturally, Lily was distraught, completely beside herself when, in addition, bitter Petunia refused to allow grief to unite them as a force to be reckoned with, instead pinning the entire blame on her younger sister. Telling her not to bother coming home, she's not welcome. It had taken some gentle convincing from James to disregard Petunia's grief fuelled words, reminding that the return is simply to pay her respects to her parents, do something lovely to commemorate them.
The pair of them had taken their leave shortly after, staying at the open-armed Potter Manor in the meantime until further arrangements are made. Monty and Mia immediately offered their services to help, their big, warm hearts feeling terribly for the suffering girl far too young to be experiencing the awfulness that is loss. She's not the only one, across the country, a great bundle of muggles, muggleborns and halfbloods are facing the exact same thing.
Attacks were doubling, deaths were tripling. More than just the front cover pages of the Prophet spoke of the black, bold words that install fear in all readers. It was inescapable, every corner turned, whispers of death were there, creeping into the minds of those with much to lose. Everyone had everything to lose. Except the silver spoons responsible for the losses, following their power hungry leader blindly.
Anyone somewhat linked to the house where the robes are silver and green automatically were deemed incriminated in the eyes of the fear ridden, grief stricken students of Hogwarts. Partially the reason for the distance Romie's been setting between her and the rest.
Across the common room from where she's quietly minding her own business, over the head cap of his book, Remus steadily watches. Her back's to the room, squashy armchair swivelled around to face the night sky smiling through the arched window. A specifically location that's become a haunt, Remus would know, he's barely left his own, decided to keep a close eye just in case.
He grunts when a bony body that's evidently not been laying off the treats collapses on top of him, sprawling in a manner that distinctly says dog. No other way around it. Sirius grins boyishly, without a single ounce of shame, rubbing his freshly showered self all over Remus, lapping up his lovely syrupy reaction to either the heavenliness of his lasting products or the striking wet style of his hair. Either or both is perfectly fine with him.
