- 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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𝕾irius and Remus' flat was a dead ringer for a certain stamping ground.
Minus a roaring lion emblem engraved into every wall and an oil portrait of a shrieking, wine enthusiast nicknamed the Fat Lady, Romie felt as though she was lounging in the Gryffindor Tower. She has a tingling suspicion Sirius was behind the legendary colour scheme and meaningless trinkets, clinging on to the first place he felt a sense of belonging. A sense of home.
Given the uneven money share of the place, Remus didn't think he was any position to argue, simply glad to have a roof over his head he partially funds. And even if mild objections were made, Sirius Black would get Sirius Black's way eventually. Remus is weak for the puppy dog eyes.
The bulging bookcase was most likely his sole domain ask, something Sirius wouldn't bat an eyelid about. A waste of precious time that could be spent pranking or rock and rolling, in his opinion. Foxed books Romie remembers stacked in the corners of their shared childhood bedroom now have space to call their own, organised not in alphabetical, colour or liking scale order, but chronological publication date. Weirdo.
Romie abandons her criticising before she takes the initiative to fix it properly herself, moving on to the busy mantle piece. Busy not from Sirius' meaningless trinkets, but photographs. Photographs from school days, photographs from earlier than school days. Remus and Romie in particular, not Sirius, thank Merlin. Front and centre action shots of the Cruciatus Curse being blasted doesn't exactly scream home sweet home.
A smile creeps onto her lips, not needing to count to cotton on to the abundantly clear outnumbering. The Marauders might've ruled the Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts as a whole, but the same couldn't be said for the mantle piece. That position of prominence is entirely Romie's, like the child of a proud parent. She might've never made the desk belonging to her dad at work, but she's made Remus' equivalent and that's really something.
"Come on, Mon tasse de thé. It's not like it's Diagon Alley or anything"
At the sound of Sirius' slick tones of persuasion and Remus' stubborn grumbles, Romie spins around, her back now to what's been filling her with joy. Front facing the pair quarrelling like an old married couple now emerging from the narrow hallway that leads to the bedrooms. It didn't take an idiot to solve the mysterious reason for said quarrel, the familiar accessory secure in Sirius' grip staring her right in the face.
"Just bring the sodding cane, Remus-John" She sighs, unfazed by the glare shot in her direction and the immaturity infused in it.
"You bring the sodding cane"
Snatching the opportunity dangling ever so temptingly in front of her, Romie plasters on a smile, cocks her head and points out sweetly,
"My anatomy doesn't exactly equal walking cane need though, does it?"
