- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
"𝕲o on"
Romie's nostrils flare, briefly wondering if the glass casements bordering Slytherin's common room are properly sealed and unbreakable. That way, when she tosses Evan Rosier into the Black Lake, he won't be able to worm himself back in. Back to them. Who's she kidding, the git's as smart as he is pesky. Really fucking pesky.
"You know you want to" He sings songs, smile toothy and eyebrows waggling.
His hopes aren't dashed from the potent glare he receives in return, familiar enough with Romie Lupin to know he has a couple more pushes until the cut-throat, dooming danger siren ringing level is reached.
His determination is unwavering, the old and frayed Sorting Hat root of the outbreak of contagious head lice amongst first years didn't cry out Slytherin house all those years ago based solely off his remarkably good looks.
Although it seems they're letting anyone in this day and age considering Severus Snape proudly wore the green serpent emblem on his chest for seven years. Thank Merlin his time here has now expired and Evan doesn't have to worry about being put off his dinner if his gaze happened to stumble across the notorious greaseball.
The unpleasant image his memorable mind kindly painted fades away, for Romie's firmly standing her ground,
"For the last pissing time, no!"
Fiercer, her glare becomes. Toothier, his grin becomes. This wasn't going to be the last time. They both knew that. Nearby in their somewhat little huddle, Hestia is forced to bite down on her index knuckle to prevent herself from heartily smiling and laughing.
Because the victim of Romie's brutal glare is no longer Evan Rosier. And in a measure so prompt it's breaking all the records, the new victim abandons their reading place up until now no one stood a chance against, slowly connecting to said glare. One sweep, that's all it takes. One sweep of flaming violet, in one teeny tiny millisecond is what it takes for Regulus Black to plainly announce,
"What Romie said"
Smugness oozes from the Gryffindor's aura, now the one doing the infamous eyebrow flash right in the face of an awfully affronted Evan.
He scoffs, insisting, "He's only saying that because he wants to get out of your bad books and back into your good books!"
Fair. That was a fair assessment, Regulus hasn't exactly been the most discreet with his progressive attempts to earn himself back in Romie's good graces. Prove her wrong. A total of fourteen hours they've been back in the castle, and in the space of those fourteen hours, she hasn't opened a single door herself. Nothing too big, but not nothing either. Simple, little things.
Not too worried the support will switch up, Romie turns to Regulus, explaining, "He's after the password to our quarters"
Optimistic, Evan straightens out his posture and freshens his grin, obviously expecting his friend to do what goes without saying. Help another dear friend out. Oh, poor sweet, deluded Evan.
