- 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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Floods of tears had nearly been shedded from Slughorn when the Quidditch pitch was graced with the notable presence of Regulus Black.
Equipped in both the established uniform and coaching commands to whip his team up into shape, hard and fast. The impossible hunt for a replacement instantly terminated, the Felix Felicis about to be guzzled stashed away for safe keeping. Luck was already on their side. Because not only had their first- class seeker returned, also their ingenious captain, eyes already on the prize.
Prizes.
Chewing the inside of his cheek, Regulus peers through the tent's drape openings to the spectator stands a great deal fuller than the last check. He'd like to say the nerves jittering in his stomach were ascribable to the widespread expectation of starting off the new season with a victorious high after ending the last with a disheartening low, but he's trying out this new thing where lying to himself is a big no-no. About his feelings. About—
"She's on her way up there now"
Regulus' shoulders hike to his ears, opposed to the breath he desperately hopes is fresh currently running down his neck. It's only when the unpleasant sensation fades and Evan decides that instead of cementing to his back, he'd join his side, that it's properly registered what he'd said. Informed.
"How do you know?" Regulus mumbles, grey eyes hovering on the section cloaked in the two colours forbidden in his house, pushing on with his search.
Pushing on right up until, whilst chomping away at his routinely pre-game snack, to a degree so great of casualness it's almost irritating, Evan shares,
"Because she just told me. Lovegood and Jones are saving the front row seats. Big fans of ours"
"What? When was this?" Regulus questions, tumbling deep into the well brimming with confusion.
Because as far as he's aware Evan hadn't left the tent since they arrived together well over half an hour ago. He couldn't have seen, talked to Romie outside the tent. But maybe that's it, maybe there wasn't any seeing, talking outside. Technicalities. They're almost as exasperating as Evan Rosier's newfound breeziness.
Almost as exasperating as him in general when he shrugs, "Just now when I snuck her out the back"
Incredulity strikes Regulus in the centre of his chest and he decides that if they weren't minutes away from playing a match he quite fancies winning he'd be sending him out to complete lap after lap until wibbly wobbly jelly replaces his flesh and bones.
"What?! Why didn't you tell me?!" He barks out, his hand lifting to slap Evan's or his own face — he's not confident which.
Evan. The answer, the final decision is one hundred percent, indisputably, to the core, Evan. The blasted blonde haired buffoon that has the cheek to throw out his arms and exclaim,
