- 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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Warning: Mature Chapter
"𝕳alf giants then"
The noise Regulus promptly lets out isn't a far cry from, well, a cry, at a loss as to why this is a discussion they apparently needed to have.
Romie has an undeniably magnificent mind, worthy of deep admiration, but sometimes Regulus worries about what goes on in there. Specifically when she's deliberating on how some happily accepted half breeds are created.
"If the typical is a witch — yikes. But if a wizard — is it possible to use Engorgio down there?"
Regulus' features screw up when he realises that it's not the aloud musing to no one in particular he initially presumes, but actually a question. A rather disturbing question she is blatantly directing to him. He turns to her, the left side of his face illuminated by the moonlight's sheen,
"How am I supposed to know?"
Romie looks at him as though he's grown an extra three heads, replying in a tone just as obvious as her brief flicker down to nether regions.
"Because you have one"
"What exactly are you trying to insinuate here?" Regulus sniffs, affronted, his strolling steps coming to a sharp halt.
Romie stops too, and she's forced to chew the inside of her cheek to contain her loud laughter at his deepening scowl. A string of delinquent giggles escape when, as he gestures down himself, he takes a nice, long gander, defending passionately,
"Because my one performs perfectly well and is big enough, thank you very much — too big in fact"
She struggles the out of control twitches of her lips, holding out long enough to concur right from the bottom of her heart.
"Yes, Regulus. You're much too big"
The next noise to leave him is a disgruntled sigh, easily detecting her mock and teasing undertones. Incapable of holding back any longer, Romie's amusement finally erupts the second he takes off down the deserted corridor, sulking like a schoolboy. As the celestial clock ticks on, night shrouds the castle, the darkest shade of all hiding his retreating figure from her. Romie doesn't panic. She's grown a fondness for black.
With nothing but his clacking footsteps for guidance, Romie trudges on, taking her sweet time to catch him up. She'd never confess that she did it on purpose, slowed and held back from re-establishing their little pecking order otherwise stuck to at all costs. Because this is her showing her faith, her belief, her trust in him is flourishing. He's good. Good enough to lead, good enough to show her the way, wherever that may be.
She'd never confess she liked him showing her the way, his way, and he'd never confess he knew. He reminds himself to stay strong, not to give in to the big, claimed piece of his heart. But that's the thing, the piece actually counts for the whole thing, and it's flipping, swelling, setting on fire when toasty warm fingers flirt with the cool tips of his. He can practically feel Romie's smile radiating off her, prodding an eye roll and poorly feigned reluctant sigh.
