꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 96

꧁✧✧✧꧂

"𝖂here did you disappear to last night?"

Remus scribbles a lame excuse for a circle around a job vacancy from the column he's sifting through, absently answering on behalf of the freewheeling coterie,

"Home"

"What, all of you? Just decided on a whim without mentioning it?"

Amber eyes rimming with exhaustion lift from the page, boring into the violet purple that's way too testing for the slow, lazy day mutually agreed on. Surprise, surprise, his little sister's defying the restful mood. Even Regulus is complying, afloat a tranquility so fine his presence could easily be forgotten. Remus couldn't forget, not when he's using his sister's lap as a heavenly pillow for his head, her fingers a massager for his hair.

"Whims aren't out of character for us" He justifies, his tone final and leaving no room for any more discussion.

Romie hums, purposefully loud and long drawn out, indicating that she'll see about that. Her gaze wanders to the exploding snap game occurring in middle of the living room floor, narrowing suspiciously at the glaringly obvious efforts of the inseparable duo avoiding catching eyes at all costs. If only Peter wasn't visiting his fussy mum, one millisecond intense stare and Romie could have him spill not only his, but everyone's deepest, darkest secrets.

James squirms uncomfortably in his spot
and not because he's fearful of his eyebrow being singed from the game. There's other explosions to fear more. Hotfoot, he smacks down a card on the pile, grinning at his best friend for the clean round. Any minute now.

"Maybe we didn't want to hear you and Reggie shagging" He shrugs, reaching out and dunking Sirius head forward into the pile just in case.

Grunts for all kinds of different reasons rumbled out from all different corners, effusing into the delicious sugar cookie smelling air, a criminal amount of testosterone. Romie's nose twitches and her nostrils flare on their own accord, destroying that excuse in a matter of seconds,

"We didn't shag"

"A time-turner for Christmas will be much appreciated"

The languid words of a suggestive nature break Romie out of her effortlessly winning stare-down, enabling a cracked around the edges, endangered James to collect himself together, wipe away the beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead. Playing on the current position, Romie gives a tug, just an innocent teeny tiny one, to the black curl twisted around her finger, arching a brow at the pale eyes shooting lightning fast to her own. 

He whispers something under his breath, a profanity Romie guesses, knows to be true at the unmistakable heat trespassing on the tips of her fingers, covertly curving around the tips of his ear. She inwardly smirks to herself when he forces his focus back on the potions book Monty granted him to borrow from his study, throat bobbing.