- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽omie's sigh is as heavy as her slump onto the deserted bench.
Without thinking much of it, she wraps her coat tighter around herself and lowers into a relieving horizontal position, using her lilac tote as a pillow for her head. It's unideal and not the most comfortable rest in the word, but she couldn't wait any longer. She barely had any patience as it is, and what teeny-weeny bit she did manage to muster up, was wearing thin.
Since arriving back at Hogwarts from Winter break, Romie and Regulus have been busy. And much to their grave displeasure, not with each other. When it wasn't adapting the new patrol schedule, it was helping to organise extra curricular activities, and when it wasn't that, it was knuckling down on the workload that's increased drastically. Listening to many room for improvement complaints and reviewing brand new ideas, bargaining with Peeves and locating lost portrait subjects that decided to go for a wander, their duties seemed endless.
In hopes to get through it all quicker, they decided to equally split the to-do list, completing a handful each, which, props to them, did work. But it means they haven't had a moment alone that's not shovelling food down their throats or succumbing to their exhaustion together. So when Hestia kindly offered to drop by McGonagall's office to inform her Moaning Mrytle's been freaking out the first years again, Romie snatched the opportunity to journey down to the Quidditch pitch.
The Slytherin team practice is still going strong, but merely hearing his voice through every austere shout and pushy demand was enough to satisfy her yearning ache in the mean time. Tiredly, she blinks up at the sky, finding comfort in the light grey overcast many would take one look at and grimace. She's about to close her eyes, savouring the cooling effect of the frigid fresh air when she hears not too far away,
"Want to see a trick that'll blow your socks off, Miss Leggy Lupin?"
"Shoes without socks is a crime" she replies plainly, without moving a single muscle that doesn't factor in her mouth.
Something that she ought to have savoured too instead of taken for granted, because it's over in what feels like a split second, her head rolling and her eyes drifting to dashing blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes hovering in front of the stands. Misapplying the vast intelligence she knows for a fact he has up there, Evan Rosier grins toothily, nodding,
"A yes, then?"
"No" Romie says bluntly, internally cursing when his grin doesn't fade. She knows what that means. He's decided to try and push his luck. Lucky her.
His twitching mouth works open at the corners, but before he has the chance to respond something stupid like he thought she had a thing for crimes and the people who commit them, his immobility and unwanted disturbance is clocked. They may be friends, but the badge on his chest reads Captain. He's in charge of this field and the players on it, what he says goes.
