- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽egulus pushes his hands into his pockets, feeling around for another peppermint.
Alas, they're empty, devoid of the healthy collection he specifically remembers piling in there this morning. His eyes frost over and he inhales sharply. Confusion doesn't know him, but knowledge does. Knowledge about a certain insufferable witch that immensely enjoys keeping him on his toes. Or a more fitting description, a fearsome fiery eyed Heffalump that likes to steal his nice things.
Jaw wiring tightly shut, he kicks up his stroll to a purposeful stride, ignoring the protests of Evan and Barty when he storms directly through the middle of them, breaking up the little playful punches and shoves that have dominated the trek to the Great Hall. The expression of affection is an odd one, but Regulus can hardly say much, outwitting is evidently a recurring one in his relationship.
No time at all. Standing between the grand double doors that are the entrance to the communal Great Hall, it takes Regulus no time at all to pinpoint fawn brown hair. Yet, his stand lasts significantly longer, polished shoe clad feet immobilised in place. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that it's the sly snakes comprising her waves, cajoling those eyes to turn him to solid stone. But her extraordinary violet isn't settled on him right now.
Instead, what has her lovely long legs swung over the bench wrong way, knees parted a margin to welcomingly fit the petite frame fidgeting pitifully in between. The petite frame of a girl, no older than the memorable age Regulus first took notice of Romie Lupin and how she makes purple her personality in the aim of distracting from the freakish shade of her eyes. First year.
The girl had to be the youngest possible age Hogwarts inducts, because she looks so tiny standing between the knees of his girlfriend, her dark, curly head just about scraping the top of Romie's sitting down. She's rambling as fast as her little mouth can go, words no doubt choppy and messy and practically a one, big gasp that's borderline unintelligible, incredibly hard to follow.
Romie's managing to follow just fine, nodding encouragingly when she abruptly holds her tongue, a flush the same colour as the tie that might as well be touching her toes, burning her cherub cheeks, like she believes she's talking too much. And while Regulus is itching to approach, earn a closer look or somehow involve himself in whatever this is, the condition he currently finds himself in isn't an appropriate sight for a first year.
A bump, sudden and strong, from behind sends him launching into the main aisle of the hall, recovering early enough to hear the familiar snickers and ringing noise of palms slapping together. Recovering too late for his presence to go unnoticed. Over his right shoulder, he glares darkly at his traitorous best friends, taking it down a notch for the revert back forwards, where both Romie and the first year are blatantly staring at him.
Willing himself to be the opposite of what he is on the inside, cool and composed rather than hot and bothered, he strides the rest of the way, quickly folding his hands in his lap as he perches down on the bench next to them. Or well, next to Romie, who's slowly ripping her awfully analysing eyes away from him to focus on the girl once again.
