- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕿omorrow and the subsequent week.
Anger became Romie's signature perfume, charging the air she strutted, leaving an unmistakeable mark that forewarned others from getting close enough to take a proper whiff. Potent stuff. Nearly as potent as the raging flames consuming her especial irises, searing through anything, everything they flickered on for a mere trice. Anger became Romie's signature perfume, and Regulus could not get enough of it.
Around her straight collar, his grey jumper clad arm blissfully rests, elbow perched on one shoulder, settled on the other, his virile hand. Attentive collar bone strokes were off the table, probably for the best, the DADA classroom wasn't the best scene for such an incredibly easy to get carried away from pally touchiness. Romie's practically sharing his chair, leaning her upper body weight against the open angle of his side as they, plus their gathered merged pack, brazenly watch the orange flames kiss the hovering letter black.
An almost maniacal smile grows on Barty's face, incited eyes remaining on the bolshie display when he regards the unapologetic girl responsible,
"It's times like this I remember why I'm friends with you"
"You're friends with me because we both share a burning passion for despising your dad" Romie retorts, accommodating the second arm folding around her, this one fixing its lock pleasantly across her bust.
At the mention of the Ministry workaholic he has the great displeasure of sharing name, sharing blood with, a droplet of darkness colours Barty's expression, instigating the inevitable grimace morph. Aiming to lighten the mood, Evan gives a playful bump to his boyfriend's shoulder using his own, joking,
"What's a dad?"
Silence envelops them, Hestia and Pandora exchanging rather awkward glances as the four emptily stare back and forth between themselves. The Hufflepuff quietly clears her throat, but it's not her who then speaks. Romie knows so because she's able to feel the faint voice's steady vibrations through the iron weld of her back. Hestia's twelve o'clock, not six.
"Monty. A dad is Monty"
The spoken conviction warms the inside of her chest, a warmth different to the raging hot lava that's been outpouring endlessly for days. A soft warmth, a mellow warmth. He's identifying Monty Potter as a father figure, the close-knit dad he never had, and she couldn't be happier. For him, for Monty. She knows how highly the successful potioneer by day, quidditch fanatic by night values Regulus. How much he loves having him under his roof. Even if he supports the wrong team.
Perhaps parents are no longer a sore spot, a hot button for them, perhaps there's been a replacement. Siblings. Brothers in specific. Romie finds her fierce scowl re-emerging at the thought, speeding up the letter setting fire process with a single flick of the wand. Hestia rears back in her chair at the strong burst, the final sound a lot harsher on the ears than the almost reposeful crackles.
