- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕬 smirk plays on Romie's lips, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on the v shape of her hands.
Sure, she couldn't exactly use her aim as a weapon, hand-eye coordination not a skill she was born with or picked up in the years gone by, but she had something else up her sleeve. Something else that, in her humble opinion, is far more useful, more valuable. Entertaining.
Watching Sirius Black, brave lionheart and dauntless Auror in training, hesitate and fidget under the beautifully lethal weapon that is her unwavering stare, is nearly as entertaining as the time she dropped off Evan and Barty outside Madame Puddifoots frilly and bow central Tea Shop for a sweet as sugar date. Silently, he rolls the marble back and forth between his fingers, doing an occasional hand swap when clamminess foretells a slipperiness that could cost him the game. And smelling fragrant.
"You're running out of time, Sirius"
An indignant cry bursts out of him, though shutting up promptly when Romie swings her leg out and gives the back of his knee a brutal kick. Cautiously, they both glance around to the Remus sized lump taking up well over majority of one of the comfortable couches, relief washing over them when a resounding snore rattles through the living room.
From where she's squeezing on the end, Mia smiles fondly over her steaming cup of tea, placing a motherly hand on the odd socked feet planted untidily on her lap. Massaging the tender soles, sore and still recovering from running miles and miles nonstop a couple night's prior.
Dispelled from the fear he's been woken up before he's ready, Sirius twists his torso and diverts his gaze to the older wizard perched in the armchair nearby, insisting,
"What do you mean I'm running out of time! There is no time limit on this game!"
Monty shrugs a shoulder and flips the page of the newspaper he's reading for the very first time. The Quibbler was different than what he was used to, containing a good variety of peculiar yet insightful theories he never would have thought of himself rather than last week's professional Quidditch scores.
He wouldn't stop his Daily Prophet subscription altogether as of yet, but would happily add the monthly tabloid to the delivery Chudley brings him through the kitchen window. How could he not when Romie and Regulus and their gracious blonde friend rejoiced at his shown interest.
"Did I say you? Sorry, I meant me. I'm running out of time and I'd like to see your face be squirted with that foul-smelling liquid before it's up"
Betrayal marks Sirius' face, rumples his eyebrows and drops his jaw to the woollen rug he and Romie have set up on. No quieter than the first, the betrayal stinging too bad to consider lowering his volume, he cries out again,
"Dad! You're supposed to be on my side! I'm your son!"
He shrugs again, saying simply, "I've got plenty of those. I've only got two daughters"
