- 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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"𝕰xams are a load of bollocks, I've decided"
Romie reaches for the cup of coffee Regulus has been nursing, ignoring his disgruntled grumbles and lifting it up to her lips. Before stealing a slurp of the hot, liquid stimulant however, she drawls out,
"Pandora, quick, inform Xenophilius, the whole world must know. Since Evan Rosier has decided it"
The blonde Ravenclaw looks up from the pastel blue tote bag Hestia has recently crocheted to help carry the magazines now gaining popularity, laughing lightly. It's a different reaction to the one Evan has, lips forming an exaggerated pout of hurt when he glances to Regulus, whining,
"Your girlfriend's mean"
"Yeah, but she's pretty and one hell of a kisser so. . ." He trails off, shrugging in a rueful way that fills Evan with an indignation he has to turn to Barty to pity him for.
Romie merely smirks, passing the cup back into her boyfriend's waiting hands, stifling a laugh at how quickly his eyes dart to the warming contents and he drinks a great deal more than he originally bargained for after the first sip. The taste has improved since his last. Massively.
Her hand reaches under the table and rests gently on his knee, stifling something other than laughter when it's sandwiched, the nice tingles in her skin telling her, her knuckles are being stroked. Not for the reason of relieving distress or calming her from a fiery outburst, but simply because he can and knows how much she likes it.
She knocks her plate of leftover crusts in front of him to demolish like most mornings, admitting with a tired sigh,
"They are becoming a pain in the arse. But i'd rather fry my brain now than have to repeat the year"
As dearly as they'll miss Hogwarts and the magical amenities they might've took for granted over the years, the mere idea of another twelve months of this, repeating the same lessons with the same teachers but a different, younger class that know full well you're academically behind sounds like a fate worse than death. The mortification would be impossible to recover from.
"You have zero to worry about. They wouldn't let the Head Girl fail, think of the scandal it would cause" Barty reasonably points out, spooning some scrambled eggs into his mouth.
His danger-addicted eyes remain fixed on the Gryffindor, unperturbed by the intense glare prickling his tattooed skin, nor what she has to say in response. If anything, his lips are twisting at the edges and his slit-shaven brows are waggling.
"I never said I was worried and what about you, Mr I have twelve fucking OWLs to my name? Your success was guaranteed at birth"
"Ah, is that your jealousy showing, Miss Leggy Lupin?" He provokes, snickering at the straight middle finger earned in return.
