- 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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𝕺n the cobble path, Romie stands, quiet.
Quiet because she's taking it all in, for what feels like the very first time all over again.
Younger Romie wasn't sure she would reach this point in her life, adamant if Hogwarts wouldn't welcome the brilliance that is her deserving older brother, then they couldn't have her either. They learned to read and write, tell the time and the bunny ears rhyme for tying shoe laces together, learning magic would be no different.
But Dumbledore gave him a chance, and Romie pushed through the hardship, the loneliness, the scariness of the seemingly endless year separation, finding peace in the fact Remus was having the time of his life in the home of magic, that she would join him in the roam of enchanted hallways, tall towers and secret rooms sooner or later. That they would be together again, sooner or later.
Romie was having a hard time finding peace in the fact it's unbeknown there'll ever be a sooner or later again. A together, again.
"Alright, we're good to—"
Regulus turns around, falling silent at the sight of his favourite wild spirit staring stilly at the castle lit up in the dark of night. It's curious, Romie usually charging through emotions so fast that he hardly has the time to attune, to blink before an unpredictable change of mood, sometimes for the tiniest, most trivial of matters. Every detail counts. Hogwarts is tremendously detailed. Detailed in architecture and history and memories that feel so near yet so far at the same time.
He steps closer, feeling his heart purr when Romie's second nature settles her into the support of his firm chest, into the hug from behind, with the tips of her fingers, tracing idle patterns and shapes on the dorsal of the hand straggled across her waist. He dips forward over her shoulder, taking note of the conflicting emotion heavy in her tone,
"I shouldn't care what they will think"
It's extremely rare that she would enable opinions of others weigh heavy on her mind, strong in the belief that the viscous circle of constantly seeking approval and validation only ever leads to the loss of identity and imposter syndrome. She's no pathological people pleaser and learned just as well as the bunny ears rhyme to be confident in her own abilities, confident in her own skin. Yet she couldn't escape the chaotic medley of familiar voices inside her mind, expressing their judgment. One low, gruff, deep voice in specific sticking with her.
He's going to be pissed.
Fair. She's been pissed for a while.
Her nails scrape at the supple skin of his hand, but Regulus makes no effort to stop her. They'll make cute mini versions of the refreshingly raw scratches claiming his shoulders and back. He exhales faintly, replying,
"No, you shouldn't. But you do and that's okay. They're your people, you want them to understand, to love you anyway"
He understands, sometimes more than she does herself, Romie thinks. It's something she used to find scary, afraid he would see right through her and the facade she never thought she'd be able to let go of. Now it's him she's never letting go of and there's no doubtful bone in her body that it wasn't worth the initial fear. She likes who she is with him, the person she can't be around others, likes that it's her truest self.
