- 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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽omie lets out a dulcet hum, the rays of sun warming the side of her face.
Steadily, it had risen over Hogwarts, filling the castle's remains with light and life. They had opted out of the mingled outpourings of jubilation, mourning, grief and celebration in the Great Hall, finding the bustling energy a big change from the quiet life they've made for themselves. They couldn't just pick up where they left off, Hogwarts isn't the same place they knew all those years ago and they aren't the same people Hogwarts knew. It was a bit hard to know where they fitted back in, if they wanted to fit back in.
On one of the more flatter boulders from the dusty rubble collected into a mound in the viaduct courtyard, Romie casually sits, her forehead comfortably resting against the relaxed muscles of Regulus' abdomen while he stands over her, idly running his fingers through her fawn waves. It's serene and soothing and the most time they've spent alone together in months. Many moons, it feels like. Not that they would change it for the world, endlessly in love with what they have created together.
They don't jump to separate when they hear a rock scuffle and skip across the ground, Regulus merely twisting his torso to glance over his right shoulder and Romie peering her head around him to the voidness, saying softly,
"Don't mind us, Harry"
A beat of silence, then out of thin air, defiant dark hair sticking up in different directions like the shed feathers from the Owlery and eyes the green of the glittery emerald ring Regulus, to an extent, helped be picked out. That was many moons ago. Not many more than watching James excitedly bounce on his feet, vowing to love, to care, to cherish the redhead glowing ethereally next to him under the flower-woven arch.
Romie wills away the dull ache weighing heavy on her heart, lips quirking a fraction at his evident astonishment,
"How did you know it was me?"
"I can smell a Chudley Cannons supporter a mile away" Regulus quips with a straight face before she has the chance to bluntly refer to the recognisable cloak tucked under his arm, blowing Harry's eyes considerably wider behind his cracked spectacles.
He hadn't broadcasted his favourite team, other than Gryffindor of course, hadn't the space to deck out in huge, colourful posters and fun stickers unless he fancied Big D ratting him out for spoiling the paint on the walls or Uncle Vernon chucking them in the bin for association to the magical world he, for some reason, hates. He scratches his grimy forehead, briefly wondering if he was meeting a born Legilimens.
But then the handsome man that so strongly resembles his late godfather cracks a small, rueful smile, muttering,
"It's in your blood, even the bloody family owl was named after them"
His eyebrows jerk higher on his forehead and Romie can't help sucking in a breath at the glimpse of ivory when his mop of hair moves. His legendary scar. She could only be glad he was a baby, that his memories probably don't stretch to such an early date in his life. Though the appalling experiences forced upon him since then most likely made up for it. She knows not to speak ill of the dead but damn Dumbledore.
