╰┈➤ regulus black x oc
❝every summer ends in the same way: heartbreak, hangovers, and hatred.❞
❝you're just being dramatic, ophelia.❞
☄. *. ⋆ in which ophelia potter's pre-ministry summer holiday in france accidentally turned into a romance that sh...
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martine's definition of fun happened to be parties. they were going to a party.
as far as ophelia was aware, martine had not even been in france for 48 hours, yet she had somehow found a local party, picked out a dress, and had an entire game plan sketched out. it was admirable, to be honest.
"we'll do your history walks and cute tour later." she had said, while shoving a random blue dress she'd gotten for ophelia into her arms.
"where're you going?" james called, when ophelia was attempting to make her way casually out the door.
so by the time ophelia and martine made their way off the villa property at seven o'clock in the evening, they were joined by the overly raucous countenance of james, sirius, and a subdued remus. toulouse was alive at night, the cobbled paths akin to the veins of the town, the people the flowing lifeblood of the summer evening.
the breeze was warm, so ophelia was rather grateful for the fact that she dressed more spryly than she usually was; the only benefits of the blue polyester dress that she had been gifted were that it was cool (temperature wise, the same could not be said for the cut), and it somewhat flattered the slight dip of her slim hips. her hair was down, and she'd had the grace to actually comb it, so it looked less frazzled than usual, the dark brown tresses tucked behind her ears, curling slightly outwards at the ends. she looked quite pretty, as far as she was aware.
"where even is this party?" remus questioned suspiciously, once their little group had made yet another turn down an alleyway that, in the veil of darkness, seemed almost exactly the same as the previous fifteen. martine patted him vaguely on the shoulder in an 'i got this' sort of way.
"i have a friend who lives here, her name is rhys." martine explained, shrugging her shoulders. "she's hosting a party in the garden of a friend's estate. dunno her name."
"so we're going to a party hosted by someone we don't know at an unknown location, then?"
"yes, and?" that quietened him, actually.
low and behold, there was actually a party. what a surprise. it was a rather impromptu one, ophelia assumed, as it was open-aired, surrounded by the stone walls of the property that were lavished in fairy lights and a dosage of english ivy. the delicacies laid out on snack tables were no culinary delight– probably acquired hastily from a pantry cabinet or a quick stop to the local grocer; but there was alcohol, so that made up for it.
there were at least twenty-six other people present, dancing to the music from a brass loudspeaker, which ophelia assumed had to be amplified by magic, because that shit was earbleedingly loud. the atmosphere seemed jovial, however, with the faint laughter dancing on the air, the idle chatter.
