- 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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𝕾leep didn't come easy the first night of the holidays.
Usually, Romie's full of delight to have back a bed double the comfort and size than hers at Hogwarts, at the cottage her childhood was spent in. Yet she couldn't shake off the feeling it was too big, too empty. She had half a mind to build a solid barrier of pillows right down the centre, just to give the effect someone was on the other side. He was on the other side.
Add on the shadows of matted fur, vicious claws and bloodthirsty canines lurking unceasingly behind her eyelids and Romie was more than ready to get up when the sun does. Lazily, she rolls into the untouched sheets, crisp and cold, and stretches, spindly arms bending overhead and freshly painted toes curling over. Orchid. The latest colour of choice had been a vibrant orchid.
She roots through her drawers much neater than she remembers leaving them for something to throw on over the flimsy t-shirt and shorts slept in, growing rigid when she spies a spot of dark colour not included in her common colour palette. Material that's more upmarket than the easy to wear and tear knit she's used to. She shouldn't. It's almost a pity Romie doesn't care much for 'should's and shouldn't's' any more.
As the Marauders often say for their own benefit, finders keepers. It's Romie's find, soft and warm and covers up everything it needs in order to prevent any unwanted flashes to the manor's outnumbering male population. She quietly tiptoes out of her room, along the landing and down the stairs, disinclined to wake the cranky pants that is her older brother. It's his time of the month.
Romie isn't surprised the colourful kitchen isn't vacant, but the same couldn't be said for who's making it so, pottering around. She ventures further in, ducking under and into the sturdy arm reaching for the cabinet home to the mugs, incapable of resisting a smile when she hears,
"Morning, trouble"
"Considering who's currently here, I think I give trouble a good name" She declares, scoffing quietly at the sceptical hum earned in return.
Romie's an angel compared to the boys, or atleast whilst she's in the presence of who she is. But that's the thing, in the manor, angels are strictly forbidden. Trouble and mischief is the rite of passage to the Potter family. Romie knows that, Monty knows that. She's too much a family member to give trouble a good name. She's too much of a family member to stand back and allow him to make all three hot drinks himself.
Into the left and middle mugs, she adds the contents and pours the boiling kettle water to the level where the splashes of milk are added. Leaves the favoured mug graced with flowers the colours of a summer sunset untouched. He likes to make Mia's tea. He knows how she likes it best. Romie follows him to the back door, pretending to be stuck for the couple of moments it takes Mia to thank him, pressing a doting kiss to his lips.
Her smile when bringing the steaming cup to her lips is irrefutably precious and Romie feels an honour like no other. Because it's not every day one's able to glimpse such a strong, healthy love before their very eyes. She certainly didn't have that growing up, it feels important to see its value. Recognise it.
