Romilda Vane

Romilda Vane & Michael Corner Moodboard 1/?

Michael joined Romilda on his couch, choosing the far seat where her claws were least likely to reach him. They weren’t joking or flirting so he couldn’t snap back that yes she would hex him. Because she would and had. Not the time. He listened, a frown growing on his face as she spoke. He hadn’t heard shit about Romilda in school. Except for her trying to give Harry a love potion. This dead mom bit was news to him. “You got her worse.” He reached out to wipe some of the blood away, giving her a confused look. “Have some bandaids, I think.”

He stood up, heading back into the kitchen a bit too quickly. Michael hadn’t thought about death much since seventh year and the year of recovery that took him out of Hogwarts after. It used to be something consistently on his mind, couldn’t fucking live in that castle without it coming up. And it had touched every single person he knew. Rom wasn’t supposed to bring up serious subjects. That’s not at all what they were doing. If he had the head for serious, he’d go visit Lisa. He didn’t want to be drunk off his arse and thinking about that year. Or death or any of it. He wanted to be losing himself in fun and bullshit. Searching his cabinets, he called back to Romilda. “You want a washcloth or a tissue?”

Romilda wiped at her cheek, she had better not have a fucking scar on her face, or she would go back and kill the girl on principle. “Yeah well she deserved it” she snipped, watching him as he wiped away some of the blood. She’d patched him up once or twice after a drunk fight, but she never had expected the roles to be reversed even slightly. “Bandaids? You’re a professional quidditch player and you don’t have a first aid kit?” she said as he left for the kitchen. 

“Washcloth.” she called back, looking at her hands and turning them over, they were a little bruised already, she really had let loose on the girl. She didn’t remember exactly the damage she’d done, just the feeling of rage that had come over her. That was probably the alcohol. If she hadn’t been drinking would she have risen to the bait? Probably. Romilda’s mother was the thing that got to her every time. Mummy issues didn’t even begin to cover it. She felt weird sharing with Michael, they didn’t share, they didn’t get emotional, it was one of their unspoken rules. But she did owe him some kind of explanation as to why she had to be pulled off the girl. She started speaking before he came back into the room, it would be easier to start not looking at his face “My mum was obsessed with her beauty. She was beautiful, but she wanted to be adored for it, wanted to be somebody everyone wanted to be. She was always so picky about how I looked too. Said I had my dads nose, so I got it fixed when I was in third year. But- in the holidays before Fourth year- She’d started to brew potions, her own version of beautification potions, ones that lasted longer, she was trying to make them permanent. She was never happy with it though. Then one afternoon she-” Romilda had to stop, the lump in her throat stopping any words from coming out, and her eyes had started to prick with tears again. Fucking emotions. Fucking alcohol, she blamed the alcohol. 

If Hannah had been the one drinking, she probably would have coughed when Romilda told her what she wrote about. A deep flush highlighting her cheeks, the blonde replied, “Oh.” Hannah had no experience on the subject, so she’d be of no help. Her interest in wiping the countertop of the bar grew and eventually, she replied, “Sorry. I don’t have anything to offer in that category.” 

Romilda grinned at Hannah’s reaction. She would have guessed that would be her reaction. She should have put some kind of bet on it. “No?” she asked, pouting a little “Nothing to help my writers block?” she leant forward a little on the bar, resting her elbows, and placing her chin in her hand. “Cmon Han, you’re gorgeous. You’re telling me you’re not seeing anyone at the moment?”

*

Katie hugged Romilda tightly, a smile on her face. It had been a while since they’d seen each other and she blamed it mostly on her busy schedule with quidditch and then the symptoms that she’d had from the early days of her pregnancy. “Cake!” Katie exclaimed happily, before taking the box from Romilda. “Thank you. Of course I can have cake. Just no alcohol or sushi,” she answered with a small laugh. “I can’t have wine, but do you want a glass? I have some in the cabinet that I could use getting rid of.” 

“Cake!” Romilda grinned, handing the box over and closing the door behind her as she stepped into the apartment. It was nice being able to drop in like this, of course she’d still seen Katie when she lived back in Ireland, but it was so much easier being in the same city, rather than organising an international floo. “No sushi? Katie how are you surviving?” she asked, with a little more seriousness in her voice than was probably normal. No sushi? There was another reason she wasn’t having kids anytime soon. “Sure, I’ll have a glass. I’ll never say no to that.”

Romilda Vane & Lisa Turpin Moodboard 1/?

Romilda Vane and Gabrielle Delacour Moodboard 1/?

Michael caught her fist in his hand, glaring down at her. “Don’t hit my fucking back. I don’t care how fucking miffed you are. Shit’s off-limits.” She knew better than to mess with him there so something really must be up. “Not letting you go so you can go commit a murder. Even if it would be fucking funny to watch.” What wouldn’t be funny would the aurors getting called or her getting hauled away for good. Then who would he spend his time with. “Hey! Hey. Wait a fucking minute. Merlin, I’m working on it.”

Making a not so good, alright fucking stupid, decision, Michael wrapped his arms around here and apparated them back to his flat. He knew better than to do that when he was drunk but there was no way in hell he was letting Romilda back into that house to use their floo. She’d run off and commit a fricken crime. And then Michael would be the one stuck hiding a body. 

He stumbled away from her, hand resting on his kitchen island to stabilize himself. “You good?” Apparating while drunk always left him dizzy. Michael turned away from Romilda, not imaging she wanted him to see how emotional she was getting and not wanting to deal with it himself. He grabbed them both glasses of water and put them down on the island between them. “You want to talk or are you gonna hex me if I ask you that?”

Romilda had shut her eyes tightly when Michael put his arms around her. Whether he was just trying to comfort her or he was going to get them out of there, she didn’t care, she just took a deep breath and put her arms around him. Right now he was the only thing standing between her and prison and she really should try to listen to him, no matter how angry she was. 

She held tightly as they snapped and suddenly were his apartment, they broke apart and Romilda had to take a few steps to steady herself, grabbing onto the couch. “Yeah.” she mumbled, thankful that Michael had turned away so she could wipe the tears that had made their way down her cheek while she pulled herself together. She and Michael didn’t talk about emotions, not like that, the most they’d done was cuddled in silence, no sex, on some of the particularly bad days. But he asked, and she sort of felt like she owed him an explanation for why she’d completely lost it. She rolled her eyes “I’m not going to hex you. You don’t deserve it. She did.” But how did she explain it? There was no sugar coating what Mary had said. 

Romilda picked up the glass and took a sip to try and combat the lump in her throat. “Did you hear the rumours about my mum, the very start of fourth year? or sixth year, for you.” she asked, that was probably the easiest way of talking about it. “She died that summer, but the papers never said what from so people started guessing.” Romilda brought a hand to her cheek but pulled it away when she felt something wet, surely she wasn’t still crying, but no. It was blood “Fuck.” she hissed, pulling out a compact mirror from her pocket and opening it, she had a cut on her cheek “Bitch must have been wearing a ring.” She looked to Michael, the first time she’d look him in the eyes since they got to the apartment “Wheres your first aid kit?”

*

Tonight had been a slow night. Hannah wondered where Ernie was and why he wasn’t there to keep her company with his incessant gossip. When Romilda sat down, she perked up slightly. At least it was someone to talk to for a bit. “Oh, no. That sounds awful. What are you writing about?” Hannah asked curiously, leaning against the bar. 

Romilda took a sip of her drink and let out a sigh “Sex.” she said plainly, intregued as to what Hannah’s reaction would be. People all had different reactions to what she wrote, some were interested, some were scandalised, it was like a game to Romilda now to guess how someone would react. “An relationships, but mostly sex.”

Leaning against the wall, a rarity for the man that prefered to be in the thick of it, Michael brought his cup to his mouth. His wild enjoyment over Romilda starting shit with someone that wasn’t him was still palpable despite the cup blocking most of his face. ‘Gossip Rag’, he mouthed, reminding himself to use it in the future. She’d hate that but Michael would use whatever riled her up. 

He let out a cheer when Romilda made a move on the girl, joining some of the others in crowding around the two girls as they fought. They had lost. He deserved some quality entertainment that wasn’t him. Though he couldn’t say he wasn’t a little bit jealous he was getting some of his post-game aggression out.

Michael wasn’t sure when he realized something was up with Rom. It might have been her face that tipped him off or maybe it was the viciousness that she was showing, he couldn’t say. But the warning bells were going off and his fucking conscious wasn’t letting him push it aside for the sake of a show. Rom had calmed him down before, pulled him away when he was going a step too far. He couldn’t let her keep going. 

Tossing his empty cup to the ground, Michael pushed his way to the front of the ever growing crowd and stared at the scene for a moment. He took his chance, grabbing Romilda by the waist and pulling her backwards off the other girl. Fuck, she looked rougher than he had expected and he had definitely taken someone’s fist to the face. “Hey! Take it easy, yeah? You won. Time to lay off. We’re going.” He wasn’t quiet, even though he tried to be, as he shouted in Romilda’s ear to be heard over the music and her temper. Picking her up, Michael tried to get her settled over his shoulder the best he could as he made there way away from his drunk teammates and ex-flings and fucking fans and to the door. He didn’t dare let go of her ‘til they were outside and the door to his teammate’s house was slammed securely behind them. Keeping his hands tightly on her waist, Michael squinted down at her. Trying to figure out what the hell had happened back there. “You still in there or you just full of jungle juice and rage now? You wanna tell me what the fuck that shit was about? You trying to kill that girl?”

It was as though something took over in Romilda. She had always been good at duelling, but she’d so rarely had an actual physical altercation with someone that she didn’t realise how hard she was going. All she knew was that this girl deserved it. She pushed Mary’s hands off her, the other girl trying and failing to get a grip on her, or push Romilda away. Either way Romilda was filled with so much rage at that fucking comment all she wanted was to make the girl regret ever speaking. 

She felt someone grab her waist and she flicked her head to see who it was, She almost laughed when Michael yelled in her ear. Yeah she fucking won. But she wasn’t finished. “Let me go!” She snapped back at him, trying to wriggle out of his hands and letting out a frustrated yell when he placed her on his shoulder. “Put me down! Let me go!” she continued to say, even hitting his back with her fist for good measure. 

Then they were on the street, Romilda was back on her feet, and it was far more quiet. The music from the party now slightly dulled through the closed door and windows. She tried to push Michael’s hands off her, she wanted to go back in there and finish what she’d started. Romilda scoffed at his words, angrily pushing some hair out of her face “Yeah maybe I was. Let go of me!” she quipped, then looked past him back to the door “I’m going to rip her fucking tongue out!” she yelled back to the house, , all worked up on adrenaline, alcohol, and emotion, maybe Mary would hear it. Romilda tried to think about her mother as little as possible. It hurt too much. So for someone to weaponise her like that, someone who knew exactly what had happened and not just that Romilda’s mother was dead. It had snapped a string in her brain. Now there was quiet and her mind was slowing down, the fury was subsiding so the real feelings started to come through. She swallowed to try and get rid of the tightening in her throat. “She made a comment about my-” the tight throat was not going away and now she felt her eyes starting to tear up “I can’t talk about this here.” she shook her head. There were people on the street smoking or chatting, Romilda would rather die than cry in public.

It hadn’t been a good fucking game. It’d been a shit one. Their main keeper was out, leaving Kenmare with their reserve and the Catapults had wiped the pitch with them. Michael’s only source of pride was the hit he had gotten on the other team’s chaser. Probably knocked them out for half the season if he was lucky. He wasn’t a fucking keeper. He did his fucking job on the field. The parties tended to be rowdier when they lost anyway. And when the parties were rowdy, the after parties were wild. He threw himself into the spirit of the night. Drinking and talking and planning out the next game.

He’d already had a few drinks, accidentally walked on the reserve keeper drowning his sorrows with the seeker’s girlfriend in a spare bedroom, and had a few girls tell him they really wanted to learn the sport. It wasn’t like he was teaching lessons but he could spend a few hours on the pitch helping them onto a broomstick if they needed it. Feeling better than he had post match, Michael scanned the crowd before finding Rom right in the thick of it. He’d been seeing her all night but they hadn’t talked yet. She did this shit. Like she hadn’t woken up in his bed at a fucking early ass hour this morning when he had to go to the pre-game meeting. He thought about going over and giving her some shit for that. Acting like he wasn’t even here, like she was coming back to his place or he wasn’t coming back to hers. The spats were what was keeping him interested in her crazy arse anyway. Seemed like someone else had her attention though, her loud arse voice easily hitting him across the room. With a smirk, Michael kept watching. He knew that look on her face. That other girl was in for it.

Romilda hated when people commented on her work. Made snide remarks as if they didn’t buy the magazine every week. As if they were better than her because they read the gossip rags instead of writing them. As if they didn’t go and talk to their friends about what had been written, and enjoyed it. “Yeah. I work for a gossip rag” she mimicked Marys stupid tone “And I already earn more than you do at the ministry. Your boss doesn’t even know your name. You’re replaceable. You’re irrelevant. Jealousy doesn’t suit you.” she said, rolling her eyes, how was this girl even worth her time. She’d clearly struck a chord as Mary’s face looked more rat-like by the second “My boss knows who I am. Stop trying to act as though you’re the relevant one out of the two of us. You’re a stupid social climber, attention seeking, whore. We grew up together, Rom. I know who you are” Mary said, her voice higher pitched than it had been before. Romilda’s wand hand twitched, and she felt her ears heat up. “Watch what you fucking say. Yeah, we grew up together. I know who you are too. An insecure girl who will do anything to impress the guy you’re trying to shag, which is you, by the way, Will. Thats why she’s acting like this.” Romilda said to one of the guys in the group. “You think putting me down for being a social climber and attention seeker would insult me? I’m doing what you’re too shit scared to do. Be somebody. You try to tear other people down because you know that if anyone focused on you for too long they’d realise you’re a boring, dumb, frigid little bitch who’s got no opinions of her own. You call me an attention seeker yet you’re the one that started this little spat in the first place. Don’t start shit you’re not going to finish. Fuck off.” Romilda spat, downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, and turned on her heel. She had better company to be around. Like Michael, who she saw had been watching the argument. 

Blaise rolled his eyes once she came with her statement and pulled the pillow from under his head so he could place it on top of his face instead. He groaned softly, slipping his hand under the pillow to massage his temples. “Guilty,” he muttered - his voice muffled. “Maybe we shouldn’t have drank as much, though.  I can hardly remember a thing and I swear I can feel my brain crumble.” He pursed his lips, squinting his eyes together - empowering the pain in his head - before he pulled away the pillow and rolled on his side.

He crawled towards Romilda, lifting his hand to trace the silhouette of her stomach and waistline with the tips of his fingers. “Wait. You had to convince me? If just a little?” He chuckled under his breath. “Meaning you initiated it after all.”

“I have hangover potions somewhere.” Romilda sighed, she also felt like her head was 10 kilos heavier but she couldn’t be bothered getting up from the bed just yet. “In the cabinet above the sink in the bathroom” she mumbled, opening her eyes slightly and looking at Blaise as he came back to her. 

She smiled as he continued to trace over her, her skin raising in goosebumps wherever he touched lightly. “That still tickles” she giggled, tracing down his nose and across his jaw in return. “I may have initiated” she smirked, stretching her hands up above her head to let out the tension from her sleep. “Can you blame me?”

The Leaky Cauldron was quite the place to meet new people. Hannah loved to hear the stories from some of the patrons that she met. Others - she didn’t like so much. Especially when they flirted with her in attempts to get a free drink. The night had been slow so far and that was why she was happy to serve another patron. 

“Firewhiskey coming up,” Hannah replied politely before grabbing the drink that Romilda had requested. “Long night?” Hannah asked, trying to make conversation. 

Romilda rested her chin in her hand as she sat on the bar, looking around the room, nobody interesting enough to leave her seat. Plus she didn’t mind speaking with Hannah a while. “Long long night.” she nodded. “I’ve been writing all day trying to hit a deadline. Then by the time I was done it was way too late to catch up with my friends who are already far too drunk to be sober around” she chuckled “So I thought I’d get a drink before going home.”