Date Night
A HariPo oneshot
by mew-tsubaki
Note: The Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. Needed a dose of two of my fav girls. -w- Read, review, and enjoy!
- ^-^3
Being out in Muggle London was trying, at times. Then again…witch or Muggle, bitches came in all shapes and vapid personalities.
Romilda, for her part, did her best to ignore the snickers to her right as she pressed her fingers to the test lipstick in the middle of the sample display and then dabbed the shade on her lips. She smudged it around, popped and puckered, and debated getting a tube.
Despite her best efforts to ignore the gawkers, Romilda did catch out of the corner of her eye the gagging gestures one nasty girl made while her friends laughed. Worse still, this girl with the quite noticeable hair extensions added, "What a lark. She can't honestly be thinking of wearing that trashy lippy on purpose, can she?"
Oh, Merlin's beard. Romilda's left then right eye twitched, and she gritted her teeth behind a tightlipped smile. There was no need to waste her energy on them, tempting though it was to wave her wand and practice some nonverbal magic. Instead, Romilda wiped her mouth with a tissue from her pocket and tried on another sample. The chili pepper hue from before was a touch too orange, but this deep scarlet fared much better when paired with her warm beige complexion. It made her freckles pop, which made her smile.
Gagging Girl's friend, who had a large nose piercing that only drew attention to a bad nose job, snorted through her abnormally large nose as Romilda selected two tubes of the scarlet lipstick. "Ugh, that? Total slag color. Although maybe she's trying to match how red things must be down there for her boyfriend…!" She laughed, and the other two joined in as if they were the funniest shits on the planet.
For a brief moment, Romilda debated breaking the promise she'd made to herself—this first year of Auror training, keep her magic for the job and for certain things in her home life, no mischief-making whatsoever—and weighed it against the entertainment of Vanishing the girls' knickers and bumping them into store security so they'd fall and be exposed for public indecency.
But, no, she could just picture the disapproving frown Morag would give her when Romilda relayed the story, and Romilda never could keep a story zipped up and untold. With a sigh, the witch turned heel, paid at the counter, and tossed her frizzy curls over her shoulder as she passed the girl gang, the picture of indifference.
"Guessing slag was right," Nose Girl remarked.
Romilda paused. Fuck it, she thought as she turned so the three girls could see her. She spread the index and middle fingers of her right hand and held them in front of her lips, smirking as she darted her tongue between the digits. "Actually," she corrected the horrified gawkers, "my girl simply loves me in red."
With a wink and a kiss blown from her fingertips—fingers closed this time—she exited the tiny drugstore with relief. Sure, it was hilarious that the security detail at the door overheard her and snickered, even tipped his head to her wit. But all that mattered in that moment was making the beeline for Morag's flat, to put the new lipstick to good use.
Rounding a corner up the street, Romilda scanned to make sure it was vacant (can't have a trainee Auror breaking the Statute of Secrecy, no sirree) and then Disapparated. In the blink of an eye, she stood under a looming tree in the tiny park across the street from Morag's complex.
Looking up at the building, her mind wandered. It was strange to think of Morag being here, finally on her own and living as close to a relatively normal life as she could. Sometimes a part of Romilda still expected to go home to her mother and find Morag still on their couch, a shell of the girl she'd once been, a survivor of the final battle without a family or home of her own any longer, a wanderer without any purpose who'd decided to come in from out of the cold because Romilda saw her one day and demanded Morag come home with her.
She flinched when she thought back on her crassness in the drugstore just now. Romilda Vane was a bold girl, but Morag MacDougal was the saucy witch who said "prick" as easily (and as often) as she said "please." At least…she had been.
Still, Romilda smiled and marched over to Morag's building, entering and taking the stairs two at a time. So what that Morag had gone missing after the war? So what that Morag was less firebrand and more cautioned these days? So what that Morag had stopped pursuing her schoolgirl crush on Romilda and seemed far too relaxed letting Romilda take the lead and come after her?
Romilda knocked on the greenish brown door like the rest on the third floor and put on her sultriest look after a quick swipe of the new lipstick on her lips.
Morag answered timidly, partially cracking the door open. "Oh, Romilda. You're early," she said. Then she did a double-take, and the effect was, to Romilda's delight, instantaneous. Morag fidgeted and bit her lower lip as Romilda entered the flat.
"Nonsense!" Romilda said with a nudge to close the door. "It's never too early for date night, luv."
That made Morag snort. "Date night? We were at training barely three hours ago, and you saw me then."
"And the respite was nice, but it's good to see you without the others around, too, Morag." Romilda dropped her shopping bag inside the door. "Notice anything different?" she goaded.
Morag quirked an eyebrow and slowly licked her lips. "New lipstick. Looks nice." She tucked a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear, and she darted her green eyes to her kitchenette, as if looking for an escape route.
But Romilda was first to move, and she dashed into Morag's path, batted her eyes up at the taller witch. "It feels great, you know. A nice, creamy texture. Want a taste?"
For a second, Morag met her eyes, and her resolve wavered. She'd been doubting the things that had developed between them naturally since Romilda and her mother had taken Morag in, doubting how fast things had escalated after she'd found her own place and the girls had begun Auror training together, doubting the time they spent together which Romilda had stopped minding was partially an excuse not to mend bridges with the other surviving Ravenclaws from her year.
Romilda took half a step closer, resisting the urge to touch Morag's arm. She had to let Morag get there, had to let Morag be fine with her feelings once again. "Mor?"
At last, Morag caved, and her thin lips sought out Romilda's, moving and nipping until they were nearly breathless—yet Romilda still managed a delighted laugh.
Sometimes Morag was a shell of herself. Other times…she was the old Morag, the real Morag, the older witch with a crush on her junior and a potty mouth that would've made Professor Moody blush. She just needed a nudge, a reminder that it was all right to move on from all she'd endured.
Sure, maybe Romilda had gotten ahead of herself, referring to Morag as her girl earlier, but…they'd get there. Someday. Even if it took all the red shades of lipstick in the world.
- ^-^3
A tad nonsensical and deffo crass (because I felt like it :P), I had fun writing this. It's been far too long since I completed something, and I needed this. I hadn't meant for the touch of angst and allusion to my headcanon for Morag post-Battle of Hogwarts, but, the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to write something in my overall headcanon, the Maydayverse. Romilda took strength from her back then; it's time to share it with Morag now. :') If you need more eagles, I have them! I recommend "No-Fly Zone," "Zugzwang," "A Life Well-lived," and "if you fall at midnight," especially since these are in the same universe. But, man, four years since my last new HariPo fic…oops. :O
Thanks for reading, and please review!
-mew-tsubaki c: