If The Newspaper Said | Para | Naving + Tadgh
It didn’t matter what Remus said, there was no comfort in being faced with someone feeling half dressed. Regulus didn’t have many lines left to cross but shoving his hands under his armpits and trying not to feel cumbersome and ill-fitted, dressed in the ‘wrong clothes’, tempted him to cross one more.
It wouldn’t be truly unforgivable to hex and oblivate Remus–but it would take up precious time and neither of them could really spare it.
He waited until Remus had moved on, ducked beside some curtains, and took out a small flask. Waiting wasn’t an option because anyone could be down the hall–but returning straight to the party wasn’t one either. If Remus had paid attention to his clothing (and how could he not, it was wrong–wrong robes, wrong body, the dissonance of it left Regulus feeling vague and hyper-aware) he would know exactly what face he’d stolen if he kept the same dress on.
The polyjuice potion turned his stomach anew, sloshing with the flute of champagne from earlier, but the aching of his hips and arms was more than welcome. He rubbed his sides, felt the way his chest spread and dipped into his waist the way it didn’t normally. It felt right, more right than when he had tripped out of the party with his shoulders drawing a boxy line.
Which, of course, meant that he had to stumble into another person he didn’t quite expect to see in the outskirts of 'Narcissa’s’ party. “Tadgh!” The cheer felt faux and over bright, spread thinly over cheeks that had formed minutes ago but still felt new. “What are you doing out here? —Never mind. Give me a hand.” Because there was no way to brush past without him seeing–and no way not to invite him if the gossip magazines were to be believed.