THE ROYAL POOPER SCOOPERS, [ tag : regulus/angie ]

[sirius o. black]

Sirius couldn't help but smirk as he saw Filch waiting for him at the owlry. How could he honestly be expected to with the look on the man's face? Still holding tints of green around his hairline from when the eighteen year old had turned the squib of a wizard that very color. It had been an accident...Of sorts. Mind you it shouldn't have been the only reason for him getting called to report for detention. There had been and incident of sorts earlier that week but thanks to his own brother's love of having signature touches in his magic, making the inscription of; FILCH IS A GOOD FOR NOTHING SQUIB WHO HAS A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH MRS NORRIS look like his brother's doing was rather easy.

That and much as everyone liked to think Sirius was nothing more than the village idiot the truth was he achieved decent grades his entire academic career in the fields that counted. The smile spread into a taunting grin as he reached Filch, already producing his wand to hand over to the man in the customary gesture they'd fallen into once Filch realized Sirius was far more apt than expected cleaning charms. But really, how would he not have mastered something so necessary? They were brilliant! Though he really did need to start applying them to more than just detention, and blood stains...

"Evening Filchie," Sirius chimed musically as he placed his wand in the man's outstretched hands, only to have a scrub brushed shoved into his own. "Awe, cheer up, you looked good green. Very festive," he tried brightly only to be met with a continuing glare. Shrugging Sirius gave up on his attempts to improve the man's mood. "Suit yourself Filchie, just trying to be friendly." At this Filch merely gruffed, stating that, as usual, Sirius was fashionably late. Though he didn't say the fashionably part.

Upon entering the owlry though he was greeted with a rather unexpected sight. For more than one reason as well, because how often did a prince slave over a good four inches of owl droppings? The answer? Rarely, when that said Prince was his brother, one Regulus Black, the answer was simply; never. Or ought to have been. With a downright Cheshire grin spreading over his lips and splitting his face ear to ear practically he took to leaning on his scrub's handle as the door was locked behind him. Already aware Filch would be by every hour, on the hour, until they were done.

"Fancy seeing you here Reggie Darling. Quite the job they've got a Prince doing, though you really ought to put your back into it a bit more. Otherwise you'll get nowhere," Sirius mused looking at his brother. Admittedly Regulus looked in need of a good meal and about a month's worth of rest. It was a trend he'd begun to notice as early as sixth year and it was starting to actually worry him. Not that his worry meant anything to the current parties in the room. "Say, that was a brilliant number you did on the entry hall, you simply must tell me how on earth you did it while in the library. Or where you two places at once again?" It was a feral grin as he simply beamed at his brother.

"All the same, how have you been? It's been ages since I last saw you, and even longer since you didn't have the ability to try and hex my teeth to grow as large as myself," Thanks to Filch and his confiscation of their wands "Been eating properly? Mum would have a fit you weren't and went home as nothing but skin and bones. Which is easy with a a build like yours, you really must take care of yourself," He was was mocking Regulus in the same breath he was using to hide his growing concerns for the younger boy. For even if they both wanted to deny it, Sirius would always be Regulus' big brother, good or bad.

[regulus a. black]

The fact that he wasn’t so vulgar as to write such obscenities on the Hogwarts Walls was disregarded. Regulus always signed his work because Regulus thought that all works of art should be credited, but whatever that was definitely wasn’t a work of art. It just didn’t work when a certain Black in the school also knew the typical Black signature and knew to wrote RB instead of SB. He realized he should have known by now, but that’s never stopped Regulus before. Either way, he was rather quite offended that the school accuse him of such middle class behaviour. He at least would have been more eloquent in expressing his hatred of that mad squib. Honestly. He was glad at any rate that his parents wouldn’t hear about this. While they wouldn’t send him a howler per se, they would definitely make their scorn known, and perhaps if their memory was good enough, it would be dragged up and through the mire again during Christmas, and because Barty was staying over, Regulus actually wanted to have a good time.

So it was up to the idiot Filch to devise a suitable punishment for something Regulus deemed unworthy of his doing. He could have been spending the evening in a number of productive ways, although chances were he would just have been lying about doing nothing, but at least that wasn’t a form of punishment.

Threatened with dire consequences (an owl to his parents no less) if he arrived late, Regulus was on time for detention for once in his life. His propensity for being fashionably late was still subject to the whims of Walburga, and her will took precedence to any inclination that Regulus may have had. Climbing up the stairs to the towers, he was faced with a positively gleeful Filch. Already half guessing the contents of detention, Regulus was definitely not looking forward to Filch happily giving him menial tasks. He was to clean the owlry, and was not allowed to leave until it was clean. Filch brandished the key to the door with such affection that Regulus almost thought he was having carnal relations with it. Still, that seemed like a form of cruel and unusual punishment for the Slytherin Prince and definitely beneath him. Regulus had never cleaned anything in his life. He didn’t want this ridiculous crime that he did not commit to mar his record now.

And then he was forced to give up his wand.

Clean like a muggle? Absurd! Regulus protested that whatever crime he committed, he would not stoop down to this. He couldn’t really let his parents hear about this because telling his parents about this indignity would merit an explanation of why he was in detention in the first place and he’s gotten this far in avoiding to tell his parents, he wasn’t going to give up now. Begrudgingly, he handed over his wand and had a bucket, scrub brush and mop unceremoniously shoved to him. Taking care to spill some of the water in Filch’s feet before he went in, he mumbled an insincere apology as the mop handle whacked Filch on the head.

Hitting the door shut behind him so he would not see Filch’s ugly face, he realized that he really couldn’t hesitate if he wanted to be out of there before midnight. He didn’t know how to clean, but figured he might as well try now. Picking up the scrub brush, he set to work with some owl droppings. Setting to work really didn’t explain what he was doing. It was more of gingerly experimenting with the scrub brush, and not really knowing how much pressure needed to be applied for it to be effective. Glad that he had shirked his tie and vest, he was only wearing the collared shirt, both sleeves down to protect that tattoo on his left forearm. His slacks and loafers were well made, and were not used to the mire of owl droppings that he was subject to that day, and they were perhaps not the best choice in outfit for the task at hand. However, Regulus never placed practicality above looking good. It simply wouldn’t do.

He was in the middle of the task when the door swung open. Regulus almost thought it was Filch for a second before he heard the voice. That voice.

Fuck.

He willed himself not to turn, nor did he deign to make a reply to Sirius’s patronizing words. Regulus never put his back into anything that involved cleaning. He didn’t need to. He had Kreacher and servants and tutors and everyone acquiesced to his demands like the Prince he was. This was the first time he had even seen a scrub brush, much less used one. He didn’t reply but flipped one arm back and gave Sirius the finger, not bothering to make an explanation. It was Sirius’s fault he was there in the first place. How dare he even comment on this? Sirius should be the one doing all the cleaning because both charges were his doing.

When the finger failed to shut him up – Regulus never for a second believed that it would – he turned in one swift motion and threw his scrub brush at Sirius with all the dexterity of a veteran Quidditch player. It was not hard enough to do him any perceivable damage but only stood to carry the point across. He needed Sirius to clean after all and that required Sirius being somewhat uninjured. Not that it mattered to Regulus, because in his opinion, that head was thicker than bricks, and composed probably of just the same material.

Even that failed to shut his dear brother up. He stood up and finally turned to acknowledge him, slightly lightheaded from crouching for such a long period of time. ”Since when did you care?” Regulus demanded, folding his arms in front of him, instinctively putting the left one on the bottom, even though he knew his shirt was good enough to cover whatever traces might be found. ”If this is your method of communication Sirius,” – he nodded to indicate the owlry around them and by association, the detention – ”I can’t say that I care too much for what you have to say.” He didn’t care if Sirius cared. It wasn’t his place to care about Regulus anyway. He had forsaken that responsibility when he left the house and Regulus wasn’t going to let him reattach strings that had been happily severed.

[sirius o. black]

It would be a lie to say that part of Sirius didn’t delight in seeing how princely little brother was reduced to scrubbing—for lack of wanting a better term—shit off the floors of the owlry. Merlin knows he certain spouted enough, cleaning it up for once would be good for him. Character building. Who knows he might come to his senses and realize that all the purist crap nonsense they’d been taught as kids was just that—nonsense. Sirius would like a talking cheeseburger as well along with such an insane notion. Maybe he was going crazy…

The reality of the situation, humorous as it was, however wasn’t exactly what Sirius had wanted as a sort of reunion of sorts between him and his brother. Then again it was somehow fitting that his long awaited chance to talk to Reg alone was in a room full of what they both knew so well. Still, judging by the monstrously sized stink eye he was getting it seemed that in addition to getting the stones to proverbially smile back upon later inspection, Sirius was going to have to remember he was the one who wanted to talk to Regulus. Which meant no bickering…

Oh who was he kidding? Brothers who don’t see eye to eye? It’s the most clichéd formula in the book for pointless arguments.

And apparently flying cleaning supplies.

Ducking out of the way of the sailing brush Sirius let out a bark of laughter at what was possibly the most ‘unprincely’ act of Regulus’ sixth year thus far. Sirius Black had had many things thrown at him over the years, but never a scrub brush filled with owl droppings. He was sure if that made it a high or low point of his Hogwarts career. Things seemed to be greatly affected by perspective.

“Awe, don’t be like that Reggie-boo,” Sirius cooed, still grinning and holding a chuckle to his voice as he picked up the brush. Really, first Reg flipped him off with all the conviction of a five year old, then threw something at him—clearly beating a beater ran in the family seeing as how it’d almost pegged him. Tossing the brush back to Regulus, with a likewise grace born from quidditch but with a force acquired from being a beater, it was up to the younger if he caught it or not.

Either way, caught to nor, Sirius was still not lifting a finger to assist his brother as he took to leaning on the handle of his own scrub-broom-brush. If Regulus wanted him to help he was going to have to ask.

Let the Pointless Bickering commence b order of the King. For, logically, if Reggie was a Prince that made Sirius the resident King. After all the King could do things the Prince could only dream of. Among them—cleaning floors rather well thanks to years of practice.

“And I’ve always cared.” Wasn’t that the Merlin-damned truth etched in the undercurrent of his tone as he said it.

If anything Sirius still cared too much for his brother who he was supposed to have properly replaced with James by now. But the long and the tall of it was that no one could replace Reg, and that bothered Sirius almost as much as the purist ideals to admit.

“Well it was this or smoke signals, and last time I tried those people thought the castle was on fire. So you’ll have to excuse me for not getting down the telegraph wires on time,” He mused absently trying not to look too smug at the fact his brush had a handle, and Reggie’s didn’t. Though it wasn’t not nearly as difficult as it was to keep the ‘on your knees’ jests at bay. “Next time it’ll be on code and you can spend all of ten minutes decoding it, promise.”

There was something bittersweet about saying that word to Reggie. Promise. Sirius had broken every bloody promise to date with the younger Black and chances were he wasn’t going to break that habit anytime soon. Merlin, why couldn’t he be the brother he was with James to Reg?

Giving a shrug as he was assured his words were unwanted Sirius studied his brother’s stance. The years of moonlighting with Moony having done wonders for his reading of body language—then again that could just be his inner canine. “I’d be surprised if you did, I think the last time you cared what I had to say was when you were…what? Nine? Ten?” Because they both knew that liking what the other had to say had very little to do with the surroundings or context, especially these days.

Still, there was something off about Reggie and the way he stood, Sirius picked up on that much. Though not having been in regular close proximity with the boy left what it was exactly a mystery—for now anyway.

“You going to answer my questions about how you’ve been and if you’re eating now? Or have you gone deaf since we last spoke? Mum’s voice is pretty shrill,” Sirius stated in a tone that would have made the mentioned witch proud. There was no biting humour, well alright there was biting humour, but it was more inline with the ‘Black’ side of Sirius’ personality rather than the fun loving gitt that was out twenty-four-six. There was also a sternness that said he wasn’t going to drop it until Reggie answered him to a satisfactory level—and everyone knew how stubborn Sirius could be. His name was even part of the definition according to some dictionaries and accounting for spelling variations.

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The level to which I feel the need to apologize for this taking so long could flood most states. D: