January 6th, Four months, five days
"No. Just no, Sirius. Never."
Sirius looked at him, stunned by the betrayal.
"Prongs. Tell me it's not so. I'm not allowed to use your nail clippers?"
"No." James pointed a finger at him. "No."
"Prooooooongs." Sirius wailed. "Base treachery! Total perfidy! You're denying a mate in need!"
"Padfoot, you're living in my house."
"…I think you're trying to make a point here."
"I am making a point!" James shrieked.
Sirius raised an eyebrow.
"So your point is that I'm using your spare bed, your blankets, your cutlery, your silverware, your broom, your bathroom – but I'm not allowed to use your nail clippers?"
"It's unclean, Padfoot. I mean, you're polluting my pristine clippers with all the gunk in your toes." James said primly.
"There is no gunk in my toes." Sirius shook his head in bewilderment, "Seriously, I vomit in your toilet, Prongs, –"
"Don't remind me."
"– I share your toothbrush."
"You- You whaa?" James gawked at him.
"Well, what?" Sirius said, sounding exasperated, "You didn't expect me to dramatically storm out of my house with nothing but my wand and a toothbrush. How did you think I'd been keeping my teeth as white as … newly fallen snow?" He flashed a blinding smile, which James, totally appalled, completely ignored.
"Padfoot." James began at last, "You don't understand. Sharing a toothbrush is like indirect snogging." The smile fell off of Sirius' face like- like a dropping icicle (in defense of the similes, it was snowing).
"Prongs." He said, aghast, "Ew."
"I have your saliva in my mouth." James said in blank horror, "We have traded spit."
With a simultaneous "Heeuuurrrgh," of disgust, they stampeded towards the bathroom.
-x-
"I think I need to Scourgify my mouth." James said, exaggeratedly scraping at his tongue.
"Don't. It tastes horrible." Sirius' voice meandered out of the bathroom.
"How do you know?" James said, curiously.
"I just tried it." James made a face as Sirius exited the restroom, still spitting out soapsuds.
"Ick."
"Yup."
"So…" James began, "You never exactly explained why you…what was it? Dramatically stormed out of the old house and home? Without a toothbrush?"
"Ah. That. Well. You know. The usual."
"The… usual. I reckon that usually leads you to storm over here with no prior warning, eh? In the middle of a raging snowstorm? While it's cold?"
Sirius frowned, "All right, not the usual… but considering the situation, I s'pose it wasn't really expected to be the usual…"
"Ah ha!" James said, striking a pose, "The bun in the oven."
Sirius shrugged and looked away, "Yeah, exactly, the… the what?" He turned bak and gave James a disgusted look, "The bun in the…Where are you getting this rubbish? First, Padsy-Pie and now bun in the oven?"
"No, no," James admonished, "First it was Paddy-me-laddy-buck, I believe, and then -" he neatly ducked a pillow, "-and then," he continued, "was Paddy-me-lad, and then-" He ducked a few more projectiles, and sighed dramatically. "All right, all right, I'll stop. But you, dea-" He ducked again as a lamp flew over his head, and looked up, outraged, "I haven't even said anything yet!" He burst out.
Sirius gave a triumphant cackle, "Ha!" he said. "You were going to!"
James rolled his eyes, "Entirely beside the point, Padfoot. You owe me a tale of disowning…ment. Thing. You know."
"It was completely the point, and I don't owe you a – oh, stop that." James was pouting, "Honestly –All right." Sirius said resignedly, rolling his eyes. "Since you want to hear it."
-x-
December 23st, Three months, twenty-two days
So the whole "confession thing" had not gone well. This might have been because it hadn't been Sirius who made it.
"I told Mother everything," Regulus had begun crowing as soon as they were off the train. "She's absolutely livid! I think she was even going to send you a Howler, except she only got the letter yesterday and it would have made no sense because it wouldn't have gotten here fast enough."
Kreacher's endless drone wandered over from the front of the kitchen. "…Nasty little blood traitor master breaking poor kind Mistress' heart and no respect for the house of his Forefathers and no care for how his actions hurt his poor kind family and…"
"I prefer my evil villains with eyepatches." Sirius muttered to himself. "And missing limbs."
-x-
January 6th, Four months, five days
"Even the mental house elf got to yell at you? Merlin." James said.
"Yeah, and then Father and Mother took turns at it – and you know how she gets."
"I keep forgetting how mental your lot are." James said thoughtfully. "You should make them … drink their way to tolerance."
"I've tried." Sirius said earnestly, "But it's usually only me that gets drunk. And I'm already tolerant." He paused ruefully. "Anyway," he began, "On with the story –"
-x-
December 23st, Three months, twenty-two days
And as if that weren't bad enough, Regulus had apparently sent all of his nancy-pansy Slytherin friends letters as well – and they were loving the turn of events. So all throughout the Annual Black Family Christmas Party –
-x-
January 6th, Four months, five days
"Not the bleeding Christmas Party!" James wailed.
"Yes, the bleeding Christmas Party," Sirius said grimly, "And I couldn't even drink myself unconscious this time."
James rolled his eyes. "You talk about getting pissed so often, mate, I reckon you're going to be a total drunkard when you're old."
-x-
December 23st, Three months, twenty-two days
Anyway, throughout the party he had been repeatedly accosted by groups of schoolchildren cracking jokes about a) his homosexuality, b) his lack of restraint in certain situations and c) how, attractive exactly he would look in six months.
Even worse were the adults - they weren't after him, but his foul cousin's father-in-law was enjoying the mead a bit too much, and Uncle Cygnus was certainly dipping into to something which wasn't snuff. Kreacher was a periodic nightmare, wandering around muttering a quiet commentary.
"...making messes in the houses of Mistress' forefathers drinking like pigs for all their noble history and no bother of proper behaviour in their piggy little heads..."
Plus he was sure his stomach was getting bigger (as in, hello, bump!), and in a few weeks he would be hearing jokes about d) his size.
He was glad he hadn't met Snivellus yet, because he wasn't quite sure what he'd do to the dirty little rat-faced—
"Ah, if it isn't… Mr. Black." The sneering voice was immediately recognizable.
"Snivellus." Sirius said. "We meet again."
The duel was all right – Snivelly had gotten the worst of it, despite (or perhaps because of) Sirius' wonky pregnancy magic – and then his mother showed up.
-x-
January 6th, Four months, five days
"Hahaa! Nice one!" James crowed, "Whatcha do?"
"M'not really sure," Sirius said, thoughtfully, "It looked sort of as though his hair ended up dyed in rainbow colours, and then he got beaten into submission by a horde of sentient pickles."
"Wicked!" James said, pumping his fists, "And then what?"
"Well," Sirius said "Then Mother had another go at me, you know, in the middle of the party, while everyone else kept talking, mind you – "
-x-
December 23st, Three months, twenty-two days
"– AS IF YOU WEREN'T ALREADY A BLOOD TRAITOR! THIS IS AN ABOMINATION! ("'S 'braxas, not 'bominashus, ruddy bint allus' sayin' it wrong –") AN ABOMINATION AGAINST WIZARDKIND! A STAIN AGAINST OUR HONOUR! ("– be a stain on the tapestry, eh? Eh?" "Shh! They can hear you, Cygnus.") FIRST YOU DARE TO SHOW YOUR FACE TO ME WITH THAT FOUL THING RESTING BENEATH YOUR FLESH! AND NOW YOU WILL DISHONOUR US FURTHER BY, BY, BRAWLING IN PUBLIC! DISGRACEFUL CREATURE! ("Mistress called?") HOW WILL WE SHOW OUR FACE IN POLITE SOCIETY! HOW, I ASK YOU, HOW?"
-x-
January 6th, Four months, five days
" –and then, I think I told her where she ought to stuff it –"
-x-
December 23st, Three months, twenty-two days
"–AND NOBODY IN THIS PLACE HAS A BIT OF SENSE, YOU'RE ALL NUTTERS – I MEAN, LOOK AT THIS, YOU CALL THIS A PARTY – EVERYBODY'S DRUNK ("M'not drun', jus' a bit tipsy, s'all –") AND THE HORS D'OEUVRES TASTE LIKE DEAD RAT (Nasty little master – calling Mistress' grilled filet d'souris names.) EVERY YEAR, AND WOULD IT KILL YOU TO GET AN INTERIOR DECORATOR, THIS PLACE LOOKS LIKE A MAUSOLEUM DECORATED BY A COLORBLIND GHOUL –"
-x-
January 6th, Four months, five days
"And, yeah, then she blasted me off, and I made a run for it and told her I hoped the bathrooms smell like Dungbombs 'til the Apocalypse-"
"Which isn't your fault?"
" –'course not – but they'll probably stink forever, and all things considered, I think it was a very suitable touch."
-x-
(PuppyProngs, this one's at you!)