Bonus Post: A prize for the Easter Egg

[alt-player.livejournal.com]

spiffariffic found Narcissa's post referring to the portrait we gave y'all as a New Year's Present.

Well, here's an early 12th Night prize to follow-up and reward Spiffariffic on her sleuthing skills:



Black and White

August 1970


'Sirius Orion Black!' Mother's sharp tone resonated all the way to the top floor of the house, where he and Regulus had been working in their school room.

Reg's head popped up from his sketchpad. 'What've you done this time?' he wondered.

'No idea,' Sirius said glumly. He put down his quill and headed quickly down the stairs. It was sweltering up there; as he descended the first level, the temperature dropped considerably as well.

'SIRIUS!' she called again, amplified ten times her normal shouting volume.

'Yes, coming, Mother!' Sirius yelled, running now. He skidded around the landing and pelted down the next flight, earning chastisements from the portraits on the wall.

At the bottom of the steps, he caught himself on the banister. He risked an extra moment's delay to check the hall mirror and make sure his robe collar was straight. He grimaced: there was a large blot of ink dotting his shirt collar. He had no idea how it had got there, but he had no time to try to fix it. Plus, he realised belatedly, he'd left his wand upstairs. Reg was probably practising with it already.

'Sirius, do not keep me waiting. Come here at once!' Mother insisted through her salon door.

He didn't ask how she knew he was outside. She must have heard him thundering down the stairs, and then the pause at the bottom. With a deep breath to calm himself, Sirius pushed open the door and walked inside. 'Mother?' he asked politely.

She was at her writing desk, a sheaf of glossy papers at her elbow. They weren't stationery parchments, he could tell. She looked at him balefully, taking in the stained shirt, but making no comment other than to grit her teeth and roll her eyes. Then she picked up the top page on the stack and held it out. 'What do you make of this?' she challenged him.

Sirius stepped forward until he could accept the proffered item. Nine figures looked out at him, most of them still and almost smiling. His father caught his eye first, proud and tall and handsome. Then his eye swept down to himself. His own face looked reversed compared to what he saw every day in the mirror, but he recognised the pained expression. His body in the photograph was struggling not to twitch. As he watched, he saw his parents' hands clench his shoulders: Father's thick black glove, Mother's white fingers with painted nails, both firm as iron. It was as if he could feel the ghosts of their fingers on him again, looking at it. Next to his image, Regulus' eyebrow rose and the corners of his lips curled in a smirk.

'Well?'

'Er,' Sirius searched for an acceptable explanation: Regulus goosed me, he knew, would not only fail to rescue him from blame, it would likely invite a worse censure.

Before he could devise an answer, though, she continued. 'They are all like this, one way or another.' She paged through the photographs, hovering each one before him like a floating gallery. 'Head shaking. Snorting. Eyes closed. Bending out of the shot. Pinching your brother,' and here she looked up at him with obvious disapproval, 'arms moving. Really, Sirius. Not a single photograph turned out suitable for our cards this year, and it's all down to you. Can you not hold still for five seconds together?'

Sirius shrugged. 'I guess not,' he quipped.

'Do you think this is funny?' Mother asked indignantly.

Yes. 'No, of course not,' Sirius said. 'But it's not all down to me. Look at Reg's face in this one, he looks like he's just been told he's a muggle.'

'And I wonder who might have whispered that out of the corner of his mouth?' Mother retorted, holding up another portrait in which Sirius was clearly doing just that. 'Your father and your uncle paid good Galleons to have these portraits done and now they're useless.'

Sirius' eyes flashed. 'Well, it's not my fault Bella's in them,' he observed. 'But Uncle Cygnus insisted--'

'We did not raise you to cheek your elders, did we?' she demanded.

'No, Mother,' Sirius said sombrely. 'I'm sorry.' He swallowed. 'Can we do another sitting?'

'Before sending you off to Hogwarts? I should say not,' she scoffed. 'We had enough trouble scheduling this one. Besides, even were we to petrify you I cannot see how it would improve the matter.'

He sighed. 'I'm really sorry,' he pleaded. 'It's not like I wasn't trying to be still.' He leafed through the shots. 'Here, this one's not so bad, see? I'm smiling.' But as he watched, the shot moved. Sirius slapped Reg smartly on the arm and Regulus reached up to rub the spot, prompting Sirius to grin wickedly. 'Oh.'

'Indeed,' Mother agreed.

'Has Father seen them yet?' Sirius asked tentatively.

'No and you are lucky he has more important things to worry about.'

'What are you going to do?' He wasn't sure he meant about the pictures, or his punishment. Or both.

She looked again at the first picture. 'This is, unfortunately, the best of the lot. I suppose we could explain that you were suffering from a hotseat hex, rendering you incapable of sitting properly.' She sighed. 'I had hoped to update the portrait of you and your brother,' she continued, pointing above the mantel to a large oil painting in which the boys, aged five and four, each sat on one of their parents' laps. 'I was thinking Christmas, so you could wear your Slytherin dress robes. But I see now that's out of the question.'

Sirius nodded in sympathy. 'Do you have to say anything? Maybe no one will notice,' he suggested.

Mother turned away from the painting. 'I think I know your grandparents a touch better than you do, Sirius,' she said archly. 'Oh, go away. I'm sick of the sight of you. You'll take your tea in the school room this week.'

Sirius stared at her in disbelief. He considered himself lucky but somehow it didn't feel lucky.

'Go on, before I change my mind and extend it until you leave for school.'

'Yes, Mother.' He backed up a step.

'Ah-ah,' she stopped him with a raised finger. 'What are you forgetting?'

'Oh.' Sirius shuffled forward, kissed her cheek where she held it out primly, and retreated. 'Thank you, Mother.'

'Hmph,' he heard her say as he closed the door.

Back upstairs, Reg had completed his drawing and was prodding it with Sirius' wand to make it move. Sirius paused at the door. Then, imitating his mother, he barked, "Regulus Arcturus Black!'

Reg jumped and Sirius laughed. 'You startled me,' Reg explained unnecessarily. 'What was wrong?'

'Nothing. She didn't like how the portraits came out.'

'Well, yeah, you kept trying to make me laugh,' Regulus accused.

'Me? You're the one who poked me in the ribs,' Sirius pointed out.

'I did not. My robes were caught. Then my arm flailed when they got free.' He looked up with innocent doe-eyes.

'Liar. And don't borrow my wand without permission. C'mon, give it back.'

'Finders keepers.'

'It's my wand, Goblin.'

'And you left it. Father says never let your wand leave your person. Without a wand you're--'

'Not a real wizard,' Sirius finished with him. 'You don't even have a wand yet, so what does that make you?'

'Yes I have; I've a wand right here,' Reg taunted.

Sirius lunged and Reg danced away. They chased round the school room for a minute until Sirius launched over one of the desks and tackled Reg to the floor. They landed with a loud 'THUMP' and Sirius lost no time tickling his brother at the waist until he released the wand.

Laughing, they lay back on the floor, Regulus' head on Sirius' arm. 'Did she...?' Reg asked.

'Yeah. But almost not really. Tea up here for a week.'

'Alone?' Reg guessed.

Sirius shrugged. 'Probably.'

'Kreacher can set it for two,' Regulus said confidently.

'I guess. It's better up here anyway,' Sirius consoled himself.

'We can be on an expedition through the Raj,' Regulus offered. 'Livingstone and, er...'

'Stanley,' Sirius finished. 'There's one problem with that, though.'

'What?'

'They weren't in India, dunce, they were in Africa.'

'Oh. Same difference.'

'Hardly.'

'Uncle Alphard's been to Africa. And to India,' Regulus pointed out. 'He says they're both hot.'

Sirius laughed. Regulus joined him, until,

'Regulus Arcturus Black!' Mother's shout echoed in the room.

Regulus grimaced, but got to his feet. 'See? I told you we'd both have tea here.'

'Why? What did you do?' Sirius asked, sitting up.

'Well, she probably just discovered that in one of the pictures, I--'

'REGULUS!'

'I stuck out my tongue,' Regulus said with a grin, and bounded down the stairs to meet his fate.

Comments

Notes....

[alt-player.livejournal.com]

The version of the portrait we provided, Mark V, is not actually the version used as the basis of and inspiration for this fic. That's Mark III, which is on the artist's gallery here (http://spectre-of-prague.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=72#/d14a1wb). She didn't like it because the proportions were wrong...however, Regulus' expression is priceless.

Re: Notes....

[lapin-agile.livejournal.com]

I do love Reg's expression.

Also love how he hero-worships and twits Sirius in equal measures in the story.

Re: Notes....

[spiffariffic.livejournal.com]

Just like a real little brother! :)

[spiffariffic.livejournal.com]

Fantastic. :) I love well-written sibling interaction, and the Sirius-Walburga stuff is awesome, too... just very sad. Sigh. I can't say I blame Sirius.

But thank you for this! :)