Chapter Text
Regulus was sat at the kitchen table at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, watching his mother rush about the kitchen with Kreacher at her heels. He could hear Sirius stomping about upstairs, cursing about his lost socks or something. Suddenly, Walburga screeched so loudly that Regulus almost dropped his spoon back into his cereal bowl.
“Kreacher!” She screamed, “Bring me my handbag!”
“Of course, mistress.” Kreacher bowed, then disappeared with a ‘crack’.
Regulus went back to poking his cereal with his spoon. He knew what was coming and that it wouldn’t be pretty. And braced himself for the aftershocks as Kreacher reappeared.
“Your handbag is being washed, mistress,” Kreacher explained, “Kreacher will ensure that it is ready as soon as possible.”
Walburga blanched, “Washed! Why on earth would it be being washed?”
Regulus coughed, “I spilt lipstick in your Valentino bag.”
“Wah-wah-wah— lipstick in my Valentino white bag?!” She yelled, “Regulus— how?! You don’t even— I’d expect from Sirius, but from you? Just, get out of my sight before I tell your father!”
The youngest Black pushed himself from the table as Walburga continued shouting and fled to his bedroom.