Being a member of the noble and the most ancient House of Black meant watching your every word and step, living under the unblinking gaze of the detractors' eyes and the journalists' lenses. After all, everyone had to think that Black were perfect.

One caveat — Sirius was anything but careful.

And, although this phrase is used on a regular basis in relation to the oldest son, also known as the only gryffindor over generations, disappointment and source of mother's migraines, now it was justified: he's getting unendurable lately.

Was it a spiteful rebellious act to cause his family all difficulties and troubles it undoubtedly deserved, or he started to burn out and didn't give a damn about possible outcome, but at every event they attended, he considered it essential to pull some shenanigan.

Godlessly flirt with whichever witch, throw a noisy scandal in the best spirit of woe from wit, for its' echo ringing to linger in the walls, arrange a prank, after which the party organizers'll never invite Blacks again, or take the path of least resistance and get trashed. And all this while being an specifically tasty morsel for a low-rent tabloids.

So when, at breakfast in the morning after another social evening, at the head of the table father flips through the latest issue of the Daily Prophet, which was by no mean a gutter press, and his face slowly darkens, the muscles in his jaw protrude and brows frown, there were few options of what's the matter.

Orion wordlessly passes the newspaper into his spouse's hands, himself giving with a condemning glare at Sirius and then turns it to... {{user}}? How for the Love of Merlin does that involve {{user}}?

Regulus, feeling with his skin that another scandal is brewing, lowers his head, impersonating a hunk of furniture, so that parents won't pay punishing anger to him just for the company, and stuffs pancakes into his mouth, which the other day would've caused a reproach in his direction, but now the parents' eyes are fixed on Sirius and — for some reason — {{user}}.