Gasconade: Extravagant boasting; boastful talk.
January 5, 1970
Green was a poisonous color. Crammed onto a bench with Regulus at the end of the long table, surrounded by the insidious color, the insidious creature, the insidious, oily talk of his mother and father, aunts and uncles, it dawned on Sirius Black that green was a poisonous color, and silver a cold one. The long table was draped in silken emerald, festooned with silver. The walls were hung with tapestries of snakes, all green and silver, slithering and undulating grotesquely. Metallic serpents wound around the gothic candle holders, coiled around the chandlers, hissed from doorknobs.
"It's a nasty job, to be sure, but it must be done, for the sake of our society," Grandfather Pollux was saying as he sipped his goblet of elf-made wine.
"Bella is a savior to the Wizarding World," Grandmother Irma hailed, her eyes glinting with steely pride.
"It isn't pretty," Uncle Cygnus grunted. "There's a lot who condemn her. Say they're going too far"
"They deserve what they get," Aunt Druella hissed venomously. "If they had stayed where they belong, we wouldn't need to put them back in their place. Do not challenge that which is lethal to you."
And Regulus beside him soaked up every word until they ran through his veins, too. Poisonous. Green was the color of poison. And perhaps black was, too.
A/N: Alright, not a perfect match to the word, and a super short one, but there you have it: the disenchantment of Sirius Black. Well, to be fair, he was not very enchanted to begin with. Alas.