CHAPTER FOUR: MANNERS

Hunger finally won. Regulus had been sleeping for hours and laid awake an hour longer just listening to his stomach grumble. It was now growing dark outside; the lights were off in the hallway when Regulus stepped out of his room, illuminated only by a very small window at the other end near Flora's bedroom. He walked half-blind, unable to find the light switch, and feeling increasingly frustrated he didn't have his wand to overcome this mundane annoyance.

The stairs led directly into the kitchen, so already Regulus could smell the warm scent of onions and fresh herbs and meat simmering as he made his way down. There was a door at the bottom of the stairs; Regulus could see slivers of light through the thin cracks of the wood, but it did nothing to help his sight as he carefully treaded down the uneven old stairs. He held close to the wall, sliding his hand along, until he finally reached the door and stepped out into the warm, bright kitchen. He stumbled on this last step into the kitchen, not expecting the sudden steep drop, and quickly grabbed hold of the door latch.

Flora turned her head as she heard the clatter. "Oh, be careful of that last step. It's bigger than the rest."

"What sort of a deathtrap is this place?" Regulus huffed, quickly righting himself and fixing his sharp eyes on Flora. He tried to look distinguished, as though he had not almost just cracked his head open on the wall.

"It's just old," she shrugged. She was standing by the oven, stirring a big pan of something over the stovetop.

"Old?" He snapped back. "This place is a dump. What an absolute shit hole."

"Oh, be quiet. Just because you can't watch where you're going. You should be used to things like this. Don't the stairs at Hogwarts move?" Flora frowned.

Regulus stared at her darkly. "Yes, the stairs at Hogwarts do move," he replied, his voice growing tight with his bubbling irritation. "But that's different. This place is just a dilapidated mess. And why isn't there any light upstairs?"

"There is a light," Flora suddenly turned away from the oven and strode towards the stairway. Regulus moved back. "There's one here at the bottom," she flicked a switch on, lighting up the stairs with a warm orange light, "And there's another just in the middle of the hall at the top."

"Well how was I supposed to know that?" Regulus retorted defensively, obviously agitated. "Why can't the lights just be on by default? Why must I go searching for them?"

"Iesu Mawredd," Flora muttered, rolling her eyes. She turned the stairway light off and moved back to her cooking. "It takes two seconds."

"That is not the point," Regulus replied. "The stairs should be lit as a matter of courtesy. You're a terrible hostess."

"And you're a terrible guest," she returned abruptly, "Now shut up and sit down. Dinner's almost ready."

Rather begrudgingly, he sat down at the table, too hungry to argue with her any longer. He watched her closely as she worked with her back to him, dishing out the food onto two mismatched plates. He continued to stare at her as she set the food down in front of him.

Regulus looked at the plate with evident displeasure, then looked back at Flora with his nose scrunched up slightly, "What is this?"

"Shepherd's pie," Flora replied calmly, silently waiting for and daring him to start the onslaught of insults he was no doubt preparing to throw at her. She began to eat.

Regulus's handsome face was set in a scowl, as though he were determined to keep it there. Flora eyed him as she ate, watching as he took a cautious mouthful of the potato and meat. When he didn't say anything after the second and third mouthfuls, Flora redirected her attention and began thinking about the television show she was going to watch later. She looked back at Regulus for a moment, watching him eat. He was sitting up very straight, with his elbows firmly locked at his side, his movements refined, calculated. Flora watched mostly out of fascination, wondering at his privileged upbringing. Regulus felt her eyes on him and lifted his gaze.

"What?" he demanded, glaring.

"Nothing," she shrugged, looking away. Then, more for the sake of changing the subject, asked, "Do you want to watch television with me later?"

Regulus looked at her as if she were mad. "Watch television?" He scowled. "I can hardly stand being in this room with you for ten minutes, and you want me to sit and watch that.. that stupid box thing with you?"

A small smile crept onto Flora's pretty, unaffected face. "Just asking."

He glared at her and said nothing more. They lapsed into a heavy silence for some time, both eating; Regulus stabbed at his food moodily but seemed to be enjoying it, and gradually Flora relaxed in spite of the uncomfortable silence between them.

"I hope you are aware that shepherd's pie is supposed to be made with lamb," Regulus said gloomily, breaking the silence. "This is beef."

Flora paused, her mouth full. She fixed her eyes on him and simply stared at him as she quietly chewed and swallowed the food. She then straightened up and took a steady breath that lasted around five seconds, which she counted in her head. "Then it's cottage pie," she replied calmly.

Regulus couldn't hide the wave of confusion that washed over him when she calmly accepted his criticism. "Fine, cottage pie then," he answered after a beat, rolling his eyes and picking through the potatoes with his fork. "But it's not a very good cottage pie."

"Oh, isn't it?" Flora said, raising an eyebrow.

In spite of his insult, Regulus had taken another mouthful and took a moment to respond. "I've had better," he said, taking a sip of water.

"Really?" She replied, still calm. If Regulus had looked more closely he would have seen the way her eyes had narrowed on him dangerously.

"Yes, really," he returned haughtily. "It's definitely not up to my standards."

"Okay," she said without reaction, continuing to eat.

"Okay?" He frowned.

"Tomorrow evening, you can make dinner," she replied.

Regulus' face dropped and he glared darkly at her, outraged at her audacity. "Make my own dinner?" He scoffed, "I have never cooked a meal in my life!"

"Well then," Flora smiled thinly, "Perhaps it's time you learned, seeing as my cooking is so terrible."

"I will not learn," he snarled back. "I won't stoop so low as to cook my own food. It is beneath me. My house elf cooked all the meals."

"Well there isn't a house elf here, if you hadn't noticed," Flora snapped, her patience finally wearing thin. She had finished eating now and set her cutlery down with a loud clatter. "So either you cook your own food, or you eat what I make for you and stop fucking complaining."

Regulus blinked, watching as she rose from her seat. He jumped when she snatched his half-finished plate of food from under his nose.

"Oi, I haven't finished!" He objected.

"You said it wasn't up to your standard," she returned briskly, "So I was going to throw it away for you."

"I didn't say I wouldn't eat it," he scowled angrily. "Give it back."

Flora stared down at him, holding his plate tightly and out of his reach. She knew he wouldn't dare try and grab it; he was too afraid of touching her for some reason. After a moment of intense glaring at each other, Flora replied sharply, "If I'm going to cook your meals here, you can at least be grateful. It's that simple."

Regulus snorted. "Grateful? To you?"

"Yes, grateful," she snapped back. "I'm feeding you, aren't I? Do you realise how rude you've been to me? You refuse to accept my hospitality, which is already an incredible insult, and you've insulted my home and now my cooking. You're incredibly entitled, and I can only imagine what sort of a person your mother is to allow you to be raised like this."

"Don't you dare talk about my mother," Regulus was clearly rattled by this. He spoke sharply, his eyes aflame with anger.

"Then don't you dare insult me again," she slammed the plate back down on the table. "Eat your dinner and fuck off."

With that, Flora flounced off into the living room. Regulus sullenly looked back down at his meal, which was now almost cold, and pushed it away spitefully. He went to bed.

The next day Regulus was awoken, for the second time, by his older brother barging into the bedroom. Sirius' handsome, cheerful face contrasted starkly with the sour grimace Regulus was wearing as he sat up in bed.

"Where are your pyjamas?" Sirius asked when he noticed Regulus was just in his underwear. "You can't be racing around in your briefs with ladies around."

Regulus' scowl deepened. "You didn't pack me any. And they were your pyjamas anyway."

"Oh, right," Sirius replied, still grinning. "I'm going into town this morning. I'll buy you some. Need anything else?"

Regulus shrugged glumly. "No."

"I heard she sent you to bed without any supper."

Now Regulus understood why his brother was smiling so much. Flora had probably told him everything about the previous night.

"That's not true," Regulus snapped back coolly. He climbed out of bed and reached for his black jeans that he'd folded over the back of a chair. "I just chose not to eat it and went to bed because I wanted to."

"Poor Reggie," Sirius teased. He was obviously in a good mood and it only served to irritate Regulus more.

Regulus glared and pulled his jeans on, muttering about the stupidity and ugliness of muggle clothes as he did so. Sirius was completely at ease in muggle clothes; at present, he was wearing black drainpipe jeans and t-shirt with the name of some muggle band printed across it. Regulus yearned for his elegant, tailored wizard robes.

"Have you been putting anything on those?" Sirius sat down on the bed and nodded to the deep bruises and scratches that covered Regulus's pale chest, shoulders and back.

Regulus pulled his t-shirt and jumper on quickly, averting his gaze from his brother's face. "Not since I got here."

"Do they still hurt?"

"Sometimes."

Sirius wanted to say more, ask more, but he knew better. Regulus had not been forthcoming on how he'd obtained such violent injuries. Sirius always tried not to look too closely, being aware that Regulus would notice his gaze, but he had noticed the distinct finger-like marks that had dragged their way across his torso and down his back. It occasionally made Regulus walk a little stiffly. He simply said he'd been attacked by something evil and clammed up when pressed on the matter. Consequently, the Order didn't fully trust him. They wanted information, every detail. They suspected he had been nearly killed by Inferi, but Regulus remained evasive, saying he didn't know what had attacked him. A greyish pallor always tinged his complexion whenever he was questioned about what happened in that cave, so Sirius simply stopped asking and begged the Order to give Regulus a little time.

"Are you going to eat breakfast? Flo's making scrambled eggs."

Regulus did like scrambled eggs. He shrugged and grumbled in assent, "Suppose so."

Now dressed, he walked downstairs behind Sirius and sat down at the table. Remus wasn't there. Flora, as Sirius had said, was making a large batch of scrambled eggs in a frying pan; she glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Sirius, but ignored Regulus altogether. She was still annoyed with him. A small radio, sitting on the kitchen counter, was reporting the morning weather forecast; Regulus eyed it with deep suspicion, wondering how a muggle man's voice was coming out of it; Sirius and Remus didn't have one of those at the flat.

"So, what you going to do today, Reg?" Sirius asked. "Not going to sleep and hide in you room all day again?"

"No… I don't know," he said tersely. Flora glanced over her shoulder at him now, just briefly. He scowled and stared at the radio again, which was now playing a song. He wanted to know how it was playing music, but was too stubborn and proud to ask.

"I was going to go for a walk later," Flora said, not answering Regulus directly, but more to both of them.

"You could go for a walk too, Reg," Sirius suggested.

"With her?" He frowned.

Flora stiffened. She quickly divided the eggs up between the three plates of toast and gathered the plates up, holding one in each hand with the third resting on her forearm, which she then placed down carefully at the table. A hot pot of tea was brewing under a pink tea cosy; Sirius, never without his gentlemanly manners, poured a cup each for Flora and his brother before helping himself.

"Why not?" Sirius replied, deliberately ignoring Regulus' expression of disgust, "It's a nice day."

"I think I'll stay here," Regulus sniffed.

"Suit yourself," Sirius shrugged.

"If you stay here, would you do the dishes for me, please?" Flora asked without a hint of irony in her voice.

Regulus stared at her. "Are you serious?" He asked, incredulous.

"No, I'm Sir—" Sirius started, wanting to steer the sour mood before it went completely south.

"Oh, fuck off. That's getting old," Regulus snapped at his brother. Flora's lips twitched slightly into a little smirk. He fixed his steely eyes back on her. "The dishes are a job for a house elf and, if I recall correctly, I am not a house elf."

"Yes, but as we've already established twice now, there is not a resident house elf here," Flora replied.

"No, but there's you."

"Do I look like a house elf?"

"You're about the same height as one, and you're definitely as stu—" Regulus started, but was cut off short by his brother.

"I will do the dishes," Sirius interjected quickly. "I learned a few good cleaning spells after I moved in with Remus."

"Well that's fitting," Regulus snorted with derision, "A couple of fairy boys should be good at that sort of thing."

"You go enjoy your walk Flora," Sirius said quickly, his jaw tensing. "I'll clean up after breakfast."

Flora looked at him, then at Regulus. As quick as Sirius had been to cover up the tail-end of Regulus' comment, it hadn't gone unnoticed. In the end, she just nodded and gave a Sirius a small, uncomfortable smile. "Thank you."

They ate in silence from thereon with only the radio playing in the background. The tension was heavy over the table. Flora felt this was more than just about her now. Regulus' hatred extended a little further than her it seemed, for he clearly disliked Remus too. The implication of his words, and what he had said yesterday for that matter, left a bad taste in her mouth. She understood his insults well enough, but did not understand how they related to her brother and Sirius. Homosexuality was something other men did, not her brother. Not Remus. And Sirius certainly wasn't one of those men, she reasoned to herself; he was so charming with women, so flirtatious. No, she thought to herself, she would know. Regulus was just being contrary for the sake of it.

Flora went on her walk after breakfast and left Regulus behind at the cottage, while Sirius sorted the dishes out and popped (literally) into town to buy things for Regulus. Her walking space was limited to the surrounding forest, all of which was protected by the concealment charm. She brought a book with her — Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen — to read when she got tired of walking. The ground was dry this morning and the weather mild.

Flora was steadily getting through a long reading list of classic books for the English course she was supposed to have enrolled in this year. She should've been at Cambridge right now, lounging in a boat on the River Cam with likeminded academics; her mother would've been so proud of her. But it wasn't safe, not yet. Remus promised she would go when the war was over. However, it did mean Flora had a lot of expendable time and was able to read books and old coursework, which she insisted Remus find for her. And of course, he did. Between cooking and cleaning, it kept her fondly occupied.

She walked until she found her favourite spot and spent a longer time than usual just reading. The simple fact was she didn't want to return home and face her hostile houseguest. But she soon grew a little cold, and her bottom felt numb from sitting so long on the hard ground, that eventually she relented and made her way back to the cottage with the hope it was still standing.

To her surprise, Regulus was outside. He was skulking around the garden, studying the herb beds and whatever flowers that had not yet faded with the summer. As she approached, he straightened up and fixed his eyes on her face.

"Hello," Flora said a little stiffly to him in acknowledgment.

"Hello."

"You're outside."

He said nothing for a moment. He just looked at her, then lightly cleared his throat and spoke steadily, "The garden is nice."

Flora couldn't help the little laugh that escaped her mouth as he said this, for it was so matter-of-fact. She quickly stopped when she noted the offended look that shadowed his handsome face, but she still smiled and nodded. "Yes, it is."

"Why do you always laugh at me?"

"I didn't mean to," she replied gently. "I'm sorry. I just didn't expect you to say something kind."

"I wasn't being kind," he clarified, frowning. "I was simply making a remark. I like gardens."

"Hmm," she agreed, nodding. She glanced around at the ivy growing up the cottage wall, then at the withering, dying foliage above. "Everything is dying though."

"I still think it is nice," he said. He paused again, then added, "It's more peaceful than London."

"I suppose it would be."

Another silence ensued. Flora sighed softly and looked back at the cottage. "Let's have lunch. Are you hungry?"

Regulus eyed her warily. "Are you going to make me prepare it?"

She held back another laugh and turned away so he couldn't see her smile, for he was being perfectly serious. "No, I'll make it. You'd probably burn the place down if I let you near the oven."

Regulus followed her back inside, close at her heels. "Then yes… please."