Well, to be fair, Sirius was just heading out of Frillies. After a day of abysmal results, he had finally decided to throw up the white flag. One particular trial lubricant wasn't having the pleasant warming sensation he wanted it to have. Instead it was causing furious itching. Slap on top of that the smell of very bad eggs, and you had Sirius doubting even the most devoted masochist would want to give it a go. He had saved a bottle, just in case Snape ever showed his greasy beak, but the rest of the batch went to the rubbish bin.
He stepped out, paused to light up a clove cigarette, and would have continued on his merry way had he not heard someone muttering curses. Peering down, he spotted the source. A pretty bird pulling weeds. Something seemed wrong with the picture. "Isn't it a little late for that, dollface?"