Disclaimer: Characters from the Harry Potter Universe belong to JK Rowling and are used without permission but with no intent to defraud.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my fantastic beta bewarethesmirk. Written for the Forum Drabble Challenge on The Quidditch Pitch - which it won because it was the only entrant lol.
In the already messy kitchen of a newly-acquired flat, an instruction manual lay unopened beside an empty Sauron's Soaptastic Scrub-A-Brush box.
"Where are you going to put that?"
"The sink?" Seamus frowned at Dean.
"You could always stick it up your-"
"Away and shite," Seamus snapped, brandishing the washing-up brush. "I dunno how to use this. Me mam used to do dishes wi' a sponge"
"What d'you think mine used? A pickled herring?"
Seamus looked bemused. "Why'd she want to do that?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Why did Ron bother?"
Seamus clutched the brush protectively to his chest. "He said this was the best present ever. 'Cause it washes the dishes," he added reverently.
"It's not doing anything nestled in your boobs."
Scowling, Seamus turned to the brimming sink. "So...?"
"Aw, hell," Seamus said, "it's just a brush." He thrust it into the water and immediately the handle began to vibrate. "Is it supposed to do that?" he asked as the brush rose from the water, whipping at the soapy bubbles.
"Er... yeah? I think."
The water was frothing up over the lip of the sink and the brush followed its path, flicking water onto the floor.
"What's it coming out of the sink for?" Seamus reached out and yelped as the bristles scraped across his skin. He stumbled back, and the brush fell to the ground, whisking the spreading puddle of water.
With each touch of bristle to water it seemed to generate more froth, and both boys were soon forced back to the door.
"Do something," Seamus said.
"You do something."
"I'm not touching it. The feckin' thing went for me." He shoved his reddened hand under Dean's nose. "See?"
Dean batted his hand away, still keeping his attention on the advancing puddle, and the violently scrubbing brush. "I'll... I'll try and grab it," he said nervously.
Pulling out his wand, Seamus said, "I'll cover you."
Dean set one foot into the soapy water and approached the brush. His fingers barely touched the handle and the brush flipped over, launching at his hair; he scrambled back, slipping and falling to the floor.
The brush buzzing around his head like a bee, Dean tried to hold it off. "Do something, you wanker!" he yelled.
Seamus pointed his wand at the brush, but it was too quick. He looked frantically around. Spotting the instruction book, he ignored Dean's plaintive cries, and sloshed his way to the table.
He opened the book. The words: 'IMPORTANT: Do NOT place in water: Scrub-A-Brush makes its own!' glared at him from the first page. He flicked quickly on, and finally found what he was looking for. He spun on his heel and yelled, "STOP BRUSHING!" just as the brush had got purchase in Dean's hair.
It took a moment for Dean to realise the brush had stilled, and he blinked up at Seamus, the washing-up brush sticking up from the top of his head.
"So, a sponge you said?"
"Aye, a sponge."