Peter came home from his deliveries and found the flat in East London empty, a note on the kitchen table. The note informed him that: 1) Remus and Sirius would be home late as Remus had an arts show at the college and, 2), if Peter was interested in coming by, here was a ticket to the show that he could use and they'd see him there, otherwise, 3), tomorrow morning James had invited them all to omelets at the Potters' and, 4), they were all invited to hear about his first day as a Quidditch Captain and Flying Instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Oh and, 5), there was take out in the fridge - but, 6), Sirius ate all the dumplings, so, 7), he was very sorry Wormy.
Peter opened the fridge and found that indeed there was a large stack of Chinese take away boxes inside, and he opened them up to find they'd left pork chow mein, two egg rolls, a bit of egg foo young, and two teriyaki beef sticks. All Peter's favorites. Although he did sorely miss the dumplings. He piled everything into one take out container and took a fork from the drawer and carried his dinner down the hall with him and had nearly made it to his bedroom when he paused and pushed open Sirius and Remus's bedroom door and peered into the dark.
The bed was littered with half the contents of the closet and the fading sunlight coming through the window was only just enough to illuminate the silhouette of the stack of books Remus was working through teetering on his nightstand on the far side of the bed as well as the odd assortment of things that Sirius kept on his side of the bed.
Peter's eyes landed on the old Casio QS-16 watch... then wandered up the wall to where the framed drawing of Regulus Black hung.
Regulus's Portrait was asleep, leaning against the edge of the frame, eyes closed, chest peacefully rising and falling...
Peter inched closer, nervous, glancing over his shoulder, even though he knew that Sirius and Remus weren't home to walk in and catch him doing this. He put his food down on the dresser and wiped his hands against his shirt, ridding his fingers of grease from the food and the sweat pooling in his palms. He cleared his throat, vying for attention, but the portrait slept onward. He cleared it again - and still, no reaction from the portrait. Finally, Peter climbed up onto the bed, standing on the mattress, and leaned over, reaching for the portrait. He lifted the frame off the nail it hung on and pulled it from the wall.
When he got to the floor and looked again, the portrait had woken up and now Regulus's Portrait was staring up at him, brows cinched in concern. Peter lowered the portrait away and hurried to grab the take away box from the dresser, then scurried down the hallway to his own room.
He sat at the desk, the portrait face-down for the moment, nervously eating the food with his fingers. When he'd finished, he wiped his hands on his shirt and lifted up the portrait slowly, leaning the frame against the desk lamp so he was looking into the face of Regulus's Portrait from across the desk top.
Regulus's Portrait stared back at him, eyes confused and worried.
"Hullo," Peter said tremulously.
Regulus's Portrait blinked, but did not reply.
"I'm Peter Pettigrew," he said, unsure if the portrait version of Regulus would remember who he was.
"I know who you are," Regulus's Portrait answered.
Peter wasn't sure what he was doing or what he expected to happen once he'd taken the portrait off the wall of Sirius and Remus's bedroom, and now that he'd done it he wasn't even sure it was even a good plan. After all, what would he do with it now? Would he question the portrait and then put it back? Or did he truly expect Sirius not to notice the portrait was gone? Surely Sirius would notice the portrait had been taken. Of course Sirius would miss the portrait - if for no reason other than the fact that Remus Lupin had been the one who had drawn it. What if the portrait talked to Sirius? What if it told Sirius what Peter had asked about, what Peter and Oni were doing? However, it was far too late to consider that now that he was back in the bedroom, the portrait's eyes on him, quizzically studying his nervous twitching.
"What do you want?" Regulus's Portrait asked, chin slightly elevated, eyes cast down the length of his nose at Peter, his mouth twisted with a slightly sour expression as he narrowed his eyes.
"Are - are you - are you sentient?" Peter asked.
"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" the portrait demanded, "Do things that are not sentient typically hold conversations with you?" The attitude was a cold edge and Peter stammered nonsensically, as flustered as he'd ever been in his life. He was reminded of some of the meaner things Sirius Black had spoken to him over the years they'd known one another and his cheeks flushed red and hot with embarrassment. The portrait shook his head at Peter's embarrassment and muttered, "Seems I'm more sentient than you are, honestly."
Peter swallowed back his hurt feelings and said, "So you're - you're the consciousness of Regulus Black?"
"I am a portrait of Regulus Black, aren't I?"
"Yes."
"Who else would I be the consciousness of?"
Peter wasn't sure how to answer that.
"What do you want, Peter Pettigrew?" the portrait asked again, "What was so important that you had to go ahead and not only steal me from my dear brother's bedroom but wake me up from a sound sleep? Surely it wasn't just to sit there and gape at me like you're doing now?"
"I have questions... about how you died."
Regulus's Portrait stared at Peter with a scowl for several long seconds.
"About what you died for," Peter added tentatively.
The portrait remained scowling.
"How did you die?" Peter asked.
"It is none of your business," Regulus's Portrait said firmly.
Peter squeaked, bold as he could muster himself to be, "It IS my business, rather, so speak up and tell me what how you died and why!"
Regulus's Portrait grinned wickedly, "Oh, oh look at little Peter, mustering up an attitude of entitlement."
Peter flushed with anger.
"My secrets are far too valuable to be given up to you," Regulus's Portrait said edgily.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Peter demanded.
"What have you ever done to prove yourself worthy of my secrets?"
"I'm one of the members of the Order, trying to fight against the Dark Lord, the same as you always were! I'm one of your brother's best friends!"
Regulus's Portrait's eyes were cold. "Are you?"
Peter felt his cheeks burn red. "Yes," he said in a tone he hoped was convincing - although even as he pressed it from his mouth he could feel the doubt in his own heart. Sirius himself probably would forget to mention Peter if someone asked him to list his best friends. Peter had no doubt that James and Remus would be said first, of course, but how many others would be named before himself? Frank? Jasper? Marlene? How many more? Would Peter be mentioned at all?
It hurt so much to the very core of him that he could doubt it, after all these years, after all they'd been through.
Regulus's Portrait snuffed, as though he were amused at Peter's fluster, saying "like I said" without saying a single word. He seemed to settle back into the position that Remus had drawn him in, the graphite becoming less life-like, like he were turning off his consciousness, returning to no more than art for a time.
"Tell me why you went in that cave and died!"
The portrait didn't move.
Peter shook the frame.
The portrait stayed impossibly still, as though it had never come to life at all.
"I'll... I'll set you on fire if you don't tell me!" Peter stammered, frustrated.
Regulus's Portrait's features didn't move.
He slammed the frame down and grabbed his wand.
"Stupid idea," he muttered, "Stupid. Never should've let Oni talk me into it, never should've let Oni --"
"Oni?" Regulus's Portrait was re-focused suddenly, eyes flashing toward Peter. "What about Oni?"
Peter had his wand raised at the portrait.
"Wait," Regulus's Portrait said. "Wait. You know Oni?"
"Yes I know Oni," Peter snapped.
"Is she alright?"
"Tell me about how and why you died and maybe I'll tell you about her," Peter said.
The portrait hesitated. Then, "Nah. I think that I'd rather tell her about how and why I died. Bring my portrait to Oni and then... then maybe I'll talk." The portrait shrugged.
Peter glowered.
"I mean, or else you can just go ahead and set me on fire and never get the answers you wish to know. Whatever makes you happiest, I suppose." The smirk that twitched at the edge of the portrait's face was the most infuriating thing that Peter Pettigrew had ever seen in his entire life.
Had Regulus Black really been as infuriating in real life as his portrait was being now? Peter could scarcely recall. He hadn't spent as much time around Regulus as the others - but he remembered Sirius's attitude about his brother and Peter reckoned this was just about right for the younger Black brother. No wonder Sirius could hardly stand to be around Regulus. Acting like a little ---
"Fine," Peter snapped at the portrait. "But not yet."
Before Regulus's Portrait could speak another infuriating word, Peter opened the drawer of his desk and shoved the frame in. He got up and grabbed several pairs of socks from the laundry and piled them on top of the portrait - to muffle any noise it might make - and slammed the drawer shut good and hard. He crossed his arms over his chest, frustrated and feeling rather down because things hadn't worked out as easily as he'd hoped they might when he'd set off into Sirius and Remus's bedroom to fetch the portrait, and he wasn't particularly ecstatic to let Oni Lamm know that his attempt at collecting information from a drawing had been thwarted. After all, what sort of a person ends up spoken down to by a load of pencil markings on a bit of paper?
Perhaps the worst part of all was that the portrait's words had left a sinking, awful feeling in his belly, and the suspicion that the portrait had been right about his closeness to Sirius and the other Marauders.
"You're Stewie?!"
Sirius's heart was thumping so hard he was sure he could feel it in his throat.
Spencer Stewart looked confused, his eyes moving between Lula, Remus, and Sirius, full of about a hundred questions - but Lula and Remus both looked equally confused. "Uhh... yes, yes I suppose that I am," he said finally.
"You lived on Grimmauld Place?" Sirius asked.
Spencer's eyes were even more confused now. "Well, my grandfather did. He's passed now, certainly gone to hell if the rumors of it are true, but yeah, he lived in a dreadful house on the square there."
"You spent summers with him?"
"I'm sorry, have we met?"
Remus was looking at Sirius with his brows furrowed with concerned confusion, "Sirius?"
"I - You were drawing - in the square - and some arseholes from the neighborhood, they were bullying you... I - I saw it from my family's attic and I - I came out and helped you. You gave me your sketchbook - it fell in the mud and --" Sirius was stammering and his face was turning red.
Remus stared at his husband in surprise. He'd known Sirius how long and never before had he ever, ever seen Sirius stammer and fluster quite like this.
"D'you remember?" Sirius pressed.
"Yeah," Spencer said, "I remember. Blimey, I - Where the hell did you live, though? I never saw you again after that time. I told my Grandfather and he accused me of having imaginary friends - said there were no other kids that lived on the square besides the group of them who were giving me a hard time."
Sirius didn't know how to answer. Number 12 had always been invisible to muggles, hidden by magic. Sirius's mother and father had kept himself and Regulus from doing normal children things - like playing outside - and they'd always been kept indoors, only allowed to play with one another or else with the cousins when they visited. Sirius had gotten in terrific trouble for going out to help Spencer Stewart - not just because the boy had been a muggle. He'd suffered the cruciatus curse and he'd not dared to try again, even when he saw Spencer in the square again on other occasions, not even to return the sketch book, despite how he'd promised he would. The sketchbook was still somewhere in his old room, probably somewhere under the bed.
Lula looked from Sirius to Spencer with a wide grin on her face, her eyes dancing in amusement. "It's like a little reunion, how adorable!" She looked at Spencer, "Isn't it adorable?" She looked to Remus, who was still looking at Sirius in wonder. "I think it's adorable," Lula concluded.
Spencer laughed in that nervous sort of way people do when they just don't have words to fit a given situation. "I mean -- it's -- shite it's a small world, innit?"
Sirius, still so flustered, muttered, "It's - very -- I -- I need some air." He turned without anything further to say and bolted out the door.
Remus, Spencer, and Lula all stared after him and Spencer asked, "He alright?"
"I don't know," Remus said. "I better go and check on him. I'll see you lot in class."
"Bye Remus!" Lula called as Remus hurried to go check on Sirius. She turned back to look up at Spencer. "You alright, Stewie?" she reached up and brushed a stray bit of hair back.
Spencer glanced at her before staring once more after Remus and Sirius. "I mean it's really rather like seeing a ghost."