Growing Up

Part 70.

Remus was sick with grief after his conversation with Regulus. Who would've thought a painting could create such a nauseating state of mind. Regulus proved everything that Remus knew about his old friend wrong. Remus loved Peter. He was, at the time, a wonderful friend who was nothing but loyal. Intelligence he lacked, but with Remus they made up for it as a group. He hadn't shown any concern, but he was deeply disturbed by what he had revealed.

Peter was a frequent guest at the Death Eater meetings. Regulus would sit across from him, the two furthest from Voldemort. They would exchange silent glances, their expressions still and stone like. He even spoke of the hiss that Peter would emit if Regulus' eyes had wandered for too long. This was nothing less than appalling to hear, and nothing short of genuinely painful. How could one flip such a metaphorical switch? How could he hide such a dark personality?

Remus sat in the corner of the room with his head in his hands. He felt himself mold to the crease in the wall, unable to leave. He had been there for hours, asking every question he could think of. After what felt like thousands of "what if"'s, he finally was silent.

"Remus, no more," Regulus' head dropped in disparity, the curly crown of his black hair bobbing in what looked like wind. This thought of painted wind flashed through his mind amusingly, then he fell back into his distressed state.

"-I beg you."

Regulus had always said it was hard for him to speak of the meetings or anything related to the Death Eaters. It was a life put behind him now, and he regretted his involvement up until the moment of his death. He sighed loudly and cracked his knuckles, the timely wear of the paint gave his fingers a slender and wrinkled look. Even with the answers he had reluctantly given, Remus' chest still felt eerily empty, something eating away at the last hope he had so carefully protected.

"You should tell him. Sirius." Regulus spoke quietly. He emitted some sort of childish energy, like a boy who grew to miss the soft glimpse of understanding from his older brother.
"He would want to know."

"He can't." Remus added sternly.
"Not yet, he can't handle that."

Shaking his head, Regulus laughed in comical disbelief, a hint of disgust painting his words. Sirius and him had this in common. They could switch personalities in seconds like a projector clicking to the next slide, par to the course of years under a tyranny.

"Neither can you! I hear you're still struggling with the news of Fenr-"

Remus didn't let him finish, just stuck a hand in the air, signaling him to stop. When it came to anything about the dark past he was constantly surrounded by, the grey walls closing in on him, it was suffocating.

"Regulus, I know better."

The painting sighed once again, and Remus could feel its eyes burning into him.

Regulus began to squirm uneasily, getting frustrated. "Then go talk to Albus. He'll tell you more."

Remus felt his hands attempt to dig into the floor, his nails nearly bending against the frigid granite. He couldn't talk to Albus, he was sick of talking to him. He had tried that before. Giving any more information could kill him before he had a chance to walk away.

"He always does."

***

Remus opened the heavy door and held it with one arm, hesitating before all of the trophies and trinkets that stared back at him with a quiet disgust. He glared blankly at the "Headmaster's Office" sign, wondering if he should go through. He did anyway. The phoenix cawed at him with a menacing hiss, almost trying to speak to him. What would it say if it could? He didn't want to know.