Chapter 3
Regulus started with the desk. It seemed the least invasive. Because even thought he had come here for this specific reason only, going through someone's things still seemed wrong.
And so Regulus started with the drawers of the desk and then efficiently yet rather quickly worked himself through James Potter's room. He wasn't even sure what exactly he was looking for. He'd know once he'd found it.
For as long as possible he avoided the bed and everything in its close proximity. That felt ... most private. The most invasive. People kept their important things beside their bed, close to themselves. But after giving James every chance to put whatever it was he was looking for somewhere else, Regulus opened the first drawer of the bedside table. His breath caught.
There was a folder. Beige and neat and with the word 'Padfoot' written in careful tidy letters. When Regulus lifted it there were more. More maps, more tidy words. More of something he wasn't supposed to see. One of them was labelled 'Quidditch'.
He should grab it. Take it, maybe without even opening it and leave.
He sat down on James bed, gingerly, as if that somehow made it better, and opened the map that was for some reason labeled as his brother's.
There were a few pieces of paper at first. Sirius' lazy drawl all over them, little notes and jokes, probably from classes. And underneath ... Underneath was Sirius.
Sketches of him, drawings, paintings. Here was Sirius screaming on a broom, there his face all scrunched up in his hands at the breakfast table.
Most of them were quick pencil work. Done in a haste but with so much care it seemed as if James had wanted to come back and fine tune them, only to never find the time. Caught up in a life where he saw these moments every day so he had no need to try and capture them in explicit detail.
There was a huge black dog sometimes. As if he were Sirius's, as if Sirius could ever be responsible enough to care for someone who depended on him.
On one of the last pages Regulus breath hitched. Because on that page was Regulus. A younger Regulus. One whose hair was still long, not by his own choice. Whose face was softer and his eyes more worried.
Beside him was Sirius, also younger, maybe not softer, their faces inches apart, their foreheads pressed together. Regulus remembered the moment as if it had been yesterday. At the same time thinking of it felt like dragging the memory from the depths of an ocean.
He had been so scared of the sorting. So so scared. Of getting into Gryffindor, of not getting into Gryffindor. Of getting into Slytherin. Of not getting into Slytherin. Of Walpurga. Of Sirius. Of anger. Of disappointment, of the shame.
And then his big brother had grabbed him outside of the hall, pulled him close and pressed their foreheads together. "It'll be alright Reggie, it'll all be alright," he'd said. And then Regulus had gotten sorted, and nothing was ever alright again.
Before even realising it, Regulus had slipped the drawing out of the map and into his bag. No one would know, no one would mind.
Then he finally turned towards the 'Quidditch' folder. Just as he reached for it something else fell into his hands. Another folder. Which his traitorous hands accidentally opened.
There was a boy on them. Small and curled up. Asleep most of the time. James had used more colour here. Always a light blue; on his sweater or his bracelet, sometimes in his eyes if they happened to be open. Peter Pettigrew, Regulus's brain supplied.
The next one was titled 'Lily Evans, my everything', and Regulus blushed and almost closed the folder back up again. Almost.
They weren't particularly exposed pictures, or even revealing at all, they were just; intimate.
Full of detail and paint and roses. These weren't sketches, these were all drawings. Huge and grand, as if James just hadn't been able to help himself, as if the only way he could see Lily was as an entire world.
With the others it was bits and pieces. A hand here. Some hair there. Practice probably. With Lily, it was art, it was devotion, it was love.
Regulus closed the map very firmly and nearly threw it back into the drawer.
Then he finally grabbed the quidditch folder with enthusiasm, ignoring his growing suspicion that it may not be filled with strategies and set up plans. Apparently he knew Potter a little too well by now, because it really really wasn't.
It was brooms and flying robes and quaffles and ... well, the changing rooms. With people in them. Naked people. Not recognisable but definitely there, and definitely still going to school with Regulus ... He closed the map. Slid it back into the drawer and then hesitated.
There was one more. One more map. 'Remus John Lupin' it said. He was the other guy Sirius now hung out with. Quieter than Potter, louder than Pettigrew. Something in between that Regulus couldn't judge.
At first there were sketches like from the other boys. Lot's of yellow, some amber, some copper. But then, sometimes, sometimes Lupin's face twisted. Not in anger, or annoyance, or any other emotion. It just .. Cracked. And it looked so, incredibly, real.
Regulus's hands moved faster and faster as he flicked through the works. Sometimes Lupin looked sick, pale and half dead. Sometimes he looked almost happy. And sometimes he looked almost mad. Wild. Feral.
And then, then the grotesqueness started. The twisted limbs, the grimaces. Lupin looked in pain, his body contorted into a weird form that Regulus couldn't even recognise. Maybe James was some sort of psychopath.
Someone who drew his phantasies on a piece of parchment if he couldn't play them out ...
But then again, these looked played out. These looked real and alive. If not the pulled apart body, then definitely the pain in Lupin's eyes. His amber eyes.
And suddenly everything clicked. Regulus pressed a hand to his mouth, his thoughts racing.
He hadn't ever paid too much attention to Lupin, but enough to know the guy was sick a lot. Monthly some might say.
Then there were the scars. All over his face, and always expanding. In sync with the moon perhaps?
Regulus went through the map again in a feverish haze. Something like giddiness arose in him. A diabolical happiness that promised him that this, this was the answer to all of his problems.
The universe was finally providing him with something other than stones in his way. Or perhaps Regulus was simply becoming good at utilising them.
Finding a particularly horrible portrait with Lupin sprawled out on the floor, naked, half man, half beast he took it out. Placed everything back into its rightful place, packed the picture and hurried out of the room.
This was better than fixing their quidditch. This was fixing his life.