Portraiture
Stealing paintings is one of the weirder things John has done for the Brotherhood, but Magneto wants it, so whatever. When the pictures start moving and talking, though, it's seriously freaky. John tries to ignore them, although one old woman won't shut up even when he wraps her portrait in a plastic bag and ties it shut; he can still hear her muffled voice calling him things that he doesn't even understand but that sound dirty.
He hesitates before shoving the next one into a bag; the boy is his own age, or maybe a little younger, and is looking up at him with bright eyes and a crooked smile. "Can you steal the silver, too? My mother will hate that."
"Shut up," John says. "You're made of canvas." There is no silver; except for the portraits stacked in the dusty attic, the house is empty. It's a seriously weird place, though. For one thing, John is talking to a painting.
The boy shrugs. "Well, so is my mother. The real one's dead. I suspect I am, too. I certainly never visit." He tugs at his robe as if at an uncomfortable tie. "Can you hang me somewhere more interesting? There's only so much you can stand looking at daffodils." He waves a hand at the painting opposite him, which features a bored-looking horse.
"Not up to me," John says. "I'll ask the boss."
"Are you a secret international gang of Muggle thieves? That would be very cool."
"We're not thieves," John says, current evidence to the contrary. "We're saving the world."
"Saving the world is my specialty," the boy says. John raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Well, maybe when I was this age fart jokes were my specialty. But it's been a long time since I was really sixteen."
"Sure, whatever," John says. "Welcome to the Brotherhood, painting person."
"Sirius Black," the boy says. He looks at the bag containing the picture of the old woman, which has once again started a muffled shrieking. "And if you can shut my mother up, I will love you forever." He makes kissing noises, and John shakes his head, smiling despite himself.
"Also not up to me," he says. "But if the boss doesn't need her --" He flicks his lighter open and lets a bright tongue of flame flicker between them.
"Brilliant," the boy says, looking hungrily at the flame.