Stargazing Dreams

"Reggie," came a whisper from Sirius, who stood close by his brother, concern etched on his face. He grabbed a plate from the buffet and held it up for him, his expression softening. "You need to eat something!" Sirius insisted, his eyes locking with Regulus'. "I'm guessing we won't get anything at home today."

The younger boy maintained eye contact as he accepted the plate of food, feeling the warmth of his brother's care. "Thank you, Sirius," he said quietly before lowering his gaze to the meal in front of him. He hoped Sirius hadn't noticed the admiration shining in his eyes, the admiration he tried so hard to keep hidden.

Sirius just gave him a nod before turning to stealthily grab something from the buffet for himself. As Regulus watched his brother, he couldn't help but admire him for everything he did: the way he boldly rebelled against their strict parents, how he always stood up for him, and the unwavering way he looked after him.

Yet, this admiration came with a pang of discomfort. Sirius was always taking care of him, always stepping into the role of protector and caregiver, despite only being two years older. His brother was always taking care of him. He raised him despite only being two years older. Sometimes it felt like Sirius would see him like he was still that little kid. Like he was still somebody who needed his brother for everything.

But if that meant he would always stay close to him, then Regulus would get over it.
And he knew this would be the case. He knew that Sirius would never leave him.
But if it meant that Sirius would always be close, Regulus could live with it. He cherished their bond, and he knew that Sirius would never abandon him. No matter what layed ahead, Regulus was certain of one thing: his brother would always be there for him.

Regulus looked up from his food as he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. It was Sirius who had tapped his shoulder. His face was twisted in a familiar expression of irritation. "I'm going outside for a bit, I can't stand all this full blood-nonsense anymore" he said annoyed and with rolling eyes. Regulus couldn't help but chuckle at his brother's exasperation.. It was a rare view. One that needed to be charished and remembered. "You go ahead," Regulus replied, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'll finish up here and then come join you." He watched as Sirius gave a final nod before making his way through the grand dining hall and out onto one of the large balconies.

The air outside was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere indoors. Night had fallen, and the sky was a canvas of deep indigo, speckled with countless stars that glittered like diamonds. The sight was breathtaking, an almost ethereal beauty that softened the edges of Sirius's anger. He leaned against the stone railing, taking a deep breath and feeling a sense of calm wash over him.
The silence was soothing, a welcome reprieve from the constant chatter and an oppressive expectation. Here, under the vast expanse of the night sky, Sirius could momentarily forget the weight of his lineage and simply exist, his thoughts his own.

It almost made him forget about how he felt uncomfortable with the people around him and currently also in his own skin. But just almost.
He could still feel the stiff, white dressing shirt that never seemed to fit right, its starched collar chafing against his neck. The fabric was too rigid, the cut too confining, making every movement a reminder of his constraints. Then there were the ridiculously fancy shoes, polished to a shine but utterly impractical. They pinched his toes mercilessly and made a sharp, echoing sound with every step he took, drawing unwanted attention.The worst part, perhaps, was how his hair had been ironed and combed back into a style that was the antithesis of who he was. His long black curls, usually wild and free, had always been a part of his identity. The only piece of his attire that felt remotely wearable were the tight black pants, though even these were far from comfortable. They clung to him in a way that made him feel even more constrained, but at least they didn’t chafe or pinch like the rest of his outfit.

Regulus, on the other hand, hasn't complained about anything but those.

He couldn't help but chuckle about how absurd this entire event was. Here they were, a group of the galaxy's wealthiest families, all gathered in an opulent, chandelier-lit hall, each convinced of their own supreme importance. They were dressed in the finest silks and adorned with rare gemstones from distant planets, the air thick with the scent of exotic perfumes. The so-called "important" business they were discussing seemed nothing more than an elaborate farce to him. They spoke in grandiose terms, their voices dripping with arrogance and disdain for anyone not present. The sheer audacity of their belief that they ruled the entire galaxy was staggering to him.

"Completely bloody crazy!" he thought, shaking his head in disbelief. "How could anybody be so arrogant?" he muttered to himself, not expecting an answer.

"That's a good question," someone answered from behind, breaking the silence. Sirius was startled, spinning around quickly to locate the source of the voice.

A boy stood in the doorframe leading to the balcony, somewhere around Sirius's age. He wore round glasses that framed his curious eyes, and his short, brown curly hair seemed to defy the very laws of gravity this planet had, bouncing in every direction. The boy had a bright, infectious smile.

With a confident and friendly demeanor, the strange boy extended his hand and said, "James Potter."

Sirius couldn't help but smile back, feeling an unexpected warmth from the boy's presence. "Sirius Black," he replied, a bit nervously, as he took James's hand in a firm shake.

He couldn't help but wonder what James would think of his family name. It had always attracted attention, and not the good kind. The Black family was notorious in certain circles, known more for their dark reputation than for being liked.

James tilted his head, walking towards Sirius and positioning himself next to him on the balcony railing. James took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the glittering expanse above. "The view is brilliant, ain't it?" he said, his voice soft, almost reverent, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the tranquil scene.

Sirius turned to look at him, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. "Sirius," James mumbled, his voice now carrying a note of admiration, "you were named after a star. That's so bloody cool, mate!" His eyes met Sirius', sparkling with genuine fascination.

Sirius blinked, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected compliment. A slow, appreciative smile formed on his lips as he replied simply, "Thanks."

James chuckled, his amusement evident. "So, are you also here because you can't stand all the people in there?" He rolled his eyes dramatically, jerking a thumb back towards the lively party happening inside.

"Yeah," Sirius sighed, a weary expression crossing his face. "It's sickening!" They shared a look of mutual understanding, a connection forged in their shared discomfort. Sirius let out one last bitter laugh, which quickly faded into the night as they both fell silent, their gazes drawn back to the shining stars.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, wrapped in the serene beauty of the cosmos. The vastness above them, dotted with countless twinkling lights, felt like a refuge from the chaos of the party and the world at large.

"You know," James began, his voice filled with a mix of wistfulness and determination, "my biggest dream is to be a pilot one day. So I can explore all of this." He gestured expansively towards the night sky, his eyes alight with the possibilities that lay beyond the horizon.
Sirius's imagination took flight, envisioning distant stars and unexplored planets. "That sounds lovely," he admitted, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the night. He could almost see the colorful, beautiful dream that James was painting with his words.

But as reality crept back in, the vibrant dream of distant galaxies and shooting stars began to fade. The harshness of the world they knew encroached upon the moment, dulling the bright future that James had so vividly described.
"My parents wouldn't be pleased though. They probably already have something in mind for me. Something more noble and suited for a member of the Black-Family. But as long as I got my brother with me, it's worth it." his voice is bitter.

"Go anyways. And take your brother with you," James suggested with a huge smile on his lips, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Sirius sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging as he responded. "To be honest, I thought about it as well. But it would change so much for Reggie. He's our parents' little favorite, you know. They dote on him. I'm not sure if he would want to go with me," Sirius admitted, his voice full of sadness and uncertainty. He looked down at his feet, kicking at an imaginary pebble on the ground. "I just want the best for him, but he can be a bit stubborn. Sometimes it feels like he's trying to please our parents more than thinking about what he really wants."

James's smile faded slightly as he put a reassuring hand on Sirius's shoulder, his touch firm yet gentle. He looked into Sirius's eyes, holding his gaze with a steady and comforting presence. For a moment, it was silent between them.

"Whatever happens," James began, his voice filled with certainty, "you'll always have a place at my house." He paused, ensuring Sirius felt the sincerity behind his words. "My parents aren't like yours. They're different. They only really went to the event because they were practically forced to. They don't believe in any of that rubbish." James's tone was soft, carrying a warmth that wrapped around Sirius like a protective blanket. He offered Sirius another smile, one that was so very hopeful.

Sirius looked at him, eyebrows raised and eyes wide with surprise. "How can you offer something like this? I'm practically a stranger to you."

James chuckled, his laughter rich and warm. The uncertainty in Sirius's voice seemed to amuse him. "You're not a stranger to me anymore. I've decided that you are my friend and therefore you are," James declared with a confident grin, his eyes sparkling with determination.

Sirius stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, a sound that filled the space with unexpected joy. His laughter was hearty and genuine, shaking his shoulders and causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners. Between gasps for air, he managed to say, "That must be the stupidest but sweetest thing I've heard all night!"
James's smile widened, his heart swelling with satisfaction at the sight of his new friend so unreservedly happy. He watched Sirius laugh.
Finally, Sirius, completely out of breath and still chuckling, managed to mumble a heartfelt "Thank you." The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.

They continued their conversation for a short while until they heard a noise coming from the direction of the door. Regulus had entered the balcony, his expression cautious as he scanned the scene. "Sirius," he said, his tone wary and his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of James.
"Hey, Reggie," Sirius responded, moving toward his younger brother with a warm, familiar gesture. He playfully ruffled Regulus's short, curly black hair, a grin spreading across his face.
"This is James Potter," Sirius introduced, pointing at James with enthusiasm. "He's a good friend of mine," he added, his grin widening. Turning to James, he continued, "And this, James, is Reggie, my brother."

"Hey," James said, his smile broad and welcoming as he extended a hand toward Regulus.

"Hi," Regulus replied flatly, his face betraying no emotion as he shook James's hand briefly.
"Don't be like that, Reggie," Sirius chided, his tone turning mock-serious. He made an exaggerated gesture, pretending to wipe away an imaginary tear. "Be nice to my friends!"
James's laughter rang out, loud and genuine, and Sirius quickly joined in.

Regulus was constantly amazed at how effortlessly his brother could make friends. Sirius had a natural charisma that drew people to him, and he seemed to form close bonds with others almost instantly. In contrast, Regulus had always struggled in this area. Though he had Pandora and Dorcas, those friendships were an exception rather than the rule. Befriending them had taken a considerable amount of time and effort, and even now, he sometimes felt a bit out of place.
And it didn't make it easier that his parents weren't really fond of either of them. Pandora especially though.  Walburga had a plethora of derogatory terms for Pandora, but the one she used most frequently was "crazy."

Despite his parents' disdain, Regulus had persisted in his friendship with Pandora. Though it had taken a lot of convincing to let his parents meet her again.

Pandora, for her part, seemed unbothered by the Black family's scorn. She moved through life with a serene confidence, unfazed by others' opinions. She knew her prophecies were true, and Regulus shared in this certainty. He would have even gone so far to say that he would have believed her anything.

"Sirius, we have to go. Mother and Father want to leave," Regulus said, his eyes wide with urgency as he looked at his brother pleadingly. "We shouldn't let them wait," he added. Sirius nodded in agreement, but before they could move, he dashed back inside. James and Regulus exchanged puzzled glances, both unsure of what had just happened.

A moment later, Sirius reappeared, a napkin clutched in his left hand and a pen in his right. Without a word, he hastily scribbled something on the neatly folded napkin. His handwriting was hurried but legible. Finished, he handed the makeshift note to James, who took it with a look of surprise.

"My address," Sirius said, a grin spreading across his face. "Now you can write to me." The smile he gave his new friend was warm and genuine.
Before either James or Regulus could respond, Sirius turned back around and grabbed his brother's hand, pulling him towards their waiting parents. Regulus shot one last anxious look at James before they were out the door.

"I'll do that," James whispered to himself, a promise meant for both his new friend. He watched as Regulus and Sirius disappeared from view, clutching the napkin tightly.

"Finally, there you are," their mother said coldly, her sharp eyes narrowing at Sirius with a look of disdain. Sirius felt the weight of her gaze.
"My apologies," Sirius said with a resigned tone, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Regulus is only late because he had to find me." He kept his eyes downcast, unwilling to meet Walburga's intense stare. He knew from experience that any hint of defiance would only escalate her anger.

Walburga's lips tightened into a thin line. She didn't bother to respond to Sirius' excuse, clearly unimpressed. Instead, she turned her attention to Kreacher, the house-elf who stood nearby, his head bowed in subservience, waiting for her command.

"Get us home," she ordered, her voice as harsh and unyielding as ever. Kreacher's ears twitched at the command, and he gave a quick, deferential nod.

"Of course, Mistress," he croaked, his voice filled with a mix of fear and devotion.

Kreacher had brought them home to an old, dark house which was built in a Victorian style. The house loomed over them, its towering, gothic structure casting long shadows in the fading daylight. Intricate carvings adorned the edges of the gables and eaves, with timeworn gargoyles perched menacingly on the corners. The tall, narrow windows were framed with ornate, wrought-iron bars, and many were shrouded by heavy, dust-covered curtains, hinting at the secrets held within. The grand double doors creaked ominously as they swung open, revealing a dimly lit interior.

Sirius and Regulus stood silently, their nervousness palpable, in the middle of the spacious yet dimly lit living room. The flickering light from the fireplace cast eerie shadows on the walls, heightening their anxiety. Their mother stood before them, her stern gaze piercing through the tension that hung heavy in the air. She was an imposing figure, her presence commanding the room with an air of authority. Meanwhile, their father sat in an old, dark leather armchair by the fireplace. The armchair, worn from years of use, creaked slightly as he shifted. He observed the scene with a stern, contemplative expression, his eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

Sirius nervously swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat.

“Regulus," Walburga commanded, her voice dripping with cold authority, "go to your room." Her tone left no room for disobedience. He hesitated briefly, his eyes meeting Sirius’s. Sirius offered a soft, reassuring smile, one that did little to hide the underlying fear they both felt. Understanding the futility of defiance and the consequences that could follow, Regulus obeyed without protest.

As he walked through the hallway, his heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing louder in his ears. He entered his room with a sense of dread, his legs trembling beneath him. Closing the door behind him, he let himself collapse onto his bed, the mattress absorbing his weight and his worries. The familiar scent of his room, usually a comfort, now felt suffocating.
Desperately seeking solace, he seized the nearest pillow, its worn fabric warm and familiar against his fingertips. He pressed it firmly over his ears, his knuckles whitening with the force. The soft cotton muted the world outside, the sounds of the house fading into a distant, distorted hum. But it couldn't completely block out the painful screams of his brother, each one piercing through the pillow's feeble barrier. Regulus lay there, tears welling up in his eyes, the muffled silence doing little to shield him from the horror unfolding beyond his door.
Every scream, every cry for help, every begging for mercy was another knife in his soul, a reminder of his helplessness.

Sirius looked up at his mother with a seething, hatred burning in his eyes. He lay sprawled on the cold floor at her feet, his shirt shredded and soaked with his own blood, the pain pulsing through every fiber of his being.

The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth, and each breath sent a wave of pain through his ribs.

"You'll never speak again with that Potter-boy, do you hear me?" Her voice was so harsh it felt like another blow against his soft, wounded skin.
Sirius tried to be confident and tried to be clear but his voice was playing against him and so he groaned out the words. "Yes mother", his voice, strained and broken, sounded as painful as he felt.

"Go now" Walburga ordered. Sirius would have almost preferred her to order him to stay and suffer than to face the ordeal of standing again, but she didn't grant him that mercy. He tried to collect all his energy he had left and pulled his weak body up on his wagly feet.
Every step is a test of endurance. His entire body screamed with pain, muscles trembling and threatening to give up. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before him, each step feeling like a mile.

As he finally reached his room, he collapsed against the door, his hand fumbling with the handle. He staggered inside, the safety of his room offering little solace against the torment he felt. He dragged himself to his bed and fell onto it, his body a throbbing mass of pain.
The bed felt like a slab of stone against his bruised and battered flesh. Every breath hurt, every thought was clouded with the searing pain coursing through him. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, tears of rage and pain slipping down his cheeks.

Time flew by and the wounded boy didn't even notice. Sirius had just lied there and cried and endorsed the pain, not having the energy to do something about it.

He should have tended his wounds long ago but he didn't. He rather continued to drown in his own sorrow.
A soft knock on his door interrupted his sobbing session. It was a sound so soft and tentative that it seemed almost out of place in the oppressive silence of the house. With a voice barely above a whisper, he called out, "Come in, Regulus." He knew it could only be his younger brother; their parents would never bother to knock.
The door creaked open and then shut quietly, revealing an eleven-year-old boy standing in the doorway. Regulus's eyes were wide and filled with a tumult of emotions—fear, concern, and a deep sadness that mirrored Sirius's own. "Oh, Merlin," Regulus mumbled, his voice trembling slightly.
Sirius watched as his brother approached, his small frame appearing even more fragile under the weight of worry. "Do you want me to treat your wounds?" Regulus asked, his voice soft but resolute.
Sirius's heart ached at the sight of his little brother standing there, offering help.
Sirius didn't want to worry Regulus. He didn't want to be the reason for his sadness nor his fear. He never wanted for him to take care of him. That should be his job.
But at that moment Sirius couldn't focus on what he didn't want. The only thing he could think about is what he wanted. And he wanted so very desperately to stop the pain.
He turned his head slowly, meeting Regulus's gaze. His eyes were filled with anguish, but there was also a flicker of hope. He managed a weak smile, his voice cracking as he spoke. "Yes, please. Reggie."

Regulus sat down next to his brother on the bed, his expression a mix of concern and determination. His small, soft hands moved with a delicate precision over Sirius's battered body, carefully working to remove the tattered remnants of his shirt. Each movement was meticulous, as if he were handling something incredibly fragile.
Despite Regulus's gentleness, Sirius couldn't help but hiss in pain every now and then, the sound escaping his lips involuntarily. His body bore numerous cuts and bruises, each one a testament of their mothers cruelty. Yet, he remained silent because he knew he could put all his trust in his brother. Sirius knew he would be fine as long as Regulus was the one tending to him.
The pain was intense, but the comfort of his brother's presence was a soothing balm, a reminder that he wasn't alone. A reminder of who he did all this for.

The younger boy finished tending to the wounds, his hands lingering for a moment as he surveyed his work to ensure everything was properly cleaned and bandaged. With a gentle sigh of relief, he reached for a T-shirt, one of the few soft and comfortable garments they owned. It was a stark contrast to their usual wardrobe, which was filled with stiff, formal attire deemed appropriate for members of the noble Black family.
As Regulus slipped the T-shirt over Sirius's head, he took extra care to avoid jostling his brother's injuries. The fabric was cool and soothing against Sirius's raw skin, a small comfort in the midst of his suffering. Tonight, comfort had to take precedence over formality.
Sirius remained lying on his stomach, the only position that didn't aggravate his wounds. His muscles were tense with pain, and he knew he would likely have to stay like this for weeks until his injuries healed. Regulus adjusted the shirt carefully, making sure it didn't press too tightly against the bandages.
"Thank you," Sirius murmured, his voice hoarse but sincere. He closed his eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace despite the discomfort. Regulus sat beside him, his presence a silent promise of support and protection.
Regulus grabbed a thick, warm wool blanket to carefully place over Sirius's battered body. As he unfolded it, he recognized the familiar red wool and the hand-knitted stars scattered across it. This wasn't just any blanket—it was his childhood blanket, one he had cherished deeply.
Regulus smiled softly, a wave of nostalgia washing over him as he draped it over his brother. He remembered how much he had loved that blanket, though he could never quite recall when he got it or who gave it to him. It certainly wasn't something their parents would have chosen, with its handmade charm and sentimental value, so unlike the cold, formal items that typically filled their home.
The blanket had been his refuge, its warmth a source of comfort during his childhood. He never thought he would part with it, but one day, he did. The memory was hazy, but he recalled Sirius crying, utterly inconsolable. Instinctively, Regulus had wrapped his favorite blanket around his brother, hoping to soothe him. From that moment on, he never asked for it back.
As Regulus finally stood to leave the room, he took one last look at Sirius. His brother, cocooned in the blanket, looked peaceful despite his pain. Regulus hesitated, something pulling at him. He turned back, the words catching in his throat before he finally managed to speak.
"Could I?" he asked nervously, pointing to the bed.
Sirius's face lit up with a rare, genuine smile. He held up the edge of the blanket, invitingly. "Get in," he said.

Regulus hadn't slept in the same bed as his brother for a long time, but he remembered the warmth. The little bit of warmth they had found in this cold house they called their home.
The warmth that was now again surrounding him.
Rolling up beside his brother, Regulus nestled close, and Sirius gently pulled the blanket over both of them, ensuring they were both snug and covered.
Sirius then wrapped his arms around his younger brother in a tender embrace, careful not to press too hard. It was almost as if he feared that the smaller, skinnier boy next to him might break under a firmer hold.

Sirius leaned down and pressed a gentle goodnight kiss on Regulus's forehead. Normally, Regulus would have protested, and Sirius would have received a mean look for his troubles. But not tonight. Tonight, Regulus didn't react with his usual indignation. Instead, he closed his eyes and let himself enjoy his brother's touch, feeling safe and cherished.

Regulus felt Sirius's steady heartbeat against his own, a reassuring rhythm that lulled him toward sleep. In that moment, he felt like everything would be alright.
Everything would be alright because they had each other.
With that peaceful thought in mind, Regulus falls asleep.
Sirius noticed his brother's even breathing. He closed his eyes and before he could fall asleep he whispered, "I love you, Reggie."