Supernova
Sirius
The Astronomy Tower. From here, Sirius could see the moon- crescent shaped. What time was it? Sirius looked at the sky, lustrous black, and the few stars visible were gleaming diamonds on the canvas of a charcoal bed. Pressurize coal enough and it would turn into a jewel.
Standing on the balcony, the one which couldn't claim his death, the thick layers of magic and protection charms hung heavy on his soul, almost begging him not to jump: opposing the remnants of his mind which compelled him to fall, just to try. With a rueful smile, he stepped back, feeling the spells ease off his brain.
Why only now?
Why only now, at the finale of his life could he see the splendour of the stage on which his tragedy played out?
All his sins came crashing upon him, an ocean of thoughts, but one that kept constant was the one screaming how he should have been a Slytherin. There was no bravery, no courage, nothing worthy of being a true Gryffindor. He didn't deserve the comfort, the love lavished upon him in the red and gold tower; he didn't deserve the safety of a comfortable place to cut, to turn the handle lowering himself buried alive in his coffin deeper, deeper, deeper…
Dead in the ground.
Forget him being a Slytherin, he shouldn't have been alive. He'd only managed to hurt everyone he came into contact with, there was no good deed he'd ever achieve in this lifetime.
As they glimmered in the sky, twinkling together, Sirius realised that while his may be the brightest, there were so many other stars that weren't his. So many others who were more important, that had had their light stolen for a star undeserving of the luxuries bequeathed upon him, the comforts of a gilded cage for one who ran far from it.
Sitting there: he smiled at the sky, a drunken haze clouding his mind. Ideally, he wouldn't be drunk on his final day…
Ideally he wouldn't be slitting his veins.
Ideally he wouldn't be gazing at the stars to die.
The stars beamed back, not leering cruelly like he had known for so long, like so many others had previously: lovingly. Invitingly. They welcomed him home.
Home to the night, to the dark, to the sky where he'd be a star, emanating light rather than greedily existing as the black hole he was. Undeserving and unwanting no longer, Sirius would take the coward's way out, smiling as he did so, improving everyone's lives by leaving.
Was this what they call[ed] bravery?
Reaching into his bag, the cold blade of a quill knife soothed his clammy hands. He'd always thought he never felt more alone than when he was surrounded. He now realised that was an utter lie. This was being alone: crying out to the faceless stars, just gas in the sky, and begging for recognition. Setting the quill knives aside; he almost wanted to go to McGonagall, to Remus, James, Regulus, Peter- anyone who'd listen- and sob in their arms, the thought was tantalising and cowardly. He pushed it away. Sirius drew his wand, swishing away the fabric of his robes to expose his leg, touching the tip of his wand to his calf. "Diffindo," he whispered.
Maybe…
No. No point.
He relished seeing the blood- his blood- spurt out as his skin split open, revealing layers he could name by now: maybe the only friends he wouldn't, couldn't leave, pure familiarity. The sheer pain nearly snapped him from his boozy delusional fog: OW. The sharp intake of breath made no trace in the warm air of the summer night, but Sirius swore he could see clouds of crimson exhale from his mouth at the hurt he felt.
Or maybe that was the drugs.
Jabbing pain shot through his thigh as he dragged the blade across the battlefield of his ruined skin, blood spattering in tiny scarlet droplets attempting vainly to stain the metal. The gash parted, revealing another mess of yellow disgust beneath the chalk of his skin. Previous scars ripped open, each one unravelling Sirius and exposing him for what he was.
Deeply, deeply human. At least monsters were important, impactful- he was nothing, had always been.
How much was too much?
Probably this, he thought, as the lacerations moved to his radial artery.
Clattering on wood, the knife could take no more- Sirius needed it to take no more.
'Last words, Sirius Orion Black?' a voice sounded from somewhere in his head.
His mouth opened- and nothing came out. Nothing but sour, drunken heat. Breath.
Why should he speak? He had nothing to say. Why should he grant last words to the world that hated him?
Quiet, at last.
And Sirius fizzled out as morning dawned, the halo of gentle light giving way to the sun as the halo of blood on the floor dried egotistically into the wood.
Supernova: the colossal explosion of a star.
They say in your final moments, you see a flash of your entire life, reduced to a few seconds. If he were still here, Sirius could assure that was not true, but some scenes sent him off at peace, to die was an art, and art brought comfort.
--
"Are you awake?"
"Why did you let Mother do that to you?!" Regulus stage-whispered in the dark.
"She would have done it to you otherwise- I'm your brother, I couldn't let that happen to you!"
9 year old Regulus had broken an antique vase on accident, and their dear Mother had used the Lacero spell on who she thought was the culprit- her 10 year old son- so many times that his back looked barely human. Sadly, it had been healed, a clean slate for more torture less than a week later.
"I do not need you protecting me all the time, Siri!! You- could have gotten hurt...more, you could have died!"
Regulus, genuinely upset, a sweet brother before they ripped his flesh from his heart and it calcified to but a hollow, beating, bloodied bone.
"It's fine. She couldn't kill me, I'm the heir of the house or whatever. Maybe she'd disown me if I got sorted to Gryffindor though- wouldn't that be funny?"
"Stop saying things like that; Mother might hear you!"
Barely audible were the distant footsteps of Orion, but two ears attuned to constant survival picked them up and the boys shut down, with fainter "Goodnight."s.
---
"Jamie- can I tell you a secret?"
"Of course- go on then!"
"I… I think I like boys. In the way you like Evans- I know it's wrong but I can't help it you can't tell anyone I beg please-"
11 year old James had heard the huge confession from a 12 year old Sirius, shaping him into being ever understanding, ever patient.
"You're not wrong, you're just... not like what they want you to be- and when have you ever been that, mate?"
This had gotten a smile out.
--
"GRYFFINDOR. Are you even aware of what the HELL you have done?!"
A signet ring burned his cheek as its owner screamed at her son, pleading shamefully for mercy.
"Mother, please- I DIDN'T CHOOSE YOU OLD HAG-"
13 year old Sirius was later given to a personal healer, who called the internal bleeding he faced "serious to the point of death, Madame Black- I don't mean to intrude, but how could he have gotten these?"
The healer in question was never seen again, and Sirius wondered sometimes what happened to his body.
King's Cross, that January.
"Sirius. Listen."
She had grabbed him close and hissed in a language he hoped nobody around understood.
"Si j'entends une seule plainte à ton sujet... tu n'es pas le seul héritier, tu es dégrace."
{If I hear a complaint about you... you are not the only heir, you are disgraced.}
---
"Moons- you awake?"
"Regretfully. What happened?" asked, flopping over in his bed to face him.
"Mother- she- she sent- she sent-"
He cleared his throat, banishing his stutter like he forced himself to do at home.
"Mother sent me another letter."
Remus had flown to his bed, reading the thing and burning it in front of him, determinedly assuring "you are NOT one of them. You are nothing like her, and you're nothing of what she said there."
Two years later, Sirius would cut those words down just to hear him whisper "You are nothing" in the most loving voice known.
13 year old Remus had comforted him the way he knew 13 year old Sirius needed, feeding the touch-starved boy with gentle contact which he adored after another of many letters which had screamed at him, shame of the family.
--
"I like him, idiot!"
14 year old Remus had walked in just on time to see 15 year old Sirius declaring his love for Remus to a shocked James and Peter of the same age as Moony.
From there, a relationship had spawned which took the Hogwarts gossip world by storm and fire.
"I like you too, idiot." Remus whispered weeks later, tracing Sirius' face, as the newly tattooed boy kissed his lover's scarred hands in front of the blazing common room fire late at night.
--