Sun rays are flooding inside the apartment passing the see-through fabric of the curtains. They light up all the small details around the living room, the painting of a stormy sea in the corner which has still not been hung up on the wall, the pot of flowers that has sat on the windowsill for months with no signs of life until now, the silver jewelry scattered carelessly around the space. There's a large canvas on the easel. It holds the faint outlines of a long haired person holding a guitar. The detailing of the work is incredibly specific even though being drawn by only a pencil.
There's a boy sitting on a stool in front of the easel. He's mixing paints on a wooden palette, stopping at times to look at the sketch. A hint of sadness flashes in the boy's eyes as he gazes the unfinished painting, there's seemingly a deep emotional connection between the boy and the person he's trying to capture on the canvas.
There's soft classical music playing in the background. It soothes down the atmosphere, makes it feel like you can finally breathe. The boy drags his brush carefully around the canvas. As the sunlight slowly turns to orange, the person in the painting is starting to take the form of a boy. A boy with long black hair, sharp features and a set of clothes that belongs to a rockstar. There are stars in his messy hair, a crescent moon tattooed on his arm along with many other permanent pictures. The painting captures the boy with all the beautiful details on his skin.
The painting is nearly finished when the artist stands up from the stool. He stretches his arms over his head and sighs, it's been a long day. He takes a pot from a kitchen cupboard, fills it up with water from the tab and sets it on the stove. He takes a few steps towards the painting when the mail falls in from the front door.
The boy picks up the newspaper from the carpet and eyes the frontpage which states "Regina Black, who has been missing for months, has been presumed dead after an intense investigation". The story continues to recite the flow of events once again, but the headline is the only thing worth reading from the paper.
The boy turns to the painting holding the paper in his hands, not daring to let go of it in case it'll disappear. He lets a tear fall down his cheek with a smile tugging on his lips.
"We won Sirius," he tells the painting, knowing his brother is already on his way to meet him.