written in the stars
sirius black

( tomorrow's rain )

by cupid-painted-blind

Ca-pri-corn.

Li-bra.

A-qua-ri-us.

It's Ancient Runes meets History of Magic meets Muggle Superstition, and then some. He taps his telescope impatiently, tracking another constellation (even though a lot of them aren't out this time of year or night), another star chart, with pretty Zodiac symbols and myths and histories. It's meaningless, and at the same time -

Lily says it's fascinating, because she grew up conspicuously not-believing in this sort of thing - sleepovers with friends giggling over magazine quizzes and wondering whether or not to believe in fate. James says it's stupid, because they're just stars and can't affect people. Remus says it's interesting; Peter, it's spooky.

Because it's so accurate! I mean, it says here that I'm a... a Virgo, and that means I like -

It means, Sirius drawls under his breath, that you're a woman who can't get laid.

James laughs beside him and Remus gives him an admonishing look, but smiles. Lily glares, but who cares about Lily anyway? Peter either doesn't hear him or doesn't respond, eagerly looking through the book to find something else about Virgo.

He makes a huge mark on his star-chart and labels it SIRIUS because after all, that's the brightest star in the sky, and those stupid Zodiac signs don't matter anyway. Peter mumbles that he wishes he was named after a star.

But you are! Sirius says loudly, Right here, you see - points to some far-off light - Peterius Wormius. Brightest star in the constellation Theseus!

Orion, Remus hisses under his breath. There is no Theseus. And that's Leo.

--

Scor-pi-o.

Ge-mi-ni.

Pi-sces.

The firewhiskey burns down his throat, fire from somewhere deeper than the eye can see, smoking on his tongue, searing as he holds it in his mouth as long as he can manage. James' house is set pretty far out from everyone else, so it's good 'cause there isn't a whole lot of light to obscure the stars. He can see so many constellations, and from here it looks like the really are what the books say they are.

There's Castor and Pollux (brothers, inseparable, even in death) and, and, and - and there's Andromeda, the Chained Lady (married Perseus the killer of the Medusa), and, and, and - and there's Leo -

Mr. Potter's whiskey burns down his throat, acrid and acidic and painful. It tastes as awful as it feels, but somehow Sirius thinks that's okay.

Because it's whiskey, it's alcohol, it's freedom and escape and rule-breaking and winning. Because it's just as bad as it feels.

The book tells him that he's an Aries, a fire sign, which is fitting, really, because, three days before summer break ends, he stands in the backyard with James, douses a whole trunkful of Black memorabilia (Christmas presents that he half-wants to salvage, letters and books and old robes and new ones as well and a hideous sweater his mother sent him in his first year and Bella's old wedding invitation and all the other things he never meant to save but did, somehow) with the stolen firewhiskey and sets it all aflame.

The book - Astronomy for Beginners - curls up and shudders to ash and Sirius can do nothing but watch.

(It says - it says they were born in the Year of the Rat, a year of death and war and - and they flaunt it, all of its aggression and charm and pretty pictures and celebrations and paper lanterns and foreign streets, thrust it right back in its face because - )

(Because they are sixteen, and invincible.)

(Because they are sixteen, and fragile.)

--

Taur-us.

Vir-go.

Sa-gi-tar-ri-us.

What do you think it'll be like, Peter asks, when we're all gone out of the dorm and living in the real world?

What, he means, will Remus do when we aren't here to help him?

They scoff and shrug it off because that's all in the future and it's so far away. The future - the present is already enough for them to handle right now, why worry with the future? It's coming, one day at a time, James says, we'll meet it when it does.

Yes, but -

Sirius gives him a look - one of those don't push it looks - and Peter backs off.

Seven and five days before the end of term, Sirius is up on the Astronomy tower, watching stars. The door opens and someone shuffles out onto the roof, slow and unsteady in the darkness, but Sirius - eyes already adjusted to the low light - recognizes his brother immediately.

For reasons he never, ever can explain, he doesn't say anything at first. He watches, instead, as Regulus - a Leo, he thinks, a Leo, which is all the proof he's ever needed that the Zodiac is stupid - slumps against the closed door and buries his head in his arms.

(Sirius is half-tempted to talk to him, like a brother should, but then, they aren't brothers, not anymore, not really.)

Regulus is shaking violently, like he hasn't eaten in too long or his feet can't support his weight - like he's about to collapse into himself, like the gravity has finally overcome the energy and there's nowhere to go but down.

(Like a black hole, Sirius thinks, his brother the Black Hole.)

(He snickers at his own joke, even though it isn't funny.)

All of a sudden, Regulus looks up from across the tower and meets his eyes. Gray to gray - haunted to hunted (which is which?). Regulus makes a move as if to get up, and then doesn't. Instead, he looks up, to the sky. So does Sirius. There's nothing to see.

There never was.

--

Ar-ies.

Can-cer.

Le-o.

For the second time in his life, Sirius finds himself at a memory-pyre. Into it go all the stolen and pilfered and snuck-out and substituted fragments - here's a green scarf, not Regulus's Slytherin one, but close enough - and a potions book that reminds him of Hogwarts and Slug Club parties pointedly ignoring family - and there, underneath everything else, a half-burnt photograph already salvaged from one farewell.

There won't be any retrieving it this time. He's kept it long enough.

(It isn't worth anything anyway.)

Lily stands behind him, concerned, but James explains that this is something of a tradition (it isn't) and not to worry (she does) and that Sirius will be fine by morning (he won't). Sirius doesn't call his friend a liar. He doesn't have to.

It's unsaid - what's really wrong with Sirius? Remus isn't here, and Peter is doing something with the Order, so it's just Sirius and James and Lily, and soon just Sirius and James, watching the fire lick up and burn through wood and paper and history.

So, James whispers, any particular reason?

He stares blankly at the papers curling up and fancies - for a moment - that he sees the photograph, that it flashes into view for just a moment and then fades into ash again. He blinks, shakes it off.

(His brother's grin, shuddering into darkness.)

(Like a black hole, stealing all the light and air and brightness. His brother the Black Hole.)

No, Sirius answers, not really.