I was seven years old. Our mother and father were having one of their "discussions" in the kitchen. They'd been having those heated arguments off and on for as long as my young mind could recall. Sometimes there were months of silence. Sometimes the peace only lasted days. But no matter how many times I'd been woken by Mother's shrieks and Father's cold retorts, I'd never really gotten used to it.

Weighed down with dread, I lied awake in my bedroom, clinging tightly to my covers and listening for the slightest signal that the shouting would end soon. Most of their words didn't make much sense to me, but I was starting to understand one thing clearly: Mother and Father were unhappy. After the first few arguments, I had felt hopeful the next morning, when things would seemingly return to normal. But I was starting to realize that peace and quiet didn't always go hand in hand.

I shivered as the loud voices ceased, and I waited for the sounds that might follow: the slam of a door, the shattering of glass, or nothing at all. Strangely, the sudden quiet seemed worse than the noise. It left me wondering if there was ever really a resolution to these nights, or if those unhappy feelings persisted under the surface of my parents' calm faces, slowly spreading cracks through the foundation of everything that I knew.

The heavy silence persisted, suffocating me. Tears sprung to my eyes, and I quickly blinked them back.

Ba-bump.

Bewildered, I sat up. The noise had sounded almost like a heartbeat - like something thudding against the walls. I waited for it again.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

The ruckus seemed to be coming from down the hall. Unnerved, I slipped out of bed, dragging my blanket along with me. The boards of the old house creaked with each step as I neared the source of the sound: my eight-year-old brother's bedroom. Light leaked out the crack under his door. I peered inside.

Sirius was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding what looked like a miniature crystal ball. With a defeated expression, he threw the softball-sized orb at the floor. Rather than shattering, the shimmery ball bounced off the floor and rebounded against the wall with a rhythmic double thump, returning in an arc to its thrower.

When he saw me standing in the doorway, Sirius paused. "Hi," he said simply, as if there was nothing unusual about this night.

"What're you doing?"

Sirius shrugged and turned his attention back to his game. "I dunno. Just bored, I guess. Do you wanna try?"

I closed his door and joined him at the edge of his bed, and he bounced the orb to me. Ba-bump. When I caught the strange object, I couldn't help but gape. Milky fog swirled inside the glassy orb, but it was rubbery to the touch.

"Is this Father's Rememberall?"

Sirius shrugged again. "I wanted to see if I was forgetting anything." I stared at him in confusion, and he avoided my eyes. "I, er, dropped it, and it sort of…changed. Father must have put a spell on it. I don't really care about it breaking, so I'm not sure why my magic would've saved it."

He wasn't looking at me again, and his tone was odd. I decided not to read into it too much. "It's neat," I told him, throwing it back to him the same way he'd done before. Ba-bump.

Sirius snatched the Rememberall from the air like it was a reflex. Then he glanced warily at me. "You won't tell him I took it, will you?"

"No," I answered honestly. The thought hadn't even occurred to me. The way I saw it, Sirius hadn't done much of anything wrong, as long as he was planning on returning the Rememberall later. (It was only until I'd looked back on that night years later that I realized his intentions may not have been so innocent.)

Sirius nodded and threw the Rememberall back to me. For a minute or two, we continued the game, and the only sound in the house was that steady, rhythmic thumping. Then the little orb glowed red in my hands, and I recalled the reason I'd been awake and so eager for a distraction.

Sirius raised his eyebrows as the red glow faded. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I lied, bouncing the ball back to him. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. I fumbled my next catch, and the Rememberall clattered to the floor. Flustered, I picked it up and threw it back a little too hard. Sirius stretched and missed, and the ball landed in the pillows by his headboard. "Sorry," I said, feeling shame creeping up my throat. I couldn't help but feel like I'd just ruined something special. But Sirius simply climbed to the top of his bed to retrieve the Remembrall like I'd done nothing wrong.

"Do you think Mother and Father are happy?" I blurted, unable to hold it in any longer.

At first, I thought my brother was ignoring me. He fished out the Rememberall from his pillows and scooted back to the edge of the bed. Then he passed the little orb from one hand to the other for a few seconds, like he was wondering whether he could throw it back to me and pretend he hadn't heard me. At last, he said, "Either way, there isn't much we can do about it, is there?"

I gripped my knees and stared at my feet dangling off the side of his bed, helpless to fight off the irrational fear consuming me. At that age, my family was the one thing I knew and the one thing I cared about more than anything. Sirius might as well have told me to give up on my entire life. But what scared me the most was the truth behind his words. My small world was crumbling, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Wanna build a fort?"

I blinked at Sirius in surprise. My brother wasn't smiling; building a fort was a serious undertaking, I supposed. But that stubborn, defiant expression was much better than the defeated, miserable one that had crossed his face a few seconds ago. Not wanting to say the wrong thing, I nodded and played along.

For the next ten minutes or so, my fears became lost in our new game. Sirius, ever the leader of our affairs (pranks or otherwise), directed me as we put all of the frilly, uncomfortable pillows on his bed to good use. We even fetched some from my room too. By the time we'd finished, our makeshift fort was over half as long as Sirius's bed and just as wide - and quite well-designed, in my opinion. But there was one problem.

"Don't we need a roof?"

"Way ahead of you, Reg," Sirius announced proudly as he pulled out a thin blanket from a dusty box in one of his closets. The dark blue fabric rippled like water. Glittering silver threads wove elegant constellations across the surface.

I gaped. "Where did you get that?"

Sirius shrugged. "A gift from when I was a baby - from some great-grandparent, I think. I don't really remember."

As I touched the silky heirloom, I felt a stab of jealousy. Sirius always seemed to get the special treatment from the rest of our family. He was the heir, after all, which made me the extra - a meager participation award tucked behind a first place trophy. I'd never received such lavish gifts as he did, but he didn't even seem to notice or care. Admittedly, sometimes it was nice to not be the center of attention - having relatives always watching with a keen eye, waiting for the slightest misstep. But other times, the background was a lonely place to live.

I couldn't really blame Sirius, though, seeing as he had no control over it. It wasn't his fault he'd been born first.

Ignoring those feelings, I helped my brother drape the starry blanket over our expertly crafted refuge. Then we both crawled inside. I laid on my back and grinned, all jealously washed away at the joy of our creation. "Brilliant, isn't it?" Sirius chimed in as he reclined next to me.

"Yeah," I murmured, admiring the accuracy of the design and the way the silver thread caught the light. The dark blue backdrop seemed to melt into the pillow-walls of our fort. I could almost convince myself that I was gazing at a real night sky.

"Let's go camping sometime."

I frowned at my brother as his gray eyes gleamed happily. It was hard to imagine that just a few minutes ago, he'd looked so helpless and frustrated.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, like this, except we're in tents in the woods. We could have a fire, tell ghost stories, explore the woods—"

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked, bemused.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Wouldn't you?"

"I dunno. It sounds a little…" I hesitated, trying to find the best descriptor.

"Scary?" Sirius suggested, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips.

I blushed. "What about animals? Or monsters?"

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. "I'd keep you safe." His easygoing smile sank into a somber frown, and he stared at the starry blanket. "Once we both have wands, let's do it - just you and me. We wouldn't have to tell Mother and Father. We could get away from them for a little. No adults, no stupid rules, no stuffy portraits watching us all the time, nobody telling us how to sit, or eat, or dress, or speak - none of that. Even if it was only for one night, we should do it." His stubborn expression softened, and he eyed me hopefully. "What do you think?"

"Wouldn't Mother and Father be worried when they notice we're gone?" I asked timidly.

Sirius's expression fell. "Yeah, they'd probably ground us for a week if we tried it. But…" He sighed. "Never mind. Forget it."

My stomach twisted at the defeat in his voice. "I do like when you tell ghost stories," I said, desperately trying to cheer him up.

Sirius smirked wryly. "Really? Last time, I gave you nightmares and you had to sleep in my bed."

"They're still fun to hear though. And I suppose," I added tentatively, "if we're sharing a tent in the woods, it wouldn't be much different."

Sirius's face lit up again, and he smiled at me. "You mean you'd do it? You want to?"

I hesitated. Sirius had always been more courageous and outspoken than me, especially when it came to disobeying our parents. With this camping endeavor, we'd be breaking about ten rules in one go. But right now, the thought of seeing him look so disheartened again was scarier than the thought of running off into the woods without permission.

"As you long as you'd stay with me."

Sirius beamed at me, and I thought I saw a glimmer of pride in his gray eyes. He nudged his shoulder against mine. "Of course I would. I'd never leave you alone out there, with all the ghouls, and dementors, and giant spiders—" His voice suddenly took on a dramatic flair. "Creeping up on you while you're sleeping at night, and all you can hear are those big pincers clicking as they—"

"Stop!" I begged, pressing my hands over my ears. He laughed, and I couldn't hold back a sheepish smile.

"Are you staying in my room again tonight?" He teased me.

"Can I?" I asked.

My brother blinked. Evidently, he hadn't expected me to take his question seriously. "Sure," he replied.

I let out a tense breath (that I hadn't even realized I'd been holding in) and rested my head on his shoulder. I felt much more relaxed now, curled up on the floor next to Sirius under a fake sky, than when I'd been lying in bed alone earlier. For a while, I was content to close my eyes and relish the quiet that had fallen over the house once more. Oddly, it didn't feel so suffocating now.

Then the fear crawled back. My restless eyes fluttered and refused to stay closed. I tried to focus on the glittering constellations above me, picking out their names from memory to tire myself out. (All members of the Black family were well-versed in astronomy, considering our naming traditions.) But my eyes lingered on two very familiar constellations: Leo and Canis Major, separated from each other by ten or so others.

I turned my head slightly. Sirius's eyes were closed, and his expression was the picture of serenity. His chest rose and fell slowly. His head was so close to mine that I could feel his shaggier hair brushing against my ear. I didn't want to disturb him.

Once again, I couldn't hold it in for long.

"Sir?"

His eyebrows furrowed, and he blinked blearily at me. "Hm?"

"If Mother and Father s-split up, you don't think…you don't think they'd split us up too, do you?"

He frowned and blinked some more, like he was having trouble processing my question. Then put his arm around me and squeezed. "That's not going to happen, Reg," he murmured.

"How can you be so sure?" I whispered, frightened.

"Because it won't," Sirius replied simply but firmly. "Mother and Father aren't going to split up. And if they do, I wouldn't stop fighting with them until they let us see each other. You can't get rid of me. Besides," he added through a yawn, "who else would protect you from the s-sp-spiders?

I pondered his points for a long moment. Then I asked quietly, "Promise?"

"Promise what?"

"That you won't leave. That we'll stay together, no matter what."

Sirius sighed softly. "I promise, Reg. I'm not going anywhere."

Relieved, I allowed myself to fold into his arms. He held me a little tighter, and I exhaled gratefully. In that moment, I knew that he meant it. My small world wasn't crumbling - at least, not every aspect of it. I still had my brother.

Like he said, I couldn't get rid of him - and I was perfectly happy about that.