Pink Green Blue

and but for the sky by Hourglass nomineeReview TeamPaid AccountWiki StaffThe Owl Post StaffHourglass winnerScrivenshaft WinnerWinglessFlight

Rating: G. Created: January 10th, 2008. Updated: January 10th, 2008. Read Reviews (13)
Disclaimer: Characters, the magical world, etc, is property of J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros, not the owner of this fic.

and but for the sky


(The title for this fic belongs to the ever-marvellous Bob Dylan.)

And but for the sky the stars would fall, would tumble to earth in a haze of fire and light and explosion. But for the blanket of sky, holding each precious diamond in place, like a great dark tapestry, holding each silver thread in place. And but for the sky, with its darkness black, but for the sky the night would be radiant.

Sirius looks up at the stars through the bars of the window, and but for the sky he could drink in the night.

The constellations hit his eyes, blinding him, and he remembers, terribly, wonderfully, that today is his birthday. He counts twenty-two stars, landing on the North Star, his star.

Over by Venus lies Regulus, shining to outrival the planet. Something in his heart burns - a star, an empty ball of flames.

And there, the warrior star, the Amazon star: Bellatrix burns into the night. Orion’s belt a scarf of diamonds. Behind him shimmers Andromeda, and but for the sky he could touch them, hold them, be with them again.

There is a cry in the darkness and he recognises the pitch and tone. His heart has grown cold to human discomfort; he places the voice with a cool detachment.

And yet, seeing her star up there in the sky (warrior), suddenly he is not so cool.

And his head is spinning, through the stars and through the sky, and he can see them, they are there, they are in front of him, there’s Regulus, his thin cheeks that were always pale. There’s Bella, and even then her eyes were wide and feral. There’s ‘Dromeda, who left them, sold them all out just like he did, for a few months of happiness and a rainbow child. And there’s Cissa, a flower not a star, and maybe it was safer that way. And his parents, the night and the star, and he closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to see them.

But they’re behind his eyes, inside his eyes, and shit, he’s fucked because finally it’s happened, this place has done it, he’s gone mad.

And it’s so liberating.


He hardly hears the screams at all because now it’s him screaming, telling them to leave him, leave him be, begging them, pleading them to let him die alone.


But they won’t leave, they won’t leave, and he hears their whispers in his mind. We’ll wait, they whisper, and the threat sounds like love.


Love, he screams, you want love? Fuck love! I loved you and look what you did to me. How could you, how could you, how could you...and he’s not sure anymore if he’s talking to them or himself or just the world, that it kept on spinning through all this pain and love, or maybe he’s talking to the stars, that they burn so bright when all he feels in cold, through and through.


Cold, but for something burning in his chest and behind his eyes, something mad, something terrible. Something like doubts, something like regrets and remorse and reproaches and family, his family up in the stars, in the heavens.


Something like Regulus, who was always the favourite, the perfect spare to the broken heir. (but his letters used to cheer you up at Hogwarts, and his smile was always safety)


Something like Bella, who was always talking about changing the world and terrifying them with her plans. (but her laugh was genuine and so was her loyalty, she was always there for you)


Something like Cissa, who was always glaring and staring and tossing her hair. (but her eyes were always so wide when ‘Dromeda and Bella laughed at the sky)


Something like ‘Dromeda, who was always the rebel and the one to look up to. (but she used to take your toy wand and bend your fingers back)


Something like Mother, who was always shouting and pleading him to be someone else. (but she cried when you were leaving, you remember each tear like a star)


Something like Father, who was always busy, too busy for a child, to important to be barren. (but he was sorry, wasn’t he, he said so, and he brought you gifts)


And never say Sirius didn’t love them. He loved them, all of them, whatever they’d done and whoever they’d become.


And maybe, just maybe, if there hadn’t been a newspaper, and a boy, and a rat, and if he hadn’t been at Hogwarts, maybe he would have been a star again.




The night sky is cloudy. Sirius is not visible.


And but for the sky, he would shine bright.

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