The Gryffindor dormitory was silent, the other boys fast asleep. Sirius sat cross-legged on his bed, curtains drawn tightly around him. You leaned back against his headboard, your sleeves rolled up, scars catching the soft glow of his wandlight.

Sirius twirled a silver quill between his fingers, dipping it into a jar of shimmering ink. “You know,” he said softly, brushing a thumb over your arm, “these scars look like constellations.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do they now?”

“Mm-hmm.” He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing your skin. “Let me show you.”

Before you could respond, the cool tip of the quill touched your arm. Sirius worked silently, connecting each scar with delicate strokes. “This one’s Orion,” he murmured. “Strong and brave, just like you. And this—Cassiopeia. Beautiful, fierce, and stubborn. Definitely you.”

You couldn’t help but smile as he continued, his touch gentle and precise. When he finally sat back, he held your arm up to the light. Your skin shimmered with tiny stars and constellations, your scars transformed into a galaxy.

“See?” he said, his voice soft. “Told you. You’re a masterpiece.”

You stared at your arm, warmth blooming in your chest. “Sirius…”

He grinned, that boyish charm lighting up his face. “What? It’s true.”