Chapter Text
"Grande étoile, peux-tu pousser la balançoire s'il te plaît?" The little grey-green eyes looked into the slightly older grey-blue ones, wide and wondrous.
They were surrounded by green grass, and oak trees edged the park, a light green, cheerful and peaceful, unlike the cold dark green of their house. The space was open and free, the grass slightly damp from the rain, the fresh smell filling the brothers nose, the scent so different from the moggy, crushing sense at home.
"Of course Petite étoile, remember what I taught you to do when you swing" the elder laughed, standing up, dusting off his robes.
"Oui, legs forward and up, and then fold them as you swing, how do you say en arrière in English?"
"Backwards petite étoile, very good, well done." He smiled at the smaller boy with his tousled curly hair.
The scene is peaceful to the passerby. Just two innocent young brothers, no older then 6 and 7, pushing each other on the swing. One overly watchful pedestrian may wonder where their parents were, but they were more likely to notice the high collared robes, with sliver trimming standing our on the dark black robes. They looked finely made, the best tailored, but unlike the clothing worn by the public.
But muggles don't notice thing like this. To them the picture is just two brothers playing in a park. No-one noticed the older repeatedly looking at his wrist, anxiously looking at the time, knowing their freedom was limited. No-one noticed the younger giving small looks over his shoulder, or flinching when ever a sound out of the ordinary occurred. No-one saw the bruises that lined the elders back, the open wounds along the wrists, left there by dark magic, later to be completely healed, not leaving a scar or a mark on the pale pearl skin.
No-one noticed that they were fated to never return to that park. Never fated to leave that house through the front door by themselves again. Not even on the day the elder ran away would that thresh-hold be crossed alone, instead he escaped through the fireplace. No-one heard the loud crack that resonated through the house the day that two people left, the curly black haired one never to return, only the small wizened creacher, and a locket.
No-one noticed. No-one cared.
•~~~~~~~~•
He is the Little Stars Sun.
Snuggled together, The Sun and Little Star enterwined, orbiting each other, snatching moments of quiet.
The Sun ran his fingers through his Little Stars hair, on the brown leather couch in the place that appeared just for them. They planned a picnic. Red and white checkered blanket, wicker basket overflowing with a feast just for them, sitting on the side of the great lake on a quiet Saturday.
The Sun kissed his Little Star on the forehead, and tipped the Little Stars face up to rest their foreheads together, noses touching softly as brown flecket with gold eyes looked into his lovers grey-green ones.
"One day, petite étoile, we shall make it a reality." The Sun whispered, a small smile creeping onto his face. The Little Stars eyes shined sliver-green as his faced relaxed, happy, peaceful and determined to enjoy every moment he could.
They never went on that picnic in life.
A dark mark, twisted in a snake and a skull burned onto the Little Stars arm, a careful obliviate onto his Sun, and The Suns warm rays couldn't reach the Little Star anymore. A black hole of memory's never to be received until the Suns explosive death.
He was The Sun for the Little Star.
Maybe in one universe they ended up together. Maybe in one universe they met at a camp and made pancakes. Maybe in one universe they met and won a game together. Maybe in one universe they stole paintings. Maybe in one universe The Sun thought the Little star died but he was only in Italy, the magnet slowly bringing them back together. Maybe in one universe The Sun taught his Little Star how to play the muggle game Uno. Maybe in one universe they lived. Maybe in one universe the Little Star got his sun and kept him.
But not in this universe.
No, not in this universe. In this universe their just one great big fucking tragedy.
•~~~~~~~~•
The Moon looked down at his star, sleeping on the white hospital bed, black hair spread along the pillow. He looked more neat now then he ever did, even at Grimald Place.
His Star looked dead.
The Moon knew it was his fault. His fault that they didn't resolve the argument before the transformation, The Wolf had taken it out on his Star, and left his Star bleeding and hurt.
She said he would be completely fine, he looked death-like due to the sleep drayght they had given. The Star had bags under his eyes, he clearly hadn't slept in days. That was The Moons fault again, for being away and not notifying anyone.
She said there would be scars. The Moon already knew that, he had matching ones, in the same place, the same length.
Even the Stars house had never given him scars. How sutible that his werewolf boyfriend would be the one to give his Star his first.
It's for his Stars better health, The Moon said as they broke up. It's for their safety The Moon said as he made his Star stop coming to full moons.
It was for the better.