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Orion. The Hunter. The Belt. A pattern in the sky people traced with their fingers and called beautiful.
By seventeen, he told himself he did not care much for his birthday. They were mundane things. Bright candles. Loud music. Hollow applause.
Still, when he woke that morning, there was a small, traitorous spark in his chest. Maybe today he could do somethings with the ones he loved..
The Great Hall buzzed as it always did. Owls swooped. Cutlery chimed. First years whispered like nervous mice.
But no one said anything to him. Not unusual, he reasoned. People forgot dates all the time.
Then, he spotted Sebastian across the hall. Sebastian, who usually found him without trying. Who leaned into conversations with wicked amusement and easy familiarity. Who never missed an opportunity to make some dramatic remark about Westley.
Today, Sebastian did not look at him though. Only once. And when their eyes met, he turned around and walked away in a hurry. Westley frowned slightly, adjusting his sleeve. Perhaps he was busy. Yes, just.. busy.
Defense Against the Dark Arts passed in a blur. Potions was worse. His usual seat partner claimed someone else had taken his place. A flimsy excuse. There had been space next to him. Between classes, conversations seemed to dissolve when he approached. Laughter dimmed. People remembered urgent errands.
By midday, that spark in his chest had switch into something tight and unpleasant. He replayed the last week in forensic detail over and over in his head. Had he said something bad ? Too stupid ? Had he gone too far in some debate ? Had he monopolized attention without realizing ? He could be intense sometime. He knew that. But he couldn't remember for the life of him what he could have done.
Maybe they were just bored of jhim. Maybe seventh year had sharpened everyone else, and he had simply become… predictable.
Sebastian passed him in the corridor outside Charms. Their shoulders nearly brushed.
“Sebastian,” Westley said lightly, testing the waters.
A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, like a deer frozen in place.
“Sorry, I'm busy,” Sebastian replied, already moving past him.
The words landed heavier than it should have. Westley stood there for a moment, staring at the stone wall as if it might provide some explanation, or even a snarky remark.
He laughed once under his breath. Of course. People did not orbit a single star forever. Constellations shifted. That was the nature of the sky.
By late afternoon, he stopped trying. He retreated to the Astronomy Tower, where the wind tugged at his robes and the world felt appropriately distant. If they were bored, if they were tired of him, he would spare them the inconvenience of pretending otherwise.
He told himself he preferred solitude anyway. The sky darkened slowly, velvet swallowing blue. The first stars pricked through. He traced Orion’s belt absently with his eyes.
Even constellations were illusions, he thought. Scattered light pretending to be connected.
When the cold finally bit through his clothes, he descended the spiral staircase and made his way toward Ravenclaw Tower. He expected the common room to be quiet. Perhaps one or two students hunched over essays.
Instead, as he pushed the door open... Silence.. Darkness. Even the fire was out.
He blinked. For one disorienting second, he wondered if even the room was mocking him. Then...
“Lumos !”
Light burst to life. Candles flared along the shelves. The fireplace roared awake. Golden warmth flooded the circular room.
“Happy Birthday Wes !”
The words crashed over him like a wave. His friends stood clustered around the hearth, grinning far too widely to be innocent. Blankets draped over armchairs. A low table stacked with books he’d mentioned wanting to read. Butterbeer mugs clinked together. Someone had charmed faint starlight to shimmer lazily across the ceiling.
Sebastian stood near the fire, arms crossed, failing miserably at suppressing a smirk. Westley did not move.
For a heartbeat, he simply stared at the scene, dumbfounded.
“You,” he said slowly, looking from face to face, “are terrible.”
A laugh broke out.
“We had to keep you oblivious somehow,” someone said.
“You are absurdly hard to ignore, by the way,” another added.
Sebastian stood up and stepped forward at last, offering him a cup of butterbeer.
“Happy birthday, Westley." he said, quieter now. Almost tender. Less performative. “You didn’t actually think we would forget.”
Westley swallowed. He had, actually. He had spent an entire day whipping himself like he had done something wrong. He took the mug with a little smile.
“You could have warned me... he muttered.
“And ruin the dramatic reveal ?” Sebastian tilted his head. “Never.”
There it was. That familiar warmth. It spread through Westley’s chest, slow and steady, pushing out the cold he had been nursing all day.
They gathered near the fire, blankets pulled over shoulders, books opened and half-abandoned as conversation tangled and overlapped. Laughter rose and fell like a comfortable tide.
Westley sat back in his chair, butterbeer warm in his hands, watching the way firelight painted gold across familiar faces.
They had not drifted. They had simply been plotting. The realization settled softly. Perhaps constellations were illusions. But illusions could still be beautiful.
And tonight, wrapped in warmth and low conversation, Westley Orion felt less like a lonely star, and more like part of an ever moving and beautiful constelation.✨