Paint the Stars | Sirius Black

2

"Mate," James had said, jumping over the sofa to sit beside his best friend with a thump, "Where the hell have you been?"

"We were looking all over for you," Peter added.

"Oi," James shook his arm, snapping the boy out of his reverie, "What's wrong with you?"

"Why are you covered in paint?" Remus asked, taking a seat on the solo armchair, crossing his legs and observing him with curiosity.

At the mention of paint, Sirius looked down at his hands and grinned.

"Have you gone insane?" Peter asked.

"Did someone spike your pumpkin juice?" James eyed Remus nervously.

"No," he chuckled, finally looking up at his friends, "I..." he didn't quite know how to explain his afternoon, "I was in the art classroom."

James frowned, "Ok? Could you not find the paint?" he chuckled, the idea of not finding paint in an art studio was ludicrous.

"No... well, I found it... there were just complications?"

"What? But Professor Francis was in the great hall, the place should've been empty."

"Right..."

"There were students," Remus said, always the first to figure things out, especially when it came to Sirius.

"Ugh," James groaned, "Prissy art students, what a nightmare."

Sirius practically growled, shocking all his friends, "They weren't prissy!"

"Whoa..."

"Sorry, I just..."

"You like one of them, don't you?"

"No, Moony... I just..."

"You do!" Peter guffawed.

"Oh, piss off."

Sirius stormed off, lost in thought about one particular art student and their day in the studio. It had been more fun than he had expected. He was crap at painting, which wasn't surprising, but he had enjoyed messing with the portrait, especially when his reward was the girl's gentle giggle.

Her watchful gaze had spurred him on, and he had made a very unflattering portrait of a man. When asked who the wizard was, he told her it was a half-ogre wizard named Barnabas. She had laughed so hard that her cheeks had flushed red and her sapphire eyes watered. He knew then, without a doubt, he was a goner.

---

Clara saw a lot more of Sirius after that. She spent most of her free time working on her paintings, to the point where she had easily become the best student in Hogwarts. Sirius hadn't picked up a paintbrush since the first time, but he would sit in the studio, sometimes studying, but mostly just talking to her, watching her paint was his favourite pastime.

One day, near the end of their fifth year, he had barged into the studio, something most patrons had learnt to expect. But, this time, the professor was there, and Clara was not.

"Mr Black?"

"Oh, hello Professor."

"Clara's not here," the old teacher grumbled, cleaning a paint palette with a flick of his wand.

Sirius frowned; he hadn't seen her for a few days. Truth be told, he was beginning to get worried. The two didn't share any classes, and the marauders kept him busy most of the time. They, of course, knew of his infatuation, and enjoyed teasing him, but had yet to meet her personally.

"Where is she?"

The professor raised an eyebrow at the boy's sincere concern, before answering dutifully, "She's in London."

"What?!"

"She, thanks to Dumbledore, has been applying for an apprenticeship with an artist in London." He spoke proudly, which was a surprise. The teacher was notorious for hating everyone and everything. Of course, his Clara would soften any old fool's heart.

"London," he muttered, his heart pounding, "What about school?"

"She will be back later this evening," he answered, "The apprenticeship is for the summer holidays. You needn't worry. Miss Bloom won't be leaving you yet, Mr Black."

Sirius blushed but said nothing. Rushing out of the door with a small thanks. Running to find his friends, to distract his busy mind.

Later that evening, when Clara returned to the school, exhausted and befuddled, she was met with an excitable Gryffindor. She didn't know he had been waiting all day, eyes glued to the Marauder's map, waiting for her name to reappear in the school (much to the annoyance of his friends). She didn't know he was waiting for her, but she didn't question it. She had learnt not to question the boy's sudden appearances. He had a knack for finding her.

"Hello," she greeted, but Sirius noticed immediately how down she was.

"Are you alright?"

She was surprised at how concerned he had become, "I'm fine, just tired."

"Did you get the apprenticeship?"

"How did you..." Clara sighed, "I don't think so."

"What?" Sirius was horrified, he had seen her work, it was amazing, better than most of the portraits hanging on the castle walls, "Why not? I can hex them for you! Will that help?"

She giggled, Sirius grinned.

"It's alright, Sirius," she smiled, weak and exhausted, "It just wasn't meant to be. I'll have to work harder."

"But you already work so hard!"

Her cheeks flushed, only a few months prior he had been so adamant art was easy, that any witch or wizard could do it. She supposed after sitting watching her slave away at portraits for weeks on end, his opinion had changed.

"They said my work was sloppy," she admitted suddenly, unable to stop the tears.

He hugged her, uttered words of comfort and when she panicked, he commanded her to breathe with him. Sirius despised her sadness. It made his heart hurt, in a way he had only experienced when he was home with his 'family.'

He swore then, that he would do anything in the world to prevent her from shedding another tear. He would protect her. He would care for her. He would love her.