Finished Three Stars Out Of Alignment

This Saturday stumbled into his life the way Mondays so often did—without joyful fanfare. With the first breath of morning, the young Ravenclaw had already made peace with that either no one knew, or those who did simply didn’t care enough for bringing warmth to this day. His eyes had roamed curiously for familiar faces. Even Aiden’s green eyes had been conjured up in his imagination, lurking behind ever door, together with his coat. Eventually, a letter from his father at noon stamped that theory as confirmed and was burned in a fantasized fireplace. The words on the page still sat lodged in the back of his mind.
Carefully, Lorenzo rolled down his sleeves and closed his left hand over the wrist. He smoothed out the faint folds until the warm fabric wrapped him perfectly.
‚Congratulations,‘ his father had written. A polite phrase had followed, speaking of rising responsibility as a boy grew into a young man, of good marks that were expected, and of course, an appropriate maturity. However, what truly cinched his heart into a corset too tight to breathe was the signature and the family seal. There was no colorful print, warmth beneath a cursive goodbye or a wish for happiness. It read like a business letter. Blue eyes flicked to the mirror, catching sight of the paper behind him. It was lying white and distant on the small bedside table. Its cold carried all the way to the wardrobe, touching his lungs.
The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. For a fleeting moment, the warmth left his eyes, replaced by the same cold he so often recognized in his father’s. To respond to it, the boy gave his head a faint shake. He forced himself back into reason—to the presence of his own thoughts, far removed from birthdays.
With it, Lorenzo turned sharply on his heel and made for the dormitory door. Not, of course, without casting a glance toward his bunk. There were no legs hung down from above. The duvet of the upper bed was not curled around a certain graceful body, smothering it, hopefully, into permanent silence. In his mind, this could only mean one truth: Camille was not here. Lorenzo had no idea where Satan might be at six in the morning, but he guessed, either in the bathroom or aboard a train bound for Azkaban. A small spark of amusement tried to scrub away the bleakness of the first of November from his thoughts.

The walk out of the dormitory, down the corridor, and toward the Astronomy Tower passed without interruption. The spark had nestled itself peacefully within his bones, easing the lingering chill. Even the fabric around his shoulders and legs began to settle more comfortably against his skin.
Walking with a steady pace, it didn’t take long before the young Ravenclaw reached the stairwell. With each stair beneath his feet, Lorenzo tried to shift his focus away from the day behind him and onto what lay ahead. For the young Ravenclaw had signed up for the extra Astronomy tutorial! Normally Lorenzo never attended any form of tutoring, but in this case, the purpose lay elsewhere. There weren’t many activities or subjects the boy enjoyed speaking about, yet with this opportunity he hoped to spend more time with something he loved. After all, the stars were his most loyal companions and friends.

Climbing the last few steps, his gaze fell upon the wooden door behind which the classroom lay. At the sight of it, his lonely birthday was almost forgotten. The heart hammered eagerly beneath his rigidly straight posture, anticipation spreading like a wave of warmth through his limbs. A smile crept to his lips and Lorenzo bridged the last distance to the knob, opening the gate to what he hoped was at least one new friend. But the moment he pushed the door open wide enough to slip inside with his usual composure, his eyes were already caught by the spectacle within.
First, his feelings leapt skyward in a burst of excitement, soaring into the starry night itself. The half-darkened Astronomy classroom was lit softly by only a few lamps, casting the space in a comfortable glow. And of all the souls who lived within this school, Damien was the one standing by the desk! Books were spread across its surface, and beside them stood the the pale figure of the brown-haired boy.
The familiar sight washed over Lorenzo like a kind of salvation. Something genuine pressed against his lips beneath the practiced smile and tucked the corners higher to his cheeks. He closed the door behind him, then shifted his attention toward the second figure—his happiness died.

It was Camille.

There stood like a fallen angel of death his bunkmate— beauty in every strand of hair, yet with a personality so vile it haunted Lorenzo with irritation. It wrapped around him like heavy sheets, smothering the corners of his spirit and stole the smile from his face. His blue eyes narrowed into a sharp, critical glare even as he stepped further into the room toward the other two students. Lorenzo slowed his steps, trying to stretch the time. Every one of his limbs wanted to avoid meeting Camille today. The cold rose back up like a defect of time and space, filling his lungs. It was as though fate itself wished to remind him that he was not meant to enjoy a beautiful day — not even on his own birthday would life show mercy. It truly was wicked, thus Lorenzo’s gaze darkened visibly. He overheard the french accent in the voice asking where the others were.

Only when a few steps were left to join the two, Lorenzo finally announced his presence:“Hello, you two. Good to see you… Damien.” He forced his eyes off of the back of Camille‘s head and turned to Damien. Not even with all amount of force, he could manage to compose a new smile. The dread lingered, marrying his disappointment. And suddenly, his clothes felt too stiff.

The most polite smile humanly presentable clung to his lips. A faint warmth almost wanted to show itself in the blue eyes, for out of the corner of his gaze Lorenzo could see that Camille seemed just as disturbed by his presence as he was by Camille’s! The observation settled with a satisfying weight between posture and mind. It was granting him nearly enough joy to fend off the jolt of irritation Camille’s presence provoked. “Lorenzo,” came Camille’s voice at last. The young Italian fancied he could hear the hatred caught between tongue and throat. Without granting him so much as a glance, the Italian kept his eyes fixed politely on Damien.

Yet he still responded to his roommate with deliberate courtesy. “Camille.” Unfortunately, even the monotony of his tone could not suck the name of its natural charisma.

Quite unlike the personified thorn lodged in Lorenzo’s ribs, Damien was exactly as he had been the last time Lorenzo had the privilege of his company. The young Ravenclaw lifted his head and warmed at once. The polite expression crept deeper until something close to genuine joy lingered below his eyelashes. Damien greeted him with a small smile of his own, hands gesturing with a movement that struck Lorenzo as almost professionally refined toward the seats around the table. The wooden chairs lingered tidily close against the wooden surface.
Lorenzo inclined his head in affirmation. Drawing a deep breath,the awareness of Camille‘s presence was folded away—banished to that corner where, for today, all the world’s horrors were meant to die. The secretly caring one, where daydreams of gentle animals, warm blankets, and perhaps even a birthday muffin might live. Slowly Lorenzo began to round the table.
Damien had chosen the middle seat, thus Lorenzo drew the chair at his left. Carefully, he lifted it just enough to lessen the dragging scrape of wood against floor. The day was already ill-suited without the shriek of chair legs at mercy of gravity and weight. Then, spine as usually held taut, Lorenzo settled into place—though not without casting a brief glare at Camille meanwhile. The arrogant French was seated on Damien’s other side. It seemed to him as though Lorenzo could not even be granted a peaceful evening of instruction beneath the stars, without a flaw intruding. Additionally of all possible mistakes destiny could commit, the biggest of them all was seated on the same table.
Bending his shoulders, Lorenzo did slowly lean against the table. The perfectly smooth hard wood pressed his sleeve tighter into his wrists. Even though it tried to draw him into forgetting Camille, his thoughts still drifted to misery.
Just then, Damien’s voice claimed the moment. It interrupted the bite that had begun to nestle into Lorenzo’s chest. Both his grudge and Lorenzo turned their eyes to fix curiously on the older‘s face. Damien‘s tone momentarily drew him away from the dark shadow of the first of November. “Now I’m sure you’re both wondering why you are here, well…” he began. As expected, from the corner of his eyes, Lorenzo still caught Camille’s small movements. This time he succeeded in blotting them out. Instead, the focus stayed on Damien’s face. With the nightly soft glow of a table light, it seemed carved by competence. The wiser of the three continued, explaining Professor McCorie had divided them into groups, and Damien was to give them additional instruction—or at the very least, make himself available to answer their questions.
At those words alone, the small knot in Lorenzo’s stomach and behind the rips loosened. Their meaning sounded to him like a birthday gift. His lips curved back into the first Act of a Smile—only for the rest to follow from Damien’s mouth. It would not be a one-time gathering, but something recurring for an entire year. Lorenzo’s shoulders melted immediately.
They fell into a relaxed posture, like a racehorse soothed into calm by a gentle pat to its nape. Instinctively, he wanted to thank him, even if it surely had not been Damien’s own decision. It was as though Damien had given him the best birthday gift Lorenzos could ask for.
However, the moment was destroyed. Since Camille’s voice barked into the room.
It rang out with shock twined into it at the notion of an entire year: “What do you plan to teach us in that amount of time? How to map the heavens themselves?”

“That would be wonderful, Damien. Please—tell, will you do that?” Lorenzo added onto that question.

For once, Camille’s line of thought struck him as valuable as well. The idea broke open fantasies in the cognitive office of Lorenzo’s mind. Maps could be drawn, knowledge exchanged on estimating the distances between stars and moons. His heart began to hammer, and a hopeful light kindled in the eyes. Lorenzo stared at Damien, searching for confirmation as if it might lie already behind his lips.

Lorenzo leaned forward in anticipation of the reply, drawing closer to Damien. His eyes searched over the brown hair falling across the boy’s forehead, as if the answer might be discovered there. But then, in the corner of his vision, appeared the embodiment of mischief itself. Camille had leaned forward, arising out of Damien’s shadow.
“That, dear Lorenzo—was a joke. Ever heard of it?” the French addressed him. The word dear rolled so pointedly off his lips that Lorenzo turned his head and stared at the full shapes—speechless. His brows sank lower over the blue of his eyes as he searched Camille’s features in confusion. Somewhere, he hoped, he would find an explanation—for he couldn’t fathom why Camille was suddenly addressing him with such sweet affection.

“Dear..?” Lorenzo whispered.

His voice rang so quietly it was meant for no one but himself, and the slow flush rising at the back of his neck. The question of whether he had ever heard of a joke dissolved in the warm confusion. When as swift as he had arisen, the prince of catastrophe slipped yet again from his sight. Before Lorenzo could make sense of it, Damien was already speaking. In a pleasant tone, the older boy had turned his head toward Camille and begun to explain that this would not be a one-time event. In fact, they would be taking part in this endeavour until their seventh year. With no attention weighing on himself, Lorenzo used the moment to take a deep breath. His hand found his neck, cold fingertips brushing over the heated skin as he sorted both his thoughts and spine.

On one hand, the news felt less like a burden and more like a birthday gift—the thought of spending the coming years studying more about astronomy. On the other, there was a blemish on the otherwise lovely picture. His gaze drifted back to Camille. From this angle, he could see only a few strands of darker hair and the sudden tilt of a head behind Damien’s shoulder. Without compromising his upright posture, Lorenzo leaned slightly in. Since he was curious whether Camille found the situation bothersome, the young Vincenti cast a glance at the other boy. “Now, for what I’ll be teaching you—” Damien‘s voice filled his ears, addressing the group. Lorenzo tore his attention away from the troublemaker and back to his role model. Damien explained, “Now, for what I’ll be teaching you—I’ll be teaching you about things that aren’t included in your lessons, so like basically, lessons that will help put you somewhat ahead of your peers,” then drew out an astronomy book and placed it on the table before them.
Like caught off guard by a star-embroidered armour of a knight, Lorenzo was instantly captivated. The book looked different from the one that slept beneath his pillow. A tingling urge crept into his fingers—to reach for it and tap through. But instead he quickly rolled both hands, as though by practised routine, into small fists. He pressed them against his thighs. The dull sensation was at least enough to distract him from the wish of breaking the rules of courtesy. Damien’s voice carried on. Clear and steady, like perfect paced music in Lorenzo’s ears, the details were laid out. Damien would serve them as aides in astronomy—not because they lacked ability, but because Professor McCoire believed in the value of collective progress. Meanwhile, Lorenzo tried his best to keep his eyes on Damien instead of drilling a hole through the word Astronomy on the book‘s cover.
A smile rested on his new tutor’s lips. Damien’s lively, energetic manner was infectious. The fists relaxed, and Lorenzo’s own mouth softened into a quiet smile. Only for it to darken within seconds, as the son of the French hell let out a scoff: “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Of course, Lorenzo wasn’t supposed to find joy in another’s misfortune. It was a rule many adults liked to remind him of—but Camille’s visible irritation made his heart skip a beat. A faint spark began to glimmer in his blue eyes.

He tried to conceal his flicker of glee and instead turned only to Damien with his words. “Despite my bunk bed neighbour‘s dismay, I’m looking forward to it. Something like this will surely be useful—and besides, it gives us a reason not to spend every evening in our common room. Can we use the telescope as well?”

The question slipped without much thought —it had hidden and waited perhaps behind his conflicting heart. Only after hearing his own words did the idea now stir a genuine flicker of joy. Lorenzo turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the telescope somewhere across the astronomy tower. He imagined it must be standing somewhere in the darkness and gazing longingly toward the stars. Even Camille could be forgotten, if one were allowed to look up into the firmament . The smile faded into the fantasy of spending hours alone with it, dissolving into softly parted lips. Only to be wrenched back to reality within a single breath.
Camille clapped.
Apparently, he had no intention of letting himself be forgotten.“How often did you plan for us to do these meetings? Is participation mandatory, or are you just available when called upon?” asked the voice, tinged faintly with its French accent. Lorenzo turned his head until the dark corners of the room slipped from his. Albeit he might not have liked Camille, the first of those questions was, admittedly, one he found worth hearing the answer for. Waiting for it, the young blue eyed Ravenclaw looked sideways—up along the curve of Damien’s cheek.