Black sheep don’t cry

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
M/M
Other
G
Black sheep don’t cry
Summary
If anything but pretentious the Blacks tradition of naming their snobby little rabbits after stars, remained a mystery to Sirius. Perhaps there was some sort of grand analogy behind it, something dear in being able to find your family in the sky. Sirius supposed that kind of thing only worked when your family wasn’t a bunch of pureblood imperialists.
Note
Hello! I'm not really sure what to say here except, hi I’m the author, I just really want to explore the complexity of the black brothers and have fun, you guys are welcome to read along. I can't promise consistent updates but I'll try my best.
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Prologue

Two boys stand in the field, the grass towering over their heads, above the sky is impossible and massive, made of all the dreams a child’s mind could conjure. Here the world is theirs to invent, voices large and hands dirty, they re-enact stories from those ancient books in the nursery, stories used to rear generations of Blacks.

Foraged sticks make fine wands, the boys don’t know of any real spells yet, still words of their own making tumble from their mouths. Excellent pretenders, they jump to dodge dark curses, and when an imagined charm hits its mark they fall like practiced rocks. Such things are exciting and this entertains the two well into noon, it is not often they can exist just like this, the two of them outside of dark walls.

And when they grow bored of duelling, their green attention turns to the rivulet at bottom of the field, where a collection of rain water has formed a stream.

The brothers crouch down in the dirt, curling their arms tightly around their knees, they count down together before letting momentum drag them forward.

Everything spins and the world wobbles around their bodies, arms catching on rocks, grass staining the white of their clothes as their feet land in the marshy water with a splash.

One of them is laughing, hair wild and unconcerned with the scrapes on his knee. The other regards the water placidly, soaked inside his boots and murky enough to see his own expression staring back.

It is not a particularly warm day, the wind a gentle presence in the trees, everything existing under the overcast sky. Even the brothers belong to this heavy grey scale. Things grown in the dark often lack colour and even a child’s imagination can put itself down,

“Sirius I want to go home now.” the younger boy pleads, words clipped and shivering in the breeze.

Next to him his brother picks a scab on his leg, eyes trained on the sky, he is quiet for a moment, taking it all in.

“Don’t worry Reg, I’m tired too.” he pushes off the ground, the days fun already a memory as he’s offering a hand,

“Lets go home.”

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