*Prologue*
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They should have been the perfect match.
His parent's would have been thrilled.
"You know this can't go on," he told her quietly. "After the Prewett brothers and Dorea Potter… the Evans-I can't do this anymore"
He could imagine their wedding in an alternate world. It would be in the winter, possibly New Year's Eve as all Black family weddings were held furing the colder months. They would be eighteen and beautiful. The ceremony and reception would take place in a ballroom at 12 Grimmauld Place, London. The tapestry of the Black family tree two would be scorchless; the portrait labeled Sirius would be bound to a new face, so similar to his own they could be siblings. The decorations would be green and silver, celebratory of the house from which which every Black including the groom had graduated from Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He would wear the dark dress robes, sewn from the finest fabrics galleons could buy. She would also wear dress robes, the deep red of spilt blood. His hair would be slicked and combed, and her long ebony locks would cascade down her back in a sheet of molten coal. Black family house elves would deliver the wizarding delicacies on polished silverware. His parents would smile and nod approvingly, bestowing upon them a manor house in the English countryside and the Black family legacy passed down to the eldest son upon his marriage. Every notable family would be present to celebrate the continuation of two pure lines...
The grey eyes, so similar to his own, gazed at him through the silver mask she wore obscuring her white face in that familiar way he had become so accustomed too.
She stood opposite him. Her feet shoulder-width apart, hands resting by her sides, obscured by the dark, bell-like sleeves of her cloak.
"If that's the way you feel. This shall be the last time." Her voice was level. Quiet. Reserved. But she held the power in this conversation. She had always hypnotized him.
The trees surrounded them like a fortress, climbing from the ground in wild tangles, keeping their enemies and friends alike from breeching the elliptical arena where the two teenagers stood facing each other in the dim light of a summer midnight.
She turned to go.
"Ophelia." The name rolled off of his tongue with a poignant feeling of regret, a desperate grasp for a fleeting memory.
"I never loved you, Sirius. You should know that. You deserve that much"
Her eyes displayed nothing to him. Stony, indifferent, dangerous.
And then she was gone.
It should have been the perfect match.
Maybe if she had been capable of love.
Maybe if he had been more of a coward.
Maybe if he hadn't always irrevocably been the white sheep in a sea of black.
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First chapter with longer summary coming soon!