A/N: Drabble numero dos for Cheeky Slytherin Lass' One Hour Two Drabbles Thing. God, I've missed writing drabbles.
Amber somehow always reignites my drabble love. That's why I love her.
The thing with your family is that no matter how much you love them, they will always clip your wings.
You are quiet.
You are Andromeda, and you're one of the Black sisters but you're different. Cissy walks around with a swing of her hips and every man at her fingertips and Bella wears a crown made of jealousy and fear. And you are quiet.
Your sisters, your sisters are like spiders.
That's how you've always seen them.
They tie people up in their silky soft webs, catch prisoners between their silver slick strands, and walk too fast and with too much purpose to be pure.
You, you're more like a bird.
You fly a little too high and you move a little too quickly and you whistle to the others in hopes they will whistle back, but they're always too busy spinning webs.
And then he's there, the boy with the curly hair and the infectious laugh and the black and yellow tie. You're whistling away and you don't even know until he's whistling back, and his smile splits the sky right down the middle, tells the sun it has no right to call itself beautiful, pulls all the clouds from the horizon and lets you fly unburdened.
Your sisters trap themselves in their self-spun hells but you, you get out of there.
And he's flying right next to you, your Ted, with his birdsong like a promise and his wings crossing yours.
And you keep flying until there's no one left to clip your wings anymore.
And you just keep whistling.
And he just keeps whistling back.
And you know he always will.
Always.
