Chapter Text
The Black family was popular for their proud blood status: marry pure-bloods, maintain the blood of ancient, untouched witches and wizards as they have always been. Quite arrogant. Quite confident and cruel. Dark and mysterious. Which made everyone wonder: why would they keep reproducing such a breed? These people couldn't even stand their own shadow, a child would make it even worse, wouldn't it?
Well. Here I am. Chara Demetra Black, at your service. Daughter of Sirius Black, twin sister of Ares Lupus Black. Quite the title I have, eh? And a Slytherin, at that–couldn't go against the ancestral customs of our family, could we? Our father had already done enough of a difference as it is. Marrying outside of his culture, yet still keeping the pure-blood status alive, keeping his family over the edge with each of his decisions. My mother, Agnes Aslanidou, is as pure as her name; she was always the soft-speaking parent, the kind-touch parent, the patient one that would let us roll in the grass and then bathe us in her warm kisses. Which made everyone wonder; why in Merlin's rich beard was Ares and I so similar to our father than her. Which sounds fair–who could handle Sirius and two other replicas of him?
Another fact about me is my father's unusual request before I first attended Hogwarts. Which was odd. Father was a menace back in his days, an uncaring little bastard that would get in trouble and laugh in Death's very face.
He was quirky enough to go ahead and warn me about little to nothing. Or so I thought.
The rules went as such:
Rule no.1: DO NOT, FOR THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, TRUST A GRYFFINDOR.
What was weird about this rule was, well, that he was a Gryffindor. What, does he not trust his own kind?
Rule no.2: SMILING IS SUSPICIOUS. LAUGHING MEANS TROUBLE. KEEP THESE TWO AWAY AT ALL COSTS.
I mean... what? This man is out of his mind. Everyone laughs and smiles. Is everyone dangerous, or what? Am I going to Azkaban or school?
Rule no.3: TRUST NO ONE WHO WINKS AT YOU. Wait, did I say 'trust' twice? Anyway, remember these rules and you'll live–I mean, be just fine. Who said that? Is that your mum calling?
...Day after day, I lose faith in this man.
Of course I never wrote down the rules, what am I? An owl? It's not like dad's rules made any sense–like always. Mum's rules were clearer: DO YOUR ASSIGNEMENTS, DON'T MINGLE IN FIGHTS, EAT GOOD, DRESS WARM. Simple. Easy to follow–except the fight part, I guess. It's not like we'll just stand by and watch, let others treat us like shit–excuse my foul mouth, but you will be hearing worse things come out of this silver tongue, I promise you that.
"Come on, Dims! We are going to be late because of you!" Ares shouted at the top of his lungs, the stairs carrying his voice like he was screaming right next to my ear.
I popped my lips, clear lipgloss on, straightened, raven hair, check, lashes curled, check, neatly, ironed uniform, check. Everything was checked out of my usual routine. I hurriedly grabbed my bag and slipped on my Mary Jane shoes–freshly polished and shimmering beneath the sunbeams peeking through my curtains.
"Ugh, I'm coming! Merlin forbid you learn what patience is." I mumbled under my breath, rolling my eyes at nothing as I slammed the door of my room shut–dad shouting at the stairs, "Don't slam the doors, young lady!" Dad's voice carried up the stairs like a curse I'd heard one too many times. I sighed again, running down the stairs and skipping some steps along the way.
"Jeez, can't a lady have some peace when she gets ready?" I bumped into Ares, who scoffed and glared at our dad–probably to do something, anything. To take his side for once, most likely.
"How rude of us, eh? Come on, we have a train to catch–"
"Ugh! Dad!" Ares whined, his shoulders slumping before dad schooled him with a sharp gaze, scanning him up and down like a Hippogriff about to feast on a prey.
"Aren't Prefects supposed to be... neat? Calm and collected? What is this behaviour, Ares?"
"Really, now? You are going to scold me when your daughter just—"
"What is the hold up, dear?" Our mother's voice came heavenly from the creaking door; kind, honey eyes, round like two buttons looking at us with worry.
"Just the twins going through a phase, darling. I've got it under control." Dad winked at mum—ew—and then pushed both Ares and I outside the door, despite our whining.
"Remember: keep your stuff next to you, don't talk to strangers, take care of yourself and—"
"Dad. You've GOT to stop doing that." Ares hushed voice came out like an embarrassing growl, his brows raised with humiliation as dad went on and on about safety and such. The reason? Well, dad adored making fun of us, especially around strangers. Especially when we were at platform 9 ¾ where other students could see.
"Now, give daddy and mommy a kiss." Dad chuckled gutturally, stretching his arms wide while our mother was trying to hold back her tears, a handkerchief already covering her eyes as she sobbed softly.
"Every time is like the first time. Look how much they've grown, Sirius. Oh, I forgot to take the camera." She sobbed again, dad offering a resting shoulder for her to cry on—ew.
"Go. Before mum gets more emotional." I whispered in Ares' ear, nudging his arm sharply so as to get his feet to work. He nodded eagerly, his black hair fanning over his forehead as we ran towards the waiting train.
The platform was as bustling as it usually is this time of year. Students everywhere, scattered with their pets dearly held in hand and books carried over luggage racks on their way to board the hooting, unmoving train. The noise was persistent, not at all calming in any form of way. Little kids crying, parents smoking their last cigarette before bidding goodbye to their kids. New children, old pals and a consistency of both laughter and crying. Maybe a bit too familiar sobbing following close behind us. Ares was the first to snap his head back–face etched with dread–always dramatic.
"Oh, come on now!"
"Your mum didn't want to leave without saying goodbye." Dad called out, briefly catching the attention of many passengers, busy men and students with parents holding their palms like they were the most cherished treasure in their life.
Mum sobbed one last time, the handkerchief being patted over her long, watery lashes by our dad's fingers, gently wiping the leftover droplets of tears away. Her red-rimmed eyes shooted at us both. Before we could register it, she had already wrapped her arms around us.
"Promise to mummy you'll be safe, okay?" Her thick accent became evident by her trembling breath, bottom lip shaking as she tried to control her emotions.
Ares groaned as he hugged mum back with less emotion than a wet napkin, "Yeah, yeah, mum. We are not going to war, you'll see us again."
Mum wailed as her hands, however delicate as they were, tightened around us, "Let mummy have a spare moment with her little birds."
I let out a grumbling sound, "Birds? We are anything but birds."
"Would you prefer the term canids?" Dad snickered, earning a sharp glare from mum before she caressed our heads; her touch gentle, as if we were fragile dragon eggs ready to hatch in her nest, her smell of cinnamon cookies warm and homely. And deep down, I knew Ares and I were going to miss this smell more than nostalgia's epitome itself.
"Come on, Fred and George, you are next!" Somewhere further away from us, a blooming tune echoed, followed by rolling wheels from carts and two loud boys giggling as they spun around their mother. Dad's tongue clicked over his teeth.
"Oh, why hello there, Sirius, Agnes!" The joyful lull seemed to have caught us in the act, just before boarding the train. Dad's tongue clicked again, before forcing a smile that couldn't reach his eyes as he span around to greet:
"Molly. What a pleasurable surprise." Dad's monotonous voice indicated that it was, in fact, not a pleasurable surprise.
Molly's grin reached her ears, all toothy and warm, "My, my. How much you two have grown!" She motioned merrily at Ares and me. Ares, ever the one to fake elegance, was the first to bow before Molly—making the little girl next to her–Ginny–blush and hide behind her mothers skirt at his theatrical antics. Her Gryffindor attire is freshly washed, looking new and sewn together with some pieces of a sweater, by the looks of it.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Molly. I don't believe we met." Ares' voice grew deep, manly–as if he wasn't a whiny kid just a moment ago. Molly giggled, waving her hand vaguely back at him.
"Nonsense! Of course we have, back when—"
"Alright. Off you go, you lot. Have a good school year." Dad suddenly pushed Ares into me, making both of us stumble inside the train. No questions asked. No answers given. Just us staring back at our dad in utter disbelief with mouths hanging open.
Before we could continue whatever conversation that was, the train was already beginning to move, the screeching noise of the wheels over the iron rails deafening as Ares and I proceeded to an empty wagon so we could finally go back to Hogwarts despite the unreasonable reaction of our dad.
"What do you think that was?" Ares' question rang in my ears, drawing my attention from looking at the moving scenery outside.
"What?" My brows frowned, leaning back against the uncomfortable, itching cushions of the seat.
"It was like dad didn't want us to know something. Something that Mrs Weasley was this close to tell us." He leaned on his knees, elbows supporting his enigmatic thinking.
"Why do you care?" I returned the question with one of my own, crossing my legs.
"Nevermind." Ares sighed, his hand tousling his hair messily, as if this question had left him utterly baffled. As if he wouldn't sleep at night due to his hyper curiosity.
I rolled my eyes, gaze falling back outside on the shifting countryside landscape; plains of emptiness, filled with pine trees, wet from the rain the night before. Tall, green wheat just above the edges of the wide window's foreground, under moody, overcast skies, interspersed with trees and hedges, leading up to gentle hills and distant woodlands. It felt strangely serene, despite the raindrops moisturising the vista of rolling farmland and low hills.
As we were about to pass the Glenfinnan Viaduct, constructed of stone—a remarkable example of civil engineering, comprising numerous arched spans—a blaring boom made both of us turn our heads at the door of our wagon. Instinctively, we reached for our wands, steadily breathing before acting right away. We weren't Gryffindors, so there is little to no bravery in our bodies. But my body was moving on its own, already standing before the sliding doors, hand already sliding it open before Ares' voice harshly roared in my ears:
"Are you mad?! What are you doing!"
"Shut up. I am simply checking if everything's alright." I barked back at him, head peeking out in the hallway, along other students as well—Draco's platinum hair and scowled lips greeted me first thing.
"Cousin," he drawled uninterestedly.
"Luscious." I greeted back with equal energy, earning a scoff and a roll of his eyes before he snickered.
"Oh, did your brain finally register my middle name, Chara?"
"Don't call me that."
"But why, darling? I think it suits you just—"
"Draco get back in your wagon before I bruise your mouth." Ares' voice came out like a warning—or a promise, he was quite unpredictable in this matter—and Draco slithered back inside with a groan of protest, but zero words leaving his mouth.
Ares' and I high fived each other, now both of us nosily standing at the open sliding door. The noise was but a quick sound that could have come from an entirely other wagon, but we were too curious not to snoop. Then, another boom came from the cabin right next to ours.
Ares casted me a side glance, a knowing grimace curving my lips. Prying into other people's business was our top priority—especially if said people were causing distress. With careful footsteps we stood before the shut door, as transparent as it may be, it wasn't clear enough to make out who was inside.
Ares whispered in my ear with a sneaky, low chuckle, "I bet you five galleons you don't have the balls to knock."
My smirk said otherwise, "You forget who you are speaking to, sweetie." My knuckles drummed over the door, Ares' eyes growing wide, his hand trying to pull me towards our cabin—but it was too late, the sliding door was already slammed open.
"...Can I help you, miss?"
"You can help me by being quiet." Ares was already pinching his temple, mumbling to himself 'not this again'.
There was a small difference between Ares' antics and mine—he was a kind, mysterious gentleman whereas I was a sharp-tongued brat. But I prefer the term unfiltered honesty, if that makes any sense.
The gingerhead boy stomped outside the compartment, dacking down so his head wouldn't coil with the ceiling. Quite tall. Quite muscular, despite his lean appearance. I was not intimidated, even if he was nearly twice my height.
"Why don't you go back to your little cabin. First years aren't supposed to be talking back to their elders." He laughed, rather disrespectfully, pointing at me with his thumb. My brows frowned, crossing my hands over my chest and hips swinging with the attitude I got from my father.
"Why don't you run along and stop being a dickhead. I know it's probably too hard, given your ego got your head so far up your—"
"Dims?" A familiar voice froze me mid-sentence. My eyes squinted behind the towering boy before me, roughly shoving him to the side as I barged inside the cabin.
"Harry...?"
"Dims! Ares! Where the hell have you been, locas!" Harry's full-throated volume blinded my ears, firstly feeling his hands taking me into a hug and then noticing the rest of his friend group being present—Ron's ginger hair blasted into black, probably from a failed spell he wanted to test, given the wand held in his quivering fingers. Probably the source of the yelling racket.
"Harry!" Ares patted Harry's back warmly, ignoring the rest of the Gryffindors, only caring about Harry, "I haven't seen you in so long, you bastard!" the two of them laughed, all the while the rest of the cabin was... in the room where it happened.
The tall ginger boy—the one that was about to bump heads with—cackled, shaking his head, "You know these vipers, Harry?"
Harry turned and glared up at the boy, "They are my Godsiblings, George. Don't call them vipers."
"Well, they certainly act like one." The boy–George–snickered again, but there wasn't any humour painted in his voice. His eyes burning in mine as my lips parted, an answer ready to be given, only for my brother to grab me by my arm and drag me away.
"Goodbye, Harry, see you around!" Ares waved his hand back and forth, in a generic direction, as he was busy enough by dragging me back inside our compartment.
Ares shoved me back into my seat, I scoffed loudly, my hair messy by the force, "What was that about! Did you hear his audacity—"
"Demetra." Ares' voice came out sharp, sending my lips into a zip without a key to unlock them, "That was George–as in George Weasley. As in George Fabian Weasley. One of the Weasley twins." Ares continued with a lowered voice, behaving as if I had done an Unforgivable Curse.
"Yeah, I know them, Ares. Why are you—"
"You are lucky Fred wasn't there. Or else you would have made your first ever enemies in our school." Ares' tousled his hair again, falling back into his own seat with an exhausted sigh escaping his worried nostrils.
"And, trust me. You don't want them to be your enemies, lil' sis."