Chapter Text
The Black family is infamous for one thing: pure-blood obsession. Marry within the line, keep the ancient magic untouched, stay arrogant, cruel, dark, untouchable. Everyone wonders why anyone would keep breeding that particular brand of nightmare. These people can barely tolerate their own reflections — children only make the curse louder.
Well. Here I am.
Chara Demetra Black, at your service. Daughter of Sirius Black. Twin sister of Ares Lupus Black.
And just to add insult to destiny, a Slytherin — couldn’t break ancestral tradition just because Dad already shattered every other one by marrying a Greek pure-blood instead of some dusty cousin.
Mum — Agnes Aslanidou — is the soft one. Gentle voice, kind hands, the parent who lets us roll in grass then kisses the dirt off our faces while we laugh like the sun in a summer afternoon.
So how the hell did Ares and I end up as carbon copies of Sirius? Who knows. Maybe chaos is genetic after all.
Dad’s “back-to-Hogwarts” rules were delivered like a prank gone wrong:
Rule 1: DO NOT TRUST A GRYFFINDOR.
(Dad was a Gryffindor… Make it make sense.)
Rule 2: SMILING IS SUSPICIOUS. LAUGHING MEANS TROUBLE. KEEP BOTH AWAY AT ALL COSTS.
(This man literally laughs in Death’s face. Hypocrite.)
Rule 3: TRUST NO ONE WHO WINKS AT YOU.
(He winked at Mum right after saying it. I rest my case.)
Naturally, I never wrote these rules down. What am I, an owl?
Mum’s rules made more sense — they were normal: Do your assignments. Don’t start fights. Eat properly. Dress warm.
I follow approximately zero of them.
“DIMS! We’re going to miss the train because of you!” Ares bellowed from downstairs, voice echoing like a howler.
I popped my lips (gloss: check), ran fingers through straightened raven hair to make sure there are no tangled spots (check), curled lashes (check), smoothed the freshly ironed uniform (check). Grabbed my bag, slipped on polished Mary Janes, and slammed my bedroom door.
“Don’t slam the doors, young lady!” Dad’s voice chased me down the stairs.
I rolled my eyes, skipped half the steps like a flying Hippogriff, and nearly collided with Ares at the bottom.
“Merlin forbid you learn what patience is,” I muttered as he patted himself down — like I was but a dust particle, dirtying his freshly ironed Prefect uniform.
“How rude of us,” Ares scoffed, glaring at Dad like he expected backup.
Dad scanned us both — Ares first, because he is a Prefect. “Aren’t Prefects supposed to be… neat? Calm? Collected? What is this behaviour, Ares? Let your sister get ready without rushing her.”
Dad shook his head and ruffled my hair before planting a warm kiss on my forehead. I smirked back at Ares and stuck out my tongue.
He started fuming — if he was a cartoon, smoke would be coming out of his crimson face, “Really? You’re scolding me when your daughter just—”
“What’s the hold-up, dear?” Mum’s voice floated in, soft and worried, honey eyes round with concern. She dragged her hands down her checkered red apron before hanging it on the wall by the fridge.
“Just the twins going through a phase, darling. I’ve got it.” Dad winked at her — ew — then shoved us both toward the door as we grumbled.
・・・
“Remember: keep your stuff close, don’t talk to strangers, take care of each other and—”
“Dad. Stop. It’s not our first time here!” Ares hissed, cheeks flaming as his foot kept tapping impatiently over the concrete of the platform.
“Alright, alright. Give Mummy and Daddy a kiss,” Dad grinned, puckering his lips — as if he was expecting our disgusted faces to turn the other cheek.
Mum was already crying into a handkerchief, hanging from dad’s right arm. “Every time feels like the first. Look how much they’ve grown, Sirius — Oh, we forgot to bring the camera.”
“Move. Before Mum gets worse,” I whispered, shoving Ares toward the platform. He nodded, his dark curls bouncing on his forehead.
We bolted.
Platform 9¾ was chaos: crying first-years, owls hooting, parents smoking last cigarettes, luggage trolleys crashing. Familiar sobbing trailed us. Every year it was the same. Hurried feet, reassuring parents with their sobbing first-years, yawning returning students — and the repeatable hooting and shrieking of the unmoving train, eager to get us on it. The familiar scent of smoke and rain clinging to everything. Hogwarts always began like this — too loud, too emotional, too real.
Ares snapped around, dread etched on his face. “Oh, come on!”
“Your mum couldn’t leave without a final goodbye,” Dad called, catching half the platform’s attention with his most charming smirk plastered on his lips.
Mum launched herself at us, arms tight, accent thick with tears. “Promise Mummy you’ll be safe, okay? My little birds.”
Ares hugged her with the emotional enthusiasm of a damp napkin.
“Birds?” I grumbled into her shoulder, tightening my hands around her. “We’re anything but that.”
“Canids, then?” Dad snickered, watching over us with theatrical patience.
Mum caressed our heads like we were dragon eggs, cinnamon-cookie scent wrapping around us — she had sneaked some in our bags earlier this morning. I knew we’d miss that smell more than anything — and not because I loved her cinnamon-everything delicacies. But due to her scent being engraved so deeply in this spice that it makes me homesick to my stomach every time I come across it.
“Come on, Fred and George, you’re next!” A candy-sweet, motherly voice rang out nearby, followed by twin giggles and trolley wheels.
Before I even had any time to register where the echo was coming from, two towering shadows with ginger locks ran past me. They disappeared inside the train — no kind greetings, no formal notice, no warm goodbyes with their mum.
I rolled my eyes — of course these two would be a pain in the ass enough to make it everyone's problem publicly with their loud actions. Ares nudged me to look back at them, their backs turned, howlering, laughing among their friends as they made their way to their compartment.
“Look at those morons — thank MERLIN we have yet to mingle with them.” Ares whispered in my ear, shaking his head in disdain and turning to look at the lady walking up to us with a satirical grin.
Dad’s tongue clicked. “Molly. What a… pleasure.”
I bet you a million Hippogriff feathers it was not a pleasure.
“My, Sirius, Agnes!” Molly beamed, dragging a little girl with slick auburn hair with her, “Is this…? Merlin's wishes, look how you two have grown!” She waved at us. Ares — ever the gentleman — bowed dramatically. Ginny — the little girl following Molly like a duckling — blushed and hid behind her mum’s skirt ever so bashfully.
“Pleasure, Miss Molly,” Ares said, voice suddenly deep, “I don’t believe we have met before, officially. I am Ares, and this is my twin sister, Demetra.”
I wanted to gag at the sight of him — this is the same person that would throw his shaggy socks at me, by the way. Now, standing before me after he made the first move to introduce himself — and me — ever so well-mannered.
“Nonsense, of course we’ve met! Back when—”
“Right. Off you go.” Dad shoved us toward the train. No explanation. Just stunned silence as the doors closed behind us and the wheels started turning before we even had the time to register what was actually going on.
・・・
Ares stared out the window. “What was that about?”
“What?”
“Dad didn’t want us hearing whatever Mrs. Weasley was about to say. Something big, I bet.”
I shrugged, crossing my legs. “Why do you care?”
“Ugh, never mind.” He sighed, raking through his hair.
But his tense posture and locked jaw screamed that he was dying to know what all this was about.
The countryside blurred past — wet pine trees, green wheat under moody skies, the Glenfinnan Viaduct arching ahead like a stone promise. Serene. Almost peaceful. Maybe too peaceful. Like the sea before a heavy storm rolls in.
Then — BOOM.
We both whipped out wands instinctively, hearts slamming, heads turning before a breath was calculated. Slytherins are not well-known for being brave — so we will call whatever this is… curiousness. Yeah, we were curious.
My body was moving on its own — standing before the doors, hand already sliding it open before Ares' voice harshly roared in my ears and his palm slapped on my wrist.
“Are you mad?!”
“Shut up. I’m just checking.” I finally slid the door open despite Ares’ harsh hold on my hands.
My head peeked out in the hallway, along other students as well — Draco's platinum hair and scowled lips greeted me first thing.
I bet his expression of pretended stoicism and annoying pride faltered at the sight of my face.
“Cousin.” He drawled uninterestingly.
“Luscious.” I reciprocated with the same bored tone.
He rolled his eyes. “Finally learned my middle name, Chara?”
“Don’t call me that.” My eyes sharpened.
“But it suits you, does it not—”
“Draco, get back in your hole before I bruise your mouth,” Ares growled in the background, peeking his head above mine.
Draco slunk away with a groan.
We high-fived.
Another boom — coming from right in the next compartment. That's why the sound came out so loud that it vibrated our seats.
Ares smirked, voice low in my ear, “Twenty Galleons says you don’t have the balls to knock.”
My smirk said otherwise. “You forget who you are speaking to.”
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 in a snap of ones fingers.
“Can I help you, miss…?” A gingerhead boy stomped outside the compartment, ducking down so his head wouldn't coil with the ceiling. Quite tall. Quite muscular, despite his lean appearance.
“You can help by being quiet.” I barked, crossing my hands over my chest and hips swinging with the attitude my dad gave me.
Ares pinched his temple. “Wrong move on my part. Wrong. Fucking. Move.”
The ginger boy loomed — smirking down at me, his eyes sparkling with mirth and something more heated. “Why don’t you go back to your little cabin, first-year? Elders are talking.”
“First-year?! Why don’t you stop being a dickhead? Oh right, I bet it’s hard with your head so far up your—”
“Dims?”
A familiar voice froze me. I shoved past the giant ginger, earning an open glare but ignoring him.
“Harry?” I took a sneaky peek in the claustrophobic space.
“DIMS! ARES!” Harry tackled me into a hug and giggled, “Where the hell have you been, locas?”
Ron’s hair was blasted black from a failed spell, wand still smoking — probably the sound where the boom came from, but still waved back at us as awkwardly as always. Hermione glared at Ron, before relaxing her tight expression and smiling back at Ares and me.
Ares clapped Harry’s back before they hugged as well, “Haven’t seen you in ages, you bastard.”
“Hey, that's not my fault! You two were too busy in Greece to even write us a letter!” Harry groaned.
The tall ginger — George, of course he was George — laughed without humor. “You know these vipers, Harry? Really?”
Harry glared up. “They’re my godsiblings, George. Don’t call them that, it's offensive.”
“Not my fault they act like it.”
George’s eyes burned into mine. My lips parted for a comeback —
Ares grabbed my arm, already dragged me out. “Goodbye guys. See you around!”
He shoved me back into our compartment quickly. I scoffed, hair a mess from the shove. “What was that for? Did you hear his audacity—”
“Demetra.” Ares’ voice cut sharp. “That was George Weasley. One of the twins.”
“I know who he is, I am not a first-year. Why are you—”
“You’re lucky Fred wasn’t there. Or you’d have made your first enemies on our first returning day to Hogwarts.”
He sighed, falling into his seat. “And trust me… you don’t want the Weasley twins as enemies, lil’ sis.”