Reflections of My Life
The world is a bad place, a bad place
A terrible place to live
Oh, but I don't want to die
Oh my sorrows, sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home
12th July 1972
There was a Dark cloud over Grimmauld that summer.
A horrible foreboding compounded by the awful weather localised over their property. The light was dim, the hallways cool and crackling with unspent energy.
Walburga Black could not cast unforgivables that summer.
And the lack of them, the restraint to not, made the air thick with dread.
There was only so long before she broke.
It was why the twins were only found at the dinner table, and were gone the second the meal was finished. It was why Regulus spent his time oddly absent as well, telling his mother he was going to visit the Carrows, or sit in the library. He’d show up every once in a while and she’d coo over him and bid him on his way for the next few hours.
He seemed the only thing to tame her wrath.
All because the Potters had meddled their way into her family.
Walburga had warned her father when there were discussions of Dorea Black and her betrothal to Abraxas. So many years ago. She has advised the family to keep an eye on her; for her views were always off compared to the rest of them. Dorea was always more sympathetic than one should be.
Even spending time with Gryffindors - including the Mudbloods that wore the crest.
Walburga had written to her father and warned him intently.
No one had listened.
The girl had shacked up with a Gryffindor - a Potter, no less! Caught together, sinning out of marriage. At least Walburga had enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing the woman all but disinherited - cast out of the House with nothing but the clothes on her back and the remains of her personal vault at Gringotts.
She must have remembered. Known what Walburga had tried to do, the letters she had written. This was revenge, the woman believed. Years after the indiscretions; a revenge for a rightful act she had committed while still at Hogwarts.
Still, she would not back down easily.
The arrangement for the twins that summer was deviously designed by Walburga to cause as much pain as she could to her firstborn child, within the bounds of Dorea’s threats. They were to be at the Potter’s for August. But only the twins. Regulus was to remain at Grimmauld, and to buy his supplies with Walburga. The twins were not invited.
They’d only be able to see their brother again at the Platform.
Reggie had cried when he found out and fled the room to find his siblings. Upon his cries of accusation, Ara had immediately announced that she wouldn’t be going. That lead to the biggest argument of the Black siblings to date. Sirius in one corner, screaming that if she didn’t go, then he wouldn’t either - while Ara screamed back that he had to. But the voice that became most overwhelming was Regulus’s. It wasn’t a scream; rather, he spoke so softly as he told them that they both had to go. That he was sad because he would miss them, but they’d have a whole year at Hogwarts and he could survive off a month of their company until then.
The entire fumbling argument of three siblings all trying to martyr themselves was settled at dinner that night when Walburga informed them that the twins leaving was not a choice. She also had a few choice words about how relieved she was to be rid of them and how she hoped to arrange it permanently.
But it was a bluff. The House of Black did not let a single member go astray. Not unless they were a squib. Not anymore.
Not after Dorea. And certainly not after Andromeda.
After that dinner, the trio of siblings had congregated in the Reg’s bedroom and all swore to each other that they would not be separated. That the twins would leave for August but find a way to get Reg to come with them next time. This would not be their division; but a chance to find a way out for all of them. They promised to ‘accidentally’ go to Diagon Alley on the same day and ‘bump into’ him. That he would not be alone.
They vowed it - pinkies interlocked - and finally spoke through all the troubles they’d had. Things their letters hid, as not to worry the other.
Ara spoke of having nightmares, nothing memorable supposedly, of being called ‘mad’ by snooty classmates. Sirius spoke of his constant paranoia and worry for the two, of his terror at their parents secrecy.
And Reg told them about how living in Grimmauld had truly been the past year. The suffocating silence, the constant pressure to turn against his siblings, of beatings at their Mother’s hand whenever he stood up for them. That oppressive aura that lingered, of dark magic. Filthy magic that clung to Bella and so many of their Father’s associates.
Ara held him and soothed his worries, promising that she’d try to figure out what was going on. That she would always protect him. His round silver eyes looked up at her with adoration and she kissed his forehead, moving her brothers to hers and Sirius’s room - and plopping Reg down in front of her vanity. She turned to Sirius, reaching out a hand that he gladly accepted. She knew he would probably always somewhat resent Reg, not for taking his title as heir, but the motherly affection that came with it. And she knew sometimes he worried that she loved Reg more than him - despite their twin bond.
There was a conversation (or, more frankly, an argument) brewing between them. But not today.
As he joined them, sitting on the edge of the vanity, she send him a wave of love and reassurance over the bond.
You know you’re my favourite twin.
And you’re my favourite sister.
Always and forever, Siri.
Promise.
With that, Ara turned to Reg and began weaving her fingers through his hair. It hadn’t been cut since Christmas (at his request), now reaching to his shoulders in soft curls. Similar to how Sirius had been styling his hair for the past couple of year.
Sirius began talking about the last Quidditch game of the year for Gryffindor, how they’d played Ravenclaw and been utterly decimated by them. Ara joined in with a joke occasionally, not particularly familiar as she’d been with Pandora collective poppies at the time.
Describing what they had learned at Hogwarts to Reg had been both painful and wonderful to do. Wonder and hope in his eyes at how much better their lives could be once they were out of there. Talking about the pranks they pulled, or the hidden passages and lessons - or even that Slytherin had lost the Quidditch cup that year to Ravenclaw. For a House that was filled with thinkers, there were a surprising amount of athletes.
The pain came from knowing that while they had been away, he hadn’t. they’d spent a year exploring and laughing with new friends. And their baby brother was alone.
When he found out what a birthday present was, the three had shared a moment of commiseration. Sure, on Yule they each received a single gift - but the concept of a birthday had been so entirely baffling. It wasn’t until they’d celebrated Remus and James’s birthdays back-to-back that they realised just how commonplace it all was. They were the norm; the twin’s family were an awful outlier.
But just because they missed their twelfth birthday, didn’t mean Regulus had to.
Soon, they turned to idle chatter about trivial matters. Alecto Carrow’s awful bobbed hair, Pandora’s funny pink glasses; silly debates about sillier things. When Ara got going on magical creatures, Sirius had to stifle a snicker.
“Just because they haven’t been found yet, doesn’t mean they won’t be.” Ara glared at him.
“Doesn’t mean they’re real though.” He chuckled, prompting a snack around the head. “Ow!”
“Pandora says-“
“Oh well if Pandora says.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
“What’s wrong with Pandora?”
“Do you know what they call her? Potty Pandora ‘cause she’s so bonkers.”
“And they call me Angry Ara! So what?” She narrowed her eyes at him. He had the decency to look shamefaced; sheepishly scratching the back of his head.
“So… Crumple-Headed Hornsacks?” Reggie asked awkwardly, prompting Ara’s attention to return to her little brother and away from the minor argument. Reg was always so very good at distracting her from an argument.
“I heard about them from my Pandora, she has just the most brilliant thoughts!” Sirius snorted, prompting Ara to shoot him another glare. She ignored him promptly, returning her attention to her favourite brother’s hair. “You remember she’s a Ravenclaw? Well, she says the tower is lovely, that there’s so many books and games and an entire space to experiment just below the dorms.”
“What kind of experiments?” Reg asked, gnawing at his lip in thought.
“Well,” Ara breathed out, excitement evident in her glittering eyes, “Panda says she likes to experiment with spells in there, but there’s a potions space too. Some of the girls can be a little cruel but Panda says the guys her year are all lovely. Marcus comes to study with us sometimes, and he’s really funny. And Aiden’s got a brother in Hufflepuff, so they showed us where the kitchens are last Easter. The Abbot cousins are always up for a game of exploding snap, though they will crush you mercilessly and with a smile on their faces. Honestly though, they’re all so nice.”
“Yeah?” He looked to her through the mirror and she paused her braiding; resting her chin on the top of his head as she enveloped his shoulders. He looked to her with hope. Beautiful, blinding, childish hope. She had feared that the rest of the term would lead to another argument, another clash when they returned home. The relief that her brother was okay… it was immeasurable. Their letters had knitted a gap between them, and helped his loneliness. Sometimes she worried that his delicate nature would trap him under their mother’s thumb - to turn him into the only heir Walburga would deem worthy.
But standing beside him and looking into his eyes, she knew that her baby brother was going to be alright. He may not have been safe, but he was so very loved. Loved enough to be considering the risk of not being a Slytherin.
Because, if there was one thing that Reg assuredly was; he was kind. He was also patient, blindingly clever, freakishly wise, and loyal to his sister to an absolute fault. And even if he would never believe it, he was so bloody brave. And Ara couldn’t be prouder of him.
“No matter where you end up, Reggie, you will be so very appreciated. Even if you end up a Puff.” She teased, pinching his cheek. He giggled, turning suddenly to wrap her in a tight hug.
“Oi!” Sirius yelled out, followed by his siblings laughs as he swallowed them with his arms. “It’s true though, Reggie. You’re going to do incredible.” He whispered to his little brother, prompting his little face to perk up and stare at him with awe and disbelief.
Regulus had never been able to pin down Sirius’s opinion of him. Sometimes he figured Sirius hated him because of how well he and Ara got along. Other times, he knew it was the heirship. Rarely did he look at his brother and believe him to like him. But in that moment, as he looked up at a proud brother, he knew that for all Sirius begrudged him; he loved him too. He pulled him properly into the hug, until the three were on the ground, wrapped around each other in a way difficult to separate.
For a moment, as long as the three of them were together; it was more than enough.
It had to be.
27th July 1972
The Lady of House Black, and her heiress, sat in uncomfortable silence.
Walburga had on her darkest robes, her curls pulled into an ornate swirling updo. Were it not for the contortion of her face in that usual near-snarl; she would have looked beautiful.
Her daughter could have been beautiful too, she thought. Were it not for the burns across her face, or the hex scars across her body, the girl could have been a real beauty. Not quite as lovely as Narcissa with her unique blonde locks, more akin to Bellatrix’s willowy form and softly angled features.
The fact that the girl let her curls run wild further solidified their similarity. Those wild curls the two cousins shared… they were a sign of their madness, Walburga suspected.
Her daughter’s eyes flickered over to the clock on the mantle - frowning at the lack of change. Walburga bit back a grin; it had stopped working since the twins had gone to Hogwarts. And it was why she had picked this particular drawing room for this discussion.
Ara’s gaze flickered back over to her mother, daring her to move.
Their stalemate had to come to an end. For the month that the girl had been home, she’d been barely present. And while it was at first delightful for her mother, soon the older woman began to understand that it was also working for her offspring.
Well, she wouldn’t allow that.
“Do you understand why I have summoned you?” Walburga bit out, eyes narrowing as she watched her daughter closely.
The girl shifted slightly in her seat, gulping. Her eyes began to glaze, prompting Walburga to click her fingers in her face.
“This conversation is between you and I. Your twin has no place and I will not tolerate his presence.” She snapped, watching with satisfaction as the girl flinched.
“He was checking you hadn’t started hexing yet.” Though her voice was small, the words were spoken strongly - with heavy seriousness.
“He ought to keep to himself, lest my concentration slip when I do.” Ara glared back, understanding the threat.
Shut up or she’d do worse than hex.
“Why am I here?” She questioned through gritted teeth.
“Despite my wishes, you are Heiress to House Black. Do you understand the responsibilities that brings?”
“I do.”
‘I don’t think so.” She spit out, anger rising naturally at the sight of her child. “If you had, you wouldn’t be tempting my little Heir away from his duties. You wouldn’t have stolen my firstborn son from me!” Walburga screeched - the glass of the cabinet cracking with the force. She jumped from her seat and stood over her daughter - relishing in the fear in her eyes. It was as she smirked that the child’s face shifted; frustration turned to blind rage.
“I didn’t do anything!” Ara screeched back, standing to face her mother properly; eyes fixed upwards. “You decided to hate me the moment I was born, and I’m sorry that I was! I really am! I’m sorry I was born instead of the son you wanted!” She panted with exertion - hair standing on end and crackling with raw magic - glaring up at her mother. The woman seethed down at her, fury coating her face like tar. It aged her.
“What are you going to do about it?” Walburga retorted, practically hissing. “How would you fix this?”
“How can I?” She snapped, curls crackling behind her with energy. There was something devious cooking in her mother’s mind. And she couldn’t escape it anymore.
“There are parties interested in our family. Ones to bring us to great standing and restore our society. And what are you doing?” Walburga glared down at her firstborn, willing her to submit.
“I’m twelve.” She deadpanned, prompting a harsh smack from the back of Walburga’s hand. Ara refused to show how much it hurt, how it clicked her neck - instead returning to face her mother with a look of hatred to rival those received. It startled the woman briefly; something akin to mourning flickering in her gaze. “What do you expect from me?” Ara asked, chin lifted defiantly.
“I’ve been given an ultimatum.” Her mother spoke, rage shifting into her usual distain. “There is a collective of good families with supporting views to our House’s on purity of magic and the sanctity of keeping our society away from Muggles and Mudbloods. Our acceptance is conditional.”
“On what?”
“An arrangement ensuring our ideals continue to future generations.”
“That’s it? You’ve signed our family up for a blood war and you need a child to sacrifice?” Ara questioned incredulously. Walburga showed no signs of deception; rather, her eye twitched with rage at being figured out so accurately. “How does it work then? A boy to take up the cause, or a girl to keep it going? Am I close?”
The cruciatus she got in reply was almost worth it. It took her to her knees, hands falling before her to hold her up as the aftershocks crackled through her body. She spat out the metallic taste from her mouth, unsurprised to see blood now splattering the carpet.
Ara felt her Mother yank her up, pushing her into a chair as she took the seat opposite; Mother and child both trapped in the other’s anger. It clung to them, like a shroud over their shoulders. Keeping them in those uncomfortable seats, in each other’s eye-line.
“What do you need from me?” Ara finally sighed.
The wicked smile she got in reply was enough to know her words had been a horrible mistake. Still though, she thought, better her than the boys.