A/N: Helloooooooo, wonderful world of fanfiction! We present you with our third story, a Harry Potter fic. We already have a Percy Jackson and Once Upon a time fic, and we can also be found on two separate accounts: ArgentumAurora and Radioactive88, where we have a variety of different fics. Anywho, this story is about the twin daughters of Sirius Black.

We're not starting with a background prologue, instead, we'll reveal snippets and information about the night Harry Potter's parents died and how it affected them as the story moves on. The first chapter starts when the twins are ten, before they know anything at all about magic or Hogwarts. We really hope you enjoy this! Please read, review, and enjoy! Thanks so much! :D

Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter, otherwise we'd be billionaires.

Song mentioned: Bohemian Rhapsody

Chapter 1: Demons in the Dark

Evie's Perspective

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack. A tinny rattle echoed from the rapidly emptying can. Its contents were nearly used up. Luckily for me, my brilliance accounted for this. I stole an extra spray-paint can. Yep, that's called "thinking ahead."

That's right, you can't tag a house with a demonic pentagram without black and red. Heh. And, if I do say so myself, I was doing a bang-up job. There weren't a lot of things I was good at, but graffiti was a hidden talent of mine. Maybe not so hidden. That's right, Mr. Greenberg, your exorcised arse can BITE me.

I hummed merrily in what vaguely sounded like a Queen song that I was most likely butchering. But which one? I prompted myself. Come on, brain, don't fail me now. It was on the tip of my tongue . . .

"Bohemian Rhapsody!" I squealed, thrilled with myself. Man, how I loved that song. Who didn't love that song? Idiots and gits, that's who. Somebody like my foster dad, Mr. Greenberg, for example. "Mamaaaaaa, just killed a man . . ."

The demonic pentagram was coming out quite nicely. It sat comfortably between the two front windows. I wondered how long it would take to kick in. If it attracted demons, how long until Mr. Greenberg stumbled onto the front lawn? There, it's done, I thought proudly as I added the finishing touches. Some of my best work on display. Too bad it was nighttime and harder to see. Oh well, everybody would notice by morning!

I should probably rewind a little bit, huh? You're probably thinking, why is the weird emo kid spray-painting a demonic pentagram on the front of a house in the middle of the night? Let me tell you something. This was not entirely my fault. Well, it was, but not for the reasons you think.

In case you haven't picked up on it, Mr. Greenberg was a real twat. He'd been our foster dad for a whole four months. He drank obscene amounts of liquor, bellowed an awful lot, he smacked me around when put in a pissy mood, mistreated his kindly wife, and worst of all, he was mean to my sister too. Yeah, I have a sister, the not-so evil twin. If I was the devil, then Skyla had a golden halo planted over her head. She didn't deserve any of Mr. Greenberg's crap.

When he hit me, sure, I probably deserved it. I liked to rile him up and see his ugly mug flush a dark purple. If you want to know the truth, I often pissed him off for the sole purpose of directing his wrath away from my sister. Because she didn't deserve it. If he belted me a good one, I'd deal with it, like I always had. I was a foster kid, I learned to deal with this crap since I was a wee little one. So had Skyla, but the point still stood. I deserved it, she didn't.

And that is why I was spray-painting a demonic pentagram on his house at two in the morning. Just the morning before, he slapped my sister across the face, and called her "worthless" and a "waste of space." All because she hesitantly sided with his wife in an argument. Newsflash, his wife was always right. Now, she handled the smack just fine, but his little jab took a nice chunk out of her self-esteem, and she cried in our bedroom for nearly an hour.

There was no way in hell I would stand for that. I chewed him out for it and received a few slaps of my own, but that wasn't adequate enough revenge. This would last, and it was an absolute bitch to clean up. Plus, bonus, his evil twisted soul could be banished from his body. Always a good thing.

The front door slammed open, and there stood the robe-adorned glory of Mr. Greenberg, a chubby black silhouette against a haze of artificial golden light. Since Bohemian Rhapsody was still dancing around in my head, I unwisely chose to sing aloud, "I see a little silhouetto of a man!"

He stormed out onto the front lawn, and it didn't take an expert to see the fury written all across his features. "What the hell are you doing up at two in the morning?!" And that was precisely when he noticed the pentagram. "What . . . what the hell is that?!" Evidently, it was a rhetorical question, because he didn't give me any time to answer. "You didn't. Get in the bloody house!"

I merely smiled at him challengingly. "Scaramouch, scaramouch, do the fandango-" He rudely cut me off as he gripped me none too gently by the shoulder and literally threw me into the house. I suppressed a groan of pain as I connected with the polished hardwood floor. He slammed the front door behind him, and the noise echoed through the entire house. Since I had virtually nothing to lose anymore, I decided to emphasize his anger, so I finished the verse with, "Thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening me-"

When I so innocently uttered I had "nothing to lose," I didn't know how good I had it. Meaning, the sweet, sweet time before the bastard kicked me in the jaw. Now, he was only wearing slippers, which was admittedly better than, oh, steel-toed boots, but the blow still sent me reeling. Pulsing agony shot through my face, nearly sending me into oblivion. Salty blood gurgled at my split lips, and as I spluttered it out onto the floor, I hissed under my breath, "Go fuck yourself."

Well darn, he heard me. I was up on my feet in a flash, and he as he hauled me up the stairs, my jaw still pounding something fierce, he growled in my ear, "You're in for it now, girl. I'm done with your shit."

As the pain began to gradually ebb, I found it in me to bite back, "I'm done with your shit! You deserved it, for hurting Skyla like that. I regret nothing!" I knew what was coming, and fear slowly crept its way up my spine with its icy claws, but I wouldn't dare show it in front of him. Not in my lifetime.

His wife, Louisa Greenberg, stood outside their bedroom door, looking like a deer in the headlights. "Rhys, you're too angry to deal with her now, please, just come back to bed and let's deal with this in the morning."

"Shut it, Louisa, this doesn't concern you," he snapped as he dragged me along, and she slumped her shoulders in defeat.

"Don't talk to your wife like that," I reprimanded him, but alas, it did me no good. He shouldered his way through the door of the bedroom Skyla and I shared. Skyla bolted up from her bed, eyes wide and frightened. Even in the dark, I could see the bruise forming on her left cheekbone. It helped remind me that this was all worth it.

She shimmied her way out from under her blankets as Mr. Greenberg tossed me onto my bed like a sack of potatoes, then flicked on the light switch. "Don't you move a damn inch, Evelina," he threatened me before exiting the room in search of his favorite implement. His beloved belt. His belt and my backside were mutual friends, if you will.

Skyla scurried over to me and gasped as she took in the drying blood staining my chin. "Cachu," she breathed, tilting my head back slightly for a better look. "Evie, why is he so angry with you?"

"Spray-painted the house," I said simply with a shrug. "It's a pentagram. Looks nice."

She merely sighed. "Why did you do that?"

"Because he hit you and called you worthless."

Her previous annoyed countenance melted away into something much softer, and she whispered, "You did that because of me?" I nodded and forced a tiny smile, and she wrapped her arms around my neck. "You're going to be okay, I won't let you be anything but okay."

Mr. Greenberg showed back up in our doorway with the belt, and my heart picked up its pace. This is the moment where I die. He wasted no time in yanking Skyla up from my bed and parading her to the doorway. Her mouth opened wide to protest, but I nodded for her to continue on, and he closed the door in her face. "I'm done with you, you're about to learn to respect me. Louisa wanted to foster girls, and I told her this was a bad idea. I told her. Lay onto your stomach," he said menacingly, and I had no choice but to obey.

The first strike took my breath away, and I buried my face into my pillow to keep from crying out. Which, mind you, was difficult with my aching jaw. He was hitting much harder than he ever had before, and I was already feeling the effects before the second blow. My poor backside received seven of these blows which left fire in their wake, before he became less picky on his targets. The belt started making itself known on my thighs and legs, then my back, even my shoulders.

It was worth the pain. It had to be. The revenge was worth it. For Skyla, I reminded myself. For Skyla, for Skyla, for Skyla . . .

Still, I ground my teeth, and refused him the satisfaction of tears, even though it hurt like nothing else. My ribcage accepted a particularly nasty welt, and I involuntarily jerked away from him, rolling off the bed and landing onto the wooden floor. I hissed as my backside and back came into contact with the hard surface. This is worse than I imagined.

"Stop it!" my twin sister banged furiously on the door, rattling the handle he had locked after kicking her out. "That's enough, stop it right now!" He didn't listen to her, which didn't come as much of a surprise. He never listened to anybody.

My position on the floor didn't deter him in the slightest, just supplied him with a whole new round of targets. Damn, I underestimated him and his temper. He really lost it. This time, the belt came in contact with my arms, my shoulders again, my ribs, my hips- you name it, he likely hit it. My entire body screamed in outrage, and I blinked back the first wave of tears. Stay strong, stay strong, stay strong.

I let loose the first whimper as the implement crashed against the side of my neck, and it sounded pathetic, even on my standards. In vain, I protected my head with my bleeding arms and hoped to every deity in the bloody universe he would stop soon. My sister was still screaming at him, but it made no difference to me anymore. The sounds blended together into one messy melody.

Black spots danced before my eyes as the belt invaded my defenses and struck me on the side of the head, damn near splitting my cheek apart. I gasped and yelped again, but this time, it sounded almost animalistic. Stop hurting me, stop hurting me, stop hurting me . . .

Something exceptionally bizarre occurred that I couldn't even begin to understand. As I mentally begged him to leave me alone, the second his belt came in contact with my right arm, an unseen force pushed right back against him. With a shout of surprise, he went hurtling through the bedroom door, sending it right off its hinges with a mighty bang. My mouth dropped open in shock, but believe you me, I was not complaining.

Skyla, who had dodged at the very last moment, skidded to my side with tears sparkling in her stormy gray eyes. She hesitantly touched a wound on my shoulder, and I flinched away from her. "Evie . . . you're bleeding everywhere."

"Don't l-let h-him hurt me anymore," I begged her, and she knelt in front of me protectively, steel flashing in her moist eyes.

"Never." She stretched out her arms to guard me entirely, as Mr. Greenberg stepped up from his landing place. My entire aching body stiffened in terror. Louisa tried to pull him away, but he shrugged her off. With an angry, incoherent roar, he rushed towards us. I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing for the absolute worst. It couldn't be much different than what I just received.

"Get away from her!" Skyla bellowed. Now, I couldn't begin to fathom what the worst even was. All I knew was Mr. Greenberg didn't get to hurt me again. No, the enormous wall of flames prevented that. What in the bloody hell . . . The fire singed Mr. Greenberg's robe, and he shrieked as he jumped back. The twirling orange flames made no hesitance in licking up our boring, beige walls.

All of our possessions resided in a pair of shabby backpacks by our beds, because we wanted to be ready to run away. I didn't really expect having to actually do it, though. And especially not because of the world's most random fire.

All I wished for was Louisa to make it out okay. Mr. Greenberg could do whatever he liked.

Skyla was a godsend. I was a quivering mess, not good for anything. Skyla, on the other hand, took initiative and quickly opened up our window and pushed our backpacks out the opening. Then, she reached out her hand to me. "Trust me, all right?"

I trusted her more than anything, and anyway, the fire was busy consuming our room, so I didn't have much of another choice. Without hesitation, I accepted her hand and ignored the pain raging through every inch of my body. It was nothing compared to how I would feel if I, I don't know, burned alive. Now was not the time to become the useless version of Joan of Arc.

Together, we climbed out onto the window frame, and I gulped. Louisa's flower bed below us looked like a really long way down. I silently apologized to all of those poor daisies, roses, and violets. Hand in hand, Skyla and I prepared for the jump. We screamed together, "Geronimo!" as we leaped from the window sill, fire blazing where we were not seconds before.

This was totally going to hurt.

A/N: So, what'd you think? Like it, love it, hate it? Let us know! What do you think this will lead to? All we can say is they will meet an important character next chapter, and it'll essentially change their lives forever. Wow, that sounds dramatic . . . Anyway, please let us know what you think in the comments! :D