Unfortunately, I soon discovered the reason behind Bellatrix's reluctance to associate with me after that. Sure, it was mostly a personal venture, between the two of us, me and her. But the trickling-downs of the old Pureblood families always made themselves known. Always. Now, and in the future. A still constant in the ever-changing flow of time. The saying 'enemy of my enemy' certainly applies here. Bellatrix (and perhaps Sirius or James too) was my informant of sorts. Not the typical, shy whistleblower guy. Well, now I'm regretting the use of the word. Or would leaker be more appropriate here? I'm no grammar nut. Be that as it may, when you talk with people, they learn to say things. To part with things. Whether it's accidental, to provide context, or whether they simply want to just tell you because they trust you, people will surely bend to the will that is psychology.

"Bellatrix." I sounded off forcefully behind her as she began to chew on something. A muffin, I think. Not important. The other Slytherins, Rodolphus and Rabastan specifically, were beginning to leer at me. Gotta make it quick. My delightful friend choked in response. Epic, truly.

You know those moments in life where you know you can (and will) keep going? Just for the sake of it? For the fun of it? Waiting for your friends to choke or cough slightly enough and then pounding on their back with more force than necessary is the bread to my butter. Never liked margarine. It would do in a pinch.

"Ever heard of margarine?" I asked, not really thinking of the current time period, how nonsensical it was, or whether or not the castle would have such a thing if it existed at that time.

Her look of righteous fury turned to puzzlement and then confusion before she answered.

"It's like butter, but cheaper to make, I think. An alternative I'd rather not substitute with, but if I didn't have butter, I'd use the margarine. Why, Caldwell?"

"Wh-" I stuttered. What would a Pureblood care about that for? "Why do you know that?"

Bellatrix haughtily leaned back and peered at me, a look shared by most of her Housemates at the table. Not a good feeling.

"I'm a woman, Caldwell. Besides that, I like to cook." The girl inflected.

Oh.

Well, anyway...

"Well, anyway..." I made up for lost time. The Slytherins weren't too happy thus far. "You remember Defence? I need your help." I lied brazenly. The others ate it up readily.

She saw right through it and assumed an ever-suffering countenance. "Sure."

I grinned. "Fantastic! Let's go." I turned on my heel.

"Now?" Bellatrix asked in a surprised tone of voice.

I sighed and returned. "Look, if it means so much to you, you can bring your food. Believe it or not, my instruction doesn't wait for your insolence." Laying it on thick, but oh well.

Bellatrix wouldn't stand for such a thing. We both knew it. "Fine!" She huffed and grabbed my arm, leading us out. "When we're done, you'll be able to cast wandless and armless!"

The Marauders met my eyes as the horror that was Bellatrix Black marched me away. I shrugged (can you shrug with one shoulder?) and shifted closer towards her.

"Sorry, but I really needed to talk to you." I apologized aptly.

She glared at me while we walked to the nearest empty classroom. "So it merits talking down to me like I'm not a Black? Speaking of Blacks..."

She locked up the door we were now behind and cast all of her usual spells on it. "Firstly, you're an arse. Let it be widely known. Secondly, don't ever do such a thing again. Thirdly-"

I reached forward as quickly as I could and hugged her. None of that soppy shite. I suppose a hug like that could only say things like "I'm sorry," or "Are we still friends?" or "Please stay." Things I couldn't physically say. Body language always means more than anything. So I hugged her. I hugged her as tight as I could, until my hands turned white and my arms shook.

The Astronomy tower was an accident. Letting the situation out of my hands... wasn't me. It wasn't me. I always had it in control. That was my stalwart assertion. I am the Boy-Who-Lived. It's my station, regardless of whether or not I want it. But I guess life isn't fair. And certainly not to me. And it was then that she stiffened. And it was then that I knew I'd said everything. I guess I've learned to say things.

"Harry..."

The room started to look different. Darker. Like colors were bleeding into each other. It was almost like it was part of my imagination before I saw something shine in the corner of my eye. Sirius's Portkey. Snarling, I grappled for it. "How long have you been using that fucking thing?" I wheezed. The room wasn't getting darker. It was changing entirely. Like we weren't in a room anymore. No more four corners and a roof. "Bellatrix... What is happening?" I pulled at her Slytherin uniform.

Blackness turned to nothingness. Nothingness turned to a vacuum. Vacuum turned to space. Space to stars, and it was like I was an astronaut. But where was my module? My ship? I felt stranded. There was no room anymore. No door.

"Are we in Hogwarts anymore? Bellatrix. Bellatrix, please." I pleaded.

She'd long since held the Key out of my reach. Damned thing. Why does she have? I thought I had it! What if someone takes it from her? Fuck...

She finally glanced at me. Her hand shimmered like waves in the ocean. The light cascading from the artifact shone through her fingers towards me.

She grasped it firmly and spoke her intentions.

"Show me the future." An older Dumbledore, Minister Fudge, the lackey that he was. Come to think of it, who was the current Minister? Bagnold? I think I heard Bagnold somewhere. Hmm...

To describe it better to you, it was basically a Pensieve.

A Pensieve, except we weren't standing in it and able to move. It was more like watching from a movie theater, if a movie theater had screens stretching all around you.

I saw Voldemort getting stronger, surrounding himself with more and more wizards. Saw the bigger and important magical families plotting. Saw the end of the first war. The beginnings of the second. Both sides amassing more and more.

"Show me Sirius Black." Present-day Sirius appeared, his unruly hair still present. Him and James were peas in a pod. Makes sense he went to live with them. "Show me the future Sirius Black."

Sirius taking me. Sirius appearing in court. Sirius being falsely convicted. Sirius being imprisoned for 12 years. Getting out, confronting Pettigrew. Reuniting with Remus. Giving me a mirror we could communicate with. Giving me the glimmering Portkey that wasn't exactly a Portkey. Explaining to me what I had to, but not preparing me any more than that. Then, later, coming with the rest of the Order to rescue me. Falling into the Veil. So it had to be real. If it happened for me and it happened for her, that had to be real. But no. Not yet. It hadn't happened yet. Still, a bizarre sense of sadness plucked at my heart. But hearts are so cliche. It feels deeper. Like it's in my soul. Exuding through my mind and body and spirit.

"Show me Bellatrix Black." Then, it was just like we were in one of those carnival mirror houses. It was only one mirror though, a giant, curved one. I almost expected something to jump out anyway.

"Show me the future Bellatrix Black."

The same image was before us, only maybe a little older, if any. Didn't work with the time period of 15-20 years.

"Lestrange," I croaked. "You got married. 'Show me the future Bellatrix Lestrange.'"

This time, she barely acknowledged me, but at the name. "Show me the future Bellatrix Lestrange."

The haggard, unrestrained, maniac that would soon break out of Azkaban herself and kill my godfather stared at me. Or at us, rather. She would go on to resume her rightful place as Voldemort's top dog. Lovely. The insanity in her eyes was apparent. It was a wonder Sirius didn't end up the same. Or was she like that before?

Then, we saw her rendezvous with Voldemort and his men. Plan assaults on towns and figureheads. Invade. Croon as Snape kills the headmaster and retreats into the night.

That was real, too? The Half-Blood Prince...

She jerked her hand on this next attempt. "Show me Harry Potter."

Nothing. Makes sense. No... Something?

I shook and faded into view, slowly.

"Show me Harry Caldwell."

The same image. Me.

"Show me the future Harry Potter."

Then, the night of Halloween. Voldemort coming into the house. An older Sirius discovering me. Sirius handing me off to an older, scraggly Hagrid. Finally, I got left on the Dursley's doorstep by a scheming Headmaster and a hesitant Deputy Headmistress. Then, I was anointed with the oh so graceful view of the stairs. It was always the first thing you saw when you walked in. Or crouched in? Always. No exception. I can't tell you the number of times I've banged my head on them getting up or being asked to do something.

"Boy!" Vernon began his tirade for the day.

It was always something.

My past (future?) self cowered as he internally prepared. The door creaked when Vernon slammed into it in his haste before unlocking and opening it. "Boy..."

"Yes, Uncle?" I greeted him properly. Vernon looked at my frail body with disgust. "Dudley said he saw you spit in the cake batter. Is that true, Boy?" The fat body that is Vernon hulked over me. "N-no, Uncle," I vehemently denied. "Hmm... Who do I believe? You've had problems before. So has Dudley, but nothing major. Dudley is a good boy. You have done nothing for me, no shining qualities, nothing redeeming about you. Do you know how many calls from the school I or your aunt have taken?"

A conversation I've had many times. Too many.

"Y-y-yes. Yes, Uncle," Truth be told, no.

"No, you don't. But I'll tell you," Vernon let out an angry breath. "More than enough." He threw the boot of a loaf of bread on the floor. "See you in a week, Boy."

I waved my hand. "Okay, okay, stop. Come on, surely you've seen enough." I tried feebly.

"BOY!"

I unconsciously jerked. "Bellatrix."

The door started shaking.

I fell at her feet. "Is this revenge? Is this how it's made right? It couldn't have been that bad, right? I just tied you up and confused you with the future you."

The metallic sounds of locks could be heard.

"Bellatrix! I don't want this again. Please." I begged.

"Pause." She simply said. The door froze in it's wake, with me hiding in the corner as best I could.

"What do you want from me? What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"This is a dangerous thing to have, Harry," She warned me. "You shouldn't have given it to me. If someone ever looks me over for sincerity, I can't be true. The Dark Lord knows Legilimency, Harry. Do you know what that means? I will be shunted. He will want to know. Now, I do. I already did before, but now? Even more so."

"Why?"

"Why not? Might as well. Besides, I wanted to know why some lunatic decided to take me hostage and whisper death threats in my ear," She stated.

I slumped over. "Well, now you know."

"Now I know."

We fell silent for a moment or two. "'Boy-Who-Lived?'" She questioned.

"I was the sole survivor of the attack Voldemort led to fulfill the prophecy in 1981. His Killing Curse rebounded from me and struck him, until he came back as a phantom. My parents both died. I was the boy who lived." I told her glumly.

"Sirius was in Azkaban?"

"For 12 years, because they thought he was the betrayer, and also the one to kill Peter Pettigrew."

"I killed him?"

"Apparently. Didn't get that far. That Portkey we saw is what you're holding. He sent me back. It's not really a Portkey, either. It can also be a Pensieve, too, I guess. It also makes for a great night light."

The stars came back. Nothing was said for quite some time.

Hands encircled me slowly and softly. Softly in body, brittle in mind. I held her against me and her me. I couldn't bear to look at her. Couldn't bear to break the heavy silence. The only thing I could do was hold on tighter.

"We're missing class, Potter." Bellatrix said quietly in my ear.

I chuckled darkly. "It's astonishing how much of a fuck I don't give at this moment in time, Bellatrix. Stay. Learning isn't just in the classroom. Learning is right now. Here with you. And right now, you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little shaken. Who are you to care about class, anyway?"

"Since Potions."

I clutched tighter. "I wish I never had that damn thing. I miss my friends."

"You have those dorks in Gryffindor. And me."

"My Godfather's supposed murderer. Charming."

"You say that and I will leave."

I blinked.

"I'm not really sure I understand being in your position, but I can empathize. Having to acquaint with multiple other Purebloods... Well... It isn't fun. Some of them are okay. Some aren't. Then, that period of not-talking turns to not-associating. Then, dis-like. Then, hatred. So I guess I can say I hate people too. Will that work for you?"

Bugger.

"Sure. It'll work for me."

And that's how the apology went. With the galaxy swirling madly in front of us. With the stars gleaming and asteroids barreling to who knows where. With planets forming amidst that eternal nothingness. Or is it? And in the middle of it, I felt so utterly inconsequential. But oh so greater for overcoming my qualms and facing my beliefs.

"Bellatrix..."

She turned her head to me as we sat. "I don't think I know you at all."

"You say, as the time traveler from the 1990's," She retorts.

"My point stands, Black. Unless this is your way of inviting me to an impromptu dueling session?"

"I'm tired right now, Harry. I don't want to get up," Her grip loosens.

"Rennervate?" I suggested.

"Don't even think about it. I'm not in the mood. And where did you learn that?"

"The 1990's," I replied cheekily. "It's a nineties thing, sorry."

She swatted my shoulder. "Now you make me want to get up. Screw you, Potter."

"We're in the right place. Well, no, all the swirly-whirly and tipsy-turvy would make me want to hurl."

"Shut it."

We were officially sanctioned and back on track. The first Quidditch match was coming up shortly. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Third week of the year. This year, the date fell on a weekend, so it was more like the fourth week, I suppose. Doesn't really matter. We were still going to play them. Who were the Slytherin players, anyway? Fuck, who were the Gryffindor players? Apart from me and the guys? Actually, who cares? I'll give you a hint-not me.

Speaking of the guys, I met up with them a day after the fateful incident with Bellatrix. "What was all that about, Caldwell? None of us saw you in class, today. Remus did, but that was before lunch," James went straight to the point. "Where were you? And what happened with Black?"

Sirius butted in. "Yes, what er, happened... with Black?"

James glared. "Will you shut up, man? I already asked."

"I said a few words of choice to her to rile her up so we could go fight in a classroom," I omitted some details. "Hmm, did you?" Sirius said sarcastically. "With Bellatrix Black? Black, as in the Black family? The family I'm from? With the giant library and all the books and secret spells? That Black, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Uh, yeah. Duh. She doesn't know that much. It was a little surprising, to be honest."

"I find that hard to believe. She had to be holding back, Harry," Remus rebuked me. Peter was strangely silent. I would've had some sort of backhanded remark at this point, surely. "Holding back? Why would she hold back?"

"To not get in trouble?" Sirius suggested.

"Yes, let's fight some bloke I don't know with my hardest spells. Who knows, maybe he can sue me. Maybe he has some huge Pureblood family that can totally kick my arse. Sounds like a reasonable idea. Let's do it!" Peter mocked. There we go.

"As much as I truly loathe to say it, Harry, Peter may be right. And this isn't Potions class," James replied.

"I mean seriously, what is the issue? Slughorn isn't a bad teacher!" Peter defended his beloved class bravely. Such a Gryffindor, aww.

"The books suck at telling you what to do, and Slughorn gets mighty pissed when you ask him more than one question a day," Sirius pointed out.

"Slughorn is touchy sometimes," I agreed. "But he is a good professor." I also agreed with Peter.

"Good teachers can suck too, you know," Sirius bit back. I refused to take the bait, digging into my lunch before it was time to go. Talking with people really made the time go by. Especially with these dicks.

"You won?" James repeated incredulously.

"Yes, James."

Nothing like slander, am I right?

Well, if you want to bend the truth a little bit, the Astronomy tower duel wasn't that long ago. And she did kinda suck. Aren't Dark families supposed to be good at that sort of thing?

"Sirius, do you know how to duel?" I asked curiously.

"Not really," He answered promptly. "Father, Orion," He paused for my benefit. "Doesn't much like me. And neither does Arcturus, his father. Those are really the only two I could learn from. They know the most of the Black family magic, and would be the ones most equipped to pass it on. But why pass it on to someone if you don't want to pass it on? I'm a Gryffindor, first ever Black to be a Gryffindor. Father marched in here, demanded to see Dumbledore, and demanded I be re-Sorted. Sortings are final. Apart from when students are very ostracized or targeted or whatnot, and then, they are just separated, not re-Sorted. But Dumbledore nonetheless refused, and there's been a big stink about it ever since. None of them like me over such a thing. I don't know why, either. Maybe it's a Slytherin thing?" He guessed.

"Must be," Peter munched on some sort of dark meat as he listened.

"Anyway, there's that hanging over my head. There's also the fact that I don't want to, nor care to try and redeem myself for them. Apparently, not being Slytherin is signing your own death warrant. Is it that big of a deal? I mean, shite... So, I'm a Gryffindor, I refuse to crawl back and beg and plead, and I hardly talk to anyone, basically becoming an outcast," Sirius summarized.

"Lovely. So no dueling magic, then?" I asked again to be sure.

"Not really. Maybe if James or Remus finds something interesting to try out. We don't go to the Restricted Section that much anymore." He confessed.

"Why not?" I pressed. I would, if I were them. One to be a lookout, two to search, and one to distract. Dream team. What the hell gives?

"Eh," Sirius grunted.

"Eh," James grunted.

Remus looked at me. "Seriously?" I cried.

"Huh?" Sirius looked up suddenly. James shook his head and Remus groaned. "That joke was funny. Was, Sirius. Once or twice. Let it go."

"No!" Sirius denied.

"We should go to the Restricted Section, sometime," I suggest. They all looked at me with some disdainful look. "Come on." I urged.

"What's there?" James probed. "Books. Magic books. Slightly Darker magic books. Earthy magic. Airy magic. Environmental magic. Curses. Curse-breaking. A little on Wards. Spells. Counters for those spells. Some low-grade rituals. Have fun checking those out." My father listed.

"Well, that's a good bit," I kept up. "If you know it all so well, why not just write down the major parts and show us? Or, just show us?"

Peter nodded. "That isn't a bad idea, James," He backed me up. Nice. "We never really heard anything else from you or Remus about it besides what you just said. What could it hurt? What else do we do on the weekends?"

At the mention of the word 'weekends', I knew.

"Oh, yes," I remembered. "Quidditch. This weekend. First match of the year." I reminded the lesser-Quidditch members of our little group.

"Oh."

"Then, next weekend." I said. "What'll it hurt? A game of Exploding Snap? Some pranks you've already done for the fifth time anyway? Studying? Hahahaha! Funny.

"Come on..." I had it in the bag. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it...

"Fine," James ground out. "Fine. I will put together a little list. A little list. And Lily doesn't hear about this at all. Got it?" He named his stipulation.

Sirius bobbed his head amicably. "Sure, mate."

"Yeah!" Peter yelled enthusiastically.

People looked at us strangely. "Peter," I took him over the shoulder and spoke loudly. "Peter, buddy, macaroni is served everyday here. You don't need to get so excited. It'll be here tomorrow and the next day, too. Just sit down, relax..."

Sirius was wracked with fits of laughter. "He's got it proper down, Moony. Caldwell is right as rain, he is. Oh, yes. A keeper, for sure." He laughed and shook.

"Fuck you, Sirius!" Peter shot back.

"Talk to James," Sirius replied instantly. "He's more your type. Always plays Quidditch, has big muscles. He's a looker, too... Ooh, look at those cute eyes. That broad ches-"

James had grabbed for him. "You're lucky the professors sit there and watch us, Padfoot. Really lucky. Just wait til the next match of Quidditch. I'll be sure to bump into you extra hard. Maybe even during practice, too." He thought aloud.

"No, no, you just wait, Prongs. I'll wait until you go to bed. Sprinkle some nice powder in your hair and your drawers, switch some things around with my wand... A great idea, right?"

"I think so. I might help you with it." I said, just to see the look on Dad's face. I wasn't disappointed. It was a great moment, honestly.

James shook his head like an older parent trying to discipline his children. "Remember, Harry. Quidditch is next weekend. Sorry. This weekend, rather. Three days. Kay? Kay. Be ready. If you want to practice, we're here." He motioned to himself and Sirius. It was a nice gesture. One I wouldn't forget.

"Ah, I think I'll be fine," I shrug it off noncommittally. "You sure?" James asks. Sirius nods. "Best time to get some rounds in. The game is when it matters, Caldwell,"

I shook my head good-naturedly. "Alright. Be prepared for it. Maybe you might need to brush up on some tactics or even on how the game works." James mentioned. Wow. Really covering all of their bases. How in-depth were they with this fucking game? Shite, I thought I liked Quidditch.

"No,no,guys. I'm alright. I'll be sure to let you know if I need anything," I reassure them. "I'll see you later. Who's going to Charms with me?" I asked.

And that was how that week went. Nothing else major happened. I was a little scared at how Bellatrix put it, with all the families and Voldemort's Legilimency, but I already knew that. The only thing she was doing was opening old wounds. It didn't do me any favors. Still, she was right to assume the worst and tell me anyway. Better to do it than to not. Bellatrix... Hmm. She was something, to be sure. It makes me sit in bed and night and wonder, really wonder what happens to a person to make them what they turn out to be. How does someone go from a well-functioning member of society to a bloodthirsty, insane criminal? Lots of time and lots of traumatic experiences, I would assume. And that's just the beginning. Fortunately for James and the rest of the boys, I was well set for our first match. But who would I be facing? Do Rodolphus or Rabastan play Quidditch as well? And if they didn't, would there still be some trick up their sleeve? There had to be, obviously. They were Slytherins. But looking at Bellatrix... That wasn't all there was. Did Bellatrix play, herself? I never asked, in all my fervor. There were more important things at those moments. I guess I could ask tomorrow. Or I could keep the suspense and see on the weekend. No, I'll ask. If not, I would just torture myself and think of stupid scenarios in my head at night. Not to say that I don't, but more so.

The first match of the year... For some reason, I didn't want to play Quidditch anymore. Hopefully it was a passing feeling. I loved Quidditch dearly. I wouldn't have to worry about Voldemort or going back to the Dursley's over the summer or Ron and Hermione's antics. It was a time of escape; but it could also be a time of stress too. Having to get Neville's Remembrall from Malfoy, facing Malfoy when he became Seeker, buying his way onto the team. Getting the Snitch so many times was the fun part. After a while, the act itself got old. The looks on their faces didn't. That was the trick. Keep your audience captive. Your audience wasn't just in the stands. They were right there with you. Your own team, your own Beaters. Their team, their Beaters, their Chasers, their Seeker. Everyone has their eyes on the Seekers. That was the one thing I never understood about the game. Why should the Seekers have the ability to end the game so easily? But sometimes games can go on for hours, so there's that, too. Regardless, I would be in for a show. And a good one. Time to play some 70's Quidditch.

You ready? I'm not.