Bellatrix ushered Harry halfway to the door before the words sunk in.

"Like fuck am I going to marry you. Or anyone!" Harry wrenched his arm free. "And why would you want to marry me? You've just met me! What's wrong with you?"

Bellatrix pouted, lips painted crimson quivering with faux misery. "You mean… you don't want to marry me?"

"No?!"

Maybe it wasn't time travel. Maybe it was an alternate universe, another dimension or something. Hermione was always chattering about that sort of stuff. God, he desperately needed a drink to deal with this insanity.

"Scared, are you?" Bellatrix cooed, crazy as she'd always been.

"I wouldn't marry you if you were the last witch alive." Harry glanced over at the windows, seriously considering them as an escape route. Surely Grimmauld Place would let him leave now.

"Harsh, Mr Potter. I suppose my future incarnation must have done something really awful to you."

"You can say that again," Harry muttered, then froze, dragging his gaze away from the windows and the promise of the London streets beyond. A wicked smile curved across Bellatrix's lips and her grey eyes sparkled with mischief.

"So, you are from the future, then?"

Harry surged forward, catching Bellatrix by the throat. He slammed her into the wall with a snarl. With a flick of his wand the door locked and he muttered a temporary ward of forbiddance under his breath. Beneath his fingers he could feel the thrum of Bellatrix's racing pulse and the flutter of her gasping for breath, even as she grinned at him with feral delight.

"That will hold for five minutes," he said, "then I'm blasting my way out of this godforsaken shithole. Well done. You guessed it. I've time-travelled. And now you know my secret… tell me why I shouldn't just kill you and anyone else in this house who tries to stop me?"

"You could," she rasped. "You could ruin us… or raise us to greatness. Marry me and you'll have the power of the House of Black at your fingertips. Our connections, our reputation, our wealth, our magic…"

"If you're already so powerful, then why do you need me?" Harry growled. He shook her when she failed to answer.

"Can't… breathe…"

Relief flashed through Bellatrix's eyes when Harry released her, but he pressed his wand under her chin, unwilling to take any chances. She bared her throat, haughty and proud, despite the implicit threat.

"Well?"

"The male line is weak. Aunt Wally's a vicious bitch who's driven Sirius away and crushed Regulus beneath her heel. Neither of them will lead the House of Black to greatness. My pathetic father plans to marry me and my sisters to his cronies' sons for his own political gain. Drommie's already planning to run off and betray us, Cissy's going to marry that Malfoy boy, and apparently all I'm good enough for is the elder Lestrange. Well, I refuse."

Bellatrix swallowed and looked up at him through lidded eyes. "Instead, here I have a handsome, powerful wizard, a time-traveller from the near future, who hasn't killed me on sight, despite how much it seems he hates another version of me. That tells me you're not prone to cruelty or violence, know enough about the future to make intelligent decisions in politics and money, and you're cunning enough, or perhaps desperate enough to realise that I'm offering you an opportunity of a lifetime to change the future of our world."

This was what Hermione would have been like, if she'd been raised as pure-blood nobility, taught cruelty and venom, and spoilt her entire life, Harry realised, and then felt agonisingly guilty for the comparison that Hermione no doubt would have loathed.

He staggered away from Bellatrix and sunk into the welcoming comfort of a leather armchair, burying his face in his hands. Was he really considering this? He should have fled, or tried to, the moment he'd realised that it was Bellatrix Lestrange before him. But it wasn't really Bellatrix Lestrange , was it? It was Bellatrix Black, who was his age, or a few years younger, as sane she likely got, so ambitious she was willing to risk her life with a stranger.

"You're desperate, too," Harry realised. "Lestrange is here, isn't he? In the house?"

Bellatrix smiled, as if she'd won. "Will you save me from him?"

"You don't have to marry me. I'll help you escape him, anyway," Harry said, like the fucking idiot he was, hero complex and all.

"Don't be a fool. I'm not going to give my life up and go on the run to avoid marriage, not when you're right here, exactly when and where I need you to be." Bellatrix stood over him, her brow arched in mocking query. "What else are you going to do? Declare yourself to the Unspeakables? They'll never let you leave the Department of Mysteries. Throw yourself on the mercies of the Potters? Their actual son is ten years older than you and his name is Humphrey. Pledge yourself to the Dark Lord?"

"Never!" Harry shot to his feet and grabbed Bellatrix's left arm, wrenching back her sleeve to bare the skin. It was unblemished, unmarked, the pale blue of her veins visible through translucent, alabaster skin. Bellatrix placed her hand over his, her fingers soft against his rough broomstick calluses.

"That anger will do you well, if you intend to go against him," she said, a pledge hidden in her words.

Harry shivered and dug into his pocket with his spare hand, searching for something to transfigure into a ring. He hoped Sirius would understand, would realise Harry was doing this so he wouldn't have to grow up to fight in the Blood Wars.

The Peverell ring gleamed in the sunlight as he withdrew it from his coat. Harry hadn't seen the Resurrection Stone since he'd thrown it into the Forbidden Forest and yet here it was, reformed. He stared at it, then decided that was one problem he wasn't dealing with today. He took an unsteady breath and dropped to one knee.

"Bellatrix Black, will you marry me?" Harry said, meeting her expectant gaze. Perhaps insanity was catching. Perhaps he'd always been a little insane.

"With pleasure," Bellatrix said, the cat who got the cream. The ring resized as it slid onto her finger. "Interesting stone."

"Family heirloom." Harry stared at their joined hands then snatched his away, staggering to his feet.

"I can't wait to learn all about you and the future to come," Bellatrix declared, an ominous promise if he'd ever heard one. "But for now, we really must go inform my parents, and ruin Lestrange's day. Oh, and you'll need a better alias than Harry Potter. Honestly, what kind of name is Harry? You don't even sound like a pure-blood."

"I'm not," Harry said, scowling.

Bellatrix's eyes widened and her gaze flickered up to the scar on his forehead.

"You're no Mudblood," she said, as if to reassure herself.

Harry bared his teeth. "I might not be. But if you ever use that word again, I'll curse off your tongue and feed it to you."

"Hmm. Noted. A touchy subject. Not to worry, I can mind my manners. Now, what shall we call you?"

It was hard to determine Bellatrix's sincerity, but Harry decided to take her at her word. He had no other choice, after all. He'd somehow time travelled thirty-one years into his past, with no idea how or why. All he had were the fundamentals of time travel to guide him. One, don't meet your past self, else go mad with insanity. Two, don't try to return, else you'll age the years instantly. Well, his past self hadn't yet been born, so that wasn't an issue, and Harry wouldn't even know where to begin, even if he wanted to return.

There was something fucked up about the fact that he wasn't sure if he did want to return. In 1974, he was an anonymous wizard, not a war hero or reluctant celebrity. He could stop the wars before they truly began, destroy Voldemort before his reign of terror, save his parents, Sirius, Fred, Dobby… all those who had died fighting for what was right.

"A name," Bellatrix prompted, "or shall I pick one?" She was inspecting the ring, granting him privacy to come to terms with his decision, whether intentional or not.

Harry frowned. Despite the necessity, he didn't want to give up his name. It had been an intrinsic part of his identity, all he'd had to cling to in the early days of the Dursleys, and a link to his parents when he'd realised what they'd done for him.

"Peverell," Bellatrix crooned, startling him. Her eyes gleamed. "Harrison Peverell has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"A good, pure-blood name?" Harry sneered.

"Precisely."

"Harry Peverell," Harry said, feeling out the name. "I don't care if it sounds wrong."

"As you wish." Bellatrix huffed.

A sharp rap on the door disturbed them both. Harry holstered his wand and waved a hand, removing the remains of the ward that prevented entrance.

"Trixie?"

"And so the show begins," Bellatrix whispered. Louder, she answered, "In here, Cissy."

A fresh-faced Narcissa Malfoy entered the room, dressed in an apricot coloured pleated skirt, ivory blouse, and seafoam blue robes. She raised her brows upon seeing Harry. "Who's this, Trixie? I didn't realise you had a man in here with you… It's just… mother's asking for you."

Facing down Bellatrix, Harry hadn't paid any attention to his appearance, but as Narcissa's sharp gaze inspected every inch of him, he abruptly realised he looked exactly what he was: ungroomed, rough around the edges, in dire need of a haircut. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and offered a hand.

"Harry Peverell," he said, barely hesitating over the lie.

Narcissa eyed his hand, then shook it. "How modern," she said. "Me, shaking hands—imagine that."

"We don't need to imagine it," Bellatrix drawled. "We both just witnessed it. Cissy, meet my fiancé. Harry, this is my darling sister, Narcissa."

"Fiancé," Narcissa echoed, eyes wide.

Taking assurance in the fact that this woman was a far different creature than the war-worn mother he'd once known, Harry offered her his most charming smile, and hoped it wasn't as much of a grimace as it felt.

"A pleasure to meet you. Bella's told me all about you. Soon to be Mrs Malfoy, I believe?"

Narcissa sighed. "Oh, I hope so. But enough about me. Trixie, you've been keeping this one a secret. How did you meet? Was it love at first sight?"

"Oh, go away, Cissy," Bellatrix said. "Go flutter at Drommie. Where's mother?"

"Hpmf. I ought not tell you, after that."

"But you will," Harry interjected, well used to sibling squabbles after witnessing Ron and Ginny get into it too many times to count. "We've only just got engaged, you see, and I wish to formally ask your parents for Bellatrix's hand in marriage."

"This is quite the surprise," Narcissa said. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to hear the news. Mother's in the library, along with father, uncle Arcturus, and our guest. Perhaps I should come along, too?"

She batted her eyes at Harry, who was too flabbergasted to respond.

"So you can stir up more trouble?" Bellatrix scoffed. "I'll let you watch the memory, if you go away now."

"I'll hold you to that," Narcissa agreed and swept from the room.

After a moment, Harry shut the door behind her and leaned against it with a groan, closing his eyes.

"You didn't think it was going to be easy, did you?" Bellatrix asked tartly.

Harry fortified himself, shutting away the softer parts of him that had flourished under Ron and Hermione's friendship, as he had when going undercover. He was Harry Peverell. If he wanted this to work, if he wanted to save his family, if he wanted to make something of himself in the time he'd abruptly been trapped in, then he had to believe it, live it, become it. He had to discard Harry Potter's prejudices and grudges and forge himself into a wizard that could look people like Cygnus Black and Rodolphus Lestrange in the eye and greet them with a smile instead of a curse. Impulsively, incredibly, he was going to marry Bellatrix Black and in doing so leave behind Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, forever.

"Nothing worth having is ever easy," Harry said. "I know that well."

He opened his eyes and nodded at Bellatrix, his fiancé, a woman he had once hated more than Voldemort himself. She smiled back, sharp as a knife, and took his hand.


A/N: is this worth continuing? Harry/Bella is such a rare pair. What would you do, if you were Harry in this situation?