"How's your French?" Bellatrix drew her wand and Harry instinctively flinched. "Oh, relax, I'd hardly curse you now, after all the work I've put into persuading you this is a good plan."
"Passable," Harry grunted. He grit his teeth while Bellatrix cast several spells in quick succession, none of them more dangerous than a beauty charm. She tidied up his beard, neatened his hair, and began poking his clothing as if she could glare it into submission.
"Then you were raised by your mother in England who then sent you off to be educated in Beauxbatons, as she disagreed with Dumbledore's wishy-washy policies when he was appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts. You've spent your time since you graduated travelling, but decided to return to England to seek your mastery in duelling."
"Defence," Harry said, ignoring the twinge in his heart at the reminder Dumbledore was presently alive. That was a dilemma to address when he wasn't in the heart of potential enemy territory.
"They'll respect duelling more," Bellatrix said with a shake of her head.
"I won't be someone I'm not. Duelling is for fools who've never fought a day in their lives."
"And you were borne of war… very well. Perhaps combat magic?"
Harry shrugged. "Sure. I'll write my thesis on the Patronus Charm."
Bellatrix stepped back and hummed. "Aren't you full of surprises? I suppose you're acceptable. Let's go."
It was strange, walking past where Walburga's hideous painting had once dwelled and not having to creep by as if thieves in the night. Harry occupied himself with noting the difference between this well-lived-in and well-loved version of the drab and dirty house that Sirius had bequeathed him, in favour of thinking too hard about the situation he found himself in. The house-elf heads still mounted the walls, but the pervasive layer of grime and dust not even Molly had been able to banish was noticeably absent. No hidden boggarts or doxies lurking in the curtains. It was refreshing.
Bellatrix knocked on the library door and opened it without a pause. Harry forced a pleasant smile upon his face and followed her in.
"Mother, father, you asked for me? What fortuitous timing. There's someone I'd like you to meet."
Druella Black was the spitting image of Narcissa Malfoy, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed and curled, adorned with matching pearl earrings and necklace, in an emerald set of robes. Cygnus Black had short, cropped hair going grey at the temple and it was clear that Bellatrix favoured his looks. He wore a pinstriped suit and leaned upon a very familiar cane, one that Harry had seen Lucius Malfoy brandish about. They were both standing by the fireplace, heads close together.
"Is that so?" Sitting behind a desk, half hidden by two bookshelves, was a silver-haired man, his face lined with age, in a stately black, velvet suit with a crimson cravat. This only could be Arcturus Black, Head of the House of Black, who watched them with aristocratic imperiality. Reclined before him was a younger, greasier Rodolphus Lestrange, who straightened in his seat, smarmy grin disappearing upon catching sight of Harry.
Harry found his smile becoming more genuine as he watched the frown on Lestrange's face grow.
"Yes, and I think you'll like him too, Uncle Arcturus," Bellatrix said, stepping further into the room. She clutched at Harry's hand. He hadn't ever thought of Bellatrix as one prone to nerves. It shocked him into action.
Harry cleared his throat. This was just like undercover work. An undercover assignment he would have to live with forever. Easy as catching a niffler in a jewellery shop. As he attracted the attention of the room, he tilted his head, and braced himself.
"My name is Harry Peverell and I'd like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."
Not even the pipes in the walls dared creak or moan, the silence was so absolute. In deference, Harry dared not breathe, until Arcturus finally spoke, his tone low and measured.
"Peverell… a name I haven't heard in a very long while." He stood, approaching them, ignoring Lestrange's bleating, "but, sir!"
"What proof do you have?"
It was like standing before Dumbledore on the edge of a terrible rage, banked embers that would transform into a blazing inferno should you fail his test. Harry straightened his back and reached out for Bellatrix's hand, drawing attention to the ring. If anything would prove his claim to the name Peverell, it was that. He was hardly going to disclose his ownership of rest of the Deathly Hallows, not for this.
"The Peverell ring," Harry said. "I'm descended from Ignotus, on my father's side."
Arcturus took Bellatrix's hand and drew it close, inspecting the ring through a monocle tucked into his breast pocket. The stone glittered, turning blood red as the sunlight shone through it at one angle and onyx black once returned to shadow.
"So you are," Arcturus agreed, turning his inspection on Harry. His gaze skated across the scar on his brow, before returning to it with a frown. It seemed it would always be a point of curiosity, even to those with no idea what it stood for.
"Now, see here," Cygnus interrupted, stepping forward with a tap of his cane. "The Lestrange boy has spoken and offered for her. He's of wealthy, pure stock. His father is a good friend of mine—"
"Silence, Cygnus."
Cygnus spluttered, before turning to his wife to whisper in her ear, shooting the occasional venomous glance their way. All the while, Arcturus gazed at Harry. He felt exposed to the bone, raw like a bird plucked of feathers. Could he read in the tension of Harry's shoulders that he was braced for a fight? Could he tell from the brittleness of Harry's smile that he'd rather be anywhere else? Could he see in Harry's eyes nothing but contempt for this antiquated tradition?
The part of him that had been raised to respect authority wanted to quail in the face of such scrutiny, but Harry had faced down a psychopathic Dark Lord and his murderous followers alone and injured at age fourteen. In the face of that, very little was intimidating. If Arcturus found him wanting, then fuck it all, Harry would bring down Voldemort and bring peace to the wizarding all by himself, if he had to. Bellatrix joining the Death Eaters with the knowledge that Harry was from the future was… problematic. But he'd faced worse odds.
As if sensing Harry's resolve, Arcturus inclined his head. "I will consider your proposal," he decided. "If you can match the offer made by Mr Lestrange."
"Do not bother," Lestrange spat, springing to his feet. "I rescind my offer. My father will hear of this offence to our House."
Arcturus's piercing gaze fell then upon Lestrange and Harry shrugged his shoulders to relieve the tension within them. Lestrange shrunk back, before puffing up like a pigeon facing down a hawk, all feathers, no talons.
"No agreement had been reached, boy. Do not pretend offence where there is none. Are you certain you wish to withdraw?"
"Certainly," Lestrange sneered. "No agreement, perhaps, but there was an understanding. And now you're letting the girl choose for herself, marry some fool she's clearly found in the gutter? You cannot truly believe he is a descendant of the Peverell line. Stupid whore!"
Druella hissed and Harry stepped forward, but it was Arcturus who acted, magic trembling in the air around him as raised a hand to call on the wards of Grimmauld Place, as was his right as the Head of House Black. The air grew dense and suffocating, while Lestrange was frozen in place, jaw clenched shut.
"An insult to any of the Blacks is an insult to all of us," Arcturus intoned. "You forget yourself, Rodolphus. I do not wish to hear you utter a single word more. Now, get out of my house! "
Arcturus released the magic restraining him and Lestrange barged past Harry in his haste to exit. Harry allowed him the slight, wondering if it would be too obvious to hunt him down later and murder him while he slept.
Druella surged forward, breaking from her husband's grasp to draw Bellatrix into a hug. Harry stepped back to allow them to embrace, keeping an eye on Arcturus all the while. The most dangerous people Harry knew were men and women who had survived to earn their retirement. The aging tiger was most dangerous in his lair, after all.
"Darling, this was most unexpected. I did not realise you had a suitor! If only you'd told us, we might have been able to avoid such a terrible scene."
"And you've ruined a perfectly good business deal for me," Cygnus grumbled.
"I suppose you'll have to trade on something other than your daughter's happiness, then," Druella sniped. It seemed Bellatrix had learned her sharpness in the cradle.
"If you'd birthed more than daughters, perhaps I wouldn't have to!"
"Save the domestic for when we don't have a guest," Bellatrix drawled. "Mother, father, uncle, I realise this is rather out of character for me, but Harrison and I are determined to marry as soon as possible."
"You have to agree this is rather sudden," Druella said, Cygnus chiming in beside her.
"It's Harry," Harry said, stepping away from the bickering and up to Arcturus's desk, where the man had reseated himself. "May I?"
"Please do."
Harry took the seat Lestrange had vacated and gave the desk a cursory scan. A betrothal agreement was the only document visible, one that Arcturus swept into his drawer with a wry twist of his lips when Harry's gaze settled upon it.
"So, what did Lestrange offer? I will do my best to match it, but if it's wealth you're looking for, I am uncertain of the state of the Peverell vaults," Harry said. He was very aware that all he had in the world, as of this moment, were the clothes on the back, the knick-knacks in his pockets, and his two wands.
In his mind, he could hear the echo of George chuckling as he asked 'don't you mean three wands, Harry?' Pressing those thoughts aside, he hoped he hadn't imagined the flicker of approval in Arcturus's eyes.
"What need have we for wealth? We are the Blacks," Arcturus said. "Although yes, a bride price of a thousand galleons was part of his offer. No, I must confess, Harry, I am far more curious about what you can do for me, rather than what you can offer me."
What a fucking surprise. All his life people had wanted something from him: for him to save them, to sleep with them, to listen to them, or to fight for them.
"What do you want me to do?" Harry said, biting back a sigh.
Arcturus chuckled, eyes gleaming. "So eager to get to the point. Learn to enjoy the journey, boy. I think, perhaps, we ought to find out a little more about you, before I decide what you must do for me in order to take Bellatrix's hand."
"If you don't know your destination, then all we'll end up doing is stumbling around in the dark," Harry countered.
"Insolent," Arcturus remarked, although he didn't seem offended. "But not entirely incorrect."
Bellatrix took the opportunity to join them, perching on the armrest of the chair Harry was seated in. He placed a hand on her lower back to help her balance and wondered how the hell his life had come to this.
"Rodolphus offered the House of Black neutrality," she said, smirking when Arcturus turned a severe frown upon her. "He claimed to have the Dark Lord's ear. Swore that we could stay out of the war, if we chose, and we'd be left alone. Uncle doesn't want to pledge the family to his cause."
"Bellatrix," Cygnus scolded from a few metres away, where he and Druella had been pretending not to listen. "You ought not to have disclosed such information."
"Lestrange can't promise you that," Harry said, before he could help himself. He grimaced, aware that Arcturus saw every nuance of expression.
But Arcturus had been long dead, according to Sirius and the Black Tapestry, less than thirty years from now. The man Harry saw before him was in his prime and unlikely to succumb to illness. And Harry knew Voldemort—he would keep no such promise of neutrality, if he had even made it.
"That is not for you to determine," Arcturus reprimanded.
"Voldemort does not like to be refused. He is already plotting your demise," Harry warned, etiquette be damned. "No false promises given by his servants will change that."
Arcturus leaned back and steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on the desk.
"This is something you're very certain of," he observed. "Yet none who serve the Dark Lord would dare speak his name. Who are you, Harrison Peverell?"
"Harrison's returned to England to study for a mastery in combat magic, uncle. He's a fighter," Bellatrix interjected. Arcturus waved her silent with a scowl.
"Let the man speak for himself, girl."
"It really is Harry," Harry muttered. "Does it matter? You can believe me, or not. But here's my promise to you. Give me a year and Bellatrix's hand in marriage and Voldemort will no longer be a problem for you or anyone else."
"To be young again," Arcturus mused. "If I was your age, I think I'd like to join you in your crusade against him, whatever may fuel it, and endorse this pairing wholeheartedly. There's certainly something compelling about your manner. But no, I have gained wisdom throughout my many years and learned the value of patience and reflection. I must take time to deliberate on this matter."
Harry nodded, somewhat surprised he hadn't been thrown out on his arse.
"But, let me make something very clear to you, Harry. Bellatrix is my flesh and blood, a princess in all but name. Should we discover you are not who you say you are, any agreement between us will be void and I will demand from you my pound of flesh."
"I understand, sir," Harry said, acknowledging his seniority, even as Bellatrix scoffed. He dared to smirk. "At least, you could certainly try."
A/N: er, Harry, could you not taunt Arcturus Black please? Anyone notice a few... let's say mistakes Harry made in this chapter?
Thank you, MisguidedPenguin, I'm glad you think my Harry's cunning, definitely what I was aiming for, given he's matured a lot. Also this Bellatrix definitely walks the edge of sanity, she wouldn't be herself otherwise.
Forbidden Fandom, I'm afraid Harry Potter isn't one for going with the flow... that being said, you're not wrong about that being the sensible choice.
Everyone else that reviewed, thank you for your encouragement!
Three separate POVs coming up in the next chapter, most likely as a one off. Can anyone guess which?
