Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Series and its extensive franchise belong exclusively to J. and all the parties that she happened to allow copyright. I own none of the characters, nor the settings, nor some of the quotes from the fifth book. I'm just playing around a bit with her characters within her HP world.

A/N: So this is a somewhat long A/N about the issue with one of my pairing [SiriusxBellatrix]. There has been questions about it, so I would like to clarify it a bit.
First, about Sirius's words in the last chapter about Bellatrix being his 'intended'. To me, this is something probable, even in canon. Sirius was the oldest male child of that particular Black generation, which made him the de facto Heir to the family. With the Black family being what it was (old-fashioned, creepy inbreeding brood of people), it was very likely that there might have been informal talks about his future betrothal to one of his cousins -who, if you consider the likes of Orion and Walburga, wasn't that close in blood by any means. Entered Bellatrix, who was an epitome of the Great and Noble House of Black and would be the most likely to approve of the adults' decision with zeal. Being eight years older than Sirius, she might have welcomed the match and taken it upon herself to school all of her younger siblings about what it means to be a Black, including possible marriage between each other as a mean to keep the blood 'pure'.
Which brings me to second point: The 'thing' between Sirius and Bellatrix in my fic. Yes, Sirius hated all things Black - the House, the people, the bigotry, etc., and that point has been demonstrated clearly as early as the time he was eleven and riding the train with James before their first year. However, if one considers that he had spent the earliest (most impressionable) eleven years in the small world of the Black family, whereupon most of his quality time were spent with his brother and cousins, then it wouldn't come as a surprise if he had complicated feelings concerning these cousins and brother. Especially if Bellatrix were playing the oldest sister -possibly-fiancée-card and forcing her beliefs onto her supposed betrothed, then at one point, Sirius might have felt close to her, and more relatable to her than anyone else in the family. Until his innocence receded and her dutiful family-oriented teachings became zealous harangue to his ears. I think the thing he loved the most in life would be his freedom, not his humane outlook of life or progressive thinking, as some might believe. The first time he rebelled against his family must be because he felt like a caged animal living with the Blacks, then after getting into Gryffindor and being friends with the remaining Marauders, he could shape other uneasiness he feels in his family into actual differences in beliefs. But yes, I think a part of him, the tiny brainwashed part of the earliest eleven years, would still retain complicated feelings about those of his generation within the family, Bellatrix included. That it might turn into something more depended entirely on Bellatrix's attitudes towards him. In her part, I think she loved her beliefs the most. The fact that she fell for Voldermort in canon is an evidence of this. She would love those who complement her blood-purist beliefs the most. In the canon, that's Voldy. In my fic, that's her young cousin whose betrothal to her would make them the purest, most powerful couple and the Blackest of Black. And then that cousin just had to rebel and got himself in to bloody Gryffindor. She was outraged, and betrayed, and hurt. But eleven years of love, care and expectations wouldn't disappear so easily. She entered a state wherein she both hated him and had an unwelcome soft spot for him. Since it was a love-hate relationship I am talking about, I feel that something would have happened between them once he reached puberty and the betrothal between Bellatrix and Rodolphus was finalized. I could write a oneshot about it if anyone wants more details, but yes, I believe the probability of hate sex or moments of weakness is pretty high.
That, and the fact that they look pretty together and I just plainly like them that I didn't really think about how strange and gross this couple was to many people. It is a crack fic, so I figured, 'Why not?'.
If anyone still want to discuss this couple or any other points of the story, please leave a review or inbox me. I will try to answer it to the best of my (limited) linguistic skill.
Have a good read, everyone!

Playing around with random Ministry office workers was one thing, but meeting creepy cousins and acting resurrected ancestors was a tad too radical, even for her. Alas, Sirius did look like he was enjoying himself immensely when Sirius Black II and his brood of siblings and toddling children started bursting into tears and emotionally hollowing "Uncle!" and "Grand-uncle!" at the top of their lungs.

Being spat out of the Veil was much more dramatic and malodorous than being pushed into it. They ballooned into size with a unceremonious 'Squelch' sound and fluids of uncertain origins flooding out in basinfuls after them. She felt plenty of gore on her person and He Who Is Her Father nearly lost his footing and delivered the both of them to the ground with how unsteady he was being.

"-teen twenty-seven!" This fact was made worse by the fact that her words, which were still going on even through the tight experience of the magical portal of sort, echoed loudly and resoundingly off the four walls of the Death Chamber, to the complete astonishment of the two office workers sitting behind the desk.

The younger one of them promptly let go of his book (His first-Edition-probably-with-author's-autograph book. How dare he?) and the older one spat out a mouthful of tea while fumbling ineffectively to find his wand.

Sirius was faster, though. And so did she. One well-aimed Expelliarmus and gritty Stupefy later, and they had themselves a very quiet room and the faint smell of nervous sweat from the disarmed young man. Sirius calmly put her down, working his joints and staring eerily at the nigh trembling young man. Said trembling young man worked up enough resolve to NOT look back at his stupefied colleague and sputtered out a question instead:

"Who...who are you?"

That was a perfectly legitimate question. However, without knowing exactly when they were, it was unlikely that Sirius and Hermione could actually give back a legitimate answer for it. Before she could formulate a good enough of a response, her father (she ought to start calling him that one of these days) abruptly doubled over and held his head in both of his hands, looking surprisingly theatrical in his confusion:

"I... You are right. Who am I?"

She could actually feel the level of incredulity in the chamber rising, and not only from the outraged office worker, either. If Hermione had been someone who were more easily embarrassed, she imagined that she would have had a hypertensive crisis due to excessive mortification right about now. But her skin, as had been proven time and again, was thick enough to brace through this massive embarrassment that was her father resorting to amnesia to squirrel himself out of Ministry interrogation. So even though she had (considerable) doubt on the feasibility of this solution, she refrained valiantly from cringing and steeled herself to support his ridiculous act.

The young man's face turned into an interesting puce colour as he stared back and forth at Sirius and his stupefied colleague, looking as if he want to object vehemently but were too scared to do so. At that exact moment, her father caught her eyes through the supposedly agonising head-holding, held her stare and had the gall to wink at her. Hermione could feel a blood vessel being burst open from overdosed vexation. She wouldn't have heeded him, if not for the fact that the stunned office worker had decided that Sirius was either a loony or a psychopath that could not possibly be negotiated with and turned his full attention to her.

She grabbed Sirius's arms with tears in her eyes and wails on her lips:

"Oh father! Is it the Veil? I know that kind of magic should not have been trusted! What would I to do if you are forgetting even yourself?"

And then, as a perfect end note (and because the damn office worker was opening is mouth to speak), Hermione dramatically spat out a cough full of blood and unceremoniously fainted in Sirius's arms.

She did not really faint, of course (even though her wound was hurting so bad she almost wished she actually did fall unconscious). But the commotion caused by her supposed syncope was spectacular enough that she felt almost proud of herself. In particular, Sirius turned full-on freaking-out mode and vehemently threatened to flay the young office worker, who turned out to be Alistair Bulstrode, second-cousin once removed to Tiberius Malfoy - an information that he had repeated most emphatically when Sirius vanished his nose in a fit of impatience as he kept on prattling about identities and protocols instead of notifying the medics to see to her. In the end, the young Bulstrode caved in, poor man, the horror of losing a nose must be unimaginable for one who take so much pride on his looks (the blood relation to the Malfoy was pretty apparent). He sobbed uncontrollably, cradling his just-reappeared nose and sending out signals of help to with trembling voice. His colleague, whose name was apparently Joseph, shuddered awake with a confused 'Wut?' in the midst of the chaos and was immediately knocked out again with a wave of Sirius's hand. If Alistair had had more brains, or guts, he would have tried to call for help from the Aurors or Unspeakables as well. Fortunately for them, though, he seemed to be lacking in both department, that, or maybe Sirius was too scary for him to think of acting out. He didn't even dare to ask her father anything else, even though the lie about amnesia was pretty much ridiculous by that point. In fact, in the face of Sirius's threatening wand and ruthless interrogation, the Bulstrode even babbled out a bunch of relevant and irrelevant information. So they were in 1927, early March, even. The current Minister, one Mr. Perseus Parkinson, had decided that starting from this month, officers of the researching type would be required to stay in Death Chamber and take note of any infrequency that happened to the Veil. Apparently, this Parkinson person -aside from being a racial bigot- were also a paranoid man who was having a grand fit against the Department of Mystery and wanting to deal a resounding slap to the Unspeakables by replacing them with incompetent (nincompoops) white-collars.

Things didn't go well all the way, though, since several Unspeakables (she did not know how many, seeing as her eyes were screwed shut in an expression of pain) marched in and spells of various sources started being exchanged in earnest. Sirius, still holding her with one arm, dodged and parried with proficiency, before letting go of his wand in a dramatic arc and declared noncommittally:

"Yield." Rustling sounds indicated that they were being surrounded. Sirius said, louder this time, "Watch where you are putting your hand. I'm not answering anything until the Head of House of Black arrives."

That gave them pause.

"What are you to Lord Sirius Black?" One of them, with a nasal voice that was definitely not sexy in any way (romance novelists were bloody liars), inquired tersely.

Her father was even more formidable, as he uncaringly hoisted her up in his arms and answered with (most likely) a straight face:

"I am his supposedly dead uncle."

The silence was deafening.

"Now, a Black child is bleeding to death over here. Can you please get her to the hospital before interrogating me? Sign her up under the name Lyra Black."

Obedient daughter that she was, she cemented her father's credibility by going fully unconscious.

When Hermione next opened her eyes, it was two days later, she was in and her father was flirting with the nurse by her bedside. Which made for a very exasperating awakening. She gave an annoyed cough, and Sirius whirled around immediately. Ignoring the dismayed nurse, he sat down by her side and asked:

"How are you feeling? Wait, don't give me that look. You haven't waken once in three days. I have the right to ask stupid questions."

The nurse went away with a frown. Hermione eased up and twitched her lips into a smile:

"I feel surprisingly good. No pain. Clear-headed. What did they give me for the pain?"

"No idea," He shrugged and seemed relieved, "I wasn't here for the majority of your treatment. I was just let out of the Ministry."

That caught her interest:

"How goes the interrogations?"

"Good as good can be." He gave a roguish smile (she shouldn't have had that heart-to-heart with him, he was becoming a bit too pleased with himself) and got closer to whisper to her, "Magical Community of the 20s is now under the impression that I am Sirius Black I, youngest son of Cygnus Black I, brother of Elladora Black and the late Hogwart's Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black."

She stared at him:

"The one who died at 8 years old from cholera?"

Of course she did her homework. There was no way she had gotten through the long-lost relatives shenanigans with Sirius without learning by heart the family trees, the causes of death of family members, the number of maids and house elves over the years, and the alleged dirty secrets that really should stay secret.

Sirius was clicking his tongue at her:

"Don't believe everything you read, love. For Blacks, the things that are common knowledge for the public are all secrets we want the world to know about. True secrets, dirty secrets, are not quite as conventional as topics of tea parties. We hid many interesting thing that other people, and other households, for that matter, wouldn't dare to think about."

"Yes. Like the fact that you were fornicating with your cousin." She pauses in horror, "Or was it plural?"

He wasn't even fazed in the slightest bit:

"Let's not discuss that. You're a bit too young for that."

She did not think she would ever be old enough to discuss the number of cousins her father were shagging in and out of his puberty. So she ignored it instead:

"So he didn't die from cholera? Or did he not die at all?"

"The second. He disappeared, quite a mystery, really. Been quite the talk of the family. But there were no bodies, bones, or evidences of kidnapping. Just 'poof' and one day no one could find him anywhere."

"What kind of parents..." She started in a disapproving tone.

Only to be interjected by him:

"The Black kind."

There were really nothing to say to that.

So she turned back to their backstory:

"Even if you said you are Sirius Black I, the age does not add up."

"Time-traveling adds everything up."

She was aghast:

"You told them you time-travelled to the future and back?"

He shrugged and said:

"No. That would not explain why you, my daughter, are not appearing on the family tree. I told them I travelled back to the Middle Age, got married, had you, and travelled back."

"That would mean I was born and live before the family tree even existed. So it's logical that my name are not there." She mused, "Wait, that's actually make a whole bunch of sense."

He looked smug at that and continued:

"I told them I jumped back in time the first time when I met a young Malfoy from two thousand twenty something with weird clothes and strange trinkets. After pissing him off and wrestling with him, we both travelled back to 476 AD, then he got real angry at the presumptuous eight-year-old and travelled back to who-know-where. Being stuck in the past, I got adopted by a family of wizards and lived there for more than twenty years. Then Arthur Pendragon died and a bloody war broke out, with Merlin and Morgana poking each other with sticks and wizards and Muggles of all kinds gathered around either one of them and launched horrible attacks at each other. We got mixed up in that nasty business, wounded and encountered a shack in the wood, conveniently stumbled across the Veil and got spat back here."

The silence lasted for minutes. Then she concluded, very much impressed herself:

"You should have become a creative writer."

His only response was a blood-boiling smirk. That made her even more disgruntled:

"Stop acting so damn smug. Why do I get the feeling that you are being more cheeky than before? Did the Veil altered your brain to that of a conceited adolescent as well?"

Again, he didn't even blink at her annoyance:

"Oh I've always been this way. I was just worried about how to get used to you, is all. I'm alright now. You don't hate me. We are alive. We are also at a point in time where we can actually change the magical world for the better." He winked and gave her a winning smile, "Which is where you come into the picture. It's March of 1927. Do you know the main events that would happen this year?"

She flinched and stared at him:

"You want to change time, Sirius? Is that wise? The timeline..."

"Would have been drastically altered the minute we got spat out of the Veil already that being reserved about it would not serve a thing but suffocating ourselves."

She did not redact her disapproving frown:

"We still should try to be moderate. In the first place, why did you have to reveal that you are a Black?"

He laid back on the chair and raised an eyebrow almost insouciantly at her:

"Because I look more Black than any of the Blacks that are alive at this point in time, Hermione. You may have forgotten since I am the only male Black left of our time, but our family genes are ridiculously strong. We resemble each other greatly and if I did not come out to them, soon people shall start wondering why the heck it is that I look exactly like the Black's Head of House and I don't really think we could ever come up with a plausible answer to those kinds of question."

She rubbed at her face with the heel of her hand and grumbled:

"Yes, so that's that. But I'm not too sure about changing the timeline, Sirius. What if we do something unintentional and you aren't going to be born, and what if people in the future recognise that you and I have lived in the past before? There're just too many factors..."

"Then what are you suggesting, Hermione?" He cut her off, somewhat impatiently, "That we hole ourselves up in a hut and live the rest of our lives pretending that we have never been here? Leaving Voldemort to reach his power again, letting the war happens all over again, having James and Lily die and watching Harry being orphaned from afar? Is that what you want, daughter?"

That made her angry. Why was he goading her into a fight? Of course she did not want any of those things to happen, but changing time of this magnitude are not an easy affair by any means. One wrong move and they would be destroyed by Time, not to mention that it was very likely that the changes they bring to the world might actually make things worse. There was no guarantee that things would turn out the way they plan and strategise. Frustrated and angry, she rounded on him:

"Then what exactly do you hope to achieve, father? Stop Grindelwald before he reach his pinnacle? Voldemort should be a baby now. Would you like to kill him as well? So that our war would not have been started?"

Instead of exploding in her face like she had been half expecting, Sirius just blinked and looked thoughtfully at her:

"...He's only an infant now?"

"It is written that Tom Riddle the Prefect was awarded in 1943 for Special Service to Hogwarts, in his sixth year, then if my calculation is correct, he was born in either 1926 or 1927."

"Do you know exactly when?"

His avid interest in this was making her uncomfortable at the prospect of having a father in Azkaban for tracking down and killing babies.

"Late 1926, most likely, since Harry mentioned that he was a winter child." She shrunk back a bit from Sirius's burning gaze, "He's an orphan. So maybe we can check both his father's place and the orphanage?"

"Which orphanage?"

"Gee. I don't know. Can you look it up from the Ministry or Hogwarts' list of magical students?" She was annoyed and embarrassed there were things that she didn't know. "And I'm more interested in what you intend to do after finding him, anyway. Do we just kill him?"

He shook his head, looking contemplative with a hand under his chin.

"You might feel that way now, Hermione, but it is quite difficult to actually kill a baby." He gave her an indecipherable look, "I have killed before, and still I'm not certain that I can point my wand at a baby and feel alright after that."

"Even if that baby is Voldemort?"

"... Even then."

"So?"

A beat of silence. Sirius looked constipated, or unattractively thoughtful as he chew out a few words in a slow and agonising way:

"...What do you think if we just adopt him?"

She stared at him and felt as if she was, for the very first time, looking at someone who was having a psychotic breakdown and found it absolutely fascinating. Hermione could not help it, she bursted out laughing:

"So that's where you intend to go, eh? The redemption route?" She did not believe that Voldemort was absolute evil by nature, true. But she had believed that he was born fully equipped of his own brand of viciousness and ambition that no amount of soft words or loving hands would be able to dull. He would never be redeemed. He could not. How could Sirius even suggest such a thing? She was near hysterical now. "Adopt him, and what? Raise him? Merlin forbid, love him?" A hollow laugh escaped her throat, "I don't think I can love him, father." She looked at him, eyes sad, "Can you?"

Because for her, it was only the pain on her chest, Harry's nightmare, Harry's loneliness, and her frustration at the injustice and discrimination against herself and Muggleborns. For him, though, it was James, it was Lily, it was Regulus, it was twelve years in Azkaban, it was even Bellatrix, most likely. With that much he had against Voldemort, could he possibly love Tom Riddle, even when the thing was only a baby?

And without love, how could they even hope to raise him into proper human being that doesn't possess homicidal tendencies?

Sirius was thunderous in the face now, the mention of his dead loved ones seemed like powerful blows on his state of mind. Gritting his teeth, her father concluded the conversation and stood up abruptly:

"We shall see once we look at him for real, no? Rest now, Hermione. I shall visit you later."

He left the room in three long strides and slam the door behind him with a great force, leaving her alone with her turbulent thoughts.

Three mornings later, the Blacks, in all their glory, barged into her hospital room with great fanfare and pomposity. Arcturus Black bursted in first, nose scrunching and eyebrows knitting in the familiar aristocratic disdain that made Hermione want to Diffindo them into oblivion just to see how he would react. Then came two young women that was later introduced as Lucretia and Cassiopeia Black, haughty but curious in their bouncing steps. A bunch of middle aged Blacks filed in after them, scanning the room with critical eyes and disapproving huffs. They all stopped to give deferent nods to a frowning old man with strict grey eyes, black hair combed back, and features so similar to Sirius's that the harsh arrangement of them startled her a bit. Lucretia Black, sultry and fatuous in her loftiness, opened the conversation without the expected greetings:

"You are the daughter of that so-called Sirius Black?" She studied Hermione (gaunt, weak, and somewhat listless due to being confined in the room for so long) for all but a second before whipping her head back and tittered, her voice a sing-song, "She doesn't look at all like a Black, grandfather."

Hermione's bitch-detecting instinct kicked in and she straightened her back, narrowed her eyes and threw a comeback right back at the black-hair woman:

"And you don't look at all like an uncivilised pillock. But first impressions tend to be misleading."

Both women glowered at her and seemed ready to punish Hermione for such impudence. Fortunately (for them, the poor bints), her father marched into the room at that exact moment, pushed the people crowding the door aside and smoothly inserted himself between her bed and the glaring Blacks. His face was a stony mask and his hand rested reassuringly on her arm. After checking for certain that she was fine (please, it would take five times of them to give her any kind of trouble), he turned to ask the intruders:

"What is the meaning of this?"

There were a stunned silence that followed his words. As the Black family members took in his face, his gait, and his tone, they all had a thunderstruck look on their faces, as if they had come here with the sole purpose of exposing the imposter and condemning him to the deepest level of hell, but were thwarted by the appearance of someone who were undeniably a relative standing tall and all disapproval at their conducts. The oldest man, Sirius Black II - she presumed - took an uncertain step toward them, eyes glistening and voice cracking:

"... Uncle!"

A swift exchange of look later (and she saw that, by the way), other members of his family also cried out in various degrees of melodrama:

"Uncle!"

"Grand-uncle!"

Her father's eyes shone at the hilarity of the situation and Hermione could feel her face swelling up in an embarrassed blush. What kind of farce is this?

They stepped out of the room to discuss things without affecting her healing progress. She was a bit irked that she wasn't included in the conversation, but comforting herself that there were only so much exposure to the superciliousness of the Blacks she could take a day anyway.

When Sirius came back later, she inquired as innocently as she could:

"Have I been having the wrong idea about the Blacks all these times? Seeing them snivelling over you like that, maybe they are actually softies at heart and they love their family very much?"

Even she would want to laugh at this hypothesis.

Sirius did laugh, though in a self-depreciating way:

"Hah! As if! They cried over the bloody fact that they have a time-traveller in their family now. A conqueror of death and supposed changer of time. They welcome me because they believe that would make me more likely to share my secrets and contribute to the glory of the family."

She squeezed his hand comfortingly:

"And still you want to be included in their ranks during this time period."

He sighed but only shrugged:

"They might be toerags, but they are powerful toerags. If not for their names, you and I would both have been detained and dissected in the Department of Mysteries with no one the wiser. If not for the fact that your name is Black, you would have to line up until next week before treatment comes. is bursting with the wounded and the hysterical, after all."

So that was the true reason why he admitted himself to be a Black back then. True, if they had reappeared anywhere else, things wouldn't have been that bad. But they appeared instead in the middle of the Ministry, looking like criminals and attacking officers. Of course he would have to use the influential Black name to get them out of it.

"What does he want, the Head of House of Black?" She asked, sighing herself.

Her father blinked owlishly at her and smiled widely (and falsely, too, though she humoured him):

"Nothing of importance." He patted her head and said cheerfully, "By the way, I found out where our little Voldy is."

That got her attention. She bounced with excitement:

"Oh? So fast? How did you...?"

Sirius only gave her a secretive smile that was surprisingly indulgent:

"I have my sources."

Wool's Orphanage was a dreary place. Grey walls, grey uniforms, grey-faced orphans and grey-eyed matron. , sharp and stank of cheap wine as she was, was welcoming enough that Hermione had to refrain from berating the woman harshly for being drunk in the middle of the day while her charges were looking both starved and perpetually nervous. Though it was rather annoying that the woman kept craning her skinny neck up to secretly sneak glances at her father, cheek flushing and words stumbling. Sometimes Hermione wished that Sirius was still the grumpy old person he had been before, she would never have been subjected to women falling for him left and right like this.

"... He's a quiet baby. You'll see." was saying, hiccuping a bit but tried to cover it with her hand, "The poor thing. His mother died in this very room, you know. Barely even looked at him. The labor was so difficult, too. If you ask me, the father must have been a right scoundrel, not even come looking once. He's such a beautiful baby, too..."

And on and on she went. If he had had to face this kind of rambling nonsenses and gloomy atmosphere for over a decade, no wonder Tom Riddle turned out so messed up. She still did not approve of any of his choices, but even Hermione had to admit that this was a horrible environment to grow up in. She wouldn't want this for any child. Even the Dark Lord.

They entered a relatively large room with a bed near the door and several tattered cradles positioned near the hearth. Ignoring the startling jump of a hassled woman hoisting a baby in his arm near the window, led them straight to the cradle furthest away from the door. At Sirius's questioning look, she shrugged embarrassedly:

"He's so quiet. It just seems to us that he requires less attention than the others..." She trailed off before shutting her mouth abruptly at the scowl on his face.

They moved closer to the crib, staring down at the sleeping baby inside it.

Hello there, little Dark Lord. Hermione said quietly in her head. Such a small thing. Such a pretty thing. Such a breakable thing. Harry's face when he crumpled in pain due to his unwanted connection with Voldemort flashed in her mind. His forced smile at every Christmas, when she returned to her family and he had none to go back to. His tears as he cradled Cedric Diggory's body in his arms. His shattered scream the moment Sirius and she got pushed into the Veil.

Then the baby opened his eyes, yawned and stared at her with hazy, sleepy eyes, and all her built-up rage scattered into sands. Beside her, Sirius was gripping the crib too hard, but he said then, with a hoarse voice:

"Thank you, . He is...perfect. Please help me with the paperwork."

And so, in a windy day of early April 1927, Hermione Lyra Black (still a ridiculous name) had herself a baby brother.