CHAPTER 5: CONVERSATIONS WITH THE BLACK DOG
Sirius guided them through the worn threshold, his strides purposeful yet cautious. Bellatrix staggered slightly, her steps faltering as the residual effects of the poison sluggishly withdrew from her system. The house loomed around them, its walls etched with histories of both grandeur and dark secrecy.
No sooner had they crossed the threshold than the shrill voice of Walburga Black echoed through the corridors. Her portrait, veiled in disdain and ancestral pride, unleashed a tirade of disdainful words.
"Be Gone From The House Of Black! AND YOU, HOW DARE YOU ENTER THIS HOUSE FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR! YOU HAVE SHAMED THE HOUSE OF BLACK CAVORTING WITH HALFBREEDS AND MUD-"
"Enough of your incessant tirade," Harry interjected, his voice carrying an unexpected edge as he imitated the refined drawl of Draco Malfoy. The portrait halted mid-insult, a flicker of surprise dancing in its painted eyes. Seizing the moment, Harry swiftly cast a freezing charm that enveloped the portrait in an icy stillness.
The silence that followed was palpable, heavy with the weight of generations of family pride and loathing. Sirius exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding since their entry, his eyes scanning the dimly lit foyer for any sign of disturbance.
"Nicely done," Sirius said, clapping Harry on the shoulder with an appreciative grin. "You've managed what I couldn't in years—silencing old Walburga."
Bellatrix, now steadier on her feet, shot a venomous glance at Harry. "You're quite audacious to silence the noble blood of the Blacks, half-blood," she spat, her words laced with contempt.
Harry met her gaze with a calm resolve. "I suppose audacity comes with the territory when stepping foot into this abode of both heritage and infamy."
Sirius sighed, the lines of worry etching deeper into his face. "We've got to move quickly. There are protections in this house, some I'm not even sure I know how to bypass anymore."
A sense of urgency hung in the air, mingled with the ancient whispers of a family legacy fraught with darkness. As they ventured deeper into Grimmauld Place, the shadows seemed to grow denser, concealing secrets that stirred restlessly within the house's very foundations.
"I thought you were a half-blood," Bellatrix inquired, a glint of curiosity flickering in her dark eyes.
"I am," Harry replied with a casual shrug, navigating the narrow staircase alongside Bellatrix.
"That sounded like my brother-in-law," Bellatrix sniggered wickedly as they ascended the stairs.
"Technically, that was my version of your nephew, but the pretentious ponce is like a clone of Lucius, so you're right in a way," Harry grinned, pushing open the ornate door to the drawing room.
Sirius wasted no time in demanding answers as soon as they crossed the threshold. "Now, we're here safe in the house, so what the hell is going on!?"
"We escaped from prison," Harry stated flatly, shedding his unspeakable robes with a nonchalant grace and kicking off his boots.
"I figured that out by myself, funnily enough, but who the hell are you!?" Sirius exclaimed impatiently, sinking into a high-backed chair and fixing Harry with an expectant gaze.
"Bellatrix, you should have another dose of antidote; there was enough belladonna in that candy bar to kill a dragon," Harry said, retrieving his trunk and deftly producing another vial of the antidote.
The room crackled with tension as the trio settled into the plush surroundings of the drawing room. Harry, his demeanor calm yet guarded, took a moment before delving into the complexities of their situation. Bellatrix eyed him suspiciously, her gaze sharp and calculating.
"We're fugitives, Sirius. From Azkaban," Harry explained, the weight of their predicament hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.
Sirius' eyes widened in disbelief. "Azkaban? How in Merlin's name did you manage that? And why the bloody hell are you here, dragging Bellatrix along?"
Harry leaned back, meeting Sirius' gaze with a level intensity. "There's more to it than just escaping. We're on a mission—a mission that involves the very heart of the wizarding world. Dumbledore knows about it, and he needs our help."
The gravity of Harry's words settled in the room, punctuated only by the distant creaks of the old house. Bellatrix, now holding the antidote vial in her hand, cast a furtive glance between Harry and Sirius, sensing the intricate web of destiny weaving around them.
Harry found Bellatrix stretched out on the sofa, her pallor slightly improved after taking the antidote, yet still bearing the weight of her recent poisoning.
"Thank you. I can't believe I didn't taste it over the chocolate," Bellatrix groaned, her voice laced with discomfort, before gulping down the antidote and collapsing on the sofa, looking as if she was on the verge of unconsciousness.
"I only noticed after I had swallowed it. It had a strange aftertaste," Harry admitted, his concern evident as he watched her.
Sirius, his patience waning, pressed for answers once more. "Alright, she's taken care of. Now, answer my damn question!"
"My name is Harry Potter. I was sent to that cell from the year two thousand and four," Harry replied cheerfully, effortlessly pulling out a set of fresh clothes from his trunk.
"You really expect me to believe that?" Sirius asked incredulously, his skepticism palpable in the air.
"Here, this was my father's," Harry said, tossing a piece of aged parchment to Sirius before excusing himself to finally take a proper shower.
Twenty minutes later, freshly bathed and donning clean clothes, Harry reentered the drawing room. Bellatrix was now deeply asleep, the antidote working its restorative magic. With a reassuring glance at her sleeping form, Harry knew she would regain her strength in a few hours.
The room felt quieter now, the tension of earlier conversations replaced by a temporary calm. Sirius, poring over the parchment, looked up as Harry entered, a mix of bewilderment and curiosity dancing in his eyes.
"Your father's?" Sirius questioned, eyeing the parchment with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Harry nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Yes, a relic from another time. It's complicated, but I assure you, I am who I say I am."
Sirius studied Harry for a moment, the lines of suspicion softening in his face. "You have his eyes, you know. The same unwavering determination."
A flicker of emotion passed over Harry's face at the mention of his father. "Thank you," he murmured, grateful for the familiar connection even in this bewildering situation.
As the minutes ticked by, the old house seemed to exhale a sigh of ancient secrets, enveloping them in its enigmatic embrace, while outside, the evening descended in a quiet, tranquil hush. The air in the room held a sense of anticipation, as if it were merely the calm before an impending storm, a temporary respite in the midst of a brewing tempest.
Sirius' eyes were fixed on the intricate lines of the Marauder's Map, tracing the paths of Hogwarts inhabitants with a sense of nostalgic wonder. He looked up, his expression one of bewilderment, as Harry entered the room.
"So, you're my godson?" Sirius asked, his confusion evident.
"Yep, and she killed you in my timeline," Harry added casually, taking a seat at the other end of the couch where Bellatrix lay sleeping.
Sirius raised an eyebrow, his attention shifting between Harry and the parchment in his hands. "How long were you in her cell for anyway?" he asked, casting a wary glance at his cousin, who remained in an uneasy slumber.
"About three months," Harry replied, sinking into the sofa and groaning at the simple luxury, a stark contrast to the frigid hellhole he had endured for months.
Sirius let out a low whistle, processing the information. "And she didn't strangle you in your sleep?" he asked, a hint of amusement lacing his words.
"No, though I'm pretty sure she molested me while I was asleep," Harry said thoughtfully, his eyes starting to feel heavier after the comforting embrace of the steaming hot shower. He spoke with a nonchalance that belied the gravity of his words, as if recounting the surreal experiences of another lifetime.
Sirius' expression shifted from confusion to a mix of disbelief and concern. "Molested? What do you mean?"
Harry stifled a yawn, the weariness of his recent ordeal catching up with him. "Just strange dreams and touches, nothing more. Seems like even in different timelines, Bellatrix has a knack for making things unsettling."
Sirius shook his head, a mix of sympathy and disbelief in his eyes. The room, still and dimly lit, held an air of surrealism as the weight of past and present collided. The Marauder's Map, now resting in Sirius' hands, seemed to whisper tales of mischief and camaraderie, a stark contrast to the somber revelation in the room. As Harry's eyes finally succumbed to the heaviness, the shadows danced on the walls, carrying with them the echoes of untold stories and the mysteries that lurked within the tapestry of time.
"Ugh, she's crazy, always has been," Sirius exclaimed, shooting a wary look at his sleeping cousin, as if fearing she might wake up and attempt to strangle him.
"She's a bit eccentric, she isn't full-blown crazy... yet," Harry argued, forcing himself to stay awake despite the pull of exhaustion.
"Oh, you like her, don't you?" Sirius guffawed, a sudden realization dawning in his eyes.
"She grew on me," Harry admitted, his feelings for Bellatrix a complex mixture that he hadn't fully unraveled. He wasn't certain if he liked her in the way his godfather was playfully implying.
"Never mind her, why were you sent back in time?" Sirius demanded, his expression shifting as if he had just remembered the gravity of Harry's claim.
"I was part of an elite takedown team, and there was a new terrorist group gaining power. We raided their headquarters. My team and I were captured by Augustus Rookwood. He... he killed my team and sent me back as revenge for killing his master... twice," Harry explained, his voice catching with emotion as he recalled the painful memory of that fateful night when both his team and the timeline he knew were brutally torn apart.
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Harry's words hanging in the air. Sirius, his jovial demeanor replaced by a somber understanding, took in the gravity of the situation. The ancient house seemed to absorb the echoes of a tale that transcended time and brought forth the harsh realities of a world entangled in darkness.
As the shadows played on the walls, a shared understanding passed between Harry and Sirius, two individuals linked by a familial bond and a shared history that now spanned multiple timelines. Bellatrix, still lost in the realm of uneasy slumber, remained oblivious to the unfolding narrative that spoke of sacrifice, revenge, and the ever-encroaching specter of an uncertain future.
"Is that why you lopped off his head?" Sirius asked, giving Harry a sympathetic look as the gravity of the situation sank in.
"Yep, he can't send me back if he's dead! That should prevent the Serpent's Vengeance from being formed as well," Harry growled, the fury still fresh in his mind from the torment inflicted upon him by the deceased Death Eater.
"Did you say that you killed Voldemort twice?" Sirius asked, a hint of alarm creeping into his expression at Harry's revelation.
"Yeah, he used my blood in ninety-five to gain a new body. It was some type of necromancer ritual," Harry explained, reluctant to delve too deeply into the intricate tapestry of his life story at that moment.
"So the other you is still in this time?" Sirius asked, a tinge of concern coloring his tone, as if he feared Harry had replaced his younger self in this timeline.
Harry shook his head. "No, not exactly. The other me exists in his own time, but I've been thrust into this reality, a parallel existence, if you will. We coexisted until the point where I was sent back. I'm a separate entity, but our lives, our histories, they're intertwined in ways that are hard to explain."
The complexity of the situation weighed heavily upon Harry's shoulders. Explaining the intricacies of time travel and alternate realities felt like navigating a labyrinth of paradoxes and uncertainties. He rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling deeper within him. Sirius, now grasping the intricacies of Harry's predicament, listened intently, the lines of worry etched on his face.
As the conversation ebbed, the night stretched on, enveloping Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in a cloak of quietude. The shifting shadows seemed to mirror the uncertainty of their circumstances, whispering tales of interwoven destinies and the enigmatic nature of time itself. In that moment, amidst the hushed tranquility of the drawing room, the past and present converged, bound by threads of fate that transcended the confines of conventional understanding.
"I'm not exactly an expert on time travel, but I've got this gut feeling that the other me is probably stuck in the same spot where I left off the first time," Harry admitted, sensing the impending need to confront this temporal dilemma.
Sirius leaned forward, his expression growing more somber than Harry had ever witnessed before. "Where exactly would this other version of you be?" he inquired, his eyes piercing with curiosity.
Harry scowled, a hint of disdain evident in his voice. "At my aunt and uncle's place in Surrey."
The gravity of the situation settled in, and Sirius's features hardened. "How did you come to the conclusion that I was innocent? Did I finally get a fair trial in your time?" he inquired, a glimmer of hope reflected in his eyes.
Harry pondered for a moment before responding, "No trial, Sirius. You made a daring escape in '93, becoming the second person ever to pull it off. Come to think of it, now you're one of four."
Sirius furrowed his brow in confusion. "Who's the fourth?" he questioned, seeking clarification.
As the conversation unfolded, the room seemed to be charged with tension, and the weight of the unspoken future hung in the air. Harry and Sirius exchanged a knowing glance, understanding that the complexities of time travel had intertwined their fates in ways neither could fully comprehend.
"Barty Crouch Jr managed to pull off an escape just last week, although his father did most of the legwork, so it's debatable if it actually counts," Harry explained with a nonchalant shrug.
Sirius leaned in, his eyes searching Harry's face for answers. "You knew me in your timeline?" he inquired, a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty evident in his tone.
Harry nodded solemnly. "Yeah, you were like a brother to me until that moment when you got blasted through the veil of death while dueling her," he added, pointing with his thumb toward Bellatrix's peacefully sleeping figure.
Sirius's expression shifted, a fierce determination replacing the earlier curiosity. "If you knew me, then you must also know about Peter?" he pressed, his features taking on a feral intensity.
Harry met Sirius's gaze squarely. "I do. He's living his days as Percy Weasley's pet rat. Although, I reckon he'll become quite skittish when word of our escape gets out," Harry revealed, a sense of impending responsibility weighing on his shoulders as he contemplated the challenges that lay ahead. The tangled web of connections and unresolved issues from the past demanded his attention, making it clear that the consequences of their actions were far-reaching and unavoidable.
Sirius's suggestion hung in the air, a potential course of action that could alter the course of events. "Why don't we just go grab him before he finds out?" he proposed.
Harry's response was laced with sarcasm, "And do what, stroll into the ministry and turn him in?"
A surge of anger flashed across Sirius's face. "I don't want to turn him in; I want to kill him!" he declared vehemently.
Harry's fatigue was evident as he retorted, "Holy shit, you can't be that stupid. If he dies, so does the proof of your innocence, and we need at least one of us who can go out in public."
Sirius shot back, "You're a real wanker," though the words lacked real heat.
"I've been told. Look, mate, I am exhausted. Let's get some sleep and talk about this later," Harry suggested, rising from his seat.
"Fine, but we're not finished with this," Sirius warned, giving Harry a pointed look.
"I figured as much. I'll take Regulus' room if that's okay," Harry said, scooping up Bellatrix from the couch in a bridal style.
"Yeah, go ahead," Sirius responded with apparent unconcern, though the tension in the room lingered. The unresolved issues and the weight of their decisions were temporarily set aside as they acknowledged the need for rest. The impending confrontation with Peter and the challenges ahead would have to wait for another day.
"We will get Wormtail," Harry vowed, his determination echoing in the air as he followed Sirius out of the drawing room.
"We had better. If my name is cleared, then I can take custody of my godson," Sirius muttered, his thoughts already drifting to the possibilities that lay ahead.
"My thoughts exactly," Harry concurred, aligning their goals for the uncertain future.
"Thanks for getting me out of there, by the way," Sirius expressed his gratitude as they ascended the stairs.
"Don't mention it," Harry waved off the gratitude, stepping off the stairs onto the second-floor landing.
"Good night," Sirius called over his shoulder, a sense of camaraderie lingering in the air.
"Good night," Harry chuckled in response before making his way down the hall.
Harry carried Bellatrix into one of the guest rooms, the silence of the house enveloping them as he gently laid her on the bed and tucked her in. The soft rustle of sheets and the faint glow of moonlight through the window created a tranquil scene, belying the storm of challenges they were about to face. As Harry exited the room, he couldn't shake the feeling that the night held more secrets and uncertainties than he was currently aware of. The journey had just begun, and the intricacies of their interconnected destinies would continue to unfold with each passing moment.
Having ensured Bellatrix was settled, Harry ascended the stairs to the fourth floor, where Regulus' room awaited him. As he entered, a grin stretched across his face in appreciation. Kreacher had spared no effort in maintaining the room's cleanliness, a stark contrast to the general neglect that had befallen the Black family home.
Harry kicked off his jeans and pulled back the covers, relishing the prospect of sleeping in a comfortable bed for the first time in months. The soft embrace of the mattress seemed like a luxury, a welcome reprieve from the hardships he had endured.
Meanwhile, Bellatrix awoke, disoriented in her unfamiliar surroundings. The absence of her prison cell's harsh reality was evident, replaced by the soft comfort of the bed. Despite the luxury, a nagging feeling lingered, preventing her from easily slipping back into slumber.
"Where is my pet?" Bellatrix mused, a thought that echoed through her mind. She rose from the bed, padding out of the room with purpose.
As Bellatrix stepped into the hallway, a wave of recognition washed over her. This was her cousin's home—the familiar surroundings triggering memories that had been temporarily shrouded. The realization settled in, and she found herself navigating the corridors of the Black family residence, a place she hadn't set foot in for years. The reunion with the ancestral abode sparked a cascade of emotions, each step unraveling the threads of her complex history within its walls.
Bellatrix's memories flooded back, recalling the perilous escape from Azkaban, the poisoned chocolate bar that nearly ended her, and the blurry vision of Harry rescuing her on a broomstick before bringing her to this unfamiliar yet oddly familiar place. The sense of freedom was tempered by the absence of her companion, leaving an unexplained void within her.
In a sudden realization, it struck her—Harry was the missing piece. Determined to find him, Bellatrix embarked on a search through the residence, her determination unwavering. She methodically checked each room until she reached the fourth floor, guided by a gut feeling that led her to Regulus' bedroom.
Opening the door, she discovered Harry, nestled in the comfortable embrace of the bed. Without hesitation, she shed her prison robe, slipping under the covers beside him. The warmth of his body against hers, the closeness of their contact, brought an unexpected sense of comfort. Her bare chest pressed against his back, a sensation that felt oddly reassuring and intimate.
Bellatrix found solace in the tranquility of Harry's presence. The rhythm of his breathing acted as a lullaby, lulling her into a peaceful slumber. Wrapped in the warmth of the moment and the shelter of his proximity, she drifted off to sleep, the chaotic tides of her past momentarily subdued by the serenity of the present.
This morning, he found himself compelled to return, overseeing the unspeakables' inspection of the high-security wing. Alastor Moody hadn't enjoyed a restful night, and the lack of sleep left him feeling particularly surly.
Amelia Bones, whose initial two-week stint working at the prison had morphed into an unexpected six-month transfer after a daring move she pulled the day before, was now entrenched in the day-to-day challenges of the penitentiary. The routine had been a longstanding tradition for aurors, serving a mandatory couple of weeks each year in the prison. It served a dual purpose: keeping the Ministry's expenses down and instilling in the aurors a firsthand understanding of the consequences faced by those they helped incarcerate.
Moody knew all too well that the prison's demands took a toll, even with the protective amulets. He sensed that Bones had a challenging six months ahead of her, navigating the complexities and hardships inherent in the role.
The truth of the situation, however, remained a guarded secret shared only between Moody and Barty Crouch. The real events unfolding within the prison were shrouded in secrecy. If the public were to catch wind of the reality, Moody knew there would be an unparalleled storm of outrage directed at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE). The delicate balance of maintaining order and justice within the prison system hung by a thread, and the consequences of any revelation threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facade that shielded the public from the darker truths lurking behind the Ministry's walls.
The investigation into the escaped prisoners yielded no leads, leaving the team baffled. The sealed main door to the high-security wing indicated that the escapees had likely taken to the skies, flying out on broomsticks. A sizable hole in the wall of cell twelve further supported Moody's suspicion of a broom-assisted escape.
To prevent the news of the escape from causing immediate public panic, Minister Bagnold decided to delay the paper's report until the following week, attempting to manage the potentially explosive press that would surely follow. The nation was still reeling from the aftermath of the recent war, and news of such a significant escape could incite widespread unrest.
As the investigation continued, Augusta Longbottom was questioned about her involvement. She admitted to sending Bellatrix Lestrange a chocolate bar soaked in essence of belladonna. Despite her confession, Moody doubted that the Longbottom matriarch would face any charges. The public's collective memory of the atrocities committed by the LeStranges against Frank and Alice Longbottom would likely absolve Augusta of any wrongdoing, even if Bellatrix were to succumb to the poisoned chocolate.
Interrupting Moody's thoughts, Unspeakable Kramer announced, "We have our results."
Impatiently, Moody demanded, "And?" The information held the key to unraveling the mystery of the escape, and he awaited the revelations with a sense of urgency.
"The man was an Unspeakable prisoner, bound in specialized bracelets that entirely suppressed his magic," Kramer explained, a note of perplexity in his tone. "What's baffling is that these bracelets are each numbered, and the numbers correspond to a pair of bracelets still in my office."
Moody's brow furrowed deeply. "If those bracelets completely suppressed his magic, how in blazes did he manage to get them off?" he demanded, his voice carrying an edge of urgency.
"Here's the catch," Kramer continued, trying to make sense of the anomaly. "These bracelets are not designed for containing a wizard of his caliber. Ordinarily, they're keyed to the individual who places them on the prisoner, allowing only that person to remove them. In this instance, they were keyed to Augustus Rookwood."
"That doesn't add up," Moody retorted, feeling the pieces of this confounding puzzle slipping further apart. "Rookwood has been locked in that cell since last December. And how on earth did no one notice a male prisoner housed in a female cell?"
The revelation added another layer of complexity to the already intricate situation. The inexplicable liberation of a high-security prisoner and the mismatched identifiers presented a conundrum that defied rational explanation, leaving Moody grappling with more questions than answers.
"The bracelets were enchanted with a variation of the notice-me-not charm. The guards would have perceived the man wearing the bracelets as a regular prisoner, never suspecting anything amiss," Kramer explained, shedding light on the mysterious ease with which the prisoner went unnoticed. "As for Rookwood, I'm afraid I have no explanation at this point."
Moody grunted in frustration. "Damn it all. Why do I get the feeling that this is merely the tip of the iceberg in your investigation?" He spoke with an air of weariness, recognizing the depth of the unfolding mystery.
"Because you're astute," Kramer responded with a smirk beneath his hood. "I need this wing cleared for a more extensive investigation."
"Forty-eight hours," Moody stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I won't have these high-security prisoners mingling with the general population any longer than necessary."
The urgency in Moody's voice conveyed the severity of the situation. With the prospect of a deeper investigation looming and the need to secure the facility, the race against time had begun to prevent further chaos from erupting within the prison walls.
"More than enough time, I'll inform you when we're done here. I need to head back to the Ministry to assemble my field team," Kramer declared, turning to make his way toward the exit.
"Fucking spooks," Alastor grumbled to the empty wing, his frustration palpable. The lingering mysteries, the unexpected escapes, and the shadowy operations of the Unspeakables had left a bitter taste in Moody's mouth. As Kramer departed, Moody couldn't shake the feeling that the true extent of the situation was yet to unfold, and the inevitable clash between secrecy and security loomed on the horizon.
Harry awoke with a sense of unparalleled rejuvenation, as though he had been transported to a haven of tranquility. The bed cradled him in a cocoon of luxurious softness, akin to reclining on a celestial cushion. Reveling in this newfound comfort, he relished the expanse of the bed solely for himself.
As consciousness seeped into his senses, Harry detected a warm presence against his back. Her proximity was intimate; her right arm draped languidly over him, and the subtle cadence of her breath whispered against his neck. Astonished, Harry marveled at how he had overlooked her proximity upon his initial awakening.
Admitting to himself, and himself alone, Harry couldn't deny the satisfaction derived from her body nestled against his own. Yet, upon closer consideration, he discerned an ineffable nuance in the way her form molded to his this particular morning.
In the serenity of the room, a soft murmur escaped her lips, a melodious sigh that hinted at dreams lingering in the transition between slumber and wakefulness. "Good morning," she whispered, her voice a gentle symphony that merged seamlessly with the ambient tranquility.
Harry turned slightly, a lopsided grin playing on his lips. "Morning," he replied, his eyes dancing with a newfound lightness. The room seemed to hold its breath, enveloped in a moment suspended between the cocoon of the bed and the burgeoning connection between them.
The daylight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow upon their shared space. "You know," she began, her words a playful melody, "I could get used to waking up like this." Her gaze met his, a subtle invitation lingering in the air.
A playful glint sparked in Harry's eyes. "I think I could get used to it too," he admitted, the admission carrying a weight of unspoken emotions. The atmosphere between them crackled with a newfound awareness, the intimacy of the morning weaving an unspoken tapestry of connection.
Their dialogue flowed like a dance, each word a step towards a shared understanding. The day unfurled before them, bathed in the soft hues of dawn, as the narrative of their connection continued to evolve in the quiet intimacy of the room.
"Oh," Harry exclaimed aloud, his gaze drawn to a discarded prison robe sprawled near the door.
"You left me alone," Bellatrix mumbled sleepily, her voice a languid murmur that hung in the air.
Harry, now acutely aware of her bare breasts pressed against his back, quickly justified, "I thought you might like your own space."
"I don't like being alone," Bellatrix whispered, her hand drifting provocatively towards his crotch. A sly smile played on her lips, and Harry hesitated, caught in the conflicting currents of desire and caution.
As the moment hung in suspense, the door swung open with a sudden force, causing Harry to startle. His wand was already drawn and aimed at Sirius, who had burst into the room with a dramatic flourish.
"Bellatrix is gone!" Sirius exclaimed urgently, his entrance abrupt and brimming with a mix of concern and surprise.
The abrupt intrusion shattered the charged atmosphere, and Harry's instincts kicked in. He held his wand steady, a mixture of defensive reflex and readiness to confront unexpected developments. The room, once a haven of intimacy, was now tinged with a sense of urgency and uncertainty.
Bellatrix, unfazed by the abrupt interruption, adjusted her gaze from Harry to Sirius. A mischievous glint danced in her eyes as she quipped, "Well, aren't you the bearer of delightful news?"
Sirius, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected scene, recovered quickly. "No time for jokes, Bellatrix. We need to find her before she causes trouble."
Harry, torn between the lingering allure of the interrupted moment and the pressing urgency of the situation, reluctantly lowered his wand. The dynamics in the room had shifted once again, as the trio found themselves entangled in a web of unforeseen events and the unpredictable nature of their circumstances.
"No, she's not," Harry sighed, lowering his wand and collapsing back onto the bed.
"She wasn't in her room," Sirius exclaimed, a note of worry creasing his features.
"That's because I'm here, idiot," Bellatrix's voice emerged from under the covers, her words muffled yet unmistakably present.
"Oh," Sirius muttered, his expression transforming into one of surprise.
"That's what I said," Harry confessed, a flush coloring his face. The unexpected turn of events had left him feeling disoriented yet strangely amused.
"So, you two are shagging?" Sirius asked incredulously, his eyes widening with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
"No, not yet," Bellatrix grumbled, her tone carrying a hint of dissatisfaction about the missed opportunity.
Harry, keen to redirect the conversation, shot Sirius a pointed look. "Do you mind, Padfoot? I need to get dressed."
"Sure, I'll just... go see about breakfast," Sirius stammered awkwardly, a sudden need to escape the room evident in his hurried retreat. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, a mixture of curiosity, embarrassment, and the lingering echo of interrupted intimacy.
As Sirius made his hasty exit, the room settled into a momentary quietude. Harry, still sprawled on the bed, exchanged a glance with Bellatrix, who peeked out from the covers with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Breakfast can wait, can't it?" she teased, a playful smirk playing on her lips.
Harry chuckled, appreciating the levity she injected into the situation. "Maybe, but I think we've given Sirius enough to gossip about for one morning."
Bellatrix laughed, a melodic sound that echoed in the room. "Let him wonder. It's not every day he catches the Chosen One tangled up in the sheets with a Death Eater."
As the banter continued, the morning unfolded with a unique blend of humor, awkwardness, and the realization that, in the midst of chaos, unexpected connections could emerge from the most unconventional circumstances.
"What a twit," Bellatrix exclaimed as soon as Sirius left.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, rising from the bed and reaching for his jeans.
"Where did you get those?" Bella asked, getting out of bed as well.
Harry froze as he realized she was only wearing her knickers, and her pert breasts were an enchanting sight. He stood there, one leg in his jeans, captivated by her presence.
"So that's how I get your undivided attention," Bellatrix smirked, retrieving her robes with a knowing glint in her eyes.
Shaking himself from his stupor, Harry finished pulling up his pants, attempting to avert his gaze from the enticing display and failing miserably.
"W-why are you topless?" Harry stammered, his eyes unconsciously drifting up and down her body.
"Those prison robes are scratchy," Bellatrix pouted, a hint of vulnerability in her expression.
"I guess we'll have to get you some clothes," Harry said thoughtfully, trying to redirect his focus.
"Good, I want some new robes," Bellatrix said excitedly, her enthusiasm contagious.
"I was thinking of a few dresses," Harry countered, a playful gleam in his eyes.
"No! I won't wear anything Muggle," Bellatrix protested, a fierce determination in her voice.
Harry chuckled at her defiance. "Alright, robes it is then. We'll find you something suitable."
The banter continued as they both finished dressing, the morning taking on a lighthearted tone despite the underlying tension. The room, once charged with unexpected intimacy, now buzzed with the energy of banter and shared decisions.
As they headed towards the door, the prospect of a new day and the promise of adventure hung in the air. The unlikely duo, Harry and Bellatrix, prepared to face the world outside, navigating the complexities of clothing choices and the uncharted territory of their evolving connection.
Thankfully, she had pulled her prison robes back on, allowing Harry to address the situation without succumbing to distraction.
"We can't exactly walk into Diagon Alley, you know?" Harry pointed out, contemplating the challenges they might face.
"Yes, we can. Just transfigure my hair brown; everyone will think I'm Andromeda," Bellatrix suggested, her confidence unwavering.
"Knowing my luck, we would run into her, and the whole trip would turn into a calamity," Harry countered, foreseeing the potential complications.
"Well, I'm not wearing Muggle robes," Bellatrix declared with a touch of defiance in her tone.
"Wait a tick, I just got an idea," Harry exclaimed, a spark of inspiration propelling him out of the room and toward the kitchen.
Sirius, engrossed in pouring himself a cup of tea, looked up in surprise as Harry entered. Bella followed, her expression crossed with impatience.
"Hey, Sirius, where is Kreacher?" Harry inquired, seeking the assistance of the house elf.
Before Sirius could respond, there was a soft 'pop,' and the elderly house elf in question materialized.
"You called for Kreacher?" the elf asked, completely ignoring Sirius, his loyalty unwavering.
"Yes, Kreacher. We need your help," Harry began, outlining their predicament and the necessity for a discreet and inconspicuous excursion into the wizarding world.
Kreacher listened attentively, his sharp eyes darting between Harry and Bellatrix. After a moment of contemplation, the house elf nodded. "Kreacher will assist Master Harry and Mistress Black. Kreacher knows a way to ensure they go unnoticed."
Harry exchanged a glance with Bellatrix, a flicker of hope lighting up their faces. The unexpected allyship of Kreacher promised a solution to their predicament, setting the stage for a new adventure that would take them beyond the confines of the Grimmauld Place.
"Yes, Bellatrix needs some clothes, so I would like you to go to Twilfit and Tattings and bring back a catalogue. Then go to Fortescue's and bring back three strawberry and peanut butter ice cream cones," Harry instructed with a determined air.
"At once, Master," the elf responded promptly before vanishing from the kitchen.
Sirius, now seated at the table, couldn't help but voice his curiosity. "How can you order him around?"
"You made me your heir. When you died, I became Lord Black; I guess the title transcends time," Harry explained nonchalantly, as though the intricacies of wizarding inheritance were just another mundane aspect of his life.
"You told him to bring me ice cream?" Bellatrix asked, a spark of hope in her eyes.
"Yes, then you can pick some robes out in the catalogue, and Kreacher will order them for you," Harry said, handing her a cup of tea with four sugars, a gesture of familiarity.
"So, the ice cream is a bribe?" Sirius inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"Definitely," Harry admitted with a playful smirk, acknowledging the strategic use of treats in negotiating with the former Death Eater.
"I hope he gets back soon," Bellatrix pouted, her impatience evident.
A soft 'pop' echoed through the kitchen, signaling Kreacher's return. The house elf materialized, holding a catalogue from Twilfit and Tattings in one hand and a tray with three melting ice cream cones in the other.
"Master Harry, Mistress Black, Kreacher has returned with the requested items," the elf announced, presenting the offerings with a deep bow.
Harry and Bellatrix exchanged a glance, a sense of accomplishment settling over them. The kitchen, now filled with the enticing aroma of ice cream, became the stage for their next steps in navigating the challenges of the wizarding world.
"It's here!" Bellatrix exclaimed, seizing one of the cones Kreacher was offering and taking an enthusiastic bite.
Sirius mirrored her excitement, grabbing his ice cream cone eagerly. Meanwhile, Harry accepted his treat with a touch of dignity before acknowledging the catalogue offered by the elf.
"Thank you. Could you please stock the house with food?" Harry requested politely, addressing Kreacher.
"At once," Kreacher responded with a respectful bow before disappearing with a soft 'pop.'
"Here, pick out what you want, and I'll have Kreacher get your measurements," Harry suggested, sliding the catalogue across the table toward Bellatrix.
"No, you can get Bella's measurements, without magic," Bellatrix replied with a playful yet challenging glint in her eyes, causing Sirius to snort into his ice cream.
"Got something to say, cousin?" Bellatrix inquired, her tone tinged with irritation.
"Nope," Sirius retorted with a smirk, clearly relishing the opportunity to stir the pot.
"Don't get her riled up," Harry interjected wearily, recognizing the brewing tension.
"I would never," Sirius protested, feigning offense but unable to hide his mischievous grin.
"Good, and fine, I'll do your measurements," Harry acquiesced to Bellatrix, attempting to diffuse the situation.
"She just wants you to touch her," Sirius teased with a wide grin.
"Shut up!" Bellatrix screeched angrily, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Oh brother," Harry sighed, taking a deliberate bite of his ice cream in an attempt to redirect the focus away from the escalating banter. The atmosphere in the kitchen had shifted once more, infused with a mix of playful teasing and underlying tension, creating a dynamic that hovered between camaraderie and the unspoken complexities of their evolving relationships.
Bellatrix's new clothes had arrived approximately thirty minutes ago. In an unexpected turn of events, she had insisted that Harry take her measurements with an old tailor's tape she had discovered in one of the kitchen drawers. Surprisingly, he found himself quite willing to comply with her request.
Following the impromptu measuring session, Bellatrix had requested him to cast the spell that came with the catalogue, allowing her to envision how each robe would look on her in front of a full-length mirror. The process turned out to be surprisingly efficient, and in a little over an hour, she had made her selections: seven acromantula silk robes, along with undergarments, socks, shoes, and three pairs of high-heeled boots. Her choices were made with a pragmatic decisiveness that both impressed and amused Harry.
Once Bellatrix had finalized her order, Harry dispatched Kreacher with the details, trusting the house elf to handle the task efficiently.
The real challenge of the day, however, had been Sirius and Bellatrix engaging in playful arguments that escalated into what felt like the antics of first years. The once-serene atmosphere of Grimmauld Place now resembled a battleground of wits and banter, and Harry found himself caught in the middle, feeling more like a babysitter than the Chosen One.
As he observed the ongoing exchange, Harry couldn't help but shake his head in amusement and exasperation. The dynamics among the trio were proving to be as unpredictable as the magical world they navigated, a blend of camaraderie, tension, and the uncharted territories of evolving connections.
Harry, growing increasingly weary of the incessant bickering, had formulated a plan to expedite Sirius' freedom. Intent on putting this plan into motion, he sought out his godfather to discuss the details.
Upon entering the kitchen, Harry discovered Sirius engrossed in filling out an order form for Madam Malkin's. Unable to resist a touch of humor amidst the serious conversation to come, Harry quipped, "Please tell me you don't want me to get your measurements too."
"Sorry, mate, you're not my type," Sirius snorted with a playful smirk as he completed his order.
"Thank heavens for that," Harry muttered, a visible expression of relief crossing his face.
With the form completed, Sirius handed it to Kreacher, who scowled but begrudgingly accepted the task of delivering it.
WELCOME TO LORDARESARCTURUSBLACK ON P.A.T.R.E.O.N
FOR EARLY ACCESS TO NEW CHAPTERS JOIN US ON P.A.T.R.E.O.N LORDARESARCTURUSBLACK