Harry worked his jaw for a few moments, unable to produce any coherent sound. He felt like swearing up a storm, but the words wouldn't come to him. There are no words to describe this mess I'm in, he mused absently. Snape was right, I do get myself into heaps of trouble all the time.
"Well . . ." he started. "That explains where . . .or rather, when, I came from, and how you're here."
"Care to elaborate? It's my pin, anyway, and you're standing in my vault. Actually, you better let me go first, before I decide I've been nice enough and curse your sorry ass into the next century!"
He smirked. She was in no position to make demands, but he could see the glint of curiosity in her eyes, so similar to the expression in Hermione's eyes whenever she found a riddle she couldn't understand. She probably wouldn't try anything aggressive until she had an explanation, at least. He dismissed the spell and helped her to the floor. She picked up the hairpin and clutched it to her chest, then extended a hand for her wand. He debated returning it to her for a moment, before shrugging and handing it back.
"That . . . thing," he explained, jabbing a thumb at the pin, "I don't know if it was designed to do that, or if the combination of spells you cast on it set it off by accident, but it's sent me back in time. I saw it . . . right before I arrived here. Twenty-five years in the future."
"You're crazy."
He chuckled at the fact that she, arguably the most insane witch of the century, was calling someone else crazy. When he continued laughing, the expression on her face turned from amusement and irritation to wide-eyed surprise.
"You're not kidding," she breathed.
"No." Harry shook his head. He eyed her briefly, making sure that she wasn't going to curse him when he had his back turned, then stepped forward towards the wall. She moved away cautiously, but he paid her no mind as he rested his busted shoulder against the wall. This is going to hurt like hell, he thought, before throwing his entire bodyweight forward, against his damaged shoulder. He'd had to do that a few times in the past, and none of them had been pleasant; he let out a brief cry of pain as his shoulder popped back into its socket with a gut-twisting snap.
When he turned around, he found Bellatrix staring at him, her jaw hanging wide open, a look of shock and disgust on her face. "That's . . . that's disgusting," she uttered.
"It works," he countered rolling his left shoulder as the pain faded somewhat.
"So . . ." she said slowly as if mulling things over. "You're from twenty-five years in the future?"
"Give or take a few months, yes."
"You didn't plan this trip."
He smirked. "What gave it away? The fact that I didn't know when I was?"
"The fact that you stumbled into the Black family vault like an idiot!"
"Would you people stop calling me that?" he muttered. "It's always idiot this, moron that, imbecile yonder…"
She chose to ignore his ramblings and continued on with a smirk of her own. "Though it seems that travelling to the past has benefitted you. You should be thanking me."
"You didn't even do anything," he retorted.
"Of course I did! I did lots of things to try and activate it! One of them must have worked." She was giddy, he could tell, though she tried to hide it. "This is amazing, I always wondered what it did; the texts didn't say anything specific . . ."
He blinked, once again briefly reminded of Hermione for a moment, before shaking those thoughts from his head. "You said you did hardly anything to it!"
"I lied." The matter of fact tone brought him up short. Of course, he thought, he should have expected that from her, of all people. It annoyed him anyway. "What did you expect me to do? You had me disarmed and at your mercy, and you were bloody angry! You could've been some crazy maniac who might've murdered me if I didn't answer to your satisfaction! You still might be a crazy maniac who'll murder me anyway! I mean, look at all the blood on your hands!"
"I'm not-" Harry glanced down at his hands, suddenly remembering what had happened just before he'd arrived. He fought down the violent urge to retch and shakily waved the wand to clean the blood off his hands. He'd seen dead bodies before, but somehow, Bella's suicide had shaken him more than he cared to admit . . . maybe it was the pleading expression in her eyes, asking him to end the pain, or maybe it was the fact that her death, with the instrument of her demise still in his hands, was so . . . personal. Much, much more personal than any spell.
"Well, if you're not then you better tell me who the hell you are," she demanded, leveling her wand at him again. "Especially since you seem to know who I am."
"Not this again," he muttered, raising his own wand defensively as he overrode his own thoughts. Now was not the time to dwell on her past…future…death. When she didn't do anything, he blinked and glanced over. "What?"
"That's . . . that's a Black wand," she whispered quietly.
"Yeah, seeing as it came from this vault, I'd assume so," he told her sarcastically.
"Who are you?" she uttered almost reverently. "Black wands are bound to our family; no one outside of it could even touch one without severe harm."
Harry sighed. "Look, we got off on the wrong foot. For your information, significant things happen to that pin of yours in the future. What you did probably had little to do with my arrival here. In any case, I'm not here to harm you, so why don't we start over?" he held out his hand.
Demonstrating remarkable composure, she walked over and took his hand in hers. "Very well. I'm Bellatrix Black."
They shook hands warily. "I'm . . ." he suddenly realized that if he had traveled to the past, then giving his real name would probably be very, very bad. He already had violated the first rule of time travel that he had learned, way back during his first adventure with a time-turner. "I'm . . . someone," he finally said. "I don't think it'd be good if I told you or anyone else my real name. It'd royally screw up the future." More than it already is, he added silently.
"If you've travelled twenty-five years into the past, then you're not old enough to be born yet," she replied after looking him over for a moment. Her gaze decidedly made him feel like a slab of meat on the butcher's table. "It's not as if anyone's going to see you, hear your name, and come to the inescapable conclusion that you're their son who'll be born in a few years."
Harry sighed. "It's a bit more complicated than that. I'd prefer not to say my name."
"Well, I can't be going around calling you idiot all the time. It'd get confusing with all the boneheads at school."
"Kill me now," Harry muttered heavenwards.
"Kill me now," Harry muttered heavenwards.
"I can do that."
"I didn't mean that literally!"
Bellatrix frowned. "Look, just give me your first name. If you want, we can make up a name for you if you're really so concerned about it."
"Fine," Harry sighed in defeat. "It's Harry."
"So, then . . . Harry Black?" Her eyes glinted with satisfaction at her deduction.
He laughed. "No, actually. How in Merlin's name did you come to that conclusion?"
She pointed at his wand. "Like I said, those wands of our ancestors that are stored here are keyed to our family. If you weren't a Black, it'd have killed you by now. Not to mention the fact that you got past the vault's defenses."
"Interesting point," Harry conceded, silently remembering that he had been named Sirius's heir to the Black fortune and name after his death. Apparently, the magic that bound him to the family transcended time, since the vault clearly recognized him, as did the wand. At least, he hoped this boded well for other matters. "But you're incorrect. I'm not a Black." He debated whether or not he should tell her about inheriting the name.