Author's Note: In chapter 106 / 26 of Following the Phoenix, we hear a little about Sirius Black, who has granted the Hogwarts delegation access to his parental home in exchange for a trial. There wasn't really an opportunity to resolve this particular plot bunny in the main text, so here's the tale! There will be a bit more background on this in chapter 15.


A BLACK TRIAL


August 1992.

"The eighty-ninth session of the two-hundred-and-eight Wizengamot is convened at the request of Lord Sirius Black. Lord Black was incarcerated in Azkaban following his arrest in nineteen eighty one and, due to wartime circumstances, not awarded a trial at the time. Today, we will correct this oversight."

Harry looked around at the faces in the Most Ancient Hall. The three Muggle judges who had been assigned to participate in criminal cases in the Wizengamot looked a little ill at ease in their very first session. The magical members showed a variety of expressions, mixed between curiosity, boredom, anger, resentment and excitement. It was unclear who, if any, bought into some of the many conspiracy theories regarding Black. More of them had probably accepted the narrative that he had been Voldemort's right-hand man, which the Daily Prophet had spouted despite the complete lack of any evidence for the claim. Harry hoped that the Muggle judges could manage to instill some sense into the proceedings, but he'd made sure to be there anyway, just in case. It was his first appearance in the Wizengamot since the meeting where he was given power of negotiation. There had been many dirty looks, but nobody had contested that he had the right to be here today, at the trial of the man who had once been named his godfather.

A click of the Chief Warlock's rod silenced the muttering that had risen up. "Let Sirius, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, be brought in."

The doors opened, and a gaunt man was floated in, flanked by six Aurors. His hands and feet were chained, and there was a band around his neck that, Harry knew, was designed to non-lethally incapacitate him if not deactivated every five minutes by a recognized authority. He was pale and skinny, his eyes sunken and his hair matted, even after four months away from Azkaban. Of course, Nurmengard was hardly the best facility to recover from years of Dementor exposure, and the move towards more humane prisons had been slow. For clothes, he wore little but a sleeveless gray robe, the Dark Mark clearly visible on his left arm.

"Sirius Black," Albus Dumbledore boomed when the wizard had been lowered and chained into the metal chair. "You have asked this body to pass judgment for your crimes. To wit: that you knowingly joined a terrorist organization; that you willingly betrayed the location of James, Lily and Harry Potter to your master, in the full understanding that it would most likely lead to their deaths; that you murdered Petter Pettigrew and twelve Muggle bystanders. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, the main in chains looked up, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

"Not Sirius," he croaked. He brought his gaze to the Chief Warlock's face, a haunted look in his eyes. "I'm not Sirius. My name is Regulus Black."

Harry silently groaned. Of course the second-most famous Death Eater, who never got a trial, would turn out to secretly be the long-lost twin brother of the real culprit or something like that. Or, Slytherin quickly filled in, Sirius Black never did anything wrong, and was wrongly accused of the crimes of his Death Eater lookalike.

He shot a glance at the Muggle judges, who were showing a mix of confusion, shock and outrage, not just at the prisoner's statement but at the fact that it wasn't immediately dismissed as nonsense. Even the Muggle police, who did not have access to truth serums, mind-reading, memory-viewing and permission to use torture in select cases, would generally be able to confirm an important prisoner's name before sending them to court, let alone imprisoning them. It would take some time to get used to the way things were done in the magical courts.

Harry silently smirked as he sat back and relaxed. This is going to be interesting.


The prisoner sat silently as an Auror performed the identification spells, and in a clipped voice informed the Wizengamot that he was, in fact, Regulus Black. An accomplished wizard might have tricked those spells, but not after ten years in Azkaban, bereft of a wand and kept in a magic-suppressing environment afterwards. Besides, Gringotts could confirm his identity with a simple blood test; the Black family had registered all their children with the bank.

"But he's dead!" Someone on the benches gasped.

The prisoner just turned his head towards the man. He didn't know him, but that didn't mean much, anymore. There were vast gaps in his memory, although it was still surprisingly coherent for the most part; he couldn't remember anymore, of course, but he suspected that there had been preciously little happiness in his life to begin with.

"I am not," he said simply. Then, for good measure, he added: "Would you prefer to ask the goblins, or would it be enough if I told you where to find Sirius's body?"

There was a brief silence, as – hopefully – his message sunk in.

Another, an elderly man spoke up. "Excuse me, but not everyone here is well-versed in the composition of the Noble Houses. Is this a relative of Sirius Black?"

A gray-haired woman stepped forward. Madam Bones, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. She had spoken to him yesterday to inform him of the details of his trial. "Regulus Black is the younger brother of Sirius Black. He was a known You-Know-Who supporter, but was supposedly executed by the Dark Lord in seventy-nine."

Oh yes, and quite the spectacular public execution that was. His parents and grandfather had been tortured and executed, along with some lowlife polyjuiced to take on Regulus's appearance. But Regulus himself had been kept by the Dark Lord's side, under the Imperius Curse: he was a talented spellcrafter, and therefore too useful to dispose of. Not that that had saved him from his punishment for attempting to flee his master's service, of course.

"But surely the Aurors tested..." Another spoke, trailing of. "Were they so much alike?"

"Yes," the prisoner snarled. "My brother and I never had much in common, but in looks we were rather similar." At least similar enough for a bunch of incompetent Aurors who knew neither of us personally, and couldn't be bothered with the investigative work.

"But if he's not Sirius Black..." A woman spoke slowly, "then he couldn't have betrayed the Potters, could he?"

"Of course not," Regulus bit. "And nor did my brother, for that matter." He glared up at the Chief Warlock. "You never figured it out?"

Old Dumbledore visibly hesitated. "Sirius Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper. So they all told me, and I personally confirmed it."

"Not the Secret-Keeper. A Secret-Keeper. The other one was Peter Pettigrew. A backup, in case Sirius was killed. He was also, in case you were still wondering, the spy in your precious Order."

It wasn't much of a pleasure to see the Chief Warlock struck dumb, but it would do for now.

The gray-haired woman – Madam Bones – cleared her throat. "I would propose adjourning until after we have completed interrogations –"

Oh Merlin, no. Not another delay.

"– but I can see that this is not in line with the wishes of the Wizengamot. Thus, Lord Black, would you be willing to give us a bit more detail?"

Regulus couldn't suppress a feral grin. He'd been waiting for this moment for over a decade. "Oh yes, Madam Director. With pleasure."