The Atrium was quiet. Starkly quiet, in comparison to the noise of the bustling crowds that had filled the vast hall during Walburga's previous visit just over a week ago. It was almost seven o'clock in the morning, a good half an hour at least before the main surge of Ministry employees were due to sweep in through the fireplace hall to begin their day's work.
Arcturus has managed to secure them a last-minute meeting this morning with the Minister of Magic via an urgent owl sent yesterday afternoon. Walburga had not seen the letter's exact contents and so was not certain exactly how much Arcturus had said about their intentions for the meeting, but she was of little doubt that the news that Sirius had recovered from his supposedly-terminal illness was information enough to secure the audience they required.
And if any final persuasion were needed, the Black family crest stamped in black wax onto the envelope was surely the appropriate final touch.
Walburga looked over towards the fireplace hall, from where her father-in-law was shortly due to emerge. She prayed he would not choose today to be late. She had no desire to waste a second dallying about in this eerily empty hall - not when she should be in the Minister's office doing battle for the prize of her son's freedom.
From where she stood in front of the golden fountain, Walburga could make out no more than six people around her; a pair of wizards in the distinct, navy-blue robes of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement murmuring together as they hurried across the tiled floor towards the lifts, an anxious-looking young witch in secretarial robes fumbling in her handbag for her "Staff" pass that would allow her through the inspection point, an aged wizard in drab service robes shuffling along, pushing his cart full of cleaning supplies whilst an enchanted broom swept itself along beside him.
And a little boy, no older than four or five, staring at Walburga from a quarter of the way around the fountain. His freckled face peaked over the fountain's golden edge, his large, blue eyes staring curiously at the witch on the other side of the falling water.
The child appeared to be alone. Walburga glanced about the Atrium but none of it's few occupants seemed to have even noticed him. Walburga supposed whomever he was accompanied by had told him to wait here until they returned to collect him. What shameful parenting. The Ministry of Magic was no place for a small child barely old enough to make the leap from the nursery to the schoolroom.
Walburga sniffed and looked away, anxious not to make eye contact with the boy. Perhaps if she ignored him, he would stop staring at her. But every time her gaze happened to wander too far around the fountain, there he was - his eyes still keenly fixed on her. After several minutes, Walburga realised that the boy had slowly begun to edge his way around the fountain, taking several shy, shuffling steps at a time before pausing, his eyes still staring at her, until he was just a few short meters away.
"Has no one ever told you that it is rude to stare, child?" Walburga said sternly to the boy once he had become too close to ignore.
She kept her head held at a proud angle, her body turned slightly away from him. But she couldn't help but cast her eyes downward to examine the boy further. He was dressed in faded, slightly oversized robes with many scars from patching and repairs. He reminded Walburga of a street urchin from a Muggle novel from the last century.
His hair, a vulgar shade of bright orange, was sticking up in messy tufts at odd angles.
"I like your hat" said the boy, pointing a stubby finger ending in a chewed nail up at Walburga's wide-brimmed plum-coloured hat, finished with black trim and a thin, black ostrich feather on one side. It was part of a set, matching the smart, plum-and-black gown and close-fitting cloak she had chosen as her outfit for today's meeting.
Walburga stared for a moment, wide-eyed at the impertinence of being pointed at so crudely.
"Thank you" she answered primly, deliberately looking away from the boy in the hope that he would now take his leave of her.
"Do you work here?" the boy asked, with all the innocent confidence of a child who most certainly was not aware that it was rude to stare at or talk to strangers.
"Certainly not" Walburga replied sharply, edging away from the boy with a grimace as he sneezed without covering his face and wiped his nose on his sleeve. What despicable manners the child had. His parents ought to be ashamed - whoever and wherever they were.
"What are you doing here, if you don't work here?" The boy stepped closer to Walburga, his curious eyes roaming up and down her statuesque form curiously.
Walburga glared at being stared at like a museum attraction.
"That is none of your business" Her sharp, scolding tone - which had so often reduced Regulus to fits of trembling when he was the same age as this child - hardly seemed to scratch the surface of the boy's nerve. "And I'll thank you not to ask such intrusive questions. It is quite impolite"
"My daddy works here" the boy continued in spite of his scolding, running his fingers along the edge of the golden fountain absent-mindedly.
Walburga cast her gaze across the Atrium towards the equally shabby-looking cleaning wizard. She briefly wondered if the boy might be his son, bade to wait here until his task was complete. Though he did seem a little too old, she reasoned. But, going by the state of his robes, the child could hardly belong to a higher ranking, better paid member of staff.
"Ought you not to be with him now?" Walburga found herself asking. The child may be grubby and impertinent, but suppose he was lost? Even she didn't have the heart to walk away from an unattended child. "This is no place for an unaccompanied child"
"I suppose so…" the boy stood up on his tiptoes and reached his arm over the golden edge and into the pool. He was just about tall enough to swirl his fingertips into the crystal blue water. "But I wanted to see the fountain and he wouldn't take me"
"So you thought it appropriate to steal yourself away to see it, did you?"
The boy nodded, still swirling his fingers in the shimmering water. He seemed oblivious to the disapproving tone of Walburga's voice.
Walburga tilted her head up and sniffed in haughty disapproval at the little boy's behaviour. This was clearly a child who had been allowed to run amok, with no sense of discipline instilled in him by his elders and betters. Never would she have allowed her boys to behave so atrociously in public; running off alone, pestering complete strangers...
Walburga set down her embroidery hoop in her lap at the sound of the parlour door bursting open.
"What in Merlin's name-"
Through the door marched her husband, Orion, with a face like thunder and their four -year-old son clutched in his grasp by the scruff of his robes.
"Orion, what is going on?" Walburga asked, eyeing Sirius's sulky, scowling face. "Why are you home so early? I'd thought you weren't due home until teatime"
She dreaded the answer which, deep down, she suspected she was about to receive.
"As did I, Walburga. However, your son saw fit to make a public disgrace of himself today" said Orion sharply, glaring down at Sirius.
Walburga sighed with frustration.
Sirius had been drilled that morning about how he was expected to behave during this most special of outings - his very first time accompanying his father on a trip to the Ministry of Magic. The little boy had practically bounced with excitement as his mother had fastened his cloak firmly around his shoulders and warned him to behave himself perfectly whilst he was out, that he was representing both himself, his father, and the family. Sirius had nodded eagerly in agreement in all the right places, but, it seemed that he had ultimately been unable to keep his promises.
Walburga listened, wide-eyed with shock as Orion recalled how Sirius had stolen himself away into the swarming crowds whilst Orion was distracted by speaking with an acquaintance and, after a brief, urgent search, had been found ten minutes later at the fountain in the Atrium, where he had been reprimanded by an outraged witch who claimed that Sirius had attempted to steal a gold galleon from her cloak pocket. When confronted with these accusations, Sirius had caused a scene by loudly protesting that he didn't do it, that the witch was a dirty liar - thereby adding the crime of lying to his own already-black record for the day.
"Sirius Orion Black!" Walburga hissed angrily at her son, rising from her chair to glare down at him. "What in Salazar's name possessed you to do such a wicked thing?!"
Sirius's sullen grey eyes peaked out from behind his untidy, black mop of hair.
"Wanted to make a wish in the fountain" he mumbled, scuffing his shoe against the floor sulkily.
"Nonsense" said Orion, giving the boy a sharp shake by the back of his robes. "There is nothing that can be gained in this life by wishing for it in a fountain - and wasting good gold in the process. You have proven today that you are still far too young to be trusted to behave yourself in public. You shan't leave this house again until you can prove that you are able to conduct yourself in an orderly manner. Is that clear?"
Sirius nodded miserably, frowning down at the floor.
"Yes, Papa"
Walburga recalled how her elder son's frown seemed to deepen further when he caught sight of her own look of deep disappointment as he was led from the room by his father, bound to remain in his bedroom until supper with his toys confiscated.
"I wanted to make a wish on the fountain but my dad said no" the ginger-haired little boy's sulky words drew Walburga back out of her memories. The child was leaning his chin against the edge of the fountain, his fingertips still swirling in the water.
"Your father is quite right," Walburga declared haughtily. "It is quite a silly superstition, believing that one has anything to gain from wishing on a fountain"
"He said we didn't have any spare money for wishes"
Walburga swallowed, awkwardly.
"I see"
The child was young - no doubt he didn't yet have a concept of how inappropriate it was to discuss one's finances in public.
"Where is your father?" she asked, averting the conversation to a safer and far more relevant topic. "You ought to return to him"
Before the boy could reply, an anxious voice echoed across the Atrium, along with the sound of hurried footsteps against the tiled floor.
"Ron!"
Walburga glanced up towards the voice to find a wizard, dressed equally as shabby as his son, with matching bright orange hair, running across the hall towards them.
She fought not to outwardly grimace as the identity of the boy's father was revealed to her.
Of course. She should have known. Bright, ginger hair and robes that had likely seen two or three owners before they found their way to him. What could the child possibly be, other than a Weasley?
"Ron, what have I told you about wandering off?" an out-of-breath Arthur Weasley said as he reached his son. So fixated was he on the relief of finding his lost boy that, at first, he seemed not to notice Walburga at all.
"I only wanted to see the fountain" the boy, Ron, mumbled.
What a common name, Walburga thought to herself. Not an ounce of class.
"That doesn't mean you can just sneak away!" the father's voice was serious, urging, but nowhere near as sharp as Orion's had been when he'd chastised Sirius for the same crime. "If you're going to come to work with me, you need to stay with 're far too young to be on your own, it's not safe"
"But I wasn't on my own," Ron argued, pointing up at Walburga. "I was with this lady"
Mr Weasley finally looked up at the witch standing beside his son, taking notice of her for the first time. His eyes darkened with recognition.
Walburga gave a silent, stiff nod in greeting. She kept her expression plain, her body angled slightly away, indicating she had no wish to be seen associating with the pair of them, even in this sparsely-populated place.
"Come away now, Ron" Mr Weasley said firmly, pulling his son sharply towards him - and away from Walburga. "We'll be late"
The wizard turned away without another word and led his son back across the hall, keeping a firm, protective grip on the boy's arm.
"Bye!" the boy called to Walburga with a smile as he was pulled away.
Walburga did not reply. She shook her head and gave a little sigh. Trust Lucretia to spend all those years refusing to marry, only to then attach herself, and the family by association, to the Prewetts, of all people. And worse - to the Weasleys, by marriage. A more disgraceful excuse for a pure-blooded family there never was (besides the Potters, perhaps). Her cousin had much to answer for.
At long last, the quiet of the Atrium was abruptly punctured by the distinct stomp, clank of Arcturus Black making his way towards the fountain from the Floo fireplace hall.
"Good morning" Walburga offered by way of polite, obligatory greeting.
"Yes, yes" Arcturus grunted dismissively as he waved his free hand in the air, gesturing for her to follow him towards the security checkpoint. The patriarch was clearly in no mood to waste time on pleasantries today.
Conveniently, neither was his daughter-in-law.
"How is the boy?" Arcturus asked after several moments of walking in stiff silence.
"Resting" said Walburga. "He was quite worn out after your visit yesterday afternoon"
Sirius had slept through most of the rest of the previous day following his stormy encounter with his grandfather, waking only to eat a light dinner of chicken and vegetable soup and bread. He had needed far less persuading to eat than he had that morning. In fact, he kept up an uncharacteristic silence throughout, hardly so much as looking at his mother for the duration of her visit. And when offered another dose of sleeping draught after Walburga's observation that he still looked rather peaky, he further surprised his mother by accepting without argument.
There had once been a time when Walburga would have enjoyed such complacency in her so-often-difficult son. But in reality, when faced with the sight of her headstrong boy curled into the bed covers as though he should like them to swallow him up, she'd found herself feeling rather displeased.
It didn't seem right.
"I should think so too," Arcturus huffed in reply. "Such inane insolence - and after all that time locked up! I tell you, if three years in Azkaban isn't enough to curb that boy's cheek, then God only knows what more it would take"
Walburga wondered, as they headed towards the security checkpoint, what her father-in-law's reaction might have been if he had seen for himself what the full effects of his onslaught had been on his grandson.
Most likely that it was too little, too late, she remarked to herself wryly, as she withdrew her wand in preparation for the odious inspection process.
Millicent Bagnold was not a patient woman by nature. From the way her teeth would click with irritation when her morning coffee was delayed in arriving at her desk on her arrival to cancelling meetings if kept waiting for more than five minutes after the agreed start time, she was infamous throughout the Ministry as a witch who everyone knew ought not to be kept waiting, lest they suffered the consequences.
And so, as the days ticked by with still no long-overdue news of Sirius Black's death, Millicent's frustration began to mount. With each passing day that she was presented with a letter from the Black household, frustratingly-lacking in detail, her tolerance for minor irritations grew shorter.
She wanted the Sirius Black case done, finished and closed. For good, this time.
She could clearly recall how, three years ago, in those early sunrise days of peace after the war, she was presented with the news of Black's crimes and capture. Those were chaotic days for the Ministry, the metaphorical feet of the swan paddling away furiously as the stragglers were rounded up - followers left behind in the wake of the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named, scrambling for safety as the Aurors relentlessly pursued them - whilst all the while maintaining the graceful illusion of long-awaited contentment that the wider Wizarding community had craved for so long.
Millicent Bagnold, as Minister for Magic, had done what she'd needed to do to provide what her people badly needed. As a newly-appointed Minister for Magic, and with her sex already putting her at a disadvantage in terms of ensuring her employees' loyalty, she had grasped the Minotaur by the horns and had done what she'd needed to do to end the war and deal with the criminals terrorising her people. Some of her moves may have been controversial, but once the desired outcome was achieved, who would begrudge her?
Amongst other moves, she had granted Crouch and his Department the powers to fast-track captured Dark wizards and witches through the judicial process which would inevitably lead them on a one-way journey to an Azkaban cell. The public were weary from years of fear and loss. They did not want dragged-out trials, ghastly news headlines or the twisted faces of cackling Death Eaters on the front of their morning papers for weeks on end, reminding them of the dark days of the past. They wanted the simple, happy news of one more criminal safely removed from their streets and locked away, out of sight and out of mind.
And that was precisely what they had gotten with the case of Sirius Black. A dangerous Dark wizard safely caught and locked away, out of sight and out of mind. A swift and successful victory for the Ministry.
And so, when faced with the unexpected and unwelcome news from Arcturus and Walburga Black that Sirius had, against all odds, recovered from his supposedly-fatal illness, Millicent Bagnold could not have been less pleased if she'd tried.
"What in Merlin's name do you mean, 'he has recovered?!'"
Bartemius Crouch's voice practically trembled with anger as he spat his words across the desk from where he stood beside the seated Minister.
"Have you got cloth in your ears, Crouch?" Arcturus barked irritably. "The boy has recovered from his illness. The illness which your staff at Azkaban misdiagnosed him with in the first place"
"Nonsense!" Crouch, who had turned an ugly shade of beet-red, eyed the older man with distaste. "Sirius Black had fading fever. Of that we were completely certain!"
"Your son's symptoms were indeed very conclusive, Mrs Black" said Bagnold, her eyes staring directly at Walburga. The two women sat, their eyes fixated on each other with equal, silent suspicion, filtering out the angry spats of the wizards beside them.
"My son's symptoms were indeed remarkably similar to fading fever. I was even fooled myself when I visited him in Azkaban" Walburga's voice was cool and composed. For a witch renowned by those who knew her for her short temper, she did in fact possess a remarkable ability to restrain herself when the need was greatest.
And the need could never be more great than it was at the present moment.
"But your people were, ultimately, wrong"
The small but clear note of accusation in Walburga's words sparked a small flicker of anger in the Minister's golden eyes.
"Do explain" Millicent prompted icily, folding her hands atop her desk and sitting back slightly with an air of casual authority.
Mrs Black sat up a little straighter in her seat - a feat Millicent wouldn't have thought possible until witnessed.
"When my son arrived home, he was in a most dreadful state," said Walburga. "Naturally, I sought to make him more comfortable for whatever time he had left. However, after a day or so, it became evident that his illness was not… progressing, as we'd expected. In fact, his condition began to improve"
"You attempted to heal him?"
Crouch's rude, accusing tone earned him an icy glare from Walburga.
"Don't be a fool, Crouch" Arcturus snapped. "Fading fever is incurable, any imbecile knows that"
Crouch's moustache twitched with anger.
"Then why, pray tell, is he not dead?" he demanded, folding his arms.
"Because my son did not have fading fever," said Walburga, looking back across the desk at Bagnold. The silver gaze clashed accusingly with the gold.
"My son's affliction was a simple case of the common influenza, nothing more"
A heavy silence passed over the room as the two Ministry officials absorbed this claim.
"Influenza? What the devil are you on about?" Crouch's face burned with angry disbelief, in harsh comparison to Bagnold's stony, unphased stare.
"An illness which displays very similar symptoms to fading fever, it is true. And indeed, if left untreated, it can be fatal" said Walburga before leaning forward to fix Crouch with a hard, accusing look. "But when provided with basic, symptomatic treatment? Why, even a Muggle could make a full recovery"
Millicent felt a stab of irritation at the way Mrs Black uttered the word "Muggle", her disgust at the mere feeling of the word on her tongue clearly evident. Years spent fighting her way through the ranks within the Ministry had long-since taught Millicent to maintain a dignified stiff upper lip when confronted with insulting remarks from "pure-blooded" witches and wizards (and indeed some fellow half-bloods) about non-magic folk - who happened to make up the majority of the maternal side of her own family - but despite her outward reaction remaining neutral, the sting she felt within never truly went away.
She had seen this country through a civil war, and still scarcely a day when by that she was not spared such bigoted words from reaching her ears. What had it all been for?
"Symptomatic treatment?" Crouch's eyes narrowed suspiciously at Walburga. "Hogwash. You were trying to heal him, I know it"
Walburga fixed the wizard with a withering look.
"And just why would I be attempting to do such a thing, when your Department had led me to believe that my son's condition was terminal? I provided palliative care, nothing more"
Crouch scoffed.
"I don't believe a word of it," he said, shaking his head. "Do you see, Minister? I warned you that something like this would happen!"
Millicent turned to face the wizard standing beside her.
"I'll thank you to keep your input professional, Mr Crouch, or else you may wait outside for the remainder of this meeting" she said sharply, in a tone that left no room for doubt as to her power to make real her threats.
Crouch's face flushed indignantly, but he did not offer any argument. As strong as his feelings towards this case may be, he knew perfectly well that his reach only went so far, even as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. One could only push the Minister for Magic so far, particularly when one was in line to succeed her.
He clenched his jaw and folded his arms, glaring at the wall as he sucked in a deep, hard breath.
Bagnold, satisfied, turned back to face Walburga.
"So. As I understand it, Sirius Black is very much alive?"
"Yes" Walburga's face remained a blank slate, devoid of all the usual, happy emotions one might expect to see upon the face of a mother whose son had evaded an untimely death.
"And he is most certainly not in danger of dying?"
"No. He is not"
"I see"
The two witches sat in silence for a moment, their eyes locked in mutual, unblinking coldness, as though each were waiting for the other to blink first.
Millicent looked away.
"Then he will be returned to Azkaban to serve out the remainder of his sentence" she said briskly, reaching into her robe pocket for her wand. She tapped the top-most drawer of her desk and it slid open, allowing a fresh roll of parchment to fly out and spread itself flat in front of her.
"Crouch, will you make the appropriate arrangements with the Aurors?" she asked, glancing up at the man beside her who smirked with delight as he nodded.
"As you wish, Minister" he said smugly and began to make his way around the desk.
"And precisely what sentence would that be, Minister?"
The calm and composed voice of Walburga Black halted Crouch in his tracks before he had made it halfway to the door.
Millicent's quill tip hovered an inch above the parchment, poised to write the first word of her letter to alert the Aurors stationed at Azkaban.
She looked across the desk to find Walburga Black staring at her with a look of polite curiosity. In that moment, she felt she would have preferred for the witch to shout and wail in a fit of desperate emotion, begging her not to take her newly-reclaimed son away from her again and threatening all who might dare to.
But the witch who sat across from her was calm - dangerously calm. That in itself was more concerning than any angry threat could be.
"I beg your pardon?" Millicent replied, setting down her quill.
"The sentence to which you refer does not exist" said Arcturus, his gruff voice low with clear displeasure. "My grandson was never formally given one"
Bagnold stiffened as her gaze flitted towards the scowling old wizard, her instincts on high alert, like a deer catching a whiff of danger in its midst.
"I fail to understand how one might be returned to prison to serve out "the remainder" of a sentence which was never passed" Walburga added.
Millicent folded her hands neatly atop her desk and leaned forward to fix Walburga with a hard stare.
"Sirius Black is a dangerous criminal, Mrs Black" she said in a quiet, firm voice. "Surely you understand that I would not entertain the idea of allowing someone like that to go free on the whim of a mere formality?"
"Oh no, Minister, of course not" said Walburga. "I would, however, assume you would wish to see this 'mere formality' corrected"
"What the blazes-?"
Millicent held up a hand to silence Crouch, not once taking her eyes off of the witch opposite her.
"Do explain," she offered, sleekly.
"I'd have thought our meaning was obvious," said Arcturus, drumming his fingers against the handle of his cane. "My grandson was never afforded the proper trial for the accusations against him, as was his right. And now, we demand that he is given one"
There was a dark shot of laughter from Crouch, who had by now marched back round the desk to face the Blacks head-on.
"What utter rubbish!" Crouch spat. "Sirius Black slaughtered thirteen people! He was dragged away from the carnage he created, cackling like a madman! There is no need for a trial to know that he needs to be locked up and the key destroyed, no matter whom his family might be!"
A gruff chortle came from Arcturus. His grey eyes glinted menacingly.
"Of course, you of all people would know about locking up one's family, wouldn't you, Crouch?"
"Silence!"
At the Minister's sharp order, the room immediately fell silent.
Crouch paused, open-mouthed in preparation to shoot back a reply to Arcturus's provocative remark.
Millicent looked sternly from Arcturus to Walburga.
"You will forgive me for my colleague's outburst" she said, primly. "But, as Mr Crouch has said, Sirius Black is responsible for the deaths of thirteen people. There were many Muggle eye-witnesses to the fact. Surely you can understand how absurd the notion sounds - suggesting that we arrange a full-scale trial simply for the sake of officially confirming what we already know?"
"But that is precisely the point I am trying to make, Minister" said Walburga. "The situation is… not as simple as it may first appear"
"I'm sorry?"
"We have reason to believe that there is sufficient cause to doubt whether Sirius is truly guilty or not"
A stunned silence fell across the room. Not even Crouch, who stood with his eyes wide in disbelief, had a remark to offer Walburga's shocking statement.
"You believe that your son did not commit the murders of which he is accused?" Bagnold finally asked, leaning forward slightly in her seat.
"I don't know what best to believe for myself, Minister," said Walburga with a shake of her head. "But, since his recovery, Sirius has recounted to us his version of events that night. He has offered new information"
"And what, pray tell, would this new information be, precisely?" Millicent asked.
The Blacks paused. Walburga's eyes flitted sideways for a moment towards Arcturus, as though silently confirming with one another that they were indeed prepared to go down this route.
Walburga turned her attention back to Millicent.
"Sirius claims that Peter Pettigrew, the wizard who was supposedly killed that night, is still alive"
A loud scoff from Crouch dampened the initial shock Mrs Black's words inflicted on the Minister.
"What rubbish!" he spat. "What absolute lies. Pettigrew was torn apart by the blast your son created!"
"The boy claims that it was Pettigrew who cast that spell, not him" said Arcturus.
"What proof have you of the truth of these claims, Arcturus?" Millicent asked, fixing the aged wizard with a stern look. These were serious suggestions.
Arcturus's jaw clenched.
"Well- at this present time, considering how recent this discovery is-"
"Out with it, man" Crouch barked, scowling at Arcturus. He did not see the irritated glare shot at him from the Minister beside him. "Can you prove these ridiculous claims, or not?"
There was anger burning in Arcturus's iron eyes. A look which Millicent was surprised she had never seen before, considering the less-than-pleasant mood the Black patriarch was so often in whilst at the Ministry.
"No" Arcturus grunted, looking away. "As of this precise moment, we cannot prove Sirius's claims"
"I knew it" Crouch smirked triumphantly. "Empty lies. Complete and utter rubbish. But then what would you expect from a psychotic mass-murderer like Sirius Black?"
"I'll thank you not to make personal remarks about my son, Mr Crouch" said Walburga, narrowing her eyes dangerously up at Crouch.
"And I'll thank you not to waste the Ministry's time with this ludicrous talk of trials for known criminals and dead wizards walking"
Sensing an argument threatening to erupt between the two sides, the Minister cleared her throat loudly - a gesture which alone informed all parties that the conversation was very much back in her control.
"Just so we're all of the same understanding," she said calmly, determined to quell the rising tempers by way of example. "You are requesting that Sirius Black be granted a formal trial for his accused crimes, on the basis that he claims it was Peter Pettigrew - not himself - who caused the explosion on the street that day which killed twelve muggles. Is that correct?"
"Yes, Minister" Walburga replied with a prim nod.
Millicent arched an eyebrow.
"And, may I ask, what evidence it is that you wish to submit to support this claim? After all, the evidence against your son is rather overwhelming, Mrs Black. Surely you appreciate this?"
Walburga stiffened slightly in her seat.
"I understand how the situation appears, Minister. You will remember, of course, that we ourselves believed in Sirius's guilt these last three years, as well. The evidence against him was, as you say, overwhelming"
"But as Arcturus said, you don't currently have any evidence to offer in his favour"
"No, we do not," Walburga admitted. "But such things can be acquired. However, it would require your assistance"
"My assistance?" Millicent tilted her head curiously.
"The Ministry's assistance. You see - Peter Pettigrew is alive-"
"So your son claims" Crouch interjected, his face twisted with disbelief.
"Yes, he does" Walburga shot back with a glare. "And so, of course the most vital way of proving my son's innocence would be to find him"
"Mrs Black" Millicent sighed and leaned back in her chair slightly, drumming her fingers against her desk. "Surely you must understand how absurd this suggestion is. I simply do not have the spare Aurors to send traipsing up and down the country looking for one man whom is widely believed to be dead"
"But it is not a man you would be searching for, Minister" said Walburga.
"Oh? And what would it be?"
"A rat"
A stillness fell upon the room. A silence so still that one might have been able to hear the footsteps of a bowtruckle loud and clear, should one have elected to tiptoe across the carpet.
"A rat?" Crouch practically spluttered with laughter. "Come now, Minister, do end this ridiculous carry-on!"
"What do you mean?" Millicent pressed on, fearing the answer she knew that such a statement could only lead to.
"Peter Pettigrew is an unregistered Animagus"
Millicent would have preferred a few moments to allow this curious information to sink in, but with her Head of Department beside her permanently on the verge of explosion if given half the chance, time was a luxury she could ill-afford.
"How do you know this?" she asked in a forcibly straight voice.
"Sirius has informed us of the fact. He and the Pettigrew boy were at school together," said Walburga. "Classmates and - friends"
There was a catch in Mrs Black's voice as she prepared to utter the final word. It didn't take a genius to work out that this was a mother with a deep displeasure of her son's choice in friends. Millicent knew only the basics of Peter Pettigrew - that he was a halfblood wizard of unremarkable talent. But from what she knew of the Blacks, she was certain that this was not the sort of wizard they would approve of mixing with.
Nor was it the sort of wizard who could be regarded as having the potential to pull off one of the most challenging feats of magic in the known world.
"These are all lies, Minister, surely you don't believe this drivel?" Crouch turned to Millicent, his face flushed with frustration. "Next they'll be telling us that Black wasn't the Potters' Secret Keeper, after all!"
"He wasn't, as it goes"
All eyes turned to Arcturus at his gruffly-spoken statement.
"I beg your pardon?" asked Bagnold.
"My grandson wasn't the Potters' Secret Keeper. It was Pettigrew who betrayed them to the Dark Lord. Sirius was merely a decoy. A ridiculous plan, if you ask-"
"There, you see?!" Crouch waved his hands in the air, exasperated. "Lie upon lie! They will spin all the lies in the world to help that maniac avoid justice, Minister! Surely you don't truly believe any of this?"
Millicent's head was swimming. On the surface, these did indeed sound like inane tales, contradicting everything she trusted to be true. And yet-
The Blacks spoke the truth on one matter, of that much she could be certain - Sirius Black had indeed never had a trial. And with no official investigation, no case in his defence ever brought before the Wizengamont, who could rightly say for certain what was truth and what was lies?
The room around her was silent, the remaining occupants all fixated on the Minister, awaiting her next move.
"You are aware, I assume, of just how difficult and dangerous it is for one to succeed in becoming an Animagus?" Bagnold asked, cautiously.
"Of course" Arcturus barked impatiently, as though the Minister was a fool for even asking. "Any dunce knows that"
"Then I'm sure you will understand my reluctance to believe how a wizard of Pettigrew's, shall we say, meagre talents, could ever have been capable of becoming one"
"Are you accusing us of lying, Minister?" Walburga Black's voice was sharp with warning, her eyes flashing indignantly.
"No, Mrs Black, I am not accusing you of lying"
"But you accuse my son?"
"Sirius Black was apprehended at the scene of the crime, surrounded by carnage and practically bent double with laughter" said Bagnold, her voice polite, but firm. She held up a silencing hand as Mrs Black opened her mouth to interrupt. "That much is fact, Mrs Black. It cannot be disputed, whatever the precise nature of events which led to that moment. My point is that these are not the actions of what one might regard as being of a stable mental capacity."
"And you honestly expect us to believe the ravings of a madman trying to save his own skin?" Crouch added, unhelpfully.
"My son is not mad!"
Walburga's carefully-controlled temper was threatening to blaze at last. She gripped the armrests of her seat as though ready to spring to her feet, her eyes alight with anger at the slanderous remarks.
"Be quiet, Walburga"
At her father-in-law's sharp order, Walburga's head snapped round to glare at him. The two shared a silent, sharp exchange of looks before Mrs Black's anger simmered down, her tense body relaxing. But the fire still flickered dimly in her gaze. Tempered, for now, but always there, awaiting the right fuel to stoke the flames.
"Minister-" Arcturus leaned forwards in his seat, fixing his gaze on the witch on the other side of the desk. "That boy has shamelessly dragged my family's good name through the mud with this whole carry-on" The wizard's creased face frowned deep with displeasure as he spoke. "Do you really believe that I would entertain the idea of dragging the whole thing up again, reliving the shame of it all, if I didn't believe there were a shred of truth to be found in what he says?"
Millicent considered. Arcturus Black's intense dislike of an mention of his disgraced grandson was well known throughout the Ministry. As was his dislike of visits to the Ministry itself. On days when official business as a member of the Wizengamont forced him to attend, all who knew him - who knew of him - knew very well not to not so much as think of the name Sirius Black in his presence.
And now, here sat that same wizard, alongside his daughter-in-law, attempting to secure Sirius Black a trial in an attempt to prove his innocence.
"I believe my son, Minister" said Walburga, her voice calm and composed once more. "For three years I have believed he was guilty of the crimes he was accused of. I came to you a week ago requesting that he be sent home to die because I wished to find closure over the whole ghastly business for myself at last. But the fates have seen fit to spare him for now and we must deal with the situation that remains. And with the new information Sirius has revealed since his recovery, I cannot allow my son to be sent blindly back to prison without all of the facts being thoroughly investigated"
Millicent fought back a smile at the suggestion that her guests were in any position to "allow" the axe which hung over Sirius's head to fall any which way. She couldn't help but feel a small niggle of pleasure at the current circumstances she found herself in. Sat before her were two members of one of the oldest and proudest pureblood families - members of the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight. A family which, despite its recent misfortunes, was still accustomed to having the upper hand in any situation they found themselves in.
Except now, this time. The decision as to whether to grant them their wish or not rested solely with Millicent - the half-blood witch whom they both would surely love to see fall, to smirk triumphantly over the crumbling ruins of her career. She would be well within her power and reason to dismiss these bizarre claims and insist on returning Sirius to Azkaban immediately.
And yet - she could not allow herself the satisfaction of acting solely on the immediate pleasure that such an action might bring her.
"It would be quite the scandal, wouldn't you say, Minister?"
Arcturus's voice, though gritty as ever, was light and casual in such an uncharacteristic manner that it put Millicent instantly on edge.
"I'm sorry?"
"The same wizard being sentenced to life in Azkaban twice without a fair trial, I mean. I can hardly see the idea going down well, should such a thing get out"
"Not when that wizard is Sirius Black" Crouch seethed. "The public has no appetite for fair and just trials where followers of You-Know-Who are concerned"
"My son never followed him," Walburga shot back. "He may be rash and reckless by nature but he never conformed to the beliefs that the Dark Lord promoted"
"Unlike the unfortunate offspring of some families" Arcturus's eyes glinted across at Crouch accusingly.
Crouch hissed furiously.
"How dare-!"
"Enough!"
The sharp edge of Millicent's order cut through the thick anger in the room like diamond, silencing the two sides completely.
"I will not have this matter turned into a petty spat of personal insults" Millicent said firmly. "If you cannot all behave in a professional manner, I will call an end to this case immediately. Do I make myself clear?"
She turned first to Crouch with a threatening, expectant look.
"Yes, Minister" said Crouch quietly, through gritted teeth. He wrinkled his nose, his moustache twitching, and glared at the wall to his side.
Before she could offer the Blacks the same look, Arcturus spoke again.
"I mean it, Minister," he said, staring directly at the Minister. "You might have gotten away with throwing people into Azkaban quickly and quietly during the war. But three years have passed, now. Do you really think you could afford to go down that road again?"
Millicent felt her blood cool. Outwardly, she did not react, but inside, her mind swam with the pros and cons of the choice put before her.
"Would you really do it, Minister?" Walburga added, her voice as smooth as silk. "Would you really condemn a potentially innocent man to a horrible death for the sake of covering up the possibility that the Department of Law Enforcement may have made the gravest of errors the first time around? After all, they wrongly assured you that Sirius was going to die - how can you be certain this wasn't their first error?"
Crouch glared silently at this swipe against him, but did not retort. A heavy, expectant silence fell across the room.
The silence was suddenly broken by the sound of a low groan from Arcturus as he reached into the inner-pocket of his cloak and pulled out his gold pocket watch.
"Ah, I hadn't expected we'd be here this long" he sighed with a shake of his head. "I'm due at St. Mungo's within the hour"
"Nothing too serious, I hope?" asked Crouch, his voice laden with sarcasm.
"Oh no, nothing of that sort" Arcturus chuckled in reply. "I've a meeting with the Chief Healer. Financial matters. You see, I'd happened to hear of the hospital's struggles with funding the new Magical Poisonings wing. Naturally, I felt it my duty to offer my assistance. He was most grateful to receive my owl. Pleasant chap. But then, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that, Minister"
Millicent's gaze rose sharply to meet Arcturus's grey eyes peering across the desk at her, glimmering with cunning.
She felt a knot of annoyed frustration tighten within her and made a mental note to discuss with her husband that evening the perils of accepting charitable donations from a family such as the Blacks.
Sirius had by now become used to waking up to the feeling of being warm and comfortable. The initial confusion that this once-alien sensation had first brought him had faded away, replaced once again by the long-forgotten memory of wondering if he could afford five more minutes of sleep or if he really did have to contemplate the thought of getting up.
Except, that was not a choice within his control anymore. His mother had made sure of that. The comfort of the heavy, soft bedding was quickly tarnished as he realised that his mother's infuriating entrapment spell was back in place, the covers glowing a foreboding shade of green and tightening around him whenever he attempted to remove them.
Sirius loathed the spell with a passion. He had always hated the feeling of being trapped, contained until whomever held the power saw fit to release him. Even this most comfortable of traps was a trap nevertheless - and he wanted out of it.
He groaned loudly in frustration as his latest attempt to remove the bed covers proved as fruitless as the countless others before it. He flung his head back against the pillows and scowled up at the gaudy, golden chandelier glimmering dimly above him. How long did his mother plan on keeping him confined to this damned bed?
Sirius's thoughts wandered away from his current predicament for a moment at the thought of his mother. Where was she? Usually when he drifted awake, the first sight that met his bleary eyes was that of his mother's stiff, unsmiling face, staring down at him from his bedside in a way which was as unnerving in its intensity as it was in its lack of detectable emotion.
As pleasant a change as it was to wake up alone, for once, the moment was marred by the more concerning thought that if she wasn't here, then where was she? And what did her absence mean? She was planning something, surely.
And here he lay, imprisoned in a cocoon of blankets, completely unable to stop her. It was maddening.
Suddenly, a thought struck him.
"Kreacher!"
Sirius's voice cracked, hoarse from lack of use overnight. His call was not as loud as he'd wished. Was that why the house elf did not answer? Or was the little cretin simply as reluctant to obey Sirius as he always had been?
"Kreacher!" he tried again, louder and more demanding this time.
An all-too-familiar loud CRACK echoed around the room, sending a momentary chill through Sirius as he recalled the countless times that same noise had signalled the beginning of yet another dementor-induced vision.
Sirius fought back a startled gasp as the house elf from his nightmares appeared as his bedside, baring the same irritated scowl as always.
"You called, Master Sirius?" the elf growled in a forcibly humble tone.
Sirius relaxed at the elf's words - so very different from the usual viscous tirade of insults that the vision of the shrunken creature had always hurled at him in his dreams.
Real. It's real. He's real. Vile, but real.
"Where is she, Kreacher?" Sirius asked in a voice as authoritative as one could manage whilst held forcibly horizontal in bed.
"To which 'she' does the young master refer?" Kreacher asked in reply, a clear undertone of mocking evident in his voice.
"You know who I mean" Sirius snapped. "Tell me where she is. Why isn't she here?"
"The Mistress had important business to attend to elsewhere" Kreacher bowed his head, his large ears flopping forwards to hide the hint of a mocking smirk on his face. "If the young master requires her presence, Kreacher is certain she will not mind Kreacher requesting that she return home"
"No" Sirius felt his face flush with indignation at the elf's suggestion. "I don't- I don't need her. I was just curious. She's usually here, is all"
"If Master Sirius says so…"
"So, you mean she's gone out? As in, actually left the house?"
"Yes, Master"
Sirius shifted slightly under the covers. His mother had really gone out and left him here, trapped, for an unknown length of time?
"When will she be back?"
"Kreacher does not know," said the elf. "It is not Kreacher's place to ask. But, as Kreacher says, if Master Sirius requires-"
"I don't need her!" Sirius was growing frustrated. "I just need to get out of this damned bed"
Kreacher shook his head disapprovingly as Sirius tried and failed, yet again, to free himself from the covers.
"Mistress would not like Master Sirius to be up and about unsupervised" he said, in the same lecturing tone which Sirius recalled bitterly from many unpleasant incidents from his childhood; chastised by the family servant for pilfering biscuits, for sliding down the staircase banisters or attempting to climb the suits of armour which he had just lovingly polished.
Of course, the elf had always been sickeningly devoted to Walburga. The pathetic little thing would rather stick pins in his own eyes than willingly disobey her (and nearly had done on several occasions, before being ordered to stop at the last moment). There was no way he would willingly go against her by helping Sirius out of his predicament.
However, there was still one possible way out that might work…
"Kreacher, undo whatever spell my mother has put on this bed" Sirius ordered.
Kreacher narrowed his eyes and shook his head, his ears flapping comically.
"Kreacher should not. The Mistress would not like it. She would want the young master to stay in bed" he said firmly, though his hands twitched awkwardly, giving away just how much effort it took for him to resist Sirius's order.
Bingo.
"Kreacher, you are bound to obey any and all members of the Black family, are you not?"
The elf's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Yes, Kreacher is…"
"And did my mother specifically order you not to obey me, Sirius Black?"
His claw-like, spindly fingers curled into tight fists.
"No…" Kreacher's voice was a low growl. He had clearly worked out where this conversation was headed.
"Then I order you to release me from this bed. Now"
Kreacher groaned loudly, only too happy to display his full displeasure at being forced to obey this most wretched of Blacks, this lowest of all his masters - but still his master, nevertheless.
The elf worked his magic, muttering some unintelligible, no doubt vile words all the while. The bed glowed bright green for a moment and, when Sirius next tried to sit up, the covers fell away instantly, releasing him from their hold.
Sirius let out a loud groan of satisfaction as he stretched his arms above his head. It felt good to be free.
"Cheers for that" he said to the elf with a satisfied grin.
"Master Sirius must stay in bed!" Kreacher shrieked with a stamp of his bare foot as Sirius stood up.
"Yeah, whatever" said Sirius dismissively, focusing all his efforts on preventing his legs from shaking. The last thing he needed was for the elf to think he was as unsteady as he felt and force him back into the bed by magic. "Don't you have better things to do than annoy me? Don't you have... silver to polish, or something?"
He'd had to dig around in the dusty corners of his memory to think of precisely what tedious tasks the family's house elf had used to occupy himself with in years gone by - before his image was replaced by a face eternally warped in disgust as he hurled out an endless stream of vile insults, night after night, dream after dream…
Sirius forcibly squashed down the memories beginning to bubble up inside his head. He didn't need to remember that. Not now.
"Mistress ordered Kreacher to keep a close watch on Master Sirius," said Kreacher determinedly. "To look after him whenever she is gone"
"Well I don't need or want you following me around all day, so beat it"
"Master Sirius cannot be trusted unsupervised!" the elf protested with a scowl. "Kreacher remembers, oh yes he does. Kreacher remembers what trouble Master Sirius always was, before he abandoned his poor family. Oh, my poor Mistress. The shame that the blood traitor-"
"Don't call me that" Sirius snapped coldly, glaring down at the elf. He didn't want to get into this fight now. It was too early.
Wasn't it?
"What time is it?"
The pair shared a mutual look of distaste before Kreacher submitted to answering his master's question.
"It is half-past nine in the morning," he mumbled.
Not early by some people's standards, but Sirius had never been one for early risings. Still, the time meant there was one solid method of getting rid of the elf, at least.
"Fix me some breakfast then, if you're that keen to look after me"
Kreacher gave a silent, frowning nod and began to shuffle his way towards the door.
"And none of that porridge slop, this time" Sirius called, grimacing at the thought of the disgusting stuff. "Make me a decent fry-up. It's about time I had some proper food"
The elf's teeth clenched at the torturous obligation to obey his young master's commands, but he grunted out a low "Yes, Master" before departing, nevertheless.
Free of the house elf's company at last, Sirius breathed a heavy sigh, finally allowing himself to sink down onto the side of the bed for a moment to rest his aching legs. It had been a long time since he'd had to stand for any length of time, or indeed since he'd been strong enough to stand at all. But he'd rather endure another ten bowls of the dreaded porridge before he'd allow his weakened legs to tremble and give way in front of the house elf.
Several deep breaths later, Sirius had regained enough strength to stand again. Days spent staring at the same four, emerald-green walls had driven him to longing to look at anything beside them.
He slowly walked across the room to the tall window and pulled back the heavy curtains, which had been kept tightly closed since he had first awoken. His mother had always preferred the curtains of Grimmauld Place to be kept closed. Heaven forbid she should glance a passing Muggle or two through the glass.
Sirius squinted at the bright morning sunshine that greeted him through the window. Had daylight always been this startlingly bright?
Of course not, you idiot, he scoffed to himself. You've just forgotten what it looked like.
On the street below, just visible through the barren tree branches, life went on. An occasional car passed by. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. And in the grassy square at the centre of Grimmauld Place, a pair of Muggle children played. Two small boys.
Sirius turned away from the window. He suddenly felt himself itching to get out of this room.
He walked over to the wardrobe against the opposite wall and squashed down the memories of the many times he had hidden himself away inside it as a child which began to drift towards the surface as he approached.
The wardrobes in the guest rooms of Number Twelve were usually good for some spare clothes, left behind by the many relatives who saw fit to come and go every other week and leave behind various items in their preferred bedroom, as though marking their territory against the next visitor who might think of claiming their favourite room for themselves.
This time, however, the wardrobe offered nothing but a deep green dressing gown.
Sirius sighed. It would have to do.
He shrugged on the robe, trying his best to ignore just how swamped his thin frame felt in the heavy material, and headed for the door.
Years had passed by, a war had been and gone, and still Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place had remained unchanged. A fixed point, never yielding to the pressure of change that time brought with it. As Sirius walked along the corridor, lit only by dim candlelight, he felt as though it could only have been a day since he was last here. The same grim, old-fashioned wallpaper, the same ugly golden candle holders - the same scowling portraits glaring down at him disapprovingly from their gilded frames.
Sirius tried his best to ignore the murmurings coming from the canvases mounted on the walls either side of him. He walked on, his head held high as his ancestors gossiped around him.
"I say, is it truly him?"
"It appears so… I still can't believe it, can you? Bringing him back to this house after all he did. What is she thinking?"
"An insane mass murderer, they say. The shame of it"
"I wasn't surprised of course. He was always trouble, that one. Right from when he was small A rotten apple if ever there was one"
"Really, Eduardus-"
"You would deny it, Carina? Or are you forgetting the time that little scamp lost control of his magic in a fit of temper and nearly set fire to your own canvas?"
"Will you all just shut it?!"
At Sirius's outburst, the portraits fell silent, their painted faces contorted with shocked disapproval.
"Finally" Sirius sighed in relief and continued on.
That was another thing he had forgotten about Grimmauld Place - how one was never truly alone in the house. Even if all other living occupants were out, the dead were always there, ready and only too keen to share their unwelcome opinions.
Sirius finally reached the landing and found himself automatically heading up the stairs instead of down, almost as if on auto-pilot. Deep down he knew precisely where his feet were taking him. It was muscle memory, a journey he was programmed to take. How many thousands of times had he taken this journey; dragging his feet sullenly up the stairs after being ordered up to bed too early for his liking, hastily scampering up them in an attempt to outrun inevitable capture and punishment, storming up them as loudly as possible in protest after yet another blazing row with his mother.
By the time Sirius had arrived in front of his bedroom door, his head was swimming with so many memories all jumbled together into one that he scarcely had enough room inside his head to be surprised that the bedroom still existed at all. He had half-expected that his mother would have blasted the room away completely at the earliest opportunity, erasing all evidence of his shameful existence once and for all.
But here it was - one of two identical doors facing each other at the end of the corridor, the brass nameplate with "Sirius" engraved on it still intact, if a little dusty.
Sirius reached out a shaking hand and turned the handle, surprised to find it unlocked, and entered.
He was careful to keep his eyes firmly away from the opposite door before he entered.
His childhood bedroom was curiously dusty. Curious because such an amount of dust could only settle in a space that was left completely undisturbed. Since early childhood, Sirius had always been famously untidy, forever being scolded for leaving his room in a messy state and threatened with no sweets until he'd tidied it. He'd always assumed that his mother would have been only too pleased to finally sweep away all of his belongings once he;d left home, free from his mess once and for all at last.
And yet, to Sirius's amazement, almost everything he'd left behind had been left completely as he had left it. His books were all still lined up on the shelf beside his desk, the top drawer of his dresser was still open from when he had hastily dug through the nearly-folded shirts within to find the velvet pouch of pocket money which he'd kept buried at the back, hidden away from any intruders who might see fit to confiscate it as punishment for whatever it was he'd done wrong most recently.
Only two things in the room had been noticeably altered; the window he had left ajar after climbing through had been closed, and the bed covers which he'd always left in an untidy tangle had been smoothed out and made ready for him, as though he had been expected home the next day.
Sirius glanced around at the walls, laden with the Gryffindor banners and Muggle posters he'd covered them with in a burst of determined rebellion during his school years. He reached out to touch the scarlet-and-gold Quidditch banner on the wall next to him, dislodging a layer of dust as he did so. It had once hung from the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts. Sirius, in a burst of sudden inspiration, had stolen it specifically for the purpose of decorating his bedroom, knowing full well how little it would be appreciated by his Slytherin family.
He looked at the glossy motorcycle photos, smiling at the memory of how they had been the product of a burst of mischief he'd felt one afternoon after hearing his mother complain loudly about the noise of "those hellish contraptions" as one went roaring past the house. Sirius had slipped out of the house not an hour later, blown all of his meagre stash of Muggle money on as many motoring magazines as he could find from the nearby newsagent's shop and had spent the rest of the day cutting out every motorcycle photo he could find and plastering them all over his bedroom walls.
The explosion of anger his mother had erupted into when she saw what he'd done was fierce, but it was nothing compared to her reaction to Sirius's next move.
In hindsight, the posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls he'd covered the remaining wall space with was a cheap move, Sirius reasoned to himself as he smirked in amusement at the girls in the photos. Even at the time, he hadn't particularly enjoyed their presence. He hadn't even liked the posters. Their presence was purely to make a statement, to entice an argument - and they hadn't even done that. His mother had gone pale with shock at the sight of the posters, had dealt him a cold look of utter disappointment and distaste, and had left without a word.
Sirius's smile faded as he remembered the way his mother had looked at him that day. He had wanted a reaction, for her to scream at him so that he could scream back. What he'd gotten was a thousand times worse.
And now, thanks to his own permanent sticking charm, from that day on he was left with the constant reminder of the sickening feeling he'd felt that day every time he caught sight of one of the crude posters, the girls' attempting-seductive smiles seeming more like mocking sneers.
The low ebb that the memory of the posters had set Sirius on only deepened when he caught sight of one tiny photograph stuck to the wall beside his desk. A wizarding photograph, frayed at the edges from rough handling. The four teenage boys within it grinned out at Sirius from across the room.
He was drawn to it by an almost magnetic pull, in spite of the horrible, sinking feeling which filled the pit of his stomach the closer he got to it.
Sirius peered into the photograph, which had been taken on the same afternoon as their final OWL exam. There he stood, fifteen years old and smirking triumphantly, knowing full well that he had soared through the Charms paper, with his arm slung across Peter's shoulder.
Sirius felt sick as he stared at the plump, watery-eyed face of his former friend, grinning up at Sirius with a pathetic adoration that Sirius had always found slightly odd. The rat who had destroyed everything good in his life. But the anger he felt was quickly overcome with the enormous, sickening sense of guilt which washed over him like a bucket of ice water as he looked at the boy who's shoulder his other arm was slung over, sandwiched between himself and a tired-but-smiling Remus. The centre of the shot and the centre of their pack.
James.
Sirius wanted to look away. He wanted to turn around and walk out of the room, to lock the door and never return. The photograph was too painful to want to look at. But try as he might, he couldn't look away. He didn't deserve to look away. His eyes were locked onto the happy scene preserved on the piece of paper, forcing him to feel every ounce of it's accusing weight pressing down upon him.
Seeing James's face again, laughing behind his glasses, triggered something within Sirius that simply talking about the past with his mother and grandfather had not done. It brought back, in startling vividness, every feeling that he had forced himself to keep locked away tight inside him during his years in Azkaban. So intense was the belief of his own innocence that he'd had to force himself to keep constantly in the forefront in his mind so as to protect himself from the dementors that he had forgotten the real truth of the matter.
James Potter was dead because of him.
Sirius stood frozen to the spot, hypnotised by the photograph until a familiar sound from downstairs thrust him back into the present. The loud whoosh of flames erupting from the Floo fireplace which signalled an arrival. The faint sound of two familiar voices and the tapping of a cane assured him of precisely who the Floo had returned to the house.
"Shit" Sirius mumbled to himself.
He highly doubted that his mother would be pleased to find him out of bed. In times gone by, what did or didn't please his mother would have been of little concern to him. But at the thought of being put back under the dreaded blanket entrapment spell for his escapade, Sirius decided it was probably best to sneak back down to the Emerald Room before she discovered him snooping around his old bedroom.
He kept his footsteps light and silent as he made his way out of the room and breathed a sigh of relief as he managed to shut the door behind him with barely a sound. However, he made it barely two steps back down the corridor before a creaking noise echoed around him as he stepped on the notorious single loose floorboard. It wasn't particularly loud, but nothing was ever too quiet to be missed by Walburga Black's razor-sharp hearing.
"Sirius Orion! Come down here at once!"
"Damn"
Sirius could have kicked himself. How many times had he crept down this corridor in the dead of night as a child, never once forgetting to avoid that particular floorboard? It seemed there were still plenty of things about Grimmauld Place which remained buried inside his memory, waiting to be unearthed.
Sirius arrived in the drawing room to find his mother and grandfather stood in front of the fireplace, expectantly waiting for him. Sirius shared a mutual look of displeasure with Arcturus, who's face immediately creased into a frown when his grandson failed to offer the appropriate respectful greeting upon noticing him.
"Sirius Orion, what are you doing out of bed?" asked Walburga.
She stood with her arms folded disapprovingly.
Sirius shrugged from where he stood in the doorway, avoiding his mother's gaze.
"Got tired of lying around, fancied a walk"
"I'll have the elf give himself a good thrashing for this" Walburga sighed with annoyance.
Sirius looked up at her.
"How did you-?"
"Well how else would you have possibly undone my spell? You'd hardly have managed it unaided, considering you haven't a wand"
Sirius looked away and frowned in response to his mother's condescending tone.
"Come here, boy" Arcturus snapped, tapping the ground before him with his cane. "It's no use loitering in the doorway - you aren't going anywhere, I assure you"
Sirius bit back a curt reply and obediently, if slowly, made his way to fill the spot his grandfather had gestured to. It was no use trying to disobey. He wouldn't have made it two steps away from the room before Arcturus would drag him back with magic.
And as his mother had so helpfully reminded him, it wasn't as if he had a wand to fight back with.
Standing before the pair, both dressed in their fine, smart clothes, Sirius felt annoyingly under-dressed in his pyjamas and oversized dressing gown. He stared down at the floor, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
What he expected was a barked order from his grandfather to stand up straight. But what he got was a hand which grasped his chin in it's slender fingers and tilted his head upward. To his annoyance, he followed the hand's guidance, his body remembering from muscle memory how this routine always went.
"You ought to have stayed in bed" said his mother as she tilted his head this way and that, her critical eyes wandering over his features. "You still look rather peaked"
"I'm fine" Sirius attempting to wriggle himself free from her grasp. Walburga, not yet through with her inspection, only tightened her hold.
"He needs a proper haircut. The boy looks like a damned street mutt that's been dragged through a bush backwards"
And there it was. Arcturus Black, never one to miss out on offering his two knuts. Sirius wondered to himself if his grandfather had any inkling as to just how accurate his description of him was.
"And wipe that smirk off your face"
Sirius obeyed, unaware that his thoughts had leaked through to his face. It wouldn't do to rattle up the old man too much just yet. The day was young, after all.
Arcturus, however, was not placated.
"I don't see what you have to be smirking about, what with all the trouble you've caused"
Sirius sighed.
"Yeah, I'm a hopeless cause, as you so kindly keep reminding me"
"I did not say that"
Sirius looked up at his grandfather.
"You what?"
"We have some news, Sirius," said Walburga, jumping in before her father-in-law could use Sirius's crude manners as an excuse to launch into a tirade. "Sit"
She gestured to the sofa behind Sirius.
Sirius didn't move. He looked from his mother to his grandfather, his guard up at this sudden unexpected turn of events. What news?
"Do as your mother says," said Arcturus sternly, tapping his cane on the floor. "Sit down"
Again, Sirius stood firm, refusing to obey on principle.
Arcturus's grip on his cane tightened visibly.
"Don't make me tell you again, boy"
At last, Sirius gritted his teeth and slowly sank down onto the sofa, clenching his fists tightly inside the pockets of his dressing gown.
Arcturus and Walburga both remained standing. The disadvantage the differing levels put between them and him immediately set Sirius on edge.
"Now," began Walburga, her voice noticeably more pleasant now that Sirius had obeyed. "Your grandfather and I have been to the Ministry-"
"And there was me thinking you'd gotten all dressed up for a trip down Diagon Alley"
"Do not interrupt!"
Sirius fought to keep a straight face at the way his grandfather shook with anger at this most minor of infringements.
"Alright, alright, sorry" He threw up his hands in surrender.
"As I was saying," Walburga fixed Sirius with a piercing look before she resumed. "We have been to the Ministry this morning for a meeting about your… circumstances"
"My circumstances?"
"Yes. Naturally, your recovery was not the outcome that the Ministry expected from our previous arrangement"
Sirius's first instinct was to offer a remark about how his surviving a supposedly fatal illness was indeed a bit of a stray from the intended plan, but at the sight of his grandfather, who looked as though he might explode if provoked any further, he restrained himself.
"We've discussed the situation with the Minister and have agreed on the best way forward"
Sirius snorted.
"Yeah, of course you did" he murmured, barely loud enough to hear.
"What was that, boy?" Arcturus raised a thick, silver eyebrow up at his grandson.
"I hardly believe that you and the Minister 'agreed' on anything" Sirius replied. He leaned back against the sofa, giving off an air of casual boredom. "Go on then - how much gold did you throw at her? Which family member's career did you threaten to ruin?"
"Don't be silly, Sirius" Walburga dismissed her son's questions with a slight smirk. "No one's career is going to be ruined"
"Not by my doing, anyway" Arcturus muttered with a huff. "Although, since you asked, the price was twenty-two thousand galleons"
Sirius sat up straighter.
"What?"
"Don't talk so crudely, Sirius"
"Twenty-two thousand galleons for what?!" Sirius ignored his mother's scolding, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the now-smirking Arcturus.
"Your bail, of course" said the wizard. "The price of your freedom from Azkaban until the day of your trial"
Sirius's heart sank.
"My… trial?"
"Yes, Sirius, your trial" Arcturus spoke slowly, as though to an ignorant child.
For once, Sirius was too stunned to be irked by his grandfather's patronising manner.
"You will be held under house arrest in this house until the day of the trial. Of course, the usual procedure would have you returned to Azkaban until then, but given that you were never afforded one in the first place, the Minister was at a, shall we say, disadvantage"
"I must say, I am not pleased with the security spells being placed around the house" Walburga frowned and shook her head in disapproval. She folded her arms across her chest. "It seems far too intrusive. I don't want those Ministry mules nosing in on who comes in and out of the house, interfering in our private business"
"What were you expecting? That they would allow him to go strolling about the neighbourhood unchecked?" Arcturus flashed his daughter-in-law an irritated look. "I'm not best pleased with it either but it is a cross we must bear for the sake of the greater plan"
"They ought not to be allowed to dictate who comes in and out of my house! It is unseemly"
"Merlin's beard, woman! I've secured the trial you wanted, I've ensured that the boy is kept here with you until that day arrives - both at great personal expense, might I add. The least you can do is put up with a bit of tightened security! And might I remind you just whose house this-"
"No"
The softness with which Sirius spoke was far more startling than if he had screamed it from the top of his lungs. After all, the latter would be far more expected of him.
Arcturus and Walburga ceased their squabbling and looked down to where Sirius sat, hunched over and frowning, staring into the hearth between the pair. The image of James, laughing beside him in the photograph, played over and over again before his eyes on a never ending loop.
"What did you say?" Arcturus asked in a deadly calm voice. He took a step forward to stand over his grandson and peered down at him with his cold, steely eyes.
"I said no," Sirius raised his eyes to meet his grandfather's. "I don't want a trial"
A heavy, foreboding silence filled the room as Sirius and Walburga awaited Arcturus's response to his grandson's outrageous statement.
Walburga had gone rigid with shock. She stared down at her son in disbelief, seemingly, for once, at a loss for words.
Arcturus, however, was flushed bright pink and raring to go.
"You don't want a trial?" he seethed in a quiet, dangerously smooth voice. His shoulders trembled like a volcano on the brink of eruption.
"No"
"Well then, it's a damned good thing that what you want doesn't factor into the equation, isn't it?"
His grandfather's sickly sweet, sarcastic tone turned made Sirius see red, snapping him out of his daze.
"Oh really?" Sirius sprung to his feet, fists clenched, glaring daggers at his grandfather. The last time they had stood face to face, Sirius had barely matched the old man in height, but eight years later, the now-adult Sirius stood several inches above the elder wizard who had lost several of his own to age. "Well I'd like to see you try and pull one off without me!"
"If you think that you'd be the first miserable wretch dragged into a courtroom against their will, boy, then you are very sorely mistaken!" Arcturus roared. He whirled round to point his cane accusingly at Walburga. "I told you something like this would happen! The effort and gold I've put into securing this trial and this ungrateful little swine decides that he doesn't want a trial!"
"Sirius Orion Black" Walburga's voice was icily sharp as she glared at her son. "Apologise to your grandfather immediately"
"For what?!" Sirius shouted. "He's the one who went behind my back and decided to organise a bloody trial without even consulting me!"
"You know what your problem is, boy?" Arcturus now waved his cane towards Sirius. "You've always been far too ignorant of what's best for you. And whenever someone has to step in and sort you out, you don't show so much as a lick of gratitude!"
Sirius threw back his head and laughed darkly.
"And that's what you're doing, is it? What's best for me? Don't kid yourself, Arcturus, you don't fool me. You're doing what's best for you - just like you always have done"
Arcturus's face turned an ugly shade of beetroot at his grandson's nerve by referring to him so disrespectfully.
"You dare-"
"Yes, I dare! Why? What are you going to do to me?" Sirius took several, unsteady steps away from Arcturus, waving his arms shakily. "Send me back to Azkaban? Cancel the trial? Nah, you wouldn't do that. Where would you get your pet heir from then, eh?"
Arcturus's fury was silent. The old man had no reply. Sirius had struck the bullseye with the arrow, and he knew it.
"Ha! I knew it!" Sirius laughed humorlessly, his eyes cold. "This was never about wanting me back. You don't care about me, either of you-" He shot his mother a filthy look. "The family line is dying. And with no better options, you thought you'd dig me out of prison and use me instead. The final option. Not ideal but better than nothing, eh? Well guess what? I'll go to the trial"
So unexpected was the final sentence of Sirius's emotionally-charged rant that both Arcturus and Walburga were both visibly taken aback.
"You do want a trial?" Walburga asked cautiously.
"No," Sirius answered with another dark chuckle. "I said I'll go, not that I want one. I'll go to that stinking trial you've wasted a shitload of gold on, and you know what I'll do then? I'll plead guilty. They'll chuck me right back into Azkaban quicker than you can say 'hippogriffs'. So you may as well have flushed all that gold straight down the toilet for all the use it'll do you"
Now he'd done it. Arcturus shook so violently with rage that he seemed to radiate a fiery heat.
"Why you worthless, ungrateful little-!"
"Enough!"
Arcturus paused at the sound of Walburga's shrill voice, his cane paused several inches off the ground as though he'd intended to strike Sirius with it.
Sirius flinched and froze solid. The sound of his mother's shriek echoed deep inside his mind, sending a flood of dark memories crashing back into the forefront of his mind. Echoes of the nightmares he had endured over the last three years ricocheted back and forth across his mind's eye - an endless torrent of insults being hurled at him, all in that same, shrill voice-
"Sirius"
Walburga's voice, calmer this time, though by no means gentle, snapped Sirius back to the present moment. His purple-faced grandfather was glaring at him with a look of pure disgust.
His mother glared at him with a look of pure disappointment that reminded Sirius startlingly of the day he had put up the posters of the Muggle girls.
"You ought to go and lie down, Sirius Orion" said Walburga.. "You aren't in any fit state to be up and about"
"I'm fine"
Sirius sounded as unconvincing as he looked. His voice wavered, his body beginning to tremble from weariness and he fought to stop himself from swaying. What little energy reserves he'd had when he'd awoken that morning he'd drained dry with the effort of his shouting fit.
"You are not fine" Walburga's voice was firm. It left no room for argument. "Go upstairs immediately and rest"
"Fine," Sirius practically spat. "I'll go. I'll be in my room. By which I mean my actual bedroom, not that disgusting green pit you put me in"
He turned and marched as steadily as he could muster, towards the door. Before he'd made it halfway, however, an annoyingly-familiar voice growled up at him from below.
"Master Sirius's breakfast, as requested" Kreacher had bustled in bearing a silver platter containing the fried breakfast Sirius had ordered. He held it up to Sirius at the end of his spindly arms.
"Piss off, you little cretin" Sirius snapped at the elf, knocking him out of his path so violently that the force of it sent Kreacher stumbling to the side, only just managing to keep his burden from tumbling to the floor.
For the first time in eight years, the halls of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place felt the thunderous footsteps of it's young heir as he stormed upstairs in a cloud of anger. Moments later, the familiar sound of a slamming bedroom door rang out.
"There, you see?" said Eduardus Black to the startled witch beside him as he clutched the bookcase within his portrait to steady himself inside his shaking frame. "I told you it was him"