Cornelius Fudge had been cornered by the Muggle-loving Headmaster of Hogwarts. Normally, he saw reason on the issue of Black. Who gave a tinker's damn if the bastard had a trial or not? And with Harry Potter due to arrive at Hogwarts this year, the very last thing anyone needed was having a mass murderer, who'd been instrumental in his parents' death, on the loose, and worse, in the news!
The explanation he'd been given, and Dolores had reluctantly confirmed it, was that Black had suddenly regressed. Dumbledore had even declared himself willing to declare to the Wizengamot that he, Bagnold and Crouch had made a terrible judicial error sending Black to Azkaban in the first place. Cornelius reflected that Dolores had begged him to have Black kissed, so the Malfoys could take over the Black fortune, but he'd not wanted to be known as "the minister that disinherited the Boy-Who-Lived." The grief, and stinginess, visited on him since then by Lucius made him resolve not to question Dolores' judgement again without a bloody good reason.
"I want it known, publically, that I am doing this under protest, Dumbledore," he'd said as he hastened to the floo in the headmaster's office. With that established - and Barnabus Cuffe would give him a goddamned good reason why not if it wasn't! - and the fact that Potter would be coming from the place Dumbledore had left him, to a place he was responsible for, Fudge decided he was off the hook. in a few years time, he could present himself to young Potter as "the man who protected your inheritance, and tried to keep you safe from Sirius Black." That pleased him doubly, as it would make contradicting Dolores look retroactively brilliant.
He probably tended to worry over things too much. He tried not to lose any sleep over it.
The healers at St Mungo's were certain of one thing. Poor Black was not shamming. The idea that the heir of a family as old as the Blacks had had his mind destroyed not only without a trial but without even being questioned weighed heavily on them. As best they could determine, his current mental age was about two years old, or younger. He could say a few words, mostly "Cold" and "Owie!", but that was it. He didn't know his name, let alone the slightest thing about magic. He actually manifested some weak accidental magic, to the point they'd had to put magic-suppressing cuffs on him. They also never forgot to leave his stuffed animals within reach.
Fortunately, his cousin Andromeda Tonks had asked to take him to their Muggle home for long-term care. The James Thickey ward was crowded. Space expansion magic impacted some of the curse victims severely. it'd be nice to be able to move some of the beds apart. Only the poor Longbottoms seemed to benefit from the crowding, so their beds would remain joined. In fact, if they were put in the one bed, that would make even more room. Why had no one thought of that? the ward chief wondered. Mindless they might be, or appear, but they were, after all, husband and wife.
"We can make him comfortable, and at least train him to do simple chores," Mrs Tonks had told them. "It turns out the Headmaster had to care for his younger sister in the same condition, long ago, so he can give us practical advice." She carefully placed all his stuffed animals - a stag, a black dog, a wolf and a rat - in Black's wheelchair next to him as she pushed him over to the Tonks family car. Mr Tonks waved cheerfully from the right side of the vehicle. It was clear they weren't letting the situation get them down. Since they lived in a Muggle neighbourhood, they'd need to keep the cuffs on him until some of his mind was restored, or they'd managed to train him up like a toddler.
The Headmaster acknowledged that ten years at the Dursleys had had the desired effect: he was beaten down and discouraged. That was the only way he could account for letting Andromeda Black extort those signatures out of him. He was surrounded by bitter truths: even if he managed to get out of Azkaban before the - what was that Muggle name - Tonks? family moved him to the loony ward at St Mungo's, he would not be rescuing himself from the Dursleys - because he hadn't done so. And his mind was already eroding. Whenever he thought of Sirius Black, Tom Riddle, Harry Potter, or the Trelawneys, his memories shifted and clouded in the most frightening fashion. It was as if two sets of events were fighting it out inside his head.
It was puzzling, most puzzling, but perhaps a ray of hope that, whoever had done this to him, and for whatever reason, their headmaster had left Hogwarts, mysteriously, on the same day he would typically visit Nurmengard. Had they decided to keep his secrets? It might be as advantageous for them, whoever they were, as it would be for him. He really missed having a Trelawney to talk these things over with. With his luck recently, they'd keep Sybil enslaved and leverage her to undo all his plans.
He made his second mark on the wall. There was plenty of room for many, many more.
The cruelty of what they were doing struck Andromeda Tonks as a pain in her chest. She had trained in mind magics, and Sirius in Alchemy, for this very purpose. She wondered, not for the first time, how people like the Lovegoods could be so cold-blooded about time-meddling, or about keeping up the masquerade afterwards. They'd preserved Harry's memories of ten years at the Dursleys before Hogwarts, and Sirius had managed to brew and test a memory infusing potion using them. Ted had volunteered, but Sirius tested it on himself, instead. "Oldest bod is the guinea pig," was the explanation. They'd had him extract his memories of an entire day, Obliviated that day thoroughly, then restored it with his potion.
They'd used potions and rituals and a bracelet to partition Harry's memories off so he could be Obliviated and the memories would still be recoverable and, more importantly, travel wherever his soul went.
Ironically, the Lovegoods were sending him back to the Dursleys a few days before "meeting" his older self a couple of days before the train to Hogwarts. "A bit like making an appointment or catching a train, isn't it?" Ted had remarked. But pouring all those terrible memories into a body that held an 11-year-old's soul was rank child abuse. She'd discussed it with her daughter. Nymphadora maintained that those memories belonged to Harry; they'd made him the person so many that knew him loved. It was Nymphadora who'd put an identical bracelet on Harry Potter's arm in 1991. She was already involved, they all were.
It was a comfort that he would start integrating the knowledge from his ten years at the Tonks' house - and perhaps some memory of the affection they'd shown him sometime in the first year. They'd put the older Harry's memories of the time after coming to Hogwarts in another place, and with that self's help, they'd be recovered later. Sirius had gone back to the Head's quarters at Hogwarts and drunk a Draught of Living Death from a conjured vial that would disappear before anyone would bother him there.
The anguished look on Sirius Black's face as the painful memories flooded in wrung her heart. Then, suddenly, his expression changed. The Lovegoods had told her the transference would wait till the memories could go along, and as usual, they were right.
"So, I'm 41, now? Beats 131, I suppose. But I have a lot of time to make up for," he said. "Let me know when to give the Headmaster the Wiggenwald."
Andromeda wasn't listening She gazed off into space, unfocused. "Good luck in 1991, Harry!" she whispered.