"Good morning."

"Good morning. How have you been?"

"Exhausted," Alice sighed. "If mental acrobatics counted as a sport I'd be welcomed at the Olympics."

"The what?"

"Nevermind. How are things on your side of the pond?"

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," Sirius cleared his throat. "You been keeping up to date with the news?"

"Of course," Alice answered easily.

"They have Pettigrew in custody. From what Dumbledore has been able to glean from their investigation, they're starting to doubt I was the one that killed James, Lily and those twelve Muggles."

"Starting to?" The flames licking across her face did nothing to conceal the doubt dominating her features.

"Madame Bones herself called for a review of the evidence some weeks ago and after that the Minister released a press statement. They want me to hand myself in for questioning—not at Azkaban. Dumbledore thinks it's a good idea to wait a bit before turning myself in." Sweat began to bead at the edges of his hairline and Sirius wiped it off with a twitchy hand.

"I see."

He waited for her to elaborate. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"What do you want me to say? It sounds like you've made up your mind already, Black, and you only called me to let me know which cell I could find you in when I come back," she snapped.

"It's not like that," he protested. "Dumbledore really thinks—"

"You're relying on Dumbledore's word for your freedom? I seem to recall another time when you did the exact same thing and now it's fourteen years later and all you can add to your resume is your perfect attendance at Azkaban prison." Her acidic demeanour lasted all of three seconds before she sighed and the wind stopped blowing against her sails and she was left drifting on the water. "I just don't want you to go head first into something without really thinking it through."

"I've given it a lot of thought, Ali," he clasped his hands under his chin. "I can't keep hiding in here much longer, I'll go , I'll get desperate, which is what landed me in Azkaban in the first place."

"What does Harry have to say about this?" she asked.

"He doesn't like it either and I can't blame him for it. I don't know… I guess it feels like I might have a chance here and even if I don't, I don't know that for certain yet, not really. Not unless I actually take a chance."

"Because you haven't taken enough chances already?"

"I took a chance on you, didn't I? I think that turned out well enough."

"Not everyone is as understanding or lacks as much self-preservation as I clearly do. Getting involved with an escaped murderer, what was I thinking?" she said.

"Between my twinkling eyes and daredevil smile, you never stood a chance, love," he puffed out his chest and smiled roguishly.

"You'd figure the decade's worth of poor hygiene would've scared me away, but I think it added a literal air of mystery around you," she laughed and enjoyed the way his eyes wrinkled at the corners when he grinned carelessly. "You're really set on this?"

"We're going to put a plan in place in case anything happens, and another plan if the second plan doesn't work and so on. I'm being careful here, Ali, I swear," he said. "Don't you want to be able to go out of the house with me? Go shopping in Diagon Alley and complain about the price of powdered salamander like every other normal witch and wizard?"

"I do," she admitted, "but not at the risk of your life. I'm coming back in ten days, promise me you won't do anything until then."

"Promise."

"I know it's a few days overdue, but wish Harry a happy birthday from me," she said, "and tell Remus to hold on, he won't have to deal with your sorry ass alone for much longer."

"I seem to recall you calling my ass a lot of things, but sorry was never one of them," Sirius winked. "I'll tell him in a few, when Dumbledore's done with him."

"Dumbledore's there right now?" asked Alice, sounding shocked.

"He's the best Occlumens I've ever met—sorry, love—and he's teaching Harry a few tricks to be sure to keep Snakeface from bleeding out of his nightmares into real life."

"That's good at least. I can't even begin to imagine how he's dealing with everything that's happened to him. How either one of you has," she added with a worried look in her eyes.

"One day at a time, isn't that what you told me?"

"Sounds like the type of smart thing I'd say."

They shared a moment of comfortable silence until faint voices started making their way across their Firecall to Sirius. He could briefly make out the nasally voice of a woman before Alice's face morphed into a mask of annoyance and she disappeared from sight, only to come back seconds later.

"My boss," the word pushed itself through her teeth in obvious disdain, "is calling for me. She seems to have conveniently forgotten that today is my one day off and is demanding I tutor her lovely daughter. I'm sorry we have to cut this short," and she truly was sorry, Sirius could tell.

"Me, too. We'll see each other soon, though."

"Ten days?"

"Ten days," he promised.

"Bye, Black."

"Laters, Ali," he shamelessly brought his hand to his lips and blew her a kiss, delighting in the way her smile stretched uncontrollably across her face as she rolled her eyes at him.

The connection cut off and Sirius heaved himself out of his armchair, sweeping the ashes from the fireplace and replacing the empty bag of Floo powder on the mantelpiece. His body was one big creaking joint as he stretched out his arms over his head, speaking of an age far older than what he actually was—a product of his years in confinement, no doubt.

As he walked past the door leading to the ground floor dining room, muffled voices from inside had him coming to a stop. The door had been left open just a crack. He positioned himself so he wouldn't be seen but could still catch tendrils of what was being said.

"It's not working. I keep seeing through him in my dreams even though I always do the exercises you taught me," Harry was saying.

"I suspected as much," answered Dumbledore. "It is not simply a matter of a regular attack on the mind, after all. Voldemort is already in your head, whether he knows it yet or not, and it is likely that whilst you sleep and cease actively shutting him out, when you stop and let your mind rest and regroup, he gains access without even knowing it. The soul fragment he left in you, it's calling to the rest of itself. You will not be able to shut him out entirely when such a crucial part of him is essentially living inside you."

"But I can't keep going like this for much longer." A strangled noise escaped Harry, like the kind a trapped animal would make. "He only has his Death Eaters to entertain him right now and the things he does to them… You have no idea. Sometimes, I see everything and then other times it's like I'm in another room looking through a dirty window, but I can always feel what he does to them. It's my hand that casts those curses and it's his laugh that comes out of my mouth when they start to scream. I know it's not actually me that's doing those things," he breathed in deeply, "but that's what it feels like. Every time. And these, these are horrible people but they're still people and I don't know what will happen to me when he gets bored. He's in hiding, but he's not going to stay there forever so when he moves on to others? To innocent Muggles, Half-bloods, magical creatures, just for the fun of it?"

The silence stretched on for so long that Sirius thought the discussion had come to an end, but then he heard Harry whisper, "I don't know if I can survive that."

"We cannot remove the Horcrux without risking—"

"I know," said Harry, "I know. I just need something else, some sort of plan or solution for when he really starts up his crusade again. There has to be something."

"I will begin to truly search in earnest," said Dumbledore. "I plan on travelling for the remainder of the summer and I have acquaintances who know more about the intricacies of the human mind than I could ever hope to learn. If there is a solution to be found, I will find it."

"Until then?"

Sirius heard Dumbledore sigh heavily. "I can only advise that you continue the exercises I showed you and if you feel at some point that you need to truly rest to gather back your strength, then you may take a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion. However, I wish to impress upon you that only in the direst of cases should you resort to it. The potion is highly addictive. You would not realize the state you are in until it is far too late to turn back. Do not drink it for more than four consecutive nights and allow yourself only seven days of dreamless sleep a month. No risks, Harry."

"I don't need any more problems, Professor. I'll be careful."

"Be fearful."

A ping of a cup being set on its plate was followed by the light tread of footsteps on carpet.

Sirius hastily retreated around the corner of the hallway in time to hear the creak of the door as it was pulled open. Harry and Dumbledore exchanged pleasantries on the hall before Dumbledore walked away and left Harry standing alone.

Sirius watched as his godson remained rooted to the spot for a couple of moments, staring at a peeling spot of wallpaper. He suddenly jolted lightly and retrieved something from his pocket and held it out in front of him. His muttered 'hey' trailed after him as he left Sirius' line of sight and walked up the stairs.

Sirius headed in the opposite direction, going down the stairs to the basement which had been set up as a potions lab two generations of Blacks ago. He approached the brown liquid sizzling over the fire, pulled out the materials he'd need, and lost himself in the complicated steps for brewing Wolfsbane Potion.

His thoughtless peace came to an end too soon as he placed a lid over the cauldron and let his hands hang loosely at his sides with nothing left to do but wait for the brew to simmer. He collapsed on a wooden stool and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes.

It worried him that Harry's sleep dilemma apparently went a lot deeper than simple nightmares. At least with his own night terrors, Sirius knew exactly what to expect and he had the comfort (it didn't count for much, if he was being honest, but it was there) of knowing that whatever he was reliving had already happened to him—it was in the past now and there was nothing he could do to change it. There were things that still haunted him to this day, both old and new, and he had seen them replayed in his head too many times to count, but he didn't think he could be caught off guard anymore.

Harry faced a new, unknown horror every night when he closed his eyes. And whatever he was shown in his dreams, he had to wake up and spend the rest of his day, his life, knowing that somewhere out there what he had seen had actually happened. The hand that that he lifted to torture and kill, the rush that he felt when his victims would shout and plead for their lives—that wasn't him, but that's how it felt like to him. And he could do nothing about it.

"I'm always failing you, Prongs," Sirius spoke to the ceiling. "I couldn't help Harry before because I was in prison for being a clueless, trusting idiot and now that I'm here, I might as well not be for all the good it does Harry." He let his head fall back until it hit the concrete wall. "I don't know how to help him this time. I don't think there's anything I can do and I'm so sorry. So, so sorry."

He told himself he hadn't been expecting it: the cold draft that would rush into the room and rustle the papers on the table until one of them got too close to the flame under the cauldron and caught fire, its smoke rising curiously in the shape of branching plumes that could be mistaken for antlers and that's how he would know he was being given a sign.

But there was no fire in the basement. It remained just as it was when Sirius had walked in and he'd been expecting that. He'd known.

He stayed down there until the sun went down.

Since his first official foray into the Ministry of Magic after Crouch's body was found, and then again when he was called in for questioning on Cedric's death, Harry had optimistically (if foolishly) thought he'd seen the last of the Wizengamot courtrooms.

A door slammed somewhere down the hall and the sound carried to Harry's little procession group, bouncing off the wall like the ball in a pinball machine—the type he'd never been allowed to play because his aunt could never see the point in wasting her husband's hard earned money on two minutes of button clicking. A difficult concept for a five year old to understand when Dudley was three feet away feeding coins into the machine like he had an endless supply. (Which, in a way, he did.)

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," cooed the automated voice in the elevator.

Remus pressed the button for their floor and shuffled to the very back of the metallic structure. He dropped his chin to his chest and kept his arms folded in front of himself, another innocuous passenger.

"Third floor: Potions, Herbs and Magical Ingredients Regulatory Department."

A blonde woman joined them wearing a bucketful of perfume over a green dress. As the doors clanged shut, she tensed, which put Harry on alert. Behind her, Remus had gone curiously still and seemed to be holding his breath, his body shrinking into itself with every inhale-exhale motion. Harry shifted until he formed a barrier of clothes and flesh between the mystery woman and Remus, but if anything, that seemed to put her on higher guard and she punched in the number for the coming floor.

"Sixth floor: Magical Inventions, Patents and Business Development Department."

The doors had barely slid open when the woman sucked in her gut and pushed herself through the gap, heels skidding on the floor with a shrill squeak as she rounded the corner in record time.

"What was that?" asked Harry.

"She was an Animagus," said Remus, "feline from the smell of it, though I can't tell you what type."

"Is that why she ran away like the hounds of Hell were on her tail?"

"She must've caught my scent, the werewolf."

Harry's head swivelled on his shoulders. "Animagi can do that? Even when they're not in their animal form?"

"It takes practice, fleshing out your Animagus senses enough that you're able to hone in on them when you're not changed. Or so I'm told." There was a weight, a bitterness, to that statement that Harry decided was best left alone. He was hardly the first person to go to for dealing with personal demons, after all.

A ping of a bell and they were marching down identical grey halls to courtroom 27. Harry's fingertips had barely grazed the surface of iron glazed wood before the doors swung open on their own and they were herded in from behind by a group of wizards in deep purple robes.

The courtroom was alive with conversation between seat partners and mumbled pardons from newcomers pushing over others and trodding on their feet on their way to find their assigned bench. More than a couple of witches and wizards caught sight of Harry as he sat down at the gallery and word spread until everyone had had their own quick look at the Boy Who Lived attending his murderous godfather's trial.

The chamber was rounded in structure, like a mini-colosseum, with short wooden walls separating the benches from the open area right in the centre where a chair was already waiting for its occupant. Madame Bones sat at the head of the room directly opposite the door. Members of the Wizengamot surrounded her in rows of royal purple. These ended at two separate partitions on opposite sides of the chamber where they turned into galleries for the newspapers and visitors.

Harry held back a shudder as he spotted Rita Skeeter in the media sector. Her hungry eyes had latched onto him as well, ensnaring him through her horn-rimmed glasses. Her crimson lips curled into a leisurely smirk which she licked at with a pointed tongue, all the while keeping eye contact with Harry. A white light tickled the corner of Harry's glasses and Skeeter let him go with one last sly smile.

The light had come from two Patronuses (a squirrel and a pigeon) conjured by the two Aurors flanking a Dementor as it led a restrained Sirius to the middle of the room. Seeing his godfather escorted into the room by one of the monsters that had plagued his every waking moment for twelve years, Harry was glad they had listened to him when he said Sirius should only hand himself in a day before the trial. He hoped the Dementor had only been summoned for transport, if it had done anything to Sirius…

Though his feet were bound in chains and shackled to the ground, Sirius' hands were left free once Madame Bones waved the Aurors and the Dementor away. Minister Fudge kept shooting uneasy glances at Madame Bones but either she didn't see them or she chose to ignore them.

There were bursts of light and plumes of grey smoke as photographers took their pictures of the historic scene. It wasn't long before Madame Bones called it all to a stop and silence fell in the chamber.

"This hearing has been arranged to decide upon the guilt or innocence of Sirius Orion Black, heir apparent to the Royal and Noble House of Black. Fourteen years ago, on November 1st, 1981, he was found guilty of twelve counts of murder, two counts of assisted murder," —Harry felt his stomach give an uncomfortable lurch and lodge in his throat— "one count of assisted attempted murder, and allegiance to the terrorist group known as the Death Eaters, the punishment for which was a lifetime in Azkaban without trial.

"However, the recent emergence of new evidence has called this ruling into question and we will be reviewing said information today to put this issue to rest once and for all," Madame Bones eyed each and every member of the Wizengamot, as though challenging them to question her ultimatum. "We shall begin by hearing the witness testimonies from close to fourteen years ago."

A tall woman marched into the centre of the room with a trunk rolling behind her. She stopped a couple of feet in front of Sirius, paying him no mind as she made a white pedestal appear out of thin air and ducked down to unearth a pensieve and a rack of vials from the trunk.

"Once the testimonies are over, we will hear from Mr Black himself as we should have done all those years ago. After which the questioning may begin."

If Harry weren't so busy worrying over his godfather, he would've found it in him to be amused when an assembly of old wizards cowered under Madame Bones' severe and pointed stare.

The tall witch had sat down the pensieve and pulled out a vial of dark, gaseous liquid which she allowed to spill into the bowl before adding the telling, swirling mass of a memory. She pulled out her wand, shot off a spell, and the inside of an office was projected into the air above their heads for everyone in the room to see.

"Witness testimony of Emily Jane Waterstone, sole surviving witness of the explosion on Jameson Street," announced the witch before retreating from the limelight.

It was a woman in her mid-forties, Harry would guess. She looked like she could've been a mother, out on a last minute shopping expedition to buy her son's favourite snack to take to school the next day, when she got caught in something out of her world. She spoke of seeing two men facing off on a street full of people, shouting at each other ("James and Lily! How could you!"), before the smallest of the two pulled out a stick and an explosion rocked her peaceful neighbourhood. And then only one man was left, cackling to himself in the newly formed crater.

Rita Skeeter's pen was skating across her notebook in furious scribbles. Harry breathed a small sigh of relief that the wretched Quick-Quotes Quill was nowhere in sight. The testimony had come to an end, the tall witch came back to remove the pensieve and get rid of the pedestal while Madame Bones watched impassively, only moving to look down and take notes.

"Mr Black, it is now your turn to give your statement on your version of events fourteen years ago," said Madame Bones. "No one is to interrupt until Mr Black is done speaking. Only once he is done recounting his story may the members of this court pose their own questions to the accused. Mr Black, begin."

Sirius cleared his throat and straightened himself out on the chair as best he could with his ankles bound into position. Harry watched him as he took in the room face by face and it was at that moment that he realized there was someone missing from the Wizengamot. Dumbledore was nowhere to be found. Harry clenched his teeth and fought to keep his thoughts from showing on his face as his godfather began to tell a captivated audience exactly what had happened to him that night. His voice wavered and broke off mid-sentence on more than one occasion but he soldiered through and the words he'd been keeping inside for more than a century came rushing out like the largest and heaviest of waterfalls.

Harry tuned out the moment Sirius recounted arriving at Godric's Hollow. He retreated to that place in his mind—the safe one—that he visited whenever he meditated. He didn't bother resurfacing until he couldn't hear his godfather's voice anymore, only the scratching of quills on paper framed by soft mutters.

"Mr Black," said a man with a thick moustache, "suppose we believe that it was not you who sold out the Potters to You Know Who or spied for him during the war. How do you expect us to believe that in a fit of rage fuelled by the betrayal of one of your closest friends, you did not attempt to take out your revenge on Peter Pettigrew, but failed and killed twelve muggles in the process?"

"I did not cast any type of spell or curse that would've been able to cause such an explosion," said Sirius, hands gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned as white as the bone underneath.

"Then all we have to do is retrieve Mr Black's wand from evidence and perform a Priori Incantati," called out a witch with a tight bun pulling back the hair on her head who reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall. "Auror Jones, do us a favour and bring Mr Black's wand down to us post-haste. We've wasted enough time already."

A pointed cough demanded the court's attention and every eye in the room swivelled to Minister Fudge who, for the first time since Harry met him, looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"I'm terribly sorry to be the one to inform you that that will not be possible, Madame Adley. At the time of Mr Black's escape from Azkaban, it was decided by myself and a number of advisors that Mr Black's wand should be snapped as a measure of security were he ever able to find a way to infiltrate the Ministry. He would've been infinitely more powerful and dangerous with his own wand," said Fudge.

Madame Bones' nostrils visibly flared, emitting a heavy flush of air as she glowered a thousand curses upon the Minister of Magic.

"I am the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she hissed. "Why was I not consulted? Who could've possibly been better suited to make such a decision than the representative chosen to lead the department of justice?" Her hand slammed down on the podium and the crack of skin against wood had the people gathered dissolving into their seats and averting their eyes. "Putting aside that Sirius Black's wand is now a vital element to this investigation, it was also a precious piece of history. Voldemort's," —Fudge winced— "right hand man. The Potter's betrayer. The man who led Voldemort to his death… You're telling me his wand has been destroyed?"

Pinned under the force of her glare, Fudge ran his tongue across his lips and said, "Yes, Madame Bones."

In response, she appeared to be at a loss for words. She stared at the Prime Minister as he squirmed in his chair and could only bring himself to hold eye contact for so long before he darted his gaze away.

"Very well," she said, coldly. "It appears that through fault of the Ministry itself, this matter cannot be resolved just yet. I therefore call upon the presence of Peter Pettigrew as the only other witness left able to recount what occurred."

The same Aurors who had escorted Sirius left their posts by the door and followed the witch's request.

"You can't take that rat's word for anything, Madame," said Sirius. "He will lie his way through this just like he did his entire life and—"

"You are speaking out of turn," snapped Madame Bones. "This court was made a mockery of once, before my time here, and I will not allow it to happen during my term in office. We are following court procedure to the letter and you will get your turn to speak once more but in the meantime, we shall hear from Mr Pettigrew."

Her orders left no room for argument and Harry was awash with a wave of respect for the woman. It was clear she only cared for politics as far as it pertained to carrying out justice and with a woman like her on Sirius' case, maybe there was a reason for hope after all.

The two Aurors walked in with Pettigrew bound and held between them. When the wizard lifted his head from his chest and caught sight of his surroundings, he let out a pathetic wail and pulled at the Aurors' arms with all his strength.

"N-no no no, please! You can't do this to me. He'll kill me. I can't be here! Sirius Black is right there! Arrest him! Take him to Azkaban! What are you waiting for?"

A wave of magic pushed Sirius' seat to the side to make room for an identical chair for Pettigrew. One of the Aurors—a young woman with purple hair—whispered something in Pettigrew's ear as she sat him down that caused him to begin his struggles anew, but it was too late. A glow from the cuffs around his wrists and ankles assured Harry that he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, no matter which form he took.

Pettigrew's sobs continued to render his presence unbearable. A glimpse in Madame Bones' direction had Harry certain the woman was not in the least bit impressed by the performance. As she called the court to order, he let his attention stray to his godfather.

Sirius had turned to veritable stone. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, knees poised at perfect ninety degree angles. His back was ramrod straight and he was resolutely staring forward, eyes trained on nothing in particular as he fought against every instinct that was likely telling him to break free and kill the man seated to his right.

We're so close, thought Harry. So close to attaining what little justice Sirius should have been granted years ago, but one look at his godfather now, at the mania slowly peeking out from the corner of his steel eyes, and Harry didn't think they would stand a chance.

Madame Bones introduced Pettigrew to the court over the sound of his cries. As he'd been presumed dead for the past decade, there was no one to call forward to interview on his behalf and she wasted no time moving onto the questioning.

"Lying to the court of the Wizengamot is a punishable offence extending from monetary fines to a sentence at Azkaban," she said. "I therefore urge you to think carefully on what you are going to say as any discrepancies or suspicious behaviour will have dire consequences. Do you understand, Mr Pettigrew?" The couple of hairs sitting atop his head wobbled as he nodded. "Then we shall begin. Is it true that you faked your own death on the night of October 31st, 1981? If so, why?"

"Y-yes. I did it because I feared for my life if I didn't manage to convince Sir—Mr Black that he had killed me when he tried. I'm sure he would've c-come after me again," Pettigrew sniffled.

"Sirius Black was in prison for twelve years before he made his escape. Why did you not reveal yourself before when the Ministry could have offered you protection?"

"I-I knew that he'd find me eventually if I told others I was alive. Not even Az-Azkaban was able to keep him contained. I didn't want to end up like—" Pettigrew hiccuped and lowered his voice to little more than a whisper, "—like James and Lily."

The names hadn't fully escaped his thin lips before Sirius was spitting out curses and throwing out insults into the air as he fought against the restraints protecting Pettigrew from his wrath.

"You don't get to say their names!" he screamed. "You lost that fucking right the second you sold them out to Voldemort, you disgusting piece of human filth. You think you know fear! Pain! I've had twelve years of rotting in a cage thinking about all the things I would do to you the second I got out.

"And then I saw you there, in the paper. Alive. I knew exactly what I had to do. I was going to protect my godson and if the only way to do that was to get rid of you," —Sirius' mouth twisted into something cruel and foreign to Harry— "well… two birds."

"Mr Black, that is quite enough—"

"It will never be enough!"

Madame Bones pushed her chair back and braced herself on her desk. "Control yourself, or I will—"

"Throw me in Azkaban again?" Sirius taunted her. "I'll tell you one thing: at least this time you've got me guilty of something, but I don't know if it counts when the only reason I'm here is because of your past mis—"

"Sirius!"

Harry didn't know he'd stood up until every eye in the room turned to him and he had to fight the urge to slink back into his chair.

"Sirius, please. You—you can't just… This is your only chance. Please," Harry pleaded.

It was like a switch was flipped. That manic impulse residing in the outskirts of Sirius' mischievousness was pushed aside and when the lights came back on behind those greying eyes, there was nothing left but the broken remains of a once young man still stuck behind bars. Harry saw everything that his godfather had been trying to hide behind a carefully engineered mask for the past year. It felt like a warning, if not a premonition, but he didn't know for whom.

Harry lowered himself back onto his seat. An uncomfortable stillness had fallen. Madame Bones was appraising Sirius from the head of the room.

"This case is a highly delicate matter. There is no precedent for a situation like this one," she began, "but I'm feeling generous enough to forgive your outburst, Mr Black. This one time, you will not be held in contempt of court. Any further disruption—from anyone—will not be forgiven a second time. Understood?"

Sirius' voice was hoarse when he said, "Yes, Madame. Thank you."

She had already turned away from him before he could finish his sentence and had trained her eyes on a suspiciously quiet Pettigrew. With her full attention resting on him, he didn't remain that way for long.

"You see now, why I've hid all these years? Azkaban hasn't done him any favours. He's even more bloodthirsty now than he used to be and it cost us Lily and James last time." Pettigrew's nose twitched and his body tensed as he said their names. Harry bit back a curse and prayed Sirius didn't fall for the bait. "No one's safe, M-Madame. Least of all me."

"So you've said before. Explain to me, why did Sirius Black come after you the night of the attack?"

"W-what?" Pettigrew stammered. "He wanted to kill me! He'd already killed—"

"By the time Mr Black showed up near your home, Voldemort had been dead for hours. With no master to report to, knowing he'd be questioned the instant he was found, why did he think that it would be a good idea to chase after you? Why cause an uncontrollable explosion on the off chance that it would kill you, when he already knew of your Animagus ability? What was so special about you?"

"I don't—what do you—that isn't…" Pettigrew squinted through the sweat dripping into his eyes. "I-I have no idea what was running through his head. He's Dark! His whole family before him was Dark wizards and witches, it's in his blood."

"I think," murmured Madame Bones, "that there's more to this story than what you are telling us. As it stands, your version of events leaves us with more questions than it provides answers. Will you continue to lie, Mr Pettigrew, or are you prepared to tell the truth?"

A murmur of voices took up the silence left behind by Madame Bones' statement. Pettigrew's mouth hung open like a marionette with its strings cut. The voices of the Wizengamot grew louder as they observed the man slowly lose the colour in his face until Harry half expected to see the colour start seeping out of his clothes as well.

"I swe-swear to you, Madame," chittered Pettigrew, "I don't know what you could possibly mean. I've told you everything I know, I—"

Madame Bones stopped him with a wave of her hand. "Very well. All those in favour of administering Veritaserum on Peter Pettigrew, raise your hand."

More than two thirds of the court raised their hands in the air. Harry couldn't believe it as a wizard was sent to fetch the potion. Pettigrew seemed to be caught somewhere between abject horror and outright disbelief, but he came to life once more when the vial was poised before him.

It took three Aurors to administer the correct dosage on the man—one to hold his head, the other to pinch his nose, and the third to keep count of the translucent drops as they fell into his gasping mouth. The effect was almost immediate, Pettigrew's cries abruptly cut off, as though he'd run out of sounds to let out, and his face went completely slack, devoid of any expression.

"Disclose to the court everything you know about the night of Voldemort's attack on the Potters and the deaths of those twelve Muggles," wheezed an old, bespectacled wizard.

Harry felt his heart beating an unsteady rhythm in the back of his throat. He looked at Sirius and saw that the man had become a stone gargoyle. He was sitting perfectly still, but everything about his face spoke of desperation and a strange sort of hunger as he refused to take his eyes off his former friend.

"The Dark Lord had become impatient…"

Pettigrew proceeded to reveal years' worth of secrets and lies to the full British wizarding court. The potion didn't let him spare any details. His inflammatory words were in great contrast to his monotone voice, so much so that half the people present could not seem to quite grasp the magnitude of what they were hearing until it flew right past them and they were left with their arms in the air in a frantic attempt to gather up all the scattered pieces.

"I knew something had gone wrong when he didn't return. While other Death Eaters went in search of him, I returned home to gather my things before Sirius could find me. He was the only one other than James and Lily who knew about the switch in Secret Keeper.

"We were friends," said Pettigrew, "he thought something had happened to me to make me talk, so it was easy to catch him off guard. I blamed him for their deaths, cut off my finger to make it look like it was all there was left of me, exploded the street, and escaped down the sewers as a rat. I didn't have to travel very far before Bill Weasley found me and took me to his house. I stayed there."

His confession over, Pettigrew slumped to the side like the only thing holding him up had been the pile of secrets he had kept. The room heaved in an exhausted breath. Witches and wizards took off their glasses to pinch the bridge of their noses and stave off the oncoming headaches for a moment longer. Minister Fudge picked up his bowler hat from the ground and used it to fan air to his face. He waved away the offer of a pink handkerchief.

"They have to let him go now, right?

Remus turned at Harry's question and took a moment to think, then said, "I don't know. There is no precedent for how a case like this should go. Sirius was wrongfully imprisoned, but he also escaped Azkaban to kill Pettigrew—that's premeditation of a murder, no matter the reasoning behind it."

"He wouldn't have tried to do anything if he hadn't been imprisoned in the first place," hissed Harry.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Remus defended. "Let's hope everyone sees it the same way, too."

Around them, members of the Wizengamot had abandoned their seats in favour of clamouring over the rows of chairs to reach the main floor, where they congregated at the foot of Madame Bones' judge's platform. The woman was being cornered in from all sides by senior members of the government demanding her attention and begging for guidance. A cluster of purple sparks burst in the air with a bang, startling the room into silence.

"Hardly the day to come in late to an appointment, I gather," said Professor Dumbledore. "Just as well that I already knew what it was about, wouldn't want to look the fool in court."

Dumbledore strode in without a care in the world. Harry caught himself before he leaned over to check the old wizard's feet and see if he wasn't actually gliding into the room.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," said Madame Bones. She blinked and it was like seeing a puzzle put itself together again. "Everybody get back to your seats—this is court, not a carnival show," she snapped.

One by one, everyone returned to their places. A chair had been left vacant to Madame Bones' right where Dumbledore would soon take his place.

Still under the influence of Veritaserum, Pettigrew did not react when Dumbledore walked past him, but Harry didn't miss the quick look exchanged between him and Sirius. And neither, apparently, did Madame Bones, for she quirked an eyebrow and tracked the headmaster's steps until he was seated next to her.

"It is high time we reached a ruling," she stated. "Fourteen years ago, we thought this matter to be an open and shut case and now we learn that we could not have been further from the truth. Be it fourteen, sixty or a hundred years later, justice will be served. Headmaster Dumbledore, you have been apprised of the situation thus far and are ready to participate in the ruling?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Hem-hem."

If Harry looked deep enough into his subconscious, he was sure he'd be able to unearth long forgotten dreams where a powerful, well-placed Silencing Spell had gotten rid of that saccharine cough for all eternity. He hadn't recognized her before without her garish clothing, but the woman peeking out from behind the Prime Minister was someone he'd never forget.

"Excuse me, Madame Bones, I know I have no authority as the mere Secretary to the Prime Minister of Magic—"

"Quite right, Dolores," Madame Bones interrupted. "It is only as a personal courtesy to the Prime Minister that you are allowed in these chambers at all."

"Oh yes," Umbridge giggled, the sound of burnt sugar. "You see, I was just wondering whether the court would be discussing Mr Black's other, more recent crimes, or if that would be saved for another hearing."

"Other crimes."

"Quite right, my dear. After all, I would assume breaking out of prison to commit murder, then infiltrating a public school and evading arrest would count as crimes, yes?"

"Are you daft, woman?" said Sirius. "The only reason I did any of those things was because I was thrown in prison for something I didn't even do. And the actual person responsible? He was living his life hiding as a rat in a family home. He was still at large and possibly looking for an opportunity to finish what his precious master had started. If you had done your job right in the first place—"

"I would watch my tone, Mr Black. It sounds like you're speaking very brazenly against the Ministry of Magic," said Umbridge.

"You're damn right I am." Sirius melted into his chair, leaned his head back against the headrest and quirked an eyebrow in challenge. "Whatcha gonna do now? Throw me in Azkaban again?"

Umbridge's cheeks were stained pink and her lips curled back, showing off two rows of small, gleaming white teeth. "This is the Ministry's court of law—"

"Over which I preside," Madame Bones raised her voice to have it carried over Umbridge's. "Dolores, you are out of bounds. Mr Black was speaking out of turn as well, but he is right. If he is found innocent, any crimes he committed attempting to rectify our government's mistake will be revised privately." Madame Bones' tone sharpened to needle points. "If you cannot keep your commentary to yourself, I will have you escorted out. Secretary to the Prime Minister or not, you will not disrupt my court."

Umbridge stared at Madame Bones and said nothing. The other woman kept her gaze steady and did not let up until, with gritted teeth and a brittle smile, Umbridge relented and inclined her head in submission.

"We are voting."

A man hidden in the back of the room licked the end of his quill and made it hover over his piece of parchment. He nodded at Madame Bones as she turned to the room at large.

"Those who believe Mr Black is still guilty of the crimes he was charged with, raise your wand."

A handful of people raised their wands. Harry noted that most were men who looked to be older than his godfather. It would not surprise him in the least if he were looking at a good portion of the ministry officials who claimed to have been imperiused during Voldemort's reign.

"Those who believe Mr Black to be innocent, raise your wands."

Madame Bones did not wait to finish her sentence before lifting her wand in the air. Harry held his breath as dozens of other members of the court followed suit and blinked back the orange spots clouding his vision.

Across the room, the media representatives were visibly getting restless as they waited for the formalities to come to an end. A couple of photographers had taken their cameras in hand and were subtly trying to push their way to the front of the gallery where they would get an unimpeded view of the spectacle. Harry eyed Rita Skeeter with open unease as she purposefully snapped her purse shut and sat it down in the middle of the passageway leading to the front rows. She saw him looking at her and smirked.

"The majority has spoken—Sirius Orion Black is innocent. He will be declared as such immediately to the public and will receive a formal apology from the Ministry of Magic, along with monetary compensation for this egregious error." Madame Bones slammed her gavel on the block and Harry felt the blow go straight to his head, stealing his breath away. "As for Mr Pettigrew, his trial will be held three weeks from now. In the meantime, Auror Tonks, release Mr Black from his restraints, he is now a free man."

Tonks tripped over her own feet three times in the short walk to reach Sirius' side. The chains fell to the ground with a clang and Tonks held onto Sirius' arm as she helped him to his own two feet. Flashes of light began to go off and blinded Harry so that he barely glimpsed Tonks as she grabbed onto his godfather's hand and whispered something in his ear which had him shake his head and bring up the back of her hand for a kiss.

A second Auror came up to the pair, bidding Tonks to step aside, though she kept pace with her partner as they cleared a path through the throng of reporters and marched Sirius out of the room. Harry made a move to follow them out.

"Not yet. You see how entertained they are with Sirius alone? I don't think you want to see what will happen if you stand up and remind them The Boy Who Lived is here and just so happens to be Sirius Black's godson." Remus' lips were pressed into a thin line while he dutifully made himself as inconspicuous as possible as witches and wizards of all ages rushed past them to take part in the show.

Harry sat back down and waited as the room was emptied out around him, his knee bouncing up and down of its own accord. The room cleared and the two wizards finally exited the courtroom. They weaved through narrow and broad hallways, carefully turning in the opposite direction when their ears alerted them to groups headed their way. They eventually made it to the atrium and though a couple of people slowed their stride when they recognized Harry, no one stood in their way when they stepped into a fireplace and were swallowed up by the green flames.