Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.
Note: Some different POV's this chapter.
Chapter Eight | Freedom
Albus Dumbledore. The Leader of the Light, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was sitting in his office wondering where the hell it all went wrong.
He was mystified, shocked, flummoxed. That the boy- no, the girl would speak to him in such a way. Helene, not Harry, he corrected himself, had just invited every single free Death Eater in existence to wipe her from the face off the Earth. He couldn't understand why she would do such a thing, why she would destroy the wards (forgetting the fact that it was done unintentionally) when they were the only thing keeping her truly safe. After everything Dumbledore had done for her, she would go and spit on it like it never even mattered.
Surely, he mused, her living conditions may not have been the best, but they weren't terrible, were they? She'd have grown up humble, understanding and empathetic towards the downtrodden of society. The lost and forgotten. She would recognize the need for redemption, that everyone deserves a second chance.
Well, she would have understood all of that if she didn't blow up the wards, he mentally fumed.
Dumbledore believed the Greengrasses to be the source of her rebellion. Filling her head with mistaken ideas, telling her that she was abused or some other such nonsense. Not to mention the political power that she'd lost, just by becoming a she. A girl as the wizarding worlds saviour? Ridiculous, he thought. It's the powerful wizards that make the history books, not the witches. It was Merlin, not Merlinia, who is still remembered today. Morgana? She went down as a destroyer, a Dark Lady for the ages.
No, a powerful witch would never go over well in wizarding Britain, a country so mired in prejudice and deceit. They'd never stand a chance.
The shattered blood ward stone, or whatever scarce remnants of the rare artifact that Dumbledore could reclaim lay on his desk, silently taunting him, a reminder of his shortcomings with the Potter girl. He'd long since tucked away the remainder of the tracking tools and other assorted monitoring devices he once had scattered around his office, emitting the errant puff of coloured smoke, or whirring and chirping in a myriad of different ways. They were no longer of use to him, as they were tied to Harry Potter, not Helene Potter.
He had no chance of recasting the spells required to attune the devices to the young girl, not unless he tried to attain her permission, and even Dumbledore was not so oblivious to believe that she would allow him to do such a thing.
What in the world is that girl doing? He wondered. Should he reveal to her his plans? How he wishes to guide her to be the best of the best? To rise up above the rest of her peers and take her rightful place as his heir? The future Leader of the Light? He scratched his wrinkled head, frowning at the few snowy flakes of dandruff that fluttered slowly to his desk. He added a change in shampoo to his mental checklist for the week. The stress of his many positions was starting to become even more of a nuisance for him than it used to be, and he felt as if he'd aged a decade over the last couple of years.
The future return of Voldemort, the incompetence of Cornelius Fudge, the hen-like nattering of the Wizengamot and their ridiculously nonsensical laws, how they squabbled like trophy wives over the smallest of issues or perceived slights. He was getting much too old for all of that.
He paused, returning to the idea of revealing to the Potter girl his plans, to explain all. Well, not all. She obviously couldn't know about the festering sore she carried on her forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. The lightning bolt was an apt symbol for such a thing. The sign of cataclysm, destruction, causing ruin in the blink of an eye.
Thoughts of the elements caused Dumbledore to look back on the conversation-turned-argument he'd had with the girl, marveling at her display of powerful wandless magic. She'd commanded the wind, and while unintentional it was still a feat of power and control over magic that even he would be hard pressed to accomplish even whilst completely focused. Perhaps that could be the power he knows not? He speculated, still unsure of the specifics behind the prophecy.
Fawkes crooned, a low yet happy note, attempting to pull up the spirits of his bonded, the wizard he tied himself too so many years ago.
"I'm at a loss my friend," Dumbledore responded, sadly gazing up at his long-time companion.
Fawkes tilted his head, singing once more before flying off, leaving the wizened Headmaster to his own devices.
Dumbledore thought about contacting McGonagall to keep an eye on the girl, to make sure that she doesn't stray too far from her path. Of course, McGonagall would not be aware of the true reason behind her observances, she'd never give him the time of day if she was told why he wanted her watched. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, absentmindedly grazing his hands across the armrest of his throne, fingernails scratching lightly against the thin veneer that coated it.
He hopped out of his seat, shoes clicking quietly against the stone floor of his office, worn smooth over the centuries. He strode towards his private fireplace, grabbing a pinch of greenish sandy powder and tossing it into the flames. Sticking his head through the now emerald fire, he called for Minerva, requesting her presence.
"Give me a moment please," she replied, hidden out of sight. He could still hear the muffled shuffling of parchment and familiar sound of sliding drawers as she finished whatever she was working on. Albus felt a pang of nostalgia, missing for a moment the act of teaching, along with how much simpler and easier the parchmentwork was.
After a few moments McGonagall stepped through the flames, quickly taking her usual seat and cocking her eyebrow, wondering what Dumbledore needed her for. It was not very often that she or any of her peers were called away from their work, normally left to their own devices and self-managed.
Albus began his request, detailing his worries for Helene and his hope that McGonagall may be able to watch her in the hopes that if anything went wrong with her, be it homesickness or the inability to cope with such a sudden suite of changes in her life, that McGonagall would come to him.
She accepted his request without complaint, understanding of the need to make sure that the girl adjusted to the new world she found herself in. After the two old friends spent an hour or so chatting absentmindedly over a pot of tea, McGonagall returned to her office, unaware that she had just been drafted to spy on a girl who simply wished to live her own life as she saw fit.
-::-
I run through my mental checklist, going through the steps I'll need to take to make absolutely sure Sirius is home free by the end of the school year.
First, I need to get the Marauders map from the twins. I'm sure I can manage it through a quick name drop, telling them that I'm the daughter of Prongs, come to claim my birthright or some other such nonsense. The grander I describe it, the better. Those two live for that kind of shit.
Second, I need to nab Pettigrew, stun the little bastard, and find a way to get into contact with the DMLE immediately after I have him contained. I know that they should be here some time soon, as Octavius is going to have them investigate the third-floor corridor, and unless the ministry is even more corrupt than I know them to be, that should provide the ticket to freedom that Sirius needs.
Third, I should start working on my plan to reveal Quirrel and his hitchhiker. I can hopefully kill two birds with one stone and get that done when the aurors sweep through Hogwarts on Octavius' tip. I'll have to find a way to start a confrontation with him, although I could probably just mention to the aurors that he helped me find Pettigrew, go up to shake his hand, and watch the guy melt into a puddle in the middle of the Great Hall.
Sounds like an excellent plan. I can see the Daily Prophet headlines now. Voldemort Vanquished (Again)! Vaporized by Girl-Who-Lived! Doubtful that they would say it was Voldemort though. Even with my stakes in the newspaper, the controlling shares are split between the Ministry and Lucius Malfoy, and they would never allow that to be printed.
Fourth…ly? I don't know. I have to figure out what the hell is up with my wandless magic abilities. Ever since the boat ride to Hogwarts I've been able to actually feel and control the flow of magic around me. I don't know if it's some sort of glorified telekinesis or if it could be something more, but I'm going to have to head to the Room of Requirement when I have the chance and tinker around with this as it looks to be quite destructive. I can't exactly relegate my training to an abandoned classroom and then have half the school showing up wondering why I blew a hole in the castle walls. Looking back on things, that outburst in Dumbledore's office was absolutely beyond me, and even he looked flummoxed to see such a display.
Ever since that little incident, McGonagall has been practically stalking me and it's making it impossible to get any work done. Not school work of course, that's a walk in the park. Hell, I'm not even talking about work at all. I just find it absolutely infuriating that she's constantly breathing down my neck about this and that. She never showed this much concern the last time I was in first-year. I blame Dumbledore. I assume it was him that requested she keep an eye on me. I feel bad for her, she probably thinks she's just watching me to make sure that I'm enjoying my first year at Hogwarts, yet she's been forced into becoming an unknowing spy for the man in the ivory tower. Looks like I'm not going to be approaching her for transfiguration tutoring.
To be honest, this year would be the absolute dullest experience in the world if it wasn't for my new drive to study and live up to the legend of the girl-who-lived. The extra-curricular lessons with Flitwick are fantastic. Blew the little guys mind last week with my patronus, and I told him I'd been practicing in my spare time. I swear he was about to have a heart attack when he saw the thestral leap out of my wand, I know I nearly did.
It hurt me quite deeply to see my patronus change. I always held onto the stag as a connection to my dad, a remnant of his love that I could always carry with me. The thestral is more… apt for who I am now, but I'll still always miss the stag.
I catch a sudden glance of bright red hair bobbing through the halls out of the corner of my eye, spinning to chase down the twins. "Hey, you two!" I shout, quickly glancing over my shoulder in the off chance that McGonagall is near by, before running over to Fred and George, smiling at them.
"Helene, my dear Helene. To what do we owe the pleasure?" George replies in a cheery manner, while Fred bows deeply, getting a chuckle out of me.
"Well, I have a proposition for you. If you're interested of course," I say, biting my lip when Fred and George both frown at me.
Fred looks to his brother, who shrugs confusedly. Fred returns a shrug of his own, leaning towards me, hand held to his mouth like he's sharing a conspiracy. "A proposition? Now what would this little firstie be offering us two lovely gentlemen?" he inquires, motioning towards himself and his brother.
"Well, I thought two gentlemen such as yourselves would be interested in one day learning from the best pranksters that have ever graced the halls of Hogwarts," I begin, my words thick with emphasis and grandiose to the point of absurdity. "These men were legends, are legends, the pinnacle of all things prank, the gallant Gods of… I haven't got a word that starts with G," I laugh, scratching my head.
"Gibes?" Fred asks.
"I believe that works," George adds.
"Step back a second, my dear brother. Does she mean who I think she means?"
"Yes brother, I do believe she does."
Beaming at each other they turn back to me, their noses nearly scraping the floor as they both bow deeply yet again.
Giggling I tell them to get up and stop making a scene. Unfortunately, that makes them cause an even bigger scene, George mockingly sobbing on Fred's shoulder, while Fred loudly announces to the world what a joyous day it is. I grab Fred by the arm and lead him into an empty classroom George following behind him. I look at the room for a moment, taking in the sparse furnishings, two old and weathered couches arrayed near the windows and a few long-forgotten desks stacked against the far wall. I take a seat, beckoning for them to as well.
"So, are you two interested?" I ask, crossing my arms and settling into a business-like manner.
"One hundred and ten percent my little friend," Fred jests. George turns towards his brother to argue. "One hundred and twenty is closer to the mark Fred."
"Should we settle on one hundred and fifteen George?"
"Good enough for me. Now, Miss Potter, me and my brother do wish to know who these legends you're speaking of are," he inquires excitedly, eyes shining in anticipation. "I believe you're speaking of the Marauders, perhaps?"
"Yes, I am," I confirm. "Specifically, Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs."
The two share a knowing glance, picking up the one marauder I've intentionally left out of the discussion, but choosing not to mention it. "Who are they?" George blurts, Fred exaggeratedly rolling his eyes at his brother.
"Severe lack of tact there, George."
"Oi!"
"Hey, quit your squabbling," I interrupt, smirking at their offended look. "I'll let you know after I get what I need from you two, specifically, I need the map." I feel a touch of relief when they look surprised, but don't start arguing with me. "I can tell you who Moony and Prongs are immediately, but you'll find out in a very public way soon after I receive the map who Padfoot is. I imagine you'll be very shocked when it all comes out."
The two begin to whisper, deliberating back and forth over whether or not to provide me with the map. They quietly argue, and I only catch the tail end of a few words that slip through their conversation. They pause, George hesitantly reaching into his pocket and handing over a ratty looking blank piece of parchment.
"Well, we already know all the secret passageways by heart, and it would be pretty rude of us to keep a family heirloom away from you," George laughs, casting a vaguely pained glance at the map as I take it from him.
"Please remember to introduce us to the Marauders after you wreak your havoc," Fred notes, a pleading look on his face as he continues. "You wouldn't want to double cross the terrible two? The most feared twins of all time? Would you dear Helene?"
Jokingly gasping in horror, I hold my hand over my heart. "Why I would never cross the second coming of the Marauders dear Fred. Wouldn't dream of it! I would have nightmares for weeks imagining what kind of revenge you two would come up with."
Snickering, the two of them get up go to shake my hand, Fred contorting his arm through George's elbow and under his wrist. Smiling at their antics I take both of their hands in each of my own and shake them excitedly.
"If you'll excuse me, I have to go and put this map to good use," I announce, sharing a knowing smile with them as I exit the room, my feet taking me through the castle towards Flitwick's office. I don't want to leave waiting for the DMLE to chance, as Pettigrew may jump ship if aurors suddenly show up at the school. I've got to take care of things right now, and Flitwick is the Professor I trust the most to help me with this.
I knock on his office door excitedly, hearing Flitwick's high-pitched voice crying out, "Please come in!" I open the door, knees nearly quivering in anticipation as I stride towards Flitwick's desk, map in hand. "Miss Potter! What brings you here today? I wasn't expecting you for another couple of days for our charms lessons," he asks, moving the pile of papers that he's grading aside, waving for me to join him.
I put my hand up, denying the invitation. "Professor Flitwick, I've discovered an old heirloom of my fathers, and I think you'd appreciate the charms work. More importantly, I think you'd be very curious to see what I found on it," I ramble, walking over to his side of the desk. I take the map out of my pocket, muttering, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," quietly under my breath before showing him the map.
Flitwick scans it, his expression pinched in confusion as he tries to work out what he's looking at. He suddenly makes an odd strangled noise, his eyes bugging out as he recognizes that he's got an interactive map of Hogwarts sitting in front of him. "What in the… this- this is absolutely incredible!" He gasps, pulling the map so close to his face his nose brushes against it. He stares a hole into it, studying every inch of the sheet, eyes flitting back and forth wildly. "You said your father made this?" he asks quietly, his gaze turned back to me.
"My father and his friends, Lupin, Black, and Pettigrew, back when they were at Hogwarts."
"Ah, yes. The famous Marauders," he drawls thoughtfully, scratching at his broad chin. "What were you saying? That I would find something curious? I can't imagine anything more curious than this wonderful little invention. You said that you found something on the map?"
"Yes, something very important. Before I show you, do know that the map cannot lie," I caution. Flitwick leans inward, smiling at me in reassurance. "Show me Peter Pettigrew."
Instantly, the map shifts. The tiny words and blots of ink that make up the map frantically racing across the sheet like startled ants. The letters crawl and twist over one another, rapidly zeroing in on the Gryffindor tower, specifically, the first-year boy's dormitory. The name Peter Pettigrew blinks slowly on the parchment, four tiny paws marking his location.
"Oh my," Flitwick breathes, his mouth agape. His eyes flick towards his fireplace. Quickly standing up, he races over, throwing some floo powder in and announcing, "Amelia Bones, Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
A woman's face appears in the flames, a mixture of concern and vague confusion making for a stern image. "Filius, what's going on over there?" She asks, the tone of her voice not matching with her hardened visage, so deep that its nearly contralto, yet distinctly effeminate.
"Amelia, could you please come through with two other aurors? Bring along the magic-suppression cuffs," he responds, having noticed the four paws marking Pettigrew as opposed to two shoes.
Raising an eyebrow questioningly she asks, "Minerva's lost it finally, hasn't she? Did she kill the Weasley twins?"
"No, nothing of the sort," Flitwick replies genially, gesturing to me. "My student, Miss Potter here, has discovered something extremely important." He pauses, his normally cheery voice strained and heavy. "She's discovered a wizard that we've long believed dead is not as dead as we thought."
Amelia nods briskly, her face disappearing from the flames for a minute before she strides through with two aurors in tow. I immediately notice the imposing form of Shacklebolt, not recognizing the other auror, an athletic looking man with a broad chin and short, messy brown hair.
"Hello Miss Potter, it's good to meet you," Amelia greets me, stepping forward to introduce herself and shake my hand. I stop to look at her, her name ringing a bell. My eyebrows raise imperceptibly when I recognize her as the woman who stood up for me at my farce of a trial before fifth-year. Her salt and pepper hair is cut to her chin, parted into a trim bob that's tucked neatly behind her ears. I'm suddenly very aware of how close she is to me, unable to stop a blush from rising to my cheeks. What a way to find out I have a thing for taller women. "What brings us here today?"
I cough awkwardly, hiding my face as I take the map back from Flitwick and present it to her, gaze locked to the ground as I explain how it works. I point out Pettigrew's name on the paper, and I can hear Amelia's jaw drop, looking up to see her paling face as she realizes what's going on.
"Robards, Shacklebolt, you're coming with me. Miss Potter, do you mind if I take that map with me?" She asks gently, yet assertively. I quickly accept, handing her the map without fuss.
"Please give that back to me when you're done with it, it was my father's." I hesitate, chewing the inside of my lip.
"Absolutely, although I would be curious if Filius here could attempt to replicate this map," she comments, crossing her arms and glancing at the Professor. "It's an incredible piece of work, and it would be quite helpful for the DMLE if we could have one or two copies in our possession."
"I'll see what I can do, as long as Helene here says it's alright," he inquires, looking over to me.
"I trust you Professor Flitwick. I'll let you take a look at it when Madame Bones and her associates here are done apprehending Pettigrew."
Amelia uncrosses her arms, making a complicated gesture with her right hand as she leaves the office. Shacklebolt, Robards, and Flitwick following close behind her, leaving me to wait on my own.
I sit and fidget for the next twenty minutes, waiting anxiously for the party to return.
I jump, startled as the door nearly flies off its hinges, banging loudly against the wall as the group rushes back into the office, Pettigrew floating behind them unconscious. It takes everything in me not to reflexively throw a curse at the bastard. Amelia recognizes my look of pain and anger, walking over to me and patting me on the back reassuringly.
She stoops down to her knees, looking me in the eyes as she hands the map back to me. "You've done the wizarding world a great service today Miss Potter. We're going to be taking Pettigrew back to headquarters." She gestures behind herself at the rat, wearing a mild look of disgust. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention, if there's nothing else that you need from us we'll be going now."
"A- anytime Madam Bones," I stutter, trying to hold back yet another blush. Christ! Hold it together Helene!
Amelia inclines her head and motions for the aurors to follow her, tossing some powder into the fireplace and marching back through to the DMLE.
"Well, that wasn't on my itinerary today, but you always manage to find a way to surprise me Miss Potter," Flitwick smirks, squeezing my arm. "Unfortunately, I can't give you any extra credit for helping apprehend a man long thought dead… but I'm sure the ministry will be able to work something out."
"I think I can live without the extra credit Professor," I laugh, smiling weakly. "I'm just happy to know that that rat is probably going to Azkaban for the rest of his life."
"What do you mean by that?" Flitwick asks, one bushy eyebrow raised high in the air.
"Isn't it obvious? If Pettigrew has been living in hiding for the last… what? Eleven years? That means Sirius Black is probably innocent. It means that Pettigrew is the piece of shit who betrayed my parents," I articulate, the last few words coming out in a low growl.
"Language, Miss Potter," he admonishes me, a grim look settling over his face. "If your guess is correct, there's been a serious miscarriage of justice."
"Yeah. Do you know who oversaw Sirius' trial?"
Flitwick thinks for a moment, humming quietly. "If I recall correctly it would have been Barty Crouch and the Headmaster. Yes, since Crouch was head of the DMLE, and Dumbledore is Chief Warlock, they would be the ones who would overseeing the trial." He purses his lips at that thought. "That can't be right, I've never known Albus to make such a serious mistake. Convicting an innocent man?"
"The Headmaster not making a serious mistake?" I say, pretending to be confused. "He's only human, it's not as if he's infallible, right? Nobody is," I admit, shoulders slumped. "I mean, he's the one who put me with the wrong guardians after my parent's death."
"What do you mean the wrong family?"
"Well, I've been living with my aunt for the last ten years, her muggle sister."
"Excuse me? You're living with Petunia, your mother's sister?" He frowns.
"You know her?" I exclaim, Flitwick tilting his head in response.
"I know her, although it's been a very long time since we last met."
"Well, apparently I was supposed to be taken in by the Greengrasses, since the Longbottoms weren't able to raise me." I rub my cheek, palming my jaw as I remember the circumstances behind that. "Not with their… condition. I only discovered over the holidays that my parents were good friends of the Greengrasses."
Shaking his head, Flitwick collapses into his seat. "I've met your mother's sister before, forgive me for asking you this. She isn't the most… affectionate person, is she?"
"Not particularly," I confirm. "Bit of a bint if you ask me, my uncle isn't much better."
Ignoring my description of Petunia, Flitwick continues, "And Albus was responsible for your living arrangements?"
"That's what he told me. I got into a bit of an argument with him the other day over it all. He was trying to ask me where I spent my holidays, although I thought it was a bit out of line for him to ask me that. He's the Headmaster, not my guardian. I don't really understand why he was so concerned over where I celebrate Christmas."
"He shouldn't be. If anyone should be concerned it would be me, as your head of house," Flitwick responds, before lightly smacking the desk and getting out of his seat. "Miss Potter, I'm going to go have a word with the Headmaster later this evening on your behalf." He glances at a large clock hanging from his wall. "I believe dinner will be starting soon, you should make your way to the Great Hall."
"Sure thing Professor, I'll see you for our lessons tomorrow?"
"That sounds excellent. I'll see you tomorrow Miss Potter," he sighs before smiling lightly at me.
Waving goodbye, I almost skip excitedly as I head towards dinner. There's a bit of a commotion in the Great Hall as I grab an open seat next to Hermione. "Hey Helene! Did you see the aurors earlier? I heard someone say that there was an upcoming Dark Lord in the school!" She rambles, poking away at her food, refusing to take a bite. "First the troll, and now there's aurors in the school. Is the wizarding world this dangerous all the time?"
"I don't really know, but I don't think that it's normal for a troll to be in a school," I consider. "Maybe the aurors found out how the troll got in and arrested someone for negligence?"
"I hope so. Maybe Professor Dumbledore or McGonagall will make an announcement?"
"Who knows, but here comes Dumbledore, maybe we'll find out?"
Dumbledore walks through the hall, wrapping around the staff table and standing in front of his throne. He picks up a fork and taps on his goblet, a few clear notes ringing through the hall to get the students attention.
"Good evening everyone, my apologies for interrupting your dinner," he begins, a sonorous charm carrying his voice to each and every student. "I'm sure all of you are curious as to why Hogwarts hosted a small group of aurors earlier today, and rest assured that nothing untoward has happened within the castle walls. I cannot tell you what has occurred at the current moment, and I would like to reassure all of you that you are in no danger. I'm confident that the information will be in tomorrow's copy of the Prophet. You may return to your meal."
Dumbledore takes his seat, sending a suspicious look in my direction, before digging into his meal. Scoffing quietly at his glare, I reassure Hermione that nothing dangerous is going on. "Even if something did happen to put you at risk, I've got your back. I'm not about to leave a friend to deal with things on their own."
Beaming at me, Hermione finally starts to eat instead of playing with her food, her stress long forgotten.
-::-
"Black, you've got a visitor," a voice slowly drawled, carrying eerily through the prison. It reflected its surroundings, steeped in misery and anguish.
The broken and weary Sirius Black lifted his head, unsure of whether he'd finally lost his mind or not. He peered through limp, greasy hair at the bars of his cell. "A visitor, huh?" he croaked, his voice raw and cracked from disuse. "Since when do I get visitors?"
The guard shrugged his shoulders, the gesture barely noticeable, as if the prison itself was weighing down on him, preventing him from lifting them any further. "I dunno', but Bones is here to see you," he coughed, wiping spittle from his mouth. "No funny business, alright?"
Black, too tired to move, grunted in response, wondering what Amelia Bones would be doing in Azkaban of all places, let alone visiting him. He suddenly tilted his head, ears perked up in a manner reminiscent of his animagus form, listening attentively as the sound of boots cracking loudly against the stone echoed off the walls. He smirked at the idea that such a normally imposing sound was much easier on the ears than the usual din of anguished moaning and occasional hysterics. Lovely place, Azkaban, he mused.
"Sirius."
He glanced up, almost not recognizing his old friend. "Amelia," he murmured awkwardly. "Long time no see, huh? How have uh… how have things been?"
"Same as always," she deflected, rifling through her robe pocket. She drew a set of keys from it, fingers passing over them until she came across one much less worn than the rest of its companions, having been seldom used during her tenure at the DMLE. She slid the key into the lock, the iron squealing shrilly as the door was opened. "You're coming with me."
Sirius bit his lip in consternation, wondering what was going on. He prayed that she wasn't there to give him a very specific type of kiss, not that he'd particularly mind his guess was wrong and she was the one doing the kissing.
"I'm afraid these legs of mine don't work as well as they used to," he grimaced, motioning towards the thin and brittle limbs. "Don't suppose you could lend a hand?"
Amelia stopped for just a second, studying her friend-turned-convict, before reaching over and dragging him to his feet, cringing mentally at the low creaks his bones gave out, protesting their neglect. Sirius paused, steadying himself against the wall for a moment, stretching and twisting his ankles to make sure that everything was still functioning as intended. Reassured that he wasn't about to fall to pieces, he followed her through the dreary halls.
They came up to an ancient stone fireplace, what would normally be cheery crackles tainted by the environment they found themselves in. Amelia tossed a pinch of familiar powder into the stone cubby, drawing Sirius through and into a new room.
He blinked rapidly at the new source of light, his eyes watering in pain due to his momentary blindness. "What's going on?" he rasped, finding himself in the lower wards of the Ministry, located near the courtrooms that were used during the blood war. "The Minister finally putting this old dog to sleep?"
Amelia shook her head not saying a word in response. She took a hold of his arm again, forcing him down the halls and through an imposing courtroom door.
Sirius gasped.
He gazed at the intimidating sight. The entire Wizengamot was assembled, staring down at him as he was planted in a rickety wooden chair, great chains leaping out of thin air and shackling him to the seat. Well, looks like this is how I go, he thought, sneering contemptuously at the audience, likening his presence to a more refined form of blood sport, drawn out of his cell to be leered at one last time before they cut his throat for good.
"Why hello everyone!" he cried with false enthusiasm, sarcasm dripping from every word as he gave a wave with one heavily restrained hand. "I thought you'd all forgotten about little old me! You know, I've been waiting an awful long time to get here. It's been… what?" he asked, counting on his fingers. "Oh my! Nearly ten years now! Ten years, and you cunts haven't even questioned me once? I know bureaucrats work slowly, but wow has it been a long time."
The crowd murmured loudly, decrying his use of language and seeming instability as Amelia strode up a short flight of stairs, taking her spot at a lectern and firing off a loud bang from her wand. The now jeering crowd quieted instantly, her display startling them and drawing them back to the task at hand.
"This emergency session of the Wizengamot will now come to order!" she declared, silencing the few stragglers who were still whispering amongst themselves. "It has come to my attention, quite recently, that Sirius Black has been locked away in Azkaban this entire time without a trial having ever occurred." She paused, sweeping her steeled gaze across the courtroom. "We at the DMLE have recently discovered evidence that sheds new light on the massacre involving Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew a decade ago." She then turned to Sirius. "Before we proceed, do you, Sirius Orion Black, consent to the application of veritaserum during this trial?"
"Yes, I do," he immediately replied, his stomach roiling in anticipation. Freedom, he thought, tasting the word as it flitted through his mind. Freedom was everything he ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed of, even from his time as a child, freedom was his goal. Now, he mused, I may finally have it.
Amelia nodded to his assertation, waving for an auror to administer the truth serum. One walked over to Sirius, aggressively prying his mouth open and dumping the infinitesimal contents of the vial down his throat.
Sirius' eyes clouded over nearly immediately, his head lolling slightly as the potion began to act, its roots spreading throughout his mind.
"What is your name?" Amelia asked.
"Sirius Orion Black," he responded in a daze, his voice light and airy.
"What is your date of birth?"
"The third of November, 1959."
Amelia steeled herself for a moment, taking a deep breath before she continued. "Were you the Potters secret keeper?"
"No, James and Lily thought it would be too obvious if it was me," he replied, the crowd gasping in chorus at his admission. Amelia fired off another loud bang from her wand, silencing the unruly court.
"Who was the Potter's secret keeper?" She growled, furious beyond belief that it had taken ten long years to ask Sirius these few simple questions.
"Peter Pettigrew," he said, the crowd once again crying out in shock.
"Did you kill Peter Pettigrew, along with a dozen muggles on the first of November, 1981?"
"No, Peter killed them. He shouted that I'd betrayed James and Lily, and then cast an exploding hex at a gas main. After that, he cut off his finger and escaped down a storm drain in his animagus form."
Amelia wiped the sweat from her brow, her heart thundering in righteous anger. "That will be enough. Robards, please administer the antidote," she commanded.
The same auror that provided the veritaserum made his way forward, releasing the shackles and opening Sirius' mouth, much more gently than before, quickly pouring a small vial of antidote into his throat. Coughing and spluttering as his mind came back to him, Sirius began to sob. He cried out, his scream laced with both happiness and anguish. He began to quietly chuckle at the idea that he, Sirius Black, was crying like a baby in the middle of a courtroom. Fingers crossed this doesn't end up in the papers, he hoped.
A loud rapping brought his attention back to Amelia. He strained his neck to look back up at her, awkwardly wiping the tears away from his face on the decrepit prison rags that hung from his wrists.
"Due to the evidence provided here today, I declare Sirius Orion Black a free man," Amelia loudly declared. "You will receive reparations from the Ministry to compensate for your time spent unlawfully in the prison of Azkaban."
Sirius' ears perked up once again, hearing a frightened squealing from behind him. He twisted around to look at the source of the noise, eyes widening in anger as he locked eyes on the pudgy and disheveled man that had him locked in prison in the first place. He watched as his old friend Peter stumbled forward, an auror yanking sharply on a chain in response, a chain attached to manacles that were locked tight around Peter's wrists. The watery eyed mans bare feet scraped inaudibly across the floor as he was dragged into the courtroom.
"Peter, you son of a bitch! You killed them! You betrayed them!" Sirius roared, instantly forgetting his tears as he got up to lunge at the man. The auror Robards reacted quickly, grabbing onto his shoulders and holding him back before he could leap at the rat-like man and tear his throat out.
"Don't go doing anything brash," Robards whispered in his ear. "I don't think it would make you look very good in the eye of the court if you beat a man to death in front of them, no matter how much of a piece of shit he is."
Growling, Sirius nodded, unhappy but understanding of Robards reasoning. "Where are we going?" he asked as he was led out of the courtroom, glancing frantically behind him, struggling to slip away and run back. "I want to see that bastard get what's coming to him!"
"Amelia is going to give him life in Azkaban, sending him to live in your old cell," Robards responded, bodily moving Sirius towards the floo that Amelia brought him in through. "Black, what you need is a hot bath, a warm meal, and a goddamn mind healer. You're off to Saint Mungo's for the next couple of weeks. No arguments about that, am I clear?"
Sighing, Sirius shrugged and followed him, excitement beginning to build. "I'm free… I'm finally free!" He whispered to himself, the situation beginning to set in. He almost did a little jig right then and there, looking forward to seeing his old friends and family. Andromeda, Remus, Octavius… Helene!
Grinning like a madman, which was probably quite apt considering his time spent near dementors, Sirius Black walked into Saint Mungo's a free man.
Rewritten, 24/05/2018.