Chapter 10: A Black Interlude (Unedited)
o)O(o
Narcissa Malfoy was not a happy woman. Her husband was dead and her son was awaiting trial in Azkaban. Her family was either dead or in Azkaban, or in the case of the head of the Black family, on the run. If she didn't do something now, she was as good as ruined.
Cornelius Fudge, meanwhile, was also down in the dumps. Several of his largest supporters were gone and he'd had to send a Malfoy to Hell on Earth. He was a Slytherin for the opportunities he took and the power he cultivated as he rode on others' coattails - not for his own genius. The idea of him being forced to gain that power once again terrified him.
Luckily for both of them, they had each other as friends. The last Malfoy was now meeting with the Minister, planning and plotting how they would return to power.
"Cornelius, we're both aware that this is as bad as it could get right now."
"There's no need to tell me, believe me when I say that I'm well aware of that fact," Fudge replied, his eyes beady and narrow.
"Please, Cornelius, it would be better for both of us if you do not take that tone with me. You know that I'm your last chance to remain in power," reminded Narcissa as his pallor turned an approximation of his hat, "You're going to have to do some things you would rather not."
Fudge groaned in a manner unbefitting his rather tenuous position. "And what would those things be, Mrs Malfoy?"
Taking a moment of thought, the woman made a decision. "The Malfoy fortune is likely closed to me, save for the fraction agreed upon in my dowry. However, the Black fortune is famously even larger, the second richest family in Britain after Ollivander. A minor complication stands in the way of us getting to the Black fortune - Sirius Black is still the head of the family as he was never put on trial nor convicted of any crime."
"Do you mean to say that we should put him on trial? Have you any idea what that would do to my office? It would be untenable! I would be run out of Britain at the mere suggestion of it! We shall not be-" he exploded.
"Tell me, Fudge, were you the one who failed Sirius?"
"Well, er, no," Cornelius admitted, beginning to calm himself.
"That would be our point. It was not you who put him in Azkaban, it was your predecessor. I suggest that you pardon him at the trial of my son tomorrow. You can explain that, during an examination of Azkaban's inmates, it was discovered that the previous administration did not perform a trial for Sirius, and that the 12 years he spent in prison are more than enough penance for whatever crimes he did commit. Tell them a trial will take place and should he be found guilty, the Black fortune will be fined significantly."
Cornelius relaxed for a moment, before laughing. "Oh, you are a witty one, Mrs Malfoy. If I do this, I'll either be crucified or start on the road to being a saint."
"Ah, yes, but that's not all you've got to do. Your public image is extremely important and if you do this that will take a hit for a while, so you've got to start playing both sides of the board. Many purebloods died during the riot at the World Cup, so their agenda is being sidelined - I suggest work towards appeasing the muggleborns."
Fudge's face hardened. "Now, I'm not so sure about that."
"It's the only way, Cornelius. Work towards appeasing Dumbledore's side. You've always suspected him of wanting your position, so make the people who would vote for him want to vote for you instead."
Cornelius rubbed the bridge between his eyes, sighing. "If that's what you believe it will take to keep me in office - and in money - then that's what I'll do."
o0O0o
Poking through the brush of the Forbidden Forest was a large, scruffy black dog. Shredded trees and a crater full of interesting smells had drawn him here, his nose telling him that someone of vital importance to him had been here within the past few days - Harry, his godson. It had only been recently that Sirius discovered that his dog form could smell magic, which greatly confused him; magic scents were reportedly a distinguishing feature between non-magical creatures and magical beasts.
It was an enigma that brought him no small amount of confusion. Often, as a student, his friends had joked that he was a Grim, a relative of the hellhound. Grims were to hellhounds as Hades was to Thanatos in Greek Mythology, a particular interest of his as the Black family could trace their earliest ancestor to Skoteino Mavro, a Greek dark lord who had almost faded into obscurity. Mythology, as such, was of great interest to his family, as they believed the myths of their ancestors were not about gods but about powerful wizards.
Either way, magical forms were exceedingly rare and Padfoot had never shown signs of being anything other than an ordinary black mutt. He'd heard of animagus forms changing following a traumatic or life-changing event, but this was different. Sirius Black was no dunce, despite his actions, and he theorised that it could be due to his time in Azkaban. When around creatures of death and despair, could his form have picked up an attribute of his wardens?
All of these were simply passing thoughts of the man as he continued on the path to learn about his godson's wellbeing. An itch in the bond with Harry told him something was up, and the letters of Luna Lovegood told him that something had happened but Harry was going to be fine. That implied he hadn't been fine at the moment.
However, the fragrance of the crater told him that Harry was able to cast spells. The itch was slowly receding now, but he wished he knew more. He worried, though, that sending a letter or note through anyone but Luna would be caught. After all, the daughter of an eccentric man, both of whom were considered to be a little off the beaten path, would never be the focus of a ministry looking for a convict.
'Not a convict,' he thought, 'A scapegoat.'
Sirius was innocent of any crime they could levy against him, save for perhaps being an unregistered animagus. 'And serial badass," he thought to himself, keeping other, more lewd thoughts at the back of his head. If he was to be caught and given a real trial this time, he certainly hoped Amy Bones remembered the time he made her think of her last name in a wholly different light. On the other hand, maybe not - she wasn't very happy the next day when she couldn't find her undergarments.
Padfoot whined in a way eerily similar to cackling. Not even Azkaban could keep those kinds of thoughts away. In fact, his impressive list of lovers was one of the few things that kept him sane. After the first three weeks, he'd begun to retreat into his mind to relive all the great moments he had had during Hogwarts.
Of course, every time food came he was knocked out of his delusions once more as they turned demented and he was reminded once more of where he truly was. Not Hogwarts, not home - Home was with his brother in all but blood. A brother he'd never speak to again, a brother whose son he was sworn to protect.
Azkaban was a cruel place.
Shaking his thoughts off like he would with water, Padfoot found his way under a log to rest. Surprisingly, it was rather warm, far better than his drafty cave in the hills by Hogsmeade. Tomorrow he would search for more clues. For now, sleep.
o0O0o
Draco Malfoy sat in a chair, heavy bands around his wrists. He looked truly pathetic as he sat in a chair too large for him, a chair made for cold-blooded murderers. Ever since his father's death, he'd been battling insanity, and all too often it overcame him. Sanity was an important trait for Slytherins to have, lest they lose their ability to make logical decisions and manipulate those around them for personal profit.
Things just weren't fair. He'd lost his father and the grief of it was no tool to use as a weapon against his enemies. He heard that he'd even managed to kill the mudblood, but no, Harry bloody Potter had managed to invoke magic unheard of and literally pull her from death's grasp. It was so unfair, he wanted to laugh, and he couldn't prevent it from slipping out, and just like that he went back under.
The members of the Wizengamot looked with a mixture of pity and disgust at the mad child. His wild laughter was more than disturbing, it had been a long time since many had heard insanity like that. Desperation tinged it, battling for sanity in a way characteristic of only the Black Madness. Bellatrix Lestrange had it, Sirius Black had it - albeit in different ways. It was clear that Draco was still fighting it, where Lestrange was already too far gone. Sirius, though, had always been winning the fight against insanity until the day his pictures for Azkaban were taken.
The trial was no spectacle, despite the well-respected individual on trial. Very few people remained who would be willing to openly support such a clearly deranged, dangerous person regardless of his youth. It wasn't until after Malfoy had been pronounced guilty and sentenced to ten years in Azkaban with the possibility of parole that the real debate began.
The Minister stood and unfurled a scroll. Clearing his throat, he began, "By Ministerial Decree, Sirius Orion Black is hereby pardoned of all crimes-" he spoke as the assembly erupted. A gavel banged and they fell into mutinous silence. "-as due process was ignored in his conviction. During a routine examination of the Prisoners of Azkaban, it was discovered that Black had never been given a true, just trial."
"Sirius Black will come to the Ministry and allow us to hear the true story of what happened. Reparations must be made and apologies granted, and the administration under Minister Fudge will receive him with open arms. We hope to redress the fault of our previous leadership. That is all."
o0O0o
Sitting on his haunches and staring at passersby was one of Padfoot's favourite activities. His resemblance to a Grim disturbed some, but it also gave him a good source of news and some scraps of food. Today, he'd had the fat off of some bacon and half a turkey leg. Aberforth seemed to know something was off about him, so he'd been kind.
Today, though, the news was better than the food. He'd heard his name mentioned multiple times already, and all of it pointed towards something fishy. After barely avoiding a dementor's kiss less than five months ago, he wasn't exactly eager to simply turn himself in. Perhaps Dumbledore would provide shelter for him if he showed up at Hogwarts?
After he'd pondered the situation, he began trotting the trail to the gates. In his head, he was still debating, but as he drew closer the scents began to grow more intense. Nerves jumped in his stomach as he went around the gates, moving towards the Forbidden Forest - he'd go to Hagrid, then Dumbledore.
A short walk later, he stood on the outskirts right behind the hut. Apprehension filled him as he ambled towards the door, head low and tail tucked between his legs. Fang barked on the inside as he pawed at the entrance, his heart racing. Hagrid was a kind man, but if he was recognized, Sirius wasn't sure what he would do.
He didn't have to wait long to find out. Before him, the door yawned wide and Hagrid looked out. Fang sniffed wildly as he tried to get out from behind the huge man. Confused, Hagrid looked out, to the sides, and finally down at Sirius. Vague recognition filled his eyes, and he beckoned Padfoot in.
"Ah, it's, er, you. Come on in," he uttered, pulling the wolfhound aside to make way.
Sirius padded in, looking up at the man, far, far up. Leaning back, he put his paws in the air and balanced on his hindquarters, still maintaining his gaze.
"Wha' is it, dog?" Hagrid puzzled. He'd had many guests over the years but never had a dog shown up at his house. Well, perhaps once or twice, but that was long, long ago. The last time a dog had come to visit, it was after a meeting of the Order, Sirius…
It clicked in his head right as Sirius transformed. The larger man's jaw worked for a moment before he could articulate anything.
"Sirius?"
"Yeah, that'd be me."
"Aren' ye supposed t'be on the run?"
"Not anymore, Hagrid. Have you seen the Daily Prophet today?"
"I can' say I have."
"Well, if what I could piece together is true, it said I've been temporarily acquitted or something along those lines. I also heard something about a trial, but... Hagrid, I'm suspicious. It's been 13 years since I should have had a trial."
"I think I'd be righ' suspicious in yer place too. Even so, I, er… Wha' are you here for then?"
"I don't trust any news I hear on the street, entirely, but I'm tired of spending nights in the cold. I think I can trust Dumbledore to be fair with me even if the news is false."
"Good man, Dumbledore. Well, I'll see wha' I can do for ye. I've go' some tea on the stove if ye'd like. I'll try and get Dumbledore ou' here in a bit, he's jus' back from the Wizengamot," Hagrid said, guiding him to the table before beginning towards the castle.
Indeed, it was just a bit later that Sirius saw the swaying white beard of the wizened wizard, and the tension in his abdomen grew tighter. It took all his willpower not to hide in the corner as Padfoot.
For a hundred years it felt he waited as the door creaked open and the pair walked to the table where Sirius sat, shaking ever so slightly.
"Good afternoon, Sirius. It's been quite some time, has it not?"
Sirius' thoughts were somewhere excruciating between frozen and racing, before he knew it his mouth was running with his first thoughts.
"Where's Harry? Is it true?"
Dumbledore's eyes did not twinkle, but he smiled. "Harry is currently away from the castle, but he will be back within the hour. Yes, if what I think you are asking is true, you have been given a Ministerial Pardon. I think there may be more to this story than the newspaper reveals, though. Your cousin Narcissa has discretely taken her part of the Malfoy wealth and divorced the name. She may be a new power in the Wizengamot, and one you may have to watch out for - I am unsure of her plans. She may want you dead, but acquitted, so she may take the wealth of the Blacks as well."
Taking a moment to think, Sirius rubbed his temples. "No, I don't think Narcissa could do that. If she wanted wealth, she would have killed her family."
"Perhaps you are right. I urge you to be cautious nonetheless. Now, what is it that you require my attention for?"
"I don't trust the ministry. I've got issues trusting even you, Dumbledore. I can't go back to Azkaban, if this is a trap, I'd rather die," he chuckled without humor, "If I go back to Azkaban, I will die."
Dumbledore frowned. "I will grant you asylum in the castle until we can discern whether or not this is a trap."
"And Harry? Where is my godson?"
"Interesting you should come here at the moment. He's in Diagon Alley right now, at Ollivander's."
o)O(o
Harry hadn't expected it to take so long. It had taken seven tries to get a functioning wand, with a total of thirteen different cores. The auspicious numbers had Ollivander excited.
"Alright, I've got a good feeling about this one," the man said, leading Harry to the back of the shop once more. "For this one, I'd like to test its strain capacity. I believe the best way to force your level of magic through the wand would be the manipulation of gravity."
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, gravity. Warping space."
"Er… I've got no idea how I'd do that."
Ollivander explained his dabbles in muggle science, as well as his theory on how to perform a spell that would warp space itself. It was rooted in conjuration, but split at a vital part. Where a conjuration would give a specific form to the mass, a warping spell would conjure intangible mass in whatever orientation the caster intended. The density necessary for anything substantial was taxing, to say the least.
As soon as Harry began casting, he knew he wouldn't get any results from the spell, but was encouraged by the wand's survival. Even after he had conjured several tons of intangible mass, the wand was cool to the touch and not releasing and sort of sparks.
"That'll do," Ollivander hummed, "11¾, fir and elder, with a triple core of phoenix feather, serpent horn, and a single Nemean lion hair. That last one was quite difficult to acquire, so I certainly hope it goes to good use. Oh, what am I saying? Great things, Harry Potter - you'll do great things."
A/N: Finally back. The muse is seeking me.