19th August 1987

Mornings in the Weasley household were always rather loud. Firstly, there was Mrs Weasley, who would yell that breakfast was ready, and then there was Mr Weasley, who would yell not to yell because everyone ought to be hungry and would come down on their own. And then there was Bill and Charlie, who would bang on the doors of their siblings' rooms to rouse them regardless of whether they were already awake, and Percy who would always shout at them for it. Fred and George found a way to upset Ron, who would either scream or cry and then run to his parents, and little Ginny yelled to no one in particular if they had seen her jumper. More often than not, she found it on the cat.

This morning was no different, and all nine Weasley's once again sat at the long wooden table, tucking into freshly baked bread, eggs, bacon, and sausages. Percy suddenly looked up, a frown on his face.

"Dad," he said, while looking around, seeming to be searching for something. "Have you seen Scabbers?"

Mr Weasley looked up and shook his head, swallowing his mouth full of breakfast before a coughing violently into his handkerchief. He was getting over the doxy flu, and would burst into cough at a moment's notice. Percy looked around the rest of the table, his eyebrows asking them all the same question. After every negative, Percy's frown deepened.

There were many gnomes infesting the Weasley's garden. Some of them had taken to keeping piles of rotting fruit hidden from sight, and then drinking the fermented juice. The foul songs that were sung had taught Ron and Ginny a few new words, and Mrs Weasley had had enough. It would be a hard job to rid the place of them, but Mr Weasley and his three eldest boys had decided upon doing it today. As gnomes were not very interesting to Scabbers, he did not know that they were currently dominating the garden. If he had, he might have run inside as fast as his little legs could carry him. But he didn't. The rat in question was stretched out in a flower bed near the Weasley's potato patch. The petals were very soft, and the sun warmed his fur. He had fallen asleep there last night, and forgotten to come inside. He didn't hear the morning conversation. He would have to listen extra carefully at dinner. Scabbers shifted as the warmth from the sun suddenly left him, and he could feel the shadow that replaced it. The rat opened his eyes, and stared at the four gnomes standing over him.

Before he could run, one of them had picked him up and threw him to another, who threw him to the third. Scabbers was beginning to feel extremely sick.

Mr Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and Percy walked sombrely to where they saw five gnomes sitting under the shade of a tree, gloves stretched up to their elbows and wellingtons on their feet. When they saw them coming, the gnomes hopped onto their pudgy little legs and began running away, but Mr Weasley dived at one, grabbing it by its feet and lifting it up above his head. He began spinning, slowly picking up speed, but just as he was ready to release the gnome a cry from Percy distracted him, and he sent it flying towards the house, watching in horror as it crashed through Ginny's bedroom window.

"Percy, for goodness' sake! What is it! Did a gnome bite you?"

"No, Dad, Dad! It's Scabbers! The gnomes are attacking him!"

Mr Weasley's head whipped around to where Percy was frantically pointing and he ran to the unfortunate scene, coughing into his elbow as he did so. He took out his wand to shout "wingardium leviosa" at the rat which was in the air between gnomes, but a sudden cough overcame him again and what was spoken sounded more like "a – a – iu e – ersa."

Chance is perhaps the most unreliable magic of all, but undoubtedly one of the most powerful. Chance, destiny, fate; a string of events that come together to change one single moment, a moment seemingly insignificant, a moment that will change everything. And Percy Weasley watched in horror as his rat changed into a squat little man with wiry hair, and crashed into the ground.

Sirius Black watched through the bars of his cell as the dementors escorted the screaming man. He tried in vain to fight, digging his heels into the stone floor and sobbing, shrieking in fear as they lead him to the chamber at the end of the corridor. The one with the clanking metal wheel which groaned as the dementors turned it. Sirius could hear each of the bolts unlock. Clack. Clack. Clack. Sirius watched as the dementors pushed the man through the door, before it was shut with a resounding clang. He listened as the screams grew louder, louder, louder, and then stopped all together. And he knew that the soul of that man was no longer.

Sirius bowed his head. Sometimes, he wondered why he hadn't been kissed yet. He knew that they technically couldn't order it, not without a trial, and that technically he was still awaiting his, but the Ministry was so corrupt that he was sure it could happen. He wondered what it would feel like, to have your soul sucked out.

No.

He had to banish those thoughts, and focus on the ones that while not happy, were at least grounding. Sirius closed his eyes, and pictured his family. He pictured James when he laughed, and he pictured Lily, and her smile that illuminated every room. And he pictured Harry, the perfect blend of his parents; big green eyes and untameable black hair, reaching out to him whenever he sauntered in the door. And he could picture them, because these visions were not happy, no, but devastating, because Sirius knew he would never see his family again.

Outside, the sea raged against the rocks, but faintly, behind the clouds, Sirius could see the pink of the sunset, his cue to lie on the cot in the corner of the room and continue the ritual he had started on his first night in captivity. He closed his eyes, and he repeated the same sentence to himself until he fell into a fitful sleep.

I'm innocent. I'm innocent. I'm innocent.

Harry was in the backyard, pulling the weeds from one of Aunt Petunia's flower beds. He clutched his right wrist to him, and winced at the pain in his left, red and sore from all the weeding, but at least it was better than school. School. In just two weeks he would have to go back to school. Harry didn't like school. In fact, that was an understatement. Harry hated school. He could never do well on any tests because his aunt and uncle became unspeakably mad if he beat Dudley at anything, and Dudley was, to put it mildly, not a good student. Harry didn't have any friends because Dudley bullied anyone who showed him even the littlest bit of kindness, and Harry spent break times hiding, attempting to avoid being caught by Dudley and his lackeys for whom 'Harry-Hunting' was a favourite activity.

As he reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, he remembered the first and last time he had ever thought of asking his teacher for help. The bell had gone for recess, and as everyone filed out, Harry had decided that today was a day for hope. Often, he squashed it down inside of him, but sometimes, like that day, the little part of him that dared to hope saved a tree, even if the forest was slowly being decimated.

"Harry, it's break time. Go out and play," had come the stern voice of Ms Jericho, his kindergarten teacher.

When Harry hadn't moved, his only response to look his teacher in the eyes, Ms Jericho had frowned and sat on the table next to his.

"Is something the matter, Harry?"

Harry had quickly shaken his head, his courage failing him as he remembered the ire he would face at home if his aunt and uncle knew he had complained about anything. Ms Jericho's frown deepened.

Big green eyes had looked up at her from behind glasses she hadn't noticed were broken before, and she was surprised to find unshed tears glistening in them.

Ms Jericho placed her hand gently on Harry's shoulder, and was shocked at the cry of pain that came from her small student.

"Harry?"

"Nothing's wrong, Ms Jericho, I swear!"

"Ok, Harry, ok."

Harry had looked up at her, the tears now falling in earnest down his little face, and Ms Jericho had sighed and bit her lip. If she pushed him for information, he would close up.

"How about you and I go to the nurses office?"

Harry had violently shaken his head. He was perceptive, and he knew that reports had to be filed on every injury that passed through that office. Ms Jericho had sighed again.

"Please Harry, I can see you're hurt," she had tried again, and attempted to slowly ease him out of his seat. But Harry had struggled, and suddenly all of the papers that were neatly stacked on Ms Jericho's desk had flown like missiles around the room and had shred themselves, and the big poster of the smiling sun on the wall turned the deepest black the teacher had ever seen. The big bucket of pens sitting on each desk turned itself over and the sharpened pencils went flying around the room, Ms Jericho wrapping her arms around Harry's head to protect him from their points. When they all suddenly dropped to the floor, Ms Jericho took her arms away from her student and looked at him, her entire body trembling. Harry had his arms over his face as if he were about to be hit, and he hadn't removed them.

"Harry –"

She was cut off by the aggressive shaking of his head. "Please," he whispered. "Please, don't tell my aunt and uncle. Please, I didn't mean to!"

She was horrified that the child was this afraid of his guardians, but she also didn't want him to become a science experiment, and she knew that if she filed a report, she would have to include detailed evidence for why she believed the case was one of abuse. And she really had no idea how to deal with the fact that her six-year-old student had just destroyed the room with his emotions. For even though everything within her was telling her that there was no possible way that Harry could have created the disaster zone inside her classroom, she knew that he had. She was scared.

"Alright then," she had said, her voice shaking. "I'm just going to clean up this mess and get that black thing off the wall. You can stay in here this break time, alright?"

Harry had nodded and rested his head on the table, the word freak running around in his mind as his Ms Jericho cleaned the room and attempted to formulate a plan to help Harry. After break she had sent him off to PE with the rest of his classmates, and as Harry had sat under the tree in the corner of the playground after being tagged, holding back tears as he thought that his one chance to tell anyone anything had come and gone, he hadn't seen the two men from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad apparate into his classroom, repair the papers and fix the mess, and modify the memory of his teacher.

Harry continued to pull the weeds, and looked over the lawn to where Dudley was splashing around in the paddling pool Uncle Vernon had set up. He watched as Aunt Petunia brought Dudley chips and lemonade, and then sat in the deckchair, reading a magazine.

"Aunt Petunia," he asked in a very small voice. It was very hot. His Aunt slapped her magazine down onto her lap and looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"May I get a glass of water?"

"You most certainly may not!" she hissed. "Do you think I'm going to go around letting you touch any glass after what happened with your freakishness? Use your hands!"

Lip trembling, Harry went over to the hose and made to turn it on very, very carefully. Cupping his hands under the nozzle, he brought the cool and slightly stale water up to his mouth, and drank.

Peter Pettigrew lay sprawled on the grass, attempting to picture the rat in his mind, but he had hit his head hard, and all he could manage was blurry grey shapes. He tried to move, tried to crawl away, but nothing seemed to be working. Suddenly he saw a wand pointed in his face, and then he knew no more.

Percy had pressed himself against his father's side and had watched with tears running down his face as his saw his father's stunning spell hit the man who was his rat. Mr Weasley was shaking, and clutched his son to him.

"It can't be," he whispered, because he recognised this man. Recognised him from the Order. But he couldn't believe it. And then he saw that the man's left hand was missing a finger. Pettigrew wasn't dead. If he was innocent, why had he hidden? And then the bile rose up in Mr Weasley's throat at the chance, the very chance that an innocent man had endured Azkaban, let alone in maximum security, for over six years.

"Bill! Go and yet your mum and come back out here. Charlie! Come and take Percy inside."

Mr Weasley waited, his wand still pointed at Pettigrew, until a very flustered looking Mrs Weasley attempted to keep up with Bill as he dragged her by the hand and out of the house.

"Bill, stop it! What's all –"

And then she paused, and clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head. "It can't be, it just, it just can't be," she whispered.

"It is, Molly."

"But how?"

"He was S-S-Scabbers," Mr Weasley whispered, trembling at the thought that an illegal Animagus had lived in his house with his family, had slept in his children's bedrooms, for over six years. "The gnomes were tossing him about and I tried to levitate him but I coughed and I couldn't say the spell properly. I must have," Mr Weasley broke off, unable to continue for a moment. He collected himself, and said, "what came out must have sounded like 'animagium reversa'."

Mrs Weasley had tears running down her face. "But Black," was barely audible.

"I don't know. I need to floo to the Ministry. You need to keep an eye on Pettigrew. Bill, you too."

Mrs Weasley pointed a shaking wand at the unconscious man on her lawn, and Bill, who was breathing rather heavily, said, "Incarcerous," and watched as ropes shot out of the end of his wand and bound Pettigrew tightly.

Mr Weasley strode determinedly towards the house, yelling, "Charlie, you're in charge," before he left through the fireplace in a puff of green smoke.

Sirius Black did not expect to hear the purposeful stride of Aurors today. It wasn't inspection day, or was it? After six years, time became almost gooey. Transforming back into a human, he sat on his bed and straightened his back, which protested. He ignored it, and clasped his hands together and rested them on his knees. For every inspection he did the same thing, the same small protest. He sat in his cell and greeted the passing Aurors, and proved that Azkaban had not broken him. And he always said the same thing: "Fixed a date for my trial yet?"

Three Aurors came to stand outside the bars to his cell. He knew two of them. It seemed Moody had lost an eye, and had replaced it with a contraption that looked, quite frankly, scary. Shacklebolt was still the same dignified presence, and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The third Auror, a woman with cropped blonde hair, seemed barely out of Hogwarts. Sirius briefly wondered why they had sent someone so inexperienced to deal Voldemort's supposed right-hand man.

"Black," croaked Moody. "Get up."

"Fixed a date for my trial yet?"

To Sirius's surprise, Moody smiled. The young Auror took out her wand, and waved it at the bolts keeping Sirius prisoner. Sirius's eyes widened.

"What's going on," he said, his voice rough from disuse.

Moody was never one to beat around the bush. "Pettigrew's been found alive. Obviously, you didn't kill him. You're both going to be questioned."

Sirius almost collapsed. Six years. After six whole years they were finally going to follow the law.

"Good," he said. "It's about time you all did your job."

Sirius felt the water run over him and cried. His first shower in six years. The sponge they had given him was clutched vice-like in his hand, the first soft thing he had touched since his imprisonment, and he ran it over his body, trying to remove the grime of Azkaban. The dirt he could get rid of. The haunted look in his eyes was going to take time. After washing himself, he ran a hand through his long, tangled hair, trying to separate some of the knots. He couldn't shave; they hadn't given him a razor. After this is over, he thought, I'll shave this bloody beard off.

The interrogation room in the ministry was chrome, and it was very large. The chairs were chrome, as was the table, and the floors and the walls too. Sirius found it a little unnerving, to have his unkempt reflection distorted in such shiny surfaces. Nothing was shiny in Azkaban. Sirius sat in one of the two chairs in the room, each embedded in the ground, his arms and legs cuffed to the arms and legs of the chair. Shacklebolt stood behind him, his wand out. The door to the side opened, and Amelia Bones entered.

"Mr Black," she said, inclining her head. Sirius was surprised to see the Hufflepuff. She had been a few years in front of him at school, and a prefect, but as she took her seat across the table from him, his surprise melted away and was replaced with hope. Amelia had always been just.

"Madame Bones," he replied. "You're head of the DMLE?"

Amelia nodded, and said, "And as I intend to stay head, I want you to know that you will receive every right denied to you by my predecessor. If Pettigrew confesses, a pardon, and if he does not, a lengthy cross-examination in court. I was not aware until today that you never had a trial."

"Well, what can you say?" Sirius said darkly. "How can someone not be dead, when all you find is a very easily-removable part of their body?"

Amelia just looked at him, and then said, "we want to do this quickly. Minister Bagnold is very distressed at the thought that her administration might have made such a terrible mistake. She wants this to be as private as possible."

"I don't. When you finally question me, as is my right, and you release me based on my answers, I want our world to know that I am innocent. I want this to be public. I want a pardon at my trial."

Amelia sighed. "You have a right to a trial regardless of Pettigrew's confession. Do you want to enforce it?"

"Yes."

Amelia nodded again. "I will inform the Minister, and a date will be set."

"Sooner, rather than later, I hope," Sirius said, his mouth in a hard line. "You wouldn't want to deny someone their right any longer than necessary, now would you?"

Amelia shook her head. "No. I will attempt to set the trial within the next week. As soon as the press gets wind of this, they will demand the truth."

"Good. All decent people should."

Amelia bowed her head again in acknowledgement of Sirius's reply. She remembered him from school, a very intelligent, brazen boy with an arrogant charm, basically glued at the hip to James Potter. Almost all the girls from across the houses and year groups had liked one of the two, most of them directing their attention towards Sirius as James was so obviously besotted with Lily Evans. And because Sirius had been one hell of a handsome devil, and still was, Amelia realised, somewhere deep underneath the impression that Azkaban had made upon his face. He had also been known at Hogwarts as a fierce, fierce friend, and had publicly stood up for his friends, especially the weaker ones, on countless occasions, relentlessly tormenting anyone who tried anything with them. He had also been the best wartime auror they had recruited, and he and James, who had been partners in the Hit Wizard division, had together taken out a total of twenty-nine Death Eaters, although it was rumoured that Black's personal record was eighteen. As Amelia remembered this, she considered how anyone could have believed Black responsible for the Potters' deaths, and for the deaths of those muggles, but then they had just ended a war. They needed someone to lock up and fast for the last battle, and it had been Black. She assumed that they had seen his family rather than him, and had taken one look at what was incriminating evidence if taken only on the surface, and locked him up. Without a trial, which was unacceptable. And the fact that Peter Pettigrew had been found alive, and missing a finger… well, he could have been worried about Black's vengeance and hidden for his own safety, but the more Amelia looked at the man in front of her, the more unlikely she found that to be.

"Sirius," she said softly. He looked up at the change of tone. "I swear this to you, you will have a fair trial. One that you should have had six years ago. I will have justice for you, whatever that may be. And if you are innocent, I swear to you that you will be compensated. I will make sure of it."

And then she had risen, nodded her head at him, and left the room.

23rd August 1987

Sirius was impressed. Not four days after speaking with Amelia Bones he found himself sitting in the middle of the largest court room in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, still shackled of course. He hadn't gone back to Azkaban, and instead had stayed in a ministry holding cell, where he had had ample time to sit on his cot and practice his defence, and practice keeping the dementors in his mind at bay for when he collected Harry. There was a pillow on that bed. Sirius had cried again, and had hugged it to him as he fell asleep without the torment of the dementors for the first time in six years.

The court room was positively bursting with people. Sirius could see Arthur Weasley, along with three of his sons; probably the eldest, from the looks of them. Their shocks of red hair could be spotted a mile away. Rita Skeeter sat at the front as expected, blonde hair coiffed and green horn-rimmed glasses perched precariously on her nose. Amelia Bones sat to the right of a throne-like chair, which was occupied by Minister Bagnold. The Minister looked nervous, Sirius noted. She met his eyes and he stared right back at her. The Minister suddenly looked like she wished to be very far away. Among the members of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore sat, his eyes glinting. Sirius felt a surge of dislike for this twinkling old man, who was the most powerful wizard in the world, and who had known he hadn't had a trial, who knew how he loved James, and who had let him rot in Azkaban anyway. Sirius turned his head to the left, and his breath caught in his throat. A sandy-haired man in tattered robes sat in the front row of the civilian seating, tears running unashamedly down his scarred cheeks. Sirius felt the lump in his throat rise again. He looked so much older. Six years he hadn't seen him, and yet it looked like fifteen. Six years. Seventy-two transformations. And Moony had had to go them alone.

Sirius was brought out of his reflections by the banging of a gavel.

"Order! Order in the courtroom!"

The noise stopped almost immediately.

"Please bring in the second defendant."

A low murmur went through the courtroom as two Aurors escorted a trembling Peter Pettigrew to a seat a scant five metres away from Sirius's. And Sirius saw red. It was like he couldn't breathe, like he couldn't hear. But he could see. And the only thing running through his mind was traitor, traitor, traitor.

"You BASTARD!" He yelled, the end of the word a sob. "How could you! How could you? Lily and James! Lily and James! You sold them to Voldemort! Didn't you? Didn't you, you worthless piece of scum!"

Sirius had yelled through all of the "order, order in the courtrooms," that had been demanded by Amelia. Pettigrew had trembled and quaked and cowered, but had not said anything.

"ORDER IN THE COURTROOM!"

Sirius could see a wide-eyed Rita Skeeter scribbling furiously on her pad.

The Minister spoke. "Sirius Black. You are charged with the murder of thirteen muggles, the murder of Peter Pettigrew, the charge for which is now void, being a Death Eater, and accessory to murder. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty to all charges."

Minister Bagnold took a deep breath.

"Mr Black. You were denied a trial for six years. As such, regardless of your innocence, I believe there is some room for you to make a request. Is there anything you would like to say before we begin?"

"Yes," said Sirius in a clear voice. He had been practicing it. "I invoke my right to be questioned under veritasirum."

The courtroom erupted again, realising the implications of Sirius's statement, and were quieted by an increasingly tense Amelia.

"Very well," Bagnold replied, and gestured to her right. A man walked over to Sirius with a vial of clear liquid. Sirius opened his mouth, and felt the vile stuff running down his throat. He swallowed, and suddenly felt his mind clear.

"We will begin the questioning now," Bagnold said in a clear voice. "Madame Bones, if you will."

"What is your name?" came the clear voice of Amelia.

"Sirius Orion Black."

"When were you born?"

"The 3rd of November 1959."

"Are you, or have you ever been a Death Eater?"

"No."

Murmuring.

"Are you now, or have you ever been, affiliated with the dark wizard known as Voldemort?"

"No."

"Were you in any way responsible for the deaths of Lily and James Potter on the 31st of October, 1981?"

"Yes."

More murmuring.

"How so?"

"I convinced them to make their Secret Keeper Peter Pettigrew rather than myself."

"It is a generally accepted fact that you were the Potter's Secret Keeper at the time of their deaths. Is this true?"

"No."

"Was it Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yes."

More murmuring, and a couple of shouts.

"Why did you convince them to switch from you to Peter Pettigrew?"

"I was the obvious choice. James and I were brothers in all but blood, I loved Lily like a sister, and I am Harry's godfather. I thought it was clever. Everyone would think it would be me, and so Voldemort would chase me, and not Peter. I was to be bait instead. Peter was always the stupidest, or at least we thought, and I convinced James and Lily that nobody would suspect someone so weak and vulnerable to guard something so important. They agreed. However, while we knew there was a traitor in the Order of the Phoenix, the group Dumbledore led against Voldemort, no one knew it was Peter. No one ever suspected that he had the nerve."

"Can you tell us in detail, what happened on Halloween night of 1981?"

"I went to the Potter's to visit them for Halloween, but when I got there, I saw that the side of the house was gone. Rubble was everywhere. And then I saw Pettigrew leave the house, see me, and disapparate. I ran inside. The first thing I found was James, lying dead on the floor. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. It was like everything fell away to him lying there. His wand was lying a few feet away from his hand, and his legs were crumpled underneath him. His glasses were askew. His eyes were still open, too. I closed them."

Sirius choked back a sob.

"All I could process was that James was gone, but then I finally registered the crying, and I suddenly remembered Lily, and Harry, and I ran up the stairs. I found Lily lying dead in front of Harry's overturned cot. Her arms were splayed out, her legs were crumpled, and her hair was splayed out on the ground around her face. Her eyes were so determined, even in death. I knew she'd thrown herself in front of Harry, in front of the curse meant for him. The resolve was still on her face along with the fear.

"Harry was screaming. I don't know how I didn't hear it from outside. I was in shock, I assume. The cot was overturned, and Harry was underneath it, holding onto the bars and trying to reach for his Mum. He was hysterical. The cot must have protected him from the debris, because when I got him out, all he had was this weird cut shaped like a lightning-bolt on his forehead. It was bleeding, and I wiped it clean and tried to heal it, but it scarred instead. He was clutching at me, his face buried in my robes while he was screaming for his parents. I decided to take him to Hogwarts for treatment, and I started to stumble around the room to get some of Harry's clothes and toys and, it was so much, and I didn't know what I was doing but the one thought in my head was that I had to keep my godson safe. That now he was mine to keep safe. Just as we were about to apparate away, Hagrid showed up and said Dumbledore had ordered him to bring Harry to Lily's muggle sister and her family while they sorted out the mess."

Many shocked gasps were heard around the courtroom. Amelia banged the gavel.

"Please continue, Mr Black."

"I argued with him, said that in the Potters' will custody had been awarded to me, but eventually I gave in. I was twenty-one and I thought Dumbledore was infallible, which was my second mistake. I gave Hagrid my flying motorbike to take Harry. Harry had always liked riding on it, I thought it might calm him a little.

"And then I made my third mistake. Dumbledore had ordered Harry away from me, even though I was his rightful guardian upon the deaths of his parents. I still am. And I wasn't thinking clearly. The thought of Pettigrew's betrayal seemed to fill me up, consume me, and all I could think of was going after him and killing him; making him pay for what he had done. If I was thinking clearly, I would've taken Harry to Dumbledore myself, and demanded custody. But I didn't. I went after Pettigrew instead. I found him on some muggle street, and I raised my wand to kill him, but I didn't get the chance. Pettigrew started yelling about how I'd betrayed Lily and James, and then he cut of his finger as he blew up the street and transformed into a rat."

"Is Peter Pettigrew an unregistered animagus?"

"Yes."

"How are you certain?"

"I've seen him transform many times."

"Were you in any way responsible for the deaths of the thirteen muggles caught in the explosion?"

"No."

"There is one more thing, Mr Black. It is on record that you laughed," said Amelia. "The Aurors found you and you laughed. Explain that, please."

"I honestly don't remember laughing. I was thrown back in the blast, that much I remember, and I must have hit my head. I'm almost positive I had a concussion." Sirius paused here, and looked straight into Amelia's eyes. "If I did laugh, I can assure you it wasn't one of happiness or victory. It must have been a sound of disbelief I made when the Aurors showed up and accused me of murdering my own family. And it also might have been a sob. I'm not sure. But you carted me off to Azkaban that same day. No trial. No nothing. And so, here we are."

The courtroom erupted once again, and didn't quiet down quickly. Amelia slammed the gavel at least ten times before the noise had died down.

Amelia frowned. "You seem to be sane despite such an extended incarceration in Azkaban's maximum-security wing. How is that?"

"I am not positive."

"Do you have any theories?"

"Yes."

"What are they?"

"The first is that as I am innocent of the crimes for which I was imprisoned, I was better able to endure the horror of the dementors than those who are guilty. The second is that I am also an unregistered animagus, and would change into my animal when the dementors became particularly bad. I would assume that I was able to cope due to the complexities of negative human emotions becoming fuzzier and less potent when in animal form."

Amelia nodded, and the courtroom erupted again.

Sirius sat back in awe of his own words. He thought he had lost them in Azkaban, but niggling in the back of his mind was that though a true Gryffindor, Sirius had been raised as a Slytherin, and a Lord, no less. He knew how to survive, when given even the smallest chance. And Azkaban had erased his carelessness. He was no longer twenty-one.

Amelia banged the gavel until there was silence.

"Peter Pettigrew. Do you consent to being questioned under veritasirum?"

Pettigrew violently shook his head.

"Richardson. Please present the wands of the defendants."

Sirius saw his wand for the first time in six years. He saw the Wizengamot summon their collective magic and cast priori incantatum first on his wand, and then on Pettigrew's. He watched as a healing charm flew out of his wand, and a reducto out of Pettigrew's, and then the ghostly faces of thirteen people. He didn't even notice the severing spell. And Sirius knew. They couldn't not let him go. Cries of "release him!" and "he's innocent!" and "justice!" echoed off the walls of the courtroom.

The Minister whispered something to Amelia, who banged the gavel for order.

"As the evidence is indeed incontrovertible, the Minister and I have agreed that a vote from the Wizengamot is unnecessary. Peter Pettigrew," Amelia spoke in a loud, clear voice. "You are hereby found guilty of the murder of thirteen muggles, the framing of Sirius Black, being a Death Eater, accessory to murder, and being an illegal Animagus. You are hereby sentenced to six years in the maximum-security wing of Azkaban, one year for each unjustly served by Sirius Black, after which time you will receive the Dementor's Kiss. Take him away."

Two Aurors dragged a screaming Pettigrew out of the courtroom. Sirius was shaking, he couldn't help himself. But his face remained stoic, even though his eyes were bright with emotion. Amelia spoke again.

"Sirius Black. You are hereby acquitted of all charges made against you, both official and unofficial, and are hereby declared innocent. All charges will be expunged from your criminal record, which shall from this moment forth be clean. The Ministry offers you the sum of 60 thousand galleons as compensation for the time you spent in Azkaban. You will not be punished for being an unregistered Animagus provided you register within the next three months, due to the unjust nature of your imprisonment. Is there anything else that you request, Mr Black?"

"Yes," Sirius said, clearly despite the tears that were pooling in his eyes. He had practiced this. In fact, he had said it so many times in his head during his time in Azkaban that it was almost second nature to him. "I want permanent and irrefutable custody of Harry James Potter, my godson, as per the will of Lily and James Potter, his parents."

"No."

It was Dumbledore who had spoken. "Harry is safe with his Aunt and Uncle. His Aunt provides an ancient protective blood magic, making it impossible for Voldemort's remaining followers to touch him as long as he remains in her care. Harry Potter should not be removed from that house."

"I have a right to custody! It is in the wills, which they bound magically! You cannot fight that! I will protect him from anything!"

"What if he is happy with his relatives?"

Sirius paused, and then looked at Dumbledore. His grandfather's lessons on the deportment of the Head of an Ancient and Noble House all came rushing back to him. "I do not want my godson under the care of Petunia Dursley, who, due to my previous dealings with her, I am absolutely sure sees magic as freakish and unnatural. If I see even the slightest hint indication that he is unhappy there, or if, Merlin forbid, they have mistreated him in any way, I will remove him from that house and I will demand custody!"

"And you will have it." It was the Minister who had spoken. "I will see to it personally and oversee the drawing of the papers myself. If young Mr Potter is to live with you, you will have permanent and irrefutable custody, as well as the unconditional support of the Ministry in raising him. He is, after all, the Boy who Lived. I will however insist upon a check-up with the Ministry-approved mind healer that attends trials of this nature today so as to clarify your ability to raise young Harry Potter, and if you are proclaimed mentally sound, a week in St. Mungo's healing after your ordeals, beginning tomorrow."

"I will agree to that," said Sirius firmly, although everything inside him was shaking in astonishment at what was happening to him. Sirius had always been a good actor. Self-assured and impenetrable on the outside, and held together by pieces of string on the inside.

"Minister, this is unwise."

"Sit down, Professor Dumbledore. This matter is hereby declared resolved." The Minister turned back to Sirius. "Sirius Black, you now are a free man. The Ministry formally apologises to you for your unjust incarceration, and will do everything within its power to compensate you, as per the terms previously laid out.

Sirius fought the urge to break down, and instead remained stoic despite the tears pouring down his cheeks. The Minister spoke again. "If you would come forward to me, I shall return to you your wand."

And the shackles undid themselves.