Disclaimer: Nope nope nope.
Author's Note: You guys are completely amazing. Thank you so much for all the reviews, and I am so touched by all the supportive words I received concerning that foul review I got for chapter 41. A few of you told me I could delete the review. I never realized I could do that, and I looked up how. Needless to say, that awful piece of garbage is now gone.
It's interesting, though, because I only deleted that one review, yet my review count is now 444 when it should be 448. I checked, and it doesn't look like any of the others got deleted. This site is so finicky sometimes, but oh well. As long as all the other reviews are still there, I don't really care what number it says. I want you all to know that I appreciate each and every review. They let me know what you are thinking of the story. It means so much to me when you do that.
I'm glad you enjoyed that chapter. Sirius is certainly doing a lot of self-reflection, and is working to change for the better. I think that what happened to him in canon is just awful. He never had the chance to heal from his time in Azkaban - I think that's why he was so messed up, in the end. And in canon, he died before he had the chance to change at all. So much wasted potential. And in that instance, he was forced to stay in Grimmauld Place against his will, rather than go there voluntarily to keep Harry safe. As much as he still hates that house, he was able to put all his energy into looking after Harry. His godson's trauma and safety took precedence over his own feelings about the house, and that's why he learned to adapt. He even tamed his anger at Kreacher for Harry's sake. I hope this is a Sirius who deserves to be Harry's godfather, fulfilling the role Lily and James gave him - I, personally, think he does. And I'm glad you liked what Harry wrote to him while he's been locked up at the Ministry.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.
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Lord Voldemort felt a twisted smile contort his features as he sent a vision to the boy he shared a connection with. He hadn't been able to stop laughing ever since one of his servants, a man by the name of Alfred Zabini, had let him see a certain memory that had been shown at the trial of the useless former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. That memory played into his plans rather well, and he had immediately taken the opportunity to use it to his advantage.
He reveled in the laughter this produced, because the rest of the time, he was completely and utterly livid. He had lost several of his servants due to the fact that the memory of his rebirth had been displayed for everyone to see. Malfoy. Nott. Avery. Crabbe. Goyle. They were all locked up in Ministry holding cells, along with several others. Zabini, though - he had not addressed him personally. So he had been free to crawl back to his Lord and show him the false memory Healers Pollander and Shaddock had created.
They should have been mine, Voldemort thought of the two Mind Healers. They certainly had the potential to be powerful servants of his. Their hatred of Dumbledore ran soul deep - Voldemort could just imagine the Headmaster lying in a bed, so weak he couldn't even stand, being told that a year had happened that he could no longer remember. The pure joy Voldemort felt at what had been done to Dumbledore was unparalleled. That man was nothing but a blind, stupid old fool, and he had finally gotten what was coming to him. But Voldemort burned with rage to know that it had not been at his hand - this drove him wild.
And those Healers obviously were no fans of the Potter whelp either. So why hadn't they come to him? Who cared about Fudge? He was nothing. He wanted power, but didn't know what to do with it. He had given up, the weak, pitiful coward. He had howled for mercy, something that Lord Voldemort would never, ever do.
In the end, it didn't matter. None of it did. He'd let everyone be lulled into a false sense of security - he had time. Let everyone think that because Lucius Malfoy and several of his other servants were gone, it meant that he had lost the will to fight, to attack all the unworthy. He'd certainly need to make another plan now, but it would come to fruition. And at the end of it all, he would teach Harry Potter a very valuable lesson - that he, Lord Voldemort, was not to be outsmarted.
But for now, he could bask in the horror he felt from the boy as he sent the false memory along the connection. It was pretty damn ingenious - he had to give Healers Pollander and Shaddock credit for putting on a good show. He smirked at the fake Harry, who took delight in hurting the stupid spare before forcing him to his knees and killing him. Oh, if only things had really turned out like that. The bane of his existence, a boy he considered his worst enemy ... if only things had gone differently, and he had the boy at his side. It would have been amazing to let the so-called light be destroyed by their very own supposed savior.
But Harry was soft, and incredibly weak. And in several hours, Sirius Black was to finally have a trial. He sneered viciously. Black had been a thorn in his side. He was meant to be great, but became nothing but a lover of Muggles and Mudbloods. His little brother, Regulus, had become one of the Dark Lord's supporters, but he grew enraged as he thought about what had become of him as well.
Sirius Black was more trouble than he was worth. Oh, the things Voldemort would do if he ever got his hands on that man. He would break him, make him scream until he begged for mercy. Sirius Black was nothing more than a traitor to the name of pureblood.
He thought about one of his other servants, Severus Snape. Severus had shown up several hours late on the night of his rebirth, after all the ... festivities ... were over. He was boiling with rage - Harry Potter had eluded him yet again. He would never, ever tell anyone of the undiluted fear he had felt when those ghostly figures had come out of his wand. The spare was there, along with that waste of space Bertha Jorkins, that pathetic Muggle who had stuck his nose in an area where it was not wanted, and ... and ... Harry Potter's parents. He'd always remember how, even in death, the woman's green eyes blazed with hate for him as she told her son to escape. James had looked as tall and proud as ever, his hazel eyes chips of ice as they looked upon Voldemort with pure and utter loathing.
Needless to say, when Snape arrived, Voldemort had tortured him to within an inch of his life. He'd forced the man to prove his loyalty, yet Snape remained stoic throughout the process. Eventually, the Dark Lord had let him return to Hogwarts so his numerous wounds could be healed.
Several days later, he'd Summoned him and demanded an update on current events, and it was then that Snape had informed him that Harry had gone into hiding with Sirius Black - that simpleton, Minerva McGonagall, had confided in him. He was still apparently trusted by some on Dumbledore's side, and Minerva had taken over the leadership of that blasted Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort had thoroughly enjoyed using Pettigrew's knowledge to pick them off one by one during the last war.
But Voldemort wasn't sure whether he could trust Snape. Could the Hogwarts Potions Master be telling the Dark Lord about where Harry was because he was loyal to him, or was it because it was safe for Voldemort to know that? After all, Snape didn't know where they were. It drove him to madness - Voldemort could not get to Harry. He burned with desire to look into the boy's green eyes again, to see them glazed over with fear and horror.
And he would. It would happen. Voldemort was bound and determined to get Harry into his clutches again. And he would discover Snape's loyalty once and for all. He was not going to suffer a traitor.
But right now, as he felt the boy's pure rage and fear upon seeing himself murder the spare, he was content. Another twisted smile appeared on his face. Let the mutt be proven innocent. Let the fickle wizarding world endlessly apologize to the stupid little boy for suspecting him of murder.
The Dark Lord could be patient. He could bide his time. Good things, after all, came to those who waited.
xxx
Harry bolted up in bed, a feeling of pure horror seizing every part of his body. The vivid, awful false memory flashed in his mind - he was in the Forbidden Forest, alone with Cedric Diggory as he caused him a tremendous amount of pain.
"Why are you doing this?" Cedric's voice was full of helpless fear. "I've never done anything to you!"
That boy wasn't Harry. He had the same messy hair, the same emerald eyes, and the same features as Harry - but he wasn't him. He was an awful, fabricated version of himself, and what he had just seen made him nauseous.
And he knew exactly who had shown him that memory, and it was one of the most horrific dream experiences he'd ever had. He remembered the strange nightmares he'd suffered the year before, when he'd been right there when Voldemort had made his plans. He remembered the murder of that Muggle man, the flash of green light as it slammed into him, the life leaving his eyes. He'd seen that man again, when he'd come out of Voldemort's wand during Priori Incantatem. He had helped Harry to escape the graveyard, and he would never forget his face as long as he lived. "Fight him, boy!" The voice would now always be familiar to him, too.
He knew very well that it was Voldemort who had shown him this awful memory - not just because there was no one else he was connected to in this horrific way, but because he had dreamed it as though he were Voldemort himself. This had never happened before - in his past nightmares, he had been a spectator, watching the events from the outside. Now, it was like he was in Voldemort's head, and it was grotesque. He could feel the pleasure oozing off the monster, the complete delight he took in showing Harry the memory.
There was also the fact that when the Weasleys had come to Grimmauld Place, they'd described the false memory to him. That had been bad enough, but really seeing it, seeing the look on the fake Harry's face, the taunts about how since he was the Boy Who Lived, he would live through that night but Cedric wouldn't ... hearing his own voice say those words was too much.
How had Voldemort come to know about it in the first place? He had only been able to sense Voldemort's emotions, after all - he couldn't read his thoughts. But whatever the case, he knew he needed to inform someone about what had happened. He never, ever wanted to have a dream like that again.
"Mate?" Ron's groggy voice spoke from the other bed. "Are you ... are you okay?"
"No," Harry said, speaking the absolute truth; he was far from okay.
He sat up and stared at Ron, who looked shocked. If Harry had been in a better mood, he'd have laughed at Ron's gobsmacked expression.
"Something really must be wrong," Ron said quietly. "You always say you're fine, even when you're not. And now you're actually saying no."
"Ron," Harry said slowly, needing to confirm that this was all true. "I had an awful ... nightmare."
He described the dream that he'd had, and saw Ron's face go ghostly pale. "Yeah," he said, aghast. "That's exactly what we saw in court, every little detail. It was horrible."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, shuddering. "I ... I can't believe Healers Pollander and Shaddock would do that."
"Some people are just evil," Ron murmured, his blue eyes haunted. "You should never have had to see that."
"Neither should you, Ron," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Why in Merlin's name are you sorry?" Ron asked. "It's not like you did it, is it? And how the bloody hell did you see it in the first place?"
Harry only whispered one word. "Voldemort."
Ron noticeably flinched. "You-Know-Who? What do you mean?"
"Voldemort sent me the dream," said Harry with a confidence he didn't want to feel on this matter. "And I ... I felt what he felt. Remember what I told you about those dreams last year? It was different this time, Ron. I could ... I could feel his emotions," he whispered, sickness roiling over him.
Ron paled even more, if that was possible. "Oh Merlin," he breathed. He checked his watch, and said, "It's four-thirty in the morning, mate. Go back to sleep, and tell either Mum or Dad in the morning. They'll pass it on to McGonagall. You need your rest, mate."
It was so strange to think that McGonagall was the one who would receive this information. His heart ached at the thought of Dumbledore, and another surge of anger at the Mind Healers ripped through him. Merlin, how could they do that to the Headmaster? It was so vile. A wave of guilt barreled over him as well, as he was all too aware of the fact that Dumbledore had been arrested because of him. He closed his eyes, and heard Sirius's gentle voice in his head. "You remember what I told you about guilt, kiddo."
At that moment, he missed Sirius with a fierceness that bowled him over. It was a physical ache - he despised being away from him for so long. Sturgis had been stopping by the Burrow every single day, reassuring Harry that all was as well as could be expected at the Ministry. Harry couldn't help but believe him - that fiercely confident air he always gave off soothed Harry's soul immeasurably. There was just something about Sturgis that called to all of Harry's instincts. But that didn't mean that he ached for Sirius any less.
And Ron had just told Harry that he needed his rest ... Harry heard what he didn't say. Sirius's trial is today, and we all need to be in our right mind to give testimony.
"Yeah, okay," Harry agreed, knowing that Ron was right. However, he also knew that sleep would be elusive. Fury roiled inside him - of course Voldemort would do something like this. It would have surely gotten back to him that the trial was today. Of course, he'd want Harry to mess things up.
A fierce determination swelled in Harry's heart. It didn't matter what Voldemort did. Although the horrific memory of himself murdering Cedric refused to leave his mind, he was not going to ruin his testimony today. He had spent so much time preparing it, and Sirius deserved Harry's best. Voldemort wasn't going to stop Harry from functioning at Sirius's trial, the trial he'd finally gotten after fourteen years.
"Er, sorry I woke you, mate," he said as he lay back down in bed. "See you in a few hours."
"Don't be stupid," was Ron's response, and it made Harry smile softly. Ron truly was his best friend.
He closed his eyes, using Sirius's face as an anchor to sanity. Sirius had told him that Harry had been the one thing that had kept him sane, but what he didn't fully realize was that Harry felt exactly the same way about him. They were each other's life raft, so to speak. When their demons tried to drag them out to sea, they were able to pull each other back. And Harry was going to prove today just how much Sirius meant to him.
xxx
It was time.
As Harry and his friends, plus Bill and the Weasley parents, Apparated to the Ministry of Magic, he felt butterflies squirming inside him, and many of them had absolutely nothing to do with the feeling of side-along Apparition. He had only done this once before, when the Weasleys had come to collect him from Grimmauld Place six days ago. He knew at once that he loathed the feeling - it was like being squeezed through a rubber tube. How could witches and wizards stand to do that on a regular basis?
But today, it hardly mattered. Harry hadn't succeeded in getting much sleep after that horrible nightmare, and this morning, Ron had told Hermione and Ginny about it. Harry had realized he would, but hadn't told him not to. He would have told them himself, but was far too tired and nervous to do so.
However, he had been the one to tell Arthur Weasley. The man had tried to remain stoic throughout the telling, but Harry could see how much he was shaken by it. He couldn't blame him in the slightest; Harry's connection to Voldemort was exceedingly freaky, and he'd give anything to get rid of it. He realized that the Death Eaters were also connected to him through their Dark Marks - but the majority of them still wanted that bond. Could Voldemort send dreams to them, too? Harry severely doubted it. His so-called relationship with Voldemort had always been one of a kind, and it was the last thing Harry wanted in the entire world.
And now, Harry was dressed in his best dress robes, robes that he had last worn when he attended the Yule Ball. Merlin, life had seemed so much simpler then. It seemed like a lifetime ago when he had stared at Cho and Cedric on the dance floor, his jealousy running deep. The couple seemed to be glowing as they danced together, and if that was what romantic love was supposed to be like, Harry wanted to experience it someday. His heart filled with pain at the thought of Cho - how could he face her now? What words could he use to express his pure sorrow at the loss of Cedric? He could not imagine the depth of her sadness. Did she blame him for Cedric's death? From what he'd heard, she hadn't been one of those who thought him guilty of murdering him. But if she carried any anger towards him for it ... he completely understood.
He concentrated on his current surroundings, forcibly pulling his mind away from those thoughts. He was glad he looked presentable, although these were the only pair of professional dress robes he had. Sirius had promised him that once he was free, the two of them would go to Diagon Alley, and his godfather would take him on a shopping spree. "You need a new wardrobe, kiddo," he said, his expression incredibly earnest. "I'll supply you with some brand new clothes that actually fit you." When Harry insisted that Sirius had already gotten him enough clothes for his birthday, the man refused to listen to him. "You need someone to take care of you," he'd proclaimed. He'd then muttered under his breath, "After all, your relatives didn't do shit."
It wasn't often that Sirius swore around him, but when it came to the Dursleys, he grew livid. More and more frequently now, there were times when Harry wanted to open up, wanted to tell him what his life had been like before Hogwarts. But he couldn't bear to see the guilt on Sirius's face, the heartbreak that would follow. He trusted the man completely, but knew that he was the only one that should have to bear the burden of what had happened to him.
"Harry, are you ready?" Hermione asked as they entered the phone box that would take them inside the building. Arthur had explained to them how it all worked, and Harry found it incredibly odd. Why couldn't witches and wizards ever do anything the normal way? But by the same token, that was what made the wizarding world so unique.
"Yeah," Harry said, although he wasn't sure. All he wanted was to see Sirius again, and show the courtroom that the man did not deserve to be hunted for a crime he didn't commit. He needed to square his shoulders and be there for a man who had done more for him than anyone ever had. He remembered how Sirius's eyes would soften whenever Harry asked for something. He remembered his godfather's insistence that Harry had every right to ask for things from him. He remembered the lopsided grin Sirius would give when Harry did so, and he'd say, "I'm on it." He remembered how loved he felt in Sirius's company. And above all, he wanted to show how much Sirius was loved in return.
It was definitely an interesting trip to the atrium. Harry had never been in the Ministry before, and once he stepped foot in it, he began to feel claustrophobic. After he'd come out of hiding, the only place he'd been was the Burrow. Being out in the wider wizarding world again suddenly terrified him. There were people all over the place - the atrium was packed to bursting. He recalled what his friends had told him about the amount of people who had attended Fudge's trial, and this was just the same. The trial of Sirius Black was going to be a spectacle, and Harry felt his heart thumping wildly in his chest as all the people swarmed around him.
I have to be brave for Sirius, he thought wildly as he struggled to get to the lifts with the rest of his friends. He knew there would be a moment when he was recognized - he desperately tried to cover his scar with his fringe, but he knew deep down that it would be no use. When he had been wanted for murder, his face had been splashed all over the Daily Prophet for days. Never mind his scar - people would know his features in a crowd.
And that moment came all too soon. A woman that Harry didn't know gasped, "Oh Merlin! It's Harry Potter! Oh my!"
Instantly, the crowd's volume grew to a roar as they all stared and stared and stared at him. His name was shouted reverently, and Harry suddenly felt his breathing quicken, coming hard and fast. It seemed like all the eyes were probing him, judging him, looking for weakness. And Harry felt like he was giving it to them on a silver platter - he felt exceedingly tired and weak.
His friends immediately noticed. "Harry, breathe," said Ron, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We're not going to let them hurt you."
"It's okay, Harry," Hermione added in a soft voice. "Come on, let's go to the lifts."
"Harry, we are so sorry!" a woman shouted as cameras started flashing, and several people who were undoubtedly newspaper reporters came rushing towards him in a swarm. "We're so sorry we ever doubted you!"
"Get away from him! Leave Harry alone!" Ron bellowed at all of them, his hand still on Harry's shoulder. "You're the worst kind of people, you know that?"
Several Aurors got between Harry's group and all the people who were trying to make their way over. A tall, Black man and a woman with bubblegum pink hair that Harry didn't know, plus Sturgis Podmore were the ones to intercept them.
"Excuse me! All of you are acting extremely inappropriately!" Sturgis shouted, his voice firm and unyielding. "You should be ashamed of yourselves!" He looked at Harry, giving him a reassuring smile.
"Harry is not a zoo animal," the pink-haired woman snapped. "Haven't you done enough to him to be getting on with?"
"He is not here for your entertainment, or your endless questions," the tall wizard said, and there was a growl in his voice.
"Treat him with the dignity he deserves, please," Sturgis added. "This scene is completely unacceptable."
As the three Aurors flanked Harry and his friends as they walked towards the lifts, he felt their unwavering support, and the love of those who had come to be here for him and Sirius today. Some reporters still shrieked questions at him, but most had listened to what the Aurors had said, though it was apparent it was done grudgingly.
When Harry and the group got into the lift, they were the only ones there. The Aurors had made sure that no one got in the same lift as them. Harry felt his breathing begin to calm, and his heart began to slow down as he thought of Sirius and what he must be going through. As hard as reintegration into the wider wizarding world was for Harry, he couldn't imagine what Sirius was experiencing right now. He couldn't help but shudder at the avid hunger on so many of the faces out in the atrium. They all wanted a piece of Harry, to either ask him a thousand questions for their news stories or to apologize for thinking him a murderer. Merlin, what they would do to Sirius ... the thought was ghastly. Anger warred with despair, but he pushed those feelings back as he focused on the image of Sirius and how he would help him. And he had absolutely no doubt that Sirius would do the same for Harry. You're not alone. He imagined the man's arms around him, the feeling of his fingers carting through Harry's hair, and he instantly felt like he could breathe again.
"Those lunatics," Ron was snarling. "They're all sick."
"How dare they make a scene like that out there!" Hermione looked fit to burst, her fists clenched in anger. "I can't believe them!"
"We can," said Fred in a grim tone. "We've always known how fickle they all are."
"You're suddenly their hero again, Harry," George sneered. "You don't have to listen to their apologies, mate. They'll think you're the villain again tomorrow."
Mrs. Weasley's face was as red as her hair. She was keeping her mouth shut, but Harry had the feeling that if she opened it, swearwords would be flying out of it. Mr. Weasley was looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. "I'm really sorry, Harry," he said quietly. "I underestimated what that would be like."
Harry managed a small, shaky smile. "It's okay," he said, even though he felt anything but. "I should have expected it."
"No, you shouldn't have." Sturgis looked at him solemnly. "Anyone should know better than to behave in such a way."
"Bunch of wankers," said the pink-haired woman, causing Ron, Ginny, and the twins to all laugh.
"Language, Nymphadora," said the tall Black wizard. "I should wash out your mouth."
"You will do no such thing, Kingsley. And I should wash out yours instead - how many times have I told you not to call me Nymphadora?" the woman fumed. She turned a smile onto Harry. "The name is Tonks," she said. "My mother had the gall to call me by that stupid first name. It's nice to meet you, Harry."
"Er, nice to meet you too, Tonks," Harry said, instantly taking a liking to the woman, who gave off an air of positivity and playfulness.
"Nonsense. I think it's a beautiful name," Sturgis said.
Tonks scowled. "Well, I don't," she said firmly as the lift doors opened at Level Ten. "We're here," she announced.
Harry felt his heart rate begin to rise again. They were here. This was a pivotal moment, and he didn't know what else to do to prepare for it.
Sturgis looked sympathetically at him. "Don't worry, Harry," he said softly, seeing the boy's expression. "Everything's going to be okay."
Last night, Sturgis had once again stopped by the Burrow, as he had done every day since Sirius had turned himself in. He had told Harry exactly what to expect, and how the proceedings were most likely going to go. It turned out that there was so much evidence against Peter Pettigrew and so much in favor of Sirius that the only thing standing against the man's freedom was worry about his current mental stability. After all, he'd been locked away for twelve years, and on the run for two.
Maybe Harry was worrying more than he ought to, but he was scared. Two incidents were known about by the public of Sirius's time on the run, and they had both happened during Harry's third year. There was the time when he had appeared at Hogwarts and torn apart the Fat Lady's portrait, wanting nothing more than to enter the Gryffindor common room and get at Peter. Then, there had been the time when he had actually made it to the Gryffindor third-year dormitory itself, and Ron had found him standing over his bed with a knife. To be blunt, those incidents hadn't made him look very stable. Thankfully, most of the population didn't know exactly what had happened on the night that Harry and Sirius had truly been reunited for the first time in almost thirteen years. They didn't know how dark and maniacal Sirius's eyes had been, or how he'd broken Ron's leg. They didn't know that he and Remus Lupin were moments away from killing Peter Pettigrew before Harry had stopped them. And Harry was going to make sure that they never, ever found out about that. It would make Sirius look terrible.
They'd judge him. They'd say that Sirius was deranged, that he wasn't mentally well enough to take care of Harry. They'd threaten to lock him up in Saint Mungo's. Harry had gotten a solemn promise from Ron and Hermione that if they were questioned, they would say as little about that night as humanly possible.
Because the wider wizarding world didn't see how far Sirius had come in his emotional recovery. They hadn't seen the laughter, the love, the kindness, the warmth that had grown between godfather and godson. They didn't know that when Harry was going through a terrible time, all he had was Sirius. They hadn't seen that Sirius had clung to Harry when memories of residing in that dark, gloomy house had become too much. They wouldn't see the real Sirius, a man who had been to Hell and back and had paid for his mistakes more than anyone should have to.
But the two incidents that the public knew about still terrified Harry. "What will happen if ... if the Wizengamot says I can't see him anymore?" Harry had asked, knowing that his voice was fearful.
Sturgis had smiled reassuringly at him, that air of confidence he possessed so strong and solid that it had immediately calmed him. "They won't." His voice was full of conviction. "The most they'll do is say that Sirius needs to see a Mind Healer."
A thrill of horror went through Harry, because anytime anyone mentioned Mind Healers these days, his thoughts immediately went to Dumbledore. He couldn't help the shudder that racked up his spine at Sturgis's words.
The man had instantly understood. "I have no doubt that if that happens, Healer Dixon will volunteer for the job," he'd said quietly. "And he can be trusted."
Harry nodded, but he still wasn't sure. But hadn't Dixon proved his trustworthiness? He'd gotten Dumbledore out of the Ministry and into the United States, where he was now recovering. He'd testified against Healers Pollander and Shaddock, giving the Wizengamot solid evidence to put them in Azkaban for the rest of their miserable lives. Harry had never met Healer Dixon, though. Could he trust him with Sirius?
But right now, he had to focus on the task at hand. He just had to make things all right for Sirius. He had to be there for him, just like Sirius had been there for Harry.
They got out of the lift, and no one spoke as they walked down a very eerie corridor. It gave off a feeling of trepidation and uncertainty, and Harry hated it. Torches flickered on the walls, but the whole atmosphere felt like it was bathed in darkness. Harry tried very hard not to shiver at the feelings blossoming in him.
They arrived at a door that simply said, "Courtroom Ten" in letters that were almost mocking. Kingsley unlocked the door with his wand, saying, "Madam Bones has granted us permission to go in first," and they all headed inside.
As Harry took a look around the room, he instantly recognized it. This was the room that he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve, the room where he had witnessed Barty Crouch, Sr. sentence the Lestranges and his son to Azkaban for life. Igor Karkaroff's trial had also been held in this room, plus the trial of Ludo Bagman. It was a very surreal experience to be in a room that he had been in before, although on that occasion, he could not interact with the people around him, since it had been a memory.
But this time, it was no memory. This time, it was reality. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on him as he saw the chained chair that Sirius would sit in.
Harry and his group found seats on one of the benches. The three Aurors looked at them apologetically as Kingsley said, "We're sorry we can't sit with you. We need to sit with our fellow Aurors, who will arrive soon."
"I understand," said Harry quietly. "Thanks for ... for getting me away from everyone," he told them sincerely.
They all smiled at him. "It's quite all right, Harry," Sturgis said. "That's what we're here for."
As Harry sat down, he breathed deeply, appreciating the fact that they were the first to arrive. He knew they wouldn't be alone for long, though, and he was proven right as throughout the next few minutes, all the people who had mobbed him in the atrium came in and took seats. Thankfully, they kept their decorum in the courtroom, although some were looking exceedingly eager to start where they had left off. But one look at the Aurors and they backed down, knowing that they wouldn't get to see the trial if they caused a scene in here.
Harry continued to take deep breaths as he watched the Wizengamot members file into the courtroom. They were all dressed in the same robes, and they showed no visible emotion on their faces as they took their seats. Some glanced at Harry, nodding at him as they passed. He could see a look of apology pass briefly through their eyes as they performed the run-of-the-mill peek at the scar that so many did when they knew it was Harry Potter. He fought back the familiar despair and annoyance at the gesture as his friends whispered reassurances to him.
And then came the moment Harry had been waiting for. Flanked by two Aurors Harry didn't know, Sirius Black entered the courtroom. They, too, showed no emotion as they guided him towards the chair that would chain him.
The feeling of dreadful cold that accompanied prisoners was not there. That was another thing that Sturgis had told him last night - that he'd insisted to Amelia Bones that no Dementors were to steer Sirius into court. It was normally protocol for them to do so, but Sturgis had been able to have it waived. Harry had felt a well of gratitude surge up within him - Sturgis was keeping his solemn promise that no harm would come to Sirius while in the Ministry's custody.
Sirius's eyes instantly looked for Harry as he sat in the chair, and the chains bound him. He looked tired, but other than that, he seemed as well as could be expected. Harry felt a wave of emotion crash over him as his eyes found Harry's, and Harry held his gaze. There were so many things said in that look, and Harry saw Sirius's eyes fill with tears. Harry's immediately followed, but he smiled shakily at his godfather, his look conveying all the reassurance he could give.
Sirius mirrored the look, and at that moment, it might as well have only been the two of them in the room. Harry could barely resist the urge to jump off the bench and launch himself at the chained chair; he so dearly wanted to embrace Sirius. All he could do, however, was hold his eyes and lend him strength. It was what he needed now more than ever.
Madam Bones entered the courtroom. She glanced briefly around, her eyes landing on Harry. She, like the Wizengamot members, showed no emotion visibly, but there was something about her that Harry immediately trusted. She gave him a very brief, discreet nod, and Harry found himself relaxing marginally.
The courtroom fell to a hush as Amelia banged her gavel on the lectern. "We are all here today to witness the trial of Sirius Orion Black," she said, her voice strong and commanding. "A trial he should have had fourteen years ago."
Harry's eyes found Sirius's again, and as they gazed at each other, Harry could only hope that this day would turn out for the better.