The Count of Caerwin-Black
Or : Harry Potter meets The Count of Monte Cristo in tale of magic, betrayal, and revenge.
Prologue
1981, UK
The explosion had left Sirius reeling. Bloodied and disoriented, he watched as the traitor - he truly was a rat—slipped through his fingers after cutting down one of his own. Struggling to his feet, the last scion of House Black was fueled by a fierce determination to chase down the betrayer of his closest friends, James and Lily, who were as dear to him as family.
Behind him, a series of sharp "pops" broke through the lingering haze of the blast. Almost imperceptible at first, due to the ringing in his ears, Sirius turned to find two Aurors arriving as reinforcements—among them were the familiar faces of young Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour.
"He's fleeing! Hurry, we mustn't waste a moment," Sirius cried out, just as a stunning spell struck him from behind, plunging him into darkness.
A muffled voice seeped into Sirius's consciousness, stirring him back to the harsh light of reality. He blinked against the brightness, his vision momentarily blinded.
"Auror Bones! Please, moderate your tone in front of the Department Head," came the chilly reprimand from Lucius Malfoy.
The shock of hearing Malfoy's voice was like ice water to his senses, snapping Sirius's eyes wide open.
"Mmph..." he attempted to shout, but his effort was thwarted by the enchanted gag silencing him.
"Ah, the criminal awakens," sneered his boss, the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department, his voice dripping with disdain.
"The traitor himself, who welcomed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named into the fold of those he once called friends," Bartemius Crouch declared, his eyes burning with accusation and his tone venomous. Sirius's mind reeled. They couldn't possibly believe he had betrayed James and Lily, could they? That he was still the secret keeper?
"Mmmhhhhh," he tried to protest, the gag rendering his efforts futile.
Sirius's gaze darted around the room. They were not in a standard Ministry interrogation room but in a cramped Auror's office. Enchanted chains bound him to a chair, his arms secured behind his back. Across from him, Bartemius Crouch leaned against the desk, his gaze hostile. Behind him, all smiles, stood Lucius Malfoy, draped in—oh, shit. The asshole was wearing prosecutor's robes. Sirius had heard that Lucius had found himself a part-time job at the Ministry, in addition to managing his house and the seat he'd occupied in the Lord's Chamber since his father had disappeared under dubious circumstances a few years before. And wearing those robes could only mean one thing: he had the Ministry on his ass for a crime he hadn't committed, and the Ministry had chosen 'Lord Malfoy' to represent them.
The implications of his prosecutorial garb hit Sirius like a wave of cold dread. Panic surged through him as he writhed against his restraints, desperate to remove the gag.
Suddenly, Rufus Scrimgeour, who had been out of his sight, delivered a sharp punch to Sirius's face to silence his struggles. Dazed, Sirius did not know if it was the physical blow or the shock of such betrayal by a fellow Auror that stunned him more. As a pureblood and heir to an influential position in the Wizengamot, the treatment baffled him—guilty or not, the law demanded a fair trial. Where was his lawyer? Where was the jury? His thoughts circled back to the echoing protest of Amelia Bones:
"But, sir, even if he's likely guilty, he remains one of our own—an Auror and a nobleman, no less, even if his conduct suggests otherwise! By law, he must be tried by the Wizengamot, not condemned outright like a common beast without a proper trial," she exclaimed passionately.
Bartemius Crouch remained silent and, unexpectedly, averted his gaze, his anger yielding to an emotion Sirius couldn't quite discern. Lucius cleared his throat in a very pedantic manner, not needing to draw attention to himself as Sirius found himself hanging on his every word. Surely, this pompous git wouldn't be the one to determine his fate, would he?
"Well, Auror Bones, I always believed justice itself flowed through your veins, but I must admit I'm surprised by the fervor with which you defend the worst of criminals."
"You..." Amelia began to protest vehemently but was silenced when Bartemius raised his hand.
"Assistant Prosecutor Malfoy has a point, Amelia. Unfortunately, these are extraordinary times that call for extraordinary decisions. Even though the law allows for it, we are in the midst of a war! We cannot risk convening a special session of the Wizengamot when half its members are under threat of death; it would be sheer madness! Besides... Sirius Black is merely technically a member of the Wizengamot; he certainly has never even set foot in its chambers!"
The young Auror remained unfazed.
"I understand, sir. But nevertheless, we could still apply ordinary law to him. Even an average citizen deserves the right to a trial! The right to be defended by a lawyer!" She turned back to Malfoy, and Sirius realized that he must have suggested sending him, without trial, directly to Azkaban. What a despicable move! When he got out... No, he couldn't dwell on that. He was in a fucked-up situation, and he wasn't sure he'd make it. Damn... He was utterly drained. Tears began to well up. Between the nervous tension and the anger... And thoughts of Peter... And James and Lily. He even began to think about sweet Ysée, his French girlfriend whom he hadn't even had the chance to introduce to James for fear she'd get mixed up in the war, and whom he intended to marry as soon as it was over. He cried harder: what if he never saw her again? What would become of her?
"You're correct, Auror Bones."
Everyone froze. Lucius Malfoy, the notorious adversary of Sirius, who had long coveted his seat in the Lord's chamber since his marriage to Narcissa Black, had actually conceded the point to Amelia Bones?
"That's why I requested Mr. Crouch to appoint a public defender for the traitor... pardon me, for the accused."
Sirius's thoughts were racing. What if the lawyer was a friend of Malfoy? No, Bartemius Crouch was not someone easily deceived. And…The door swung open.
A young man, a few years older than Sirius and clad in a finely tailored lawyer's robe, stepped inside. Initially, Sirius couldn't place him, but upon Malfoy's greeting, he recognized the newcomer as Alexander Greengrass. While Sirius hadn't met the young man personally, he knew of him by reputation. He was known to be astute, politically savvy, and actively involved in his father's legal and financial affairs, preparing to inherit his father's title and business empire in due time. Sirius vaguely recalled his own father, Orion Black, frequently complaining about the Greengrass' business ventures at the dinner table; they must have been rivals, although the specifics had slipped his mind. But, much to Sirius's relief, Alexander was no friend of Malfoy's, let alone a Death Eater. He was renowned, like his family, for his neutrality. That meant he was going to have a fair trial! He was going to get out of this!
"Mr. Black, I'm Alexander Greengrass, and I'll be representing you today! Rest assured, I'll ensure that we adhere strictly to the emergency trial protocol, which affords you legal protections. I'll advocate on your behalf against Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Crouch will issue a temporary ruling. Does that meet with your approval? Do you consent to the emergency procedure?"
Sirius nodded eagerly. Things were looking up! If only they could remove his gag, everything would be a bit better!
Sirius found himself lost in thought as Malfoy, Greengrass, and Crouch exited the room. How had it all unraveled to this point? He couldn't comprehend any of it. Despite his limited understanding of the law, he had thought that Greengrass had presented a compelling case in his favor, only to hear him conclude that Sirius needed temporary confinement in Nurmengard. It was to prevent "the inconvenience of dementors to the son of a noble family. And, furthermore, especially as it was a matter of not inciting you-know-who to attack Azkaban to free his henchman," until the Wizengamot reconvened for a proper trial.
What?
Clearly, Malfoy hadn't needed to deliver a brilliant plea; Crouch had swiftly issued a provisional conviction. Sirius could only watch in silence—Scrimgeour, that wretch, struck him whenever he shifted even slightly—condemned to the most impenetrable of fortresses. Bloody hell! Once again, tears threatened to spill from Sirius's eyes. Amelia averted her gaze as he wept once more. Scrimgeour shot him a contemptuous glance before pushing himself off the wall, striding past Sirius, spitting in his face, and exiting the room, leaving him alone with Amelia Bones.
She met his gaze head-on, her expression a blend of complexity and determination, as the spit ran on his bruised cheek.
"Listen, Sirius. Right now, I loathe you more than anything. Because if you're responsible for James and Lily's death... But... What's happening to you is unjust. This sham trial..." She ignored Sirius's inquisitive stare, making her way toward the fireplace, where the faint embers still glowed. With a flick of her wand, she reignited the flames, tossing in a handfulof Floo powder, and clearly enunciated the name Sirius had longed to hear.
"Albus Dumbledore."
The face of the venerable wizard appeared in the flames.
"Chief Warlock."
"Ah, Amelia. I've been expecting to hear from you."
The young woman cleared her throat.
"I'm contacting you in my capacity as an Auror, Chief Warlock." Amelia paused, then continued, her voice tinged with urgency.
"I've just witnessed an alarming development, to say the least. As you're aware, we've apprehended Sirius Black."
A spark of interest flickered in Dumbledore's eyes, but he remained silent, allowing Amelia to proceed.
"Lucius Malfoy, whose allegiances in these troubled times are, to put it mildly, questionable, led the prosecution. With authorization from the department head, he agreed to an expedited trial with the Greengrass heir as defense counsel, and…"
Dumbledore interjected.
"Yes, I'm aware. I've been informed and have sanctioned the procedure."
Sirius's world crumbled around him.
"I insisted on arranging at least an emergency procedure. You see, Amelia, otherwise they would have whisked him off to Azkaban without a second thought! Despite the urgency and the tumultuous times, we managed to secure him legal representation and a trial."
"But Chief Warlock... Surely it's unreasonable to gag him throughout the trial. Despite my pleas, we were expressly forbidden to remove it! He wasn't even permitted to speak or offer testimony—let alone provide any explanation. Can you imagine? And…" she hesitated.
Dumbledore nodded, his expression urging her to continue. After a brief moment, she cast a quick glance at Sirius before pressing on.
"And most notably, Chief Warlock... the verdict is highly irregular. Nurmengard instead of Azkaban? For a provisional sentence? Certainly, it's reasonable that a member of the Wizengamot shouldn't be left vulnerable to the Dementors for a temporary sentence, and strategically speaking, avoiding the risk of Voldemort attempting to orchestrate an escape by putting all of his followers in one location isn't entirely without merit, but…"
She hesitated, gathering her thoughts.
"As you're aware, I've extensively studied law. I didn't have much choice to become an Auror. And I'm not blind to what just transpired. I'm well-versed in the treaties governing the extradition of English prisoners to foreign territories. Despite the sentence being provisional, the treaty with Austria stipulates that civil death is automatically imposed upon any English prisoner transferred within the confines of Nurmengard. It's logical that the Austrian government should absolve itself of responsibility in the event of the death of an English citizen within its walls. However... let me be unequivocal. Lord Malfoy acted as the prosecutor. Lord Malfoy, whose newborn son stands as a potential heir to the title of Lord Black. A title currently held, albeit dormant, by the accused. A title whose succession could become viable if Lord Black's civil death were to be declared."
A chill of horror coursed through Sirius as he listened, his spirits sinking further at Dumbledore's words.
"Amelia," he interjected. "I am well aware of these intricacies; I am not naive. But you know the Greengrass family's motivations as intimately as I do. Sirius received a fair, perhaps even commendable defense. He was convicted within the confines of the law, despite the light irregularity in the content of his sentence. And above all... the facts are undeniable. Sirius is culpable. What alternative would you propose? Allow him free rein? Should we convene the Wizengamot, thereby endangering the lives of its members by compelling them to leave their protective wards during a war, only to reach the same inevitable conclusion? Sirius stands guilty of the deaths of Lily and James!" The old wizard's tone was fierce before he softened. Sirius, too stunned to comprehend, found himself unable to grasp the old man's words. Was Dumbledore not even going to attempt to converse with him? To ask why? After all Sirius had done for the Order of the Phoenix?
"Your intentions are noble, Amelia. It speaks highly of your character. But let us confront the reality!"
The Auror was on the verge of speaking, but Dumbledore interrupted her sharply.
"And your concerns, though understandable, are unwarranted. Lucius would face significant obstacles in attempting to seize control of the lordship of House Black. I will personally intervene if necessary."
Just as the young Auror was about to respond, footsteps sounded in the corridor. With a swift motion of her wand, she extinguished the fire in the fireplace. She shot Sirius a look filled with a mix of anger and sadness before shaking her head and exiting the room.
Sirius had spent the entire night wide awake, unable to find even a moment of respite. The explosion had left his eyebrow throbbing painfully, its swelling a stark reminder of the lack of any medical attention. While he hadn't suffered physical abuse in the cramped cell they had thrown him into for the night, there was no kindness in their neglect. They hadn't bothered to remove his chains or the gag before callously tossing him onto the floor like a discarded sack.
Lost in a haze of dark thoughts, Sirius had completely lost track of time, consumed by his simmering anger towards Pettigrew and Malfoy, and the heavy weight of grief for his lost friends.
"Visitor for you, Black," one of the guards announced, dispelling some of the spells that isolated his cell. Unable to straighten up from his prone position on the floor, hands bound behind his back, Sirius strained to see who had come.
Remus stood before him, his tall figure emanating a palpable aura of anger and contempt that cut deeper than any physical blow from Scrimgeour. Beside him, Ysée, small and elegant, looked up at Sirius, tears streaming down her face. Despite the risk, despite the secrecy of their relationship, she had come. In that moment, Sirius felt a surge of love for her; she believed in him.
They remained locked in that tableau for what felt like an eternity: Sirius, eyes pleading, watching the tears of his beloved and the fury of his friend.
Sirius felt the weight of Remus's silence like a physical blow, the absence of words cutting deeper than any spoken condemnation as his friend turned and left without a single utterance. Only Ysée, her tender presence lingering, remained by his side. As she reached out towards him, her hand halted by the guard's warning, Sirius yearned to feel her touch against his skin.
"Be careful, my dear," the guard taunted, his laughter echoing through the cell. "These bars are laced with defensive spells, each more vicious than the last."
Desperate to feel Ysée's warmth, Sirius would have given anything to have her close. Despite the filth staining the floor, she knelt down to meet his gaze.
"Sirius... I believe in your innocence. They say the sentence is only provisional. I'll be here waiting for you," she whispered softly.
And just like that, announced abruptly by the guard, the visit was over.
Sirius vomited, unable to suppress the violent reaction induced by the International Portkey. The guards, in their continued negligence—or were they under orders?—had yet to remove his gag, leaving him to endure the humiliation of swallowing back his own vomit to avoid choking. But amidst the physical discomfort, he hardly registered the assault on his dignity. He started to feel fear as he beheld Nurmengard looming before him.
The fortress stood like a monolith, surrounded by rugged cliffs and sheer drops. Sirius, whose emotions had been predominantly fueled by anger and indignation since the loss of his friends and his unjust conviction, now felt dread and fear. This was a man who had fought in a war, who had defied Voldemort at a young age. Yet now he trembled in the face of Nurmengard's imposing presence.
Behind him, Amelia and Scrimgeour observed him, their expressions a stark contrast. One held pity in her gaze, the other, glee. Scrimgeour exchanged words with the Austrian guards who approached, their English imperfect but sufficient to convey the identity of the man before them. "Siriousse Blake," they pronounced, acknowledging the bloodied figure, covered in vomit yet standing defiantly on his own two feet, refusing assistance despite his evident weakness.
The five wizards advanced towards the imposing fortress, and Sirius couldn't help but shiver as he sensed the formidable protections surrounding it. Even Amelia, typically composed and resolute, visibly faltered in the face of the oppressive wards.
Scrimgeour stopped in a room just off the first corridor with one of the guards, probably to sign some papers relating to his transfer, while the other guard and Amelia continued to escort him. As they delved deeper into Nurmengard, the corridors grew dimmer and more oppressive. They passed rows of iron doors, each one a gateway to despair. Moans and whispers echoed through the halls as they ascended to the highest tower.
As they made their way through the fortress, Amelia seized the opportunity to speak to Sirius, knowing the guard wouldn't understand a word of english.
"Sirius... I don't know if you're a traitor. Part of me believes you are..." She hesitated, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "But even if you are, you deserved a proper trial. I've been thinking about what Dumbledore said, and it's true that Greengrass didn't seem inclined to side with Malfoy. The Greengrasses are solely focused on their business, and Malfoy is more of a rival than an ally to them."
Pausing for a moment, she continued, her tone resolute. "But something didn't add up about his defense, offering to send you to Nurmengard... So I did some digging overnight. Spoke to a few contacts who know more about business than I do... And it turns out the Greengrasses are eyeing new markets, markets already dominated by businesses with ties to the Blacks. I can't say for certain if there were any under-the-table dealings between Malfoy and Greengrass, promises of favors or sells once Lucius becomes Lord Black... But if there were, it's reprehensible."
Her gaze hardened, filled with determination. "I'm not doing this for you, Sirius. I'm doing it for justice. But I want you to know, I'm going to see this through. I'll fight tooth and nail to ensure you get a fair trial."
They arrived at the summit as soon as she was finished, and the guard unlocked a heavy door, relieving Sirius of his chains and gag before shoving him inside. As the door slammed shut behind him, he was swallowed by darkness, the ominous click of the lock sealing his fate. With a desperate cry, he tried to scream his innocence to Amelia, but the echo of his voice faded into the oppressive silence. Alone in the cell within the tower that probably housed Grindelwald, Sirius was engulfed by the suffocating embrace of darkness.
In an office tucked away within the sprawling corridors of the Ministry of Magic, Dolores Umbridge, an ambitious middle-aged court clerk of the Third Magical Court of England, sat with an air of satisfaction. Leaning over her desk, she meticulously stamped a paper she had deftly forged, in exchange for a little gold and, above all, a "helping hand" to move up the Ministry hierarchy, from a mysterious donor—well, mysterious, she was pretty sure it was the young Lord Malfoy. As she wielded her influence with impunity, she savored the satisfaction of advancing her own agenda, heedless of the fate she had sealed with each stroke of her pen.
When she finished, she rose and made her way to the Aurors' office, where she handed the paper to Rufus Scrimgeour. He, glad for the chance to avenge his colleagues' presumed murderer (and to remove the last rising star of the Auror corps, now that Potter was dead, leaving him with no competition to pursue his career), waited until the end of the evening, used his accreditation to open the Court's doors, and promptly filed it away in the archives.
In the initial days of his imprisonment, Sirius's voice echoed off the cold stone walls as he vehemently proclaimed his innocence. Despite the futility of his cries, he continued to shout, driven by a desperate need to assert his truth to the uncaring void that surrounded him.
"You think you can silence me? You think you can just throw me in here and forget about me? I'm innocent! Do you hear me? Innocent!" Sirius's shouts reverberated through the empty cell, bouncing back to mock him in the oppressive silence.
But as the days dragged on and his pleas fell on deaf ears, his frustration grew into a simmering rage. The once fervent declarations of innocence morphed into bitter insults hurled at those he believed had orchestrated his downfall.
"Pettigrew! Malfoy! Greengrass! You think you've won? You think you can bury me in here and get away with it? I'll make you pay for what you've done!" His voice dripped with venom as he spat out their names, the anger consuming him from within. Despite the lack of response, Sirius continued to scream.
As the days stretched into weeks, and perhaps even months, Sirius's hoarse voice gradually abandoned him, worn down by the relentless cycle of shouting into the void. Yet, despite the physical toll and the creeping sense of hopelessness, he refused to surrender to despair.
Instead, he turned his focus to the fleeting moments of opportunity, scanning his surroundings for any chance to break free from his cell. But each day brought the same monotonous routine—a trapdoor creaking open at the base of his cell, the arrival of a solitary guard bearing a jug of water and a meager ration of foul-tasting molasses, and then the resounding thud as the door slammed shut once more.
The brief interlude offered no respite, no glimpse of escape from the relentless grip of Nurmengard. Yet, despite the bleakness of his situation, Sirius clung to a flicker of hope, determined to seize any chance, no matter how slim, to reclaim his freedom.
But there was none.
As the relentless passage of time blurred into a seemingly endless cycle of days, Sirius marked each one with a crude etching upon the stone walls of his prison cell. Each scratch served as a grim testament to the agonizingly slow march towards an uncertain future. Yet, despite his meticulous record-keeping, without a clear starting point, his tally of marks offered little solace in the face of the relentless monotony. Was it a year, perhaps more, since he had been cast into this wretched tower? But even as uncertainty gnawed at his resolve, Sirius refused to yield to the crushing weight of time.
"I'll make them pay," he muttered to himself, the words a defiant mantra against the suffocating silence of his solitary confinement. "Pettigrew, Malfoy, Greengrass... they won't get away with this. I'll see to it."
But beneath the veneer of righteous anger lurked a growing sense of unease, a creeping madness that gnawed at the edges of his sanity. The solitude weighed heavy upon him, its oppressive grip tightening with each passing day.
"Enough!" Sirius shouted into the emptiness, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "I won't be broken by this... I won't!"
Yet, even as he railed against the isolation, a chilling realization dawned upon him—he was teetering on the edge of madness, a solitary figure adrift in a sea of darkness. "Stay strong, Sirius," he whispered to himself, the words a feeble attempt to stave off the encroaching despair. "Stay strong... Think of Harry. Think of sweet, sweet Ysée... Your trial will come..."
He didn't know how long it had been. The trial wasn't coming. No one was coming. Nothing was coming. Nothing was happening. The only constant was the litany of names he kept repeating.
"Pettigrew, Malfoy, Greengrass..."
And again.
"Pettigrew, Malfoy, Greengrass, Crouch..."
And again.
"Pettigrew, Malfoy, Greengrass, Crouch, Dumbledore..."
And again, and again, and again.
Until, one day, he heard a faint scratching sound, as if someone was scraping the rock.
At first, he dismissed it as a trick of his imagination, a cruel jest played by his own fractured mind. But as the day passed and the sound persisted, growing steadily louder and more insistent, he could no longer ignore it. His heart quickened with a surge of hope as he strained to locate the source of the sound. It seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves, as if something—or someone—was slowly chiseling away at the unyielding stone.
Suddenly, part of the wall gave way, and, covered in dust, the head of an old man, full of white hair, appeared. The old man looked at the cell, then at him.
"Damn. Wrong side."
One of the man's eyes bore a black pupil, while the other was of a striking grey.
End of prologue
Author Note
I've just reread The Count of Monte Cristo. I wanted to write something disappointed, and I thought back to the character of Sirius Black...who is a perfect fit.
A few comments:
- If you haven't read The Count of Monte Cristo, this is in no way detrimental to your understanding of the story. You can simply continue. However, if you really want to know what it's all about before you commit to reading, there are plenty of under-five-minute videos on Youtube that summarize it.
- There will be some elements of AU. Notably, so that wizards can be literate and know how to count, Hogwarts will be a university - not a school. All this will be explained in the story.
- As I don't have a human one, I'm using GPT3.5 in beta.