Chapter 8
Far out on the sea, a tiny boat made the slow journey. There were five passengers; the old sailor who held the Fidelius, the only person who could lead the way into the island's wards, two aurors, a trainee, and one Mundungus Fletcher, about to start his fourth stint in the prison.
Monotonously, the tiny dingy made it's way to the island of Azkaban, creeping closer and closer as the world became colder and bleaker.
The start of the visit was typical-well, as typical as a stop on an island full of soul-sucking, heat stealing demons could be. The prisoner was handed off to the guards, paperwork was signed and magically filed. That part was all normal. The other auror, Dawlish, took Tonks for both a tour of the prison, which all trainees had to go through once, and a security inspection, which was done every time aurors made a trip to the island.
The remaining auror, however, did not join his student for this event. He had a different use for his time.
"I need to interrogate Sirius Black." Alastor instructed one of the guards. It nodded it's hood, and gusted off with two others to retrieve the prisoner, while a fourth guided Mad-eye to an interrogation room. The walls were as grey as everywhere else, the only additions a chair bolted to the ground for the interrogator and a set of chains in the wall, with barely a foot of length to each of them, for the prisoner. Black was dragged in by the dementors a few moments after Alastor settled himself, muttering apologies and James's name over and over.
Mad-eye considered what he wanted to start with, as the guards left him to it. In order that prisoners were coherent, the dementors stayed away during interrogations, so that one could only feel them on the periphery of their senses. Black seemed to pull into himself as the dementors disappeared, just rocking back and forth on his knees. The chains were spaced with the intention the prisoner be forced to stand, but Black stayed down by twisting his wrists in an uncomfortable manner, so his hands rested on his matted hair and he sat on his chained feet.
Moody had a list of things he wanted to say. This was once his apprentice, one member of a pair that were legendary for their skills. Black took down dozens of Death Eaters, both for imprisonment and in a more permanent fashion.
When did he turn?
Why did he turn?
Was he ever really on their side?
Why would he give up James, his brother in all but blood?
Why would he give up Harry to that monster?
Did James mean nothing to him?
Did Harry?
Did Alastor?
Mad-eye had lost trainees and former trainees before. It wasn't easy, but he did his best to prepare them and prayed to whatever was listening that they came back. More often than not, that prayer was answered with a yes.
Where had he gone wrong? What had he missed?
Black seemed to finally gather himself. He coughed hoarsely once. Twice.
"So… ten years and no visit? Why now?"
No visit. Like they were still on any kind of terms.
"Your Master. He claimed to be immortal. How?"
Black's dark eyes stared into Alastor's who had to try damn hard not to flinch at that unreadable gaze.
"How… How the hell would I know?"
He started cackling like a madman, bent over until his forehead was as close to the ground as it could get. Eventually, the laughter turned to sobs. Moody just waited. It always took a while, getting information out of someone fresh from dementor's clutches.
"How the hell would I know!? You think I wouldn't hand everything I knew over about that murdering bastard!" Black screeched. "I didn't know more than anyone else."
"You were his right-hand man." Moody pointed out. Black straightened. Then his eyes filled with tears as he started laughing again, eyes never leaving Moody's face.
"You… You think I was… was actually one of them? I thought… I thought at least a few people knew me better than that…"
"Don't try the innocent game Black, you got convicted for a reason."
"Convicted!" Black started yelling as he sprang to his feet. "Convicted! That implies I had a bloody trial!"
Moody frowned at the implication.
"You were a Death Eater, Black, spying on the Order…"
"You think… you think I would do that?" Black's eyes locked on Moody's again, the flesh one, as if that could see through to his soul. "You… you actually think I would do that? To James, to," he choked up, "to Harry…" Suddenly, Black got back his energy, started tugging on the chains again. Alastor saw a dribble of blood roll down Black's right arm.
"Harry. I… I gave him to Hagrid. He was in the rubble and bleeding but I gave him to Hagrid… the rat was there, I had to stop him before he got anybody else killed, so I let Hagrid take Harry… is... is he okay? Was he hurt? Did any of the Death Eaters get him?"
A caustic retort was right on Alastor's tongue, but he stopped himself. That… wasn't something he'd heard before. Why the hell would Black give Harry over if he was working for Riddle…. Something didn't make sense.
"What do you mean, gave him to Hagrid, Black? You were there when your master attacked?"
"My ma…. No, I bloody wasn't, the wards went off and I got there as fast as I could, but I was too late… I found James crushed against the wall… heard Harry… found Lily… and then Hagrid was there and he wanted to take Harry and I thought good, I could go after the rat for betraying them…"
"The rat. Who was the rat, Black? If you didn't sell the Potters to Voldemort, who did?"
"Pettigrew! The rat! I thought I was too obvious. 'Let me be the decoy,' I said, 'Make it Peter instead, nobody would suspect…' well, that's just what Voldemort counted on. His little spy, right under our noses… I may as well have served them up on a platter…" Black seemed to gather in again. "Harry! You didn't say! Is he alright, did…" Black grew even paler, as if that were possible, "No, he can't be… they didn't get him, they couldn't…"
Moody didn't want to believe it (yes he did). If what Black said was true… if he never had a trial and Pettigrew was the traitor… and godparents automatically got custody of children unless a will specified otherwise, and magical godparents overruled any muggle caregivers…
Black was Potter's godfather. If Black, the one person who legally could-was legally required-to subvert Albus and get Harry out of that home was incapacitated due to false charges…
Well, there was one way to verify all of this.
--
Alastor did not storm. He didn't have the legs or height for it (although neither did Amelia, and yet she managed, but that was besides the point).
No, Mad-eye Moody stalked.
On this particular day, he stalked down to Amelia Bones's office, a stack of files balanced atop a large ledger.
"Bones! Clear your office now! This waits even an hour and it'll be both our jobs!" he roared as he reached the door. Two… well, he didn't bother to examine them too carefully, two people scurried out in front of him as he waltzed in, slammed the door, and started casting charms.
Amelia was half-way around her desk when she he turned back, hand reaching, and face covered in concern.
"Alastor? What's wrong? Who's dead?"
"Nobody yet." He snapped back, "But I can think of at least two people who would wish they were when I'm through with them."
"Alastor, tell me now." Bones demanded. Moody threw the file on the desk, sending some of the papers already there scattering to the floor.
"That." He pulled a file from the stack. "The file on Black. Look for his trial transcript."
Amelia slowly opened the file and thumbed through. There wasn't much. "All I see here are his auror certs, the report form Catastrophes from when he was brought in, subpoenas from some of his arrests when he worked for the department, and the transfer order to Azkaban." Bones frowned. "Where's the rest of it?"
"You know how I wanted to ask him some questions? I did. He didn't have any answers though. Claimed we had the wrong guy, that he never had a trial."
"What? That's… not…" He watched her go through the same thought process he had. In the chaos after Voldemort fell, it was all too possible for one person to slip through the cracks. A crack so deep it was only luck, a possessed teacher, and overly-cautious grandfather that had anyone looking after ten bloody years. She looked back at the Catastrophes report.
"If Fudge was one of the team sent, he would have been called to the trial…"
"And the subpoena would be in his file? Already checked. Subpoenas for dozens of other cases, including one where Black was also a witness. Not for any trial of Black though."
"The Wizengamot minutes and agenda…"
"Checked them. Three times. No mention of a trial for Black. And get this. Officially, we got him because of Pettigrew's death. Nail in the coffin, right?" Moody dragged out the large tome he'd carried before her shocked eyes. It was charmed to show the same thing as the Book of the Dead, which was charmed centuries before to record every magical death on British soil. "Pettigrew? He doesn't show up."
Bones dropped the file.
"Pettigrew is still alive. That was the only wizard murder we could pin on him…" Amelia said under her breath, wheels visibly turning.
"…And the first thing that would have been confirmed for a trial to happen. Black claimed that he wasn't the Secret Keeper, he thought he was too obvious and did a fake-out with Pettigrew." Mad-eye explained.
Bones crashed into her chair.
"We… even if he was You-Know-Who's right hand man, the ICW has laws about this… if we have no proof of a trial, and kept him in a prison already under international fire for its conditions for ten years… Oh Lady of Light…"
--
Alastor plodded his way down the hall in St. Mungo's, Lupin at his side. Once Bones was convinced, things had gone down quickly and efficiently. Enough evidence was found to get Black a 'retrial' at which he requested a varitradus spell. Unlike truth potion, varitradus just said if a person was telling the truth, it didn't force them to do so, and couldn't pick up white lies. Luckily, the DMLE prosecutors were good at wording their questions, and in about two minutes it was established that Black was neither a Death Eater, nor Secret Keeper, nor any kind of criminal at all. The cherry on top for the press was how, intermittently throughout his testimony, Black either started sobbing about how it was all his fault or begging to know if Harry was alright. Moody was fairly certain half the women in the room started crying at some point. And Skeeter-the scummy reporter was having a bloody field day attacking everyone involved.
Fudge and Crouch both got arrested, good riddance, and when aurors raided the latter's house, they found his supposedly dead son in the basement. A very interesting case, that-and one Moody wasn't allowed anywhere near for fear he'd murder Crouch himself before the trial. A fear that was far from unfounded.
So, between dealing with all the leads the imprisoned Voldemort gave away in his regular monologues (of which there were many, and you'd think an evil dark lord who led a secret terrorist ring would be better at keeping his lackey's identities secret) and the investigations into corruption, both of which Moody wasn't allowed anywhere near because conflict of interest, Alastor tended to slip through the cracks.
Which was useful at the moment, because the healers said Black was… well, he needed to calm the fuck down before somebody got hurt. And he refused to do that until someone let him see Harry.
Moody figured between himself and Lupin, they could calm the man down. Hopefully. Black wasn't exactly sane before Azkaban, so he gave it a fifty-fifty shot.
They reached the door, and Lupin knocked quietly.
"Come in?" the hoarse voice croaked. The two wizards did so, and found Black, entirely bald and strapped to the bed.
"Moony…" the half delirious patient muttered.
"Hey there, Padfoot." The werewolf answered, reaching out to take Black's hand. "How you feeling?"
"Like I was in Azkaban for ten years and nobody will tell me what happened to my bloody godson!" Black screeched in the direction of the hall. Moody, out of concern for the poor orderlies he could see wincing down the hall with his eye, shut the door and started casting wards. Just in case.
"Moody… you… you believed me you… you got me out?"
Alastor just grunted.
"Thank you… I don't even know how…."
"Shut up Black." Surprisingly, the younger man obeyed.
"I should have realized years ago, so don't thank me for being a decade late. Besides. I didn't entirely do it for you."
Confusion covered the bald man's face. "What… who…"
"You asked about Potter?" Black's eyes lit up. "Well, he was with distant relatives till he was six, nice and safe like. A few years ago, though, he had to be moved, and long story short, he ended up with me."
Even more confusion.
"Ended… up with… what?"
Lupin, damn him, just stepped out of the line of fire and smirked. Moody groaned. This was going to be a long conversation. He was far to sober for this.