The only way in and out of Azkaban was by boat.
Once the isolated retreat of a would-be Dark Lord, the fortress-turned-prison was built on a low skerry off the coast of Úig in Lewis, one of the small outlying islands past the Outer Hebrides. Azkaban normally wasn't considered part of the archipelago proper, but it was near enough that Lewis could be seen from the walls, though that visibility only went in one direction — the lensing effects of the wards and the ocean mists generally prevented the island from being spotted from Úig, though in certain weather conditions it might present as a dark mirage on the horizon. Certain protections laid down by Ekrizdis had failed when he was consumed by his own dementors, the spells tied to his life, but others still remained: all transportation magic was impossible within a kilometre or so of the island. No apparation, no portkeys, no gate spells, not even brooms worked, nothing.
To reach Azkaban, one must first take the floo to Stornoway in Lewis, which was no modest trip — the nearest hub was in Hogsmeade, which was a fair distance away to begin with, but the significant water crossing made it even rougher. From the hub in Stornoway, one could floo to the far western coast of Úig, where stood a tiny magical village; a short walk from the village, placed directly on the rocky shore, was a small station staffed by a handful of Hit Wizards. They would examine and question any visitors, double-check with the Ministry that they had approval to approach, and confiscate any contraband. It was even common practice for security to deprive visitors of their wands, though some might be given the privilege of an exemption. A pair of Hit Wizards would then lead the visitor to a tiny little boat, tied up on the rocks nearby, which would ferry them across the twelve kilometres or so to Azkaban.
The trip was, naturally, miserable. Beyond the Outer Hebrides, the winds and waves of the Atlantic were all but unbroken, the boat tossed up and down and the occupants quickly soaked from frigid sea spray. The boat wasn't enchanted to keep them comfortable — standard Hit Wizard armour would keep the wearer dry and warm, but if the visitor were unfortunate enough to not be one of the few who were allowed to keep their wand, they were almost certainly going to be wet and cold and shivering by the time they reached the island.
And the island itself wasn't particularly inviting. A tiny little rocky formation, the black walls of the former fortress reached all the way to the shore, the structure seeming to rise straight out of the water, waves crashing high up the sides. Interestingly, the walls ringing the island were the prison itself, the few human staff residing in a modest keep at the centre of the courtyard within. One would expect the guards to stand between the prisoners and freedom, but there was no need for that — the prisoners had nowhere to go. Between the two surfaces of the walls was a long ring hallway, circling the entire island, divided up into five levels, each with a row of cells against the outside wall. The geography of the island and the internal structure of the wall didn't allow cells around the entire circumference, and as small as the island was there were truly not that many, but as small as magical Britain was and as relatively rare as prison sentences were, they were enough.
The door of each cell was, naturally, locked. There were also gates sealing off the stairs at each level, preventing anyone who might manage to slip out of their cell from leaving the floor they were on. They were not monitored by the human staff, hidden away in their retreat at the centre, but there were not only humans in Azkaban: the island held the greatest concentrated population of dementors in all the world. The demons hovered in a grim black cloud around the top of the wall, would occasionally drift through the halls and even into the cells of the top two levels — the windows were too small for a person to slip through, but a dementor could pour through the gap without any difficulty, and they were not slowed by bars or gates in the least. They would occasionally wander down to the third level, and more rarely the second, but the ground floor was warded to prevent the dementors from reaching that far down.
Not that it made that much difference, truly — no ward could strip away the influence that such a great number of dementors had on the magical environment. A pall of misery and despair hung over the island, detectable from kilometres away. The dementors might be held back from physically entering the ground floor of the prison, of the keep at the centre, but the strength of their presence was so great that spending any time at all on the island was a significant emotional drain.
Even prisoners kept on the ground floor sometimes died within a year of their arrival, wasted away due to having lost the will to eat.
There was nowhere to go. Even should a prisoner fight past the dementors' influence well enough to retain the will to escape, even should they slip out of their cell, even should they get past the gates blocking the stairs, then they had to deal with the portcullis sealing the channel through which boats entered and exited. And even if they could get through that, they would find themselves in open water, with no means of transportation and no wand, a dozen kilometres away from the shore.
They would be in for a long, cold swim. They were certain to drown, or freeze.
No one had ever escaped from Azkaban, for good reason.
Cassie had needed to take the trip there and back countless times over the course of her career as an Auror, for one reason or another, and it was never pleasant — but many of her duties as the Lady of the House were unpleasant, when it came down to it. The trip was relatively quick and easy, at least. Since she'd been there before, she needn't suffer the disorienting floo trip across to Lewis and the walk down to the station, but could simply apparate straight there. She'd arrived some time before the rest of the group being sent out to the prison with her, but the other three had arrived all at once only a few minutes later, a single Hit Wizard immediately escorting them down to the boat.
The tenth anniversary of that Samhain was coming up, as she'd been reminded by Violet writing home about the mood at the school. It was quite a milestone, Cassie expected a number of memorials and celebrations and the like, and now that she was out in public it wasn't really a surprise that Violet might be attracting some attention. Nothing too threatening or inappropriate, by the sound of it — the attention payed to her in the early weeks had started to taper off, so it was obvious when people were noticing her more again, a little intrusive but it didn't seem like anything to be concerned about. But Violet mentioning the sort of things her classmates were saying, seeing the ramp up to the holiday going on across the country, thinking about the events of that night, Cassie had found her thoughts turning to Sirius.
She was well aware Sirius had never had a trial or a hearing of any kind, had simply been bundled up and shipped off to Azkaban. He was hardly the only one, either — the Ministry had been an absolute shambles at the time, the situation only worsening as Amy and Bagnold began their crusade to root out traitors and collaborators, a number of people had fallen through the cracks in the confusion. Many of them had since died in Azkaban, in fact, but Sirius was still hanging on, despite being kept on the top level nearest the dementors. From rumours Cassie had heard, he was even relatively lucid, or as much as one could expect after a decade in those conditions — though that wasn't unheard of, certain particularly driven individuals were more resistant to the aura of despair than others.
It was particularly common with political prisoners, like the communalist rebel Dáire Ó Bróin, who'd died just recently after fifty-seven years in Azakaban, the single longest sentence in the prison's history. Plenty of Death Eaters had died in prison, but plenty of others were still alive, one survivor having been imprisoned as early as 1972. That Sirius had managed to hang onto his sanity so long was unusual, yes, but not entirely unexpected
Cassie had noted to Archie a few times in the past that Sirius had never had a hearing, but they hadn't considered it a priority. She was confident that Sirius wasn't truly a traitor, and Archie took her word for it — he hadn't known Sirius personally, hadn't been in any position to judge his character — but they both agreed that it seemed very likely that he might have hunted down the man actually responsible for Jamie and Lily's deaths, so enthusiastically as to light up a street packed with muggles while he was at it. Cassie, Archie, Andi, Cissa, they all agreed that Sirius hadn't been responsible for the events in Godric's Hollow on Samhain, but he almost certainly had been responsible for the events in Edinburgh five days later. While it could still be valuable to get the truth of the matter, if only to set the record straight, Archie hadn't considered the political damage they might incur by seeming to be advocating on behalf of such an infamous traitor to be worth such a minor benefit.
But she was the Lady of the House now. It hadn't occurred to her since she'd taken over the House back in February, as messy as the transition had been, preoccupied with renegotiating contracts and meeting with clients and Violet starting at Hogwarts and preparing for her upcoming marriage... Now that Violet had unintentionally reminded her, well, she didn't see any reason why she shouldn't go ahead and finally deal with that herself.
She was in a different position than Archie had been. While it might still be politically damaging to the House, she was well-known to have fought with the Ministry and later the Order of the Phoenix against the Dark Lord — in fact, she was known to be one of only a handful of people to have directly faced him in one-on-one combat and survived — so the chances of her bringing suspicion onto herself simply by trying to discover the truth of events were far lesser. Also, she had somewhat more controversial politics than Archie to begin with, and was generally less...socially conventional, let's say — and that perception had only increased since she'd gotten into professional duelling, and was openly marrying a common woman, and was now revealed to have been raising the 'Boy' Who Lived in secret. She hadn't as far to fall with the type of people who would be offended by her being seen to advocate for Sirius: Albus's people and those in the Ministry who were familiar with her knew well enough to trust her intentions, and the rest generally didn't like her much in the first place.
So, the costs for her were lesser than they would be for Archie, but she didn't expect any greater benefits — she still expected that, even after being officially interviewed, Sirius would remain in Azkaban for the rest of his natural life. But he hadn't betrayed Jamie and Lily, Cassie knew that, for certain. Whatever one might say about Sirius, he simply wasn't that kind of man. It might seem like a small thing, but she thought it was still important, for Violet, for anyone who might have known Sirius, or known Jamie or Lily in life, to know the truth of what had happened. Even if it was only for their peace of mind, and little else, that was still worth it.
And if she was lucky, with how the timing worked out, they might be able to get the announcement out on Samhain. Which was a great time to get the news to as many people as possible, yes, to immediately correct the record, but the excitement of the new story might help to pull some of the uncomfortable attention away from Violet, if only temporarily. The possible benefits were minor, but Cassie had done more for less in the past.
She wasn't an Auror anymore, but there were privileges that came with being a Lady of the Wizengamot — like, for example, demanding an informal hearing for a member of her House who was technically being illegally detained. Within a few days of speaking with Amy about it, she'd confirmed that Sirius had never gotten any kind of hearing, alerted the proper authorities in the Office of the Chief Warlock, and scheduled the interview. Cassie was joined in the little boat bobbing its way over the rough October seas by Nathan Proudfoot, one of the generation of Aurors who'd come in during the final years of the war, Cuthbert Buckthorn, a clerk with the Office of the Chief Warlock, and an Unspeakable calling herself Orianna — Cassie would be willing to bet that wasn't her real name, Mysteries could be difficult like that.
The presence of an Auror and a legal official of some kind was necessary for the hearing to have legitimate standing, but the Unspeakable was unexpected. She claimed to be a truthspeaker — that is, a mind mage or a Seer of some kind who was capable of detecting dishonesty — which was helpful to have along for this sort of interview, of course, but Cassie suspected someone had decided to send her along as extra security. Cassie herself was extremely dangerous, of course — since she was permitted to keep her wand when visiting the prison, she could probably overpower Nathan and break Sirius out single-handedly if she decided the risk to herself and to Violet was worth it. (Which it wasn't, obviously, but the Ministry might not trust her that much anymore.) An Unspeakable was perhaps more valuable than another Auror, depending on Orianna's field of expertise she could be equipped to counter whatever Dark Arts Cassie or Sirius might resort to in an escape attempt. Which seemed unnecessarily paranoid, but it was very possible this had been a last-minute demand from the Minister or the Director of Mysteries or someone, so Cassie had withheld the urge to comment on the Unspeakable's presence. The interview was being allowed to go forward, so she didn't care.
The boat was magically propelled along the surface of the ocean, but it still took some time to cross the dozen kilometres. Cassie kept the five of them (including their Hit Wizard escort) warm and dry with a couple spells, the trip passing in relative comfort — as much as could be expected of a visit to Azkaban, anyway. They did talk, to pass the time, Nathan catching her up on the internal politics among the Aurors that she wasn't privy to anymore, Buckthorn speaking of the projects they were working on in Albus's office, some of the more higher-level Ministry politics that Nathan wasn't aware of, being only a regular Auror. None of it was particularly interesting, though the Ministry's efforts to surveil Saoirse Ghaelach and certain Gaelic priesthoods were somewhat exasperating. It'd be far more worth their time to focus on the Night Briar Brotherhood — they'd exploited the Ministry's preoccupation with the Death Eaters to expand their operations, were certainly the largest and most dangerous criminal group currently operating in the country. Frustratingly enough, Nathan actually agreed, but there were political imperatives that compelled them to turn disproportionate attention on the Gaelic nationalists, and to discourage them from paying too close attention to certain trades the Brotherhood were known to be involved in...because there were powerful wealthy families which were also involved in the same markets and didn't want to be inappropriately (or appropriately) associated with the more criminal elements...
Cassie was very glad she'd quit the Aurors — she hadn't minded the day-to-day, but the politics were fucking asinine.
The black blot of the prison walls had begun to loom large in the near distance, still a kilometre and change away, when Cassie began to feel a chill on the air, an indescribable weight settling over her. With a sweep of her wand, she cast a patronus — this time, the guardian appeared as an overlong serpent, coiled around to settle along the top of the little boat's sides, the aura of the spirit-guardian holding back the influence of the innumerable dementors on the island. Of course, the patronus itself was still somewhat unpleasant for Cassie, but a little bit of light magic sickness was a lesser evil than subjecting herself to dementor exposure.
She was well aware that she was hardly the most stable person in the world, and she couldn't just go drink herself unconscious to sleep off the demon-induced melancholy anymore. (She had responsibilities now.) Síomha would be home tonight, which would help, but it was still worthwhile to take some precautions.
The island prison seemed to lurk in the distance for some minutes, unmoving, before rapidly approaching, the walls stretching up high over their heads so suddenly they might as well have apparated closer. An effect of the wards around the prison, she knew, sometimes such things could do funny things to the perception of space. The outside wall was a solid black, running right up to the edge of the island, smooth and featureless and impenetrable, the only weaknesses in the alchemically-processed stone the narrow chinks of windows set in rows. While the lower levels might be relatively insulated from the dementors, the trade-off was the elements, the spray from waves striking the walls easily reaching the second row of windows, or even the fourth on stormier days — the ground level windows were enchanted to prevent sea swell from pouring inside the prison, but the wind and the mist would be let through, the cells frigid and damp, thick with the reek of sea salt and mildew. The sleeping areas were enchanted for warmth, so deaths directly due to the elements were rare, but it was still hardly comfortable.
Overhead, Cassie could make out the dark cloud of countless dementors clinging to the top of the wall, wafting in the ocean breeze like smoke.
At water level straight ahead was a low, narrow tunnel, a canal breaching through the wall, the left and right sides marked with enchanted lighting almost unnoticeable through the waves and fog. That hadn't been an original feature of the fortress — when the island had been discovered there had been no obvious weakness whatsoever, the Unspeakables of the time had needed to partially crack the wards and then physically carve out this tunnel to get inside. Their Hit Wizard escort slowed their boat on approach to the wall, only a half dozen metres away. As soon as a lull in the waves came, the boat suddenly lurched forward, dipping into the tunnel before the next swell could hit, a thick, prickly, oven-hot wave of wards sweeping over her skin as they passed through the threshold. The tunnel was dark, and close, only half-lit by Cassie's patronus and glowing crystals at the entrance and the exit, the water unnaturally still, silent save for the roaring of the ocean outside, the impacts seeming to set the tunnel to ringing around them, echoing in her chest.
The canal ended at a small pool on the edge of the courtyard, a short pier extended out from a rocky beach. Upon landing, while the Hit Wizard lashed the boat against the pier, Nathan offered a hand up onto the pier — which was obviously unnecessary, but she expected the protocol for dealing with noblewomen had been drilled into his head during training. Her patronus lifted off the boat, silvery-blue light swirling and reshaping, resolving into the form of a hawk, looping in a slow spiral around them as they moved on. The courtyard showed the natural stone of the tiny little island, grey and pockmarked with erosion and lichen and bird faeces. There wasn't much open space, maybe only a dozen metres between the outside wall and the complex of structures at the centre. The original keep was the tall round tower at the centre, made of the same stone as the external walls, but the Ministry had made additions with imported brick and ceramic, a kitchen and a laundry, storage for supplies and the prisoners' belongings, more comfortable living space. The tower was still technically livable, but the staff hardly spent any time there — dementors tended to frequent the upper levels, and the rest wasn't considered attractive either, vile magics from Ekrizdis's time still clinging to the stone.
One of the Hit Wizards on guard at the moment had seen them approach, was waiting at the front of the complex by the time they reached it. There was a brief conversation between Nathan and the two Hit Wizards, before their group was escorted over to the visitor's hall, the guard leaving to find a partner to accompany him up to the highest level to retrieve Sirius. The visitor's hall had been built back when the fortress had first been converted to a prison, a place for prisoners to be interrogated but also accommodations for visitors to the prison, official or civilian — there were even bedrooms for those who planned to stay overnight, perhaps underestimating how willing people would be to tolerate the dementors' influence for that long, Cassie doubted they'd been used much.
She'd expected to be brought to the interrogation room, but instead they set up in the dining room — this was an official interview, but Cassie supposed a Lady of the Wizengamot merited less spartan accommodation. Not that the dining room was particularly impressive, of course, but it wasn't that bad, the floor and the walls cast in ceramic, mosaics of gentle blues and yellows and greens, occasional bronze accents here and there, lit and warmed by an enchanted hearth. The dining table and the chairs were wood, surprisingly enough, the back of the chairs and the table legs carven with curling floral designs.
Their group was left in here, their Hit Wizard escort closing the door behind him. Cassie had her patronus circle the room a few times, to burn away as much of the dementors' influence lingering in the ambient environment as she could without a prolonged ritual, the hawk then swooping over to settle on the back of one of the chairs. Nathan and Buckthorn sat at the table, Buckthorn retrieving papers and inkwell from his bag, the two of them discussing the planned interview in low voices. Orianna stood near the patronus, hunched and silent — mmm, Seer, Cassie thought, especially susceptible to the aura of misery inundating the island.
For her part, Cassie paced in a slow circle around the table, waiting.
It was some minutes before the door clicked open again — Cassie heard the rattling of chains before they came into view. The Hit Wizards were escorting a man into the room, manacles binding his wrists and ankles, dressed in the plain grey trousers and tunic offered to prisoners, over them a ratty black cloak that probably didn't do much for comfort against the elements...especially since he was barefoot. The man was short and narrow, the way some purebloods tended to be, and terribly pale, his skin taking a sickly-looking greyish tone, and was obviously underfed, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, bones and tendons showing clearly at his wrists and ankles and along his neck and clavicles. His skin and clothes were relatively clean, but his hair was a bloody mess, black curls reduced to a knotted mass, a misshapen, scraggly beard drooping from his face.
The man was hardly recognisable as Sirius, but she still knew him immediately: she could feel his connection to the family magics, as faint as the sensation was here. "Remove the restraints," Cassie said to the Hit Wizards. "With Nathan and myself present, an unarmed man isn't any threat."
The Hit Wizards didn't respond immediately, their eyes focussing somewhere behind her — checking with Nathan, she guessed. After a short hesitation, both their heads dipped in a nod, one said, "As you wish, Lady Black."
As the men worked to unlock the mancles, heavy steel dropping noisily to the tile, Sirius's eyes jumped up to hers. (Blue so pale it was almost a silvery grey, common in the family.) His voice low, thick and hoarse from disuse, he muttered, "They said it was Lady Black. I half-expected Walburga."
Cassie forced a smirk. "I'm sure you'll be devastated to hear it, Sirius, but your mother died a few years ago now."
"Are you kidding? Best news I—" He coughed, harsh and strained, one (now unbound) hand coming up to rub at his throat. "Best news I've heard in years. Someone finally shut that harpy up for good?"
"In a manner of speaking. Come here..." Cassie stepped closer, cast a warming charm, a numbing charm, and a bevy of basic healing spells — one to clear the congestion out of Sirius's chest had him break into a sudden storm of coughing, a hand on his arm helping him keep his balance. Once he'd quietened down enough to hear, she said, "The Ministry put the official cause of death down as neglect due to madness, but personally I suspect suicide."
Sirius huffed, muttered, "Serves the bitch right."
While she couldn't agree with the sentiment — Walburga had been deeply troubled, since she'd been a girl, only worsened by the collapse of the family — she was aware Sirius had had a miserable relationship with his mother. It simply wasn't worth chastising him over it. "Come on, sit down. Sir Proudfoot and Albus's errand-boy here have some questions for you."
"Right." Slowly crossing the room to the table, Cassie guiding him by the arm, Sirius frowned up at her, blinking. "You...familiar. Who's left in the House?"
"You, your grandfather Pollus, and myself. Cassiopeia."
"Oh!" The sudden, sharp exhalation had him coughing again, she waited for it to pass before easing him down into the same chair her patronus was using as a perch. "Aunt Cassie, I..." He cleared his throat. "Thought you moved on by now. Or hasn't it... What year is it? Is it still Ninety-One?"
"Yes, the Twenty-Seventh of October. I had nearly moved on, but something came up to anchor me here — long enough for Archie to leverage me into taking over for him."
Sirius scoffed. "Better you than me. Since when are you blonde?"
"Since I felt like it." Cassie shrugged her bag off her shoulder, gently setting it down on the table. "Before we get started, I have something for you." First she pulled out a teapot, set the water already inside to steaming with a tap of her finger; next was a ceramic bowl, sealed with a tension cap, as the latch clacked open the hearty scent of mushrooms and herbs began to spread through the room—
"Lady Black," Orianna said, her voice low and sharp, "visitors are not permitted to bring anything to detainees without approval. Those will have to be confiscated. Sir Proudfoot—"
Cassie shot a quick glare over her shoulder at the Unspeakable — apparently she looked annoyed, because the woman cut off in mid-sentence. "The Hit Wizards at the shoreside station checked everything on me before you lot caught up. If you don't like it you can take it up with them."
Orianna apologised after a brief, heavy pause, but Cassie wasn't paying attention by then, setting out a spoon for the soup and a cup for the tea. "This will get stronger the longer you let it sit — I'd give it a taste in a couple minutes, I can stop it from steeping further with a charm. And while Sirius is eating, I have..."
She set a carafe of coffee down on the table, sealed with another tension cap, the coffee reheated with a delicate transfiguration. (Changing the temperature of something with transfiguration was the sort of thing most people found difficult to conceptualise, but Cassie was more likely to hit the precise temperature she wanted this way than she would be with a charm.) She took out three ceramic cups, and then duplicated one of them — she hadn't expected Orianna — and then pulled from her bag a small bottle of cream, a smaller jar of honey, and a plate wrapped up in a scrap of linen. Unwrapping the linen revealed a collection of biscuits, dry and crispy and spiced to complement the coffee.
"There, go ahead. Not you," she said, her hand coming down to rest on Sirius's shoulder, his hand stopping halfway to the plate of biscuits. "I'm afraid your stomach won't tolerate those just now. You may have some cream in your tea if you like, but that's it."
Cassie slipped into one of the chairs next to Sirius — her patronus was a little uncomfortable this close, but oh well — as they started to pour coffee, Sirius turning over the soup with a spoon, leaning close over the bowl and inhaling the steam. There were a few mutters of thanks for her foresight in bringing things with, especially the coffee — she did tend to feel unnaturally chilled here, even under warming charms. Orianna did take a cup of coffee, but she didn't sit at the table with the rest of them, instead returning to her spot standing close behind Sirius's chair, as near to the patronus as she could comfortably get.
It took a little bit for Sirius to actually start eating, the motions slow and awkward — by the look of it, she got the impression that his fingers were stiff from cold and disuse, difficult to properly grip his spoon. When he managed to get the first proper bite in his mouth, he let out a surprised hum, bowing closer over the bowl. "Did... Did I know you could cook?"
Gritting her teeth, she took a moment, slowly breathing in and out to compose herself, keep any sign of heat off her voice. (Sirius was asking because he wasn't certain which memories the dementors had taken from him by now.) "I'm not certain. I only started to learn when your generation were children, and it was generally something I only did at home, often with a lover. I can't say whether it would have ever come up or not."
"Mm." A few moments passed in quiet, Sirius spooning at his soup and Cassie and Nathan and Buckthorn crunching on biscuits. No one seemed to be in any particular mood for smalltalk, the atmosphere around the table quiet and dark, which was fair enough — Azkaban could do that to a person. It wasn't much time, Sirius was probably only a few spoonfuls into his soup when his head dipped further, his messy bloody hair hiding his face from her view. His free hand, wrist resting against the edge of the table, was visibly shaking, just a little.
"Sirius? Is something wrong?"
"No," he croaked, hoarse voice now coming out half-strangled. Straightening in his seat a little, his hand came up to quick wipe at his eyes, he cleared his throat. "I dunno, it just..." He glanced her way to give her a crooked smirk — thin, pale lips quivering, eyes glistening. "Been a while since I've had real food. It's good."
...It was hardly special, mushrooms and beans in a herby cream broth — she was aware his system wouldn't be able to handle certain things just now — but she guessed that wasn't the point. Her breath suddenly tight in her throat, her hand found his knee under the table. "I'm sorry, Sirius, I should have come sooner. Archie didn't want to... I took over the House months ago now, and I've...been busy. It slipped my mind until just recently, with the anniversary coming up, and... I should have come sooner."
"'Sall right," he grumbled, his hand coming down on top of hers. He squeezed, but his grip was weak and rather unsteady, his hands simply not up to much at the moment. "You made it, that's—" He broke off, cleared his throat, letting go of his spoon to take another swipe at his eyes. "And the soup is sodding great."
"Good. I'll come with something new next time."
"Yeah, well, I don't think there's gonna be a next time."
Cassie blinked. "What?"
"I have a feeling I'm going home today." Sirius turned to meet her eyes again, bloodshot and sunken, but sharp and suddenly intense. "Bastards didn't let me explain, just knocked me out, woke up here. Ten years, and I'm finally getting a fucking hearing..." Clearing his throat, he looked away, reached over to pour a little splash of the tea into the cup — his hand was shaking, she nearly moved to do it for him, but he managed it without making a mess. His hand weakly squeezed hers again. "I don't think you'll leave me here, to wait for the Ministry to straighten their shite out."
For a long moment, Cassie just stared at the side of Sirius's head — his face hidden by the tangled black mane of his hair. She hardly even felt like she was breathing.
There was only one reason he could think he was going home today.
"Ugh, what is this stuff?" The tea, he meant.
"...Medicinal. It's good for you, drink it." There was some low hoarse muttering, she was pretty sure she heard bitch, but she ignored it. Her eyes still locked on Sirius, she said, "Buckthorn, I think we should start the interview."
"As you say, Lady Black. Give me a moment to—"
"Hold up a second." Sirius didn't turn to face her this time, his eyes on his soup, the spoon idly turning through it. "Have you seen Harry? Is he all right?"
"She's well — she just started at Hogwarts a couple months ago."
"Oh yeah, it would be about that time. Time. Do you...?" His head tilted, from her angle only visible by how his hair shifted. "She. Decided to be a girl, then?"
"You knew she's a metamorph?"
"'Course." The single syllable was said flat and bland, like it were obvious.
...Cassie decided not to broach just now the thorny subject of Violet being administered a sex change potion and Riemann's Draught in infancy — that could be saved for a later time, when Sirius was less...delicate. "Albus doesn't know any other convenient metamorphs who could look after her, so she's been staying with me."
"You? Raising a little kid?" Sirius shook his head. "Bloody weird..."
She could pretend to be offended, but it really would just be playing it up for the sake of it. Before it'd happened, she couldn't have imagined herself...well, everything that'd come to pass these last few years. Sirius hadn't seen her in a decade, he could hardly be blamed for thinking it peculiar. "Violet doesn't have any complaints."
"Violet — I'll try to remember that." He took a gulp of his tea, gave a little shiver as it went down. "Okay, ah...Albus's errand-boy, whatever it was. Go on, hit me."
"Very well." There was a little bit of rasping of parchment and a clattering of ceramic. Cassie glanced that way to see Buckthorn rearranging his coffee cup, inkwell, and papers, put everything in more convenient reach between himself and Nathan. "I will be keeping a transcript with a colour-coded dictation quill, in addition to my own hand notes. Are there any questions or concerns before we begin?" Buckthorn waited three counts, glancing around the table, before bobbing his head in a nod. He tapped the dictation quill with his wand, set it to balance on its point at the top of a roll of paper. "Mark tone green. This is Solicitor-Public Cuthbert Buckthorn, conducting a statutory interview with Azkaban detainee, Sirius Arcturus Black. Mark tone black." He gestured to Sirius with his free hand.
"Giving me the black ink, eh? No one's done that before."
Proudfoot's lips twitched a little, Buckthorn giving Sirius a brief frown, but he moved on without comment. "There are two additional participants in the interview. The first is Auror Nathan Proudfoot, representing the interests of the Department of Law Enforcement in these proceedings. Mark tone red."
"Present."
"The second is an agent of the Department of Mysteries using the pseudonym Orianna, who I am informed is a truthspeaker. Mark tone silver."
"Present. I would first like to state for the record that Sirius Black does not bear the Dark Mark."
"Are you certain?" Nathan asked, frowning across the table at Sirius. "I'll admit, I wasn't looking that closely — also, it could be hidden."
Sirius snarled, the sudden intensity making Buckthorn visibly twitch, "The only way that snake-faced bastard's brand was getting on my skin was if I was already dead."
Nathan and Buckthorn were both staring at Sirius, taken aback, but Orianna calmly answered the question as though Sirius hadn't interrupted at all. "I'm certain. I would feel the Mark from this close, but there is no sign of it on the ambient environment or on Black's soul. He's clean."
After a long, awkward breath — surprised by Sirius's clear hatred for the Dark Lord and Orianna so casually speaking of analysing the character of another mage's soul (definitely a Seer) — Buckthorn said, "Very well, then. Ah. Also present is Lady Cassiopeia Calliste of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, who requested this interview. Mark tone gold."
"Thanks for giving me gold. I like that one, very pretty." These tone-matching quills managed to get a metallic sheen to the gold and silver colours — the effect was surprisingly good, considering the relatively simple mechanics involved.
"Count on the Blacks in the room to strip any proper dignity out of proceedings," Buckthorn drawled, one corner of his lips twitching. "If you would state your full name for the record, Mister Black."
Sirius's hair swayed just slightly with a small shake of his head. "Sirius Orion Melanos, Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
"For identification purposes, if you could also provide your date and place of birth, and the names of your parents."
"Third of November, Nineteen Fifty-Nine, at Ancient House, Leicestershire. The drunk and the harpy."
"Mister Black—"
"Orion Scorpius Lysander and Amalthea Walburga Callidora, Nancy and Most Arrogant House of Black. Yes, both of them — they were second cousins. Gotta keep that blood pure, you see."
"They were a love match, in point of fact," Cassie said. "Archie took pity on them, came up with the scheme to adopt Walburga out to a client so they could marry. It was sweet."
His hair was blocking her view, but she could practically hear Sirius scowling regardless. "Whatever."
"If I may continue." Buckthorn waited a breath, just in case either of them were going to interrupt again. "I don't suppose you need me to ask further questions to prime the environment."
"No, continue," Orianna said.
"Very well. It seems our truthspeaker is quite uncomfortable, so let's move straight to the matter at hand, shall we? When and under what circumstances did you first meet the Dark Lord, commonly referred to as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
Sirius shrugged. "Dunno. Walburga worshipped Venatrix Trivia, she'd bring me and Regulus to the cult's sanctuary or holiday gatherings or whatever else. Old Snake-Face used to be a priest with them, one of the creepy mystic types. Maybe met him when I was five or six, back when he was still going by Melanion. I don't really remember."
"You were raised in the Knights of Walpurgis, then."
"No, I was raised in the cults of Venatrix Trivia, Mater Vindex, and Sol Patronus. The Knights of Walpurgis were Melanion's militia — not a lot of children around."
"Very well," Buckthorn said, sounding slightly exasperated. "And when did you join the Knights of Walpurgis?"
"Never."
Cassie had half-expected surprise from Buckthorn, but it seemed he'd already been tipped off by Sirius's earlier insistence that he'd be Marked over his dead body. His eyes did flick over Sirius's head for a second, as though checking with Orianna quick, before nodding and moving on. "I was prepared with a list of questions concerning your knowledge of the activities of the Knights of Walpurgis, but I suppose we may skip those."
"I don't know shite about anything they were up to after the sanctuary was burned down in...Sixty-Nine or Seventy?"
"Nineteen Sixty-Nine," Cassie said, "May. I was there." The Ministry had raided the cult's sanctuary during the May Day celebration in an attempt to capture the Dark Lord and the leadership of the Knights. It turned out, they hadn't even been present at the time — the priests had signalled for help, and suddenly the Ministry team had been surrounded by angry priests and worshippers on one side and the Dark Lord, his Knights, and whatever allies they'd been able to call on short notice on the other. Cassie hadn't been part of the original team, she'd arrived late with reinforcements, come to extract their people (and their dead) and get the fuck out. The Ministry had been forced to retreat, but the sanctuary had been effectively destroyed in the fighting, one of the major grievances the Death Eaters had against the government.
If Cassie had been in charge, she wouldn't have assaulted a holy site if she could help it, but unfortunately for the entire bloody country she hadn't been the one giving the orders. Whatever idiot had ordered that raid had sparked off the war, and for no good reason. The Dark Lord was full of shite when it came to any number of things, of course, but he hadn't pulled the religious prosecution angle out of his arse — and that shite motivated people, striking the sanctuary had been an awful fucking idea. Far too late now, but it still irritated her to be reminded of it...
"Right, Sixty-Nine. There were fewer family events after that, and pretty soon I wasn't welcome to those anyway. I can't tell you shite about the Knights of Walpurgis, they didn't exactly like having me around."
"Then we will skip those questions — let me see..." Buckthorn flipped through his papers, humming under his breath. "No, there's no point in speaking of this...or any of this... Very well, then, I would like to move on to the matter of the Potters, unless anyone has any objection."
Sirius bit out a sharp sigh. He dropped his spoon, the metal clattering against the ceramic of the bowl — he'd finished it, only a little bit of broth left clinging to the bottom — slumped limply back in his chair, matted tangles of hair brushing against Cassie's arm. "Go on then, get it over with."
"In November of Eighty-One, the Department of Law Enforcement was presented testimony by the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore. He claims that, in February of Nineteen Eighty, he personally set special protections over the Potter residence in Godric's Hollow, a powerful magic called the Fidelius Charm."
"It's a ritual, not a charm. But yes."
Buckthorn nodded. "As it was explained by the Chief Warlock, it is a magic that enshrines a secret within the soul of a trusted individual. So long as the spell is in effect, that individual, called the Secret Keeper, is the only person who may communicate that knowledge to others. The knowledge may no longer be discovered by any other means, and may only be divulged through the will of the Secret Keeper."
"That's correct. Neat trick, sealing away secrets like that."
"The Chief Warlock claims that, when he cast the spell, you were made the Secret Keeper."
"I was."
"Very well." Once again, Buckthorn glanced up at Orianna, before turning to his notes to scribble something down. "When and why did you pass the secret to the Dark Lord?"
"I didn't."
There was a brief pause, Nathan and Buckthorn both staring at Sirius. Nathan glanced to Cassie, raising a questioning eyebrow — she gave him a little shrug and a smirk, took a casual sip of her coffee. That Sirius hadn't betrayed the Potters wasn't a surprise to her, of course, but it was still the official story. She'd told Amy why she was doing this, no idea how much of it she'd told the people picked for this little trip, but apparently that little detail hadn't been included.
The silence again dragged on for a moment, Buckthorn again glancing up at Orianna for confirmation. He twitched into motion, reaching to flip through the papers he'd brought with him. "Ah... Maybe I'm misunderstanding something here. If you did not give the Dark Lord the secret, then how did he reach the Potters?"
"I didn't do it — it was Pettigrew." Despite how thin and hoarse his voice was from disuse, he managed to get an impressive snarl out of it.
"...You mean, Peter Pettigrew."
"Yes, I mean Peter Pettigrew — the snivelling fucking coward..."
There was another long, dumbfounded pause. After another glance up at Orianna, Buckthorn turned back to his papers, muttering under his breath. Nathan leaned in, they exchanged a couple low comments — about what Albus told them a decade ago, and that night in Edinburgh — Buckthorn shook his head, waving Nathan off. "Excuse me, my understanding is that the Fidelius can only be broken by the participants willingly ending the spell, or the Secret somehow being made void."
"We moved it."
"...I'm sorry?"
"We moved it," Sirius hissed, thin and whispery. "Albus cast the ritual to give me the Secret. Then, later, Lily cast a second ritual to take it away from me and put it in Pettigrew." Again, the name was said in a low, hoarse growl, like it were some kind of foul insult.
Without waiting a breath, Nathan asked Orianna, "Is that possible?"
"It...may be. I am not familiar with this particular ritual, but... If we assume the ritual to enshrine the Secret places some manner of mark on the soul of its Keeper, to which the magic of the ritual refers, then it should be possible to transfer that mark from one soul to another. It would require some skill with necromancy, however — that is, the direct manipulation of the soul. That is not common magic."
"Lily was a healer and a cursebreaker," Sirius drawled, "had a talent for it, even. And she liked to play with little rituals in her spare time. And it..." He trailed off for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice came thick, low, with a note on it she didn't quite know how to read. "I can still remember how it felt, when she held my soul in her hands. That ritual, hell of a thing..."
It took a second for Orianna to continue — maybe as taken aback as the rest of them, Cassie and Nathan and Buckthorn all staring at Sirius. (One didn't hear about that sort of soul magic very often.) "Then, yes, I would say it is possible. I don't feel any hint of deception from him now, regardless."
"Not gonna waste finally getting a bloody hearing by telling tales now, am I?"
Especially not when the truth was already fantastical enough, Cassie supposed. She'd known Lily had some talent for witchcraft, but... Honestly, she'd assumed the three of them had broken the ritual, however that was meant to be done, and then recast it themselves, having seen Albus do it once before. That would be risky, yes, playing around reverse-engineering magic always was, but it would be less risky than directly manipulating a person's soul. For Sirius's soul to actually be removed, for what he'd described to make any sense, the kind of procedure they were talking about was absurdly difficult, nobody did that kind of magic anymore...
...besides the faeries, anyway. In principle, it would be similar to what the Avalonian healers had done with Violet, if somewhat less complex. It was extremely impressive — Cassie knew Lily had been talented, but she wouldn't have anticipated she could pull off actual soul-shaping. Full of surprises, that woman, even after a decade in the grave.
Buckthorn was taking a series of notes, his quill scrawling along the page, his shorthand jagged and rushed. "All right. All right... Very well," he said, finishing the thought with a flourish. "When and why was this switch made?"
"Early August, shortly after Harry's birth. Ah, Violet, I mean. It's going to take me a little bit to remember that," he muttered to Cassie.
She found his hand again, gave it a little squeeze. "It's all right — I'm sure she won't take it personally."
"Right. Anyway, ah... Lily thought, moving the Secret might disrupt the ritual enough to take it away from the people who already had it, so she used the timing of Violet's birth. See, the phrasing of the Secret referenced that James and Lily lived there — but then there were three people living there. It did mess with the Secret, actually, so that was a good call. And why, well, there were a few."
"Proceed," Buckthorn muttered, when Sirius didn't continue immediately.
"Yeah, yeah, I just— I didn't know how hard it'd be. Since I had the Secret, I had to keep safe — if I was killed, it'd break the ritual, and they'd be vulnerable again. But there was a war going on, my friends were dying, and... I couldn't, just, sit at home, waiting. It was driving me fucking mad. I talked to them about it, and, they decided I was more useful fighting. And we could make sure the bastards knew I had a back door into their wards, or something, so they would pay attention to me. I could be big, and noisy, and obvious, and keep attention off the real Secret Keeper.
"But Lily already wanted to change something anyway, before I came to them about it. She never liked the plan in the first place."
Buckthorn perked up a little, turning a raised eyebrow on Sirius. "Oh? Why is that?"
"Well, a few reasons. For the Fidelius to work, you can't use other wards. You have to put your trust in the Secret Keeper, all of your trust, for it to work — you can't use other protections as a failsafe, that'll break the ritual. She didn't like putting all her eggs in one basket, you know. And, when it came down to it, Lily just didn't trust Albus."
That got some more double-takes from Nathan and Buckthorn — but, again, Cassie wasn't particularly surprised. She'd noticed it was pretty common for muggleborns, of more recent generations especially, to have some rather ambivalent feelings about Albus. And for those who'd been in the Order, well, some had had some pretty serious misgivings about how he'd been managing their part in the war, and since it turned out Lily had been far deeper into more esoteric witchcraft than she'd realised (soul-shaping, fuck), yeah. Hell, that ritual trap Lily had caught the Dark Lord with would almost certainly be considered Black Arts which would merit execution, if it hadn't involved the sacrifice of her own life anyway...
(Human sacrifice was very illegal, technically even if it was the user's own. There were reasons Albus hadn't publicised what had actually occurred that night. Or, his misunderstanding of what'd happened that night, anyway — he'd interpreted events close enough to the truth of the matter for it to be deeply incriminating regardless.)
"I've never heard anything about that," Nathan said. He sounded rather sceptical, though Cassie wasn't certain what he was thinking exactly — he had checked Orianna for her feeling on it, so obviously he should know Sirius at least believed he was telling the truth.
"Yeah, well, you didn't know the woman, did you? Lily thought Albus was a condescending, chauvinistic old bastard, and naïve about the Death Eaters — he was convinced they could be reformed, up to the end — a moral coward, for not wanting to escalate — as though we weren't already at war, as though we weren't already dying. And she was a big Dark Arts nerd when people weren't looking, didn't think it was fair that the old families had access to magics that were kept from muggleborns, for their protection. Heard her complaining about that as early as second year, before she learned to keep that sort of talk private. Hell, with how much she loved ritual and soul magic and sympathy and divination, if the Death Eaters hadn't been such aggressive vicious bigots, she might have been on the other side."
That idea was met with dead silence, save for the moody crackling of the fire in the hearth. The idea of Lily Potter joining the Death Eaters probably seemed extremely bizarre. Cassie had thought the same thing when she'd heard, during an Order meeting, that their recruiters had actually approached her at one point — but then, she hadn't realised at the time just how deep into the Dark Arts Lily had been. That made much more sense in retrospect.
She was actually rather disappointed now that she hadn't known Lily better while she'd still been alive, she sounded entertaining.
Once Nathan and Buckthorn managed to shake themselves out of it, they took a few moments to discuss what Sirius had just told them about the Fidelius. They did double-check with Orianna, again, both men flipping through the papers they'd brought with and arguing about one thing or another. Not that those papers would do them much good, the official story was all based on testimony from parties (mostly Albus) who didn't have any direct knowledge of what Sirius was telling them — they had no good reason to doubt his story, especially when they had a Seer right here to confirm he was telling the truth. (Cassie was certain Orianna hadn't been sent with the intention of backing up Sirius, but it was working out that way regardless.) As they talked and poured through their notes over the next couple minutes, they grew increasingly tense, a sharp note slipping into Buckthorn's voice, his fingers starting to tap restlessly on his documents.
It looked like they were coming to the realisation that Sirius was innocent.
She couldn't blame them for having some kind of emotional reaction to that news — it was a... Well, honestly, she felt awful for not getting to this much sooner, it'd probably take some time for her to feel anything else about it. She wasn't even quite feeling that yet either, just, it was too big, looming over her, and she was still trying to act more or less normal while they had an audience. Her job right now was to act as Sirius's advocate, to get him out of here when the time came — he couldn't afford for her to melt into a miserable puddle of regret and self-recrimination just now. She felt she was giving off a mostly composed impression, though she was maybe gripping Sirius's hand a little harder than she needed to.
This was going to be big. The present government was largely a product of the seismic political shifts that had followed in the wake of the war, many of the major figures were directly tied to the events and decisions of that time in one way or another. Cassie didn't know off-hand who, specifically, was responsible for Sirius being detained without trial, who might be held responsible for it on reflection, but it hardly even mattered. It wouldn't even be all about Sirius, it couldn't be. That they had one case of an innocent man being condemned to a decade in Azkaban should obviously raise the question of if there were others, whether the Ministry had made more critical mistakes in that time. And there were enough interested parties, enough people who had been wronged or had personal vendettas dating to those days, or were political enemies of people who'd been influential then, people would be motivated to investigate — once they had a good excuse to want to look, nobody would be able to stop it.
She could imagine the DLE (and maybe even the Minister personally) might try to bury something like this to avoid the controversy, but that simply wasn't going to work this time. For one thing, the government was maybe unfortunate to have Amy as the DLE's current Director — Amy was perhaps too principled for such a political position, hated being asked to compromise in the interest of expediency, or to save face for people she didn't even like anyway. (After all, Amy's conduct in that period had been impeccable, it wasn't she who would be the target of this sort of controversy.) If Fudge tried to bribe or threaten her into making this go away, Cassie expected she'd simply take efforts to make the decision even more public to spite him. Which Fudge would know, of course — Cassie knew from Cissa and Lucius that Fudge found Amy's stubbornness extremely frustrating — so he'd know that stopping it from happening at all wasn't an option.
But making it happen quietly wasn't an option either. Sirius's case was too well-known, the story of his supposed betrayal of Jamie and Lily having been seared into public consciousness in those critical weeks, a core part of the narrative of what had happened that Samhain. And Cassie was Lady Black, the House far too visible, especially in their diminished state — they couldn't simply agree to have him change his name and vanish into anonymity among their family, they were too few — no, it was going to be noticed. And as much attention as people were already paying to Cassie, given the existing controversies around her relationships with Síomha and Violet, it was going to blow up all the stronger. It was simply impossible for Fudge, for anyone, to keep a lid on this one.
Nathan and Buckthorn had suddenly found themselves at the heart of a tempest, one so powerful it might shake the very foundations of the entire government — and there was nothing the poor sods could do about it but keep their heads down and do their bloody jobs.
After some minutes talking back and forth with Nathan, Buckthorn finally turned back to Sirius. "All right, Mister Black, ah... When did you discover that Mister Pettigrew had given up the Potters to the Dark Lord?"
"Immediately. It... The Secret can only hold as long as the knowledge exists. Once he..." Cassie felt his hand shivering a little, tightened her grip around it — Sirius squeezed back, took a long, slow breath. "Once they were no longer living there, the spell broke. I think everyone who had it should have felt it, but, maybe it was stronger for me. I did used to be the Secret Keeper, maybe that... Well. I knew right away, I knew what happened."
"I see." Buckthorn made a note of that, then asked, his voice lower and somewhat delicate, "What did you do when you found out?"
"I... I went to the house." He paused a moment, taking another couple thick breaths, his hand squeezing tighter — which still wasn't that tight, his grip weak after a decade wasting away here, but it the difference was still noticeable. His voice thick, grinding, he grumbled, "I found Harry...Violet... Hagrid came, he, he said Albus sent him to pick up Violet, bring him to safety at Hogwarts, but, stupid, Harry was– she was only fifteen months old, you can't take infants through the Floo. I was... I wasn't sure I could side-along him, her, without...messing something up, so I popped back to get my bike, let Hagrid borrow it to... I watched them go." Buckthorn was again looking up at Orianna, checking for any sign Sirius was lying. Apparently Sirius noticed the same thing, because he added, "I never got my bike back, Hagrid probably still has it, if you want to check my story. Enchanted it myself for my NEWT Runes project, has an etching of a grinning wolf on the left side panel, can't miss it."
She couldn't see it from this angle, but that note Nathan was scrawling down was probably to double-check that Hagrid, indeed, still had Sirius's motorbike, or at least to ask Hagrid what he'd done with it. Buckthorn made his own note, quick checking something else in his papers. "Very well. What happened next?"
"I don't know."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't know. It... Most of the next few days are...fuzzy. I know I was trying to find Pettigrew, but I can't give you a play-by-play of what I was doing."
"How did you find him?"
Sirius shrugged. "Tracking spell. I don't remember which one — I found it in the library at Castle White, I think. Like I said, it's a blur. I wasn't thinking about anything but making him pay, it... I can't remember it very well."
"All right." Buckthorn made another note, muttered something to Nathan. "So, you finally found Mister Pettigrew in Edinburgh, on the Fifth."
"The Fifth? That was the Fifth?"
"Ah, yes?"
"Christ... I don't think I'd slept since..." Sirius trailed off, shaking his head to himself. It took a moment for him to find his voice, cleared his throat multiple times. "I don't know where it was, the spell... I just knew it was where he was, not where that was, if you know what I mean. Divination can be like that. My spell gave me a general area, and it was crowded, I didn't... I might not have found him, if he didn't bloody well announce himself."
Buckthorn blinked at him. "How do you mean?"
"It was a trap," Sirius snarled. "The traitor set a trap, like the spineless coward he is, and I walked right into it like a fucking idiot!"
"Mister Black, I understand this is difficult, but please try to remain calm, and explain what happened to me in a way I can understand."
"Right, I know, I just—" He cut himself off, cleared his throat again. He reached for the tea pot, but it was empty already — with a couple clicks of her fingers, Cassie conjured a glass and filled it with water. The wandless conjuration got some raised eyebrows from Nathan and Buckthorn, but the only verbal comment was a murmured Thanks, Auntie from Sirius. He took a couple big gulps from the glass, wiped at his face a little with his free hand. "Ah. He'd set up a paling, tripped it when I got close. I thought it was for a warning, that he meant to run away, had to find him before he could...
"Then I heard him yelling, over the crowd. Out in the middle of the street, and..." Sirius paused, rubbing at his face for a moment. "He was blubbering about me killing Jamie and Lily, begging not to... I knew something was wrong, he was acting — I'd seen him put on that helpless scared act for professors more times than I can count, I knew it when I saw it — but I couldn't figure out why. Obvious now: putting on an act for the poor confused muggles — Adjustment would take statements and memories before obliviating them, bastard was framing me. It... It was confusing enough that it got through the mad rage I'd been in for, fuck, five days? I just stood there, watching him, like a stupid..."
When it didn't look like he was finding the thread again any time soon, Cassie gave him a little nudge in the side with her elbow, prompted him. "You didn't blow up that street."
"No, I— That fucking rat, I couldn't... It was surreal, it didn't quite– I knew something was wrong, he was putting on a bloody show, and... He drew his wand behind his back — I threw up a shield, reflex, but he wasn't aiming at me."
"Do you know which curse Mister Pettigrew used?" Buckthorn asked. "Adjustment wasn't able to make a determination at the scene. The assumption is that it was some unknown complex blasting curse of immense power — that very few would be capable of causing such destruction was a significant factor in the presumption of your guilt."
Cassie would admit, that had played a part in her assumption he was responsible as well — but Sirius just scoffed at the suggestion. "Seriously? Did you see what that street looked like after? It looked like a fucking bomb went off! I couldn't—" He cut himself off with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead for a moment. "I don't... Like I said, it was a trap — he planned it. I think he'd enchanted some amulet to protect himself from the blast, and... I'm not sure how he got that much power out of it, honestly. I think, maybe he looked up where the gas lines were ahead of time, and aimed for one of those? There did seem to be stages, and... Maybe transfigured it out a bit to collect a tonne of the shite before I showed up, I don't know. Pettigrew was fucking useless in a fight, but even he could have managed a basic elemental piercing curse — lance through the asphalt, get some fire on the gas down there, boom. Devious cowardly bastard, should have just ripped his fucking heart out while I had the chance..."
"Fantasies of bloody murder aside," Nathan drawled — aiming for an amused tone, but not quite hitting it, tense and sombre. "You said a moment ago he had some defensive amulet. Are you suggesting Peter Pettigrew survived the blast?"
Sirius groaned. "Yes, he survived the fucking blast. A little tousled, his amulet wasn't that great, but he was fine. Did you seriously think he was dead?"
"...All that was found of him at the scene was a single finger and a bloody set of robes. He was posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class."
"Order of— Are you entirely daft? You think an explosion that took out half the fucking street left behind an empty set of robes and a severed finger? Mercy save me, the Ministry's gone to the fucking pits..."
"Mister Black—"
"Yes, he survived!" Sirius snarled at Buckthorn, making the old solicitor twitch a little. "I didn't— I thought you lot were looking for him! The finger could have been a sacrifice to throw off tracking spells, but— You really thought he's dead?"
"You were charged with his murder."
"Well I didn't know that, did I, since I never got a fucking hearing! I thought it was for all those muggles, and breaking Secrecy, and—" Sirius cut himself off with a long groan, bending over the table, his forehead striking the surface with a deep thump. He let out a soft ow, and then started hissing under his breath in Cambrian, a steady stream of curses — mostly, rather graphic threats of violence, directed equally against Pettigrew and the Office of Adjustment. Which maybe wasn't the most politic thing to do, when there were Ministry officials in the room with them.
Cassie leaned back in her chair a little, turned to look up at Orianna, silently looming behind his chair. "Unspeakable, could you confirm his testimony for me, please."
Staring back at her, one of the woman's eyebrows ticked up. "He certainly believes he's telling the truth. I strongly suspect he was wrongfully accused back in Eighty-One."
"Sir Proudfoot, is that good enough for you?"
Nathan let out a long sigh, but then bobbed his head in a little nod. "Yes, my lady, I will accept the truthspeaker's judgement, until a more thorough investigation can be conducted." She'd insisted they use given names earlier, but he'd reverted to the proper formalities, apparently realising she was asking he state that for the record.
"Good. Sirius, I need my hand back. And I'm going to be dropping the patronus for a moment, sorry." The cursing interrupted, there was a hiss of breath through teeth — but he released her hand anyway. Cassie dispelled the patronus perched on the back of Sirius's chair (the temperature seeming to drop five degrees in a blink), and replaced it with the messenger variant. Gritting her teeth against the light magic burning through her, she glared at the little bird perched on her finger, struggling to wrench the threads of the spell into their proper arrangement. (She could cast light magic, when the situation called for it, but it was not easy.) Once she felt she had it, she said, "Amy. Sirius is innocent — you can confirm that with Sir Proudfoot and the Unspeakable if you must. I'm asserting my privilege to claim provisionary custody, effective immediately." A final uncomfortable flex of light magic, and the bird lifted off her finger and blinked away.
"You know this is going to be a hell of a mess, Cassie," Nathan muttered.
"I don't give a damn. He's not staying here another night."
There was a brief pause, but it wasn't long before a familiar ghostly deer came flittering into existence, hovering over the table. "You've just made my afternoon extremely difficult, Auntie. Please wait there — I will need fifteen to thirty minutes to secure a smooth transfer. I will notify you when we're ready." Its message delivered, the patronus dissolved into nothing, leaving behind a faint echo of light magic on the air.
Cassie cast a second messenger. "Amy. Don't forget to send someone with his wand." When someone was brought to Azkaban, their belongings were packed away in a storeroom here on the island, but their wands were kept at the Ministry. Prisoners were hardly likely to get that far, but storing the wands on the island was still considered a security flaw. Once the bird was gone, she cast a fresh patronus for Sirius (and the rest of them), the hawk once again shimmering into being perched on the back of his chair.
"Amy?" Sirius grumbled, his head still pressed against the table. "That Amy Bones?"
"Yes, she's the Director now."
"...Oh. Good."
Buckthorn had a few final questions, but the interview was wrapped up shortly. Of course, the quill hadn't been given a tone for Amy's voice, so a few quick annotations needed to be made — Nathan then had all of them sign it, the record folded up and tucked away. Buckthorn was still flipping through his papers and making notes — probably making preliminary preparations for whoever would be managing Sirus's formal trial — Nathan volunteered to go tell the Hit Wizards what had just happened. It was probably going to take some convincing to get them to cooperate, but if it came down to it he could always get the Director to send someone to yell at them, they'd figure it out. He'd come back with Sirius's belongings, everything that'd been on him at the time of his arrest should still be here.
A few steps away from the table, he paused. He gave Sirius (forehead still pressed against the table) a long, hard look. Cassie couldn't begin to read his expression, too ambivalent, tense and screwed up. For a moment, it seemed like he would speak, but then he shook his head and continued on, the door clicking closed behind him.
The room fell mostly silent, then, the only noise the scritching of Buckthorn's quill, the crackling of the fire in the hearth, the hissing of Sirius's breath. They wern't alone, but she figured this was the best they were going to get for a little while. Finding Sirius's hand under the table again, she muttered, "I'm sorry."
"...What for?"
"For not coming sooner. I... I knew you didn't betray Jamie and Lily, but I did think you did Edinburgh."
There was a brief pause, Sirius's hand shaking a little in hers. Eventually he straightened up a bit, turned to stare at her through the tangled mess of his hair. That was a queer look on his face, bemused, exasperated. "You honestly thought I was a mass murderer, and you made this happen anyway?"
She shrugged. "I thought it was worth it, for the truth of what happened that Samhain. I've suggested Archie should do it before, but he didn't like the politics of it. But I'm in charge now, so."
"...You're bloody mad, Auntie, you know that."
"I've been told. If I knew about Edinburgh, I... This shouldn't have taken so long. I'm sorry, Sirius, truly."
"It's all right. I..." His hand squeezed tighter around hers for a second, shaking a little from the effort. "You came. I never expected to get out of here, I... You're here now, that's what matters."
...
Cassie seriously doubted she'd be so charitable in his position. He could go ahead and forgive her if he liked, but she was going to continue to feel awful about it regardless.
"Harry is—" Sirius cut himself off with a hiss, made a quick shake of his head, his hair shivering. "Violet. You took care of her? She's okay?"
This probably wasn't the time to explain how long it'd taken Cassie to get to her, too. "She's wonderful. She's the sweetest little thing, you'll love her. She's going to be an artist."
Sirius twitched, blinked up at her for a second. "Really?"
She nodded. "I've set her up with an apprenticeship under a master painter, a couple years ago now. She's truly very good for her age, Walter is confident she's going to be successful with it — hell, he told me to expect her to finish her masterwork before she even leaves Hogwarts."
For a long moment, he didn't speak — staring at her wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open a sliver. "...An artist."
"Yes, Sirius. An artist."
Sirius never did find the words to respond to that news. Instead, he simply dissolved into tears.
So, that's the book 3 and book 5 plots decisively murdered, in October of first year. Wee!
I'm sure this will have absolutely no implications for forthcoming events at all, and that's definitely not an ominous arc title, don't worry about it.