The very next morning, Eleanor found a letter waiting for her at breakfast, its creamy envelope sealed with her mother's familiar crest.
She unfolded it with trembling fingers.
Dearest Pleione,
Time is running out. I have it on good authority that someone from outside attempted to force an outbreak at Azkaban. Fortunately, Madam Bones had tightened security just in time. The Dark Lord's powers are growing; we must clear your father's name without delay.
Speak to Hermione Granger. I have arranged a meeting with Madam Bones this evening, six o'clock, at the Ministry. I have sent an owl to Severus Snape as well—you may use his fireplace if necessary. Speak to him after you've secured Granger's cooperation.
I wish you the best of luck.
Mother
Eleanor brushed her fingertips across the parchment, as if the smooth surface might somehow bring her courage.
Berenice leaned over her shoulder, eyes wide. "An outbreak from Azkaban," she whispered, paling. "You need to move fast, Nell. Time's slipping through your fingers."
"Don't I know it," Eleanor muttered, sipping her tea, though it tasted like nothing but dust. Her gaze drifted across the Hall, where Hermione Granger sat deep in conversation with the Gryffindor table. Eleanor's heart sank. That foolish boy, Harry, hadn't said a word to Hermione, nor contacted her through the Way Mirror. Doubtless, he'd forgotten Eleanor's request entirely.
With a weary sigh, Eleanor watched as Hermione stood, clutching a stack of books to her chest. Eleanor caught her say something about the library.
This was her chance.
Snatching up her own belongings, Eleanor muttered to Berenice, "I'll see you at Charms," before slipping away through the crowd.
"Hermione!" she called out, hurrying after her.
Hermione turned, looking faintly startled. She came to a halt just outside the Hall.
"Hermione, I need a word," Eleanor said quickly, tugging her into a deserted corridor.
Drawing a deep breath, Eleanor launched into the words she had been rehearsing in her head all morning. "Hermione, my mother has arranged a meeting with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement — Amelia Bones — to clear Sirius' name. Madam Bones has reviewed his case and agrees he was never granted a fair trial. They want to set that right, but they need certainty that he's innocent. I asked Harry to speak to you yesterday, but… I don't think he did."
Hermione's brow furrowed, but before she could say a word, Eleanor gripped her hands tightly.
"You have a memory," Eleanor said earnestly, "of Peter Pettigrew confessing to his crimes. That memory could be the key evidence to restore my father's name."
Hermione looked utterly overwhelmed. "What is it that you're asking exactly of me?"
"Tonight, at six o'clock, there's a meeting with Madam Bones. My mother's secured permission for us to use Professor Snape's fireplace to Floo to her office. We'll need your memory. They'll ask you to testify, under Veritaserum if necessary, and to surrender the memory itself. Time is critical."
"But—" Hermione faltered, panic flickering across her face. "We were out after curfew, we—"
Eleanor's grip tightened. "Hermione, this isn't about some daft school rule. Bones won't care a Knut for that. We need Pettigrew's confession from a reliable source. There'll be no consequences for you. Everything will be arranged."
"I—I—" Hermione stammered, visibly torn. "I need to think about it."
"Please," Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking. "I beg you."
Hermione nodded mutely and fled towards the library, her bushy hair flying behind her.
Eleanor stood for a moment, her heart pounding, before she gathered herself and trudged towards Charms. She didn't know if Hermione would come through—but Merlin, she hoped she would.
Fortunately, the day slipped by in a blur. After Charms, Adrian, Berenice and Eleanor ducked into an abandoned classroom to practise the spells they'd covered in Defence Against the Dark Arts the day before.
"We've got to be quick on the draw," Berenice said, pacing back and forth. "I reckon they'll set up something like a duelling arena for the practical. We'll have to hold off spells being chucked at us from all directions."
"Can't we just gang up two against one?" Adrian suggested, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Focus on speed—overwhelm the poor sod?"
"That's not a bad idea," Berenice said, grinning. "Let's give it a go."
Adrian and Eleanor paired up, attempting to Stun Berenice together, but Berenice's Shield Charm held firm, shimmering gold against their attacks.
"Good work," Eleanor panted, lowering her wand. "Now you try, Adrian—"
"No time," Berenice cut in, shaking her head. "We'll be late for Transfiguration—and McGonagall'll have our heads on pikes if we waltz in after the bell."
They gathered their things, still laughing, and hurried down the corridor.
After supper, Eleanor made her way along the familiar route to Snape's office, her palms clammy with nerves. She prayed that Hermione would be there.
And there she was — the curly-haired witch pacing anxiously up and down the corridor outside the Potions classroom, wringing her hands in agitation.
"Hermione, thank you!" Eleanor cried, flinging her arms around her in a tight hug. "You don't know what this means to me."
"I just want to help," Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Thank you," Eleanor repeated fervently.
She rapped sharply on Snape's door, which swung open at once to admit them.
"Miss Seymour, Miss Granger," Snape drawled, surveying them both through narrowed eyes. "I have been informed by Madam Fawley and Madam Bones that you two will be requiring my fireplace. I shall be accompanying you—students are not permitted to leave the school grounds unescorted."
Eleanor inclined her head respectfully. She squeezed Hermione's hand for courage. "Thank you, Professor Snape, for allowing us."
Snape gave a grimace, as though the words had caused him physical pain. "Make your way to the fireplace, girls," he said brusquely. "I should like to be back before the year is out."
Scooping a handful of Floo powder from a jar, Snape tossed it into the flames. They roared green.
"Madam Bones' Ministry office," he announced clearly, and the three of them stepped into the fire.
They arrived just as the clock on the wall struck six.
Madam Bones' office was a rather severe-looking room, dominated by a large mahogany desk. Only a single portrait adorned the wall behind it — an austere-looking wizard who peered down his nose at them disapprovingly.
Behind the desk sat Madam Bones herself, her monocle gleaming in the lamplight. Astraea Fawley was already present, seated beside a neatly robed solicitor. Remus Lupin sat quietly beside them, looking more tired and worn than Eleanor remembered. In the corner, a young wizard hovered by a stack of parchment, no doubt Bones' assistant.
"Miss Seymour, Miss Granger. Good evening," Madam Bones said briskly. "Professor Snape, if you would be so kind as to wait outside."
Without a word, Snape swept past them and out the door.
Amelia Bones turned her sharp gaze upon Hermione, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else.
"I have reviewed the files concerning Sirius Black," Bones said, her voice steely. "It is deeply troubling to find he was never granted a fair trial. No key witnesses, except for Cornelius Fudge's account — and a confession supposedly obtained under duress. Such testimony is inadmissible."
Her eyes bored into Hermione's.
"I am informed that you possess a key memory — one that could acquit Sirius Orion Black of the crimes for which he was convicted."
Bones' tone was formal, but there was something almost gentle beneath it.
"I have," Hermione said, lifting her chin proudly.
The solicitor leaned forward. "Miss Granger, would you consent to taking Veritaserum to authenticate your account?"
"I would," Hermione said at once, her voice clear and unwavering.
"Very good. Hermione Jean Granger, you have the right to magical protection, should you deem it necessary. You have the right to be heard in full. You cannot be silenced without cause. You may retain anonymity if you fear reprisal. You have the right to record and retain your testimony, and the right to recognition and non-retaliation," the solicitor recited in a practiced voice.
"Now, Miss Granger," said Madam Bones, uncapping a self-inking quill and placing it against a spell-sealed parchment. "Will you tell us about your testimony?"
Hermione hesitated, her hands twisting together. "May I show you instead, Madam Bones?"
Bones' eyebrows rose slightly. Across the room, Astraea Fawley exchanged a glance with the solicitor.
"Of course," said Bones, her voice still brisk but encouraging. She rose from her chair and crossed the room to unlock a cupboard. From within, she withdrew a shallow stone basin, carved with runes — a Pensieve.
"If you please," Bones said, setting it on the desk.
Hermione's face set in determination. She raised her wand to her temple and carefully drew out a thin, shimmering strand of memory. It dropped neatly into the Pensieve, swirling like liquid light.
"Shall we?" said Madam Bones, gesturing to the group.
One by one, Eleanor, Astraea, the solicitor, Lupin, and Hermione leaned forward, letting the memory pull them in.
Suddenly, they stood inside the battered remains of the Shrieking Shack. Dust floated thick in the air. Peter Pettigrew crouched on the floor, cringing, surrounded by Lupin and Sirius Black, both wands trained on him with lethal intent.
"You sold Lily and James to Voldemort," Sirius barked, his voice raw with fury. "Do you deny it?"
Pettigrew sobbed, wringing his filthy hands. "The Dark Lord — you don't understand, Sirius — I never meant for it to happen. He forced me—"
"Don't you dare lie!" Sirius bellowed. "You were his spy! I regret the day I ever suggested Lily and James make you their Secret-Keeper. I thought it was a perfect bluff — Voldemort would never suspect they'd trust someone like you. It must have been the crowning moment of your pathetic life, handing them over."
"You don't understand!" Pettigrew wailed. "He would have killed me if I hadn't! You've no idea what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can do—"
"But you should have died!" Sirius roared, his face twisted with rage. "Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!"
The memory wavered and dissolved, and the group found themselves once more in Madam Bones' office.
"Well, I think that is sufficient evidence to warrant a full revision and re-opening of the Black case," said Astraea Fawley crisply, glancing towards the solicitor and Lupin.
"Yes," agreed Madam Bones, nodding firmly. "I hereby revoke the arrest warrant for Sirius Black, effective immediately," she said, scrawling quick, precise words across a fresh piece of parchment. "And I authorise the immediate issue of an arrest warrant for Peter Pettigrew."
She worked methodically, her wand flicking once to summon an official seal which pressed itself onto the parchment with a satisfying snap.
Turning towards the young wizard in the corner, Bones extracted the silvery memory from the Pensieve and sealed it carefully into a glass vial. "Take this to the Veritas-Memory Examiners at once. I want it authenticated for tampering or alteration — and I want the results within the hour."
"Yes, Madam Bones," said the young wizard, already hurrying from the office.
The solicitor leant close to Astraea, murmuring something in a low voice. Astraea nodded gravely, then spoke aloud. "How do you intend to proceed, Madam Bones?"
"When the memory is verified and Miss Granger's testimony confirmed, I shall move to reopen the case under Clause Eight of the Magical Miscarriage of Justice Protocol," Bones said briskly. "Following that, a closed-door session of the Wizengamot will be convened. No public spectators. Sirius Black will be summoned, under full Auror escort."
"What will happen to him?" Lupin asked quietly.
"If he cooperates fully — submits willingly to questioning under Veritaserum — it will greatly strengthen his case. We will require him to give a full account: his relationship with Pettigrew, the events surrounding the Fidelius Charm, his time in Azkaban, his escape. Miss Granger's memory will serve as definitive corroboration."
Astraea inclined her head. "Thank you, Madam Bones. I have no doubt Mr Black will cooperate fully."
Madam Bones gave a thin smile. "The miscarriage of justice must be corrected. I shall speak with Minister Fudge this evening — remind him in no uncertain terms of the consequences if the Ministry is seen to neglect this further."
She tapped her parchment once with her wand, rolling it neatly into a scroll. "Assuming the Wizengamot clears Black, there will be a formal announcement. A press conference, most likely. I daresay he will receive the Order of Merlin, Second Class, at the very least."
Her sharp gaze shifted to Hermione. "Thank you, child. Your bravery today will clear the name of an innocent man." And to Eleanor, Madam Bones allowed a rare, fleeting smile.
"You may return to Hogwarts with your professor now," she said, flicking her wand at the door.
It swung open, and Professor Snape stepped inside, his expression dark and impatient.
"Come, Miss Seymour, Miss Granger," he said tersely, sweeping towards the fireplace. He snatched up the pot of Floo powder and threw a handful into the flames.
"Severus Snape's office, Hogwarts," he barked, and the green fire roared higher.
One by one, they stepped through.
They tumbled out into Snape's office in a whirl of ash and soot. Hermione immediately turned to leave, her face pale and pinched with exhaustion, but Eleanor caught her arm.
Without thinking, she pulled her into a fierce hug. "Thank you for coming forward," Eleanor whispered against her hair. "You've no idea what this means. I can't wait to tell my father the news."
Hermione smiled faintly, nodded, and hurried off down the corridor, her footsteps echoing away.
Eleanor turned and practically flew down the stairs towards the Slytherin girls' dormitories, her heart hammering with anticipation.
In the safety of her four-poster bed, she drew the curtains tight and cast a quick Muffliato to muffle any sound. She reached into her bag and pulled out the Way Mirror, cradling it with both hands.
Tapping it gently with her wand, she whispered, "Sirius Black."
Almost instantly, her father's familiar face appeared, etched with the same rugged lines and weary shadows — but his eyes lit up the moment he saw her.
"Daughter," he said warmly. "It's good to see you."
Eleanor pressed the mirror closer, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. "Father, we did it. Mother did it. Madam Bones saw the memory from the Shrieking Shack — Peter Pettigrew's confession. She lifted your arrest warrant on the spot. They're reopening your case — it's going to the Wizengamot!"
Sirius simply stared at her, as if the words were in a language he didn't quite understand.
"She lifted the arrest warrant?" he said, very quietly.
"Yes, Father. Immediately after seeing the memory. Madam Bones is confident your name will be cleared — properly, officially."
Eleanor smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. She clutched the mirror tighter. "Father — you're a free man."
For a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then he muttered, almost to himself, "I am a free man."
"Yes!" Eleanor laughed. "Mother's hired a solicitor to assist you. You'll probably hear from her later tonight."
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, still looking dazed. "Astraea set all this in motion?" he said under his breath, as if struggling to believe it.
"Yes," Eleanor said, her voice firm. "The Black name will be fully restored, Father. After so many years."
"I... I don't know what to say, Pleione," Sirius said thickly. His voice cracked. "It's a lot to take in."
"Of course, Father," Eleanor said quickly, though a small pang of disappointment twisted in her chest. She had imagined a different sort of reaction — joyful, perhaps. Triumphant. Not this raw, bewildered silence.
"I need... I need a little time to think."
"Of course," she said again, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"Goodnight, Pleione."
"Goodnight, Father," she whispered, lowering the mirror gently onto her blankets.
She lay back, staring up at the canopy overhead. Nemea, her white Persian cat, clambered onto the pillow beside her, but Eleanor barely noticed.
She felt strangely hollow, despite everything.
Her mind churned restlessly — about her mother's fierce, relentless drive; about George, whom she hadn't spoken to properly since the Christmas holidays. She ached for the comfort of his arms, the warmth of his skin.
Pushing Nemea aside, Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut and tried to empty her mind. But no matter how hard she tried, a freckled face — smiling, teasing, beloved — kept floating up behind her eyelids.
