"Very well," Dumbledore said with a slight nod, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Does anyone have any further opinions?"
Silence.
"Then let us proceed with a vote," Dumbledore said lightly. "Those in favor of Sirius Black's innocence, please raise your hands."
The members of the Wizengamot raised their right hands in unison.
"Excellent, please lower your hands," Dumbledore continued. "Those in favor of declaring Peter Pettigrew guilty, please raise your hands."
As before, a sea of hands rose in perfect harmony.
"Lower your hands," Dumbledore announced in a clear, authoritative voice. "I, Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, hereby formally declare Sirius Orion Black innocent and free!"
"The restoration of Sirius Black's reputation and the return of his personal property will proceed accordingly. Details will be published in the Daily Prophet."
"Furthermore, as Chief Warlock, I formally declare Peter Pettigrew guilty of unforgivable crimes. All honors and awards associated with his supposed heroism are hereby revoked, and he is officially listed as a wanted fugitive. A warrant for his arrest will be issued."
"Barty Crouch, due to his negligence and dereliction of duty, has caused an innocent soul to suffer years of torment in Azkaban while allowing the true criminal to evade justice for twelve years. Even considering the exceptional circumstances of the war, this is no excuse for such a grave error. Minister Fudge?"
"As Minister for Magic," Fudge declared, "I hereby suspend Barty Crouch from his position as Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He is to remain at home for reflection. Until a new head is appointed, all duties of the department will be managed by Deputy Head Carter Mulroney."
The solemn pronouncements marked the end of the trial.
Mary Pettigrew's lawsuit against Harry Potter for defaming her son was also dismissed, with Harry declared not guilty.
In the span of less than three months since the summer, Harry had now been acquitted in the Ministry's courtroom twice—an experience that, for any ordinary wizard, would be nothing short of legendary.
"Quite the novel experience, Mr. Potter," Amelia Bones said, stopping Harry as the crowd dispersed. "When do you plan to start training a team for the Ministry? Any specific timeline?"
"Minister Fudge asked me the same thing," Harry replied with a hint of exasperation. "I can't give a definite answer. I'll work toward it as quickly as I can, but I'd rather they take their time to master it than mess things up."
"A wise decision," Amelia said, nodding without pressing further. "If the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had a team of shamans like you, we could avoid many wrongful convictions and save a lot of trouble."
"I'm afraid it's not entirely reliable," Harry said thoughtfully. "After all, the spirits summoned by shamans are bound by blood ties to the person involved. Out of loyalty or emotion, they might choose to conceal the truth or even lie."
"So it depends on the specifics of each case," Amelia said, a rare smile softening her stern face. "I understand. Regardless, congratulations, Professor Potter. Your efforts have won back your godfather—a true family member."
"Thank you," Harry said with a smile. "I'll treasure it."
Why did it sound like Sirius was some prize won in a card game?
Using the Phoenix Express, the group bypassed the throng of fervent supporters waiting outside the Ministry and arrived directly at the Potter family estate.
"Master Harry has returned home!" Alfred's high-pitched, excited voice rang out the moment they landed. "Welcome!"
"Whoa, a house-elf?" Sirius said, eyeing Alfred's neat attire with curiosity. "Looking sharp, mate. You live a bit more freely than I expected, Harry. The Potter family never had house-elves serving them before."
"That's only been true since last year," Harry said, hanging his coat on the rack. "Thanks for your hard work, Alfred. This is my godfather, Sirius Black."
Though Harry no longer lived at the Potter estate, Alfred kept the place spotless. Knowing they'd be stopping by today, the diligent house-elf had already prepared food in the kitchen and lit a warm fire in the hearth.
"Greetings, Master's godfather!" Alfred said, bowing deeply before speaking in his shrill voice. "I am Alfred, Master Harry's most trusted steward! Would you like something to drink? And the great Dumbledore?"
"Coffee's fine, Alfred. No need to fuss over me," Sirius said with a carefree grin, already wandering the living room, touching this and that. "Honestly, I might know this old house better than Harry does. I lived here for at least seven years—every holiday with James. Uncle Fleamont and Aunt Euphemia were practically my parents."
"Oh, I won't be staying," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "But I can vouch for what Sirius said. The Marauders were thick as thieves, but James and Sirius were closer than brothers. That's why I could never believe Sirius would betray James when the news broke."
"Aunt Euphemia always regretted that neither James nor I was a girl," Sirius said with a playful grin, though it faded quickly. "Would've solved a lot of problems. But the four of us… well, James and I both misjudged someone."
"It's all in the past," Dumbledore said gently. "You've regained your freedom and your honor, Sirius. Now it's time to fulfill your duties as a godfather."
"Don't dwell on the shadows of the past. Think of Harry."
"You're right," Sirius said, forcing a smile. "I've got Harry now. So, what do you like, kid? Got a favorite girl?"
"You've got a lot to learn, Sirius," Harry said, deadpan, barely holding back a laugh. "Especially that last question. That's not something a proper godfather asks his kid."
Dumbledore chuckled at their banter before preparing to leave. Harry didn't try to stop him.
"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore said, pausing at the door. "As President of the International Confederation of Wizards, I feel obliged to pass along invitations from various Ministries of Magic."
"Invitations?" Harry asked, his mind racing. "From other Ministries? Because of the shaman thing?"
"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a nod. "The wizarding world is a small circle, and word travels fast."
"What do they want me to do?" Harry asked, curious.
"Give lectures," Dumbledore replied simply. "Explain everything about shamans and the resurgence of the elements, just as you do in your shaman classes."
"They can read back issues of the Daily Prophet," Harry said, shaking his head. "Rita's covered it thoroughly enough."
"Oh?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "So you intend to decline?"
"I'm not interested in performing for people who think it's all make-believe," Harry said, idly plucking at a blooming flower in the garden. "The elements will awaken in time. It's not the right moment yet."
"It seems you have a well-thought-out plan," Dumbledore said lightly. "Very well, this old man won't press you further. It's amusing, though—another professor I know wouldn't pass up a chance to shine before the global wizarding community. I can already imagine him lamenting your missed opportunity."
"Don't disgust me with Lockhart," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Anything else? If not, off you go."
Harry was practically shooing the century-old wizard out the door.
"One more thing," Dumbledore said, his tone as cheerful as ever. "Would you consider teaching me ancestral magic?"
Harry's head snapped up, his eyes studying Dumbledore closely.
Dumbledore didn't elaborate. Instead, he raised his hand, palm open, fingers dancing. Five small orange flames flickered at his fingertips, merging into one that burned steadily in the center of his palm.
Harry was ninety-nine percent certain this wasn't wandless magic or any spell. It was pure shamanic magic—Dumbledore had connected with the fire element, shaping it with his will alone to manifest a flame from the natural world.
A genuine, authentic shamanic spell.
"Quite challenging, isn't it?" Dumbledore said, clearly pleased with Harry's stunned expression. He winked playfully. "The elements are serious and passionate, but I managed in the end."
Shaman Dumbledore, officially initiated.
"Are you ready for this?" Harry asked, fixing Dumbledore with a serious look. "To face those who have passed on?"
"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, extinguishing the flame and lowering his hand. "We must keep moving forward. Death is never an endpoint, just as the Twisting Nether is a new adventure. We keep going, always."
"I can't run from it forever… I'm over a hundred years old, Harry."
"I have no objections," Harry said, nodding. "I'm glad to have an experienced apprentice."
"I hope Miss Granger won't mind me raising the average age of your students," Dumbledore said with a grin. "How about Saturday evenings? I shouldn't need too many lessons."
"Deal," Harry said, extending his hand.
"See you then."
Their hands clasped firmly.
After seeing Dumbledore off, Harry lingered in the garden, his thoughts drifting to the small church in Godric's Hollow—and the name he'd seen there: Ariana Dumbledore.
Dumbledore's deepest regret.
Harry pondered what consequences might come from letting Dumbledore confront his obsession. In the end, he decided to do nothing.
If Dumbledore's path led to his death, that was his choice.
Nothing more.
Besides his two mandatory classes as a professor, Harry had to skip the rest of the week's lessons.
He had to look after Sirius.
It was a bit counterintuitive. Despite Sirius's earlier bravado about taking up his godfather duties, it was all talk.
How could he manage?
He simply wasn't capable.
Maturity doesn't come with age but with experience. Before Azkaban, Sirius was just a young man fresh out of Hogwarts. Twelve years in prison, tormented by Dementors, offered no growth—only trauma.
Worse, the years in Azkaban had left Sirius neurotic and completely out of touch with the outside world. He needed time to adjust to the new environment. The wizarding world hadn't changed much, but twelve years had transformed the Muggle world drastically.
Especially the Muggle world. Sirius refused to fall behind in fashion. Even twelve years ago, he was a staunch Muggle enthusiast—his magically modified motorbike, gifted to Hagrid, was proof of that, outpacing even Arthur Weasley by a dozen years.
Honestly, Harry's life was starting to feel bizarre. One man kept asking him to summon his mother's spirit for heartfelt talks. Now another was constantly requesting his father's spirit for the same.
On the night of his acquittal, Sirius had Harry summon James's spirit again. Then he drank himself into a stupor, bottle in hand, pouring out his pain and guilt. James, unable to touch him as a spirit, could only watch helplessly, heartbroken, as his best friend drowned in sorrow.
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