--Thank you so much, everyone!
I'm truly grateful for your support. It means the world. As a little thank you, here's an extra chapter to celebrate reaching first place. You're brilliant.
Cheers,
Usiel--
The door to the interview room opened slowly. Amelia Bones stepped inside and closed it. The hinges sighed. She crossed to the table and sat. She felt heavier than yesterday.
Impeachment of Cornelius Fudge. Arrest of Umbridge. Arrest of Lords Malfoy and Nott. Submissions for the positions in the ministry... The list marched through her mind like names on a cenotaph. A political avalanche. The Ministry would be digging for months. Perhaps for years. Lord Black did not share that view apparently. He had added two more stones to her pile. Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange's marriage contract. Then Heir Black had sent an inquiry about the vault key and the guardianship of Harry Potter. If the Prophet learned that the Boy Who Lived had lived with magic hating Muggles, the slap would ring across Britain.
She set the thought aside and looked at the man across from her.
Sirius Black looked better than what she was expecting. Thin, wary, tired. Yes. But sane. His eyes tracked her without flinching. He did not smell of the sea. He did not tremble. He folded his hands on the table and waited.
"Mr Black," she said. "Do you know why you spent the last thirteen years in Azkaban."
He shook his head once. "No."
Amelia nodded and looked to Rufus Scrimgeour. He understood. He placed a thin stack of parchments on the table and set a Dicta Quill beside them. He touched the quill. It shivered and rose. Amelia began.
"State your full name and date of birth."
"Sirius Black the Third. Third of November. Nineteen fifty nine."
"You were arrested on the first of November. Nineteen eighty one. The charge reads as follows. Betrayal of James and Lily Potter to You Know Who. Murder of Peter Pettigrew. Murder of twelve Muggles. How do you plead."
"Not guilty." His voice did not waver. The only other sound in the room was the scratch of the Dicta Quill.
"Were you the Secret Keeper for the Potters."
"No. It was Pettigrew."
Scrimgeour's eyes moved once, then steadied. Amelia kept her face still. "Explain."
Sirius drew a breath. "We changed it at the last moment. We thought we were clever. We made Pettigrew the Secret Keeper. I told no one. Not even Remus. Not Dumbledore. No one. I went to find Peter after the fall at Godric's Hollow. He drew a crowd. He shouted that I had betrayed them. He blew the street. The Muggles died. He cut off his finger. Me, James, and Pettigrew were Animagi. Pettigrew's form was a common rat. After the explosion he shifted and ran into the sewers."
The quill scratched faster. Amelia lifted a hand. It slowed.
"You will repeat that last line," she said.
"He cut off his finger. He turned into a rat. He ran."
Amelia looked to Scrimgeour. He gave the smallest nod. Surprise sat in his eyes, quiet and hard. She felt the same cold spark and kept it under her tongue.
"Did you kill twelve Muggles."
"No."
"Did you kill Peter Pettigrew."
"No."
"Did you betray James and Lily Potter."
"No."
"Were you given a trial."
"No." The word was soft. It landed like a stone.
Amelia let the silence stand for a count of five. Then she spoke again. "Will you consent to the same questions under Veritaserum."
"Yes."
"That will be arranged." She closed the top sheet and slid the stack toward Scrimgeour. "The record will reflect this interview. Mr Black, you will return to holding for the present. You will have a shower and a meal. You will be examined by a Healer. You will not be sent back to Azkaban while this office holds your file."
For the first time, a change moved across his face. Not a smile. Not relief. Something like the idea of relief. He stood when Scrimgeour tapped his shoulder. The Auror opened the door and guided him out.
The room was quiet again. Amelia waited until the echo faded. Then she stood and went back to her office.
The desk was where she had left it. The piles had grown while she was away. She did not look at them. She rang for her clerk and sent three short notes.
One to the Wizengamot clerk. Emergency sitting. This afternoon. Agenda to follow. Priority high.
One to the Chief Registrar. Produce the commitment papers for Sirius Black. Produce the trial transcript if it exists. Produce the witness list if it exists. If it does not exist, write that on the first line.
One to the Auror Office. Prepare Veritaserum. Prepare containment for an Animagus if required. Prepare a chain of custody for all evidence.
She added a fourth note for the Record Office. Guardianship file for Harry James Potter. Gringotts liaison to present within the hour with vault key protocols. She pressed her seal into the wax and watched the owls lift from the sill.
Only then did she let herself sit. She placed both hands flat on the desk and counted to ten. The day would not slow. The avalanche had not stopped at the doors of the DMLE. It had come inside. It had taken a chair.
She looked at the empty chair in front of her and imagined the Minister in it. Any Minister. Then she pushed the thought away and reached for a clean page. There was work. There was always work. She wrote the words Emergency Sitting across the top and began the agenda.
--
Arcturus ate a proper breakfast and read two briefings before Mel glided through the window. The owl settled on the back of a chair and thrust out a leg. The note was short. A request for a glass box, warded against Animagus escape. He frowned for a heartbeat, then felt the frown slip away. If Corvus asked, there was a reason.
He could not say when the shift had happened. The boy had begun to lead. Not loudly. Not with speeches. He asked the right questions. He moved first. He did not wait for permission. Arcturus found that he liked it.
December thirteenth was close. The boy's birthday. Albus would try to delay the Rosier lordship for sure. He would dress it as bureaucracy. He would call it process. First birthday without a gift would not do. Perhaps something else would come up in the next few days. The thought of a creature or two crossed his mind. The boy had asked for a cavern and a pond in the new estate as if it was the most ordinary request in the world. That detail still puzzled him.
He wondered, not for the first time, about the Black Madness. It ran like a shadow through the family tree. He had watched it take cousins he had liked and cousins he had not. He listened to his own doubt and then set it aside. The boy was sharp and steady. He had earned his trust.
"Kreacher," he called. The elf appeared with a crack and a bow. "Fetch a glass cage. Thick panes. Metal frame."
Kreacher vanished and returned after a while with a case that met the order. Arcturus laid his wand along the rim and layered protections. Unbreakable. Anti transfiguration. A containment weave keyed to fur and scale. A detection charm that would chime if the thing inside tried to change shape and a lovely surprise. He pressed each spell into the frame until the metal glowed and dimmed softly.
Umbra arrived while he worked, a dark slash against the winter light. The raven carried a small box and a folded paper tied beneath the cord. Arcturus untied the knot and read the note. The words were neat and spare. Peter Pettigrew. Alive. Animagus rat. Keep contained.
For a second he felt the old shock, the kind that comes when the world turns on a hinge. He set the note aside and opened the box. The rat lay inside, limp from a spell. One paw was missing a toe.
He lifted the creature with a flick of his wand and settled it into the glass cage. The detection charm chimed once and then fell quiet. The runes along the frame took on a faint glow and held it.
"Put this in the study," he said to Kreacher. "Cover it with a cloth. No one touches it but me or Heir Black."
The summons arrived before he could sit down again. A Ministry owl. A neat hand. Director Bones requested his presence for an emergency sitting of the Wizengamot. The agenda was full. Interim Minister. Charges for Fudge. Charges for Malfoy and Nott. A long delayed matter concerning Sirius Black.
There was a second note. A personal line from the Director. If he wished, he could see Sirius before the session.
Arcturus held the paper for a long breath. He did not know what he felt. Anger at a name. Grief at a boy he had once thought bright and careless and alive. Something colder that he did not name.
He sat at his desk and pulled a fresh sheet toward him. The quill moved without fuss.
Corvus, meet me at the Ministry. Bring your calm face. There will be work, and there will be eyes.
He whistled low. Umbra took the message and vanished into the pale morning. Arcturus stood, checked the wards on the cage one last time. He changed to more formal robes and put his cloak on. It would be a long day. He did not mind. The House of Black had woken up. It was time to act.
--
Corvus met Arcturus at noon at the entrance to the DMLE. "Grandfather," he said, a slight incline of the head. His robes were black with silver trim, sharp lines, clean fall.
Arcturus looked him over. "Have you got taller, boy."
"I am a healthy young man, Grandfather. Of course I got taller."
Arcturus's eyes narrowed with humour. He tapped Corvus' shoulder. "And heavier in the right places. Are you also growing more muscle because you are a healthy young man."
Corvus smiled without answering.
"We are to see Sirius," Arcturus said, and turned toward the corridor. A clerk was waiting. The man bowed and led them through the security arch and along the quiet hall. They passed two Aurors, a glassed office, a locked door that hummed with wards. The clerk opened a final door and showed them into a private room with a table and three chairs.
They waited in silence. A minute later the door opened again. A thin man stepped in with cuffs on his wrists. He was clean. His hair had been cut. His robes were plain and dark.
At least he is in proper robes, Arcturus thought. Not those loud Muggle rags he fancied in his late teens.
Sirius stopped two steps inside and bowed his head. "Grandfather," he said. The word was careful. He looked to Corvus. "I do not know you, young man. I am Sirius Black the Third. Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black."
Corvus let the smile lift a fraction. "No. You are not." He rose and offered his hand, the Heir ring bright on his finger. "I am Corvus Black. Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black."
Sirius shook the offered hand without thinking. Shock moved across his face. The young man before him looked nothing like the Blacks he knew. Fair hair. Eyes that caught the light with a strange colour. He flicked a look at Arcturus. The old man's face did not shift by a line.
"Sit," Arcturus said. His tone was sharp and even. "You have met my Heir. It is thanks to him that you are here and not back on the island. He asked about the verdict of your trial. There was no answer. That brought the rest to light." He paused. "I would lecture you for chasing after that old goat and his favourites. I do not need to. You have paid a very heavy price."
He stood and crossed the space between them. Sirius stood as well. Arcturus drew him in and held him tight for a long breath. "I missed you, boy," he said, voice rough. "And I am angry with you. You nearly broke the family."
They sat. Silence settled, honest and awkward. Sirius cleared his throat and tried for a smile. "I do not remember any Blacks with blond hair," he said.
Corvus checked the corners of the room. He traced the edges of the door frame with his eyes. He let a thin thread of magic feel for spy work or a listening charm. Nothing answered. He looked back to them, then changed.
Hair darkened to a deep black. Eyes shifted to bright silver. The jaw set the way old portraits showed it. He lifted his chin a little. "Better," he said. "More Black now."
Arcturus blinked once. Sirius forgot how to breathe.
"You are a Metamorphmagus," Arcturus said at last. He reached across the table and gave the shoulder a light slap. "And you kept it from me. From your grandfather." Another light slap, more for show than sting.
Corvus stood, laughed under his breath, and tried to step away. There was nowhere to go in the small room. "Old man, stop abusing me or I'll file a complaint. We are already at the DMLE."
Arcturus huffed and settled back. "Stop shocking me every fortnight," he said, there was no edge in his voice. What was there was pride.
Sirius found his breath. He stared at the changed face, then at the ring. "Well," he said. "That explains the hair. And the rest."
"You can close your mouth now," Corvus said, and sat again.
The cuff chain rattled as Sirius folded his hands. He looked from one to the other. His eyes were bright and tired. "Thank you," he said, the words simple and plain.
"Save that for the chamber," Arcturus said. "We will need all the right words before the day ends."
Corvus's eyes flicked to the door. "And we will need the right timing." He let the silver fade back to turquoise and the hair to fair. "Better to keep surprises for when they count."
Sirius nodded, still working to catch up. He tried the shape of the new name. "Heir Black."
Corvus dipped his head. "Sirius."
They sat in a quiet that felt different from the start. The clerk's shadow moved across the frosted glass. The handle turned. The day was waiting on the other side.