Arcturus turned his head toward the dais. "Chief Warlock," he said, the politeness smooth as glass and at odds with the light in his eyes. "Have you reviewed the Registrar's family records?"
Dumbledore measured his breath. It had been a busy week. Perhaps the most in years. Fudge's vaults were already under seal and away from his clutches. The old ordinances had walked in on iron feet. He had long told himself he would find a way to prune them. One by one, without tearing the hedge. Yet he could not. The traditionalist wing was holding to those relics as if they were their lifeline. Now they prickled his arse at every step. He watched the Minister sit where few men had sat so easily on a first sitting and weighed the cost of collision.
He chose delay. "I have many duties, Interim Minister Black," he said in a mild voice. "I have not yet had time to examine the report. Perhaps we might take that matter at a later sitting."
Arcturus's smile turned to a sure grin. "I was about to touch that very point, Chief Warlock Dumbledore." He used the title as Albus had used his. "You keep three chairs. Chief Warlock of this body. Supreme Mugwump of the Confederation. Headmaster of a school that once set the measure for our world."
The benches shifted. Progressives straightened as if stung. A few of the faithful found their feet and then thought better of it. On the Neutral side there was a soft breath that might have been a laugh. Among the Traditionalists, several faces turned toward the Minister as if scenting blood in the water.
"With age comes judgment," Arcturus said. "It also brings limits. This chamber has had a Chief Warlock in name and a clerk in fact. Your Mugwump seat has been used to steal talents trained and thought by foreign institutes and to claim credit shamelessly. Credit that belongs to others. As for Hogwarts, I will spare the chamber a catalogue. Combat instruction is closed. Dueling is closed. Dark Arts study is closed. We turn out children who can light a wand and levitate a feather and call it an academic triumph."
"Minister," Albus began.
Arcturus did not turn his head. "You do not have the hours to do three jobs. You have shown us as much. We will be practical. I 'personally' recommend you relinquish two of your posts." He used the word personally on purpose. "Choose the ones you can most easily spare. Keep one and do it to measure."
The Chief Warlock's hand touched the gavel and stilled. "You presume much, Lord Black."
"The record presumes more," Arcturus said, shifting some parchments. "Five hearings deferred this term for want of your presence. Seven petitions lost in your anteroom. One file empty where a trial should have stood. Sirius Black of the Most noble and Ancient house of Black rotted for thirteen years without even a trial. The Registrar's report concerning House Rosier has been in your hand since dawn. You now tell this body you have not found time to read it."
Albus's eyes held to the floor and then to the ceiling. "It is the duty of the Chief Warlock to set the pace of this chamber. I will not be hustled by any bench."
"You set no pace today," Arcturus answered. "Should we put to vote what I recommentd to you?" He faced Dumbledore with sharp eyes. "Should we ask, whether any member of this body may retain three chairs, or shall we proceed to seat the new Lord Rosier.""
Albus drew breath again. "Minister, the propriety of this course is uncertain at best. I advise caution."
Arcturus lifted a hand and the murmur died. He did not look away. "Propriety is a fine word. Yet, it does not excuse neglect." He let the silence stretch. "As you insist on delaying this body, we shall continue with the motion."
He rested his palm on the rail and leaned forward by an inch. Grey eyes caught the light and held it. "Shall we go to a vote, Chief Warlock Dumbledore?"
The smile that followed was not warm. It was a wolf baring fangs.
--
One truth settled over the chamber like frost. The Wizengamot was not large enough for two hunters. Arcturus Black moved like a wolf that thought, planned, set the snare, and closed his jaws when the path narrowed. Albus Dumbledore, for all his gentle voice, worked as a snake. He set a course in whispers, let the venom work, wait while the prey slowed, then shaped the field to his liking. They had met at last without screens between them.
The benches showed it in small ways first. On the Progressive side anger flared and slipped into unease. Two Lords whispered fast, counting votes that would not work in their favor. Madam Marchbanks kept her eyes on the dais but her hand tapped once on the rail. Lord Doge tried for a smile and failed. Those who understood the shape of the trap began to look past the floor to the door.
The Neutrals held still. Greengrass did not move for a long count. Lady Davis folded her hands and watched the Minister, not the Chief Warlock. Lord Abbott spoke one quiet sentence and then kept his counsel. They could feel the tide and would not set their boats against it without need. Caution had become the bench's habit and it served them now.
Among the Traditionalists there was a different quiet. Avery's mouth thinned in satisfaction. Selwyn's eyes were half lidded, watching the angles as if measuring a room for new furniture. Travers let the ghost of a smile touch his face and vanish. Dumbledore had been a pain in their back for a long time. Pain teaches patience. It also whets appetite.
Arcturus stood with his palm on the rail and did not look away. Albus sat very straight and did not lower his gaze. Rings tapped once across the rows and then stopped. Quills waited.
It would not be a season of letters and committees. It would be a choice made in the open. Would the Chief Warlock yield two chairs and keep one with honour, or would he bow his head and let Arcturus have the first blood? The air seemed to lean in for the answer.
--
Albus weighed the cost and chose the field. He needed all three posts for the map he kept in his head. Each chair reached a different corner of his grande plan. The Minister would not let him keep them all in the open. Better to lose a point and keep the long lines. He cleared his throat, lifted a sealed envelope from the stack, broke the wax, and read what he already knew.
"The Registrar certifies that Corvus Black, son of Selene Black née Rosier, is closest living kin in the Rosier line and stands without rival claim. By authority of this chamber and under the Registrar's seal, the seat and privileges of Lord Rosier are recognised. The chamber may welcome him."
Arcturus's mouth curved. He did not hide it.
Corvus left the visitors' tier when his name was spoken and walked to the center. He stopped beneath the rail. The Chief Warlock opened a slim book and read the old symbolic words that bind every bench.
"The duties to which you bind yourself are these. You will uphold the Statutes and Orders of this realm. You will keep the secrecy that keeps our people safe. You will attend the sittings of this chamber, render your vote without fear or favour. You will serve when called on committees of inquiry. You will maintain the wards and holdings of the house you bear, settle the house levy when due, and present an heir in good time. You will keep your name clean of oath breaking and treason. So stated."
"I so bind myself," Corvus said. His voice was steady.
"The seat of Rosier is opened," Dumbledore said. "Let it be recorded."
Corvus inclined his head to Arcturus. "Minister Black." The hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. Arcturus scoffed. "Lord Rosier... Brat." He motioned for Corvus to take his seat. Corvus turned and went to the Traditionalist side to take the the empty place.
Arcturus faced the dais. "All that posture for five minutes, Chief Warlock Dumbledore. We have a new Lord. A young and bright mind who will use his vote for the 'Greater Good.' He pressed the words and let the room hear the weight of them. In his mind the phrase belonged to a different man. A friend with a different vision. Correct but imcomplete.
Albus smiled, the way one smiles when a tooth is pulled by a calm hand. "We proceed, Interim Minister Black." He looked to Amelia. "Director Bones, if you will."
"Indeed," Arcturus said. "By all means. We must not take more of the Chief Warlock's crowded day." He turned to Amelia and lifted his hand a fraction. She had watched the exchange with one brow raised and a private sense of humor. This was a disaster in waiting, not an IF but a When. It would not benefit the realm, yet it was a delight to watch these two relics thirsty for each others blood to wear masks of civility.
At her signal, the doors opened. Sirius Black entered under escort and took the iron chair. The chains rose and rested. He set his jaw as they closed. He did not look at the gallery, nor did he look at the dais.
Amelia stepped to the center and opened a folder. "Sirius Black. You stand charged as follows. Complicity in the deaths of James and Lily Potter in service of You Know Who." A chuckle came from Corvus at the mention of the silly coddename. Lords, ladies and officials turned to look at him with disapproving gazes. Amelia continued after a while. "Murder of Peter Pettigrew. Murder of twelve Muggles in a public thoroughfare by explosive magic. Disturbance of the peace and reckless endangerment of Muggles. Breach of the Statute of Secrecy arising from the same act. Do you understand the charges."
"I do," Sirius said.
"How do you plead."
"Not guilty."
Amelia nodded once. "Do you consent to questioning under Veritaserum."
"I do."
She signalled. The Healer in plain robes stepped forward, tilted Sirius's chin, and let three clear drops fall. Amelia waited. When the glaze settled over his eyes, she began.
"State your name and date of birth."
"Sirius Black the Third. Third of November, nineteen fifty nine."
"Did you betray James and Lily Potter to You Know Who."
"No."
"Were you the Secret Keeper for the Potter home."
"No."
"Explain."
"We switched. I thought by doing so we could outsmart the Dark Lord. We named Pettigrew as the secret keeper." The words came flat and even. "I went to the house after the attack. James was on the floor. Lily was by the crib. Harry was crying. I lifted him. Hagrid arrived shortly after. He said the Headmaster had sent him. He took the child. I went to find the traitor."
Corvus raised his hand. Amelia cast a light sheen over the chair that dulled sound and turned to the benches.
"Lord Rosier."
"Madam Bones," Corvus said, standing. "To be clear. Was this Mr Hagrid of Hogwarts. If so, I ask under what authority the school's gamekeeper entered a house attacked personally by Voldemort" A gasp heard from the chamber. Corvus continued. "within minutes of an attack. Who sent him, how did they knew of the attack happened and why." He sat.
Amelia looked at him for a while. "Lord Rosier," she started. "There is a reason we do not use the name of You Know Who. Please be moresensitive." She lifted the ward. "Mr Black. Under what authority was Mr Hagrid present at Godric's Hollow."
"We served in a vigilante group under the Headmaster," Sirius said. "We followed his orders. Hagrid was sent by him."
Albus drew breath. Corvus lifted his hand again. Amelia did not look at either of them. "That point will be examined," she said. "We remain with the charge."
"Did you kill twelve Muggles on the street."
"No."
"Who did."
"Pettigrew. He shouted that I had betrayed them. He drew his wand and blasted the street. He left a finger behind, shifter to his animagus form which is a common Rat and escaped through Sewers."
Murmurs stirred along the rails. Animagus. The word moved in low voices and then stilled.
Amelia nodded to the Healer. The antidote touched Sirius's tongue. The glaze left his eyes. She stepped aside.
Arcturus looked to the benches. "You have heard the record. You have heard the answers. Raise your wand to remove every charge against Sirius Black."
Light rose like a tide. A few wands held low. Most did not. The tally ran with the clerks and came back quick.
"Chief Warlock," Arcturus said. "Declare it."
Albus drew in breath through his nose and let it out in a calm voice. "By vote of this chamber, the charges against Sirius Black are struck. He stands innocent before the law."
The chains uncoiled and fell back. Sirius stood. He looked at no one for a long heartbeat. Then he turned to the Minister.
"I have a complaint," he said. "I have rotted for thirteen years in Azkaban without a trial. Thirteen years. How will the Ministry make that right."