The next morning, the Great Hall was unusually quiet for breakfast. Most students were still recovering from the excitement of the second task, but when the flurry of owls swept down with the morning post, the quiet turned into a storm.
One owl dropped the Daily Prophet right onto Neville's lap, and before he could even open it, Seamus shouted from the Slytherin table,
"Oi! Look at the front page!"
The rustling of newspapers filled the hall. Within moments, gasps and exclamations echoed from every direction. The moving photograph on the front page showed a familiar gaunt face—Sirius Black. But this time, Sirius wasn't in rags or chains. He was dressed in dark, noble robes, the Black family crest shining proudly on his chest.
Harry froze. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled his own copy of the Prophet closer.
Across the page, bold letters screamed:
"SIRIUS BLACK ACQUITTED – NOT A CONVICT, BUT A LORD!"
Hermione, sitting opposite him, leaned forward so quickly she nearly knocked over her goblet.
"Harry—read it aloud!"
Harry's voice was low but steady as he began:
"In a shocking turn of events, Sirius Black, long believed to be a mass murderer and a Death Eater, has been acquitted in a full trial—not by the British Ministry of Magic, but by the ICW, the International Council of Wizards. In a court session involving Veritaserum, Black was found innocent of all charges, including the betrayal of the Potters and the murder of Peter Pettigrew. The trial's transcript confirms that Black was denied due process by the British Ministry. He has since been granted asylum in a foreign nation, name withheld for his safety, and has formally renounced his British citizenship."
The hall erupted into murmurs. Students twisted in their seats, whispering furiously. Some looked confused, others downright scandalized.
Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth. "They… they actually gave him a trial. And it was under Veritaserum! This clears him completely!"
Neville muttered, "Then all those years in Azkaban were for nothing…"
Harry's eyes darkened as he read on:
"The ICW and wizarding nations abroad have sharply criticized Britain's Ministry for negligence and corruption, asking how a pure-blood Lord from the House of Black could be denied a fair trial. If the Ministry cannot protect even one of its most prominent pure-blood families, how can it protect the common witch, wizard, or Muggle-born?"
Percy Weasley, who had been sitting further down the table, slammed his paper shut. "This is ridiculous! Everyone knew Black was guilty—Dad said so years ago!"
Hermione shot him a glare. "Open your eyes, Percy. It says right here he was under Veritaserum. He couldn't have lied."
Percy huffed but didn't reply.
Lee Jorden pointed to the article. "Look—it even says he's not coming back here. He's claimed asylum elsewhere. Means the Black fortune is gone with him. That's a huge blow to Britain."
Fred leaned over George, both of them smirking. "Blimey, imagine the looks on the faces at the Wizengamot when they realized they just lost all that gold and influence."
"Not to mention the House of Black properties," George added. "Gone. Out of reach."
At the staff table, whispers circulated too. Professor McGonagall's lips were thin, her face unreadable, while Snape looked like someone had just stepped on his foot. Dumbledore, however, looked unusually grim, his eyes flickering once toward Harry before dropping back to his plate.
Hermione whispered to Harry, "This… this must mean Sirius is truly free now. Harry, aren't you happy?"
Harry's lips curved into a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Happy? More than happy. But…" He folded the newspaper neatly. "It also proves what I've always said—the Ministry cares more about control than about justice. They'd rather let an innocent man rot in Azkaban than admit their mistake."
Neville leaned closer. "So where do you think he's gone?"
Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter where. What matters is that he's safe. Free. And the Ministry can't touch him anymore."
Hermione's expression softened. "And they'll never be able to use him against you again."
Harry's gaze darkened as he watched Fudge's smiling picture in the article. "That won't stop them from trying."
Breakfast in the Great Hall was almost over when a medium-sized brown owl swooped low over the Gryffindor table and dropped a carefully wrapped parcel onto Harry's plate. Curious, Harry brushed crumbs from his fingers and picked it up. The handwriting on the label made his chest tighten—it was Sirius'.
Hermione leaned over. "Who's it from?"
Harry didn't answer right away. Instead, he untied the string and unwrapped the brown paper. Inside lay a square, ornate hand mirror with a black frame carved into twisting serpents and stars. There was also a folded piece of parchment.
Harry opened the letter first.
Harry,
This mirror is a communication mirror. Just say my name, and my face will appear. Don't worry—it's untraceable. Consider this a way for us to speak freely, away from meddling headmasters or ministries. Try it.
—Padfoot.
Harry glanced up at Hermione and Neville, both watching him expectantly. He held the mirror close.
"Sirius Black," he said clearly.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, as though smoke cleared from behind the glass, Sirius' face appeared, grinning, healthier and happier than Harry had ever seen him.
"Harry!" Sirius barked with joy. "Merlin, look at you. You've grown sharper around the eyes—don't tell me Hogwarts hasn't been boring since I left?"
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Sirius… you're free."
Neville and Hermione both leaned in so their faces were in view. Neville beamed. "Congratulations, Mr. Black."
Hermione's voice cracked with happiness. "Sirius, I'm so glad! We saw the paper but—seeing you like this—it's real."
Sirius chuckled, his eyes warm. "It's real, all right. For once, the Prophet didn't lie." Then his grin faded, and his expression turned thoughtful. "Listen carefully, Harry. I didn't get free because of Dumbledore. He could have arranged a trial, but he didn't lift a finger. He claimed it wasn't 'the right time.'" Sirius spat the words bitterly.
Harry's jaw clenched. He felt Hermione tense beside him.
Sirius went on, "After we realized the old man wasn't going to help, Remus and I went abroad. Italy. Remus had lived there a few years back, made connections in the Regional Council of Wizards. Through them, I demanded a proper trial. Took weeks, but it happened. And Merlin bless those Europeans—they've never liked Britain's pompous Ministry. They were only too happy to drag British officials through the mud. My trial was front-page news in half of Europe. A scandal."
Hermione whispered, half to herself, "That explains why the European papers have been mocking our Ministry for days."
"Exactly," Sirius said, eyes glittering with mirth. "They love any chance to remind Britain it's backward. And me? I finally got the truth heard under Veritaserum. Cleared, once and for all."
Harry swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. "So what now? You're… really free?"
Sirius leaned in, lowering his voice. "Only for you, Harry—I'm not a British citizen anymore. I've taken asylum in Sweden. Papers signed, all official. I even bought a mansion there with the Black fortune. Quiet, heavily warded. No Aurors, no Dementors. You'll have to come in the holidays—it'll be our safe haven."
Neville's eyes widened. "A mansion in Sweden? That sounds… incredible."
Hermione smiled faintly. "Sirius, that's wonderful. You'll finally have a real home."
Sirius' gaze softened as he looked at Harry. "And so will you. You're my godson. No Ministry, no Dumbledore, no one can tell you otherwise. When term ends, we'll be together, in a place that's ours."
Harry pressed the mirror against his chest for a moment. For the first time in weeks, he felt light. "I can't wait, Sirius."
Sirius' grin returned. "Good lad. Now keep your head high. Let them write whatever trash they want in the Prophet. You know the truth, and so do I. That's all that matters."
The mirror faded, Sirius' face vanishing into smoke.
Hermione blinked, wiping her eyes quickly. "Harry… that was… extraordinary."
Neville added shyly, "You'll be leaving Britain one day, won't you?"
Harry nodded slowly, determination hardening his features. "Yes. One day. And when I do, I won't be looking back."
Harry climbed the spiral staircase, the stone gargoyle grinding shut behind him. The door to Dumbledore's office was already ajar. Fawkes let out a melancholy note as Harry entered, and the golden trinkets on the shelves ticked and spun, casting restless shadows across the room.
Dumbledore sat behind his vast desk, fingers steepled, his blue eyes fixed on Harry with unusual intensity.
"Harry," he began, voice softer than usual, "I believe you know why I've asked you here."
Harry raised a brow, keeping his expression calm. "You want to ask about Sirius."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Yes. He has resurfaced—quite dramatically. He is cleared abroad, yes, but Britain still reels from the scandal. For the safety of our world, I must know where he is now."
Harry met his gaze evenly. "Why? So the Ministry can try again to send Dementors after him? Or perhaps so you can keep your leash on me?"
The room fell silent but for the faint crackle of the fireplace. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Harry, Sirius is your godfather. His welfare concerns me greatly."
Harry's lips curled into a thin smile. "His welfare didn't concern you when he rotted in Azkaban without a trial. It didn't concern you when you could have spoken up as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Don't talk to me about Sirius' welfare now."
Dumbledore leaned forward, his tone firming. "You are young, and do not understand the webs of politics—"
"No," Harry cut in sharply. "What I understand is this: Sirius is no longer a British citizen. He's a foreign wizard now, living his life free from your 'webs of politics.' That makes him none of your business."
The air seemed to thicken. Fawkes gave a low, uneasy trill.
Dumbledore studied Harry carefully, the old patience in his eyes tempered by worry. "Harry, you are walking a dangerous path. I see strength in you… but also anger. If you push everyone away—"
"I'm not pushing anyone away," Harry said coolly. "I'm protecting the people who matter to me. Sirius matters. And unlike you, I won't sell him out."
For a moment, Dumbledore looked every bit his age. He leaned back, sighing. "Then I can only hope, Harry, that when the time comes, you will still choose what is right over what is easy."
Harry turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob. "What's right, Headmaster, is not letting an innocent man rot in prison. You should remember that."
And without waiting for dismissal, he walked out, the heavy door echoing shut behind him.
The castle was quiet. Most students were still lingering in the Great Hall, finishing their breakfast. Harry, hands buried in his cloak pockets, walked down a deserted corridor near the Charms classroom. The soft echo of his boots against the stone floor was the only sound.
And then—
"Sectum—!"
A flash of red-hot light streaked across the stones. It slammed into Harry's back. His body jerked forward, the air knocked out of his lungs. A sizzling burn spread across his skin.
Harry spun, wand snapping into his palm, but the corridor was empty. Only smoke curled from the back of his robes. He tore them open and froze—his basilisk hide armor bore a blackened scar, the scales melted and warped where the curse had struck.
His thoughts turned sharp and cold. If not for the armor… that would've cut me in half.
"Coward!" Harry shouted, his voice booming through the corridor. "Show yourself!"
Only silence answered him.
He closed his eyes, letting the Force flow outward, searching for even the smallest flicker of presence. But whoever it was—student, teacher, or something else—had already fled. The corridor was still, but Harry's heartbeat pounded like war drums.
Neville rounded the corner, startled by the scorch mark smoking on Harry's cloak.
"Merlin's beard—Harry, what happened?!"
Harry straightened, his face like stone.
"Someone just tried to kill me."
Neville blanched. "Wha—who?!"
Harry pulled the charred basilisk-hide armor out from under his cloak, the thick scales cracked and blistered.
"I don't know. But look at this. Basilisk hide doesn't just burn. Whoever it was, they used something powerful. Something meant to finish me."
Neville swallowed hard, eyes darting up and down the corridor. "Should we tell Professor McGonagall? Or Dumbledore?"
Harry's eyes narrowed, black lightning sparking faintly at his fingertips.
"No. If I go to them, they'll tell me to give second chances, to trust in the system. That's Dumbledore's way. Not mine."
Neville hesitated, but said nothing.
Harry's voice dropped into a quiet, lethal promise.
"When I find out who it was… they won't live to try again."