Chapter 3
The first thing that Remus registered was the clamour of people, mostly Ministry officials, talking over each other as he and Dumbledore took their seats in the small chambers. Having never been to The Ministry of Magic, Remus wasn’t sure where exactly they were, and the walk from the entryway had consisted of long, winding corridors that all looked the same. He was grateful for Dumbledore for letting him accompany him to the trial because there was no way Remus would have navigated his way through the departments.
They sat next to a group of Ministry officials which Remus assumed was the wizarding equivalent of a jury, but he couldn’t be sure; Remus thought back to every Muggle crime documentary, book and movie he had ever seen, but none of that information seemed helpful. Deflated, he leaned back and waited for the crowd to settle down, hoping that Dumbledore would be kind enough to explain anything that confused Remus.
Looking around, he noted how small the room was, made even more compact with the small set of stairs leading to the sunken floor at the centre of it. When Remus saw three Ministry officials line up at the top of the steps and sit behind desks that were swimming with papers and various documents, he leaned to his left.
“Who are they?” he whispered to Dumbledore.
“Barty Crouch Sr., Samuel Jessop and Florence Glass. They’ll be the ones conducting the interrogation.”
Remus’ mind flashed to his Hogwarts years, to a small group of Slytherins who had a penchant of annoying Remus and his friends.
“Crouch? Barty’s dad?”
“Indeed. His son is serving his own sentence in Azkaban.”
Remus had read it in the papers. Frank and Alice. He suppressed the shudder that often came whenever he thought of them and their little boy—a fate worse than death.
Crouch Sr. banged a paper weight at the top of his desk, signalling everyone in the room to take a seat and quiet down, which they did almost immediately.
“Proceeding with the interrogation of newly found evidence regarding the trial and sentence of Sirius Orion Black on the 11th of October 1987,” Crouch Sr. began, sending a full body shiver down Remus’ spine when he said his name.
“Interrogators Bartemius Crouch Senior, Samuel Wellington Jessop and Florence Glass,” he finished before gesturing to a man standing next to him.
“Bring them in.”
Moments later, a few men wheeled in two cages into the room, placing them in the centre of the sunken floor, and the people began talking again, nudging and pointing at the scene before them. The cages looked menacing to the eyes—thick black bars that were shaped like a bird cage, barely large enough to allow a grown man to fully stand up. Each bar was lined with long, sharp spikes that threatened to impale the flesh of any crouching captive that would dare to shift around in the small cage. Remus shuddered at the sight of Peter fidgeting inside the small cage, trying to grip a bar that wouldn’t go right through his palm. Peter’s whole cage shook as he tried to move around, desperate to see his surroundings, to see the people in the room, get their attention and have them listen to him.
Next to him, the second cage stood eerily still; if one didn’t squint past the thick bars of the cage to see a thin figure standing inside, they could easily mistake the cage to be empty. Remus could only see his back, thin bones jutting over the ratty clothes, and hair longer and rougher than Remus last remembered.
Remus wondered if this person before him, this weakened shell of a man, was truly the man he remembered—the man he loved. He wondered if he’d turn around and grin at Remus the way he used to, the way he always used to, and if that grin would make Remus’ heart stop the way it always did. He wanted to say his name, beckon him to turn around and flash Remus that smile, and make him believe in all things good again.
“Peter Pettigrew,” Crouch’s voice broke through the dying clamour of the room. “You have been accused of aiding and abetting the murder of James and Lily Potter and being loyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during the Wizarding War. How do you plead?”
“N-not guilty,” Peter whimpered, and Remus lost it.
“ THE BLOODY NERVE OF YOU, YOU BASTARD, I’LL FUCKING—”
“SILENCE,” Crouch slammed the paper weight multiple times on his desk. “Sit down , Mr. Lupin, or I will have you removed from the proceedings immediately.”
“Sit down, Remus,” Dumbledore said sternly, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Bloody dickhead,” Remus mumbled as he sat down before noticing the slightest of movements from the cage next to Peter’s.
Sirius had turned his head towards the right, where Remus’ voice must’ve come from. His profile was slender, too slender, his cheek sunken and ghostly, sporting a beard that wasn’t there the last time Remus saw him. He should know; Remus had kissed that cheek goodbye before he had left for an Order mission with one of the Prewett brothers; he can’t remember which one.
“Sirius Orion Black,” Crouch continued, and Remus’ suppressed a shudder. “On the accusation of aiding and abetting the murder of James and Lily Potter and being loyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during the Wizarding War, how do you plead?”
“Not. Guilty.” His voice cut through like an arrow without missing a beat, and it was as if someone had put a warm blanket over Remus’ shoulders after a decade-long blizzard, like the soft, velvet heat of embers still blazing with life.
“Very well, the council will be administering a vial of Veritaserum to Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black in order to determine the truth behind the events that occurred on the 31st of October, 1981.” Crouch finished with another bang of the paper weight, and Remus wondered if his desk had permanent dents all over the tabletop.
Peter struggled as the two officials grabbed his bound hands and forced his face up, emptying a flask of clear liquid down his throat.
When two Aurors approached his cage and forced his face up towards the ceiling, Peter struggled to break free from their rough grip. As he saw them empty a small vial of clear liquid down Peter’s throat, Remus sat at the edge of his seat, wondering if Crouch or anyone next to him were judging Peter’s behaviour as harshly as he was. Why would an innocent man struggle to take Veritaserum?
When they were finished with Peter, who was sputtering and moaning in his cage, they moved to Sirius, who simply held a thin hand out from a small gap between the bars. Remus saw how the Aurors exchanged a look between them before one of them silently handed Sirius the flask, who drank it in one small gulp, and he couldn’t help but shake his head in exasperation.
‘Even bloody Azkaban couldn’t rob you of your unpredictability,’ Remus thought fondly. It had been a long time since he felt fond of anything related to Sirius, and the familiarity of such a feeling struck Remus.
He held his breath as the Aurors walked back to stand beside Crouch’s desk, who was passing around various papers, preparing to cross-examine the two men before him.
“The Council will now proceed with their interrogation, starting with Peter Pettigrew,” Samuel Jessop said as he passed some papers to Crouch.
“Mr. Pettigrew, please state the house you belonged to during your time at Hogwarts,” Crouch asked, and Remus turned towards Dumbledore confusedly.
“They need to make sure the potion is working,” Dumbledore replied just as Peter’s said “Gryffindor” as if every syllable was being ripped out of his mouth.
Crouch turned towards the second cage.
“Sirius Black, please state the name of the house you belonged to during your time at Hogwarts.”
“Gryffindor.”
“Mr. Pettigrew, during your years at Hogwarts, would you say you were close to James and Lily Potter?” Crouch continued.
“Yes,” Peter whimpered.
“Would you say you were friends?”
“Yes.”
“ Good friends?”
“Yes.”
Crouch turned his head. “Mr. Black, during your years at Hogwarts, would you say you were good friends with James and Lily Potter?”.
“The best,” Sirius replied harshly.
Crouch hummed and lifted an eyebrow.
“Is that why they asked you to undergo the Fidelius Charm, making you the Potter’s Secret Keeper?”
“Yes and no.” Sirius replied, “I asked them to reconsider and convinced them to choose Peter.”
A few gasps rang through the room, but none as loud as Remus’.
“Why?” Crouch continued.
“I was his best friend,” Sirius spat. “Anyone who knew me knew James. If anyone wanted to find out where they were hidden, they would have come for me to get that information by any means necessary.”
Crouch arched a brow, but Sirius didn’t falter.
“Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange,” Sirius continued haughtily, sounding more and more like the aristocratic heir he was raised to be: "Corban Yaxley, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr., these are just some of the Death Eaters who were well aware of how close James and I were.”
“Bellatrix Lestrange was your direct cousin,” Crouch sneered.
“And Barty was your son,” Sirius snapped. “I’m no more of a Death Eater than you are, Mr. Crouch.”
Remus saw how much control it took for Crouch Sr. to not launch himself off of his deak and strangle Sirius’ neck, the same neck that held his proud head high enough to look the Ministry official in the eye and talk about his son.
‘You never learnt how to leave well enough alone, you idiot,’ Remus thought, desperately hoping that this doesn't sour Crouch’s attitude too much.
“Mr. Black,” Crouch hissed, nostrils flaring, “if you claim that you were, in fact, not the Potter’s Secret Keeper, who was?”
”Him.” Sirius snarled.
“Why?”
“Because I trusted him with their lives.”
Remus heart dropped as an eerie silence fell over the room.
“Mr. Pettigrew,” Crouch’s voice boomed. “Was Sirius Black the Potter family’s Secret Keeper?”
“N-no,” Peter moaned.
Remus fisted his hands over his lap, his knuckles turning white.
Sirius wasn’t their Secret Keeper. He never was.
“Peter Pettigrew, were you, by means of the Fidelius Charm, made responsible to keep the location of James, Lily and Harry Potter a secret from You-Know-Who and anyone loyal to him?”
Peter sobbed pathetically, “Yes.”
“Did you swear your allegiance to You-Know-Who out of your own free will?”
“Yes.”
“Peter Pettigrew, did you frame Sirius Black for aiding and abetting the murder of James and Lily Potter?”
Peter slumped to the bottom of the cage, his hands ripping his matted hair clean from his scalp.
“ Yes”.
Remus’ body reacted on instinct when his hands covered his mouth as he choked out a pathetic sob, his blunt nails digging over his upper lip and cheeks.
Panic and shock rang through the whole room as people began throwing whatever they could grab at Peter’s cage; balled up parchment, paper weights, pens, even a few books that banged against the bars and fell to the floor. Peter continued to sob and practically writhe under their administrations, but Remus found no pity in his heart for his old friend. He expected to feel anger, rage, hurt, anything after the confession, but Remus couldn’t care less about Peter.
Not when Sirius was innocent.
Crouch’s voice broke through the crowd’s loud clamour and stood up. “Peter Pettigrew, you are hereby sentenced to Azkaban for aiding and abetting the murder of James and Lily Potter, for willingly cohorting with dark wizards, and for framing Sirius Orion Black for your crimes.”
Peter screamed as the Aurors wheeled him away, and Remus heard him call his and Sirius’ names, which made him look at his friend one last time. Peter met his eyes and Remus could tell they were thinking the same thing; war had the worst ways of seperating the best of friends, and a selfish part of Remus hoped that he had lost Peter—little Peter, Wormtail, Wormy— like he had lost James and Lily, if only to cling onto their childhood days with fondness and love.
Instead Remus had to watch Aurors take a screaming Peter away to Azkaban and realise, to his surprise, that he felt nothing for him or the memories he had once cherished.
He tore his gaze away from the pathetic sight before him and chose to soak in Crouch’s next words.
“The Council finds Sirius Orion Black innocent and hereby absolves him of all charges.”
And it was then that, after six excruciating years of feeling like he was drowning, Remus broke the surface and breathed . He shot up from his chair as Crouch banged the bloody paperweight one last time, his leg shooting a jolt of pain that Remus ignored effortlessly as he grabbed his cane and shuffled to the stairs to go down to where Sirius’ cage was being unlocked and opened by Aurors.
Six years of pain, loneliness, doubt, and betrayal; six years without Sirius’ warmth, his laughter, his wicked antics, his soft eyes and his boundless charm; six years without a love Remus thought he could never do without felt like nothing when he ran down the twelve stair steps that separated Remus from the rest of his life.
“Sirius?” he said breathlessly, trying to look over the shoulders of the few Aurors surrounding him.
One of them put a hand on Remus’ chest to try and keep him at bay, and Remus couldn’t help but shoot a dirty look his way. The Auror, unfazed by the daggers shooting from Remus’ gaze, simply nudged him a little.
“They’re just fixing him up,” he insisted.
That got Remus’ attention. “What do you mean?”
“Just a few healing spells and a replenishing potion or two. Its standard procedure after Azkaban; that place breaks even the strongest witches and wizards.”
That did nothing for Remus’ already fragile nerves. The past three days since he went to Hogwarts felt like they were flying by with a flurry of meetings with Dumbledore, sending Peter to the Ministry to be kept until the investigation, and Remus doing whatever he could to help get to where he was right now.
Which is why he had no idea what to do, say, or feel when the Aurors gave him enough room to walk up to Sirius, who had finally turned his head to look at him.
And Merlin , what a sight it was.
Sirius was thin—thinner than Remus could recall him being in all the years they’ve known each other. If anything, he was gaunt . The fair skin Remus remembered, that could turn the brightest shade of pink with just one teasing look, was ashen, and his onc soft cheekbones jutted out of the thin, stretched-out skin of his sunked cheeks. His beard was rough and unkept, and Remus wondered if he even liked it since he remembered Sirius’ preference to shave regularly. His hair went past his shoulders and had knots that looked impossible to unravel, his nails dirty and his knuckles scratched, his clothes tattered and ripped from various spots.
But he was there , and he was beautiful .
He was always beautiful.
Remus’ cane shook in his hand as he slowly stepped ahead, his gaze locked onto the raging storm brewing in Sirius’ grey eyes, a kind of silver that would send any other werewolf running for the hills but only seemed to pull Remus closer and closer. Even after six years.
How he missed those eyes.
Three steps forward, and he was standing right in front of Sirius, and he couldn’t help it.
Remus smiled.
“Sirius…” Remus breathed.
Sirius slapped him.