Chapter 4
The Boy-Who-Lived Finds a New Home: Exclusive Details on Harry Potter's Change in Guardianship
By Rita Skeeter
In a turn of events as unexpected as a surprise basilisk attack, Harry Potter, the famed Boy-Who-Lived, has been transferred from the guardianship of Albus Dumbledore to that of Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The revelation has sent shockwaves through the wizarding community, leaving many to question the decisions of our beloved Hogwarts Headmaster.
For nearly a decade, the whereabouts of young Harry had been shrouded in mystery. Most assumed he was hidden away for his safety, but recent revelations paint a much darker picture. It is now coming to light that Harry had been placed with his Muggle relatives, the Dursleys of Privet Drive, a decision made by Dumbledore himself. This previously undisclosed arrangement was supposedly for Harry’s protection, utilizing ancient blood wards to keep him safe from those who might wish him harm.
However, sources close to the investigation reveal that Harry's living conditions were far from suitable. Accounts from those who have recently interacted with Harry describe a life of neglect and mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys. This stark contrast to the nurturing environment many assumed he was in has left the wizarding world in a state of shock and outrage.
Why was the Boy-Who-Lived left to languish in such circumstances? This reporter has learned that Dumbledore, in a bid to protect Harry from the remnants of You-Know-Who’s supporters, placed him with the Dursleys under the pretense of blood wards. But was this protection worth the price Harry paid in neglect and suffering? Skeptics are beginning to doubt.
In an exclusive interview, Amelia Bones assured this reporter that she will provide Harry with the care and stability he has long been denied. "Harry will have the upbringing he deserves," Bones stated firmly, her resolve evident. "We are committed to ensuring his well-being and future."
Adding another layer to this already convoluted tale is the matter of Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, who remains imprisoned in Azkaban. It has come to light that Black was incarcerated without a trial, a glaring oversight that casts a shadow over the justice system. Dumbledore, it appears, had his reasons for not pushing for a trial, reasons that may now come under scrutiny.
"Black’s lack of trial is an egregious error," Bones remarked. "We are initiating a thorough audit of trial records, and if any irregularities are found, we will act accordingly."
This audit, as suggested by Bones, may reveal systemic issues within our justice system, a move that could spark significant reforms. The implications are vast, not only for Sirius Black but for other potentially wrongfully imprisoned individuals.
In a private meeting, sources reveal that Dumbledore handed over the guardianship paperwork with a heavy heart, acknowledging his shortcomings. While he has expressed a desire to rectify his mistakes, one wonders if it’s too little too late. The wizarding world will be watching closely as this drama unfolds.
Harry Potter, now under the protective wing of Amelia Bones, faces a new chapter in his life. He will be joining the wizarding world more fully, potentially with the guidance and mentorship he has long been deprived of. The community watches with bated breath, hoping that this change heralds a brighter future for our young hero.
Stay tuned for more updates as this story develops. This is Rita Skeeter, bringing you the latest from the heart of the wizarding world.
—
In the kitchen of the Burrow, where chaos and magic had a permanent lease, the Weasley family had gathered around their cluttered wooden table. The remnants of breakfast mingled with the aroma of enchanted dishes and magical mayhem. Outside, the fields stretched towards the village of Ottery St Catchpole, while the River Otter casually made its way through the countryside.
Ginny Weasley, always a bundle of fiery energy, clutched the Daily Prophet like it was a dragon’s egg about to hatch. Her red hair was in disarray, her brows knit in that way that meant she was about to give someone a piece of her mind. “This is unbelievable,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of indignation and a hint of her usual confidence. “Harry’s been living with those Muggles? How could they let that happen?”
Molly Weasley, ever the heart of the household, had dishes dancing around her in a magical whirlpool while she fussed over everything. She shot a concerned glance at Ginny. “I had a feeling something was wrong with Dumbledore’s arrangement,” she said, shaking her head as if trying to banish the unpleasant thoughts. “But this—this is beyond awful.”
Arthur Weasley, who had a way of making even the most serious conversations sound like a chat about the latest Quidditch scores, sighed deeply. “Dumbledore may have had his reasons,” he mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “But it doesn’t make this neglect right.”
Ron Weasley, the ever-loyal friend with a knack for saying exactly what everyone else was thinking, nodded vigorously. “Seriously, I thought Harry would be living the high life,” he said, his face a mix of shock and resolve. “Not shoved off to live with those horrible relatives.”
Fred and George, the twins who had made mischief into an art form, shared a glance that practically sparked with creative schemes. “We’ve definitely got to do something,” Fred said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Harry deserves a family who knows how to treat him right.”
“Totally,” George added, his grin widening. “And I’m already brainstorming ways to give him a Hogwarts welcome he’ll never forget. Think magical fireworks and enchanted pranks!”
Their laughter was a welcome burst of energy, even if their concern was real. “He shouldn’t have to go through this alone,” Fred said, his tone shifting to serious for a moment. “We’ll make sure he knows he’s got a family that’s got his back.”
Percy Weasley, ever the responsible one, adjusted his glasses with the air of someone about to deliver a lecture. “It’s good that Madam Bones is stepping in,” he said. “She’ll ensure Harry gets the care he deserves.”
Bill and Charlie, the elder brothers with a bit more life experience under their belts, shared a look that said, “What can we do?” Bill’s voice was thoughtful as he spoke. “I wish there was more we could do.”
Charlie nodded in agreement. “We have to make sure he knows he’s not alone,” he said. “We’ll be there for him, no matter what.”
Ginny, her eyes gleaming with the determination that always made her stand out, looked around at her family. “When we get to Hogwarts, we’ll be Harry’s friends,” she declared with the kind of confidence that made you believe she could take on a dragon. “We’ll show him he’s finally found where he belongs.”
Molly’s smile was warm and approving. “That’s exactly the spirit, Ginny,” she said. “Harry will need all the friends he can get.”
Arthur leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. “It’s going to be a tough time for him,” he said. “But with the right support, Harry can handle anything.”
Ron, always the grounding force, looked both nervous and excited. “I hope he feels at home here,” he said. “It might not be the fanciest place, but it’s full of love. And we’re all in this together.”
Ginny, her excitement bubbling over, couldn’t help but add, “Do you think he’ll like us?” Her eyes sparkled with a mix of eagerness and uncertainty.
Molly’s smile was reassuring. “Of course he will, dear,” she said. “Who wouldn’t love being part of this family?”
As the Weasleys continued their spirited discussion, their unity and warmth shone brightly. They might not have a lot in terms of material wealth, but their hearts were brimming with love and support. Ginny’s fiery determination, Fred and George’s inventive spirit, and Ron’s loyal heart were all ready to make Harry Potter feel like he truly belonged.
—
As the Weasley family buzzed with excitement about their plans to welcome Harry Potter into their lives, a small, seemingly inconsequential figure lurked in the corner of the kitchen. Scabbers, the Weasleys' pet rat, was doing his best impression of a very unremarkable rodent, but inside that tiny, twitching body was Peter Pettigrew, the most elusive Animagus you could imagine.
Peter, a master of hiding in plain sight, was currently having what could only be described as a full-blown panic attack. He scurried over to peek at the newspaper headline again, which seemed to scream, “The Past is Coming Back to Haunt You.” It was all about Harry’s change in guardianship, and Peter’s own dark, scurrying secrets were at serious risk of being uncovered.
He was a pro at blending in—well, as much as a rat with a penchant for betrayals can be—but the stakes were higher than ever. If Dumbledore and the Ministry started digging into old skeletons (or rat-sized closets), they might stumble upon Peter’s juicy little secret: his role in the Potters’ downfall and his supposed death.
Panic was setting in as Peter raced back into his cage. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he thought frantically, his tiny rat brain whirling faster than you’d think possible for something so small. “The Weasleys are about to be the least of my worries if Dumbledore gets wind of me.”
With every second that ticked by, the conversation around him grew louder and more animated. Peter, doing what he did best—plotting his escape—watched the family with a mix of fear and disdain. They were all so wrapped up in their heartfelt plans and idealistic schemes, blissfully unaware of the treacherous little rat in their midst.
As the Weasleys continued their discussion, full of plans and promises for Harry, Peter Pettigrew, in his unassuming rat form, knew his time in their cozy kitchen was running out. He had to vanish before someone noticed that Scabbers was acting a little too scurry and not nearly as cheery.
In a final burst of panic-fueled determination, Peter prepared to slip back into the shadows. If he was going to keep evading justice, he needed to make his escape now—while the Weasleys were busy plotting a grand, warm welcome for Harry. As he squeezed through a tiny gap and vanished into the great unknown, Peter hoped that luck—and a lifetime of hiding—would continue to be on his side.
—
In the delightfully eccentric, rook-shaped house that looked like it had been designed by a whimsical mad scientist on a magical bender, the Lovegood family was having their usual offbeat, spirited discussion. The room was cluttered with magical knick-knacks, curious contraptions, and the occasional random object that looked like it belonged in a mad inventor’s attic sale. Outside, bizarre sculptures and vibrant magical flora made the whole place look like a wizard’s wildest dream.
Xenophilius Lovegood, with his signature array of brightly colored robes that might have been stolen from a circus wardrobe, held up a copy of the Daily Prophet like it was the latest scroll of prophecy. “Pandora, dear, have you seen this riveting piece on Harry Potter?” he asked, his voice brimming with a mix of excitement and bewilderment. “Our suspicions about Dumbledore’s grand plans might actually be onto something!”
Pandora Lovegood, who had a flair for fashion that could only be described as ‘whimsically eclectic,’ leaned in to scan the article with an air of serene curiosity. “Oh, Xenophilius,” she mused, her voice a calm ripple of thoughtfulness. “It seems Harry’s had quite the rough ride. Imagine living with Muggles who don’t have the faintest clue about our world.”
Their daughter, Luna Lovegood, who was nine and had a gaze that seemed perpetually lost in a magical reverie, glanced up from her sketch of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. “Poor Harry,” she said softly, her voice tinged with empathy. “He must feel incredibly lonely. Do you think he’s ever seen a Wrackspurt? They’re a nuisance, especially when you’re already feeling down.”
Xenophilius nodded sagely, adjusting his glasses with an air of profound wisdom. “Quite possible, Luna. But let’s not forget the Nargles. They tend to invade places where there’s a lot of emotional chaos.”
Pandora, her eyes twinkling with affection for her daughter, patted Luna’s hand. “You’re absolutely right, dear. Harry could use some kindness. We should definitely think of a way to help him.”
Luna’s face brightened with an idea that could only have come from her unique perspective. “Maybe we could send him some of our special radish earrings,” she suggested with a determined sparkle. “They’re excellent for warding off Nargles.”
Xenophilius, ever the inventor and theorist, added, “We should also consider the possibility of darker influences. The Ministry might be under the sway of the Rotfang Conspiracy. We must keep our eyes peeled for any unusual activity.”
Pandora nodded, her face thoughtful. “Yes, Xeno. But for now, the most crucial thing is that Harry finds himself surrounded by people who genuinely care. If we can, we should reach out to him and offer our support.”
Luna clapped her hands together, her excitement palpable. “Oh, that would be wonderful! Perhaps we could invite him to witness the Blibbering Humdinger migration next month. It would be such a delightful distraction for him!”
Xenophilius chuckled, the sound like a soft, magical tinkling. “That sounds splendid, Luna. And it might help him appreciate some of the magical marvels he’s yet to discover.”
Pandora’s gaze softened as she placed a reassuring hand on Xenophilius’s arm. “Let’s stay tuned for any updates about Harry. We should send him our well wishes through The Quibbler. A special edition dedicated to magical creatures might be just the thing.”
Luna’s enthusiasm was contagious. “And we could include a guide on spotting Wrackspurts and Nargles, so he’ll be well-prepared!”
Just as the Lovegoods were immersing themselves in their well-intentioned plans, Pandora realized she had forgotten about her big experiment for the day. This experiment was her brainchild—a charm that could manipulate magical energies in ways that bordered on the extraordinary and the risky.
“Pandora, weren’t you supposed to be working on that new spell?” Xenophilius asked, noticing the time and her distracted demeanor.
Pandora’s eyes widened with a mix of horror and realization. “Oh goodness, you’re right! I completely lost track of time.”
Luna, ever perceptive despite her dreamy disposition, added, “Maybe it’s for the best, Mum. You’ve been saying how delicate that spellwork is.”
Pandora smiled at her daughter’s insight, feeling a wave of relief mixed with her inherent curiosity. “You’re right, Luna. Maybe this is a sign that today is not the day for that particular experiment.”
Xenophilius agreed wholeheartedly. “Harry’s situation takes precedence. We can always return to the spell later.”
With their focus shifted, the Lovegoods set aside their quirky experiments and devoted their attention to extending a hand of friendship to Harry. They were ready to offer him warmth and support in their delightfully whimsical world.
As they planned their outreach to Harry, Pandora couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of gratitude for the unexpected distraction. Little did she realize that this deviation from her experimental plans would not only save her life but also make sure she was there for her family and the Boy-Who-Lived in the days to come.
—
Remus Lupin sat in his cozy, if a bit dusty, cottage on the outskirts of a village that was so out of the way it might as well have been on another planet. The room was lit by the flickering glow of a single candle, and it looked like the setting for a particularly low-budget horror movie. If only the ghost of Halloween past had shown up, it would have been a perfect match. The Wizarding World had moved on without him, leaving him to his quiet, solo existence, punctuated only by the echoes of old friends and the occasional spider that had clearly declared his home a free-for-all.
But then, out of the blue, the headline of the Daily Prophet caught his eye: “Harry Potter’s Guardianship Changes Hands: Dark Secrets Revealed.” It was as if someone had just hit him over the head with a particularly grim-looking broomstick. His heart did a little tap dance as he scanned the article, detailing the transfer of Harry Potter’s guardianship from the ever-enigmatic Albus Dumbledore to Amelia Bones. Harry’s mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys was laid bare, and Remus felt like he’d been punched in the gut by a very large, very angry troll.
He set the paper down, his hands feeling like they might betray him and start a little dance of their own. Guilt gnawed at him with the ferocity of a hungry Niffler. Guilt for not being there, for not knowing, for not intervening to stop the horror Harry had endured. He’d stayed away, convinced that his presence would only spell more trouble for the boy he’d promised to protect in the name of his lost friends. But now, faced with the brutal reality, he couldn’t help but wonder if his self-imposed exile had been one big, tragic mistake.
The article also had a mention of Sirius, his old pal who’d been rotting away in Azkaban without so much as a fair trial. The injustice of it all felt like a fresh, ugly scar being scratched open. The betrayal, the broken promises—all of it resurfaced like a particularly nasty case of magical eczema.
As Remus sat there, letting the weight of his thoughts sink in, the image of Harry—a small, scared boy, left alone and unloved—burned into his brain. Enough was enough. He couldn’t just sit here and stew in his regrets anymore. He had to step up, make things right, and ensure Harry knew that someone cared. For James, for Lily, and most importantly, for Harry, he had to re-enter the world he had carefully and somewhat cowardly retreated from. The time for hiding was officially over.
With a resolute puff of air, Remus rose from his seat, the determination in his chest feeling like it could challenge a Hungarian Horntail. He was going to contact Amelia Bones, offer his support, and fight for Harry’s future. It was time to stop being a hermit and start being the friend and protector he should have been all along.
—
In the sunlit breakfast nook of their Suffolk home, the Tonks family was enjoying a morning that seemed charmingly ordinary—until Ted Tonks, who was normally the epitome of laid-back, started frowning at the Daily Prophet as if it had personally spilled coffee on his favorite robe.
Andromeda Tonks, ever the picture of calm and grace, sipped her tea with a look of growing concern. Meanwhile, their daughter, Nymphadora, or “Dora” (she hated the name Nymphadora and would hex anyone who dared use it), was lounging cross-legged on the sofa. Her hair was a wild kaleidoscope of colors, reflecting her ever-changing mood. Dora was busy scrutinizing her father's newspaper over his shoulder, her curiosity clearly piqued.
“Dad, what’s the deal with the frown?” Dora asked, her hair turning a concerned shade of blue. She then promptly tripped over a stack of magazines, nearly crashing into the coffee table.
Ted looked up, his face a storm cloud of worry. “It’s about Harry Potter,” he said, thrusting the paper towards Andromeda with the kind of urgency you’d expect if he’d just spotted a dragon in the garden. Andromeda’s eyes skimmed the article, her expression shifting from concern to deepening gravity.
Dora's hair flared to a fiery red, a clear sign that she was both angry and ready to take action. “What’s happened to him, then? Why's the paper making Dad look like he’s seen a boggart?”
Andromeda set the paper down, her voice steady but worried. “Apparently, Harry’s been living with his aunt and uncle, the Dursleys, who have been treating him terribly. Albus Dumbledore has transferred Harry’s guardianship to Amelia Bones after discovering the truth.”
Dora’s eyes widened, and her hair turned a vibrant shade of indignant red. “Seriously? How could anyone be so awful to a kid, especially Harry Potter? That’s completely unacceptable!”
Andromeda nodded, looking as determined as Dora felt. “We need to offer our support. Amelia will take care of him, but we can help as well.”
Ted, still looking like he’d just been handed a cursed object, added, “I think reaching out to Amelia is a good idea. We should let her know that if Harry needs anything, our family is here for him.”
Dora’s hair shifted to a resolute shade of purple as she jumped up, nearly toppling over her own feet in the process. “And I can keep an eye on him at Hogwarts. I’ll make sure he’s alright and help him adjust.”
Andromeda smiled at her daughter, clearly proud. “That’s a wonderful idea, Dora. We’ll make sure Harry knows he’s not alone.”
With a renewed sense of mission, the Tonks family began planning how they could reach out and offer their support. Despite her clumsiness and disdain for her full name, Dora was determined to help Harry in any way she could. The Tonks were ready to jump into action, extending their warmth and kindness to the Boy Who Lived, and Dora was particularly excited about playing a part in it.
—
In the charming village of Godric’s Hollow, where the cobblestone streets seemed to have been lifted from a fairytale, the Abbott family was gathered around their breakfast table. It was one of those picturesque mornings where everything felt perfectly in place—except for the headline in the Daily Prophet that had Mr. Abbott frowning as if he’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon.
Mrs. Abbott, always the sentimental soul, read the article aloud, her voice carrying a nostalgic lilt. “Oh, look at this,” she said, shaking her head with a mix of fondness and melancholy. “Feels like just yesterday we were dancing at James and Lily’s wedding, doesn’t it?”
Mr. Abbott, who looked like he was trying to come to terms with some cosmic joke, nodded slowly. His eyes were fixed on a framed photograph on the mantelpiece. The picture was a relic from happier days—a snapshot of James and Lily Potter beaming with their closest friends, captured in a moment of pure, unfiltered joy.
Hannah Abbott, their daughter, had grown up on tales of the Potters—the heroic stories of the boy who had survived the Dark Lord’s curse. Her heart, always prone to empathy, felt heavy as she listened to the news. She couldn’t help but admire and feel sorry for Harry, the kid who’d had more drama in his life than a soap opera marathon.
“It’s good to know Harry’s got someone like Susan looking out for him,” Hannah said, her voice soft but earnest. She was thinking about her best friend, Susan, who would be Harry’s guardian. “She’ll make sure he feels at home and supported, just like the Potters would have wanted.”
Her parents exchanged a look that spoke volumes—a blend of concern and cautious optimism. They knew how crucial it was for Harry to have a solid support system after everything he’d endured. With Susan on his side, they felt a glimmer of reassurance, knowing Harry would have the love and care he deserved.
As they continued their breakfast, the Abbotts couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. They might have been spectators in Harry’s story for a long time, but now they were more determined than ever to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone. After all, even in a village as quaint as Godric’s Hollow, the magic of friendship and support was always worth fighting for.
—
In the Greengrass dining room, an elegant space where even the cutlery seemed to be part of a refined aesthetic, the family gathered around the breakfast table, poring over the Daily Prophet. The headline about Harry Potter's shift in guardianship had caused quite the stir, and the Greengrass family, with their usual poise, were dissecting the news with a mix of concern and curiosity.
Daphne Greengrass, the eldest and undoubtedly the most sarcastic member of the clan, rolled her eyes dramatically as she scanned the article. “Well, this is a surprise,” she drawled, her tone dripping with irony. “Harry Potter has been living with the Dursleys all this time. Who knew? I thought he was off vacationing in Atlantis or something.”
Her younger sister, Astoria, who was a bit more empathetic, gave a soft nod. “It’s really quite tragic,” she said, her voice laced with genuine concern. “But at least he’s out of there now. Amelia Bones will actually take care of him.”
Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass exchanged glances that spoke volumes—mostly regret and the kind of weariness that comes from years of knowing how the world really works. Mr. Greengrass cleared his throat, sounding more like he was resigning to fate than offering hope. “It’s a pity it took so long for someone to step in. But let’s hope Harry finds a semblance of peace now.”
Mrs. Greengrass, ever the supportive spouse, squeezed her husband’s hand in a gesture of silent solidarity. “Yes, we can only hope the best for him. Maybe we should consider offering our support. It’s the least we can do.”
Daphne, with her typical dry wit and a flair for understatement, leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Oh, absolutely. We’ll just have to put it on our to-do list. ‘Help Harry Potter adjust to his new life.’ Right between ‘organize the potion cupboard’ and ‘buy more dragon liver.’”
Despite her sardonic commentary, there was a faint glimmer of genuine intention behind her words. She had a knack for knowing exactly what people needed—whether it was a birthday present or a subtle offer of help. Though she might not have shown it outright, Daphne had a way of looking out for others in her own uniquely understated way.
As the family continued their discussion, they resolved to keep an eye on Harry’s situation. They might not have been the most outwardly expressive about their intentions, but they were ready to lend a hand if needed. Because, even in the insular world of the Greengrasses, a bit of kindness always found a way to sneak in—much like the occasional hex, but with better intentions.
—
In the grand, overly ornate dining room of Malfoy Manor, where every piece of furniture seemed to be designed for maximum opulence and minimal comfort, Lucius Malfoy was perched at the head of the table like a particularly smug king surveying his realm. Narcissa Malfoy, sitting beside him, appeared more like a caged bird, her eyes darting between her husband and the newspaper he was scrutinizing with the kind of disdain usually reserved for soggy toast.
“Well, this is a delightful twist,” Lucius drawled, barely disguising his contempt as he scanned the article from the Daily Prophet. “Seems Dumbledore has decided to offload the boy. How... quaint.”
Narcissa’s fingers twisted in her lap, her anxiety palpable. “What does this mean for us, Lucius?” she asked, her voice low and laced with worry. “With Harry Potter now under Amelia Bones’s watchful eye...”
Lucius waved a hand dismissively, as if swatting away an annoying fly. “Oh, please. We have far more pressing matters than the affairs of a pesky orphan,” he said with a smirk that suggested he was more amused than concerned.
Draco Malfoy, lounging with all the grace of a cat who has just discovered the sunniest spot on the couch, snorted. “But Father, what if this Potter kid decides to cause trouble?” he interjected, a sneer forming on his lips. “He’s always been a thorn in our side, hasn’t he?”
Lucius turned his cold gaze on Draco, his patience wearing thin. “Draco, try using that underdeveloped brain of yours for once,” he snapped. “Potter is hardly a threat now. We have bigger fish to fry—like world domination or whatever it is we’re doing these days.”
Meanwhile, Narcissa sat in uncomfortable silence, her thoughts drifting to Sirius Black—her distant cousin and, as it happened, a potential escape route from her own gilded cage. The notion of him being exonerated and perhaps, just maybe, giving her a glimmer of hope for freedom made her heart flutter with a hope she dared not voice.
She knew better than to speak her mind in the presence of her husband, whose ambitions were as cold and unyielding as the manor’s marble floors. And certainly not in front of Draco, whose arrogance was rivaled only by his stubbornness. Narcissa’s dreams of breaking free from the chains of duty and reclaiming the life she had once imagined seemed as distant as the stars.
As the Malfoys continued their discussion, the tension in the dining hall was almost palpable, like a storm cloud ready to burst. And through it all, Harry Potter’s fate remained a tantalizing mystery, a pawn in a game of chess played by the grandmasters of scheming and subterfuge.
In the midst of their high-stakes plotting, it was clear that, as always, the Malfoys would remain in their ivory tower, watching the world below with a mix of disdain and curiosity. And somewhere down there, a boy who had survived the impossible was forging a new path, one that might just turn the tables on everyone.
—
The heavy iron door of Sirius Black’s cell groaned open like it was complaining about having to do its job. Sirius, who had spent what felt like eons brooding on the cold, unforgiving stone floor of Azkaban, blinked up at the sudden intrusion of light with the kind of suspicion you reserve for suspiciously warm cups of coffee.
“Right then, Sirius Black,” the Auror announced with all the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered a new flavor of bland. “You’re being summoned to a hearing at the Ministry of Magic. You get to stand trial for those alleged crimes of yours.”
Sirius’s heart gave a valiant attempt to leap out of his chest. A trial? After years of stony silence and existential dread, was there actually a glimmer of hope? It sounded like a plot twist straight out of a cheesy drama, and Sirius could hardly believe it.
He scrambled to his feet, his movements more awkward than graceful, as if he hadn’t quite shaken off the full-body stiffness of years behind bars. The Auror led him through the grimy corridors of Azkaban, each step echoing off the walls like a drumroll before a big reveal. The corridor’s oppressive gloom seemed to have a knack for clinging to hope like a needy shadow, but Sirius was determined not to let it weigh him down.
As they navigated the maze of Azkaban’s halls, Sirius’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—freedom, justice, and what might come next. He could almost hear the soundtrack swelling in the background. It was the first time in ages he allowed himself to think about a future where he wasn’t just a tragic figure in a never-ending saga of misery.
And then, like a beacon in a fog of gloom, the image of Harry Potter popped into his mind. His godson—the kid he’d sworn to protect. Sirius had spent countless sleepless nights imagining a reunion with Harry, a moment of joyful chaos to make up for all the lost time. The thought of finally getting to wrap his arms around the kid and make up for lost time was the kind of motivation that made Sirius almost bounce with impatience.
As they reached the portcullis marking the edge of Azkaban, Sirius felt a jolt of determination surge through him. This was it—his chance to prove he wasn’t just a footnote in someone else’s story. Whatever the trial had in store, he was ready to tackle it head-on, because for once, he had something to fight for. As he crossed the threshold into the realm of freedom, Sirius’s heart was pounding with the hope of a new beginning, the thought of Harry waiting for him at the end of this endless road. No matter what came next, he was ready to face it—because this time, he wasn’t just fighting for his freedom; he was fighting for his family.