The Rise of an Empire

CHAPTER THREE

❛TRAVELLING DOWN MEMORIES, PART ONE❜

❝Once you accept your flaws, no one can use them against you❞ — Tyrion Lannister

WHEN HERA FELT THE PULL ON HER BELLY BUTTON, typical of a portkey, the girl took a deep breath, swallowing hard the urge to vomit that wanted to come out, landing hard in the unknown place that Iolanthe's necklace had brought her. She really hated any means of magical travel — except, of course, for broomsticks, as she loved flying — and the fact that wizards hadn't created any better means of travel than the ones that existed, continued to surprise her.

As the portkey placed her at her destination, Hera Potter landed awkwardly in place — not much different from normal portkeys — falling heavily to the ground, hurting her back.

It was amazing how she couldn't get the hang of any wizarding journey other than broomsticks. That was her last coherent thought, and then…

Everything stayed dark.

Diagon Alley — LONDON

Meanwhile, in the heart of Diagon Alley, deep within Gringotts Bank, a goblin-run bank and the first wizarding bank to be built, a loud whistle sounded from the office of the accounts manager Bloodlust — the second most important goblin at Gringotts, after the King, Ragnarok — startling the sleeping creature awake at once.

That particular whistle was peculiar. There was no other like it in the entire world, wizard or otherwise. It was unique, singular, and there was only one way for it to be activated.

And Bloodlust knew very well what it was.

His client, Hera Potter, had used the portkey of her ancestor, Iolanthe Peverell. She was no longer in that world and could not be found by anyone without Peverell blood, and no one in that world had it.

She was untouchable now, and the Ministry would hate that. And why? Because she had used her ancestor's portkey and was in another world — far from their eyes and control.

She was in Valyria. Far, far away from those who wanted to use her for their own gain. But he didn't know if she was safe, much less what she would find in the other world. And he couldn't know, because he had no way of communicating with her.

Valyria.

Sleepless, Bloodlust sighed, feeling a headache coming on with all the chaos that would follow the disappearance of Hera Potter, the girl-who-lived, the defeater of the Dark Lord.

"Curse you!" — the goblin cursed in the privacy of his mind.

“Once upon a time, there was a peaceful wizarding world,” Bloodlust whispered in the dead of night and no one heard him.

Grimmauld Place, 12° — LONDON

Sirius was worried about his daughter, Hera Potter.

His judgement day had come and yet, this was the last thing on his mind. 

He was worried about his daughter.

Everyone in the wizarding world saw her as nothing more than a hero, the successor to the great Albus Dumbledore, who defeated the worst Dark Lord of all time at the tender age of fourteen, while capturing the true Potter traitor. They saw her as the girl-who-won. He? He saw her only as his daughter, his beloved daughter.

Which was missing.

When Albus arrived at his parents' house — that place would never be his home, despite the improvements that Dobby, Winky and a reluctant Kreacher had made, he saw it as his prison — and told him that Hera had been attacked by dementors and worse, was missing, the ground of Sirius had been pulled out from under his feet. They had talked for hours before, laughing at stories of the Marauders at Hogwarts and dreaming of how they would live after the trial, when he was a free man and they could live together as a family. It was unbelievable, then, that she had disappeared, lost somewhere, leaving behind only a traumatised cousin, a torn dementor cloak and the echo of a portkey.

He tried to talk to her — hoping that wherever she was, Hera had her mirror with her — but it was in vain.

Since then, two days had passed and Sirius had still not heard from his daughter.

All he wanted was to go after her, look for her until he found her, to bring her back home, to him.

But no one left.

Remus Lupin, his oldest friend and one of the last Marauders like him, returned from wherever he was to be with him. And not because he needed his best friend there with him, so close to the trial and unable to do anything to find his missing daughter, no. Remus didn't come back not even because of Hera, who was his adorable puppy not too long ago. No. Remus didn't come back for any of them — for his family — he came back because Dumbledore asked him to, because that damned Albus ordered him to go back to Sirius, to keep an eye on him, as if he were a damned irresponsible, thoughtless child.

Sirius was so upset, so disappointed in all of them. Because it wasn't just Remus here, scolding him like he was a child, unable to wait until the trial to act, unable to wait a little before going to find Hera — even though his entire being fought against that decision. It was everyone, every single blessed individual that Albus had ordered him to take in after the news of Hera's disappearance had echoed through the wizarding world. The unfortunate members of the Order of the Flaming Chickens.

How Sirius disliked these people. Hypocrites, all of them, fighting with him as if he were an irresponsible madman, while following Albus Dumbledore's orders like bloody sheep. Even Remus, a werewolf of all things, listened and followed Dumbledore's orders like his loyal dog, even if they were against Sirius and Hera — his much-loved pack.

Because of this and the little things Remus had done, Sirius didn't completely trust his old friend — even though Hera defended him every time they brought up the subject. He couldn't trust Moony. Because he didn't know for sure that Lupin would give Hera the priority she deserved.

It was because of these worries and turbulent emotions that Sirius couldn't sleep very well and that's why he woke up at five-thirty the next morning scared, thinking he was back in Azkaban. Perhaps due to the fact that he would not have his daughter with him during his trial, to offer him support and, in worst case scenario, to say goodbye to her; or the fact that he would find out in a few hours if it would be, in fact, a free man, a prisoner man, or worse, a dead man; and worst of all, not knowing where his daughter was, Black had terrible nightmares during the few hours he slept, memories of his stay not pleasant in Azkaban, dreams of James and Lily blaming him for going after Pettigrew and not take care of his goddaughter, Hera saying she hates him, and the mixture of them all disturbing him throughout the night. 

And what made it even worse: the uncertainty of whether he would see his little daughter again, whether he would be able to find her, wherever she was.

What Sirius would like to know, however, is why Dementors appear in Little Whinging. Who sent them? Why were they targeting Hera? Was it revenge for Voldemort dying? Or was it something more?

Just the fact that Dementors showed up in Little Whinging of all things and attacked Hera, his daughter, was more than strange. Fortunately, Hera had a portkey with her — after all, even if he didn't know where she was, at least he knew she was safe, his tapestry would warn him if something had happened. 

“Blessed luck Potter. Or should I say bad luck?” — Sirius thought, sighing. — “But since I can’t go look for her now, unfortunately, I must focus on my judgement. Only a few hours left, as far as I know…”

For a few moments he lay motionless on his bed, while the prospect of a trial — his long awaited judgement — ​​invaded every particle of his brain and left him a little scared. 

He knew he was being dramatic, the outcome of his trial being as clear now as it was years ago — if he had had one, that is. But after all, how could I not scare him? Sirius knew that they had custody of Pettigrew thanks to his beloved pup and that his trial would just be a formality, with Pettigrew having been tried and found guilty days ago; But after everything he went through after the death of his best friends, his pessimistic mind kept telling him that before the end of the day, he would be a trapped man, or worse, kissed.

And with bloody Dumbledore insisting on holding his freedom over his head, no longer having control over Hera now that she defeated Lord Voldyshorts, the fear he felt only increased as the days passed since he learned the date of his judgement.

But he wouldn't think about it, no. Sirius promised Hera in their last conversation that he would be fine, that he would have good judgement and that he would be a free man before nightfall and he would comply this promise to his little girl.

So, after lying there for a few minutes, unable to bear the rollercoaster of feelings and emotions he felt, he jumped out of bed and started getting ready. Winky, bless her daughter's house elf, arranged the formal robes in her house colours that she would wear to the trial at the foot of her bed. 

Sirius dressed quickly and before he knew it he was across the room, out onto the landing and closing the door softly behind him. 

Trying not to think about the possibility of this being the last time he would see his room, Black silently went down the stairs, past the heads of the Kreacher's ancestors — who he wanted to get out of there more than anything — and headed to the kitchen. He had expected to find it empty, but when he reached the door he heard the soft resound of voices on the other side. 

He opened it and saw Arthur and Molly Weasley — who certainly didn't need to be there, because Sirius knew for sure that, despite being Fred and George's best friend (his honorary little sister, in fact ), Hera was not Ronald Weasley's friend, as the redhead liked to boast —, Moony, Vance and Tonks sitting there, almost as if they were waiting for him.

Everyone was fully dressed, except Molly Weasley, who was wearing a purple quilted dressing gown. She stood up the moment she saw him enter.

“Good morning, Sirius. Breakfast?” she said as she pulled out her wand and ran to the stove.

“M-M-Morning, Sirius,” Tonks yawned. This morning her hair was yellow and frizzy. “Did you sleep well?”

“No,” said Sirius, being sincere.

“Me either. I-I spent the night awake,” said the witch, giving another shuddering yawn. “Come and sit down…”

She pulled out a chair and in doing so knocked over the one next to it.

“Any news of Hera?” Black asked, hope filling his heart, only to be dashed when Remus looked at him desolately, as sad as when he had found him after learning of his daughter's disappearance from Albus. “No clue?”

“We still don't have any leads, Padfoot,” Remus replied softly, shaking his head. Sirius shrank into his chair. “We are investigating and are looking for clues that could tell us where the portkey took her, but we still don't have anything essential.”

“And Dumbledore?” the black-haired one asked desperately, looking at the few members of the Order awake. “What did he say? Did he find anything? Is he even looking for her? Or is he doing what he does best — sitting and waiting — as usual?”

“He didn't find anything either,” Vance said wistfully, while Molly looked at him with reprimanding eyes. Don't speak ill of Dumbledore, they said, he's a good man!  

“Screw it!” — he thought.

Unaware of his turmoil, Vance continued. “We still don't know if it was her portkey or if she was kidnapped, or even if she's alive.”

Sirius stopped breathing.

“She's alive, Vance,” Sirius exclaimed fiercely. “My goddaughter is alive, I know that! Don't you dare tell me otherwise!”

“But we can't know for sure, Sirius,” Molly murmured sadly, looking at him with pity and Sirius hated her. “As much as I want Hera to be safe and come back to us safely, we don't know for sure that she survived the Dementors. Not to mention that she could literally be anywhere in the world.”

Who was she to look at him with pity? Who was she to come into his house and say that his goddaughter, his daughter, was dead? She was nobody. They were nobody ! They didn't know anything.

His daughter is alive, Sirius knows that very well. And he would find her, whatever it takes him.

“But we can't think about that today, not when today is your judgement day,” Molly murmured, getting up from where she was. “Anyway, breakfast! What do you want, Sirius?” asked the Weasley matriarch. “Porridge? Cookies? Herring? Eggs with bacon? Toast?”

Before anyone could say anything, a pop sounded throughout the place. Everyone looked around, thinking it was their elf, Kreacher, but the one who appeared was Winky, with a fierce scowl on her delicate face.

Seeing the frown on the face of the kindest elf he had ever met in his entire life, Sirius was surprised, not knowing why. What caused her to be so angry?, he wondered.

Immediately, startled by a stranger appearing out of nowhere in a house that was supposed to be protected against intruders, everyone pointed their wands at Winky, who blinked in fright.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Sirius quickly intervened, placing himself in front of Winky in a protective gesture. Since his daughter left his house elves to take care of him, Black had become very attached to the two of them, especially to Winky, who was a kind and very sweet elf. Dobby, unlike Winky, served him well, but he only had eyes for Hera and Sirius was very fine with that. “No pointing wands at my house elf. So please put down your wands and sit down, Winky has done nothing wrong!”

“Is that a house elf?” Vance asked, looking at Winky in disbelief and Sirius scowled at the woman for the way she referred to the elf, as if Winky was a thing and not a person.

“If you're asking me if she's a house elf, yes, she is!” he said, daring them to contradict him.

“She is? In truth? Sirius, you're not kidding, are you?” Molly asked in disbelief, looking from Winky to Sirius and back again. “But how can she be a house elf? She certainly doesn't look like one. No elf looks like that.”

“I know,” Black commented, still in front of Winky to protect her. “But Winky and Dobby became like this after Hera accepted them as her personal house-elves. From what we've been told, this is what they were like before they were deceived and enslaved by the wizards. And they could only return to their true form when a wizard or witch saw them and accepted them as their equals. And that's what Hera did. They're not just our house elves. They are our friends, our family, loved by us and I ask, please, that you do not attack Winky or Dobby. Otherwise, I will have to defend them and you will not like that.”

“I... I,” Vance stammered, still looking at the little elf in surprise.

Sirius' expression softened. “Just don't attack them and we'll be fine,” Sirius said, before turning back to Winky with gentle eyes. “Do you need anything, Winky?”

Suddenly, Winky looked determined, straightening her posture and looking at Molly Weasley with extremely fierce eyes.

Sirius wanted to laugh. That only served to make her even cuter in his eyes.

“Mrs. Weasley is trying to make your breakfast, Sirius, but I'm the one making your breakfast,” the little elf exclaimed fiercely, snapping her fingers quickly and, before Molly could apologise or say anything, Sirius's breakfast suddenly appeared on the table, looking as delicious as it smelled, just like every other day. “Besides, I know you're nervous about it being your trial day, so I made things lighter so you could eat. Hera wouldn't want to see you get sick on the day of judgement, after all, and I wouldn't like to worry my lady.”

“Thank you very much, Winky. You are a good elf!” Sirius thanked the little elf with a smile and she blushed with delight at the gesture, still not knowing how to react to the way she was treated by Sirius and Hera, with so much kindness — as if she were really part of the family. It was very different from the way she was treated by her previous lord, even if they weren't necessarily cruel to her. “You did very well, as always, Winky. It looks delicious,” he praised, already eating the oatmeal.

“It really does,” Tonks murmured, looking longingly at his breakfast. “I am jealous.”

Winky, looking very pleased with herself, disappeared as quickly as she came.

Lupin looked at the place where the elf was — before she disappeared —, looked at Sirius and then, as if nothing had happened, asked Tonks:

“What were you saying about Scrimgeour?”

“Oh... Yes... Well, we need to be a little more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions…”

Sirius felt vaguely grateful that he didn't have to participate in the conversation. His insides twisted. But even though he was worried, he ate the breakfast Winky prepared for him with gusto, grateful for having her take care of him every day. He adored her.

“... And I'll have to tell Dumbledore that I can't do the night shift tomorrow, I'm just t-t-too tired,” concluded Tonks, yawning hugely again.

Sirius barely restrained himself from sneering as he listened to their conversation. 

His daughter had defeated the Dark Lord during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, bringing Voldemort's body with her and even so, Albus Dumbledore did not believe in his defeat. And why? Well…

Because he didn't help her defeat him and for him that was more than enough reason.

And now, the Order of Flame Hens has been reestablished once again, with its members meeting constantly at Sirius's house since Hera disappeared two days ago.

He didn't know why, though. They were useless anyway.

“I'll cover your shift,” Arthur Weasley offered. “I'm fine, anyway I have a report to finish…”

Arthur, unlike Black, was not wearing wizard robes, but pinstriped pants and an old aviator jacket. He turned from Tonks to Sirius.

“How are you feeling?”

Sirius blinked.

“It will be over soon,” said the wizard, encouraging him. “Within a few hours you will be innocent.”

Sirius didn't respond.

“The trial will take place on my floor, in Amelia Bones’ room. She is the current head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and is the one who will interrogate you.”

“I know Amelia,” Sirius forced himself to comment. “She was one of my instructors when I was just an Auror in training. Is she still as strict as before?”

“Amelia Bones is cool, Sirius,” said Tonks, seriously. “She's fair, and she'll listen to everything you have to say.”

“Do they think I’m stupid?” — he shouted in his mind, completely outraged by the childish treatment he was receiving. — “That I don’t know how the Ministry works? That I’ve never participated in a trial?”

Ever since they arrived at his house two days ago, Dumbledore’s Order had been treating him as if he were truly stupid, and it was getting on his nerves. That, not to mention Dumbledore himself, who treated him as if he were still a teenage student, plotting and playing pranks on everyone who breathed.

Sirius just nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

“Don't lose your cool, no matter how much you want to,” Vance said suddenly. “Be polite and stick to the facts.”

Sirius nodded his head again, in disbelief at the fact that they were still treating him like a child.

“I just need to hold on a little longer” — Black thought, finishing what was left of his breakfast in silence. — “I just need to wait until I have my freedom and then, when I find Hera, we will go far away from here.”

“The law is on your side, Padfoot,” said Lupin in a low voice. “Pettigrew has already been tried and found guilty. You don't need to fear anything. Before you know it, you will be a free man.”

“I hope so,” he whispered lowly. “I need to find my daughter after all.”

But no one listened to him.

“You will,” Tonks assured, “don't worry.”

Then, Arthur Weasley checked his watch and looked at it.

“I have to go now, I need to work,” the redhead explained and Sirius nodded, understanding. “But if you want to come with me, you're most welcome. You'll arrive a little early, but it's better to arrive early and wait than something unforeseen or something like that happens and you're late.”

“That's fine with me,” Sirius said automatically, eating the last piece of toast and getting up. “Anyway, I'd rather stay there than here,” being treated like a blessed child by you, he completed in his mind.

“Everything's gonna be alright,” Tonks said, patting him on the arm.

“Good luck,” wishes Vance. “I'm sure everything will go well.”

“And if doesn't run,” said Remus very seriously, “well... You can leave that I care of Amelia Bones to you…”

Sirius gave a small smile. Moony hugged him.

“We'll all be waiting for you with good news here, Padfoot.”

“Right,” said Black. “So, see you later.”

He followed Arthur Weasley downstairs and along the corridor, he heard his dear, lovely mother — how he hated that harpy — grumble in her sleep behind the curtains. Arthur unlocked the door and they stepped out into the cold, grey dawn.

“Really, it’s too early for that…” — Sirius thought.

“Shall we walk or apparate?” asked Sirius, as they walked quickly across the square.

“I think we'd better apparate, Sirius,” Arthur exclaimed and Black agreed with him. “Shall we meet there?”

Sirius nodded.

“Meet you there, Arthur.”

Without hesitation and with his destination in mind, Sirius apparated away. He felt his body being pressed in all directions; he couldn't breathe, there were iron bars constricting his chest; his eyes were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull.

But as quickly as the sensation came, it was gone and he was standing in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, Arthur arriving shortly after him.

The atrium was very long and sumptuous, with a dark and extremely polished wooden floor. The peacock-blue ceiling was carved with golden symbols that moved and alternated like a huge celestial bulletin board. The walls on each side were panelled in dark, glossy wood, and set into them were many gilded fireplaces. Every few seconds, wizards and witches emerge from one of the fireplaces on the left with a soft noise of air displacement.

On the right wall, small lines of people were forming in front of each fireplace, waiting for the moment of departure.

In the middle of the lobby there was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life size, were arranged in the centre of a circular water mirror. The tallest was of an aristocratic-looking wizard, with his wand pointing into the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house elf. The last three looked adoringly at the wizard couple. From the tips of their wands came jets of sparkling water, as well as from the tip of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the hissing and tinkling of the falling water mingled together. to the pops and clicks of wizards apparating and the resounding footsteps of hundreds of others, most of them with the look of few friends who had just woken up, heading towards a row of golden gates at the end of the hall.

Sirius really hated that statue. Always hated.

“My office is this way, Sirius,” said Weasley. “In case you want to accompany me.”

They joined the crowd and continued to walk among the Ministry staff, some of whom carried unsteady stacks of parchment, others, battered briefcases; and still others read the Daily Prophet as they walked. As they passed the fountain, Sirius saw sicles of silver and bronze knuts shining at the bottom of the water. A small poster next to the fountain stated:

ALL MONEY COLLECTED AT THE MAGIC BROTHERS FOUNTAIN WILL BE DONATED TO ST MUNGO’S HOSPITAL FOR DISEASES AND MAGIC ACCIDENTS.

Without thinking, he threw twenty-five galleons into the fountain, unaware of the incredulous and angry looks he was receiving — and not because he was Sirius Black, the Potter traitor and alleged murderer.

“If I don’t end up back in Azkaban or worse, I’m going to throw another twenty-five galleons in there” — Sirius found himself thinking.

“This way, Sirius,” said Weasley, and they separated themselves from the stream of ministry staff heading for the golden doors.

Sitting at a table to the left, under the Security sign, a poorly shaven wizard in peacock blue robes stopped reading his Daily Prophet and raised his head as the two approached.

“I'm here for a trial,” Sirius said, his voice calm and steady.

“Come here,” said the wizard in a bored voice.

Sirius approached and the wizard lifted a long goldenrod, thin and flexible like a car antenna, and ran it across his body, top to bottom, front and back.

“Wand,” the security guard growled at Sirius, lowering the golden instrument and holding out his hand.

Sirius picked up his wand — unfortunately, not the one he was caught with before being thrown into Azkaban without trial, as it was still being held at the Ministry and he had hoped to get it back that very day — and handed it to him. The wizard dropped it on top of a strange brass instrument, which resembled a single-pan scale. The thing started to vibrate. A thin strip of parchment instantly emerged from a groove in the base. The wizard highlighted it and read what was written.

“Seven centimetres, dragon heartstring, in use for a year. Correct?”

“Correct,” Sirius replied, unconcerned.

“It's all right, then,” said the wizard, threading the strip of parchment onto a small brass skewer. “Here you go,” he added, handing the wand back to Sirius.

“Thanks.”

“One moment,” said the wizard slowly.

His eyes darted from his black and silver robe to the crest of his house on Sirius's chest, before focusing on his face.

“Thank you, Eric,” Weasley said firmly and, pointing Sirius in the correct direction, they walked away from the table and re-entered the stream of wizards and witches crossing the golden gate.

Half-pushed by the crowd, Sirius followed Weasley, through the gate and out into a smaller hall, where there were at least twenty elevators behind ornate golden railings. The two joined the people standing in front of one of the elevators. Nearby, there was a burly, bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box that was making a scraping noise.

“Everything okay, Arthur?” asked the wizard, greeting him with a nod.

“What do you have there, Beto?” Weasley wanted to know, looking at the box.

“We're not really sure,” replied the wizard very seriously. “We thought it was a common marsh hen until it started breathing fire from its nostrils. Now it looks like a serious violation of the Experimental Animal Breeding Prohibition.”

With a clatter of hardware, an elevator descended before them; the golden grille retracted, Sirius and Weasley entered the elevator with the others, and Black found himself leaning against the back wall — the other wizards moving away from him the instant they saw his face and realised who he was. Several wizards and witches looked at him with astonishment and fear; he always looked straight ahead and when he felt uncomfortable with the looks they gave him, he returned the look with a withering look, making them look away quickly. The bars closed with a bang again and the elevator slowly rose, the chains tightening. colliding, while a calm woman's voice began to speak:

“Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, which includes the Headquarters of the British and Irish Quidditch Leagues, the Official Bladder Club and the Nonsensical Patents Section.”

The doors of the elevator opened. Sirius took a quick look at the dingy-looking hallway, where there were several Quidditch team posters tacked crookedly to the walls. One of the wizards in the elevator, who was carrying an armful of brooms, struggled to free himself and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the elevator resumed its bumpy climb and the female voice announced:

“Level six, Department of Magical Transportation, which includes the Floo Network Authority, Broom Scouting Control, the Portkey Section, and the Apparition Testing Center.”

Once again the doors of the elevator opened and four or five wizards disembarked; At the same time, several paper aeroplanes flew into the elevator. Sirius watched the planes glide lazily above his head; They were light violet, and he read the words Ministry of Magic stamped on the edge of the wings. It was different in his time as an Auror in training. They still used owls to communicate — they made a mess, he recalled.

“They're just interdepartmental memos,” muttered Arthur Weasley. “I don't know if it's from your time, but we used to use owls; the mess it caused was unbelievable... Excrement falling on the desks…”

When they started going up again, the memos were floating around the elevator lamp.

“Level five, Department for International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Office of Magical Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British headquarters.”

When the doors opened, two memos flew out at the same time as more wizards and witches disembarked, but many more memos flew in, so that the light blinked and flashed with the movement of the little planes around them.

“Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which includes the Beasts, Beings and Spirits Divisions, Goblin Liaison Section, Office of Pest Guidance.”

“Excuse me,” asked the wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken, and left the elevator followed by a small flock of memos. The doors closed once again with a clatter.

“Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviation Center, and Muggle Justification Committee.”

Everyone disembarked from the elevator on this floor, except Weasley, Sirius and a witch who was reading a parchment so long it dragged along the floor. The remaining memos continued to float around the lamp, and the elevator continued its restless ascent, then the doors opened and the voice announced:

“Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which includes the Misuse of Magic Control Section, Auror Headquarters, and the Administrative Services of the Wizengamot.”

“It's up to us, Sirius,” Weasley said, and they followed the witch down a corridor lined with doors. “My room is on the other side of the floor.”

“Arthur,” Sirius asked, passing through a window through which the sun streamed in, “new decoration?”

“Actually, it's not very recent. They were installed about five years ago, as I remember. The windows are enchanted. Magical Maintenance decides every day what time it will take. We had two months of hurricanes, the last time we were demanding a salary increase…” Arthur informed and Sirius smiled in amusement. It's a good way to end any strike, he thought. “It's turning here, Sirius.”

They turned a corner, passed through heavy oak doors, and emerged into an open area subdivided into cubicles, which was buzzing with conversation and laughter. Memos flew in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A crooked sign in the nearest cubicle said: Auror Headquarters.

Sirius was able to see a bit of the office through the door as he walked past it. They had covered the walls of their cubicles with everything imaginable, from portraits of wanted wizards and photos of their families to posters of their favourite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. A man in red robes, with a ponytail longer than Bill's, sat with his boots on the desk, dictating a report into his pen. A little further on, a witch with a blindfold over one eye was talking over the divider of her cubicle with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“‘Morning, Weasley,” greeted Kingsley, relaxed, when the wizard approached. “I've been wanting to talk to you, do you have a second?”

“Yes, if it really is a second,” Weasley said. “I'm a little rushed.”

They spoke as if they barely knew each other, and if Sirius didn't know the truth, he might believe the actions of both wizards.

Suddenly, Sirius had a slight shock; Winking at him from all directions was Hera's face. Newspaper clippings and old photos — even the one where he held her in his arms when she was just born — lined the walls. The only space where there was no Hera was occupied by a world map on which red pins shone like precious stones.

“If Hera knew they did that around here…” — Sirius thought, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, annoyed. — “She would burn this place to the ground.”

“Here,” Kingsley said sharply to Weasley, thrusting a roll of parchment into his hand. “I need as much information as possible about portkeys being used in front of Muggles in recent days. Maybe this is the clue we need to find Hera Potter,” he informed, quickly attracting Sirius' attention to the conversation. “And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay in the fire legs report has paralyzed our investigations for a month.”

“If you had read my report you would know that the term is firearms,” said Weasley calmly. “And don't worry, we'll do this search as quickly as possible. After all, we want to find Hera Potter as much as you do,” then he lowered his voice: “If you can get out before seven, Molly is making meatballs.”

And, signalling to Sirius, they left the cubicle, passed through other oak doors, exited another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and yet visibly dingy corridor, which ended in a blind wall, but there was a door ajar. on the left, revealing the inside of a broom closet, and a door on the right with an oxidised brass plaque reading: Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.

Arthur Weasley's dark, dingy room seemed slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks had been crammed in there and there was barely room to get around them because of the crammed files that lined the walls, with stacks of folders on top. The little wall space available bore witness to Weasley's obsessions: several car posters, including one of a dismantled engine; two illustrations of mailboxes that looked like they had been cut out of muggle children's books; and a diagram showing how to wire a socket.

On top of his crowded inbox was an old toaster sobbing disconsolately and a pair of leather gloves that rotated two empty fingers. Next to the box was a photo of the Weasley family. Sirius noticed that Percy had apparently abandoned the photo.

“We don't have a window,” Weasley apologised, taking off his bomber jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair. “We asked, but apparently they don't think we need one. Sit down, Sirius, it looks like Perkins isn't here yet.”

Sirius squeezed into the chair next to Perkins' desk, while the Weasley quickly leafed through the sheaf of parchment that Kingsley Shacklebolt had handed him.

“Oh,” he commented, smiling, as he pulled out a copy of The Quibbler magazine, “yes…” he leafed through it. “This magazine is very funny. Would you like to see it, Sirius? I think you might like it.”

A memo had just shot through the open door and landed on the sobbing toaster. Weasley opened it and read aloud: “We have received reports of a third toilet regurgitating in a public bathroom in Bethnal Green, please investigate immediately.”

“This is getting ridiculous…”

“A toilet that regurgitates?”

“Anti-Muggle kid jokes,” said Weasley, frowning. “We had two last week, one at Wimbledon, one at Elephant and Castle. The Muggles flush the toilet and instead of things disappearing... Well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling them... Plumders, I think that's what they call them... You know, the men who fix pipes and things like that.”

“Plumbers?” Sirius raised his eyebrow.

“Exactly, but of course they don't know how to explain it. I just hope we can catch whoever is doing this.”

“Are the Aurors going to catch them?”

“Oh, no, this is too banal for Aurors, it will be a normal patrol for Magical Law Enforcement... Ah, Sirius, this is Perkins.”

An old wizard, stooped and shy, with fluffy white hair, had just entered the room, panting.

“Oh, Arthur!” he exclaimed desperately, without looking at Sirius. “Good, I didn't know what would be better, whether or not to wait here for you. I just dispatched an owl to your house, but it's obvious that you had already left: an urgent message arrived about ten minutes ago…”

“I know about the toilet that regurgitates,” said Weasley.

“No, it's not the toilet, it's Black's judgement…” Sirius' ears perked up when he heard his surname. “They changed the date and place... Now it will start at eight o'clock and it will be in the old Tenth Court…”

“This must be the work of that damned Fudge!” — Black thought, immediately getting up from where he was.

“In the old... But they told me... By Merlin's beard!”

Weasley checked his watch, let out a scream and jumped out of his chair.

“Hurry, Sirius, you should have gotten there five minutes ago!”

Perkins flattened himself against the files to let Weasley run out of the room with Sirius on his heels, who unlike the redhead, was quite calm.

“Why did they change the time?” asked Arthur breathlessly, as they passed through the Auror rooms; people stretched and stopped to look at the redhead's run and Black's calm walk. Sirius had the feeling he could commit murder just by looking at Cornelius Fudge.

“I have a good guess,” Black grumbled, clenching his jaw.

Weasley skidded to a stop in front of the elevators and impatiently pressed the down button.

“HURRY UP!”

The elevator jolted into view and they entered quickly. Every time they stopped, Weasley swore furiously and punched the number nine button.

“These courts haven't been used for years,” said Weasley angrily. “I can't imagine why they're going to hold the trial down here…”

“I can well imagine why,” Sirius commented, looking worriedly at the redhead. “But don't worry about that, Arthur. What they did was wrong and I will let them know it immediately. The law is on my side, not theirs.”

A plump witch, carrying a steaming chalice, entered the elevator at that moment and Weasley fell silent.

“ The Atrium,” said the quiet female voice, and the golden bars opened, allowing Sirius a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The witch left and a wizard with gaunt skin and a very sad expression replaced her.

“‘Morning, Arthur,” he said, in a sepulchral tone, when the elevator began to descend. “I don't often see him down here.”

“Urgent business, Bode,” replied Weasley, who was rocking back and forth on his heels, casting Sirius anxious looks.

“Ah, yes,” said Bode, examining Sirius without caring whether he was being polite or not. Idiot, he thought. “It is clear.”

Sirius had almost no emotion left to spend on Bode, but that stare didn't make him feel any more comfortable.

“ Department of Mysteries,” said the woman's voice without rushing and without adding anything.

“Come on, Sirius,” Weasley exclaimed, as the elevator doors creaked open, and they hurried out into a corridor that was very different from the others above.

The walls were bare; there were no windows or doors, except a smooth black one at the end of the corridor. Sirius was curious to know what was so mysterious in the Department of Mysteries, but he was already late for his trial and so he turned to the left, where there was an opening to a staircase.

“Down here, down here,” gasped Weasley, taking two steps at a time. “The elevator doesn't even go down there... Why are they going to hold the trial down there, I…”

They reached the last step and entered another corridor, very similar to the one that led to Slughorn's dungeon — or Snape's, now — at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches on supports. The doors they passed through here were made of solid wood, with locks and locks.

“Tenth... Court... I think... We're almost... Yes.”

Weasley stopped staggering in front of a dark, dingy door with a huge iron lock, and leaned against the wall, squeezing the pang he felt in his chest.

“Go on,” he panted, pointing at the door with his thumb. “Get in there.”

“Are you coming, Arthur?”

“No, no, it's not allowed. Good luck!”

Sirius' heart thumped violently against his Adam's apple. He swallowed hard, turned the iron handle of the heavy door and entered the courtroom.

Sirius stifled a growl; he couldn't help himself. He knew this place very well. It was reserved for the worst criminals in existence, and the knowledge that he would be tried here, in front of the entire body of the Wizengamot, made him suddenly angry.

“How dare you!” — he thought, no longer frightened by the prospect of his trial. In fact, after discovering Fudge's little game, he was furious.

The walls were of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. There were empty stands on either side of him, but in front, the highest ones were occupied by many dark figures. They had been talking, but when the heavy door closed on Sirius' entrance there was an ominous silence.

A sharp male voice echoed through the courtroom.

“You're late.”

“And who is to blame?” Sirius spoke, his stance confident and his eyes burning with fury. “I may have spent years in Azkaban, but I still remember the laws that govern that body. Or have they changed?” Black asked and before anyone could say anything, he continued. “In my time, the change of place and time had to be informed to the defendant twenty-four hours in advance, at least. That said, can you explain to me why I was informed just ten minutes ago?”

“We didn't know that, Sirius Black and so we apologise for the inconvenience,” Madam Bones replied, glaring at Cornelius, who deflated like a punctured balloon. “But now that you're here, we can begin the trial. You can sit down.”

Sirius's gaze fell on the chair in the centre of the room, whose arms were equipped with chains. He saw those chains come to life and bind whoever sat there in the few trials he witnessed as an Auror in training and a young heir. His footsteps echoed loudly as he advanced across the stone floor. The moment he sat, uncomfortably, on the edge of the chair, the chains clanged threateningly, but did not restrain him. Feeling a little calmer, he looked at the people sitting on the bench above.

There were about fifty, as far as he could see, they wore plum-coloured robes with a W embroidered in silver thread on the left side of the chest, and they looked at him with an air of superiority, some with very austere expressions, others, frankly frightened.

Right in the middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic and a rather foolish man. He was a portly man who usually wore a lime green bowler hat, although today he had dispensed with it; he had also dispensed with that smile of superiority and presumption that he had used in the past when talking to Sirius. Madam Bones, a broad-boned, square-jawed witch with very short grey hair, sat on Fudge's left; she wore a monocle and looked as scary as she did in her youth. On the right side of the minister, there was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on the bench that her face was in shadow.

“Very well,” said Fudge grumpily. “The accused having finally arrived, we can begin,” he sniffed arrogantly. “Are you gentlemen ready?” he asked the other wizards.

“Yes, sir,” replied an anxious voice that Sirius, unfortunately, knew. 

Arthur Weasley's son, Percy, sat at one end of the front bench. Sirius looked closely at Percy, trying to imagine how someone like him could be Arthur Weasley's son — but then again, Arthur was Ronald's father, a truly irritating brat. The boy's eyes, behind horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on a parchment, and he held a quill in his hand.

“Criminal hearing on the fourth of August,” Fudge announced in a resonant voice, and Percy immediately began to take notes, “to investigate the actions taken by Sirius Orion Black, regarding the betrayal and, later, murder of James and Lily Potter, as well as the murder of twelve Muggles, on the first of November, nineteen eighty-one,” he began to speak and Sirius paid attention. “Inquirers: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, senior undersecretary to the minister. Court scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley…”

“Is that all correct?” Madam Bones asked, her face showing seriousness.

“Yes,” Fudge repeated, leafing through his notes. “Well, then. Therefore... The accusations. Yes.”

He took a parchment from the pile in front of him, took a long breath and read:

“The charges are as follows: That he intentionally, deliberately and with full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having full knowledge of the laws governing the Ministry of Magic, offered the address of James and Lily Potter to You-Know-Who, leading them to their deaths,” Sirius barely contained a snort of derision as he heard the minister afraid to utter a name, the name of a dead man. “And, not content with the deaths of his two best friends, he pursued Peter Pettigrew across Europe, before catching him in Dublin, Ireland, leading to the deaths of twelve unidentified Muggles.”

Black rolled his eyes discreetly, listening to the accusations. Everyone there knew what he no had done, and so had Pettigrew, but Cornelius Fudge insisted on painting him in a bad light.

“The idiot” — Sirius thought.

“Are you Sirius Orion Black, of number twelve Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London?” asked Fudge, giving Sirius a sharp look over the parchment.

“Yes, Minister,” Sirius replied.

“And were you or weren't you James Potter's best friend?” Fudge asked and Sirius replied in the affirmative, disliking the man more and more.

“Yes, I was.”

“And you…”

“Oh, please, minister, can we stop this game. We know very well what you are trying to do here and it is bullshit!” Madam Longbottom impatiently interrupted the Minister for Magic's questions and Sirius wanted to laugh, but controlled himself. It wouldn't make him look good in the eyes of these people if he laughed at such a serious moment. “Furthermore, why are you participating in this hearing as an interrogator? As the Hit Wizard who arrested Sirius Black thirteen years ago and as Sirius's biggest advocate for guilt, you are too involved in this case to be truly impartial., you are too involved in this case to be impartial. Therefore, I ask that he be replaced by someone else.”

“Supported!” Lord Abbott agreed with Madam Longbottom and he suppressed his smile.

“Supported.”

“Supported!”

“Very well,” Madam Bones agreed. “I ask Lord Greengrass, as the leader of the Grey Faction, to replace Minister Fudge as inquirer in this trial.”

“I accept,” Lord Greengrass nodded and switched places with the minister.

“Now that this has been corrected, I ask that we continue with this hearing. Does everyone agree?”

“Yes,” everyone said in unison.

“Okay,” Madam Bones said, before looking intensely at him. “Sirius Black, you have been accused of conspiring and spying for the man named Tom Riddle, the self-styled Dark Lord Voldemort,” there were gasps and screams of terror all over the place and Sirius stopped himself from rolling his eyes once more, “known to the wizarding world as You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as well as betraying the secret of the Potters' location to Lord Voldemort, leading to their deaths. You were also accused of murdering twelve Muggles while chasing Peter Pettigrew in Dublin, Ireland. A few days ago, we had the trial of Peter Pettigrew, but the law is clear, so I ask you: how do you plead?”

“Innocent,” Black said, calm and confident.

“And do you agree to present evidence to support this claim?” Madam Bones asked, raising her eyebrow in doubt.

Sirius nodded.

“I agree to take Veritaserum and answer your questions and just your questions, Madam Bones.”

“Very well,” Amelia Bones agreed. “Auror Gibbs, please administer the Veritaserum.”

“Yes, Madam Bones.”

Black didn't pay much attention to the auror when he arrived, finding him boring, but he didn't fight when he offered him the flask with the Truth Potion.

Without fighting the administration, Sirius let Auror Gibbs pour three drops of the potion onto his tongue, and without delay, his body felt heavy and his mind light, as if he were not in control of his own mind or body, letting him know that the potion was taking effect.

“Please say your full name and your date of birth,” Madam Bones said and Sirius heard her as if she were very far away, like the echo of a cave, muffled.

“Sirius Orion Black, November 3, nineteen fifty-nine,” he said before he could think. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he felt carefree, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

The effect of Veritaserum was strange. Sirius felt like he was seeing himself and his surroundings through a screen, still there but unable to react or do anything other than spill all his secrets.

“Now, lie about what your Hogwarts house was.”

“I was in Sly… Slythe…” Sirius struggled to lie as he was asked to do, but with each attempt, his tongue grew heavier and heavier. Finally, he gave up. It wasn't worth the effort. “Gryffindor. I was in Gryffindor.”

“Great, it's working,” Madam Bones exclaimed, receiving a blank look from Sirius in return. “Sirius Black, were you or are you a supporter of Lord Voldemort?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been or are you a Death Eater, marked or not?”

“No, never.”

“Were you James and Lily Potter's secret keeper?”

“No.”

“Who was James and Lily Potter's secret keeper?”

“Peter Pettigrew.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I was there when Lilian did the spell.”

“Very good. Did you chase Peter Pettigrew all over Europe until you arrived in Dublin, Ireland?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he was James and Lily's secret keeper and betrayed them to Voldemort. He was as much to blame for their deaths as Voldemort was.”

“And you murdered the twelve Muggles?”

“No.”

“Who killed them?”

“Peter Pettigrew.”

“How did he kill them?”

“Casting the Bombardment Spell in a gas pipeline, leading to the explosion that killed all Muggles nearby.”

“And how did he escape?”

“Cutting off his index finger and transforming into his brown rat animagus, fleeing through the sewers.”

“Very good. Gibbs, administer the antidote.”

Before Sirius knew it, his eyes managed to focus once more, leaving him disoriented for a few minutes. Being under the Veritaserum was horrible and very disorienting, but he realised the advantages the Truth Potion had. However, he never wanted to try that potion again.

“As we can see, all of Sirius' answers corroborate the answers given by Peter Pettigrew. However, as I know that some people here will doubt Sirius' veracity even under Veritaserum,” Madam Bones glanced at Minister Fudge, who did not even deny the accusation, “I must ask what other evidence you have, Sirius, regarding your innocence in this case.”

“I can present my memories.”

“Hmm,” Madam Bones muttered, looking at all the members of the Wizengamot before making up her mind. “I agree. Croaker, get the pensieve.”

Croaker, like any of the unspeakables, wore a long grey robe with a hood, but unlike the others, who could not have their identities known, he left his hood down, showing his face perfectly. The Head of the Unspeakables was old, but not as old as Dumbledore, and had dark brown hair with a few grey streaks and dark green eyes.

As the Head of the Unspeakables, responsible for the Department of Mysteries, Croaker was present at most of the trials, always on hand in case memories and other things were presented, as at that moment.

Therefore, without hesitation and without delay, the unspeakable presented the Ministry's pensieve, which unlike the others could present the memory to everyone without the need for them to touch it. Sirius, when asked, was quick to offer the memories essential to his case, confident that they would prove his innocence.

As soon as Croaker placed his first memory, a week before James and Lily's death, a thick, cold mist took shape above the pensieve, like a Muggle television screen, drawing the attention of every wizard and witch in the court to the memory they would watch.

With a heavy heart, Sirius watched along with them.

💭💭💭

Potter's House — GODRIC'S HOLLOW

In a small cabin in Godric's Hollow, four best friends met in secret, without telling anyone their plans, because they were at war - and in times of war, discretion was never too much.

The three of them — James, Sirius and Peter (Remus, the last of their group, was notably absent) — had been friends since they were eleven, when they first met on the Hogwarts Express on their way to Hogwarts for their first year; while Lily, James' wife and a very good witch, had joined the group when she began dating Prongs in their seventh and final year.

Hera, of course, was the Potter baby and the little princess of the group.

“Look, guys… While I’m very happy to see you and spend time with little Hera in these terrible times and all, it’s very dangerous for us all to be meeting here, especially with You-Know-Who hunting us. So, may I ask why you’ve called me, Prongs?” Peter Pettigrew asked one of his best friends, looking from him to Lily, who was holding a half-asleep Hera in her arms, and to Padfoot. “I understand Sirius visits you often, being Hera’s godfather… But I don’t usually come here without a good reason… Besides, why are there only the four of us here? Where’s Moony? I thought this meeting involved the Marauders.”

“I understand that these are not the best times for a friendly get-together, but the reason I called you here is important, Peter.”

Pettigrew raised his eyebrows when he heard James, Sirius realised.

“And what reason is that, Prongs?” he asked.

“Well, I called you here because I have a favour to ask of you, Wormtail,” James Potter said, as young and smiling as he had been in school. Even there, sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace between his wife and his best friends, when there were no people to show off, James maintained his proud posture, and when he looked at Hera, it became clear why the young man felt so proud. Little Potter was barely a year old, but she already had her father wrapped around her little finger. He was the most doting father Sirius had ever known and it filled him with joy, seeing his best friend so happy in the midst of such frightening times. “A very important favour for me, because it can save my family, it can save Hera. Sirius thinks you are the right person to do it and I agree with him.”

“Okay, I understand,” Peter looked between his best friends, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “What favour?”

“We need you to be our secret keeper,” Lily said at once, making Peter's eyes widen.

“What?” Wormtail squeaked, making Sirius snort in amusement at his friend's reaction. 

“He never seemed so much like a rat as now ” — Black thought with amusement.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite so bluntly,” Prongs looked amusedly at his wife, who shrugged, a mischievous smile on her delicate face, “but the gist is exactly that. As you know, Voldy is after my daughter to kill her, and as you can guess, we’re not going to let that happen. So, as Lily and I talked about what we could do, we decided that the Fidelius Charm is the best protection there is and it’s the best chance we have of protecting our daughter, our family. But the Fidelius Charm works best when the secret keeper doesn’t live in the protected area. So, as we talked about the options we have for a secret keeper, we realised that there’s no one we trust as much as you, Sirius, and Remus. And…” James trailed off, looking intently at Wormtail who, Sirius noticed, swallowed hard. Not understanding why Peter looked so scared, Sirius frowned in confusion and suspicion, before ignoring whatever it was, even when his instincts told him that something was wrong. It must be nothing, he thought, he had always been very scared anyway. “Since Remus is away on a mission for the Order, we want you to be our secret keeper, Wormtail. Do you accept this responsibility? I know we are asking a lot of you… And I will understand if you refuse…”

Peter's eyes widened. “No, no. It's nothing like that... I just don't understand one thing... Why me?” Peter asked, looking at his best friends with fear shining in his eyes. “Why not Sirius? He's your best friend! Your brother in everything but blood. He would be the best option.”

“Because, dear Peter, I will be playing my role, which is much cooler than yours. I will be the bait,” Sirius said, giving his best friend a mischievous smile. Then, he explained again. “While you, my friend, will be the true keeper of the secret, I will act as bait for the magical world, making everyone think that I am the keeper of Prongs and Lily's secret. That way, I can protect you and them, since Voldy and his followers will be completely focused on me and not on you.”

“And you're sure about that?” Peter asked and everyone nodded.

“Of course we're sure of that, Wormtail,” James exclaimed, smiling widely in the direction of one of his best friends, his eyes shining with happiness, love and most of all, gratitude. “We trust you!”

“Very well, then,” Wormtail said, giving the Potters a shy smile. “But I have a question…”

James, Lily and Sirius exchanged glances.

“What?”

“How is Sirius going to tell Dumbledore and Moony the secret if he’s not the secret keeper?” Peter asked, making Padfoot huff in frustration. They hadn’t thought of that possibility.

As if knowing what he was thinking, Lily explained.

“We haven’t thought of that,” the redhead commented, frowning thoughtfully. “So we don’t have a solution to that particular problem…”

James grunted, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Sirius, Potter’s best friend, knew very well what he was doing, having seen that same look on many occasions since he met him.

James Potter was up to something — more precisely, he was thinking of a quick but brilliant solution to their problem.

“I already know!” Potter exclaimed excitedly, quickly lowering his voice as he found himself in the sight of his wife's furious gaze. “Sorry, love,” he whispered.

Lily grumbled.

“You were saying, Prongs?” Sirius muttered impatiently.

“Huh?” he mumbled, before widening his eyes, pure realisation shining through them. “Oh, yeah… Well, I was thinking… What if Peter wrote the secret down on some papers and gave them to Sirius? That way, if he ever needed to tell someone the secret, he could do so without having to reveal that he wasn’t the real secret keeper, leaving Peter anonymous.”

“Hmm,” Lily muttered, seeming to think deeply about what her husband had said. “It could work. I vote we do it.”

“If Lils says it works, I believe her,” Sirius muttered, his eyes shining with mischief. “Let’s do it!”

“Well, if we all agree, then I agree to be your secret keeper. What do I have to do?” Peter asked excitedly and somewhat eagerly, eliciting a laugh from the two Marauders and an amused snort from Lily.

“Nothing too difficult, I assure you, Peter.” Lily smiled sweetly at the shorter of their friends, causing a blush to appear on his cheeks and ears. Lily Evans, now Lily Potter, was very pretty. James was very lucky to have married her. “Let me just get my wand and my book, and we’ll start the spell, shall we?”

Everyone agreed and Lily handed Hera to James, who accepted her happily, before going to get everything she needed to perform the spell, returning to where they were in less than five minutes.

Without delay, the four adults and baby Hera left the house, standing at the back of the yard, where no Muggle could see them doing magic — so as to keep the Statute of Secrecy intact. Lily, without waiting another minute, opens the book to the Fidelius Charm page, muttering to herself as she tries to memorise the spell — she already knew, of course, Sirius was sure of it, but since it would protect her family, her daughter, Lily wanted to do everything the right way, not wanting to make mistakes and put her family in danger.

The Marauders, while waiting for the redhead to memorise the spell, entertained little Potter with their various games, eliciting delicious and contagious laughter, making Sirius' already passionate heart love his goddaughter even more.

“Merlin…” — Black thought amused and somewhat protective as he stared into the brilliant emeralds that were his goddaughter's eyes. — “When she grows up, I'll need to be very careful with Jamesie, because the boys will fall on my girl” — and just thinking about that possibility made Sirius angry. He wouldn't let no stupid, pimply little boy get close to his goddaughter. Sirius would kill them first, going to Azkaban for murder or not.

“Jamie, Sirius, Peter?” Lily's voice caught the attention of the four, Hera looking around with her eyes shining with curiosity. How can I love such a small human being so much?, Sirius asked himself with a smile, taking his goddaughter in his arms, sealing the baby's forehead tenderly. “I'm ready to do the spell!”

“We're on our way, Lily Flower!” James exclaimed, looking as passionately at Lily at that moment as he had when he decided to marry her.

“Come here, Peter,” Lily called Peter and he was, shy and scared of what he was about to do.

Sirius ignored all of that, choosing instead to pay attention to the small, bright-eyed human in his arms.

“Give me your hand,” Lily asked gently and Peter did. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

With hands clasped, Lilian began to sing.

Sirius, like James, didn't pay attention to the song Lily was singing. Firstly, because he didn't understand what was being said, with the music being in latin and everything. Secondly, because it was all very tedious — there was no other word to describe it. Third, because he preferred to play with Hera; and his Jamesie agreed with him on that.

However, even if they weren't paying attention to the spell, even they would notice that something was wrong the moment they didn't know where they were. And that was what happened when the Fidelius Charm took hold.

“Prongs?” Sirius asked, somewhat confused, looking around without understanding why they were there. There was nothing there to be there, not a single living soul around him other than James. Deep down, there was a voice telling him that he shouldn’t be there, that he had forgotten to turn off the oven on his stove. “Where are we? Why are we here? How did we get here?”

“I don’t know, Padfoot,” James said, confused, looking around strangely. “I’m just as in the dark as you are.”

Sirius opened his mouth to respond when Peter appeared in front of him suddenly, as if he had apparatus but without all the noise that followed it.

“Wormtail?” Sirius asked with a frown, finding it strange that Peter appeared so instantly in front of him. “How did you get here?”

“James and Lily Potter live in the Potter House, in Godric’s Hollow.”

Instantly, no longer confused about where he was, Sirius noticed the Potter House looming before him, as if it had always been there — and it had been, he just hadn't remembered it. With a big smile, Black hugged his best friends, his goddaughter still held in his arms.

“They’ll be fine” — he thought. — “They are safe. Voldemort can no longer find them. They will be fine. They are safe.”

Sirius could almost burst with happiness. Voldemort was no longer a problem after all.

With his best friends safe under the Fidelius Charm, with Peter as the true secret keeper and him as bait, Voldemort could not reach them. Never.

As if she knew she was safe, truly safe, Hera let out an infectious laugh, looking at him with eyes shining with joy and curiosity. He couldn't help but laugh along with her.

He really did love her.

“They're safe” — Sirius thought and nothing could take the smile off his face. — “ They are safe. ”

💭💭💭

The first memory he presented was short, but it was enough to make Sirius's heart stop inside his chest — love, guilt, sadness, longing and pain, so much pain.

He didn't think about how everything that happened in those days would come back to him, how unbalanced he would be when he realised how different everything was back then, how happy he was even in the middle of a bloody war. All because of those who were with him, every day. His friends, his family — because they were his family by choice and no one could take that away from him. But Sirius didn't think about any of that, just like he didn't think about how he would feel when he saw his best friends again, through a simple memory.

And suddenly, everything came back to him like an avalanche.

They were so young and had so much future ahead of them, but the gods were mean and cruel and they were arrogant — as all young people were. And so, before they could even mature and make their mark on the world, James and Lily died, knowing that they had been betrayed by one of their best friends, by a member of their small family.

More than once in his youth, Sirius had thought about how snobbish and insensitive the gods were to the suffering they forced upon humans. And watching that memory only validated that thought.

Quickly, before Sirius could sink too deeply into his feelings of guilt and regret, Amelia Bones' voice snapped him out of his bitterness.

“This memory may be short, but it clarifies some of the questions we had, as well as corroborating what we heard from Peter Pettigrew at his own trial, held a few days ago,” the older witch said, as soon as the memory was finished being presented. The Unspeakable Croaker, Chief of the Unspeakables, was standing near the pensieve, ready to switch memories at any second. “But we still have memories to view and questions to answer. That said,” Bones said, looking at him with her intense blue eyes, “assuming it is extremely relevant to the case, what is the second memory about, Sirius Black?”

“The second memory is when I confronted Pettigrew in Dublin, leading to the murder of the twelve Muggles,” Sirius clarified.

“Very well,” Madame Bones said, gesturing for Croaker to exchange memories. “Let's watch it.”

Before anyone could say anything against the idea of ​​watching yet another memory, the thick fog that emerged from the pensieve caught the attention of everyone in his trial — even those who were not on his side —, piquing their curiosity and quickly silencing them.

Sirius — remembering the facts that would be shown by the memory as if they had happened the day before —, like everyone else, found himself unable to take his eyes off the memory, his heart filled with turbulent emotions, but above all, with betrayal.

💭💭💭

Dublin — IRELAND

Sirius was crazy, fully unhinged.

After everything that had happened the last day, Sirius was completely destroyed. And who could blame him?

His best friend, no, his brother had died and the blame fell entirely on him.

It didn't matter to Sirius that he wasn't the Secret Keeper. It didn't matter to Sirius that he wasn't the one who raised his wand at the Potters and cast the Killing Curse.

None of that mattered to Sirius. And what did matter...

Was gone.

His brother in all but blood and his wife, the sweet and bright Lily Flower, were dead and it was all his fault. Hera, his beloved goddaughter and honorary daughter, was an orphan and he couldn't even care for her because they had taken his sweet little girl from his arms before he could hide and Sirius couldn't even fight it because the fight would hurt her.

And now? What was left for him? Nothing. Nothing was left for him and it was no one's fault but his own.

He was to blame for their deaths.

He was to blame for his goddaughter's orphanhood.

He was the one who handed them over to Voldemort, whether this was his intention or not.

After all, wasn't he the one who chose Peter to be the secret keeper? Even when James told him about his doubts, wasn't he the one who said this would be the greatest prank ever pulled on the Dark Lord? Wasn't he the one who suspected Remus and when James and Lily told him they didn't believe he was the spy, he ignored them, throwing them in the direction of the real traitor ? Wasn't he the one who didn't listen to his instincts when they told him something was wrong with Peter?

Sirius was arrogant, so presumptuous in his deeds, in his beliefs, that he handed the location of his best friends to Voldemort on a platter, even though he was not the secret keeper.

Peter was.

Peter was the spy.

Peter was a Death Eater.

Peter was the secret keeper.

Peter voluntarily surrendered the location of his best friends to Voldemort.

Peter betrayed them.

But the culprit was Sirius.

Sirius was a fool, he recognized that now. But it was too late.

It was too late.

His friends were dead and it was all his fault.

Just like Voldemort, just like Peter.

But he could not take revenge on Voldemort — Voldemort was gone, and so were his friends — but Peter? Useless little Peter? That one he could take. That one he could take revenge on.

And Sirius would take Peter. He would take him and make him pay for his betrayal, if it were the last thing he did in his life.

Even if it led to his death, he would make Peter pay.

And that was why he was there. To find Peter. To ask him why.

Why he betrayed them; why he had spied on them for Voldemort for over a year, leading to several of his friends' deaths; why he had given up James and Lily's whereabouts to that noseless man so easily, so willingly; why he had let that damned Dark Lord kill them; why he had not cared about Hera when he had handed James and Lily over to his master.

Why he betrayed them.

What did Voldemort offer him that was more important than the lives of his best friends? What did Voldemort promise him that was more important than Hera, his honorary niece? What was so tempting that he would betray the promise the four made in their school days?

“Let us promise to always stay together, as brothers in everything but blood. Because we love each other, know each other, and care about each other. Hard times are coming, but we will stick together and overcome together. Because we are Marauders, because we are family.”

Looking back at those happy, innocent times, Sirius still couldn't believe it.

James and Lily dead. 

Hera orphan. 

Peter on the run.

The penny hadn't dropped yet. But needed. Because he had to find Peter, he had to bring justice for the death of his brother, of his best friend. 

He had to make him pay.

So when he spotted the filthy rat, his former best friend, a spy, a traitor and a murderer, Sirius couldn't hold back. 

He screamed.

“PETER!”

The coward, who walked quickly through the streets, not caring about the bumps he gave into Muggles, looking everywhere as if he was being chased — and he was —, as if he was running away from Death itself — he was, but it wouldn't work because Sirius would kill him that day, even if he went to Azkaban for doing it, even if everyone hated him; Peter would pay with his life —, connected his brown eyes with Sirius's grey eyes, widening them in fear.

“PETER, YOU FILTHY RAT!”

Peter, seeming to realise the murderous state he was in, began to run, wanting to get away from him. Sirius didn't care. He ran faster than the little rat, he would catch up.

And he achieved him. No more than five minutes later, Sirius cornered him on a slightly less busy street than the previous one, with only a dozen Muggles besides them. But even with the Muggles there, even with the possibility of breaking the damned Statute of Secrecy, Sirius didn't care. 

He stopped caring after the death of his best friends, who died because of the betrayal of one of his best friends. He stopped caring when Hera was taken from his own hands, taking his little girl away from him.

He stopped caring about everything.

Sirius was determined.

He would kill Peter that day. He would make him pay for all the pain he caused. He would destroyhim.

“I got you, you disgusting little rat,” Sirius said, so furious that his voice was low and hoarse, with only Peter listening to him. “You betrayed James and Lily, you killed them and you will pay for this.”

Peter looked at him, looked around, and then shuddered, his eyes shining with fear.

Sirius pulled out his wand, raising it to Peter's chest, his heart pounding with hate, with disgust, with guilt. He would kill Peter. He would be a murderer, as Snape called him all those years ago. But he was resigned to it. He wanted this. He would take pleasure in killing Peter.

But before he could cast the Killing Curse for the first time — feeling more than enough hatred to make the vile spell work —, Peter looked at him, his eyes wide as a rat's, and smiled, a grim, malice-filled smile.

Sirius didn't understand why the little rat was so smug, but it didn't take long for him to find out what the traitor was up to. And when he found out, he wished he had simply killed the rat.

“LILY AND JAMES, SIRIUS! LILY AND JAMES! HOW CAN YOU?!” Pettigrew shouted, grabbing his shirt and pushing him against the wall of a random store, disconcerting him for a moment.

All the Muggles around them looked at them and Sirius' heart shook for a second. He didn't know what Peter was doing, he didn't know why he was doing that scene, why he was drawing the Muggles' attention to them like that and he didn't like it at all.

But deep down, Sirius knew.

“What do you think you're doing, you little rat?”

Sirius always knew.

“HOW COULD YOU BETRAY THEM LIKE THAT, SIRIUS?! HOW DID YOU HAVE THE COURAGE TO DO THIS?” Peter shouted, his eyes shining with mischief, wicked pleasure on his face at what he was doing and Sirius hated him even more. “JAMES AND LILY, SIRIUS. YOUR BEST FRIENDS!”

The filthy little rat was incriminating him.

“AND HERA, HUH? AND LITTLE HERA?” Peter forced a sob and Black could only watch as the rat built his fall, which a while ago was one of his best friends. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO YOUR OWN GODDAUGHTER? THE ONE YOU SAID YOU LOVED SO MUCH. HOW COULD YOU PUT HER IN DANGER, GIVE HER PARENTS TO YOU-KNOW-WHO, MAKE HER AN ORPHAN?”

Blaming Sirius for the betrayal he had committed.

“TELL ME SIRIUS, HOW COULD YOU?!”

And it was working.

And then, with a cruel smile, Peter cast the spell, catching the gas pipeline on that street — killing several people at the same time.

BOOM!

And Sirius didn't know anything else. 

He only heard muffled screams, his ears buzzing as if several flies were flying around his head, the points of light shining in front of his eyes, leaving him blind, his trembling legs taking him to the ground.

And Peter… Dumb little Peter, so stupid and so cowardly, smiling evilly at him, vindictive and cruel and not like the man he called his best friend for the last ten years.

“And that, Sirius… That is your downfall!” the rat muttered, his eyes shining with cruel glee as he looked at the broken man who was his former best friend. “Planned by me, whom you so underestimated. That was your greatest mistake.”

With sadistic joy shining in his eyes, transforming his face into something bizarre, Peter cut off his finger and turned into a rat, leaving behind the consequences of his actions, body parts scattered everywhere, screams, crying, and so much pain.

Sirius didn't understand. How had everything gone so wrong?

He had pursued Peter, with the intention of making him pay for his betrayal, for the death of James and Lily, he would take justice, with his own hands if necessary.

But that's not what happened. 

Was not like this that was supposed to happen.

He underestimated Peter. He underestimated him terribly. 

And the man who had been his best friend for the last ten years, was the same man who had spied for the Order for over a year, betrayed his best friends to Voldemort, framed him and killed twelve Muggles, innocent people.

Sirius didn't understand how everything had gone so wrong.

Sirius didn't understand and so he laughed.

Laughed.

Laughed.

Laughed.

Laughed.

Until cry.

💭💭💭

His memory came to an end and the fog dissipated, but no one spoke a single word, all in disbelief at Pettigrew's deeds, his indifference and total coldness towards the death of two of his best friends — who were killed by his own fault in handing them over to Voldy — as well as the rat's malice in framing him, leaving him to rot for twelve years in Azkaban.

Madam Bones, ultimately, sighed.

“Well, as we can see, this second memory clarifies everything we need to know to declare that Sirius Black is innocent of all the charges brought against him and the real culprit is Peter Pettigrew,” Madam Bones exclaimed, only to be interrupted by Lord Greengrass.

“Indeed, Madam Bones. Indeed,” Lord Julian Greengrass said, his imperious voice echoing throughout the courtroom. “That is why I want to ask you, Sirius Black, why you gave us more memories than necessary. What do you intend to show us that is relevant to your case, if all we needed to know to clear you of all charges was contained in these two memories?”

“Actually,” Madam Longbottom said, drawing everyone’s attention, “that is an excellent question, one I admit I am quite curious to know the answer to. Please answer it, Sirius.”

“Very well, Madam Longbottom, Lord Greengrass,” Sirius nodded, and before anyone could interrupt him, he continued. “The first two memories I handed over were necessary to clear me of all the charges against me, as you have seen firsthand. However, I have handed over other memories to the Unspeakable Croaker because, although not necessary, they serve to show what really happened when I was caught at Hogwarts at the end of the school year of nineteen hundred and ninety-three, when my goddaughter Hera was in her third year. Since I do not know what you were told when I was caught, I wish to dispel any false assumptions that have been made against me.”

“Well, I may not see the need for such memories, but I will not deny that I am quite curious about them. After all, we were never actually told what happened just over a year ago, were we?” Lord Shaqif asked, frowning. “The only thing the Minister told us was that you fled before you were Kissed, Sirius Black.”

“And thank Merlin for that,” Lord Ogden exclaimed, glaring at the minister. “As if taking the law into his own hands wasn’t bad enough, if Cornelius had succeeded in that endeavour, he would have kissed an innocent man.”

“Yes,” Sirius agreed. “However, I'm afraid Minister Fudge hasn't given you all the facts.”

“What do you mean, Sirius?” Madam Bones asked and Cornelius shrank in his chair. 

“Did he tell you about hearing two witnesses testify that night to my innocence, Madam Bones?” Black asked the older woman, revelling in Cornelius Fudge’s misery. After all, if it weren’t for him and his idiocy, he would have been a free man a year ago. “What about the fact that the witnesses claimed to have seen Peter Pettigrew earlier that night, and heard his confession about betraying James and Lily? Did he tell you about hearing the witnesses and ignoring them because they were children, choosing instead to listen to someone who hated me and wanted to see myself dead, whether I was innocent or not? Did he tell you about all that, madam?”

“What?” Madam Longbottom exclaimed, looking at him in surprise.

Looking at the other members of the Wizengamot, she wasn't the only one.

“Yes,” Sirius said, looking intently at Fudge. “When I went to Hogwarts, many thought I was after my goddaughter, Hera Potter, with the intention of killing her,” he explained, receiving nods from many wizards. “What many don't know, however, is that when Minister Fudge visited me in Azkaban days before I escaped, he handed me a copy of the Daily Prophet.”

“We're missing the point, Sirius,” Lord Ogden said, looking at him confused. “What does the Daily Prophet have to do with your escape and going to Hogwarts?”

“I'm getting there, Lord Ogden,” he said. “The copy of the Daily Prophet that the minister gave me had the Weasley family on the first page, showing that they had won the Galleon draw, receiving the prize of seven hundred galleons as a reward.”

“Yes,” Madam Bones stated. “I remember this.”

“In the photo printed on the Prophet, there were all the members of the Weasley family. However, looking at the photo, I recognized someone who had run away from me all those years ago, who had framed me.”

“No!” Madam Bones exclaimed in surprise. “Peter Pettigrew?” the oldest asked and he nodded. “But how?”

“Hmm... From what I remember of his trial, he's an illegal animagus, right? Carried out during school days? If I'm not mistaken, it was to help your mutual friend with lycanthropy, wasn't it?” Lord Abbott asked him, his eyes shining with realisation. Sirius nodded. “And in the Weasleys' photo, only a single animal appeared. The rat?”

“Yes,” Sirius agreed, a sneer marking his noble features. “Peter Pettigrew is an ordinary rat animagus, but at that time no one knew that but me. And since the boy holding Pettigrew on his shoulders was the same age as Hera, I knew I couldn't stay in Azkaban, not when he could hurt my goddaughter to get into the good graces of the Death Eaters who had escaped Ministry justice all those years. back. His “betrayal” to Voldemort would be quickly forgiven if he betrayed the one who defeated him as a baby.”

“Not that it was her, actually” — he thought. — “My daughter may be intelligent and much more powerful than she should be, considering her age, but she was not the one who defeated the bald man with no nose. It was Lily. Sweet and bright Lily Flower.”

“Is that why you escaped Azkaban?” Lord Greengrass asked, respect shining in his eyes. “To protect your goddaughter?”

“ Daughter, actually” — Sirius thought, containing his smile. — “But none of you need to know that.”

Black nodded. 

“Yes. And if I had to,” his grey eyes shone with determination, a bit of the Black madness making itself present in them, making many there shudder, “ I would do it all over again.”

For a few moments, they sat in silence, pondering his words. And then, Augusta asked.

“But how did you escape, Sirius?” Madam Longbottom asked, earning a mischievous smile from the man. “It’s supposed to be impossible to escape from that place without help from outsiders, as we found out from Crouch Junior. So if you didn’t get help, how did you do it?”

“Pettigrew wasn't the only one with an ace up his sleeve,” Sirius smiled mischievously. “But we don't need to talk about it when we can see it. The next memory will give you the answer to that question, as well as the answer to other questions you may have.”

“Okay,” Madam Bones said, raising her eyebrow in question. “Croaker, next memory, please.”

“Very well,” the unspeakable man agreed.

And once again, the fog was present in the court.