Subpoena

When Sirius began to stir, the first thing he noticed was that he was entirely too comfortable. When he took a breath, he noticed he was entirely too warm. When he sat up, he noticed he was in a bed- meaning he was entirely the wrong place. 

The room was square, small, and bright. There was a white dresser on the wall opposite of him; sitting atop the dresser was a white potted flower Sirius had never seen before. In the corner to his left, a white wardrobe. Beneath him, a bed that had been lifted on a metal frame, with-again- white sheets and duvet. It was at this point Sirius discovered he was bound to the bed, although he could not see any ties that would prevent him from leaving it. The wizard narrowed his eyes. Who, he thought upon looking up, puts a window in the bloody ceiling? 

A faint knock on the door next to the dresser distracted Black from his musings. 

“Enter?”

The frizzy haired witch he recalled meeting recently popped her head around the door, smiled at him softly, and then entered the room.

“Good morning, Mister Black,” she said gently, “I’m sorry for the bed binding charm, but your sponsor insisted upon its necessity.”

The man said nothing, watching the witch as she walked to the wardrobe and continued her one-sided conversation.

“I did clean you up a bit before putting you in bed, but I’m sure you’d like a proper shower,” with a flick of her wand, a door appeared on the right-side wall, “You do still have to be monitored, so Tooley will be with you, but it shouldn’t be terribly uncomfortable, considering…”

She trailed off, setting a towel and a few toiletries at the foot of his bed.

“Granger, was it?” Sirius half-yawned. The witch nodded. Sirius let his eyes roam around the room once more, gathering his thoughts. He noticed the girl was rocking, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. Tiny dancer, he mused, the notes of a song he hadn’t heard in decades tugging on his mind. He realized he’d been quiet for much too long and picked the first thing his eyes landed on to fill the silence. 

“What kind of plant is that?”

The witch blinked.

“A peace lily.”

“A muggle plant?”

“I didn’t realize it would be offensive,” Hermione said, crossing her arms with a furrowed brow. 

The wizard blinked in response.

 “It isn’t. It’s just, between the plant and the ceiling window, I don’t think I’m in the Wizarding world. Is that right?”

Hermione clicked her tongue before answering 

“Do you always make assumptions instead of asking outright?”

“I’m not wrong often.” 

“In this case you are. You’re in my home, but that’s all you need to know. I’m not entirely sure you won’t try and make a run for it, and we need your presence for your first appearance to the Wizengamot.” She sighed, placing her hands on her hips.

“I’m going to undo the binding spell now. You’ll have to follow me straight into the bathroom, or else I’ll stun and shower you myself. Understood?”

Sirius gave a cheeky half-smile

“After two decades in Azkaban I don’t reckon I’ll be much on the eyes.”

Hermione bristled, surprised by the man’s forward change in demeanor. She flicked her wand again, and Sirius stood, groaning while stretching. Obediently he followed the witch through the door she had conjured and found himself in a modest tile bathroom. 

“Tooley,” the girl said, not looking away from Sirius

A loud crack had a house-elf joining the two humans in the restroom. Upon inspection, Sirius noticed it (Maybe he? One could never quite tell with elves) had been given clothes. It (probably he) wore a smart linen suit, topped off with a bow tie that was printed with sinister looking miniature plants. 

“Yes Mistress Granger?” 

“Again, Tooley, please call me Hermione,” the witch said, though not unkindly, “Could you please help Mister Black with his shower? And if he tries to...escape,” she continued, narrowing her eyes at the wizard, “please prevent him from doing so.”

“Of course, Mistress Hermione,” the elf said, beaming up at her “Tooley is happy to serve his Mistress.”

Hermione clicked her tongue and clenched her jaw. Turning to the wizard, she straightened her spine.

“Right,” she addressed the man, “I will see you once you’ve finished,” she exited the bathroom through the same door they had entered, closing it softly behind her. 

“Tooley,” Sirius said, looking at the elf, “I’m perfectly capable of washing myself. I would prefer to be left alone to do it.”

The elf tutted, starting the shower water with a snap of his fingers.

“Mister Black heard Mistress Granger. Tooley will be washing and not be leaving hims.”

After several minutes of continuing argument, the pair reached a slightly less invasive compromise. Sirius found himself in the shower, being handed soaps and sponges by an extremely determined elf, who was standing close enough to the curtain that it fluttered with his breath. The wizard set to the task of scrubbing nearly two decades worth of grime away from his skin. His hair was so matted that the water never quite reached his scalp. As he washed his body, Sirius noticed his ribs and hips stuck out at uncomfortable angles. His stomach protruding out from the ribs, some of the skin sagged in awkward places.

 A long ways from that Quidditch bod, aren’t we mate? He thought to himself grimly. 

The combination of the heat, his ever empty stomach, and standing for such a long time made black spots swim in Sirius’ eyes. 

“Tooley?” He called, face flushing as a cool sweat coated his skin, “I’d like to get out now.” 

“Yes Mister Black,” the elf replied with another snap of his fingers. The water shut off and a towel flew into the shower, wrapping around Sirius’ waist before he stepped out into the bathroom. Upon noticing Sirius had to keep his hand on the wall for support, the elf magicked a handrail. Sirius bit back a protest. The elf escorted the wizard through the door back into the bedroom. Sirius noticed the bed had been made, but suspected from a few imperfections it had been by the hand-rather than the wand- of the witch. There were clothes at the foot of the bed, both robes and muggle options. Sirius opted for jeans and a grey t-shirt, having to sit to put them on.

“Mister Black isn’t feelings his best,” the elf observed as he helped pull the shirt over the wizard's head.

“No, Tooley, can’t say I am.”

“Breakfast is in the kitchen, would Mister Black like Tooley to pop him there?”

“No, I’m fine to walk.”

After some more disagreements between the two, Tooley summoned a cane with yet another snap of his small fingers. It was sleek, made of a dark wood, with the face of a lion etched into the flat handle. With a grunt that half sounded like thanks, Sirius accepted it. He followed the elf out of the bedroom and into whatever was to meet him in the kitchen.

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The witch straightened the paperwork on her round kitchen table for what felt like the fifteenth time that morning. She sighed, pointedly looking at the silver-rimmed clock on the wall in front of her.

The kitchen faced west and had access to the yard through a pair of French doors. The room itself was rounded on the outside wall. It was practical, as was everything in Hermione’s home, with adequate cupboard space and necessary appliances in a matching slate grey. There was a crock pot steaming away, the smell of over-salted broth wafting into the air. I’m no Molly Weasley, the girl mused, playing with the roots of her ever frizzy mane. She again looked to the clock, afterwards casting a glance at the fireplace in the opposite corner of the table. She considered sending a patronus to her expected guest when, with a flash of ember, he stepped through the fireplace and into the room.

“Draco,” she tutted, standing up and shaking her head, “you’re late.”

“Granger, ten minutes early is ten minutes early, not ten minutes late,” the blond said offhandedly, sending his dark green coat into the living room with a flick of his wand. “I know you’re anxious to get this started, but there’s no need for…” he trailed off, distracted by the sight of the cooker on the counter.

“Soup? At nine in the morning?” He quipped 

“It’s vegetable broth with some marrow. I’m not sure Black will be able to stomach much else for a bit.”

Malfoy sighed, running a hand through his hair before inviting himself to a seat at the table.

“What use is my sending a house elf to you and paying it if you insist on doing things the muggle way?” 

He was half amused, half frustrated. Upon learning Sirius Black would have a court-mandated guardian while outside of Azkaban Draco had proposed sending a house elf to assist Hermione with him, as she was the only person their sponsor trusted to the task. Initially she refused, but upon both wizards' insistence conceded- with the condition that the house elf had been freed and was being paid adequately. Draco had rolled his eyes at this, but eventually found Tooley thanks to the assistance of Headmistress McGonagall. 

“Paying him, Tooley is a him. And I turned you down! Though I will say he’s great for things I can’t quite do on my own. I’ve been cooking for myself for quite some time now, but Tooley’s in with Black,” Hermione said, gesturing to the hallway on their right, “washing him. I don’t think he’s been allowed a shower in years.” She whispered with a scowl. 

She took a seat next to the blond, both of their eyes on the hallway. A silence fell between them, though not an uncomfortable one. Draco skimmed over the top few pages of paperwork, muttering a line from it now and again.

“This is well phrased,” he said, addressing the witch after some time, “I can’t think of a reason he’d have to go back until the trial.”

“I hope not,” Hermione said stiffly, ignoring the praise given to her, “I didn’t even set foot in the prison and it was absolutely awful.” She shuddered, remembering the effects the few dementors roaming Azkaban’s main office had on her. 

 “It’s astonishing he’s doing as well as he is, truly. I think he was trying to joke with me when I got him set up this morning.”

Malfoy’s round eyes met Granger’s. 

“Mother said he was good natured,” he said. Hearing footsteps coming towards them he added, “Let’s hope she was right.”

The pair stood as Tooley and Sirius entered the room. Hermione flicked her wand and the broth from the pot began pouring itself into bowls, settling at the table. Tooley bowed upon seeing Draco. 

“Master Malfoy, Tooley thanks you for sending hims here. Is anything needed of Tooley?” 

Draco brushed off the elf with a wave of his hand, “Not presently. You are excused.”

“Thank you Tooley,” Hermione added, frowning at Draco. The elf disappeared with a pop.

Sirius looked to Draco, reading him. The blond had to be around the same age as the witch, yet their demeanor couldn’t be more different. Where she was short and petite, he was tall and built, but not in a burley manor. The young man was filled out in a very high-society way. Sirius’ snap judgement was proven correct with the young wizards attire. He wore a sharp black suit-not quite wizard but not quite muggle- a silver clip anointed with an emerald decorating his tie, and had an all-business part in his hair. The young man before him was a painful reminder of Regulus. Sirius narrowed his eyes at the boy, toying with the lion's head in his palm. 

“Malfoy, huh? I wasn’t too fond of Lucius while we were at school. Right prick.” he said haughtily.

“Mister Black, I would greatly appreciate it if you were careful,” the blond replied through a clenched smile, “about how you mention the deceased. Particularly one I wasfond of.”

Sirius did his best to straighten up, to meet the eyes of the childbefore him. This attempt, however, was foiled by the second wave of dizziness to overcome him that morning. Knees buckling, his weight was caught by the witch and his cane. Leading him to be the table, she glared as they passed Draco.

“Mister Black, please, sit. And eat,” she added, making a spoon appear next to the wizard’s bowl. “I’m sure you have lots of questions, as do we, but no one,” she said, shooting darts at Draco, who teasingly scowled at her in reply, “will make progress on an empty stomach.” 

Sirius sniffed his bowl but, upon finding nothing out of place, began eating at an impolite pace. Hermione and Draco took their seats opposite of Black and, saying nothing, sipped at their bowls at a much slower rate. As he ate, Hermione noticed some color returning to Black’s face. She smiled to herself, magicking their now empty bowls into the sink and replacing them with full drinking glasses. Water for Sirius, coffee for herself and Draco. Black downed several gulps before speaking.

“So, you lot are the ones who busted me out,” he said at last.

Draco stuffed a snort. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Yes. Draco is the founder of the Ministry’s Magical Law Review Department,” she explained, “He’s offered to take you on as a client.”

“I take it this is a fairly new branch,” Black said, eyeing the wizard opposite himself.

“We founded it after the war,” Malfoy started, “There’s a bloody load wrong with Wizarding law and a bloody load of wizards wronged by those laws. We believe you’re one of them,” he said, ignoring a pointed glance from his female counterpart, “and we’d like to change that.”

The glass Sirius has been sipping on slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor. Hermione rushed to the cupboard to grab a towel and a broom. Draco, rolling his eyes at her, called for Tooley and had the elf clean the mess. After the chaos had settled and the former prisoner had digested what Draco had said, he spoke. 

“You...you believe I’m innocent?”

Malfoy opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Hermione.

“We believe you have-or should have had- the right to a fair trial. We believe that the fact you were locked up for two decades without access to a legal counsel or a chance to disprove the Ministry’s claims are wrong on a both a legal and moral level. We aim to change the law, as well as the way the Wizengamot acts within the law, by taking on your case,” she said quickly, earning a stiff nod from the wizard beside her. “Your innocence, true or otherwise, doesn’t affect our purpose in representing you.”

Sirius looked between the pair before him, considering her statement. It almost seemed...he lapsed in thought, struggling to reach the right word...rehearsed. As if she had read the answer somewhere or written it down and committed it to memory. Sirius took a drink of his newly-replaced water before responding.

“The only thing that got me through Azkaban was the fact that I didn’t do it,” he said softly, locking eyes with the witch. He felt a heat wash over him as she met his eyes with her own. “Reckon I’d be loony after all that. Some days I felt like...they might as well just have given me the kiss, fucking dementors, but I knew. And I think that’s the only reason I even know my name. Because I knew I didn’t do it.” 

Malfoy cleared his throat. 

“Mister Black,” he started before being cut off.

“Sirius. To both of you, it’s Sirius.”

“Right. Sirius. We would love to prove your innocence as well as revise Wizarding law. Your case would change the course of history, particularly if we can prove the depths of how you were wronged.” The blond paused, sneaking a glance at the very tense witch on his left. Malfoy conjured a shorthand quill and parchment from thin air.

“Mister Blac- Sirius, can you please explain what happened leading up to, on, and after the night of October 31st, 1981?”

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Harry walked soundlessly out the doors of the castle and onto the Hogwarts grounds. The air that met him was starting to cool with the setting sun, but not to an uncomfortable degree. There were two weeks to go until the start of term- two weeks until the beginning of Harry’s first year of teaching alongside his long time mentor, Remus Lupin. In fact, it was Lupin that Harry had set off to find. He had a feeling the man was in the greenhouses, having an evening cuppa with Hogwarts second-newest student teacher, Mister Longbottom. 

As he rounded the turn leading to the greenhouses, his gaze drifted towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He nearly expected to see a pair of glowing eyes, hear the rustle of some fantastic beast burrowing in the bushes, or for some horrible creature to spring to attack, but no. The grounds were quiet, just as his life had been since arriving at what Harry considered to be his childhood home.

In the first two years following the war, the Wizarding World, as well as Harry’s world, had been complete chaos. There were endless interview requests, theory releases, trial and sentencing hearings, and death eater-arrests. Surviving members of the Order, particularly Mad-Eye Moody, were pushing the young wizard to officially become an Auror, or at the very least claim the Potter seat at the Wizengamot, because, “Merlin knows the good you’d do, boy.”

But Harry had done enough good. He had completed enough righteous acts, laid enough lives on the line to continue down the Ministry’s road. After a particularly drunken conversation with Lupin, the elder mourning the loss of his wife and the younger mourning his loss of direction, he decided to give teaching a try. Ron had teased him, Hermione had congratulated him, and Ginny had supported him at the announcement. A short time later Headmistress McGonagall had granted two Hogwarts’ professors student teachers, one for the Herbology Department and the other for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

A resonating crack stopped Harry just before reaching the greenhouse doors.  He felt a warmth in his palm, and looking down found a piece of parchment clenched in his fist that had not been there just moments previously. Frowning, the green-eyed wizard unfolded the note to recognize his best friend’s writing.

Harry,

Interview is finished. Paperwork is drafted. First appearance to be submitted to the Wizengamot tomorrow morning at 11. It is handy you have surrendered your seat, I feel we will be calling on you as a witness. Give Remus and Teddy my love, and ask them to tea at mine Sunday afternoon. We have a bit to discuss.

-Hermione 

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