Liberation
His childhood tyrant stood just beyond these useless bars, just within his grasp – he could finally live out juvenile daydreams of clawing at that smug façade; ripping away every sneer, every jeer, every scream and every command that ever tore out of her foul mouth. Resentment has a high boiling point, he finds, it can simmer away for decades without letting even a whisp of steam escape its regimented bonds. But the second it tips over its limit; reason seems to evaporate.
And he has been simmering for a long, long time. Not even the cold caresses of Azkaban could cool this burning bitterness, and here she was – the target of his ire, his nightmares of torment, his twisted memories, his vengeful dreams. Mother.
She had aged, just like him, and his own eyes were staring back at him through her mourning veil – the firm barrier she had placed between them – and yet, the years had been kind to neither of them. His last glimpse of mother dearest had been roughly seven tumultuous years ago, but from the cavernous lines of despair and grief had etched their ways deeply into her being – he wondered if she was thinking the same thoughts of him.
They were far too similar for their own good. Perhaps this is why so many people shatter their mirrors, seven years of bad luck be dammed, sometimes your reflection shows us more than we would ever wish to know.
“Here to torment me one last time? Have you missed me that much?” His humour may be splintered but it wasn’t shattered enough for him to not use it as a crutch, and merlin he was out of his element – why was she here? Why was she taunting him? Perhaps he should use some of those curses he reserved especially for Peter.
A grimace stole its way across her face as if she was conversing with a dirty toddler she’d much rather ignore, “We both know the answer to that question Sirius, I don’t want to spend any more time here than I should, and I have a lot to get through so would you please keep your mouth shut for once in your forsaken life.”
He felt his stiff facial muscles twitch as the sound of her grating voice awakened decades of smothered annoyance and anger – he wasted no time in letting them seep into his own croaky voice. “You don’t want to spend any more time here? I’M THE ONE IMPRISONED HERE YOU OLD HAG – “
Her temperament switched at once, almost muscle memory at this point – drawing to her full height, shoulders back and tense, haunting eyes alight with a manic life and her mouth set in a snarl to return his attack in kind with her own, vicious bombardment.
“IS YOUR IMPRISONMENT MAKING YOU DEAF? I SAID KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT – IS IT PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO STOP BEING A WHINING BRAT- “
“AT LEAST IM NOT A SELFISH, EGOTISTICAL AND BIGOTED BAT WHOSE ONE SLIP DOWN THE STAIRS FROM MAKING EVERYONE’S DAY- “
“STOP MAKING THIS DIFFICULT – I’M HERE ABOUT HARRY YOU BIG-HEADED SWINE- “
That made him stop. There were a thousand more bottled up insults practically begging to be lobbed from his cell bars but that one word made his heart stop.
“You’re here for Harry?” His voice was shaking now, whether that was due to the fear lancing through his heart, that last shred of hope still burning inside his rotted chest or the recent screaming match, he didn’t know. He didn’t care.
His mother’s chest was still heaving from the effort of her soulful screech and the abrupt end of his retorts, frazzled whisps of hair had escaped her tight burn in her flying rage – it’s good to know he hasn’t lost his touch at winding her up. She made a valiant attempt at trying to compose herself before she bothered to reply.
“Yes, yes, it’s about Harry – we found out about your little adoption plans not too long ago – why did you even bother performing that ritual if you wanted him dead anyway-”, That careless remark made him still. They know. Yet they still think he would do that to Lily, to James, to Harry? How many people believe this? If his own family believe he’s a backstabbing traitor how many think he is far worse? Dumbledore knows, he performed the spell to change secret keepers – surely, he would have been advocating for his release – advocating for his innocence?
Then why is he still here?
He spoke slowly, unsure if he was even speaking to his mother at all, “I didn’t do it.”
She paused in her non-sensical ranting to look at him like he had just grown two wings and flippers. “What do you mean I didn’t do it? The evidence against you is pretty damning – maybe next time you kill a bunch of muggles don’t just stand there and laugh while you get arrested – that’s a sure-fire way to end up back here.”
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill them; I didn’t betray them – why can’t you see? It was the rat; IT WAS ALWAYS THE BLOODY RAT- “
“OH BE QUIET AND TELL ME WHAT YOU MEAN YOU BLUBBERING IDIOT- “He winced, that screech sure was effective. He looked her in the eyes and for the first time in his living memory – they were looking directly at him; not through him or behind him. She was seeing him, she was listening.
His breath caught in his throat, and he tried to get his words together, the weight of her clear gaze heavy and bewildering in his mind.
“It wasn’t me; it was the rat- I mean, it was Peter- Peter Pettigrew – he was the secret keeper. He blew himself up and slipped away right under all your noses like the little rat he is- “
“So, you are innocent.” Damnit, she keeps on giving him a heart attack! He looked back up at the sorry case of his first human contact in three years – her arms crossed and her face carrying an expression torn between perplexity and cunning calculation.
“I mean- yeah- I guess, I never went on trial though- “
“What do you mean you never went on trial! I always told you and your brother again, and again and again that the first thing you should do is demand a trial!” Her waspish voice stabbed him from across his cell.
“I get it! I get it! You try and remember legal advice when you’re in here!”
She stuck her nose up in the air in what Sirius thought was a very good impression of someone trying to sniff all the oxygen out of the atmosphere.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in here because I listen when I’m given advice, unlike someone-”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in-” He frowned and shook his head, there were more important things in life that winding up his mother right now, isn’t that a surprising thought?
“What were you saying about Harry? Is he alright?” His mother peered at his frail form from behind the frozen bars, clearly carefully weighing her next words.
“We found him in the care of some truly awful muggles, don’t look at me like that they truly were! They were his mother’s relatives I believe-” He felt his eyebrows reach his hairline at that, the only living relative Lily had left was Petunia, they left Harry with Petunia? That bitch of all people? The last time he had seen either hide or horribly bleached hair of that woman she had thrown her fiancé’s steel-capped shoe at him while screaming bloody murder about ‘Freaks’ and how she was going to get Vernon to ‘Burn him at the stake’. He couldn’t believe it, but he was going to have to agree with his mother on this one.
“Don’t worry, he came to us on his own volition and me and Arcturus and working out the legal side of things, we just need you for the actual adoption.” At this she paused and stared contemplatively at him like she was weighing the pros and cons with the effort required and whether she could be bothered.
“I mean, we were planning on just extracting a gallon or so of your blood and leaving, but if you’re as innocent as you say you are… Well, Corvus does need a more stable father figure in his life-”
“Wait, wait, wait, you named him Corvus?” She raised a sharp eyebrow at the horrified expression that surely must be showing on his face.
“Don’t be mean, he picked it himself.” He shut his mouth at that, if Harry- no- Corvus was happy, so was he.
“As I was saying, if you’re willing to cooperate with me and your grandfather and say what we tell you to-” A vicious grin spread across her gaunt features that made his entire body shiver with an unfulfilled fight or flight response, “I reckon we can get you out of here in a week, at most.”
A breathless snort tore itself out of his lungs at that ridiculousness, sure, that might work in a small claims court, but this was Azkaban – surely, he would have to await his rescue for at least a month…
“Cleared of all charges-”
The three, sharp strikes of that damning hammer cleaved through the fog of disbelief that had stubbornly settled in his mind around halfway through his shitshow of a trial.
The whole thing was painfully rushed. The very second the harsh slithers of icy light pierced his cell the morning after his mother’s grand visit, he was rudely disturbed by two extremely anxious prison wardens and whisked out of his cell, past the wall of dementors, into a rickety little boat that Sirius felt compelled to pray for lest it grow weary and deposit them in the frigid ocean, past more curious dementors, to the seldom visited apparition point, to the reception of the auror office that from what Sirius could see through the cracks in doors was filled with frantic running, shouting and extremely confused fresh Hogwarts graduates pushing decades old documents from office to office like rabbits chased by an armed battalion.
Finally, after covering what must have been 10,000 km in the span of an hour, he was deposited in an extremely cushy holding cell and left to twiddle his thumbs for two hours before auror after auror after reporter after auror barged their way into his cell to bombard him with questions about his compensation, his trial and his ‘romantic prospects’ that awaited him outside of life imprisonment. This stage he affectionately named ‘Purgatory’ seemed to just go on and on with an increasing range of characters either interrogating him or profusely apologising. After three extremely testing days of questions he was one more auror away from declaring life in Azkaban a better fate – only to be visited by a grim-faced Amelia Bones and Fudge who looked like a child being forced to watch his favourite toy combust before his very eyes. Though Sirius had never had the chance to see him in person throughout the apparent heights of his short political career due to his incarceration, he got the sense from his gaunt cheeks, impressive eye bags and his continuous fidgeting with his silly little bowler hat that he was looking at a ruined man.
“W-well met Heir Black, I must give you my most s-sincere apologies for your situation. I-if I had known that Pettigrew was no good, believe me, I would have had you out of that nasty place in a flash!” He chuckled nervously while mopping his forehead with a handkerchief and refusing to meet his eyes. Amelia was faring slightly better, her own forehead creased with worry and the overbearing workload he had surely given her, but she met his eyes head and gave an almost imperceptible nod of both apology and approval. Miles better than whatever Fudge was spewing.
He made sure to draw up to his full height while trying not to draw attention to his gaunt frame and weak body, channelling his grandfather’s not-quite-departed spirit and as much of his snobby pure-blooded essence he could bear before replying.
“Of course Minister, I should hope that would be the case.” He made sure to inject as much bitterness and resentment into the surprisingly venomous smile that cut across his skeletal face. “Well, you can always make up for it now, can’t you?” Seeing Fudge’s blood drain out of his gormless face almost made all that time in Azkaban worth it.
From that point onwards it was mostly legal jargon he made sure to pass onto his grandfather and trying to recover as much as he could from the bone-chilling cold that still permeated his being. He still woke up every night shivering, gasping for air from nightmares that swallowed him whole and drowned him under grief and hopelessness.
But it wasn’t all that bad! He had a seemingly never-ending supply of food straight from the ministry’s lunch hall and his assigned healer had a great pair of tits – though he decided to withhold from flirting when he considered the fact he currently resembled a particularly sad looking corpse.
Eventually, after a long five days of eating, scowling and sulking; the day of judgement was upon him. Quite too literally for his liking. He was once again curtly escorted from his resting place past crowds of desperate reporters and paparazzi that frankly scared the living shit out of him, down into the bowls of the ministry. He gradually become more and more nervous for every floor they plummeted past before it became apparent, they would be using the Wizengamot courtrooms, the ones only reserved for states of emergency and political upheavals. He would have felt flattered if he wasn’t one loud noise away from absolutely shitting himself.
Upon entry of said courtroom, he suddenly forgot to even feel nervous, as he was confronted with the breath-taking and sweeping architecture looming over him like a pouncing dragon – still shining from hasty Scourgifies and designed in such a way that it was obvious its ominous architecture was definitely done on purpose. An impenetrable wall of official Wizengamot robes and grim faces lined the grand courtroom, watching his every move with eagle eyes and uncertain anticipation; from his brief walk across the gleaming floor he could spot Lord Rosier, Lord and Lady Greengrass, Lady Carrow, Merlin even Aurthur Weasley was here, looking very uncomfortable mind you but the fact he had been coaxed out of his experimental garage was truly a miracle.
He made eye contact with his grandfather’s imposing figure who was sat in their allocated Wizengamot seat among all the other dark families, looking extremely smug about everything, he got a small nod before being ignored again – was it a nod of approval? Support? Who knows? But he ran out of time for pointless musings as he was unceremoniously dumped in what looked like a muggle electric chair and immediately ensnared by thick coils of chains that encased him with powerful restrictive magic – three sharp bangs of Fudge’s hammer plunged the room into an even more deathly silence than he would have thought possible.
“We are here today to witness the trial of Sirius Orion Black - accused of two cases of accessory to murder, one case of first-degree murder and one case of terrorism; how do you plead?”
He made sure to stare directly into Fudge’s eyes, trying not to betray the fact he was shaking, while he mustered up as much confidence in his innocence as one could have in this situation.
“Not guilty.” He watched with a strange sensation of retribution as the infallible Wizengamot seemed to wilt before his very eyes as they realised, they couldn’t just sweep his wrongful imprisonment under the rug. Aurors were ushered into the hot seat as they both defended his honour and tried to tear it to shreds – it was quite painful watching his former colleagues paint him as a sadistic dark-wizard, no matter how brief his employment as an auror was, he hoped that all those times he saved their arses would build at least a semblance of trust – but apparently not.
Then the lawyers of both quarrelling sides dragged themselves to their podiums and began battling it out for his sake. His grandfather had admitted later on that he would have been his lawyer had there not been rules preventing bias in place, so he was saddled with Lucius Malfoy of all people arguing for his innocence against a pompous Micheal Macmillan who was slowly transforming to bear a resemblance to a tomato as the trial dragged on, by the time he was called to sit back down he was shaking in what Sirius assumed could either be humiliation or frustration – either one would be applicable to this bizarre situation.
Sirius was actually quite impressed by Lucius’ performance, he had never really known the guy – with him being in Slytherin and five years ahead of him in school, the general idea Sirius had had of him was that he was rich, snobby and a hardcore death eater. It looked like he was going to have to add ‘intimidating’ to that list as he became increasingly worried as the pale git continued to pull pieces of evidence out of his arse that even Sirius had forgotten about – who knew that one pub crawl with James could prove so useful in criminal investigations? He resigned himself to buying some fancy fire whiskey for the barstard afterwards – death eater or not, the man could argue.
Suddenly, Sirius was jolted back to the land of the living when Fudge’s quivering voice rang out among the echoing whispers that waltzed around the chamber, demanding a call to vote – the moment of truth, one prat’s hand was all that rested between him, sweet freedom or rotting away into a cadaver of himself in the 9th circle of hell. Narrowing his eyes, he made sure to count every hand that rose when voting against him – memorising dull faces and spectacularly pompous names for later revenge.
“All in favour of release please raise your hands.” Eight, twelve, fiftee- no sixteen, eighteen, dammit that prick put his hand down, twenty, thirty-two-
A manic grin grew and latched onto his face, sending shivers down the spine of every occupant in that fateful courtroom.
Three years ago, Sirius Black was locked away. Now, they had no idea what they had just released.