Constellations of Change

Azkaban Prison, February 16th, Sunday, Morning

They were moving him. He was, somewhere beneath the perpetual exhaustion and depression, baffled by that fact, because no one left his cell block. In the eleven years he’d been there, prisoners only left once they’d turned to husks under the tender care of the Dementors, and he was fairly sure he wasn’t quite a soulless husk yet, even if he was on his way to being one.

They traveled out of the maximum security wing, passing through countless heavily bolted doors and security checkpoints as they made their way towards the lighter security region near the docks, where the human guards of Azkaban tended to congregate. He was hauled into an interrogation chamber, a place he hadn’t seen since shortly after he was first arrested. It hadn’t been a long questioning, undertaken by an old Hitwizard called Caddock; his cries of innocence hadn’t impressed the leatherfaced enforcer, and he’d been chucked in the cell once they decided he wasn’t going to give up any names. Names he didn’t have of course, save one, Peter Petigrew, and of course that hadn’t exactly helped him since as far as everyone knew, the rat was dead. 

In defense of the DMLE officials who brought him in, he was quite mad with grief and shock at the time. He didn’t make the most coherent arguments in his defense, and all the screaming probably just confirmed their suspicions that he’d ended up just like his cousin Bella, who was infamous at that point for her madness. Would he have liked to be given the benefit of the doubt, considering his own service as an Auror? Of course, but he hadn’t been surprised by how quickly Crouch’s men closed the book on him.

It wasn’t Caddock sitting across from him today. Instead it was a man he didn’t know, who introduced himself as Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was a dark skinned wizard of imposing height, with broad shoulders and a commanding presence. After introductions, Shackleolt started by saying “I’m sure you’re curious why you’ve-”

“Iris,” was the first word Sirius managed to croak. “Where is she, is she safe?” That was the most important thing, and the first question past his lips.

Kingsley paused before slowly replying, “Iris Potter is fine as far as I know. She’ll still be at Hogwarts, this time of year.” Iris had been questioned by another Auror after the sudden reappearance of Peter Pettigrew on the Hogwarts lawn, but as far as Shacklebolt knew she’d been returned to school. 

Good, that was good. She should be safe there. The next words were out of his mouth before Kingsley could continue, “Amy, is she...”

“Director Bones has recused herself from this questioning due to potential conflicts of interest,” Kingley explained, not unkindly. That was part of why Shacklebolt was conducting this interview, he was one of the most senior members of the DMLE who both wasn’t involved in the initial arrest of Sirius Black and didn’t know the man well from Sirius’s time as an Auror. 

‘Director? Amy’s the Director now?’ Sirius thought dumbly, trying to reconcile his memory of his fiancee, the relatively green newbie Auror with someone in charge of the whole department. 

“Lord Black, I’m here to discuss your case,” Kingsley tried to soldier on, “some new evidence has come to light and-”

“Lord Black?” Sirius asked, increasingly confused by both Kingsley’s statements and seemingly kind demeanor.

Kingsley frowned slightly, “were you not notified? Someone’s made a serious cockup,” Kingley muttered. Well, really it would just be the latest in a series of cockups when it came to how Sirius Black’s case was handled. Kinglsey schooled his features, “Your grandfather Pollux passed some years ago, and since your parents and uncle predeceased him, the head of house position falls to you.” 

It was a little more complicated than that, considering Bellatrix and Andromeda were both older than Sirius by a few years. However Andromeda had been disinherited after her marriage to Ted, and Bella, and Narcissa for that matter, were deprioritized from succession following their marriage into other noble families, Lestrange and Malfoy respectively. They weren’t removed from the line of inheritance, but they were placed below any independent Blacks, to hopefully keep the Black house existing as an independent entity. Not that Sirius knew all of these details at the moment. 

Sirius scrunched his nose, still unconsciously making dog-like facial expressions after his long time spent in his Animagus form; he’d always assumed he’d been removed from the line of succession after he ran away to the Potters in the middle of the night.

“Lord Black, I’m here to discuss the events of Halloween night, 1981 and the following day,” Kingsley soldiered on, “some new evidence has come to light that casts the case in a fresh light. Would you like something to drink before we continue?”

“Water,” Sirius rasped after a moment of confusion, still thrown by Kingsley’s demeanor. The Auror conjured a cup, thankfully one with a straw since Sirius was still shackled, and Sirius quickly gulped down the offered water. It wasn’t like they didn’t feed and water him in his cell, he’d have been long dead if they didn’t, but he was always surrounded by Dementors there making the food taste of ash and the water of lead. Here, they were on the far side of the island prison from where the monsters were concentrated, and the oppressive malaise of their aura was lessened somewhat. 

“What do you need to know?” Sirius eventually asked, “come for a confession of some sort?” Sirius mustered as much defiance as he could in his tone, though it was a distant echo of his once rebellious self. He wondered if they were just trying to tie up loose ends, but a small, distant part of him was daring to hope. If Amy really was leading the department now, maybe she had reopened the case. Maybe someone would listen. It was a distant, pathetic sort of wish; with the Traitor in the wind, Sirius had nothing to prove the truth of his words and even he could admit everything pointed towards him as the villain. He’d been hoisted on the petard of his own subterfuge, and the bitter irony of it had long tormented him.

“I’m only after the truth,” Kingsley said calmly as he refilled Sirius’s cup. “If you could please recount the events leading up to that span and covering it, to the best of your memory, that is all I require.” Kingsley had a dictation quill set to record their conversation.

Sirius took a rattling breath before recounting his last days of freedom, the last days of his chosen brother’s life, and the last days of Voldemort. He explained, more fully than he’d ever had the opportunity to before, the scheme of swapping the Secret Keeper at the last moment. While he’d blamed Pettigrew before, he hadn’t been the most coherent in his singular interview over ten years ago. He told Kingsley of how he’d discovered Iris, scarred and bawling within the ruins of Godric Hollow, how he’d temporarily placed her under the protection of Rubeus Hagrid and how he’d then set off with one goal in mind, revenge on Peter. Finally he detailed that final confrontation, how Peter was clearly ready for him and the Rat’s final trick.

“I was mad with grief,” Sirius finished when he arrived at the moment the Hit-wizards took him away. “Though mad all the same, and then…” he trailed off. Because after that it had been only Azkaban, Dementors, and dark nights Sirius didn’t need to remember, they were his waking reality.

Kinsley listened throughout, asking for clarification at a few points but largely remaining silent. After the tale he nodded and said, “That’s quite a tale, Lord Black.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Sirius asked bitterly.

Surprisingly Kingsley shook his head, “On the contrary, I’m inclined to believe you’re being at least largely truthful,” he told the stunned Sirius. 

“You do?” Sirius asked, dumbfounded, unsure of how to process that. He wasn’t sure he’d believe himself if he was in Kingsley’s position; all the evidence beyond his testimony did little to support his case.

“I perhaps wouldn’t have a few days ago,” Kingsley conceded, “or at least I would have been somewhat skeptical, but following the arrest of marked Death Eater Peter Pettigrew two days ago, I’ve reconsidered my position.”

Sirius’s eyes widened and he felt the first burst of positive emotion he’d had in years, a blossoming of joy and satisfaction that threatened to burn out of a chest unused to containing it. It was laced with mean spirited thoughts, the need for revenge, but it was joy nonetheless. “You found him?” That should have been impossible; they wouldn’t even be looking for him and Peter was an animagus. He could live for years incognito in his animal form, Sirius would know. 

“Indeed, Lord Black, he was apprehended by Auror Robards shortly after he was sighted transforming from his rat form by several wizards and witches,” Kingsley explained. He left out for the moment that it had occurred on Hogwarts grounds, the prisoner of Azkaban was obviously emotionally fraught where Iris Potter’s safety was concerned and there was no need to unnecessarily upset him. Sirius Black was likely looking at a long path towards recovery as far as Mind Healing went, and at the moment was rather fragile. 

Sirius let out a rough barking laugh that seemed like as much of a surprise to himself as it was to Shacklebolt. “Why,” he asked incredulously, “why would he transform out in the open?”

“In service of preserving his own life, I believe,” Kingsley replied with a small hint of a smile himself, “it seems a snake tried to eat him.”

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Flashback: November 4th, Slytherin Common Room

The Day of the First Attack:

The mood in the snake den could best be described as subdued that afternoon; the previous building excitement for the opening Quidditch match of the year had been dissipated by the news of the petrification of Colin Creevy. Sure, most Slytherins had at least a casual dislike of lions, especially around their annual Quidditch match, but they weren’t all monsters. The deadly seriousness of the attack cut straight through the earlier celebratory mood, coming from the team’s modest victory. (With the whole team flying on 2001s, they had been expected to commandingly flatten their Gryffindor opponents, but only managed to eke out a win by 20 points, when Malfoy finally caught the snitch.)

Daphne was curled up in a black leather armchair below the large enchanted window that looked out into the depths of the Black Lake. The Slytherin Common room was often called a dungeon, but its atmosphere was more that of an aquarium, with a full wall of the room opposite the entrance containing an arched window showing the magical lake. The wall to the left of the room contained a black marble fireplace, and the wall to the right had the portals leading down to the dormitories. 

The Greengrass girl was trying to focus on her book, Enacting the Statute , assiduously ignoring the loud prattling of Draco, who was holding court by the fireplace on the other side of the spacious room. Despite that, it was difficult to tune him out entirely; at the moment he seemed to be vacillating between bragging about his Quidditch performance and trying to insinuate he knew something about the whole Chamber of Secrets situation.

Daphne seriously doubted the insufferable blond knew anything; even Draco wasn’t stupid enough to go around bragging about being involved in attempted murder. Rather, she assumed it was just the latest scheme of Malfoy’s to try and make himself the center of attention. 

Maybe it was something to do with being an overly spoilt only child, or just a family trait, but Draco seemed physically incapable of keeping quiet most days. If he wasn’t aggrandizing himself and his father to his assorted sycophants, he was trying to toady up to Professor Snape or off picking a fight with an easy target like Longbottom. Really, confronting and quarreling with the likes of Weasley and his pals seemed like Draco’s favorite pastime. Daphne was just thankful he’d pivoted his main target to the Gryffindor boy, rather than continue with his initial plan to make Iris out to be his rival.

Draco had largely avoided Iris after his failed confrontation the previous year, but he still let out the occasional snide comment about the redhead when he was among his little circle of cronies. Daphne suspected that was more to get a rise out of her, due to her close friendship with Iris, than anything, but she couldn’t deny the possibility Draco was just genuinely expressing his dislike of the girl in a place where he could largely get away with it. In any event, his failure to get a rise out of the Potter girl, and Iris implicitly being under Daphne’s protection kept it from going further than that these days. 

As far as Daphne could tell Draco had possessed two reasons for attempting to confront her friend, neither of them good but one at least more reasonable in her eyes than the other. The first and most obvious was out of a general antagonism for Iris, which Daphne just found foolish. Even if you hate someone, direct confrontation was the path of a Gryffindor, not an example of Slytherin cunning, a quality Malfoy was severely lacking in. It spoke to a lack of control and emotional intelligence.

The second reason for attacking Iris, that Daphne could somewhat understand even if she didn't agree with it, was that Draco had been looking for an easy win to help establish his dominance in Slytherin. Due to her fame, Iris had the largest personal reputation, not coming from her parents, of any student in their year when they arrived at the castle. Antagonizing her wasn't unlike a prisoner picking a fight with the biggest inmate in the yard to prove you were tough.

In that matter it had been a total failure, with Draco actually losing face within Slytherin rather than gaining from it. That was likely why Draco had shifted his bullying primarily to Weasley and his hangers on, Finnegan and Thomas. Ron was a less valuable target so to speak, but he was still a known 'blood traitor' and more importantly for Draco, far easier to provoke into stupid fights Draco could win. It also helped that Ron was a Gryffindor, so animosity with him played into the larger rivalry between their houses.

Morality aside, Daphne didn't care for the strategy, it was too clumsy and obvious for her liking. Draco had clearly been rather spoiled by his father, always having the elder Malfoy's power to fall back on in a fight. It made him like a duelist who was used to having a wand while his opponent was barehanded; he might think he's an amazing fighter but a fair confrontation would show a complete lack of skill. Daphne was also from a powerful family, but knew invoking her family's prestige was a tool that was more powerful the less it was used.

Unfortunately, as crude as Draco’s methods were, they were not entirely ineffective given many of their housemates' parents' dependence on his father's money.Still, while Slytherin political maneuvering likely played a part, she couldn’t rule out the former reason for Draco’s antagonism, a simple sincere dislike of the Ravenclaw girl.

The source of Draco's loathing towards Iris wasn't particularly hard for Daphne to fathom. There were a few obvious, pedestrian reasons; Draco was all about insular House solidarity, Iris was basically the mascot of cross-class friendships, Draco considered himself the best of the best, constantly being well behind Iris, and Hermione and Daphne for that matter, in marks undercut that belief etc.

Then there was the matter of the Black inheritance that likely weighed on at least Lucius's mind and influenced his son. While for years Narcissa had been assumed to be the de facto Black heir, that wasn't actually entirely clear. With so many of the relevant documents sealed and the current head of house in Azkaban, many were waiting with somewhat baited breath for Sirius Black's eventual death to see how the assets were distributed, whether to Narcissa, Andromeda, or even potentially a more distant relative like Arthur Weasley, not that the latter was particularly likely.

Iris wasn't directly in line for the inheritance however you sliced it, but she would be a very strong candidate if the matter went to arbitration. With a Black grandmother, a Black godfather and a Black adoptive mother, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility an arbiter might choose her over Draco.

Finally, if you, like many others, doubted Lucius Malfoy's claims of innocence during Voldemort's reign of terror, Draco likely had absorbed his father's ire for the girl credited with destroying his master. However it was clear Draco hadn't absorbed his father's caution or judgment; Daphne couldn't imagine the elder Malfoy being so openly hostile to Iris if he were in his son's shoes. After all, Lucius Malfoy's current position of influence was somewhat dependent on a public disavowal of Voldemort and dark magic.

‘And all of that is putting aside the fact he’d dislike anyone who’s friends with me just on principle’, Daphne mused as Draco, flanked as ever by Crabbe and Goyle, purposefully went out of his way to swing past her reading nook on his way towards the dormitories. The prat sneered down at her book, “don’t you ever do anything other than read, Greengrass? No wonder everyone thinks you’re as dull as doxie dung.”

“Took a survey, did you?” Daphne shot back. “You might try reading yourself sometime, then you might not be failing Herbology.”

Malfoy’s face went a bit purple as he protested, “I am not failing Herbology, Greengrass!” Grades were a touchy subject for him as far as Daphne had observed. He, or rather his father, seemed to assume Draco should be the top of every course, and the failure to do so was likely a wound to their pride. The fact that in pretty much every class he was definitively below Daphne, the daughter of Lucius’s business rival, Iris, the girl credited with destroying the Dark Lord, and even Hermione, a Muggleborn, was just salt in the wound. However it was only in Herbology where the ponce’s marks were below Longbottom’s. 

“Really?” Daphne asked with a raised eyebrow, “I could have sworn I heard Professor Sprout describing your Mandrake potting as, ‘done with all the care of an ogre choosing where to poo’” Really Daphne wasn’t one for needlessly picking a fight, but if Draco was going to swing at her, she’d happily hit back.

Malfoy sputtered before drawing himself up and loudly declaring, “Well at least I take care in choosing who to spend my time with, unlike you. Does your father know you spend all day fraternizing with that Mudblood Granger?”

'Well, I suppose sometimes direct confrontation is called for', Daphne decided. She thought of mentioning that her father didn’t feel the need to make Daphne’s decisions for her, but decided not to even dignify the barb with a response. However, the latter part of his statement was something she wasn’t going to let stand. 

“Her name is Hermione,” Daphne informed him as she calmly rose to her feet and gathered up her things, deciding to finish her chapter in the privacy of her dorm. As she began to walk away, she looked over her shoulder at the smug looking Malfoy. "Oh, and Draco? If you call her that again in my hearing, know that I will be most displeased,' Daphne said cooly, injecting all her venom into the final words.

“And why should I fear your displeasure, Greengrass?” Malfoy responded jeeringly. 

Daphne said nothing, didn’t even look back in the boy’s direction. There was a favorite phrase of her mother’s that came to mind, ‘The best threats are left unspoken’. Arguing on Malfoy’s level was already losing; it was letting him define the battleground. Better to let him squirm in silence as the implications rattled around his excuse for a brain. 

There was a reason beyond her family’s prominence that had led to Daphne rising to the head of the non-Malfoy aligned younger Slytherins. She wielded silence like a blade, seldom speaking more than she had to, and in doing so ensuring she was always listened to when she did. Unlike Malfoy, who spewed threats and boasts every ten minutes, Daphne only made threats she fully intended to follow through on.

After all, a Greengrass always keeps their word. 

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February 16th, Sunday, Afternoon, Grounds of Megaron Hall

The fields and forest surrounding Megaron Hall were covered in frosted dew on this cold winter day. All was quiet that day, save for a small redheaded tornado down the hill from the Hall, who was casting out bursts of foul weather into the clear skies. 

Iris yelled “VENTUSUS!” creating a strong gust of wind that blasted through the bushes, sending several squirrels scattering. “FULGURIO!” A lightning bolt arced across the field and slammed into an old oak, splintering the bark. “NIVISICTUS” A blast of arctic air escaped the tip of her silver wand, crystallizing a small volley of hailthat pelted the ground, leaving a patch of frosted ground. Indeed, all around her the landscape bore the marks of her tempestuous magic that she’d been casting for the last hour. 

What had started as practicing her Atmospheric magic as a way to distract herself from the turbulent emotions she was feeling had devolved into trying to vent those feelings by lashing out with her magic. “FULGURIO!” Once again she invoked the Lightning Calling charm, but this time it fizzled into tiny sparks; she was exhausted, having spent much of her magic. Iris started the invocation again before devolving into a pained shriek as she collapsed onto the ground, holding her knees and sobbing softly. Suffice to say, she was having a difficult day.

Actually, she’d been having a difficult couple of days, ever since Sebastian tried to eat Scabbers, and discovered Pettigrew. Iris would forever be grateful to Daphne for having the presence of mind to immobilize the illegal Animagus with a well timed total body bind. From there it had been a blurry whirlwind of activity; the nearest professor, Madame Hooch, had been found, who had summoned Professor McGonagall, who in turn summoned a shocked Dumbledore. After that it wasn’t long before the Aurors were called, both the two already on the grounds, and shortly thereafter a small platoon from the DMLE.

After he was firmly in custody, Susan’s Aunt and her Aurors set to work getting to the bottom of the startling situation. Pettigrew was interrogated, veritaserum had been used, and most importantly, his dark mark had been found. While you could always alter memories to flummox the Truth Potion, the Dark Mark could only be placed on a willing wizard. All that quickly mounting evidence pointed towards only one conclusion: Peter Pettigrew, the so-called Last Martyr of Voldemort’s shadow war, was a secret Death Eater. 

Iris and Daphne had been questioned, along with everyone else at the lake and several of the Weasleys. Through it all she’d felt numb as the reality of the situation, of who that man at the banks of the Black Lake was, and what he represented, crashed down upon her. Her mother and father had been summoned to the castle and eventually it was decided that she and Nym should accompany them home for the weekend due to this surprising turn of events. (That is to say Andromeda told Dumbledore she’d be taking her daughters home to deal with the fallout of this discovery, and booked no disagreement.)

Not that coming home had stopped the sisters from stressing out about the situation. After she overcame her numbness, Iris had been an absolute boiling cauldron of emotions. Pettigrew being alive flipped her entire understanding of what had happened to her birth parents on its head. See, the thing was, Iris hated Sirius Black. She hated him more than she hated He Who Must Not Be Named, because Black had betrayed them. Not just her birth parents, but her mum and dad, her Aunt Amelia, and Remus and everyone who loved and trusted him. Voldemort was the thing that killed her parents, but Sirius Black was their murderer.

Except he wasn’t.

The man she’d blamed for the last half a decade wasn’t the traitor she’d built him up to be in her head. Instead it was Peter Pettigrew, a man she knew as the perpetual background figure in stories from both her birth and adoptive parents' youth. How many times she’d heard a tale of Remus and James getting into trouble, only to have the storyteller say “oh and Peter was there of course,” at the end?

Sirius on the other hand was a phantom, a presence only discernible by sketching around the edges of where he ought to be in the narrative. He was an unstated participant in countless stories, referred to only obliquely or skipped over in the retelling. She didn’t know if her parents, Amelia and Remus, did it to spare her from hearing about the supposed traitor, or to spare themselves from the pain of their memories. 

It was difficult to realign her feelings to fit the new information, to flip in her mind which one of the two was the traitor. There was also the matter that while for years she had been able to take some solace in the fact that her birth parent’s betrayer was locked up in Azkaban, the real traitor had been free as a bird, or well, rat and that made Iris furious. Not only was there the injustice of an innocent man being imprisoned, but the actual monster had been galavanting around, right under her nose. Retrospectively every little memory of seeing Weasley’s stupid rat darting out of his pocket or scampering around at Hogwarts made her shake with rage; it wasn’t hard for her to come to the conclusion that Pettigrew may have purposefully attached himself to a student her age, so he could spy on her even though his master was long defeated. He’d been one of their best friends, a brother in spirit, and not only had he betrayed them, he hadn’t even felt guilty enough to steer clear of the orphaned girl they left behind.

Iris couldn’t fathom treachery of that level; the mere thought of turning on Susan, or Daphne, or Luna, or Nymphadora like that made her want to retch. She stayed there, miserable, on the frosted field for a time until a warm shadow fell upon her.

“Oh, come here, baby,” Andromeda said softly as she took her daughter into her arms. Iris just crumpled into her side, clinging tightly to her mother as she continued to cry. Andi picked up the tiny girl and gently rubbed her back as she carried her back towards the house. “It’s going to be okay, darling, I promise. It’s all going to be okay.”

Andromeda had wanted to give Iris space, but also stay close, so had been watching her daughter from a window and rushed down from the house as soon as she saw her fall to the ground. She held the little redhead, much bigger than she’d been the first day Andromeda had scooped her up from Privet Drive but still light enough for the mother to carry, and began trudging up back towards Megaron Hall.

Inside Andi was falling apart just as badly if not worse than Iris, but she was forcing herself to keep it together for her daughters. The little cousin who’d broken her heart, leaving scars that never quite healed, suddenly wasn’t the monster she’d convinced herself he was. It was destabilizing to say the least. Not to mention the abject horror she felt at the knowledge an innocent Siri had been subjected to the tender care of the Dementors for years now, and the guilt that came along with it. 

Andromeda was used to remembering around her memories so to speak, to not drown in the grief and pain that surrounded so many of them. It somewhat went with the territory when you were disowned by your family following a mildly abusive childhood. For instance it was difficult to square memories of playing dollies with her sister, and the horrific acts she knew Bella would one day commit. It was easier, almost necessary, to just set those memories aside and focus on the small bits that remained untainted. 

In that way Sirius’s betrayal had hurt worst of all, even more than her twin sister’s descent into evil. Because Sirius was her bright spot throughout a lot of her childhood, the other rebel among their generation of Blacks. He and James had been her beloved little cousins, and one of them betraying the other, killing the other, had ripped her heart in two. 

Still, no matter how devastated she was, she would contain it for the sake of Iris, who was clearly not handling the revelations well. Nymphadora was more than a little torn up too, she could after all remember Sirius somewhat as a friendly uncle figure in her early childhood. Ted was with her that day, having taken her on a long broom ride; with Nymphadora, getting her to do something physical was the best bet to let her work through her emotions. 

They slipped back into the house and Andromeda deposited Iris on the sofa near the fireplace, taking a moment to stoke the flames with a wave of her wand before sitting down beside her. Iris leaned against her while Andromeda gently stroked her hair. After a little bit Iris asked in a small voice, “what’s he like?”

“Who?” Andromeda responded.

“Sirius,” Iris said. By now it had been determined a hearing was going to be held the next month regarding Sirius where the man was in all likelihood going to be exonerated. Pettigrew had already been imprisoned following his interrogation, and would stand trial around the same time. It was pretty much a given Sirius was going to be exonerated and somewhere in her roiling sea of emotions, Iris was curious about the man she’d spent the latter half of her life trying not to dwell on.

Andi took a deep breath as she cast her mind back to Sirius before everything became so twisted by his apparent guilt. The people who’d known and loved the mutt had spent over ten years going out of their way not to talk about him, due to the pain of his betrayal; of course now Andromeda couldn’t help but feel she was the one who’d betrayed him. “Sirius was a mischievous kid, always getting into trouble then charming his way right out of it. Him and James both really. Lily would say Sirius dragged James into it, but honestly they both loved to egg each other on. Thank Merlin they had Remus to be a voice of reason.”

“Were you close?” Iris inquired. She’d guessed they likely were, but considering how little they’d talked about Sirius she didn’t really know much for sure.

“Very,” Andromeda said, her voice getting a little choked up, “he was younger than me, just getting started at Hogwarts by the time I graduated, but I knew him pretty much all his life. Both my father and his mother were the worst sort of blood obsessed aristocrats, so when I was little I didn’t get to spend much time with any children who weren’t connected to the family. In that way Sirius was a bit of a bright spot, a splash of color against the Black family tapestry.” James had been similar but due to Charlus Potter’s politics contrasting sharply with her father, Cygnus’s, she saw less of her Potter cousin than she did Sirius. She let out a wet chuckle, “there was a time when he was seven and he rigged a wire to make the window shutters burst open whenever Aunt Walburga walked in the sitting room. She spent ages trying to dispel it, and couldn’t figure out it wasn’t magic.”

“Sounds like a real troublemaker,” Iris said without judgment. She rarely pursued mischief for mischief’s sake like the Weasley twins, but she wasn’t a stickler either. What really struck her was how similar Sirius sounded to tales of her first father, and it was like suddenly hearing a second singer and realizing the melody was meant to be a harmony. 

“He was,” Andromeda said fondly, “constantly, and it didn’t stop by the time they graduated either. Of course by then he had Amelia to pull his arse out of the fire. I was surprised when he joined the DMLE; never figured he’d be the one catching rulebreakers…” Andi always guessed the war with He Who Must Not Be Named had been a major contributing factor towards Sirius and James becoming Aurors, (Remus would have gone along as well if it wasn’t for his furry issue). Perhaps if things had been different one or both of them would have followed their boyhood quidditch dreams. Andromeda cleared her throat, “he was a prankster and a ne'er do well and a scamp, but he was also a good man. Is a good man…”

That last fact hurt. Andromeda had heard Peter’s confession, seen his dark mark, and learned the awful truth. Her wonderful little shining star of a cousin hadn’t turned into a monster after all, but had been left to the tender mercies of the Dementors all the same.

“I love you mum,” Iris mumbled into her shoulder.

“I love you too Iris, very very much,” Andromeda whispered. She then sat with the emotionally spent girl until she fell asleep.

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Southern Scotland, Sunday Evening 

The trip back to Hogwarts was a quiet one for the Tonks sisters; they rode in the back of the family’s enchanted station wagon as Ted zipped northwards at speeds well above the muggle vehicles they passed along the way. Andromeda would have accompanied them as well, but she was currently at a meeting with the DMLE, giving her statement regarding the actions and whereabouts of both Peter and Sirius leading up to Halloween eleven years ago. Ted himself would be reporting for his own interview after he returned his daughters to school.

Iris stared out the window at the blurring landscape, her expression uncharacteristically vacant. Over the weekend she’d come down from the heights of her emotional turmoil and descended into a sort of distant numbness. If she was totally logical she realized the larger situation hadn’t really changed; her parents’ betrayer was in custody, just his name had changed. However, the whole event, from the moment Pettigrew appeared before her, had unearthed emotions she tried her best to ignore in her day to day.

Nym’s emotions were a bit less complicated; she was just plain pissed off, though doing her best to keep a lid on it. She believed in justice, believed in the rule of law; since she was old enough to understand what her Aunt Amelia did, she knew she wanted to be an Auror, and it twisted her insides up to see justice so perverted. An innocent man had been locked up in Azkaban for years and nobody did anything about it?

So, she was rather cross about that to say the least, but that wasn’t the only source of her anger. Half the reason she wanted to be an Auror was to protect her baby sister from all the dark creeps who might want to target her, and a Death Eater had been lurking right under her nose for over a year! It was only sheer luck and Pettigrew’s, she supposed incompetence, that had kept the rat from killing or kidnapping Iris.

“You know your name is Nymphadora,” Iris said suddenly, distracting Nym from her brooding.

Nym raised an eyebrow, “And you know I don’t like being called that.”

Iris shook her head a little, “No, what I’m saying is your name is Nymphadora, and my name is Iris Dorea Potter.”

“You know, I always heard Ravenclaw was for the clever, but you’re really blowing me away with your ability to know both our names,” Tonks snarked lightly.

Iris rolled her eyes, “What I’m saying is we both could have gone by Dor for a nickname. We’d be the Dor sisters. I’d be like, hey Dor how’s it going, and you’d say, Oh I’m fine Dor, how about you, Dor?”

Tonks let out a snort, “Irey that’s moronic.”

Iris squeezed her sister’s hand, “yeah, but it got you to laugh.”

“Hey, I’m the big sister here,” Tonks said, “I’m supposed to be the one cheering you up.”

“I’m fairly sure it goes both ways,” Iris replied, leaning over to give her sister a playful nudge. In the driver's seat, Ted smiled to himself, glad to see his daughters looking a little happier than they had. 

By the time they arrived in Hogsmeade, both girls were chatting and joking, more or less like normal. The world may turn upside down, but through it all, the sisters would always have one another to rely upon.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hogwarts, Late February

There were Salazar-damned roosters EVERYWHERE, in every hallway, on every floor, infesting every nook and cranny of the castle. The student body was going slowly batty with the cacophonous cawing that accompanied every dawn, but none more so than Ginny Weseley or the shade that increasingly controlled her body. 

Somehow, someway, Professor Dumbledore had finally managed to guess the nature of Slytherin’s monster, much to Tom’s chagrin. The same weekend the whole school was in an uproar over the capture of some fool called Pettigrew, dozens and dozens of brass cages containing the cocks had been brought into the castle. 

The infernal poultry didn’t make it impossible to guide Salazar’s serpent towards its targets, all he need do was silence, slay or simply knockout the nearby birds, but it did make it more time consuming and difficult. It meant planning the area of attack further in advance and assiduously rooting out all the cockerels within earshot, since missing a single one could slay the Basilisk. While Tom was growing stronger everyday he couldn’t retain direct control of his host indefinitely, and having to run around finding chickens before any potential attacks would put a strain on his time. 

At the moment though Ginny was just trying her best to focus through her transfiguration class while Tom bided his time; with all the extra scrutiny he lamentably had to be cautious, lest someone discover the diary before he’d finished draining Ginerva of her life force and reclaimed his physical form. 

There had been a moment when Ginerva came close to rejecting his diary, but luckily fate was on his side. A crisis had struck her blood traitor family and she needed more than ever to confide in and rely on the understanding Tom. The family pet had been revealed rather publicly to be in fact an animagus, and to Tom’s own shock, a follower of his future self.

Tom had no idea who this Peter Pettigrew was, presumably the man had flocked to his cause down the line from when the diary was created, but he found himself by turns impressed and disappointed with his would-be servant. That he’d apparently been a loyal Death Eater (why on earth his future self had chosen that moniker for his followers and discarded the much more awe inspiring Knights of Walpurgis, Tom couldn’t fathom), who infiltrated Dumbledore’s forces and later cleverly escaped capture was worthy of praise. However, the man had apparently been living for years as a rat, completely discarding his dignity and failing to either aid Voldemort’s return or kill the girl credited with destroying him, a great mark against him.

“Ms. Weasley!” Professor McGonagall’s voice suddenly cut through grabbing both Tom and Ginny’s attention, “could you please explain the First Principle of Transfiguration and how it relates to today’s assignment?”

Ginny panicked; she hadn’t been sleeping well and was barely keeping it together with all the stares she’d been getting since it was revealed Scabbers was Pettigrew. Luckily for her she suddenly had a calm, commanding voice in her ear, feeding her the answer.

At this point, even when not actively possessing her, both Tom and Ginny had a hand on the broom handle so to speak; the girl was more or less in control of her body while she went about her classes and attended meals, but Tom was always sitting just behind her eyes, seeing everything and whispering in her ear with a voice she was beginning to have trouble distinguishing from her own inner thoughts. He honestly couldn’t care if Ginny did well in her courses, but didn’t want to risk her being kept after class.

“The First Principle of Transfiguration,” Ginny replied smoothly as Tom essentially spoke through her, “is that it is easier to turn like into like and this follows across every axis. To put it in other words, the easiest thing is for an object to remain as it is, and every dimension of change increases the complexity of the transfiguration.”

Professor McGonagall nodded, “quite correct, Ms. Weasley, and how does that relate to transforming muggle coins into wine corks?”

“When conducting a transfiguration, a wizard must consider all of the different potential axes of change, size, weight, shape, substance, existence, sentience, number, eccetera,” Ginny explained. “In general, the fewer axes you attempt to change, and smaller the scale of the change, the easier the transfiguration will be to conduct. Today’s spell builds on what we did with turning matchsticks to needles. In that case we were primarily only changing the substance, from wood to metal, while keeping the size, shape and so on close to constant. Changing muggle coins into corks is simply reversing, going from metal to wood, while also adding minor changes to size and shape.”

McGonagall had a slight smile, “excellently put, Ms. Weasley, five points to Gryffindor. Now if everyone will pay close attention while I lead you through the wand movements ....”

Tom quickly lost interest and let Ginny try and follow along on her own. He could distantly remember the wonder he’d felt learning the basics of Transfiguration as a firstie, but by now it was painfully dull. If he had to be tied to a student, why couldn’t it be a sixth or seventh year where he might actually have the smallest chance of learning something, even if he’d largely surpassed the school’s curriculum by the time he made the Diary. 

Instead he began plotting his next moves. If the roosters made it difficult to attack targets of opportunity as he had been doing, he’d have to select one that was easily isolated, preferably with a consistent schedule. He considered the odious squib caretaker who was still wailing about his cat, but discarded the idea; he was looking to instill fear in Hogwarts inhabitants, and killing Filch might actually be a cause for celebration for the students.

Longbottom was tempting; despite the illustrious family name it was clear to everyone he was a borderline squib. Then again, when Tom was reborn he’d need to secure the support of the old families and killing a member of the so-called Sacred 28 might not be advisable. He also dismissed Potter; he needed to figure out what the girl had done to his future self before he destroyed her.

Granger, Tom decided. The bushy haired know it all was only a year older than Ginny and in the same house, so they had enough contact for him to roughly know her routines and for Ginny to potentially lure her to some isolated spot. It would take a little more of a push to get Ginny to attack someone she knew and somewhat liked compared to Colin who she couldn’t stand and the Hufflepuff she’d never spoken to, but Tom’s power over her was growing stronger every day. Yes, Hermione would be the perfect Mudblood to make an example of. 

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Durmstrang, Early March

(All Dialogue in Danish unless otherwise stated.)

“Put your back into it, for Koschei’s sake,” Igor Karkaroff barked at the third year Durmstrang students currently rowing his longboat through the cold waters of the Baltic, heading towards the shrouded fortress of the Durmstrang Institute. The headmaster could have easily propelled the vessel with magic, but it was the belief of Durmstrang that physical labor built character, and all students were required to take a turn manning the ships that ferried people to and from the island at some point.

Karkaroff pulled on his white goatee as he looked off the prow, gazing towards the squat but imposing edifice of his school as they neared. Durmstrang was vertically far shorter than either of its old rivals, but it was a sprawling building, carved from slate grey rock. The main island that made up the bulk of Durmstrang’s grounds sat hidden some ways off the shore of Gotland, shrouded from Muggle view by a truly dizzying array of enchantments. It was impossible to apparate to the island itself, which meant sailing in from one of the hidden ports along the shore was the main way of accessing the Institute. 

The former Death Eater was in a foul mood as he traveled back from his meeting with the Scandinavian Ministry. While Durmstrang took students from much of northern and eastern Europe, especially around the Baltic and Black Seas, it technically fell within the maritime borders of the Scandinavian magical government. (Unlike their muggle counterparts, the magical governments of Denmark, Norway and Sweden, had never split after the Kalmar Union.) The Magisk Rad had apparently seen fit to summon Igor for questioning regarding the news of Sirius Black’s possible innocence that was coming out of Britain. 

Igor scowled at the thought; he’d returned to teach at Durmstrang in part to escape association with the Death Eaters, but it still seemed to follow him. It wasn’t so much that he’d come to reject the ideals of the group, but rather that he turned his nose up at some of their methods. In his mind, blood purist rhetoric promised a restoration of traditional wizarding society, and Voldemort and his inner circle seemed far too willing to burn that society to the ground if it pleased them in the moment. In truth he’d soured on Voldemort personally some time before the dark wizard’s downfall, but was too frightened to break away at that point. After his miraculous defeat, well, Karkaroff had known to cut a deal while he still could.

‘It’s not like I have the damnedest notion about Black or even Pettigrew anyway,’ Karkaroff thought bitterly as the longboat slid alongside the waiting eastern dock. He didn’t know whether either man had in truth been a Death Eater, but given their supposed nature as spies and traitors, that made sense. Igor was never in the inner circle of the Death Eaters anyway, something he suspected was due in part to his status as a foreigner. A disheartening thought considering Karkaroff had emigrated to Britain largely because of the growing blood purist movement that Voldemort would come to lead; he’d come seeking the next Grindewald in Voldemort, but ultimately been sorely disappointed.

“Heigel, report to Professor Popitzky and tell her you’ve been assigned snow clearing duty for the next week,” Karkaroff snarled at a student he felt had been particularly lethargic in their rowing, before stepping swiftly onto the docks. The student snapped a salute before joining his fellows in tying up the ship and stowing the oars. 

Karkaroff’s dark mood didn’t diminish as he stalked through the starkly decorated halls of his school, heading for his personal quarters. Ever since he’d gotten the news about Black, his Dark Mark, hidden beneath his maroon robes, had been been itching; he was almost certain it was a phantom sensation, brought about by old memories, but not for the first time he wished there was a way to blast the thing from his skin. 

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hogwarts, Hufflepuff Common Room, Mid March

“Why on earth am I taking Divination?” Nymphadora asked no one in particular as she pushed her Divination essay away from her in frustration. It was already late, after curfew, but she was going to be stuck writing the 12 inches Trewlaney had asked for on entrail reading before she could turn in. She’d taken Divination as her last elective, the only one not selected based on her goal of becoming an Auror, because it was supposed to be a soft option, but even if Trewlany would accept any old rubbish, she had an impressive ability for assigning busywork. 

“Oh stop complaining,” Susan muttered back at her from the opposite armchair, “just predict catastrophe and you’ll probably be right.” It was an unexpectedly terse comment from the normally cheerful redhead, but Susan had been having a rough term. The discovery of Justin and Sir Nick was very much still weighing upon her and she was having nearly as much of a tough time coming to terms with everything coming to light regarding Sirius as Iris was. After all, Sirius was the man who broke her Auntie’s heart and betrayed her best friend’s parents, someone she’d always hated on principle. Reassessing those feelings in light of Pettigrew’s reappearance was difficult.

Nym rolled her eyes, “it might be nonsense, but it’s nonsense she cares about. She might not be able to predict if the sun will rise tomorrow, but she’ll be able to tell if I didn’t cite the text properly when I’m explaining the theory.”

While Sybil Trewlany was by all accounts a fairly rubbish teacher, somehow managing to give Binns a run for his money as Hogwarts' worst, some of the issues with the Divination course stemmed not from the professor, but from the subject. Divination had always been one of the more esoteric branches of magic. That said, while the field had its problems and Trewlany was a very poor example of a Diviner, Seer or not, the entire subject shouldn’t be entirely dismissed as some bespectacled Transfiguration professors thought it ought to be.

The first thing one needed to understand about Divination was that Prophesies, the often cryptic predictions of the future pertaining to a particular individual and produced by a Seer, were only one part of the discipline, even if it was the part that got the most attention. However, being a Seer was not synonymous with being a Divination practitioner, the former was an inborn gift you had to be born with like being a Parselmouth, while the remainder of Divination could be taught to any witch or wizard.

This was where things like reading tea leaves, burning bones, and interpreting the stars came in. In theory, this sort of sign reading was what made up the bulk of Divination, but, as pretty much every Hogwarts student who’d taken the elective could tell you, the results were often wrong or so vague as to be useless. Countless students over the years had joked about the implausible things that were supposed to happen, or laughed off Professor Trewlany’s predictions of death, all of which never came to fruition.

Therein lay the crux of the problem with Divination, or at least the modern study of it in the British Isles, the fixation on the individual. Divination was actually very good at predicting what would happen in the future, up until you got humans involved and free will started mucking the whole system up. If you were trying to forecast purely natural phenomena, absent the input of any sapient creatures, a skilled diviner could be incredibly accurate; this was in part why almost no witch or wizard had ever been accidentally caught up in a volcanic eruption for instance. Indeed, earthquakes, catastrophic storms, naturally occurring wildfires, landslides and more were generally known to wizardingkind well in advance due to the work of diviners. The general rule was that the less a question hinged on the actions or fate of an individual human or thinking magical creature, the more accurately divination could answer it.

In truth, even within these confines, there were still many applications of more reliable Divination; the most obvious one for years had been presaging the weather but it could be more extensive, averting natural disasters, forecasting crop yields, and so on. Unfortunately, this functional but limited divination was not what most of the wizarding world was interested in. Perhaps out of a natural self interest, the questions your average witch or wizard brought to a diviner, and thus the bulk of their business, were almost always concerning the fate of individuals, and thus little better than a shot in the dark most of the time. In light of this, it was perhaps only natural that many diviners ‘overpromised’ regarding the accuracy of their personal fortune telling, and in doing so, cheapened the reputation of the discipline. 

“At least she’s not as bad as Professor Sinistra,” Cedric opined from where sat cross legged on the rug, near the fire, “I swear she assigned all these extra phase chartings over the weekend because she knows we’re playing Slytherin and she doesn’t want the team well rested.”

Tonks rolled her eyes, “I’m sure it’s that and not anything to do with the rare alignment of Jupiter’s moons.”

“Yeah, if it was Snape I’d agree with you,” Susan chimed in, “but Sinistra doesn’t care that much about her old house. Besides, …” Susan looked out at the bustling Hufflepuff common room, where quite a few people were excitedly talking about the upcoming game. She frowned. “I’m sure the staff has more to focus on right now than Qudditch.”

Susan was more than a little annoyed that everyone was acting like things were back to normal when there were still two students, not to mention a ghost and a cat, petrified in the hospital wing, and the monster that did it hadn’t been captured. Sure, she felt a bit safer with all the roosters, but she and her friends were still traveling in groups and staying vigilant. Everyone relaxing too soon seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Unfortunately, the old Hogwarts rumor mill was somewhat to blame; everyone knew about Pettigrew and the running theory with most students was that the hidden Death Eater had been the cause of the attacks. Nevermind that Pettigrew had been questioned under veritaserum and claimed no knowledge of the monster or the chamber. Everyone, from the students to the Prophet wanted the crisis wrapped up with a nice bow.

“Blasphemy,” Cedric quipped before backing down as Sue stared daggers at him, “hey, I’m just joking. Obviously Justin and Colin and catching whoever attacked them is more important, but, with everything being so dark this year, people need something fun to lift them up a little. Besides I bet you wouldn’t be so blase if you were on the starting lineup.”

As Susan protested she’d be just as worried about security whether she was playing Beater or not, Nym worked to finish her essay. Like Sue she was preoccupied with the upcoming trials and worried about the monster still on the loose, but classes weren’t going to stop. It was her OWL year and she had to get the necessary marks to progress to the NEWT level for her Auror required subjects. 

“Speaking of,” Tonks opined as she desperately tried to stretch her essay another three inches, “if Trewlaney’s supposed to be such a great seer, I’m surprised she hasn’t tried guessing who the supposed heir of Slytherin is supposed to be”

Cedric shrugged, “maybe she’s self aware enough to realize that’d just be painting a target on someone’s back if she’s wrong.”

Susan scowled, “it’ll be detective work not divination that finds them. I just wish we had more clues to work with.” There were two Aurors dedicated to the case who were still routinely on campus even though the attacks had yet to continue post-christmas. Unfortunately neither of them had made much headway.

“Well, who do you think it is, Madam Bones?” Cedric asked, teasing her a bit by using her aunt’s title.

Susan herself had been trying to puzzle it out, and she hadn’t yet, but she had a best guess, “if I had to choose the most likely candidate…” she glanced around to make sure no one was obviously listening in on their conversation. The last thing she needed was Ernie McMillan or Georgia Fowler to run around parroting her shaky accusation. “It’d be Snape.”

Nym cocked a pencil thin eyebrow and tucked a strand of wavy acid green hair behind her ear, “Snape? Guy’s a bloody tosser, but I’m not sure that makes him the heir.”

Susan shook her head, “like I said it’s just a best guess based on available information. He has the obvious connection to Slytherin, a more than dodgy criminal history, and unlike your average Slytherin student, the advanced knowledge of magic to potentially corral a Basilisk like creature, if we’re right about that being the Monster of Slytherin. Besides, as a teacher he has free reign of the Castle, allowing him to strike at his leisure.”

Cedric tilted his head appraisingly, “you might be onto something, Sue. I mean, it’s a better guess than Fleet’s theory.” Herbert Fleet, the new Hufflepuff Keeper, had been roundly ridiculed for his exclamation at breakfast one morning that the heir had to be the Bloody Baron.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Tonks disagreed, “if he was the heir, why now? Why not last year, or back when he was a student. Afterall, the first time it supposedly opened was years before Snape attended. It’s more likely someone new to the castle, which I suppose means Lockhart, that transfer from Ilvermony, or a first year.”

Susan crossed her arms, but didn’t immediately dismiss the idea, “a first year? You think they’d be able to do something like this?” 

Tonks set her essay aside and leaned in conspiratorially, “well, if Irey is right about what the Monster probably is; the Monster is doing the bulk of the work so to speak. The only thing we know the heir did is open the chamber, which might just require a drop of old Salazar’s blood.” She sat back in her chair, “still, like you said, we’re running on a lot of guesswork still. I’m not suggesting we interrogate all the firsties or anything.” She sighed and turned back to her essay, “and for the moment I really need to figure out how to write three more inches about how I’m apparently destined to marry a mustachioed older man with an affinity for wolves, have a baby, have him run out on me, and then immediately die.”

Even if you ignored her raging crush on Katie and general preference for women, this latest divination strained credulity. ‘Seriously, it’s like the entrails go out of their way to predict something that’s never going to happen.’

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Malfoy Manor, Mid March

Dobby fretted terribly as he paced back and forth along the entry corridor. The little elf muttered to himself in worry as he tried to come up with a new plan to save Iris Potter. That had been his major preoccupation whenever he got a rare free moment from his duties. Dobby prided himself as a quite competent House Elf, despite what his loathsome master said, but in the last six months he’d come no closer to saving the Girl-Who-Lived.

His first plan had been simple, just to prevent Miss Iris Potter from returning to school where his Master had unleashed a terrible nasty evil. However, Missie Andromeda had put a stop to that plan almost before it began, insisting she could protect Iris Potter herself. Oh! How Dobby wished he could trust little Missie Andromeda to protect the vanquisher of He Who Must Not Be Named, but he just couldn’t. Not when that horrible nasty dark dark book was at Hogwarts with the girl.

But if he kept trying to scare Iris away, Missie Andromeda would know, and be telling on Dobby to Missie Narcissa and then… The little elf shuddered at the thoughts of the punishments Master Lucius would inflict if he had even an inkling that Dobby was working against him. Not that Dobby wasn’t already punishing himself for doing so; his natural instinct to serve and protect his bonded family and his need to protect the girl who banished the Dark Lord kept smashing up against each other.

“Dobby, I am going out,” Narcissa Malfoy said coldly as she strode into the foyer. The family matriarch was bundled up in finely made dark robes and matching cloak with a silver lining, and covered with a Jarvey fur stole. Her blonde-black hair was today tightly wound in a constrained updo. Unusually for the proud woman, her hood was up and she seemed to be leaving her more ostentatious jewelry behind. “I want the western lounge spotless when I return; Lucius may be entertaining later.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Dobby answered automatically, pushing his worries over Iris Potter to the side for the moment until he could complete his task. Unlike Master Lucius or young master Draco, Narcissa rarely punished Dobby directly, but she was still quite demanding. 

—------

Later, Leaky Cauldron Private Room, Diagon Alley

When Andromeda arrived at the private parlour room, interestingly enough the nicest one the Cauldron had, she couldn’t help but feel her little sister looked out of place. Narcissa was every inch the image of the traditional ideal pureblooded aristocratic witch that Andromeda and Bellatrix had, for admittedly very different reasons, failed to live up to. Even in old Tom’s finest room, the surroundings were too homey, too pedestrian for the immaculate and severe Narcissa.

Not that Andromeda herself was dressed poorly, wearing a lovely dark ochre dress under her own fur lined cloak and a pair of heeled boots, but she wasn’t wearing exotic furs or spider silk robes. Tom had laid the table for afternoon tea and Narcissa, proper as ever, sat waiting to tuck in until Andromeda took a seat herself. “Hello, Cissy,” Andromeda began cautiously, “it’s been some time.”

“For good reason,” Narcissa said primly, “however your lamentable choice of spouse is not to be the subject of today’s conversation.”

“What is to be the subject then?” Andromeda asked while pouring herself a cup of tea; the fact that Narcissa hadn’t requested a member of staff to serve them indicated she was looking for discretion. Andi could guess it involved the hearings next week, but was uncertain of the specifics.

Narcissa daintily took one of the small sliced sandwiches onto her own plate. “The upcoming trials in the Wizengamot, of course. It has become increasingly obvious they will be a mere formality, and the result will cause, shall we call it an upset, in the matters of House Black.”

Andromeda resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “And what do the affairs of House Black have to do with me? As you may recall I was formally disowned and blasted from the Tapestry some years ago.”

“A bed entirely of your own making,” Narcissa sniped, “if you hadn’t let your unrestrained passions for that dullard Tonks control you, mother and father wouldn’t have needed to-”

“You think I ran off to marry Ted!?” Andromeda interjected, “I love the man with all my life but that’s not the reason I left. Merlin’s beard, we didn’t get married for three years after graduation. I left so I wouldn’t have to marry bloody Antonin Dolohov! Unlike some people I didn’t want to be sold off like a broodmare to a criminal and terrorist. If that meant running out of the house in the middle of the night then-”

Narcissa sniffed sharply then spat, “well not everyone can be as brave or so lucky as you, Andromeda.”

Instantly Andromeda felt a renewed wave of guilt over what her leaving must have meant for the younger Narcissa. There wasn’t much she could have done differently; she was 17 and had a snowball’s chance against a fiendfyre of trying to get custody of her sister away from her parents, particularly if Narcissa didn’t want to go.  “I am sorry, Cissy; I can only imagine what-”

“As I said, I did not come to re-litigate the unpleasantness of decades past,” Narcissa said firmly, her mask of porcelain slamming firmly back in place. “There is no point in being obstinately obtuse; we both know Sirius will in all likelihood reinstate you and your half-blood daughter to the family the instant the shackles come off. I am here to ensure there are no baseless reprisals towards me and my son.”

Andromeda wasn’t nearly so sure of that reinstatement as Narcissa. To her minds Sirius might feel justifiably betrayed by his old friends for his time in Azkaban; she thought she knew him well enough to know he would eventually forgive them, but then again years in Azkaban could change a man. She’d tried to visit him several times since he’d been moved to Ministry holding, pending Peter’s trial and his exoneration hearing, but Fudge was keeping him away from anyone but Ministry staff. Still, she might as well go along with Narcissa’s assumptions for the moment, “You don’t want to see yourselves blasted off the tapestry once Sirius assumes his full duties as head of house.”

Mrs. Malfoy took a sip of her tea, “precisely. Sirius was always a hothead, and I doubt his time away has done much to temper it. I want you to be the cooler head and convince him not to do anything rash.”

“If I can persuade him, as you say,” Andromeda began, “why does it matter so much to you? It’s not like he can snatch back your dowry, and if you’re worried about the inheritance, both myself and any children Sirius should sire would precede you anyways.”

“Not everything is about money,” Narcissa replied, “something I imagine you’d know if you’d not married a pauper.” Andromeda buried her irritation at the barb; it was true Ted like most all muggleborns had no family money, at least in the wizarding world, but he made quite a good living, as did Andromeda herself. Narcissa blithely continued, “this is a matter of pride and legacy. Draco is a legitimate descendent of House Black, and it shall remain that way.”

Andromeda mulled it over as she bit into a teacake. Inheritance aside, there were a few benefits to being a member of their noble and most ancient house. There was the hereditary seat in the Wizengamot, which Narcissa had held the proxy for since the death of their grandfather. She’d be losing that no matter what, and it would only default to her again if Sirius, Andromeda, Nymphadora and Iris were incapacitated or dead. Andromeda wouldn’t strictly rule out the Malfoys utilizing mass poisoning as a means of political advancement, but it seemed an unlikely angle.

Other than that, it would really only apply to some of the old family wards on certain properties, and of course the loyalty of any surviving House Elves… 

“I believe I could be persuasive with Sirius,” Andromeda drawled, “however I would want something in return for such a consideration.”

Narcissa smirked slightly, “how surprisingly mercenary of you, sister. What would your little friends in Dumbledore’s flaming rooster club think? Still, I’d be happy to give you a respectable sum, shall we say three hundred galleons?”

“I don’t need Lucius’s money,” Andromeda replied coolly. She might not have gone into the Ministry, or played the game of houses, like a good child of the House of Black was expected to, but she had still been sorted into Slytherin for a reason, and knew how to negotiate.

“Then what do you want?” Narcissa asked evenly, her face placid.

“I do believe you ended up as the mistress for one of our old elves, Dobby,” Andromeda said with affected casualness. “I’d like you to give him back to the main house.”

“Why?” Narcissa asked, visibly thrown by the request.

“I had a passing fondness for the little imp from childhood,” Andromeda explained, feeding into the Malfoys own dismissive attitude to non-wizard beings. “Besides, the old house is bound to be a mess in need of cleaning, and I doubt any of the other old elves are still kicking around after all these years.” 

Narcissa seemed to think it over as she buttered a scone, “I’m unsure if I can even do that. Elf magic is so dreadfully finicky when it comes to direct transfers, and I am now a Malfoy.” That had been the reason to make Narcissa Dobby’s primary master before her marriage, to utilize a loophole in the binding magic. It wasn’t clear if Dobby’s magic would consider Narcissa and Sirius or Andromeda the same family anymore for the purposes of his magic. “I may have to free him to shift masters, and who knows where he might scamper off to?”

“Please, they’re simple creatures, easily led. I’m sure he will happily renew his bond with his old house and we can get on with things,” Andromeda said, lying through her teeth. Freeing Dobby was a perfectly acceptable outcome for her and something she’d be offering the elf in any event; the goal was to get him out from under the Malfoys and able to explain his arcane warning. She’d suspected it was connected to the petrifications at the school, but also considered he may have been trying to warn them about Pettigrew. “I do not wish to have to Scourgify Grimmauld Place myself.”

There was a bit of silence as the contrasting sisters drank their tea and Narcissa mulled over her proposal. Eventually the blonde nodded, “I hate to lose a servant, but Draco’s standing is more important. You can have the creature, though not until after the trials. On the off chance Fudge fumbles this more than he already has and Sirius stays in jail, the deal is off.”

“Very well,” Andromeda agreed, which seemed to be the prompt for Narcissa to rise and immediately prepare to go. Apparently her sister didn’t want to be there a moment longer than she had to. It had been an odd sort of reunion with Cissy; they felt more like competing business partners than sisters, but she took solace in finally having found a way to retrieve Dobby without tipping Lucius off to why she was interested in the elf. 

As Narcissa swept from the room, Andromeda sighed a little and finished her tea. She couldn’t dwell on it though, she needed to prepare for another upcoming family reunion and hope Sirius was as forgiving as Narcissa assured he would be.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hogwarts, Fifth Floor, Old Enchantment Classroom, Next Evening

Iris, Penny, Luna, Nym, and Katie were sprawled out around the room, some studying, some just hanging out. It was a somewhat smaller group that evening; Susan managed to get detention with Lockhart for getting caught transfiguring her copy of Magical Me into an aardvark, or an aardvark shaped book with whiskers at any rate. Cedric was off snogging spending time with Cho, Lavender had finally coerced Hermione into letting her try and tame the brunette’s tangled curls with a bottle of Sleekeazy’s, and their Slytherin contingent were meeting with some of their classmates about some secretive internal house matters. (In actuality, prefect Fiona Rosier was feeling out house support for pressuring Flint to drop Malfoy as the Seeker next year, a cause Tracey and Daphne were both fully behind.)

Tonks spun her wand idly in her hand, for once during her OWL year she was actually fully on top of her homework. While Pen was furiously scribbling away at her Arithmancy chart, an elective they thankfully didn’t share, and Iris coached Luna through the brewing of a basic herbicide potion, Nym chatted happily with Katie. The vibrant Gryffindor was excited for their upcoming match against Ravenclaw, which might give her House a chance to pull ahead of Slytherin on points despite losing the opening match of the year and Nym loved listening to her get so passionate about it.

“Anyway, the wall to wall practices are total hell,” Katie explained while she stretched above her head and Tonks not so subtly checked out her tanned biceps such a motion showed off. “But it’ll be worth it if we can pull off a shutout against the claws, uh no offense,” she added to the three Ravenclaws in the room.

Penny waved her off without even looking up from her parchment. Iris was similarly disinterested in Quidditch and just added, “none taken.” She was secretly planning to sneak off down to the Care of Magical Creatures paddock by the Forbidden Forest with Daphne during the game to get a chance to look at the nesting Occamy Kettleburn had brought in for the Seventh Years. Ever since Lockhart had loudly talked about trying to harvest some of the territorial flying serpent’s eggs for some sort of new hair tonic, Kettleburn had been guarding its nest quite closely and Iris was dying to get a chance to see the creature alone and find out if it could be communicated with in Parseltongue. The game would provide an excellent distraction.

However Luna piped up, “You’ll have quite the competition from Davies if his boasting in the common room is to be believed. I’m given to understand he can fly circles around the entire English national team.”

Katie snorted so much she nearly choked, “did the prat really say that?”

“Oh yes,” Luna airily nodded, “apparently our team would be the highest scoring in the school’s history if he’d been captain this year instead of Stokes. He’s even successfully pulled off three Wronski Feints in a row over break at his home pitch, which seems quite remarkable given he’s a chaser.”

That got both Katie and Nym laughing and even drew a smile from the otherwise focused Penny. Like Tonks, the Clearwater girl was enduring the stress of her OWL year, especially since she would also need to pull out an O in Potions to pursue a career as a Healer. One of her mothers, Emily, had taught her quite a bit at home, but she couldn’t slack off in her studies, especially with how substandard Snape was.

Eventually Luna had successfully stoppered a bottle of herbicide and curfew was looming. Iris cleaned the collapsable cauldron while Penny gathered up her scattered papers and books. Nym was glad to see Iris, who was trying to hide her giddiness over her planned Occamy experiment, looking happier than she’d been since Valentine's Day. Both sisters, not to mention Susan and the rest of their friends, were anxious about the quickly approaching trial and hearing, but doing their best to focus on the day to day.

“C’mon we need to get a move on to get back to the Tower by curfew after we drop Tonks off,” Penelope declared, shifting into prefect mode. The gang of friends were still traveling in groups and always making sure one of their pureblooded members accompanied those whose blood might make them targets. Tonks was a half-blood, but given the differing definitions and standards of blood purity, they weren’t taking any chances.

“Uh, actually I wanted to talk to Tonks about something, so I’ll walk with her,” Katie said, unusually hesitant. It was a bit more out of her way than it was for the Ravenclaws given the locations of their respective towers, but not massively so. Penny shrugged and reminded Tonks about needing to work on their Runes project tomorrow before leading the two younger Ravenclaws away. Iris did duck back to give her sister a quick hug before she left, and only somewhat surprisingly, Luna did as well, leaving Nym red haired with blonde highlights and a fond smile. 

“If you keep collecting little sisters at the rate you’re going, you’ll have half a dozen by the time you graduate,” Katie joked as the pair walked through the quieting castle towards the Badger’s Den. Tonks laughed along, feeling a little nervous to be hanging out with Katie alone. It was stupid, Bell was one of her best friends, but her persistent little crush on the athletic Irish girl kept rearing its ugly head. It made her blush at the stupidest things and made her control of her Metamorphmagus abilities slip. Thinking of this, she subtly shifted to her favorite face, the curvy redheaded blend of her family’s features, but that just made Katie shoot her a super endearing smile for some reason.

“I’m honestly a little glad your Quidditch season is almost over,” Tonks commented as the two passed the great hall, still full of a handful of students grabbing a late dinner. “I love watching you play but we haven’t gotten to really see much of you with Wood scheduling practices every free minute.”

Katie sheepishly scratched the back of her head while focusing on not letting her eyes drift down to Nym’s breasts, which had just expanded slightly as her form shifted. She cleared her throat, “actually I wanted to talk to you about that. There’s a Hogsmede trip the day after the match and I, uh, wondered if you wanted to go.”

Tonks looked at her quizzically since she pretty much went on every Hogsmeade trip unless she was absolutely drowning in schoolwork. “Sure, I think Penny was talking about finally buying a self-strumming harp from Dervish & Banges, and if we can peel Cedric away from Cho, the four of us could be a team for Rosmerta’s Exploding Snap tournament.”

Katie stopped in the hallway making Tonks stop as well and turn to look back at the other girl, who was fidgeting with her hands clearly nervous. Katie took a deep breath, “no, I mean that sounds fun, but I kinda meant, do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me. Like on a date?”

Tonks wasn’t proud, in fact she’d be more than a little embarrassed, of her immediate reaction, which was to let her mouth hang open while her eyes literally grew a bit bigger (and later Katie would swear the pupils turned heart shaped), before hurriedly yelling “DEAR MORGANNA YES!” so loudly, several people came running in the assumption it was another attack by the Heir. 

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Ministry of Magic, March 26th, Day of Pettigrew’s Trial

The Ministry was a frenetic beehive of activity as the Wizengamot prepared to hear the case of Peter Pettigrew that afternoon. It hadn’t happened for some time, but the old policy elevating the trials of marked Death Eaters to the full Wizengamot and past the lower courts had come into effect. Sitting members of the Wizengamot were steadily arriving, (the scandal looked to be gathering more members than most actual legislative sessions), and no matter their department, all Ministry employees were aware of the energy in the place.

However, the two main areas, other than the Wizengamot chamber, where people were hurrying to prepare for Pettigrew’s trial, were the DMLE naturally and the Minister’s office. It was in the latter that, at that moment, Cornelius Fudge was pacing while his Senior Undersecretary nattered on at him.

“All this hubbub over ancient history,” Umbridge huffed, “it’s such a distraction from our agenda. We should be getting votes lined up for the Lycanthrope Personal Responsibility Act, not cleaning up Bagnold’s mess. Her’s and Crouches, and Dumbledore’s if we’re honest. Actually, this might be just the opportunity to push him out as Chief Warlock. We play up sympathy for Black and direct blame towards Dumbledore. Hmm, then again; Black’s probably not fit to be out among normal people anymore anyhow-”

“Dolores!” Fudge snapped, a rare flash of anger breaking through his normal jovial facade, “forget the werewolves and forget Dumbledore. We are in damage control mode and we need to pivot.” Fudge didn’t even particularly want Dumbledore removed as Chief Warlock, but it was a pet concern of Dolores’s something about bringing in new blood or a fresh perspective or something, and she could be very persuasive. (If he’d looked at his term laid out, Fudge might discover quite a few times where Umbridge’s agenda had wormed its way into becoming his own.)

Umbrdige adjusted her pink suit jacket, “I did try and hush it up, but Bones got to Pettigrew too far ahead of me, and he was already spewing his secrets to anyone who would listen. Too many people knew he was alive, and too much of the DMLE knew he was guilty; there was no way to keep it quiet. It’s clear Bones is angling for the Ministership and looking for a celebrity case.”

Fudge sighed and rubbed his temples. He was all too aware everyone was gunning for his job. “She’s too well liked; we’d have a revolt in the Department if we removed her as head of the DMLE.” And the bad press that came out of such an event would be the perfect launching off point if Amelia did choose to challenge him for his job. Better to keep her at least nominally in his cabinet as a subordinate. “This was always going to be too big to keep quiet once Pettigrew was captured. The old families are furious about the head of house Black being locked up unlawfully, no matter who he is.”

Cornelius poured himself a snifter of firewhisky and collapsed into one of his well appointed office’s plush leather armchairs. ‘It’s all such a dreadfully dreadful situation,’ Fudge fretted to himself, ‘between Pettigrew and this whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco, the Prophet is having a field day at the Ministry’s expense. At MY expense.’ Personally Fudge was fairly certain the two headlines were connected, and suspected Pettigrew was the one behind the Hogwarts attacks, no matter what Bones’s people said. ‘Come on Corny, just push through the trial, keep the blame on Bagnold, win Black to your side and spin it right. You can do this man!’ Cornelius Fudge might not be particularly deserving of the Order of Merlin he held, but he was the consummate politician, if anyone could manage this hullabaloo, surely he could.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Cornelius declared white gesturing for Umbridge to take notes, “we take charge in there and put our full backing behind the prosecution. I want a decisive trial and I want people to see I’m the one leading the way. We’ll stress this was done under Crouch and Bagnold, but hold off on Dumbledore; he’s too well liked and too distant. He couldn’t preside over Black’s conviction because there was no trial in the first place.” He didn’t mention that he didn’t want to put fuel on the fire of Lucius’s shadow campaign to have the old master ousted as headmaster; it was technically beyond Fudge’s purview, a matter for the board of governors, but frankly Fudge wanted the voters convinced Hogwarts was safe and keeping Dumbledore at the helm seemed the best way to do it.

“Hmm, yes, I suppose that is the best course,” Umbridge tutted. Her power was still largely dependent on Fudge’s own, so she was devoted to helping him maintain it. “I suggest we offer Black the Order of Merlin; it should smooth over whatever ruffled feathers he has from his, ah lamentable temporary incarceration.”

Fudge swished his drink, “First class?” It was the same rank Pettigrew held, and would be stripped of that afternoon.

“Second,” Umbridge corrected, “he didn’t die after all.”

—-----

Meanwhile, DMLE

A few floors away, Amelia was reviewing the thick binder of evidence relating to the Pettigrew case for a final time before the trial. She’d be serving as the lead interrogator with Fudge and Dumbledore acting as the other two; trials were structured a bit differently when held before the Wizengamot, as opposed to a standard arbitration trial. 

By all rights this case was an easy quaffle through the ring; Pettigrew had confessed under veritaserum, there was a dark mark on his arm, and his merely being alive blasted holes in the previous official story. There were ancillary bits of evidence, sworn statements from students who saw him transform from a rat into a man, expert testimony on the function of the Fidelius charm, etc, but Amy wouldn’t let the mountain of evidence make her overconfident. This case had to be successful, so she wouldn’t let a single thing slip through the cracks.

“You about ready, boss?” Rufus Scrimgeor asked from the doorway. While Shacklebolt had been chaperoning Sirius since he’d been brought to the Ministry holding chambers, Scrimgeor had been babysitting Pettigrew; it was more basic work than either of the senior members of the department would normally do, but Amelia wanted her best people on every aspect of this case. If Moody hadn’t retired last year, she’d have had old Mad-Eye watching Pettigrew every second until the rat was in Azkaban.

Amelia nodded sharply, “I believe so.” Her face was a blank mask, not betraying any of the roiling emotions she was feeling over the revelations. She had to be the iron willed Madam Bones until justice was served, and could only afford to be Amelia the person afterwards. There were so many unknowns; would he still…? 

“I’ll meet you in court then,” Rufus said with a gracious nod as he went to retrieve Pettigrew from holding. The phony martyr was being guarded by hitwizards around the clock and would be escorted down to the Wizengamot’s chamber momentarily.

Madam Bones took a moment to conjure a mirror and check her appearance, ensuring not one hair was out of place, and her robes were unwrinkled. Maybe it was emotional stress bringing out her perfectionist tendencies, or maybe she just needed to control the things she could to make up for what she couldn’t. She’d spoken with both Remus and Andromeda that morning, and the latter would be sitting in the Wizengamot as the Potter proxy. Both of them had wished her luck, and, while they wanted to see Peter see justice, were more concerned with tomorrow’s hearing when Sirius should be released.

Amy gathered her things and holstered her wand before striding confidently out of her office. She’d finally see justice done, and they’d figure the rest out later.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Second Floor Girl’s Bathroom, March 27th, Sunday Noon, 

“Oh my gods, Luna, you have to meet Raiju,” Iris declared as she and the younger Ravenclaw stepped into the largely unused second floor girl’s bathroom. “She’s exquisite and the things she knows! If I could just talk to her some more, I might be able to chart their migration properly, or figure out what determines egg and scale hue!” 

The redhead had been buzzing all day over her successful communication with Professor Kettleburn’s Occamy, apparently named Raiju. She and Daphne had snuck down under her invisibility cloak to the paddock where the winged serpent was nesting in a small den, during yesterday’s Quidditch match. (The little artificial cave she was in was purposefully not that large, as Occamy could shift their size somewhat to fit the space they were in.) It was also a welcome distraction from the ongoing legal proceedings; thankfully Pettigrew had been convicted yesterday, but Sirius’s hearing would be today.

She’d been able to confirm that she could indeed communicate, but not influence the magical serpent and had a cordial if cautious conversation with the creature. It was instinctively protective due to the clutch of eggs it guarded, but in the limited time they’d had, Iris had begun to establish a rapport. She had dozens of questions to ask, but constrained herself to the basics and establishing trust for the first meeting. Daphne had been similarly pleased by the success of the test, if not as overly enthusiastic as the magical creature loving Iris was. The blonde Slytherin had taken careful notes on the creature and in general both girls enjoyed their day quite a bit more than if they’d gone to the game. 

“I’d be delighted to meet your friend, and I thank you for taking the time to meet mine,” Luna giggled. Before Iris had rescued her from the worst of the bullying, among the only friends Luna had made at Hogwarts were the many ghosts who inhabited it, and she hadn’t dropped them once she’d gained friends in the living world. In general the spirits of Hogwarts would be quite taken with the students who treated them with interest and respect, and while she’d bonded the most with the mercurial Grey Lady, Luna was on cordial terms with at least a dozen ghosts.

Today she was fulfilling a promise to one of them, Myrtle, the ghost who haunted the bathroom she and Iris had just arrived at. Luna felt a certain amount of kinship with Myrtle, who it seemed had also been bullied and ostracized in life, only without her own Iris or Nymphadora to charge to the rescue. The last time she’d visited Myrtle, she’d promised to introduce her to one of her friends and was hopeful together they could make Myrtle a bit less miserable.

“Myrtle?” Luna called out as they walked into the porcelain tiled room, “I’ve brought a friend to meet you. She has a wonderful aura for clearing out wrackspurts.” Luna wasn’t entirely sure if a ghost could be affected by a wrackspurt, but they could be petrified as it turned out so it was a possibility. 

Silence broken by the sound of running water met them as they looked around the bathroom. “Is she not here?” Iris asked, as the ghost was nowhere to be found. She was happy to meet Myrtle, but if the ghost wasn’t here, she and Luna should continue on to meet with their friends on the fifth floor. It would just be the second years since the older students were all gone to Hogsmeade, something Nym had been oddly excited about, though she wouldn’t tell Iris why. In any event, Iris was eager to talk with Tracey, Susan and Hermione about her occamy encounter.

“Oh dear,” Luna tutted sadly as she opened one of the stalls to find the toilet bowl repeatedly draining, “it looks like she flushed herself again.”

Iris leaned in to see the flushing toilet and then patted Luna on the back, “we’ll have to come back tomorrow. I’ve already got a handle on the slowing charms we’re doing in Charms this week, so we should have plenty of time after class to pop in.”

“No, I’m afraid the two of you will be otherwise occupied,” a high girlish voice said behind them. Both Iris and Luna whirled around, going for their wands, and just got a glimpse of a grinning Ginerva Weasley before two jets of red light slammed into them, knocking them unconscious. 

As the two crumpled to the floor, the possessed Weasley swept into the room, calculating her/his next move. The chance to quietly snatch and investigate the so-called Girl-Who-Lived was too tantalizing, but the first thing to do was to get out of sight. Ginny waved her wand absently to make both girl’s levitate along with her, before she descended down towards the chamber. A swift hiss from her borrowed lips had it begin sealing up behind them.

Unnoticed by the possessed girl as she led her captives down into the tunnel at wand point, a serpentine form slipped out from the bottom of Iris’s robes and coiled stealthily in the shadow of the nearest washbasin. 

Sebastian’s master was in danger, and it was up to him to rescue her.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Ministry of Magic, March 27th, Same Time

Sirius tried to stand as proudly as he could while Cornelius Fudge, (Seriously, how did this guy get elected?), called the chamber to order. He was doing significantly better than he had been when first transferred from Azkaban, but he was still pretty haggard and fatigued easily. The Ministry healer they’d had check over him seemed to think regular exercise would help him regain his strength, but he hadn’t had much of that since he got out. After all, while the temporary Ministry holding cells were much more comfortable than his old room in Azkaban, he was still technically a prisoner until all the bureaucratic i’s were dotted.

Sirius was at the bottom of the chamber, looking up at the surrounding gallery full of Wizengamot members, some familiar, some not. He spied Andromeda sitting in Charlus’s old chair and felt an internal rush of relief; they hadn’t given him a lot of information on his goddaughter beyond the fact she was safe and attending Hogwarts, but if Andi was acting as the Potter proxy, it likely meant his favorite cousin was watching over Iris. Less exciting to see was her sister Narcissa, sitting in his grandfather’s seat, or her husband smirking smarmily down from the Malfoy chair. Really though, he was doing everything he could to avoid staring at his former fiance, sitting at the head of the judicial panel, her face stern. With her somber expression and dark official robes, it looked almost like she was doing an impression of McGonagall, something at odds with his memories of the woman. She was flanked by the new Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and Dumbledore, who favored Sirius with one of his little enigmatic smiles.

“To begin,” Amelia’s clear voice cut across the chamber, “and to expedite the process, the Ministry would like to enter all the already presented evidence from yesterday’s trial into consideration for today’s hearing. As the same panel, consisting of the DMLE head, the Minister of Magic and the Chief Warlock, is presiding this is permissible under clause three of the Crowdy act. Any objections?”

There was a round of murmuring but no one raised their wands. Apparently no one wanted to rehash the previous day’s discussion. Sirius still couldn’t really believe it, the traitor had been convicted yesterday by this same body. It wasn’t what he really wanted, to kill the rat himself, but it would have to be good enough.

“In light of that, and the failure of the Ministry to properly try Lord Black before his imprisonment,” Amelia’s magically amplified voice boomed. Throughout the room, people turned to alternatively glare or at least gawk at Bartemous Crouch, who stared unblinkingly forward, and sat broomstick straight. Sirius felt a distant flare of anger towards the man, but was slowly regaining his emotional control and managed to avoid leaping against his chains to try and sock the man in his bloody mustache. 

Amelia continued, “This body is asked to reexamine the supposed guilt of Lord Black in the matter. The charges as stand, include membership in the terrorist organization of dark wizards known as the Death Eaters, two counts of accessory to murder in the case of Lily and James Potter, conspiracy to murder a sitting member of the Wizengamot in the case of James Potter, aggressive breach of the statute of secrecy, the killing of twelve muggles, and several additional minor charges. Lord Black, how do you plead?”

It was somewhat painful to be treated so formally by the person he’d once been closer to than any other, but Sirius pushed it away. In a voice he wished wasn’t still so hoarse, he declared “Bloody, not guilty.” There was a larger number of murmurs at his minor profanity, some chuckling slightly and some of the stiffer lot tutting at his lack of propriety. 

“The court scribe will record that as a plea of not guilty,” Amelia declared. “At this juncture, in light of the fact we yesterday convicted another individual, Mr. Peter Pettigrew, of the crimes Lord Black was accused of, the DMLE would like to formally drop all charges,” there was a rising hubbub at the announcement, even if it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Since he was never tried, there technically weren’t convictions to overturn, and the DMLE could drop the charges as they pleased, provided they were not over ruled by either the Minister or a vote in the Wizengamot.

There was a pause as people looked around the chamber to see if anyone would raise such a motion to press the charges, but no one raised their wands. Malfoy had his arms crossed, and Yaxley scowled but none of the people Sirius thought might try and block his release seemed to want to try it. ‘Guess it’s not worth the political capital, if they’re just going to lose anyway’ Sirius mused, the lessons on politics from his grandfather he’d tried to ignore his whole childhood rattling around his head. 

“And,” Amelia said loudly, drawing the crowd’s focus back to the dais, “the DMLE would like to ask for a vote to extend a formal apology to Lord Black for this miscarriage of justice.” 

It took a moment to organize the vote, but in the end it was nearly all white wand lights filling the air, with only Lord Goyle and two old wizards Sirius couldn’t recognize voting against the resolution and a handful more abstaining. Amelia opened her mouth to say something after the vote had been tallied by the scribe, but Fudge cut in with his own Sonorous amplified voice.

“And I would like to add,” he said cheerily, “that it is my great honor to extend the Order of Merlin, second class to Lord Black for his contributions and sacrifice. Minister Bagnold’s failure cannot be overstated, and I for one am very pleased to know a full member of House Black will be sitting in this august chamber once again.”

The announcement won a respectable amount of applause; let it never be said Fudge didn’t know how to play to a crowd. On a roll he added, “and I would like to extend a personal invitation to Lord Black to come see me in my office anytime. Perhaps we can get him caught up on what he’s missed while he’s been away over a couple glasses of Ogden’s best, eh?” There was a bit of light laughter at the quip.

Madam Bones aggressively cleared her throat, “yes, thank you Minister. As I was saying, this court declares Sirius Black innocent of all charges, a member of this chamber in good standing, and a free wizard.”

The chamber erupted into a clamor of cheering and hubbub as the bailiff tapped Sirius’s shackles with his wand, making them fall free.  Sirius could make out old Elphias Doge yelling “hurrah!” and caught a glimpse of Lucius walking over to speak with Fudge. There was a whirlwind of activity whilst Albus tried to call for order and Sirius found himself being led back to the waiting room by Shacklebolt, his mind still catching up to the reality that he was free.

Then with a heavy whump the enchanted door swung shut and the wild noise of the Wizengamot vanished, leaving Sirius in silence with the friendly Auror again. Only now he wasn’t a prisoner he was… just Sirius again. He rubbed his wrists where the shackles had been clasped, feeling unsteady on his feet as the weight of the day's events tumbled into him. His emotions, or at least the stronger ones, had been coming out more and more the longer he was away from the dementors, and now they felt like a great river threatening to overrun its banks. 

“If you’ll wait here for a few moments Lord Black,” Kingsley said gently, “the steward will be along with your wand and the parchment signifying your absolution. It might also be best to give the crowd some time to die down.”

“My wand…” Sirius muttered, “you know for some reason I always assumed they snapped it.”

Kingsley shook his head as Sirius leaned against the wall. “The Black Seat in the Wizengamot isn’t vacated, and you know how the old families can get about property rights.”

Sirius barked a laugh, “Oh, so you were just keeping it around so Malfoy could have it once I kicked the bucket eh?”

The other man had the propriety to look sheepish before clearing his throat and saying, “while you’re waiting there’s someone who wants to see you, if you’re amenable.”

“Dumbledore?” Sirius asked with a sigh. He was cross with the old man for apparently writing him off the way everyone else had, but he knew he needed to talk with him sooner or later. If nothing else the silver haired man would know where Iris was.

“No, though he’ll probably want to speak with you at some point as well. At the moment, Madam Bones wanted to see you.”

“Now?!” Sirius half snarled as he felt his heart clench at the thought of Amy. His former fiance had barely looked at him throughout the trial, much less come to see him. He’d understood they were keeping him as tightly under wraps as possible until Peter’s trial, forbidding outside visitors like Remus, Ted, Andromeda or Emmeline, but Amy was apparently the head of the whole blasted department now. She could have come to see him anytime, and she hadn’t.

“Come on, Sirius,” Kingsley replied, dropping the honorifics for the first time, “you were in the department; you know how the game has to be played. She’s the head of the DMLE. She couldn’t risk looking anything less than impartial till the case was heard. You know someone like Malfoy would love any excuse to poke holes in this thing. She was doing everything she could to get this case across the finish line.” 

“You care about her,” Sirius observed while mulling over the other man’s words.

Shacklebolt smiled slightly, “never let her know I said this, but she’s like a cranky older sister. Look, I know she’s tearing herself apart outside waiting to talk with you, but it is your choice. Say the word and she’ll leave, we’ll get your wand and you can go home. I believe your cousin Andromeda is waiting at the Floos and quite anxious to see you as well.” 

Sirius ran a hand through his scraggly graying hair, a far cry from the thick black locks he’d had before going to Azkaban. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face Amy, but on the other hand, he’d never been one to run away from things. “Send her in.” 

Kingsley gave a curt nod and stepped out of the room, leaving Sirius alone. It felt both too short and too long until the door opened again, and Amelia stepped before him.

Gods, Damn it, she’s only grown more beautiful, Sirius thought as he beheld Amelia. It was still her. Still the girl who’s owned his heart since he was a seventeen year old idiot, sneaking into broom closets and hiding from Filch. Still the woman he’d shared that tiny flat in muggle London with, working themselves ragged as Auror trainees. Still the woman he’d shared dreams for the future with, no matter how bleak their present had been. He was grey, and broken, and wretched, and less than a shell of himself, and she was still Amelia. 

“Hi Sirius,” she said quietly, the harsh mask she’d worn in court vanished like conjured gossamer. She’d even changed out of her official robes, instead wearing a dark blue bell sleeved dress, with several strands of her scarlet hair hanging free from her previously immaculate bun. It made her look younger, more vulnerable. There was a tension, an awkwardness that hung between them. Neither of them knew how to speak to the other.

“Hi Amy,” Sirius rasped, his throat dry. He swallowed, “or do I call you Madam Bones now?”

Amelia let out the tiniest chuckle as she took half a step forward, “Amy’s fine. Amy’s… good. Not a lot of people call me that anymore.”

“Right, Edgar and…” Sirius began, “I’m sorry Amy.” Amelia’s brother and parents had been killed in the waning days of the war, just a handful of weeks before Voldy caught up with Lily and James. Sirius’s last memories of Amelia were of a woman drowning in her own grief, a bawling Susan suddenly her responsibility. He felt a dulled twinge of guilt at the knowledge his arrest had likely only compounded her problems. 

“It was a long time ago,” Amelia said softly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner, impartiality and all that.”

“Yeah, you’re the damned head of the department now, congrats,” Sirius quipped humorously, “I guess you got what you wanted.”

A flash of pain crossed Amelia’s face, “not exactly, but I’ve worked with what I have.”

There was a beat of tension before something broke in Sirius and he exclaimed, “you never came! Didn’t I matter? Hadn’t I earned a chance to be heard? I was alone in a dark cell with soul sucking monsters feeding on my every feeling, one of my best friends just betrayed and killed two of the others and I was alone.” It started like an explosion but ended with a whimper as the long suppressed flames of emotion burnt themselves out.

Amelia stepped towards him again before catching herself, a pained expression on her face. “What was I supposed to do Siri? All the evidence showed- for Morganna’s sake, you told me you were the Secret Keeper!” If she wasn’t busy being by turns distraught and guilty, she’d be royally pissed off at him for not trusting her with that particular bit of information. 

“You still could have come, you could have asked me-”

Amelia laughed almost hysterically, “no I couldn’t! You think Crouch was letting just anyone in to see the high-security prisoners? If he was, you’d have had a Prophet reporter visiting every week and the Quibbler on weekends. Merlin’s beard, the old bastard suspected me of being your accomplice; I had Susan and I couldn’t risk losing her or being fired for pushing it.”

That gave Sirius a moment of pause, picturing Amy alone, taking care of Susan, another girl he should have helped raise, before he demanded, “well that was then, but what about later? You obviously didn’t get promoted yesterday. You could have reopened the case, gathered your own evidence. Medea’s Ghost, I didn’t even get a trial the first time!”

“You think I didn’t try!?” Amelia asked incredulously, “Of course, I tried Siri. I moved to reexamine your case my first week as head of the Department but Fudge blocked it.”

“He what?” Sirius asked dumbly, his previous anger being overtaken by confusion.

Now it was Amelia’s turn to rant emphatically, “Fudge won’t let me reopen any of Crouch's extrajudicial sentences and I realized if I kept asking I’d be shown the door and then the DMLE might end up being run by Merlin knows who. Do you realize the tightrope I have to walk to keep the DMLE from getting drowned in the muck around here? How bloody hard it is to get anything done when Cornelius ‘Everything’s Fine’ Fudge is in charge?”

Sirius was struck with an overwhelming desire to snog her senseless in that moment, reminded so keenly of the fiery woman he’d known, so eager to reform and change the system. He almost did, but he held himself back. Too much time had passed, he was too empty to be that for her anymore. Besides, she’s probably moved on, found someone who’s less of an idiot… Instead he muttered, “So you thought…”

Amelia looked down dejectedly, “I didn’t know what to think Siri. All the evidence… Maybe at that point I wanted closure more than anything, an answer to why.” She looked up and locked eyes with Sirius before saying quietly, “but I did try.”  She took a step closer to him, so close they could touch, and added, “and I missed you.”

The former prisoner looked down, not quite able to meet her eye. “I missed you too. Every day.” He forced a rough chuckle, “I guess I’ve got a lot to catch up on. Did you ever settle down or-”

His half hearted question was cut off by Amelia grabbing hold of his robes and pulling him down into a furious kiss. It was rough and unsure, a far cry from the comfortable practiced ease they’d once had, but for the first time in a decade, Sirius Black felt truly alive. 

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hogwarts, Fifth Floor Disused Classroom, Same Time

It had been a mixed week for Daphne Greengrass. On the one hand, their little excursion to let Iris try her Parselmouth abilities with the occamy had been a resounding success. She was still touched that her friend trusted her enough to know about her talent given the climate of suspicion in the castle, and loved the chance to possibly make a discovery themselves. Sure, she wasn’t particularly interested in occamys as such, but hidden knowledge was always a tantalizing prize.

On the other though, it looked like any push to remove Malfoy as seeker was doomed to fail. Her rival had improved his flying enough that the general discontent some of the upper years had over his performance had waned, and of course there was the matter of the broomstick bribe. It was disheartening because she always liked seeing the blowhard taken down a peg or two, but more importantly, it meant Tracey likely wouldn’t have a chance to play her preferred position on the House team anytime soon.

Daphne was quietly furious on her friend’s behalf, knowing Tracey dreamed of going pro herself one day, following in her mother’s footsteps. She might not care much about Quidditch, but Daphne would fight a raging Nundu for her oldest friend. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a fight they would win, so all they could do was bide their time.

At the moment she was waiting for the remainder of her friends to meet her in their little unofficial clubroom; normally she’d have come with Tracey, but her friend had left with Hermione after breakfast to plan a surprise birthday party for Daphne next week. Not that Daphne was supposed to know that, and she felt she was doing an admirable job of playing dumb, considering how unsubtle they were. In any event, Lavender was with them, so they should be safe.

“Hullo, Daph,” Susan said as she strode in the room, dropping her back in an empty chair, her voice absent its usual cheer. The taller redheaded member of their group grabbed the seat by the window. It was clear her mind was elsewhere, and it didn’t take a genius of Daphne’s caliber to guess where that was.

She slid a bookmark into her volume and considered her words. Susan had become someone, well, precious to Daphne over the last two years, but the ice queen of Slytherin wasn’t exactly the best at comforting people. It wasn’t that she lacked the sentiment, just that she never knew quite how to go about it. Daphne was better with confrontation; she could tear someone’s confidence apart in a sentence, but found herself searching for the right words when someone was in pain. 

Still, she was going to try, “I read this morning that Pettigrew has been sentenced to life in Azkaban. Father said it was a short trial.”

“Yeah,” Susan agreed, letting out a long sigh, “he gave a full confession to avoid the Kiss.” While testimony given under veritaserum was admissible, it wasn’t considered as airtight as that given freely. “Of course I had to read that in the bloody Prophet, since Auntie doesn’t tell me anything,” Susan added bitterly.

“Well, I’m sure there are some aspects of an active case she’s not allowed to talk about with people outside the Ministry,” Daphne offered. 

Susan threw her hands up in frustration, “I’m not asking to see the bloody casefile, I just want her to talk to me, instead of filling her letters with a bunch of nothing!” She stood back up and began to pace, “it’s not a normal case. It changes everything! I mean, everyone knows it’s a big deal for Iris, but do you realize Sirius Black was almost my dad!? Should have been my dad, apparently.”

“Don’t you mean uncle?” Daphne asked, curiously. She’d never wanted to pry, but she’d always been mildly curious why one of her two adopted friends used the terms mum and dad, and the other didn’t.

The Bones girl turned to her, looking surprisingly vulnerable in the sunlight streaming through the window, “c’mon, Daph. You know Auntie Amelia is my mum as much as Auntie Andromeda is Iris’s. I think she taught me to call her Aunt because she doesn’t want us to forget my other mother, and I respect that, but it doesn’t change who she is to me. It’s always been the two of us; we’re supposed to be a team…”

Surprising herself a little, Daphne quickly rose from her seat and pulled Susan into a hug, “and you’re still a team. I can’t read her mind, but I’m relatively confident she’s not intentionally shutting you out. Her own emotions are likely in turmoil and she’s probably trying to shield you from that; it’s something parents do.”

Susan hugged her back and sniffled for just a moment into her shoulder before saying, “yeah, I know. She’s just being an overprotective idiot.”

Daphne leaned back, “now why does that sound familiar?”

“Hey!” Susan protested and was likely about to say something else, when both girls were distracted by hissing from the doorway. Bobbing his head frantically was Sebastian, Iris’s familiar, conspicuously missing his mistress.

Minutes later, both increasingly worried girls had followed the serpent down to the haunted bathroom on the second floor. It had been pretty clear Sebastian was trying to beckon them to follow him, even if they couldn’t speak with him, and, understandably worried about their friend, they’d charged after, only pausing to leave a quick note telling the others where they’d gone.

“Should we alert a professor?” Susan asked as the two looked around the seemingly empty washroom the familiar had led them to. So far there was no sign of Iris, or Luna for that matter, who was supposed to be with her. The Bones girl had her wand drawn and was dreading the possibility of stumbling over her best friend, petrified or worse, getting grim flashbacks to discovering Justin.

“Not yet,” Daphne answered as she investigated the stalls. “I don’t want Iris to get in trouble for letting her familiar run loose, if it’s nothing.” Really she didn’t want to get their friend in trouble at all, if it could be avoided. Iris had a somewhat cavalier attitude towards rules she regarded as stupid, and tended to ignore them if they got in the way of her curiosity, usually with her secret cloak. Daphne wouldn’t put it past the redhead and Luna to have gotten in some sort of mischief and didn’t want to bring McGonagall or Snape down on her.

While the girls looked, Sebastian drew himself up to one of the faucets and hissed some sort of command. There was a sound of scraping masonry and shifting stone that drew their attention. Susan and Daphne came back together in the middle of the bathroom and froze, seeing the sink shift and twist to reveal a passage leading down.

“Please tell me Iris’s snake didn’t just open up the passage to the Chamber of Secrets,” Susan muttered.

“Okay, I won’t tell you,” Daphne replied, her mind racing. “Do you think she went down to investigate?”

Susan shook her head, “no, she promised she’d be careful. She wouldn’t go down without getting us. Which means…”

“In all likelihood, the heir has kidnapped two of our friends and taken them into the den of a monster,” Daphne finished, clutching her wand tightly. She was trying to keep cool, something that wasn’t easy when she saw Susan marching towards the entrance. “What are you doing!?”

“Rescuing my friend, obviously” Susan replied. “There’s no time to lose.”

Daphne huffed, “I know and I’m coming with you, just give me a moment.” She turned and dashed back into the hallway and screeched at the top of her lungs, “WE’VE FOUND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS IN THE SECOND FLOOR GIRL’S BATHROOM! THE HEIR HAS LIKELY TAKEN HOSTAGES AND WE’RE GOING TO RESCUE THEM! WHICHEVER PORTRAIT FETCHES THE HEADMASTER FIRST GETS A BRAND NEW LUXURY FRAME, PAID FOR BY THE GREENGRASS FAMILY!” She then turned on her heel and marched back in to save her friend.

“Lumos” Susan said, lighting her wand as Sebastian led them down the slick stone steps leading down the pipe. It was a precipitous incline, and more than once Daphne or Susan had to grab the other to stop them from falling. They were unknowingly lucky that Sebastian had summoned the stairs as he had heard Ginny do, and kept them from falling and sliding all the way down.

Eventually they arrived at the bottom, letting out into a dark stone tunnel. Daphne added her light to Susan’s and grimaced at the number of skeletons around them. Thankfully most of them looked non-human. The tunnel only continued in one direction, so the two trudged on, Sebastian slithering over to Daphne, and coiling around her shoulders once she picked him up. They were deadly quiet, the only sound a distant trickling of water.

“We may be below the lake,” Daphne suggested as they crept along. Then both of them came to an abrupt halt, as their wandlight fell on the form of a truly massive serpent. 

Susan reacted on instinct and chanted, “Stupefy!” A bolt of red energy slammed into the great snake’s eye, but it seemed to get no reaction, merely shifting it slightly. Susan leaned closer to look, “is, is it just a skin?” She was terrified to see the thing that shed that.

“I think so,” Daphne said, stepping up for a closer look. She turned back to Susan, “impressive bit of magic by the way. I don’t think the stunning spell is on our curriculum for a few more years.”

Susan gave a tiny grin, “yeah, after Quirrell, Auntie wanted me to be better able to protect myself. I spent the whole holiday working on it. It’s not perfect yet, but I’m getting better.”

The two stepped around the shed skin and continued down the path until they came to a circular portal with a great circular door, currently hanging partially open. The whole thing was covered in stone carvings of snakes, their eyes gleaming with some sort of magic. Creeping quietly, the pair came to the door and peeked around the corner to gaze within.

The portal led to a stone pathway between two long canals of water, with yet more snake imagery, in the form of stone sculptures set along either side. At the far end it opened up to a larger chamber, with a gigantic sculpture of a wizard’s head on the far side. Sitting in the middle of the chamber were the bound forms of Luna and Iris, being lorded over, of all people, Ginny Weasley

Meanwhile, Iris was dearly wishing she wasn’t gagged, if for no other reason than she really wanted to shut Ginny, or she supposed technically Tom Riddle, up. She and Luna had both come to not long after being taken into the Chamber, and for the fifteen or so minutes they’d been awake, their captor had been monologuing. Iris was genuinely interested in what obscure piece of magic could allow a memory to persist in a book as a separate, thinking entity, but she’d rather investigate it when she wasn’t a captive.

“So you see, I am the true Heir of Slytherin,” Ginny declared, “Tom Riddle. Ginerva has merely been a useful vessel,” the first year looked down at herself, “and while she has had her uses, I regret we couldn’t have met when I was more myself. Because, I have been so looking forward to meeting you, Iris Potter.” The Weasley girl held the cursed book in her left hand, while menacing them with her wand with the other.

Iris grunted in response, which made Riddle-Ginny laugh, “Oh, I have been rude, let me remove that.” With a wave of her wand, Iris’s gag disappeared, but Luna’s remained. Iris could see their wands tucked into the top of Ginny’s skirt, and debated charging the girl to snatch them back, but decided it was too risky with her hand’s bound.

“So what, you opened the Chamber yourself the first time way back when you attended Hogwarts, and left a copy of yourself to do the same thing fifty years later?” Iris asked, still not fully understanding the reasons for the shade’s actions. “What was the point?”

“The point was to declare that the Heir had returned to Hogwarts,” Ginny explained, “and to cleanse this hallowed place of the filth that have infected it since my illustrious ancestor's time.”

“By doing what, releasing a basilisk?” Iris demanded. If she was right about the monster, then that dark creature had caused the lionshare of the mayhem, not Riddle. 

Ginny’s lips curled into a cruel smile, “my but you are clever, at least by the standards of the braying masses. And so full of questions. Well, I’ve answered yours, now you shall answer mine. Tell me, Iris Potter, how did you survive your encounter with the greatest dark lord to ever live? Why did you survive while he vanished?”

Iris’s brow furrowed in genuine puzzlement. Why would a frozen memory care about something like that? “Voldemort was well after your time, and now he’s gone. Why should you care? If you’re worried about competition for being the biggest dark wanker, I hate to tell you nobody’s ever heard of Tom Riddle. So your more corporeal self hasn’t made much of an impact.”

The other redhead began to move her wand in little arcs, drawing small flaming letters in the air as she did so. “Ah, I do believe I failed to properly introduce myself. You see Voldemort is my past, my present and my future,” the letters spelled out his name, Tom Marvalo Riddle, only to begin to rearrange until they spelled out I am Lord Voldemort

Iris felt her insides chill; no matter what she did, it seemed she couldn’t escape this monster. Even reduced to phantom shreds, He Who Must Not Be Named kept clawing his way back to her. Ginny leaned down to leer at her, “Now, I’m afraid if you don’t start answering my questions things are going to get very unpleasant for your friend here.” She gestured to the wide eyed, still gagged and bound Luna, “you’ll be amazed how much punishment the body can take before it gives up the ghost.”

Suddenly the air was split by the twin cries of “Stupefy!” and “Diffendo!” Daphne and Susan had emerged from the Chamber entrance and attempted a surprise attack when Ginny began threatening Luna. Ginny easily batted the stunner away with a nonverbal shield spell, but Daphne’s cutting charm split the conjured ropes holding Iris.

The Girl Who Lived, and would quite like to go on living, leapt forward, charging Ginny physically. With Ginny distracted by the stunner, she managed to pluck her wand and Luna’s from the possessed girl before Ginny hurled her back. The Weasley girl snarled, “you’ll regret that. I’ll show you what defying me gets you!” 

Iris watched in horror as the spirit of Riddle turned Ginny’s wand not on her, but on Luna who was stumbling to her feet and trying to pull the gag from her mouth. Extending the wand fully, Ginny cried “Avada-” before the words died in her mouth and her arm jerked aside. She tried again, incanting “Ava-gah” before yelling, “Fine!” in frustration, “you don’t want to hurt your little friend? There’s more than one way to exterminate an infestation. <Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four>.”

Iris distantly noted the last words were spoken in Parseltongue, but she hadn’t stopped to listen. The instant Riddle’s killing curse failed for whatever reason, she’d rushed for Luna, latched onto her arm, and began pulling her frantically towards the exit where Daphne and Susan were. The other two second years had their wands trained on Ginny, but the fear was clear on their faces.

The Potter girl dared to look over her shoulder for a moment, only to see something she’d only seen before in esoteric textbooks, a massive basilisk, slithering out of stone Salazar’s mouth. “LOOK AWAY!” She shouted at Susan and Daphne, while charging towards them and hopefully the exit.

Panicking, Iris did the only thing she could think of and cried, “Caligosus!” As the incantation left her lips, fog billowed from the tip of her wand and began filling the chamber. She’d be just as lost as anyone else in her fog bank, but obscuring the serpent’s vision seemed the best way to prevent any of them dying from locking eyes with the creature. 

What followed was pandemonium, with the four girls darting about in the mist, trying to scramble away from the giant snake and its diminutive master. Iris held onto Luna with viselike strength and tried her best not to lose her way. She heard Daphne calling out to her and followed the sound of her voice as best she could.  

“You will not escape me, Potter! I am Lord Voldemort and I shall not be denied!” Ginny’s voice shrieked out, accompanied by the sound of the heavy serpent sliding along the stones. Iris ran for her life, hoping against hope not to stumble into one of the canals of water or run into a wall. She was in need of a miracle. 

“I will have to disagree with you there, Tom,” a clear calm voice rang out through the mist. Dumbledore had arrived at last. It was followed by an even more glorious sound, the bright loud cock-a-doodle-doo of a rooster. 

There was a horrible groaning death rattle coming from behind them, presumably the basilisk, when Iris ran into something soft, which she soon realized was Susan. The Hufflepuff girl was already holding hands with Daphne to avoid getting lost in the mist, and soon all four students were huddled close together. “I swear to Morganna, I’m never complaining about a rooster crowing again in my life,” Susan muttered.

“Meteolojinx Recanto!” Ginny called, and suddenly all the mist was sucked incredibly fast from the room, vanishing at her wand tip. It revealed the dead form of the basilisk, its tongue lolling out, a furious Ginny standing next to it, and in between the students on the entry walkway, and the larger chamber, Dumbledore standing tall. The beast had been terribly close to reaching them, with its head lying only a couple of feet from the end of the walkway.

While Dumbledore walked towards Ginny, Susan quickly began urging the others to take cover. They would have liked to rush for the exit, but getting out of Ginny’s line of sight was the more urgent issue. Iris and Susan ducked behind the first statue lining the walkway, while Luna and Daphne hid behind the one on the opposite side. Hopefully there, they would be out of the firing line. All four wanted to help, but were self aware of their own abilities to realize they’d be more of a liability to the Headmaster than a help. Even before they got there, she could already hear Riddle/Ginny hurling spells.

Covering behind the statue base, and trying not to slip into the water, Iris watched with slack jawed awe as the duel progressed. No, duel suggested something too contained, too formal for the raging battle unfolding before her. On the far side of the chamber was the Voldemort possessed Ginny, whirling and spinning like a dervish while death flowed freely from her wand tip. On the other, guarding the Chamber’s exit and his students, was the slowly advancing form of Albus Dumbledore.

The silver haired master stood like a pillar and strode forward with calm confidence, like he was merely taking a stroll through the grounds, while all around him magic swirled. Ginny was firing off cannonades of curses Iris couldn’t even identify, along with a regular volley of sickly green light, but the old wizard took not a single step backwards. Instead, he demonstrated the reason for his reputation as the greatest living master of Transmutation, as the world turned to putty around him.

The solid ancient stone floor of the chamber ebbed and flowed like water, rising in a swell to create a momentary fortification to block a Killing Curse, before launching forward in a wave of masonry towards Ginny. The Weasley girl snarled “Bombarda Maxima”  before unleashing a massive explosion that split the stone wave, blasting fragments of rock all around the room. Dumbledore had not been idle; with a wave of his wand, two of the serpentine columns behind Ginny, part of the massive stone relief of Salazar’s head that had housed the basilisk, shifted and morphed into stone soldiers.

The golems charged Ginny from behind, their heavy footfalls echoing in the cavernous chamber, who whirled about and conjured a powerful stream of acid from her wand tip, drenching the golems and turning them into slag. She then rounded on the approaching Dumbledore and summoned some sort of giant spectral shade, looking like a ghostly skeleton wrapped in a ragged cloak, that shot towards the wizened sage.  

Dumbledore simply raised his long elderwood wand and invoked “Expecto Patronum” summoning a silver translucent counterpart to Fawkes that blasted the wraith apart in a flash of brilliant light. Then with another mesmerizingly intricate wand movement, he made the water in the pools below Salazar’s beard flow up into a massive tendril that swung heavily towards Ginny, like one of the Giant Squid’s mighty tentacles. 

Ginny, who by this point was looking increasingly haggard while Dumbledore seemed unperturbed, drew up her own wand and recited an incantation Iris couldn’t make out. A brilliant conflagration of red and gold flames sprung from her wand, shooting outward until it met with the approaching torrent of water; the fire was fierce but the water was upon it before it could grow, constantly dousing the flames as Dumbledore shot more and more water towards her. There was a single moment of balance, a shield of flames against a lance of water, before the stream won out, extinguishing the magical fire and slamming into Ginny. The first year was knocked clean off her feet and carried to the right wall by the force of the magically manipulated water, her wand and book going flying.

Dumbledore wasted no time, quickly making the stone wall shift and morph to bind Ginny to it, encasing both her feet and hands. “Give it up, Tom. Release the girl.”

The drenched battered form of Ginny began to laugh almost maniacally, before jerking up to look at Dumbledore with a crazed look in her eye. “Don’t you see Professor, I can never lose! I’ve conquered magic you’ve never dreamed of; I’ve conquered death itself!”

“Release, Ms. Weasley, Tom,” Dumbledore demanded, advancing on the girl, his wand out, “Finite Incantantum! Exspiravitum Destructor!” White light flared from his wand tip, but Ginny kept laughing.

“The girl is mine, Professor!” Riddle cackled, “her soul is forsaken, and mine to keep!” Ginny began pulling harshly at her stone bindings, and Iris could swear she heard the girl’s shoulder pop. Her heart sank as she remembered the grotesque bending and wrenching Quirrell’s body had done as Voldemort’s shade manipulated it towards the end, and realized she was about to see the same thing happen to the first year. “Go on, Professor, stun me, or bind me, you’ll only be hurting poor little Ginny, you old foo-”

All of a sudden Ginny stopped talking mid sentence, before crying out in pain. A shadowy apparition began to rise out of her mouth before writhing around in the air above her. “You will not be hurting my friend, anymore,” Luna declared. With a start Iris realized her little sister (it was pointless to deny how she saw Luna) had darted out from cover to the dead basilisk and somehow gotten ahold of both one of its fangs, and the cursed book Ginny had been holding back before the room fell into chaos. The book was currently gushing ink, as Luna had stabbed it several times with the fang; Iris felt a flash of pride that Luna had been the first to realize destroying the diary would be the fastest way to banish the spirit of Riddle. That said, she suddenly understood how Nym must feel everytime Iris traipsed face first into danger.

The spirit poured out of Ginny, like a great snake made of smoke, writhing and thrashing about in the air. As the diary’s ink bled out, the shard of Voldemort’s soul began to shred itself to bits. It was as fascinating as it was horrifying, but then, ultimately it was over, and the room was left in silence, save for the distant sound of pecking from wherever Dumbledore had stowed the rooster.

“Out of curiosity, did anyone see Myrtle on their way down here?” Luna asked into the echoing chamber. 

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Crouch Home, Days after the Black Exoneration

If any of his former colleagues could see him as he slumped, utterly defeated, onto his aging armchair, Barty Crouch would have been unrecognizable to them. His meticulously kept mustache stank of the copious amounts of firewhisky he’d been drowning in, and his robes hadn’t fared much better, being covered in stains. ‘Ah well, it’s not like I’ll be going out anymore anyway,’ Crouch lamented to himself.

It was something of a footnote to the larger story of Black’s innocence, but Bartemius Crouch Senior had quietly resigned from the Ministry he’d given his life to. His thinking had been that it was better to leave on his own terms before the public pressured him out, but it didn’t make it sting any less. It was hard to imagine that a month ago he’d dreamed of recapturing public support and making another run for the Ministership. 

His planned comeback was completely derailed; no amount of good press earned by a successful World Cup or the planned revival of the Triwizard Tournament would wipe out the stain of having falsely imprisoned an innocent head of the most ancient and noble house of Black. The old families held a tremendous amount of power in the Wizengamot, and trampling over the rights of one of their own was never going to go down well once it came to light. That was before you even factored in how the general public would feel about punishing the wrong man for betraying the parents of the savior of the wizarding world.

As he passed into unconsciousness, either by drunken whim or through a lack of discipline, Crouch didn’t realize he’d forgotten to reapply the dark charm he’d been assiduously casting every evening for years. 

In his hidden basement room, for the first time in over a decade, Barty Crouch Junior was finally awake.

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Excerpts from the Transcripts of the Hideki v Lefou Debates Regarding the Implementation of the Statute of Secrecy, Annotated and Translated by Harold Wittlingham

(Translator’s Note: It is worth remembering the historical context in which this famous debate took place. While there was certainly a difference in ideology between the two great wizards, practical concerns of the day must also be acknowledged. For one, muggles in Lefou’s home country of France were developing weapons such as their Arms of Fire far more rapidly than in Hideki’s Japan, making the threat of muggle attack somewhat more serious for one than the other. The professions of the men prior to entering political life are also of note. Hideki was a diviner and seer who often worked for wealthy muggle clients, including the sitting shogun at the time, whilst Lefou was from a wandmaking family, serving only other wizards.)

HIDEKI: While the burnings happening in Europe and elsewhere are deplorable, and should be punished to the fullest extent of the local laws, I fear we are letting hysteria run this debate. After all, a wizard or witch can in most cases easily disarm, stun, or befuddle a hostile muggle. 

LEFOU: A trained witch can easily dispatch a muggle soldier, of that there is no doubt. But what about five soldiers? Ten? What if the witch should be taken by surprise, in the night before she can draw her wand? 

HIDEKI: You’re speaking in hypotheticals.

LEFOU: I am not! This danger is far from hypothetical to many of our fellow wizards and witches, not to mention the danger faced by our children. I for one dream of a world where I can walk about the street without worrying about girding myself with defensive enchantments, using so much of my magic just to safeguard my life!

(TL Note: Lefou makes a cogent argument here, and one that is often ignored by even modern proponents of closer relationships with Muggles such as Albus Dumbledore. Muggles have a massive advantage of numbers on us, and their weaponry has only continued to grow. Prior to the Statute’s passage, a magical was in far more danger simply leaving the house, and had to be on guard so to speak at all times, as we blessedly do not in the modern era.)

HIDEKI: My learned colleague forgets, in his haste to gain security, what all of wizardkind stands to lose in prosperity. How many of our brethren make their livelihood by providing magical services to their muggle neighbors? From the Weather Witch who farmers employ to predict and shape the weather, to the broom couriers who carry vital information for merchants, we are economically reliant on non-magical folk. 

LEFOU: We are economically reliant for the moment, my good man, but need we be forever? I believe wizardkind can and will be self sufficient in due course. Improvements in broom and carpet enchantment are already shrinking the distance between magical populations, as attested by this very summit; there are plenty of opportunities for trade purely amongst our own kind. 

(TL Note: Time would somewhat vindicate Hideki’s position on this matter, as many professions practiced at the time, such as Battlemages, Weather Wizards, and so on, were severely stifled by the implementation of the Statute)