— — — — — —
Harry had never imagined he'd enter the Ministry of Magic in such a ridiculous way.
After Snape punched in a string of numbers, a cold female voice came from the phone box. A moment later, it spat out two silver badges after a round of verification.
Once they put them on, the phone box shuddered and turned into an elevator, taking them steadily downward until the walls opened to reveal a grand, glittering hall.
Deep blue wooden floors gleamed beneath a peacock-blue ceiling streaked with drifting golden symbols. Along the walls stood rows of fireplaces, with witches and wizards constantly stepping in and out of the flames. The sight instantly reminded Harry of his unpleasant trip through Knockturn Alley the summer before.
"Keep up and don't wander off. I'm not rescuing you from Security," Snape said flatly before walking forward and disappearing into the crowd.
Harry hurried after him. They passed a large fountain whose basin glittered with silver Sickles and bronze Knuts. A sign beside it read: {All donations from the Fountain of Magical Brethren go to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.}
If that money could get his godfather freed and Peter Pettigrew locked up forever, he'd toss in ten Galleons himself, Harry thought grimly.
"Visitors for the Sixth Court trial," Snape said, slapping a piece of parchment onto a desk in front of a young wizard.
"Right, wands please, put them— Merlin's beard! Harry Potter!"
The wizard had been half-asleep until his eyes caught the name on the parchment. He jerked his head up, eyes wide, and locked onto Harry.
"You're Harry Potter!"
"Er—yeah, I'm Harry Potter."
Before Harry could blink, the wizard had grabbed his hand and was shaking it wildly. "The Boy Who Lived! I can't believe it! I grew up hearing your story—could I get your autograph?"
Harry just stared at him.
'Dude, you're what—twenty-something? And you "grew up" hearing about me?'
Well… technically, the man wasn't wrong. He had been a student when Harry's name first became legend.
Unfortunately, the man's outburst had drawn attention. Within seconds, the registration area turned into a Harry Potter fan convention. Witches and wizards swarmed around him—asking for autographs, photos, or just brushing against him for "good luck."
Harry shot a desperate look toward Snape, silently begging for help. Snape, of course, merely folded his arms and watched the chaos with icy amusement. Only when the clock ticked close to the hearing time did he stride over, parting the crowd like a shark cutting through a school of fish, and yank Harry free.
"The trial's about to start. Stop wasting our time."
"Yes, Professor Snape," the flustered clerk stammered, trembling under Snape's death glare as he fumbled to check their wands.
The man clearly remembered his school days under Snape's watch—he looked like a mouse cornered by a cat.
Harry passed through the security gate, feeling like he'd barely escaped alive, but Snape's voice cut in again before he could catch his breath.
"Enjoying the fame, Potter?"
Snape's tone dripped with venom. "Your classmates have grown used to your mediocrity. I suppose the outside world still finds you impressive. Sorry if I ruined your little moment."
"Not at all, Professor," Harry said sweetly. "They're just happy Voldemort's gone. You, on the other hand—your reputation clearly sticks with people even after they've graduated."
If Snape was the master of biting sarcasm, Harry was no beginner himself.
Snape's eyes flashed. He glared daggers at Harry but said nothing. It was the holidays, after all—none of his usual punishments would stick. He'd just have to remember this later.
The two continued their silent duel of words and glares until they reached the trial floor. The air grew damp and cold, and Harry's nerves tightened.
Snape shoved open a heavy black door. Inside was a steep, tiered chamber—rows of seats descending toward the center like an ancient amphitheater. The front rows were nearly full already, and Harry noticed the glint of cameras.
"There are this many newspapers in Britain?" he muttered, bewildered.
Beyond The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, and Wizarding World Times, he couldn't think of any others.
"Fudge invited foreign press," Snape murmured without moving his lips, leading Harry to a quiet section near the back.
"I'll be called as a witness later," he said coldly. "No matter what you hear, keep your mouth shut."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape's look turned deadly.
"That's a direct message from Dumbledore. Personally, I'd rather see Sirius Black rot in Azkaban forever—but if you'd prefer otherwise, by all means, speak up."
Harry swallowed hard. "I—I understand."
He didn't know why Snape would say that, but he'd heard enough to guess how brutal these proceedings could get. In court, people twisted words, used traps and tricks to force out whatever testimony they wanted.
...
They waited about ten minutes before the room fell silent.
A side door opened, and a group of wizards entered.
At the front was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself. Behind him walked a severe-looking gray-haired witch and a burly man with a lion's mane of hair.
They were followed by a dozen more officials in deep maroon robes—men and women alike, most of them elderly. Among them, Harry spotted Dumbledore.
The gray-haired witch took the seat at the center of the raised platform. Fudge and the lion-man sat on either side of her, while the others filled the rows closest to the defendants' area.
"Silence!"
The woman struck her gavel, and her voice echoed powerfully through the hall.
"Today's session concerns the retrial of the Street Explosion, and the accusation that Sirius Black is a Death Eater."
"Presiding officer: Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"Examiners: Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic; Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office."
"Jury: The Wizengamot."
"Bring in Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew."
Harry leaned forward, eyes fixed on the side door.
The door opened and a low murmur rippled through the crowd as a phalanx of Aurors escorted Peter and Sirius in, each man led to a separate seat.
Peter looked far more drawn than before. Fresh, red bite marks marred his face, obvious wounds that hadn't been there long.
Harry glanced at him, but his attention was immediately dragged to the gaunt, yellowed figure beside him. Sirius Black. His godfather.
Sirius looked so thin a strong wind might blow him over. His filthy, tangled hair fell around his face so Harry could not make out his features clearly. His chest heaved and he rained curses down on Peter, words so vile they filtered into every ear in the courtroom.
"Order!" Bones hammered the gavel again. An Auror levelled a wand at Sirius and at last he subsided, though unwillingly.
"Call witness Albus Dumbledore to the stand." Bones nodded to the bench. Dumbledore smiled and walked to Sirius's side, laying his wizened hand lightly on the younger man's shoulder.
That small, simple touch broke Sirius. Tears filled his eyes. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
Dumbledore did not try to comfort him with empty phrases. He knew what Sirius needed. He spoke instead in a calm, steady voice and recited the chain of events.
He named the betrayals: the Potters sold out, secret messages passed to the Dark Lord, the explosion that cost half a street paid for with a bone of a Death Eater, the faked death and escape, the eleven years spent as a rat hidden at the Weasleys.
As Dumbledore spoke, gasps and whispers spread through the chamber. The facts were brutal and stunned everyone present.
Snape was called to the stand as well. Dumbledore produced the Marauder's Map to show where Peter had been found. He even joked that he had borrowed it from Tom Riddle for a while, to general amusement.
When Dumbledore finished, the bench and the questioning officials took over. Harry finally understood why Dumbledore had a hand in Snape's warning to him. The questions were clearly designed to establish Sirius's guilt beyond doubt, to hammer him for not revealing the truth all those years.
Two men questioned most fiercely. One was Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office. The other was an elder on the bench named Barty Crouch. They asked the most questions and did so with the most venom.
Several times Harry had to bite his tongue. He wanted to stand up and shout, but Snape's fixed stare kept him frozen.
What cut the interrogators off at the knees was Peter himself. He confessed plainly. He admitted his crimes and then supplied details that Dumbledore had omitted. He named the Longbottoms as among those he betrayed.
Peter had evidently worked it out. Even if he kept denying and somehow escaped Azkaban, plenty of Death Eaters were still at large. Whether out of loyalty to Voldemort or spite at losing their former glory, many would be sharpening their knives to settle scores with him. Better to be inside and wait for the heat to die down, then try to flee the country and disappear.
With the defendant confessing, even Crouch's call for a Veritaserum test changed nothing.
Peter was not under compulsion. He had admitted everything.
"Those who find Black not guilty and that Pettigrew bears sole responsibility, please raise your hands," Bones asked in her final query.
A great number of Wizengamot members raised their hands. Fudge, radiant, raised his as well and glanced at Crouch with a look of barely concealed triumph. More than eighty percent of the jury were in favor.
Bones rapped her gavel. "Sirius Black is hereby declared not guilty. Peter Pettigrew will be remanded to Azkaban, sentence: life imprisonment."
Applause thundered through the hall. Dumbledore clapped softly, but the loudest sound came when the Aurors removed Sirius's shackles and he flung himself at Dumbledore, sobbing openly. Through his convulsions, only Dumbledore could hear what he whispered.
"Let me kill him."
"Let me kill him, please."
"Calm down, Sirius." Dumbledore held him firmly. "Peter has faced a fair trial. Death is not the only punishment. Those Dementors will make him understand."
Slowly, the storm of Sirius's emotion subsided. He steadied himself.
Not everyone shared the celebratory mood. Snape watched Peter being led away with cold eyes. There was no remorse on Peter's face, only the resigned acceptance of a man who had lost his bet and now faced the consequences.
A little distance from Harry, Snape pulled out his Codex and sent a single message to his only friend.
『Severus Snape』: Your terms are accepted. We act tomorrow.
At the Riddle manor, Astoria lay asleep after Tom's bed story.
His Codex vibrated, then he read the message and smiled slightly before replying with a flourish of his finger.
『Tom Riddle』: As long as the money is enough, I'll even take Dumbledore down for you.
Snape read the reply and felt his eyelid twitch uncontrollably.
.
.
.