"The message from the Ministry of Magic is that they're going to conduct a public trial for that bastard."
Upon hearing Sherlock's words, Sirius's polite smile vanished.
It was replaced by a tension that suppressed enormous emotion.
"I don't understand."
Sirius's gray eyes, which had suffered so much torment, became sharp as a hawk's, staring directly at Sherlock and Mycroft.
"The evidence is conclusive, the investigation report has been published, and Fudge already promised last time in the headmaster's office...
If that's the case, what's there to try?
Shouldn't the Dementors just finish him off directly!"
When they first received the news, both Sirius and Harry felt something was strange, and then grew nervous and worried.
After all, Fudge's attitude in the Headmaster's office last time had been ambiguous, even pointing out that some within the Ministry wanted to cancel Peter's Dementor's Kiss and change it to permanent imprisonment instead.
Although in the end, under the combined pressure from Sirius and Snape, he seemed to have yielded.
But now that the already-decided punishment had changed to a trial, it inevitably made them uneasy.
They couldn't help feeling there might have been some change in circumstances.
So as soon as they got the news, the two immediately came here to discuss countermeasures with Sherlock.
"You two need not worry. It's merely a formality."
"What?"
Sirius looked at Mycroft in surprise.
He hadn't expected the answer to come from Mycroft rather than Sherlock.
Mycroft nodded slightly, his posture composed as he held his teacup, as if merely confirming an established fact.
"The trial has been arranged. The Wizengamot will deliver the appropriate verdict."
"Hmph, the appropriate verdict?"
Sherlock settled back onto the sofa, hands clasped under his chin, leaning slightly back.
His gray eyes looked toward Mycroft with a trace of imperceptible scrutiny.
"I notice you used 'will' rather than 'should.' It seems the trial's outcome is already a foregone conclusion in your view?"
"Obviously, my dear brother."
"Then is this 'appropriate' procedural justice or substantive justice?
The trial seats are filled with deadwood occupying positions they don't deserve, more adept at vacillating between whitewashing and shirking responsibility.
This trial itself is probably more like a performance to salvage the Ministry's pitiful credibility."
Mycroft's hand holding the teacup didn't pause in the slightest, his expression unchanged.
"My dear brother, the correctness of a conclusion is often not diminished by imperfections in its derivation.
Everything has two sides—don't casually separate them. The formality of procedure sometimes hinders results, but sometimes is precisely what guarantees substance.
Or rather, at this juncture, would you prefer to let that rat escape?"
"Best not to trot out your bureaucratic platitudes at a time like this."
"No, no, no, this is dialectical philosophy to begin with.
Even a necessary performance is sometimes an effective means to an end.
Look, as long as this trial's result leads to Peter Pettigrew receiving his punishment before everyone's eyes, that's enough."
After saying this, his gaze fell on Sirius and Harry. "Especially for those vindicated and those bearing witness, it's even more so."
"Enough?"
Sherlock had just sat down, but Sirius now stood up.
The warm atmosphere in the living room was instantly shattered, the lingering fragrance of refreshments mixing into an invisible tension.
Sirius, as a guest, could no longer maintain his calm surface.
Over a decade of wrongful imprisonment, the tragic death of his best friend, his own experience as a fugitive...
The root of it all lay in that tiny figure about to be judged.
The more bland and precise Mycroft's words were, the more they made him feel an indescribable stifling sensation.
"Just having him go through the motions on the trial platform? If that's the case, why add this formality?"
Sirius's chest rose and fell slightly with agitation, his voice suppressing anger and pain as he looked at Mycroft, his eyes burning.
"For a traitor who betrayed his friends and caused the deaths of two living people, wouldn't it be better to let him die directly?"
The last few words were almost squeezed through gritted teeth.
"Sirius..."
Harry looked worriedly at his godfather.
He understood Sirius's pain, but his current appearance made Harry feel somewhat uneasy.
"Mr. Black."
Mycroft's voice remained steady. He finally set down his teacup.
"I understand your anger very well—anger deep to the bone marrow.
What I must remind you is that beyond betraying friends and causing two deaths, to cover up his mistakes, he also let over ten innocent Muggles pay with their lives.
Muggle lives are also lives. Every life lost represents a family torn apart.
On that point alone, Peter deserves death."
Mycroft's gaze calmly met Sirius's eyes burning with fury, not avoiding that pain which had almost become tangible.
"For Peter, the Dementor's Kiss is an end, a complete end.
It will strip this criminal of consciousness, memory, and soul, turning him into a shell more pitiful than death.
In the magical world's judgment, this is already the most thorough punishment.
But most importantly—"
His gaze shifted slightly, as if looking toward somewhere more distant, his tone carrying a trace of coldness.
"The complete annihilation of a traitor is merely a cornerstone for healing past wounds.
However, this trial is a reckoning with the past and an accounting to the public.
It needs to be seen, to be recorded.
It needs to become an indelible page in the dossier."
His gaze returned to Sirius's face. "Perhaps in your view this is merely formality, but it's a declaration to everyone.
The sacrifice of the innocent, your wrongful suffering, finally have someone bearing the responsibility.
The name Peter Pettigrew will be forever nailed to the pillar of shame in magical history, rather than having you bear it as in the past dozen years."
Mycroft's words didn't attempt to dissolve Sirius's fury, but rather pointed out the deeper social significance of this public trial.
It was not merely private revenge, but history's final verdict.
It connected Sirius's personal pain with the magical society's entire re-cognition of this major historical event.
The living room fell into brief silence.
Sirius sat back down, apparently trying hard to digest Mycroft's words.
That bone-deep hatred gradually calmed under the influence of these words.
Harry's gaze wandered between Sirius and Mycroft, also breathing a sigh of relief.
Before coming here, what worried him more was whether the outcome would change somehow.
Now that he knew the result remained the same, there was nothing to worry about.
Especially for Harry, as long as Peter could ultimately receive his due fate, adding a trial beforehand wasn't much of a problem.
With Mycroft's explanation, it even seemed more perfect.
Sherlock looked thoughtfully at his elder brother.
His thoughts naturally went deeper and further than Harry's.
Although he scorned the efficiency of the Ministry's bureaucratic system, Mycroft's emphasis on the publicity and documentary value of this trial indeed hit upon the key to the matter.
It was not merely to punish Peter, but to completely overturn the official narrative of the entire Black traitor case. The previous investigation announcement alone was still somewhat insufficient in force.
How to put it?
The Ministry's intention was only to demonstrate their capability, but the execution did indeed produce a good effect.
"They notified us the day after tomorrow."
Sirius said hoarsely, "I'll appear as a witness. Sherlock, you and Harry will be guaranteed by Dumbledore and can attend as observers."
"Making a grand show of formalities while earnestly going through the motions? How interesting..."
Sherlock said, turning to Mycroft, "Does this mean you'll appear that day too?"
"Me? How could I?"
Mycroft once again picked up his tea. "Dear brother, I'm merely a government employee who recently started work.
Moreover, I'm a Muggle. How could I possibly attend a trial in the magical world?"
"Your pretentious manner is truly nauseating, Mycroft."
"Thank you for the compliment, my dear brother."
"..."
Sirius and Harry left after lunch.
With this matter arising, naturally the planned gathering couldn't continue.
Just as Mycroft had said, this public trial rapidly stirred up waves throughout the entire magical world.
Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, criminal and victim, best friend and traitor, hero and clown, the truth sealed for twelve years...
Add to that the Ministry deliberately fanning the flames, all made this matter draw intense attention.
It's no exaggeration to say that during this period, almost every family in the magical world was discussing this matter.
For several of those directly involved, it was even more so.
However, among the young wizards, only Sherlock and Harry could attend as observers, which left other young wizards somewhat dissatisfied.
Hermione even called Sherlock to complain for quite a while.
"This case is absolutely the most outstanding one you've handled!
You unearthed the truth sealed for twelve years in one stroke, completely cleared Sirius of his wrongful conviction, changed the entire magical world's understanding of Harry's parents' murder case!
The whole process was simply too exciting—yet we can only learn about it from newspapers and can't witness it in person?
This is too unfair! Sherlock, this is a historic moment!"
Hermione's voice came clearly through the receiver, her tone urgent, full of strong unwillingness and frustration.
Sherlock held the receiver a bit away from his ear.
He could imagine Hermione on the other end pacing back and forth excitedly, pages rustling beside her.
"If it's for your writing, I'll tell you the detailed process when I return."
Hearing Sherlock's promise, Hermione finally felt reassured.
She complained a bit more, repeatedly instructing Sherlock to firmly remember every detail of the trial, before finally hanging up.
Sherlock set down the receiver. The living room became quiet again.
However, Sherlock knew clearly that Hermione would definitely call Harry next.
The evening before the trial during dinner, Mrs. Holmes said to Sherlock.
"I've already ironed your clothes. They're hanging in your wardrobe now.
After breakfast tomorrow, change into them. I've taken down your coat for you.
I've also checked the shirt—collar and cuffs are all perfect."
"All right, Mother."
Sherlock's tone was bland. As for whether to dress so formally to attend a trial he considered more form than substance, he personally didn't care.
As long as it met basic etiquette, he didn't mind wearing his usual clothes.
Mycroft, seeing Mrs. Holmes's solemn manner, interjected in a relaxed tone.
"Mum, why go to such trouble?
Sherlock is merely attending as an observer, sitting quietly in the audience."
"What do you mean unnecessary?"
Mrs. Holmes immediately turned her head, glaring at Mycroft with displeasure. Her voice rose, carrying a mother's characteristic stubbornness.
"What about attending as an observer?
This is a historic trial!
A crucial moment for clearing that child Harry's godfather of wrongful conviction!
Although others don't know it, it was precisely Sherlock who uncovered the truth.
Attending such an occasion requires appropriate dignity and respect.
Dressing formally and properly shows respect for the event, respect for one's own efforts, and an attitude toward all those present who suffered and finally obtained justice!"
Though Mrs. Holmes usually seemed easily persuaded by her husband, once she got serious, she had her own logic.
Mycroft took in his mother's reaction completely. Faced with this stubborn maternal love, he wisely shrugged and chose not to clash head-on.
"I've already ironed your best clothes, Harry. Put them on tomorrow morning."
At Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Mrs. Weasley was also instructing Harry. "Also, I want you to wash your hair again tonight."
"Please, Mum, Harry and Sherlock are just going to observe. There's no need for such fuss, is there?" said Fred.
"What do you mean unnecessary?"
Mrs. Weasley glared at Fred. "Tomorrow that traitor will finally face justice. Who knows how many people will be staring at Harry in that setting? How can he be casual?
And Sirius too—you're testifying about this matter tomorrow, so you'd better give yourself a good grooming too!"
Sirius was stunned, not expecting Mrs. Weasley to call him out too. "Me—me too?"
"Of course! A good first impression is very important!"
"But this trial is just going through the motions. What I'd rather see is Peter's execution afterward."
At this point, Sirius couldn't help licking his lips, his eyes showing a trace of ferocity.
"..."
That sentence with its cold tone and Sirius's lip-licking gesture made a flash of understanding worry appear in Mrs. Weasley's eyes.
She knew too well that reckless, ruthless streak deep in the Black family bloodline.
Sirius, Regulus, Bellatrix, Andromeda, Narcissa...
Every single one was like this!
Thinking of this, she sighed, her tone softening slightly. "I understand, Sirius. No one deserves punishment more than him."
At the same time, Mr. Weasley decisively provided backup for his wife.
He walked to Sirius's side and patted his tense arm.
"Molly's absolutely right, but precisely because of that, you need to look the part even more.
Think about James and Lily. Tomorrow, everyone will see clearly who the real hero is and who the real traitor is. You need to testify openly before everyone for Lily and James, for your stolen twelve years.
Your appearance will be the final slap to Peter's face, more resounding than any gnashing of teeth."
The violence in Sirius's eyes receded slightly, transforming into exhaustion and deep pain.
He scratched his already somewhat disheveled black hair, his voice lowering with a hint of compromise. "All right, Arthur, Molly. I'll listen to you."
He just felt these clean robes were far less satisfying than transforming into a big black dog to tear at Peter.
Harry looked gratefully at the Weasleys.
Just then, George, who had been quietly observing, interjected.
"Hey, Mum, since Harry and Sirius need to look sharp, can we apply for two new dress robes?
They'd definitely come in handy when Percy graduates or next time we visit the Ministry with Dad!"
Fred picked up. "That way at Percy's graduation ceremony or next time we accompany Dad to visit the Ministry, they'll definitely be useful!"
They were clearly deliberately blending occasions, but this move instantly triggered brief laughter in the living room.
Ron covered his face, and Ginny couldn't help giggling.
Even the gloomy-looking Sirius had his lips quirk up slightly.
"Stop causing trouble! All of you, back to your rooms now!
Harry, remember to wash your hair again!"
Mrs. Weasley put her hands on her hips, pointing at the twins. "If you two bring up Percy again, tomorrow you'll be responsible for scrubbing the gnomes in the yard!"
The brothers exchanged glances and wisely said nothing more.
The laughter somewhat dispelled the oppressive heaviness in the house.
After dinner, everyone gradually dispersed to their rooms.
This night seemed particularly long.
The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting shadows of the uneasy figures in the ancient family tapestries on the walls.
Harry tiptoed past Mrs. Black's portrait and returned to his room on the third floor.
He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his heart a jumble of emotions.
Tomorrow, he would see Peter, the murderer of his parents, brought to justice.
He both anticipated the long-delayed justice being served and felt vaguely uneasy about Sirius's painful state.
He had specifically gone upstairs to look just now. Sirius's room was quiet—he was probably sitting by the window gazing at London's night sky.
Harry originally wanted to write Sherlock a letter or call him to share his worries.
But after thinking it over, he decided against it.
Hermione had called him not long ago, instructing him to properly record the trial proceedings.
From what he knew of Sherlock, at this moment he was probably indifferently checking the perfectly pressed, wrinkle-free dress shirt collar his mother had ironed.
By contrast, he himself was tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
Harry originally thought he definitely wouldn't be able to sleep tonight.
However, he ultimately did drift into sleep.
When Mrs. Weasley quietly entered the room in the middle of the night to place freshly washed and ironed jeans and T-shirt at the foot of Harry's bed, she discovered he had already curled into a warm ball under the covers.
The dark night passed gradually.
Dawn quietly streaked across the sky.
The stage for the public trial was about to open its curtain.
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