The whispers that had flooded the gallery moments ago had faded to a tense silence. In the center of the hall, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black sat restrained by enchanted manacles, their faces pale in very different ways—one with dread, the other with hardened defiance.
High above them, seated at the judicial dais beneath the great golden crest of the Ministry, Albus Dumbledore surveyed the court.
"We have arrived at a point where speculation, political interest, and personal memory no longer suffice," he said, his voice ringing through the chamber. "We have the means to seek the truth—through Veritaserum. But the use of it in this court must be decided by vote, as dictated by Wizengamot protocol."
The statement stirred murmurs. Dumbledore raised his hand, and silence fell again.
"Shall both Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black be administered Veritaserum in front of this assembly, to determine the truth of their roles in the betrayal of the Potters?"
He paused. "All in favor—raise your wands."
Wands lifted slowly—hesitant, scattered.
The Greengrass family. The rarely seen Vole family. A few prominent officials aligned with Dumbledore. But the majority—particularly among the old pure-blood families—remained stone-faced and still. Lucius Malfoy kept his wand lowered and cast a sidelong glance at others seated around him.
Dumbledore glanced toward his left. "Votes against?"
A strong majority of wands rose.
Fudge gave a smug nod, arms crossed. "As expected, Albus. A highly irregular proposal. We've no business interrogating Ministry-recorded history."
Dumbledore exhaled quietly. "Very well. Then we require one more vote to reach the simple majority needed for approval."
There was a pause.
Then a slow shifting of eyes… as everyone turned toward a lone figure seated near the rear of the gallery.
Cael Vale.
The young man—barely more than a boy—looked around as he realized every eye had fallen on him. His lips parted. "Me?"
"You are the last registered representative of the House of Black," said Dumbledore calmly. "By magical lineage, and in absence of an active heir, your vote holds standing."
Fudge stood up abruptly. "Nonsense! He's underage! A student! He cannot vote in a matter of national justice!"
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed. "Minister Fudge, I remind you of Article Twelve, Section Nine of the Legacy Representation Act—'In the event that a noble House lacks a recognized acting Head, any magically attested blood descendant may assume representation within legal proceedings, regardless of age, so long as they are sound of mind and uninfluenced.'"
Fudge paled. "That's a technicality!"
"A law," Dumbledore corrected, "not a technicality."
The courtroom sat silent again. Cael looked from face to face—Malfoy's cold eyes, the bitter sneer of Fudge, the silent nod from James Potter seated quietly beside the Dumbledore-aligned bloc. Then Cael stood.
"I vote… yes," he said clearly. "Administer the Veritaserum."
The magic of the court shimmered in gold.
"It is decided," Dumbledore declared. "Prepare the serum."
The room stirred with urgency. Two Aurors approached with potion vials, one for each prisoner. Pettigrew shrieked and tried to squirm, but magical restraints held him still as a few drops were administered beneath his tongue. Sirius remained motionless, watching silently as the potion took effect.
Moments passed.
Then Dumbledore stepped forward.
"Sirius Black. Did you betray the Potters?"
"No," came the response, clear and steady. "James and I agreed that Peter Pettigrew should be the Secret Keeper. We believed no one would suspect him."
Gasps rippled across the benches.
"Did you use the Imperius Curse on Peter Pettigrew?"
"No. He acted on his own."
"Why did you escape Azkaban?"
Sirius's eyes locked with Dumbledore's, blank and neutral under the effects of the potion. "A newspaper. It was slipped into my cell by Minister Fudge during his visit to the Askaban . One with a picture of the Weasley family… and Scabbers, their rat. I recognized Peter Pettigrew immediately."
At that, the hall broke into chaos.
A reporter dropped her quill. And madam Bones from the Bones family leaned forward with wide eyes. Every head slowly turned toward Minister Fudge, who had gone deathly pale.
"You… you sent that newspaper," someone whispered.
Fudge was already on his feet, sputtering. "I—I had no idea—he's twisting facts! You can't trust him!"
"He is under Veritaserum, Cornelius," Dumbledore said softly. "The truth cannot be twisted under its effects."
Turning to the other restrained man, Dumbledore's voice sharpened. "Peter Pettigrew. State your name."
"P-Peter… Peter Pettigrew."
"Were you the Potters' Secret Keeper?"
"…Yes."
"Did you reveal their location to The Dark Lord ?"
A tremble. Then a whisper: "Yes."
"Were you under the Imperius Curse of Sirius Black?"
"…No."
"Then why did you betray them?"
Peter's face twisted. "I was afraid. He—he was going to kill me. The Dark Lord. I thought… if I gave him the secret, he'd let me live."
You could have heard a pin drop.
The truth lay bare now. No more theories. No more politics. Just confession.
Dumbledore stepped back. "Wizengamot, you have heard the truth."
"Now," he said, "we vote. Shall the charges against Sirius Black be dismissed, and his name cleared?"
Wands were raised.
Still, many pure-bloods resisted—Malfoy, Parkinson, Burke. But this time, more hands joined those already in support. Vole. Greengrass. Shacklebolt. Bones. And a scattering of others who could no longer deny what they had witnessed.
The vote passed.
"Sirius Black," Dumbledore declared, "as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I now pronounce you cleared of all charges. You are a free man."
Sirius closed his eyes. For the first time in thirteen years, he allowed himself to breathe.
The chamber turned next to Pettigrew, who had begun whimpering, tears running down his face.
Dumbledore raised his voice. "Now we vote: Shall Peter Pettigrew be sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss?"
Immediately, Fudge stood. "No! No, that's too far. He must be sent to Azkaban like the rest. We must not—"
"He is a confessed traitor," someone protested.
"He served the Dark Lord," another said.
Yet others hesitated.
Dumbledore raised his hand. "Let the Wizengamot decide. All in favor of the Dementor's Kiss—raise your wands."
Only a handful went up.
"Opposed—send him to Azkaban?"
The majority of wands rose.
"So be it," Dumbledore said. "Peter Pettigrew is sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban for crimes of treason, murder, and aiding the Dark Lord."
Aurors moved in as Pettigrew screamed, trying to throw himself to the floor. He was swiftly silenced and taken away.
Dumbledore turned back to the court.
"This hearing is concluded. Let the wizarding world remember this day—not for shame, but for justice."
The gavel struck the enchanted stone, and the chamber echoed with the sound of finality.