Gavel and Graveyard
Wizengamot, Ministry of Magic
Pam. Pam. Pam.
The strikes of a wooden gavel on the judge's stand silenced every sound in the chamber. Wizards and witches of the Wizengamot took their seats with gravity, prepared for the trial about to begin.
The judge was none other than Minister Millicent Bagnold, imposing in her position. Behind her sat several of the Ministry's highest-ranking members. Among them, Cornelius Fudge, his face round and smug, could not help but let a flicker of greed show in his eyes before lifting his chin with false dignity.
Dumbledore, seated as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, observed with a grave expression. His gaze shifted toward Amelia Bones, who sat near the Minister. With a subtle nod, he seemed to confirm something silently. Amelia let out a restrained sigh.
Meanwhile, the accused remained seated with a surprisingly calm demeanor. It was clear they had administered him a calming draught after taking him out of Azkaban, just to ensure he was coherent enough to face the hearing.
"The session of the Wizengamot is hereby opened on the twentieth of September, nineteen eighty-six. Present before this court is Sirius Orion Black, once accused of treason, the murder of twelve Muggles and one wizard, and complicity with the Dark Lord.
The accused was sent to Azkaban without a formal trial. At the petition of this council, and in light of new evidence presented, he is now granted the hearing he never received.
Let it be clear: this court will not tolerate interruptions nor disrespect. Here we shall dictate justice, not vengeance."
Millicent's voice rang solemnly as she calmly reviewed the documents before her.
"Madam Minister, members of the Wizengamot, the case against Sirius Black is clear. It was I who ordered his capture, after finding at the scene twelve mangled bodies and Black himself with his wand still warm. He was laughing—laughing!—while pointing at the ashes that were once Peter Pettigrew. There is no innocence to claim here, only deceit."
The one who rose with those words was Barty Crouch Sr., acting as prosecutor. His expression was stern, though beneath it one could read the tension of a man defending his own reputation as much as the case. If this matter collapsed, especially after the scandal with his son, it would be a blow from which he might never recover. Sirius's freedom was equally inconvenient for him.
"That will be decided in this trial, Mr. Crouch, as it should be," Millicent replied serenely, lifting her eyes just above her glasses while arranging her papers. "The law demands evidence, not impressions. That is why we are here. We will hear testimonies, review memories, and then this council will deliberate."
Crouch repressed a grimace of annoyance and returned to his seat.
"Five years locked away without trial… and now they finally let me speak. How generous," Sirius muttered with a bitter, mocking smile. The potion made him seem almost drunk, but even so, he had more clarity than in his worst days in Azkaban.
His words immediately unsettled several in the chamber, while Crouch smirked with satisfaction at seeing him start off on the wrong foot. Amelia, however, exhaled another sigh.
"This court will now hear the defense of the accused. Amelia Bones, you have the floor."
"Thank you, Madam Minister. My defense rests on two points: the lack of a trial in 1981, and new evidence that changes the case entirely.
First, Sirius Orion Black was sent to Azkaban without a hearing, without witnesses, without a Pensieve, and without the chance to defend himself. That, members of the Wizengamot, was a violation of the very code of magical justice.
Second, I present evidence that proves the events of October 31 and November 1, 1981 did not occur as we were led to believe."
"Nonsense! He was found in the street, surrounded by bodies, laughing like a maniac. That is proof enough!" barked Crouch instantly.
"No, Mr. Crouch. That is an impression, not proof. Magic leaves traces. Spells leave residue. And thanks to advances in the Department of Mysteries and wand forensics, we can prove that the curse which destroyed those Muggles was not cast by Sirius Black. He has even surrendered his memories and agreed to the use of a high dose of Veritaserum if this council so requires," Amelia replied with absolute calm.
A murmur spread through the chamber. Members of the Wizengamot exchanged uneasy glances: Veritaserum was highly restricted, nearly illegal in such contexts, and its use required the council's own approval.
"And furthermore," Amelia continued, raising a document, "I present this report on unregistered Animagi, written in Sirius Black's own hand, where he states that not only he, but also Peter Pettigrew, possessed the ability to transform into a rat. No body of Pettigrew was ever found. The supposed 'corpse' could very well have been nothing but a trick to fake his death.
Ladies and gentlemen, the true traitor is not sitting here. He may have been hiding right under our noses for five years, while we condemned an innocent man."
"Excuse me? Are you saying that Sirius Black himself is an unregistered Animagus?" screeched a plump witch in high fashion, clearly a member of an old pure-blood family. "That alone suggests he was not entirely innocent of being sent to prison."
"During the war, special permissions were granted," Amelia countered smoothly. "And let us not forget that Mr. Black, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, fought directly against You-Know-Who. He was a war hero, like his companions. Many Animagi never revealed their forms during those years to protect lives and prevent infiltration.
Unlike them, Sirius Black could not register because he was unjustly thrown into Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors. But now, the very first thing he did upon regaining his sanity was to declare his Animagus form. That, members of the Wizengamot, constitutes a valid registration."
Millicent nodded calmly. "I accept it."
Several members of the Wizengamot frowned, but none dared contradict her.
"Does anyone here object to recognizing that an Animagus, in the middle of war, might have hidden his form to prevent enemy infiltration?" Millicent asked firmly. No hands were raised; anyone who did so would immediately mark themselves as a sympathizer of the enemy.
From his seat, Dumbledore watched Amelia with a faint smile. She had everything under control. The trial, it seemed, was moving forward without obstacles.
For a moment, his eyes fell on Sirius, who lifted his gaze and offered the faintest of smiles in return.
The turn to speak then passed to Barty Crouch, who rose with a solemn air.
"My duty as a servant of the Ministry, and as a defender of peace, has always been clear: to protect the wizarding world at any cost.
On the day of Sirius Orion Black's capture, the first of November, 1981—only hours after the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—the situation was chaos. Society was terrified, people clamored for vengeance, and suspicion reigned among us.
I myself went to the scene where Black was found. Twelve dead Muggles on the street. The remains of Peter Pettigrew. And at the center, Black himself… laughing, cackling like a madman. A still-warm wand in his hand. Everything pointed to a single thing: absolute guilt."
His voice boomed through the chamber, and several nodded gravely.
"At that moment, this man was known as the Secret-Keeper of the Potters. His betrayal allowed Lord Voldemort to find James and Lily. That betrayal cost them their lives.
And when we captured him, what was I supposed to do? Allow him a long trial, give him a public platform to poison others with his rhetoric? No! The people demanded immediate justice. Azkaban was the only answer."
Cornelius Fudge, seated nearby, reinforced those words with a gesture, as if to say the entire trial now was pointless.
"Are you saying, Mr. Crouch, that public pressure and suspicion were sufficient reasons to annul a trial?" asked Millicent sharply.
"Yes. And I still stand by it," he answered without hesitation. "The war against the Death Eaters was merciless. We had to use extreme measures. If I had allowed Black to speak, he would have been an even greater threat. I chose to sacrifice formality for security.
Some may call it injustice. I call it pragmatism. And I would do it again, because I am certain that this man here is guilty."
Several heads in the Wizengamot nodded, not out of justice, but out of the desire to see Sirius thrown back into Azkaban—perhaps even kissed by a Dementor.
Amelia raised her hand, drawing every gaze. Millicent granted her leave to speak.
"Then, Mr. Crouch… if we were to bring Peter Pettigrew before you right now, would you still maintain that Sirius Black is guilty?"
Crouch's eyes widened in shock. He remembered clearly the amputated finger at the scene—the supposed proof of Pettigrew's death.
Sirius, on the other hand, straightened abruptly, as if the tranquilizing potion had lost all effect.
"If the hero Peter Pettigrew appeared right now," Crouch replied harshly, "it would only confirm that Sirius Black attacked him. After all, Pettigrew was awarded the Order of Merlin for his sacrifice."
But those words sealed his fate.
"Then let us welcome him," Amelia said coldly, just as the doors opened.
A group of Aurors entered, dragging a man in chains, floating upside down, gagged and thrashing desperately. The chamber gasped as one: the supposedly dead Peter Pettigrew.
He was filthy and disheveled, clad in rags that stank of rot. His body was hunched, trembling. Yellowed, rodent-like teeth flashed in a nervous grimace, and his twitching betrayed the lingering traces of his Animagus form—years spent as a rat had left their mark.
"You!" roared Sirius, straining against the chains that held him. "You were alive! I'll kill you, you filthy traitor! I'll kill you!"
The Aurors struggled to restrain him, while Pettigrew quivered like a leaf, unable to meet the fury blazing in his former friend's eyes.
Crouch staggered back two steps, pale, his gaze fixed on Pettigrew's mutilated hand. The missing finger condemned him.
Amelia allowed herself a faint smile, certain the trial had just ended faster than any in history.
…
Meanwhile, in the most feared prison of the wizarding world, where night seemed eternal beneath black clouds and a raging sea, two figures moved like shadows among the rocks.
"If we go any closer, the Dementors and the guards will detect us," murmured Lucius, his voice tight with fear as he watched the creatures circling too near.
"We need not go closer," replied Arcturus calmly, his eyes fixed on a secluded section of the island: a graveyard. "We are already here."
The graveyard of Azkaban was set apart from the main tower. Here lay the bodies of prisoners sentenced to life, whose families were not permitted even to claim their remains. In theory, visits could be arranged under special permits… but in practice, no one ever came. Over time, vigilance waned, leaving security to the central fortress.
"Give it to me," said Arcturus with an arrogant smile, extending his hand.
Nervously, Lucius pulled from a magically extended bag a long, flat chest. He set it on the ground and opened it, revealing a sword broken in half, yet still glowing with residual power.
Lucius held it briefly, shuddering as energy coursed through him, until the damaged edge bit into his skin and he dropped it with a hiss of pain. He quickly handed it to Arcturus.
Arcturus took it greedily. "What a pity… a truly powerful weapon reduced to this state. Proof that even Muggles with great power are equally foolish."
He stepped into the center of the graveyard and drove the sword deep into the ground. Nothing happened.
Lucius stiffened. "That's it?"
Arcturus arched an eyebrow, withdrew the blade, and struck the earth again with greater force. Still, nothing.
"Why not try that strange rock?" Lucius suggested.
"Perhaps." Arcturus smiled approvingly. "You are clever, Lucius."
He approached the stone, where a fissure seemed to await the blade. With a nod, he slid the sword inside.
"I didn't say anything…" Lucius whispered nervously.
Both men turned at once, realizing they were not alone. A voice, unmistakably feminine, reached them.
A woman emerged from the shadows. Beautiful, with hair red as blood and a dark cloak that draped over her like a veil. Her crimson lips gleamed as she slowly withdrew a lollipop from her mouth.
Her gaze, sharp and displeased, fixed upon them.
"Ah… I was deceived," she said with disdain. "Had I known I would return so soon, I wouldn't have caused so much chaos. Now I'm bound to clean up those damned monsters for a thousand years without rest. Even my little ones gave me heaps of lollipops to endure the wait… and I only managed to eat five."
She glanced at the lollipop with an almost childlike delight, though her face radiated power and danger—enough to unnerve both men.