The evening mist clung to London's streets like a shroud, turning familiar landmarks into ghostly suggestions of themselves. In the labyrinthine sewers beneath the city, something that had once been a man scurried through tunnels that reeked of desperation and decay.
Peter Pettigrew had been living as a rat for nearly two days now, surviving on scraps and refuse, his human consciousness buried beneath the instinctive paranoia of his animal form. The magical transformation that had once been his salvation now felt like a prison—but it was safer than trying to explain to anyone why he was still alive when the entire wizarding world believed him dead.
He had no way of knowing that golden eyes were watching him from across dimensions, that his every movement was being tracked with the precision of someone who could see across all Nine Realms simultaneously.
*"There,"* Heimdall's voice resonated through the Asgardian palace with quiet satisfaction. *"Hiding in the storm drain beneath Diagon Alley, approximately fifty meters from the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Convenient for our purposes."*
In the palace's strategy chamber, an unlikely war council had assembled around a crystal viewing sphere that showed a perfect three-dimensional map of magical London. Odin stood at the head of the table with the authority of someone accustomed to orchestrating cosmic events. Frigga sat to his right, her diplomatic mind already working through the intricacies of revealing truth without causing panic. Loki lounged in his chair with the predatory grace of someone who lived for complex schemes.
And at the center of it all, Sirius Black studied the magical map with the intense focus of someone whose entire future depended on what happened in the next few hours.
"Remus and Amelia are both at the Ministry," Heimdall continued, his cosmic perception tracking multiple individuals across the mortal realm. "Working late, as they have been every night since Mr. Black's arrest. They're in Conference Room Seven, going through arrest records and witness statements with the thoroughness of people who refuse to accept unsatisfying answers."
"Perfect," Frigga said with the satisfaction of someone whose diplomatic instincts had been proven correct. "They're already questioning the official story, which means they're psychologically prepared to consider alternatives."
"The question," Sirius said, his voice tight with controlled emotion, "is how to get them to the right location at the right time without making it obvious that they're being manipulated."
"Oh, that's simple," Loki said with that sharp smile that had launched a thousand schemes. "We give them a mystery they can't resist solving, evidence that only makes sense if Peter is alive, and a trail of breadcrumbs that leads directly to his hiding place."
He gestured to the viewing sphere, and the image shifted to show the interior of Conference Room Seven at the Ministry of Magic. Two figures sat hunched over stacks of parchment, their faces drawn with exhaustion and frustration.
Remus Lupin looked terrible—hollow-eyed, thin to the point of gauntness, his sandy hair prematurely gray from stress and the approaching full moon. His usually neat robes were wrinkled, and his hands shook slightly as he turned pages with the desperate precision of someone searching for salvation in official documents.
Amelia Bones sat across from him, her usually immaculate appearance showing signs of strain. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a severe bun that had become disheveled over the long evening, and her sharp eyes blazed with the kind of fury that came from watching injustice masquerade as proper procedure. She was beautiful in the way that competent, intelligent women often were—not flashy or immediately obvious, but compelling once you understood the strength that lay beneath the surface.
"I know Sirius," Remus was saying, his voice hoarse from hours of argument and pleading. "I know him better than anyone except James, and this doesn't make sense. The man I know would die before betraying his friends. He'd have let Voldemort kill him rather than give up James's location."
"The evidence is overwhelming, Remus," Amelia replied, but her tone suggested she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "Sirius was the Secret Keeper. Only he could have revealed the location. Peter Pettigrew was found dead at the scene, killed by a Blasting Curse that matched Sirius's wand signature. Twelve Muggle witnesses saw—"
"Saw what?" Remus interrupted with growing frustration. "Saw an explosion, saw bodies, saw Sirius standing in the rubble. None of them saw the actual casting of the curse. None of them could identify who cast what spell."
Amelia was quiet for a moment, staring at the arrest report with the expression of someone who desperately wanted to find flaws in its logic. "The forensic evidence—"
"Was gathered by Barty Crouch Sr.'s team," Remus said grimly. "The same Barty Crouch who refused to allow Sirius a trial, who ordered him sent directly to Azkaban without even basic questioning. The same man whose son we now know was a Death Eater."
*Perfect,* Loki observed with satisfaction. *They're already seeing the cracks in the official story. Now we simply need to widen those cracks until the truth becomes undeniable.*
With a gesture that made reality ripple like water, he sent a subtle magic pulse toward the mortal realm—not enough to be detected by their primitive magical monitoring, but sufficient to ensure that certain evidence would present itself at precisely the right moment.
In the Conference Room, Amelia suddenly straightened as a thought occurred to her. "Remus," she said slowly, "you knew all the other Marauders more than anyone else. Tell me about their Animagus forms."
"Their what?" Remus blinked, clearly not seeing where this was going. "James was a stag, Sirius is a large black dog, and Peter..." He paused, his face going pale as understanding dawned. "Peter was a rat."
"A rat," Amelia repeated, her voice growing harder as the implications hit her. "Small, able to hide in tiny spaces, able to survive on scraps and refuse. The kind of animal that could conceivably fake its own death by leaving behind a finger and some blood while the real body escaped through the sewers."
The silence in the room was deafening.
"No," Remus whispered, but his voice lacked conviction. "No, Peter wouldn't... he was our friend. He was loyal, he was..."
"He was the weakest of the four of you," Amelia said with the brutal honesty of someone whose job required seeing truth regardless of how painful it might be. "James was the natural leader, Sirius was the rebel with unshakeable principles, you were the voice of reason and moral compass. What was Peter?"
Remus was quiet for a long moment, clearly fighting with memories he'd rather not examine. "He was... he followed. He went along with whatever the rest of us decided. He wanted to belong, wanted to be part of something greater than himself."
"The perfect recruit for someone offering power and belonging," Amelia observed grimly. "Tell me, if Peter wanted to fake his own death and frame Sirius for betrayal, how would he do it?"
Remus closed his eyes, his voice hollow as he worked through the logistics. "Transform into his rat form. Use a Cutting Curse to remove one of his own fingers—the pain would be agonizing, but survivable. Cast a Blasting Curse to create destruction and confusion. Leave the finger behind as evidence of death while escaping through whatever small space was available."
"And Sirius, arriving to find his friend apparently dead and himself being accused of murder, would be too shocked to defend himself effectively," Amelia continued. "Especially if he was dealing with the psychological trauma of believing he'd just witnessed the death of his godson and best friend's wife."
*Now,* Loki thought with satisfaction, and sent another pulse of magic toward London.
In the sewers beneath Diagon Alley, Peter Pettigrew suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to return to the scene of his supposed death. Not as a conscious decision, but as the kind of inexplicable compulsion that sometimes drove guilty minds back to the places where their crimes were committed.
"Amelia," Remus said suddenly, his voice sharp with growing urgency, "if Peter is alive, if he really did fake his own death—"
"Then he's probably still in London," she finished, already reaching for her Auror badge and emergency Portkey. "Rats are territorial animals, and he'd need to stay close to monitor the situation, make sure his deception was working."
"Where would he go?" Remus asked, pulling on his traveling cloak with the quick efficiency of someone who had learned to act fast when inspiration struck. "If you were a rat who had just committed the crime of the century, where would you hide?"
Amelia was quiet for a moment, her tactical mind working through possibilities. "Somewhere with food, water, and multiple escape routes. Somewhere familiar enough that he could navigate it even in animal form. Somewhere connected to the magical world but not heavily trafficked."
Her eyes widened as realization hit. "The sewers beneath Diagon Alley. They connect to the old Knockturn Alley drainage system, there are dozens of exit points, and there's enough magical runoff to mask his signature from detection spells."
"And if he felt compelled to return to the scene of the crime..." Remus added, understanding immediately.
"He'd go back to where he supposedly died," Amelia finished. "The street where he framed Sirius is only three blocks from the Diagon Alley entrance."
They were moving before the conversation was finished, Amelia's Auror training taking over as she gathered evidence-collection materials and detection spells. Remus followed with the grim determination of someone who had just realized his best friend might be innocent of the worst crime imaginable.
Neither of them noticed the faint shimmer of Asgardian magic that smoothed their path, ensured they encountered no delays, and guided them with subtle nudges toward exactly where they needed to be.
In the Asgardian palace, the assembled war council watched through Heimdall's viewing sphere as two of Britain's most dedicated investigators descended into the London sewers with the focused intensity of bloodhounds on a scent.
"Fifty meters," Heimdall reported with the precision of someone providing targeting coordinates. "Turn left at the junction, straight for thirty meters, then right into the main drainage tunnel."
"There," Frigga said softly as the viewing sphere showed a small gray form huddled in the shadows of a storm drain, gnawing on something unidentifiable. "Peter Pettigrew, alive and well and absolutely guilty of everything he's accused Sirius of doing."
Sirius stared at the image with an expression that cycled through relief, vindication, fury, and something approaching pity. "Look at him," he said quietly. "Look what he's reduced himself to. Living like an actual rat because he couldn't face the consequences of his choices."
"He destroyed your life," Odin observed with the kind of cosmic judgment that had made him legendary for justice across the Nine Realms. "He murdered innocents, betrayed his closest friends, and condemned you to torment for crimes you didn't commit. Why do you pity him?"
"Because," Sirius said simply, "I remember when we were seventeen and he cried when James got hurt during Quidditch practice. I remember when he spent his entire savings to buy Remus a birthday present. He wasn't born evil, Allfather—he chose it, one small betrayal at a time, until there was nothing left of the friend I once knew."
*That level of compassion,* the Phoenix Force observed with something approaching awe, *is why mortals continue to fascinate cosmic entities. The ability to see tragedy even in those who have wronged them most deeply—that's a kind of strength that transcends physical power.*
In the London sewers, Amelia and Remus had reached the drainage tunnel where Peter was hiding. Both had their wands drawn, detection spells active, and the grim expressions of people who had found exactly what they hoped they wouldn't find.
"*Homenum Revelio,*" Amelia cast, her wand sweeping in a precise arc that would detect any human presence in the area.
The spell revealed nothing.
"*Animagus Revelio,*" Remus followed up, his voice tight with desperate hope and growing dread.
The response was immediate and unmistakable—a bright silver glow emanating from the storm drain where Peter was hiding, the magical signature of a human consciousness trapped in animal form.
"Oh, Merlin," Remus whispered, his face going white as the implications crashed over him like a physical blow. "Oh, Merlin, it's true. He's alive. He's been alive this whole time, letting Sirius rot in Azkaban for crimes he committed."
"Peter Pettigrew," Amelia called out, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had spent years hunting dark wizards, "you are under arrest for treason, murder, and the practice of illegal magic. Transform now and surrender peacefully, or I will use force to compel your cooperation."
The silver glow from the detection spell began moving deeper into the tunnel system as Peter tried to escape, but Amelia was ready for that possibility.
"*Impedimenta!*" she cast, the spell creating a magical barrier that would prevent Peter from moving further while not causing permanent harm.
The rat form of Peter Pettigrew froze in place, caught between magical compulsion to remain still and animal instinct to flee. After a moment of struggle that was painful to watch, the transformation began—reluctant, jerky, clearly being forced rather than chosen.
The man who materialized in the tunnel was barely recognizable as someone who had once been friends with James Potter and Sirius Black. Twelve years of living on the margins of society, combined with the psychological toll of maintaining such a massive deception, had taken their toll. His hair was thin and greasy, his skin had a grayish pallor that spoke of poor nutrition and little sunlight, and his clothes were the tattered remains of what he'd been wearing when he faked his own death.
But it was his eyes that told the real story—darting, desperate, filled with the kind of cornered-animal fear that came from knowing there was no escape, no more lies to tell, no more deceptions to hide behind.
"Hello, Peter," Remus said quietly, his voice carrying a mixture of grief, anger, and profound disappointment. "We need to talk."
---
Three hours later, in the secure interrogation rooms deep beneath the Ministry of Magic, the full scope of Peter Pettigrew's betrayal had been laid bare under the influence of Veritaserum—the most powerful truth serum known to wizardkind.
The confession was damning in its completeness. Yes, he had been recruited by Voldemort. Yes, he had passed information about Order of the Phoenix operations to Death Eater contacts. Yes, he had been the real Secret Keeper for the Potter family's location, having convinced them to make the change at the last minute because "no one would suspect weak little Peter." Yes, he had personally given their address to Voldemort. Yes, he had faked his own death and framed Sirius for everything.
And no, he had no idea that Lily and Harry had survived the attack.
"Where is Sirius Black now?" Amelia asked, her voice deadly calm despite the fury blazing in her eyes.
"I don't know," Peter replied, the Veritaserum forcing honesty from him despite his obvious desire to lie. "I thought he was in Azkaban. I thought he'd die there, alone and hated, paying for my crimes. I never expected anyone to question the evidence, never expected anyone to care enough to investigate."
The words hit both interrogators like physical blows, the casual cruelty of condemning an innocent man to a living hell more chilling than any dramatic villainy would have been.
"The twelve Muggles who died in your staged explosion," Remus said, his voice hollow with grief for victims he'd never known. "Were they necessary casualties, or did you kill them deliberately?"
"Both," Peter admitted, and the simple word carried more horror than any elaborate confession could have managed. "I needed the explosion to be big enough to destroy evidence, dramatic enough to ensure people wouldn't look too closely at the details. But I also... I also wanted to make sure Sirius would be blamed for something unforgivable. Mass murder of innocents is the kind of crime that makes people stop asking questions about evidence."
In the Asgardian palace, Sirius had to leave the viewing chamber. The casual brutality of Peter's confession, the systematic nature of his betrayal, the sheer scope of suffering he had caused for personal gain—it was too much to process while maintaining anything resembling composure.
He found himself in one of the palace gardens, sitting on a bench carved from living crystal while trying to understand how someone he had once trusted with his life could have orchestrated such comprehensive destruction.
"The hardest betrayals," Frigga's voice said gently from behind him, "are the ones that come from those we loved without reservation."
He looked up to find the Queen of Asgard approaching with the graceful dignity that had made her legendary across the Nine Realms, but her expression carried the kind of maternal compassion that transcended royal protocol.
"I keep trying to find the moment," Sirius said quietly, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. "The moment when Peter stopped being our friend and became... that. But I can't find it. Looking back, all the signs were there—the desperation to belong, the way he always chose the safest position, the tendency to defer to whoever had the most power. But we loved him anyway. We thought loyalty was enough to overcome weakness."
Frigga settled beside him on the bench, her presence radiating the kind of comfort that only someone with millennia of experience in grief and loss could provide.
"Love is often enough," she said softly. "But not always. Some people, when faced with the choice between courage and comfort, between loyalty and survival, between standing with friends and kneeling before enemies—some people make the wrong choice. That doesn't diminish the love you showed him, or the friendship you offered. It only reveals the limits of his capacity to receive those gifts."
"James died because of him," Sirius said, the words coming out like ground glass. "Lily almost died. Harry was left orphaned, or so we thought. All of it because Peter chose Voldemort's promises over our friendship."
"And yet," Frigga observed with the wisdom that had guided Asgard through countless crises, "love ultimately triumphed. Lily and Harry survived because of love—hers for her child, James's for his family, yours for both of them, and even the Phoenix Force's love for the experience of mortal existence. Peter's betrayal created suffering, but it could not destroy what mattered most."
Before Sirius could respond, Loki appeared at the garden entrance with the dramatic flair that had made him famous across the Nine Realms.
"Brother Black," he said with unusual formality, "you'll want to see this. The interrogation has concluded, and the results are... satisfying."
They returned to the strategy chamber to find the viewing sphere displaying the Ministry's main conference room, where an emergency session was taking place despite the late hour. Minister Cornelius Fudge sat at the head of the table looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, while Amelia Bones presented evidence with the methodical precision of someone who had built an unshakeable case.
"The evidence is conclusive," she was saying, her voice carrying across dimensions with crystal clarity. "Peter Pettigrew is alive, has confessed under Veritaserum to betraying the Potter family to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and has admitted to framing Sirius Black for crimes Pettigrew himself committed. The conviction must be overturned immediately, all charges against Black must be dismissed, and a full investigation into the arrest procedures must be initiated."
"But where is Black now?" Fudge demanded, his political instincts clearly struggling with the implications of admitting such a massive miscarriage of justice. "If he's innocent, why hasn't he come forward? How did he escape from Azkaban? What's he been doing for the past four days?"
"Unknown," Amelia replied with professional honesty. "But given that he was wrongfully imprisoned for crimes he didn't commit, I'd say he has every right to avoid contact with the Ministry until his safety and legal status can be guaranteed."
"Nevertheless," Fudge continued with the desperate air of someone trying to control a situation that had already spiraled beyond his ability to manage, "we need to locate him immediately. There are questions that need answers, procedures that must be followed—"
"The only procedure that needs to be followed right now," Remus interrupted with uncharacteristic steel in his voice, "is a public acknowledgment that Sirius Black is innocent, a formal apology for the injustice he suffered, and immediate compensation for wrongful imprisonment. Everything else can wait until he chooses to make contact."
"And what about Potter's family?" another voice asked from off-screen. "Pettigrew claims he doesn't know if they survived the attack, but their bodies were never found. Are we to assume they're dead?"
The question created a ripple of uncomfortable silence in both the mortal conference room and the Asgardian strategy chamber. This was the moment where the truth became more complex than simple innocence and guilt, where cosmic forces and divine intervention would need to be acknowledged or carefully concealed.
"Unknown," Amelia said finally, though her voice carried frustration at having to give such an inadequate answer. "The official record states that their bodies were never recovered, but given the level of magical destruction at the scene, that's not necessarily conclusive. Until we have more information, the Potter family's status remains uncertain."
*The opening,* Loki observed with satisfaction. *They've acknowledged that the official story is incomplete, that there are questions without answers. Now we can begin providing those answers in manageable doses.*
In the viewing sphere, Minister Fudge was clearly struggling with the political implications of the situation. "This is a disaster," he muttered, rubbing his face with both hands. "The newspapers are going to crucify us. 'Ministry Imprisons Innocent Man, Real Traitor Lives Free'—we'll be lucky if I keep my job through the week."
"Your job is less important than justice," Remus said coldly, his usual mild manner completely absent in the face of institutional corruption and incompetence. "Sirius Black spent four days in Azkaban for crimes he didn't commit. He was subjected to psychological torture that would have driven most people insane, all because your department couldn't be bothered to conduct a proper investigation."
"Now see here—" Fudge began, but Amelia cut him off.
"Mr. Lupin is correct," she said with the authority of someone who had built her career on competence rather than politics. "The arrest was mishandled from beginning to end. No trial, no proper investigation, no consideration of alternative explanations. If we're going to repair the damage, we need to start by acknowledging the scope of our failure."
The argument continued for several more minutes, but the outcome was already inevitable. The evidence was too clear, the confession too complete, the political pressure too intense. By dawn, Sirius Black would be officially exonerated, Peter Pettigrew would be in Azkaban facing life imprisonment, and the wizarding world would be forced to confront the reality that their justice system had failed catastrophically.
"Well," Sirius said quietly from his position in the Asgardian strategy chamber, "I suppose that's that, then. Officially innocent, publicly vindicated, and free to return to my old life."
"Is that what you want?" Aldrif asked gently, studying his face with the perception that came from years of reading people's deepest desires. "To return to your old life as if none of this happened?"
Sirius was quiet for a long moment, considering the question with the gravity it deserved. "I want to see Amelia," he said finally. "I want to explain what happened, where I've been, why I couldn't contact her. I want..." He paused, his voice growing softer. "I want to find out if she can love me knowing what I really am now, knowing about the cosmic forces and divine intervention and all the impossibility that's become part of my life."
*And,* the Phoenix Force observed gently, *you want to know if you can love your old life knowing what you know now about the scope of existence, about the responsibilities that come with cosmic awareness, about the family you've chosen that spans realms and defies normal categories.*
"Exactly," Sirius agreed, though he looked surprised at how clearly the entity had read his thoughts. "I'm not the same person who was arrested four days ago. I can't pretend to be a normal wizard anymore, can't pretend that magic stops at the boundaries of what most people understand. How do I explain to the woman I love that I've been rescued by gods, that my godson is a prince of Asgard, that the friend I thought was dead is actually divine royalty?"
"Very carefully," Frigga said with maternal wisdom. "And with complete honesty. Love that can't survive truth isn't worth preserving, while love that embraces truth becomes stronger for the acknowledgment."
"Besides," Loki added with characteristic irreverence, "if she truly loves you, the cosmic complexity will simply make you more interesting rather than more troublesome."
The conversation was interrupted by a subtle change in the viewing sphere's display. The emergency Ministry session was breaking up, but instead of dispersing, several of the key participants were gathering in smaller groups for private conversations. Most notably, Remus and Amelia had moved to a corner where they could speak without being overheard.
"Remus," Amelia was saying, her voice carrying clearly despite the distance, "there's something else we need to discuss. Something about the night James and Lily died that doesn't make sense."
"What do you mean?" Remus asked, though his expression suggested he already suspected what she was about to say.
"The magical signature analysis from Godric's Hollow," she continued, pulling a file from her briefcase with the methodical precision of someone who had reviewed these documents dozens of times. "It shows evidence of at least three different magical encounters that night. Voldemort's signature, yes, but also something else. Something..." she paused, clearly struggling with inadequate terminology, "bigger. More powerful than anything in our reference database."
Remus went very still. "What kind of signature?"
"That's the problem—we don't know. It doesn't match any known magical tradition, any registered wizard's signature, any creature classification in our files. But whatever it was, it completely overwhelmed Voldemort's magical presence. Not defeated—obliterated. As if something with cosmic-level power simply erased him from existence."
*The opening we've been waiting for,* Loki observed with satisfaction.
"And there's something else," Amelia continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The blood analysis we did on the scene—we found traces of Potter family magic, but not... not death signatures. Not the magical resonance you get when someone dies violently. It was as if they simply... disappeared."
"Disappeared where?" Remus asked, though his voice suggested he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"Unknown. But Remus—what if they're alive? What if whatever cosmic force destroyed Voldemort also saved James, Lily, and Harry? What if they've been hidden somewhere safe, waiting for the right moment to return?"
The hope in her voice was painful to hear—desperate, barely controlled, built on the flimsiest evidence but clinging to life with stubborn determination.
In the Asgardian strategy chamber, Aldrif felt tears gathering in her eyes as she listened to two of her oldest friends trying to solve the mystery of her apparent death with detective work and desperate hope.
"They deserve to know," she said quietly. "They've been grieving us for four days, blaming themselves for not being able to protect us, and now they're torturing themselves with hope that might not have any foundation. It's cruel to let them suffer when we could simply... appear and explain everything."
"The question," Odin said with the careful consideration of someone who had spent millennia weighing the consequences of divine intervention in mortal affairs, "is whether revelation at this moment serves the greater good. Your friends are prepared to accept Sirius's innocence—that requires only believing that Peter was more deceptive than they realized. But accepting your survival requires believing in cosmic forces, divine intervention, and magical powers beyond their understanding. Are they ready for that level of paradigm shift?"
"More importantly," Frigga added with diplomatic precision, "are you ready for the consequences? Once your true nature is revealed, once the wizarding world knows that Lily Potter is actually Asgardian royalty, there's no going back to any semblance of normal life. Harry's childhood, Sirius's rehabilitation, your own ability to move freely in mortal society—all of it changes irrevocably."
It was a sobering reminder of the stakes involved. This wasn't just about reuniting with friends or correcting misconceptions—this was about fundamentally altering the balance of power between the magical and divine realms, with consequences that would ripple across generations.
"What do you recommend?" Aldrif asked, looking between her parents with the trust of someone who had learned to value their counsel even when it complicated her desires.
"A middle path," Odin replied with the wisdom that had guided Asgard through countless crises. "Contact, but not revelation. Let them know that James's family survived, that they're safe but cannot return yet for reasons that will be explained in time. Give them enough hope to heal the immediate grief without burdening them with cosmic complexity they're not prepared to handle."
"And Sirius?" she asked.
"Goes to them," Frigga said with maternal certainty. "He's been cleared of all charges, he has every right to reclaim his place in their lives, and they need to see him alive and well to begin their own healing process. What he chooses to reveal about his experiences here is his decision to make."
Sirius nodded slowly, understanding the wisdom of the approach even if part of him wanted to simply return to Earth with dramatic revelations and cosmic proof of innocence.
"How long do I have before the funeral?" he asked.
Heimdall's golden eyes grew distant as he calculated time flows across dimensions. "James's funeral is set for tomorrow at sunset, Asgardian time. That gives you approximately eighteen hours in Earth time to reconnect with your friends, explain your innocence, and extend invitations to those who wish to pay their respects."
"Invitations," Sirius repeated, the implications hitting him. "You're planning to let them come here. To Asgard. For James's funeral."
"A warrior's death deserves to be honored by those who knew the warrior's life," Thor said with the solemnity that occasionally broke through his cheerful exterior. "Your James Potter died protecting his family from impossible odds. That courage should be celebrated by all who called him friend."
"But the revelation issues—" Aldrif began.
"Will be manageable in the context of honoring the dead," Loki interrupted with characteristic precision. "Grief creates its own receptivity to impossible things. They'll be more prepared to accept cosmic truth when it comes in service of saying goodbye to someone they loved."
*And,* the Phoenix Force added with cosmic wisdom, *James would want his friends there. He died protecting his family, but he lived loving his friends. The funeral should reflect both aspects of who he was.*
The decision made itself, really. Whatever complications arose from revealing cosmic truth, whatever political ramifications followed from divine intervention in mortal affairs, whatever personal costs came from choosing transparency over secrecy—none of it mattered compared to ensuring that James Potter received the farewell he deserved, surrounded by everyone who had loved him.
"All right," Sirius said with growing determination. "I'll go back, explain what I can without overwhelming anyone, clear my name officially, and invite James's friends to attend his funeral. We'll deal with the cosmic complications as they arise."
He paused, then added with a slight smile, "Besides, after everything we've been through, a little more impossibility hardly seems worth worrying about."
*Famous last words,* Loki observed with amusement, *but spoken with style. I approve.*
As preparations began for Sirius's return to Earth—magical disguises to explain his apparent escape from Azkaban, cover stories that contained enough truth to be believable, contact protocols that would allow communication across realms—everyone involved understood that they were about to cross a line from which there would be no return.
The age of hidden magic and secret realms was ending. The age of cosmic awareness and divine-mortal cooperation was about to begin.
And it would all start with a funeral for a hero, attended by friends from two worlds, celebrating a life that had bridged the gap between mortal courage and cosmic significance.
*James Potter had lived as a bridge between worlds without knowing it. It was only fitting that his death would serve the same purpose, bringing together realms that had remained separate for too long.*
---
The Leaky Cauldron at three in the morning was exactly the kind of place where impossible things seemed perfectly reasonable and dramatic revelations felt like natural conversation. The ancient pub sat at the boundary between the mundane and magical worlds, and its atmosphere of comfortable impossibility made it the perfect location for a reunion that would reshape several lives.
Sirius sat in the back corner booth, still wearing the simple brown robes that Asgardian magic had provided to replace his prison clothes. He looked healthier than he had any right to after four days in Azkaban—the cosmic healing had erased the physical damage of dementor exposure, leaving him pale but whole, exhausted but alert.
The pub was nearly empty at this hour, with only Tom the barkeeper maintaining his vigil behind the bar and a few late-night drinkers scattered at distant tables. The perfect environment for a conversation that would involve concepts most wizards weren't prepared to handle.
When Remus and Amelia finally appeared through the Floo connection, their faces showed the strain of a night spent overturning everything they thought they knew about justice, betrayal, and the reliability of evidence. But underneath the exhaustion was something that hadn't been there in days: hope.
"Sirius," Remus breathed, stopping short as he caught sight of his friend sitting calmly in the booth. "Merlin's beard, you're actually here. You're alive, you're free, you're..."
"Innocent," Sirius confirmed with a slight smile. "Officially exonerated as of about an hour ago, if the Ministry paperwork can be trusted. Peter's confession was quite thorough."
Amelia approached more cautiously, her Auror instincts warring with personal emotion as she studied the man she'd thought was dead or worse. "How did you escape from Azkaban?" she asked, her voice carefully controlled. "The fortress is supposed to be impregnable. No one has ever broken out before."
"I didn't break out," Sirius replied honestly. "I was... rescued. By people who believed in my innocence when the evidence suggested otherwise."
He gestured to the empty seats across from him. "Please. Sit. We have a lot to discuss, and some of it is going to sound completely impossible."
---
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