Chapter 10

The atmosphere in the Wizengamot Chambers was about as relaxed as a dragon in a teacup. Harry perched on the edge of his seat like he was waiting for a Quidditch match to start, his nerves as tight as a drum. Next to him, Susan was fidgeting like she'd had one too many cups of Butterbeer. Her eyes were darting around, a mix of anxiety and something else—something that looked suspiciously like a crush.

Ororo and Professor Xavier were sitting nearby, their presence as soothing as a spell to calm a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs. Harry glanced over at them, trying to draw comfort from their steady, reassuring gazes. It was nice to have them here, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this whole nerve-wracking mess.

The minutes dragged on like they were stuck in a never-ending loop of waiting for the Hogwarts Express. Harry's mind was spinning, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts about Sirius Black. The man had been more of a shadowy figure in his life, and now he was stepping into the spotlight in a way that made Harry's stomach churn.

And then there was Xavier. The guy was like the wise old sage of the mutant world, dedicated to bettering the lives of his people. He was beloved, revered even. But after everything with Dumbledore, Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of wariness. Was Xavier the good guy he seemed, or was he just another authority figure with a hidden agenda? 

Susan, still fidgeting, kept glancing at Harry with an intensity that was slightly awkward and totally adorable. It was clear she was developing more than just a platonic admiration. Harry tried to focus on the trial, but it was hard to ignore the growing warmth in Susan's eyes.

Ororo, on the other hand, was as calm and regal as ever. Her demeanor was like a cool breeze on a hot day. But Harry knew all too well that she had a fierce side. There were stories about her that sounded like they belonged in epic myths—like how she was worshipped as a goddess by an African tribe for her ability to summon rain. No one wanted to be on her bad side.

As the minutes ticked by, Harry's unease didn't fade. Instead, it seemed to grow, mixing with his wariness of Xavier and the undeniable flutter of nerves brought on by Susan's not-so-subtle glances. It was a perfect storm of tension, anticipation, and a few too many unanswered questions.

—

Finally, the doors to the Wizengamot Chambers creaked open, making everyone in the room straighten up like they'd been hit with a stinging hex. The members of the Wizengamot marched in with all the solemnity of a funeral procession, their robes billowing like they'd just stepped out of a medieval fashion show. Harry, sitting on the edge of his seat, felt his heart race. Sirius Black, the man who was both a shadow and a headline in his life, was standing there flanked by Aurors, looking like he was ready to either face a firing squad or a really awkward family reunion. 

Harry couldn't shake the jittery mix of excitement and dread. Sirius was a living contradiction—part hero, part chaotic mess. It was like trying to reconcile a rock star with a mess of bad decisions. And speaking of bad decisions, Harry was still trying to untangle the mess left by his idol-worship of Dumbledore. He was no longer on the "Dumbledore Knows Best" train—mostly because it had derailed spectacularly. But given that the entire wizarding world seemed to think Dumbledore was the be-all and end-all of wisdom, Harry was playing it cool and keeping up appearances.

The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like it was on a slow-motion loop. Sirius's stoic face did little to calm Harry's nerves. It was like watching a suspenseful movie with no guarantee of a happy ending. 

Then, Dumbledore stood up from his seat at the head of the Wizengamot. His commanding presence was like a lighthouse in a stormy sea. He started speaking, his voice as grave as if he were announcing a new dragon invasion.

"Esteemed members of the Wizengamot," Dumbledore began, his tone grave but with that twinkle of wisdom that made everyone think he could outwit a Sphinx in a game of riddles. "It is with a heavy heart that I must recuse myself from presiding over this trial."

The chamber erupted in murmurs, like a bunch of Quidditch fans realizing their star player had just been benched. Dumbledore's recusal was a big deal—almost as big as the time he accidentally turned his beard into a boa constrictor during a staff meeting.

"As Chief Warlock, my duty is to ensure a fair and impartial trial," he continued, sounding like he was about to lecture a classroom of misbehaving students. "However, as I am to serve as a witness for the defense team, I cannot maintain the impartiality required."

The members of the Wizengamot nodded in agreement, their collective wisdom allowing them to understand Dumbledore's move—even if it meant losing their favorite over-caffeinated professor.

Dumbledore then announced, "In my stead, I appoint Amos Diggory, a respected member of this esteemed body, to preside over this trial." He gave Amos Diggory a nod that said, "You're up, buddy." 

Amos took his place with the gravity of a man who had just been handed the task of refereeing a game between trolls and wizards. The bailiff rose, his voice echoing through the chamber like the start of a particularly dramatic Quidditch match.

"Court is now in session," he announced.

As Harry looked around, he couldn't help but wonder about Sirius. The man had a knack for making "serious" jokes and diving headfirst into trouble. From his days as a Marauder to his time in Azkaban, Sirius was like a brilliant but wayward comet—brilliant but not always hitting the right spots. His tendency to act first and think later often landed him in hot water, and Azkaban had definitely taken its toll. Harry could see the weariness behind Sirius's bravado. 

With Sirius under scrutiny and the trial about to begin, Harry braced himself for the revelations that would unfold. It was like waiting for the climax of a story where the protagonist was always one step away from disaster. But amidst the uncertainty, Harry felt a fierce determination. He was ready to face whatever truths lay ahead, even if it meant grappling with the tangled web of his own beliefs and the unpredictable lives of those he cared about.

—

"All rise for the honorable Wizengamot Court!" the bailiff announced, his voice booming through the chamber like a Gryffindor Quidditch captain calling for a team huddle. Everyone snapped to attention, standing up straight as if under a charm to enhance respect. 

Harry, feeling like he was in one of those intense courtroom dramas where every second feels like an eternity, couldn't help but shift nervously in his seat. Next to him, Susan looked like she was trying to blend into her chair, her eyes wide and glued to the scene unfolding before them. Ororo and Professor Xavier sat nearby, their calm composure serving as a beacon in the storm of Harry's anxieties. Though Harry had his doubts about Xavier, fearing he might be another Dumbledore in disguise, he clung to hope that this wasn't the case.

Amos Diggory, taking the place of Dumbledore, sat at the head of the Wizengamot with all the gravity of someone who'd just been handed the world's most stressful job. As he nodded to the bailiff, the trial officially kicked off, and Harry braced himself for what was coming next. 

Chief Auror Rufus Scrimgeour stood up, looking like he was ready to deliver the kind of speech that could make an intergalactic jury weep. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," he began, his voice ringing out like he was trying to drown out a noisy pub. "Today, we are here to address the serious matter of Sirius Black, who stands accused of some rather nasty crimes against both wizardkind and muggles."

Scrimgeour laid out the case like a bad news reporter recapping a disaster: "On the night in question, Sirius Black was allegedly at the scene of a big explosion that left twelve muggles in a crater. Witnesses say he was arguing with Peter Pettigrew when it happened." 

Harry could practically see the collective shudder in the room. The details were grim, and it was like watching a bad reality show where you knew the shocking twist was coming but still couldn't look away.

Scrimgeour continued, his voice taking on that dramatic flair you'd expect from someone reading a particularly intense chapter in a mystery novel. "Witnesses claim Sirius Black laughed maniacally and repeatedly said, 'It was my fault! I killed them!' It doesn't exactly paint him as a choirboy."

As he finished his opening remarks, Scrimgeour returned to his seat, looking like he'd just run a marathon of doom and gloom. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a butterbeer mug.

Next up was Law Wizard Theodore Tonks, who had the unenviable task of defending Sirius Black. Tonks stood up, looking like he was ready to fight a dragon with nothing but a wand and his wits. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," he began, his voice firm and ringing with conviction. "We're here today to right a major wrong—a wrong that's been done to Sirius Black, who's been stuck in Azkaban without a fair trial."

Tonks didn't waste time tiptoeing around the issue. "Let's get one thing straight: Barty Crouch Sr., the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had some serious biases against families with known Dark affiliations. This personal grudge led to Sirius's imprisonment without a trial—a complete miscarriage of justice."

The room buzzed with shocked murmurs. It was as if someone had just announced that the most revered Quidditch player was actually a troll. The surprise was palpable.

Tonks wasn't done yet. "Sirius Black is willing to take Veritaserum to prove his innocence. He wasn't the secret keeper for the Fidelius Charm on the Potter home—Peter Pettigrew was. This is the truth that's been conveniently ignored."

There were gasps around the room. The idea that Sirius might not be the traitor everyone thought was a bombshell that rocked the Wizengamot's collective worldview.

"And to wrap it all up," Tonks said, his voice full of resolve, "Sirius performed the Godfather Ritual to be recognized by magic as Harry Potter's godfather. This means he's bound by ancient magic to protect Harry. It's not just a title—it's a magical obligation."

As Tonks sat down, the room erupted into a mix of astonished whispers and speculative chatter. The tide of public opinion was shifting, and Harry could feel the weight of the trial starting to tilt. The truth was coming out, and with it, the chance for justice—and perhaps a little bit of clarity—was just on the horizon.

—

Amos Diggory turned to the Aurors, his face a blend of stern authority and genuine curiosity. "In light of Sirius Black's agreement to undergo Veritaserum, I order that he be brought before the court."

The Aurors shuffled off, looking like they were about to escort a particularly unruly celebrity onto a stage. They led Sirius Black into the courtroom, and a hush fell over the crowd as if someone had just announced free Butterbeer.

Sirius Black, once a beacon of rebellious charm, now resembled a ghost who'd had a really rough decade. His hair was a tangled mess, and his eyes were shadows of their former mischievous glint. It was like seeing a beloved rock star looking less like a legend and more like a cautionary tale about why you shouldn't spend your life in a dank dungeon.

Amos Diggory regarded him with a mix of curiosity and pity, which was not exactly the look you want from a judge. "Sirius Black," Diggory's voice boomed, resonating with the kind of gravitas that suggested he'd missed his calling as a dramatic Shakespearean actor. "You've agreed to undergo questioning under Veritaserum. Are you prepared to proceed?"

Sirius gave a tired nod, his gaze steady despite the weariness etched into his features. He was still Sirius Black, after all—his bravado might be worn thin, but it was still there, if somewhat battered. "I'm ready," he said, his voice a gravelly reminder of long nights and harsher days. "I have nothing to hide. Let's get this over with."

With a decisive nod, Diggory signaled for the questioning to begin. The Medi-Wizard carefully administered three drops of Veritaserum onto Sirius's tongue. It was like the potion was the ultimate truth serum in a magic shoppe—guaranteed to make even the most stubborn person spill their secrets. 

As the potion started to work its magic, Sirius's face relaxed into an almost comical slack-jawed expression. He stared off into space like he'd just been hit with a blast of honesty so powerful it could knock over a hippogriff. The room fell into a taut silence, everyone waiting for Sirius to start spilling the beans.

When Sirius finally spoke, his words came out like a truth-bomb detonating in slow motion. "No," he said, looking the courtroom squarely in the eye. "I was not the Secret Keeper for the Potters. Peter Pettigrew was. He's the one who betrayed them, not me."

The reaction was instantaneous—gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd like a sudden burst of wind through the trees. It was clear that Sirius's claim was shaking the very foundations of the case against him. The idea that he wasn't the guilty party everyone had believed was a revelation that left the courtroom buzzing with disbelief.

Scrimgeour, looking like he'd just been told that his favorite Quidditch team had lost on a last-minute penalty, shot his next question with the precision of a Bludger aimed at a Seeker. "Are you asserting that you're not a Death Eater?"

Sirius met his gaze with a mix of exasperation and annoyance. "I've never been a Death Eater," he said, with the kind of firmness that suggested he was tired of repeating himself. "I've been locked up for twelve years for crimes I didn't commit. How many times do I have to say it?"

The room was abuzz with a new wave of chatter, like someone had just dropped a surprise plot twist into an already complicated soap opera. The implications were enormous, and Sirius's declarations were dismantling the case against him piece by piece.

As the questioning continued, Sirius's responses unraveled a tale of deceit and betrayal that was like something out of a twisted fairy tale. Each revelation peeled back layers of lies and revealed the truth beneath.

When the interrogation finally wrapped up, the weight of Sirius's testimony was heavy enough to make the courtroom feel like it had been hit by a magical freight train. Everyone was left grappling with the shocking new reality that Sirius Black might have been wrongfully imprisoned all these years.

Then came the jaw-dropper: Sirius revealed that Peter Pettigrew was alive and hiding as a rat under the roof of the Weasley family. The news was so staggering that even the most stoic members of the Wizengamot looked like they'd just seen a hippogriff do a jig.

Amos Diggory's face was a picture of stunned disbelief as he turned to the Aurors. His gaze was laser-focused, as if willing them to confirm that this wasn't some elaborate joke. The Aurors scrambled into action, their urgency almost comic in its intensity.

After what felt like an eternity of nail-biting suspense, one of the Aurors returned with a face like someone who'd just found a troll in their closet. "It's true," he announced, his voice grave. "We've located Peter Pettigrew at Arthur Weasley's residence, disguised as a rat."

The courtroom erupted in a storm of astonished murmurs. The revelation was explosive, casting a shadow over the entire case and leaving everyone wondering what other secrets lay hidden beneath the surface. The air crackled with the electric tension of a story still unfolding, with Sirius Black's fate hanging in the balance as the search for truth continued.

—

As the chaos swirled around the courtroom like a hurricane of stunned disbelief, Amos Diggory's voice cut through the cacophony with the precision of a spell. His tone was grave, but there was an undeniable note of resolve. "It appears we've been grievously mistaken," he announced, his words echoing with the weight of realization. "The evidence presented today has cast doubt on the validity of the charges against Sirius Black. It is clear that further investigation is warranted."

The air was thick with the shock of the courtroom as everyone tried to wrap their heads around the explosive revelations. It was as if the whole building had suddenly been hit by a charm that turned disbelief into a tangible force. The Wizengamot was left to wrestle with the implications of Sirius's testimony, each member re-evaluating their understanding of justice, accountability, and who should be getting the last laugh.

After a brief and feverish deliberation—during which everyone probably wondered if they had been living under a rock—the verdict came down: Sirius Black was unanimously declared innocent of all charges. Cue the dramatic music, because this was the courtroom equivalent of a blockbuster movie ending.

The chamber erupted into applause and cheers, like someone had just won the Quidditch World Cup. The jubilation was palpable, a heartening reminder that sometimes justice did come out on top, even if it took its sweet time.

Amid the celebration, Dumbledore, ever the grand figure of wisdom and benevolence, rose from his seat. He looked like someone who had just seen his favorite show get renewed for another season. His expression was a mix of solemn satisfaction and the kind of seriousness that could make a dragon sit up and take notice.

"On behalf of the Wizengamot," Dumbledore began, his voice ringing out with a gravity that made even the most stoic listeners sit up straight, "I extend our deepest apologies to Sirius Black. Your wrongful incarceration is a grave injustice that we deeply regret, and we offer our sincerest apologies for the pain and suffering you have endured."

Sirius accepted this apology with the kind of grace that suggested he was tired of being the star of a tragedy. His eyes were as steady as a lighthouse in a storm as he addressed the assembly. "I thank you for recognizing my innocence," he said, his voice carrying an edge of relief and exhaustion. "And I accept your apology with grace and forgiveness."

As the courtroom took a collective breath and settled into a reflective silence, the Wizengamot moved to tackle the issue of compensation. It was like finally getting your overdue paycheck after an extended vacation.

"In recognition of the injustice you have suffered," Amos Diggory announced, his voice carrying the weight of the Wizengamot's remorse, "we offer you a substantial sum of gold as compensation for your time spent unjustly imprisoned."

Sirius accepted the offer with the understanding that, while it wouldn't get him back the lost years or undo the trauma, it was a step toward rectifying a monumental screw-up. His face showed a flicker of a smile, though it was tempered by the gravity of his experiences.

As the proceedings drew to a close, the courtroom buzzed with a renewed sense of hope and optimism. It was as if the atmosphere had been rejuvenated, with truth and justice finally getting their due. And amidst it all, Harry Potter—now fully disentangled from the cult of Dumbledore and still very much aware that appearances were everything in the Wizarding World—watched with a wry smile. He might have adjusted his view of Dumbledore's infallibility, but he knew better than to rock the boat too much. Sometimes, it was better to keep up appearances while the world figured out its own messes.

The echoes of Sirius Black's victory reverberated through the chamber, a testament to the power of truth and the relentless pursuit of justice. And for once, it seemed like the Wizarding World might be learning a thing or two about righting its wrongs.

—

As the Wizengamot's members trickled out, leaving behind a trail of murmured conversations and scattered papers, Harry made his way over to where Sirius stood. The once formidable and now gaunt figure of his godfather was surrounded by a palpable aura of both relief and residual pain. The sight of Sirius, who looked more like a shadow of his former self, had Harry's heart aching for the man who had been more of a legend than a real presence in his life.

Sirius, his eyes glistening with a mix of tears and residual defiance, looked up at Harry. It was like watching a once-great warrior return to the battlefield, only to find that the battle had changed and the soldiers had grown up.

"Harry…" Sirius's voice cracked, the simple utterance weighed down with all the years he'd missed. He reached out, his hand trembling like a leaf in a gale, as though touching Harry would ground him back in reality.

Harry, feeling the emotional storm brewing in Sirius's eyes, stepped closer. He could see the years of anguish and regret etched into every line of his godfather's face. Despite the gravity of the moment, Harry managed a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay, Sirius," he said softly, placing a comforting hand on his godfather's shoulder. "None of this was your fault."

Sirius's face twisted in a mix of relief and sorrow, his tears now flowing freely. "I should've been there for you, Harry," he choked out, voice hitching with each sob. "I should've protected you. Instead, I let them take me away and left you alone."

Harry's hand gave Sirius's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, the kind that said "I'm here" without needing any more words. "You're here now," Harry said gently. "And that's what matters. We've got a chance to make up for lost time and start fresh."

Sirius's eyes, which had been clouded with despair, now sparkled with a glimmer of hope. It was as if Harry's words were a beacon piercing through the fog of his suffering. Though the pain of lost years couldn't be undone, the chance to rebuild their relationship was a powerful antidote to his lingering regret.

As they embraced, the world around them seemed to pause for a moment. The courtroom, with all its solemnity and decorum, faded into the background. For Harry and Sirius, it was a moment of pure, unfiltered connection—one that transcended the courtroom drama and touched the heart of their shared history.

Standing together, enveloped in the warmth of their shared embrace, Harry and Sirius knew that no matter the trials that awaited them, they would face them as a family. United by a bond that had survived the darkest of times, they were ready to forge a new path forward—one filled with hope, redemption, and the enduring power of their relationship.

---

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