The moment the ropes had fallen away and the truth laid bare between them, Sirius didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and pulled Remus into a tight, shaking embrace.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Then, quietly—brokenly—Remus said, "I'm sorry. I should've known. I should've trusted you."
Sirius shook his head against Remus's shoulder. "You had every reason not to. I—I would've doubted me, too."
"But I didn't just doubt," Remus murmured. "I believed the worst."
A silence stretched between them, heavy with ten years of lost trust. Then Sirius gave a weak, almost rueful laugh. "We were supposed to grow old together, you know. You, me, James, and Lily. Cause chaos, raise hell, teach Harry terrible habits."
Remus stepped back, eyes damp but steady. "We've still got time for some of that."
Harry watched quietly, letting them have the moment.
Eventually, Sirius turned toward him, brow furrowed. "What do we do now? Not everyone knows the truth. If I walk into the castle looking like this…" He gestured to his gaunt face and ragged robes, "…I might not make it past the front steps."
"They'll panic," Remus agreed. "The Ministry, the students… even some of the professors. Most still think you're a mass murderer."
Harry frowned, thinking. "Then don't walk in."
Sirius arched a brow. "You want me to break in instead?"
"No," Harry said. "Transform as Padfoot. Come with us. We'll take you to Dumbledore. He'll know what to do."
Sirius looked at him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Alright. But if anyone scratches behind my ears, I'm biting them."
Remus snorted, and Harry cracked a grin. In a heartbeat, Sirius shifted into his animagus form—the great black dog once again standing before them, solemn and silent.
They made their way back through the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, emerging into the cool night air. Padfoot kept to the shadows while Harry and Remus led the way through the darkening grounds, the castle glowing softly in the distance like a sanctuary waiting to be claimed.
No one stopped them as they climbed the staircases, though a few portraits gave them curious glances. The halls were quieter now; curfew was near. Harry's steps quickened as they reached the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office.
"Lemon sherbet," Remus said softly.
The gargoyle sprang aside, and the staircase spiraled upward.
When they entered, Dumbledore was already standing behind his desk as if he'd known they were coming. Fawkes trilled a low, mournful note from his perch.
"Harry. Remus," Dumbledore greeted, his eyes twinkling slightly. "And… Sirius, I presume."
With a shimmer of fur and shifting bone, Sirius Black stood once again—this time in the warm lamplight of the Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore's expression shifted.
For a breathless second, no one spoke. Then:
"I owe you an apology, Sirius," Dumbledore said, voice low. "For not seeing the truth. For not looking for it. I trusted the wrong conclusions… and you paid the price."
Sirius stared at him, something unreadable in his eyes. "You weren't the only one who believed I was guilty. But… it means a lot. Hearing that from you."
"I am deeply sorry," Dumbledore said, stepping around his desk. "I failed James and Lily by failing you. And by failing Harry."
Harry looked away, throat tightening.
"I have no excuse," the old wizard continued. "Only regret—and a promise to set it right."
Sirius let out a breath and gave a small nod. "Then let's start now."
Dumbledore stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Sirius's shoulder. "You look like you've been through ten winters without shelter, Sirius. Before anything else, let's get you to the hospital wing."
Sirius opened his mouth to argue—but the effort seemed to collapse in his chest. He simply nodded, too exhausted to protest.
"I'll speak to Madam Pomfrey myself," Dumbledore added. "I trust she'll be discreet."
He turned to Harry and Remus then, his expression softening. "It's been a long day for all of us. You've both done more than anyone could have asked."
"But—" Harry began.
"There is no doubt in my mind that Sirius will be cleared," Dumbledore said firmly. "But it must be done properly. Tomorrow, I will take him to the Ministry myself and present the evidence. Peter Pettigrew will stand trial. The truth will be heard."
Remus gave a tired nod, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing. "Thank you, Albus."
Sirius looked at him then—really looked. "I'll be alright, Harry. I promise. We're nearly there."
Dumbledore opened the door to his office and gestured for Sirius to follow. "Come, old friend. Let's get you cleaned up before the sun rises."
As Sirius and Dumbledore disappeared down the corridor, Harry stood for a long moment in the quiet office, the fire crackling softly behind him.
Remus touched his shoulder gently. "Come on. Let's get you back to Gryffindor Tower."
They walked in silence through the dim halls, side by side. It was the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.
By the time they reached the portrait hole, the Fat Lady was asleep in her frame, snoring softly. She opened one bleary eye as they approached and muttered, "Password?"
"Moonlight," Harry said. The frame swung open.
Inside, the common room was empty. Shadows danced along the walls, the last embers glowing in the hearth.
"You should sleep," Remus said.
Harry nodded, murmuring, "Goodnight, Professor."
[Sirius POV]
Sirius could barely feel his feet.
Not from exhaustion—though that weighed on him too—but from the surreal lightness in his chest. Each step down the corridor beside Dumbledore felt like walking out of a nightmare and into something he no longer dared believe in.
He was free.
Or nearly.
And Harry—his Harry—was alive, strong, and happy.
Sirius clenched his jaw, keeping stride beside the headmaster, though his legs trembled with each step.
"I still see James in him," he murmured, voice rough with disuse and feeling. "But he's his own person. Quieter. More focused."
"He has grown under difficult circumstances," Dumbledore said gently.
Sirius stopped walking. "About that," he said quietly, turning to face the older wizard. "Why was he sent there? To them? To Petunia of all people? James hated her. Lily barely spoke of her without a sigh. Did no one else step forward?"
Dumbledore slowed, his expression calm but shadowed. "Lily's protection—her blood—had power. As long as Harry could call the Dursleys' house home, the charm I placed would keep him safe from those who might try to harm him."
Sirius let out a dry, bitter laugh.
"Safe?" he echoed, his voice low but sharp. "You call that safe? I saw how they treated him."
Dumbledore slowed.
Sirius pressed on, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Before I came to Hogsmeade… I went to the Dursleys first. Don't tell me you didn't know."
Dumbledore's face remained calm, but his eyes flickered with something—regret, perhaps. Or guilt.
"I knew they were not warm," Dumbledore said carefully. "But blood magic requires sacrifice. Petunia was his last living link to Lily. Her home protected him—"
"At what cost?" Sirius snapped, stopping short. "You call that protection? "
He ran a hand through his matted hair, forcing a breath. "You don't understand what it's like to see James's son treated like that. To know I could've taken him—should've taken him—but I couldn't even speak, locked in that damned cell for a crime I didn't commit."
"I understand more than you think," Dumbledore said quietly. "And I do not take your anger lightly."
Sirius's jaw clenched. "Good. Because I'm not letting him go back. Not now. Not ever."
Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment, and something behind his gaze softened. "Then where would you have him stay?"
"With me," Sirius said without hesitation. "Properly. As a family."
"That may be difficult," Dumbledore began, "until the Ministry clears your name. And even then—"
"You can cast the Fidelius Charm," Sirius interrupted. "Make me the Secret-Keeper, or yourself if you must. But I won't send him back there. Not after everything."
There was a pause.
Then Dumbledore sighed—deeply, as though the weight of decades pressed on his shoulders. "You may be right."
Sirius blinked.
Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temple. "Harry's aunt, Petunia's sister-in-law—Marge Dursley—suffered an unfortunate fate. During a visit, Harry's accidental magic inflated her like a balloon. The Ministry sent an Obliviator, but… the spell rebounded. Improper wand movement. She is now… permanently unresponsive. Braindead, in essence."
Sirius blinked, stunned. "Are you saying…?"
"The Dursleys were furious. They've made it very clear they will never accept Harry under their roof again," Dumbledore said. "And even if the blood magic were still viable… I would not ask him to return. Not after everything."
Sirius let out a slow breath, some corner of guilt easing from his chest. "Then we agree. He comes with me."
Dumbledore hesitated only briefly. "Very well. If that is truly your wish—and if Harry agrees—then we will arrange it. He will stay with you."
The words hit Sirius like warm sunlight through the fog.
Stay with him.
He leaned against the cold stone wall, letting out a shuddering breath. "Thank you."
Dumbledore's gaze softened. "He has your fire, Sirius. But you… you have endured more than any man should. I only hope the next chapter brings healing."
A small smile touched Sirius's lips. "James and Lily would be proud of him. And I'll make sure he knows they were."
They continued walking—one man no longer hunted, and the other already thinking of tomorrow, and how to build a life that Harry truly deserved.
They reached the hospital wing in silence. The castle seemed to hum with sleep now, torches dimmed to gentle glows as if Hogwarts itself was holding its breath.
Madam Pomfrey was already bustling about when they entered, a diagnostic spell dancing from the tip of her wand as she looked up sharply.
"Albus," she said with a frown, her eyes narrowing the moment they landed on Sirius. "You've brought me a corpse or a miracle, I can't tell which."
Sirius gave a dry chuckle, his voice hoarse. "Bit of both, I reckon."
Pomfrey clicked her tongue and strode over. "Sit. Shirt off. Let's see what Azkaban has done to you."
Sirius obeyed, sinking onto one of the clean white beds as the mediwitch began her work. Her spells fluttered across his skin, flickering in reds and yellows and muted orange. She tutted under her breath as she conjured a vial and pressed it into his hand.
"Drink this. And don't argue—it'll help rebuild your magical reserves. You're more bones than man right now."
Sirius raised the vial in a mock toast. "To flesh and freedom."
Pomfrey gave him a withering look but said nothing more.
The potion tasted like ash and salt, but the warmth that followed felt real—like something settling inside his chest for the first time in a long while.
Dumbledore remained nearby, hands folded, watching. There was a faint light in his eyes—hope, or maybe guilt mixed with it.
Sirius leaned back on the bed, his limbs heavy, his breathing slowing as exhaustion truly caught up to him.
"Sleep," Pomfrey said softly, the edges of her tone less sharp now. "The rest can wait."
And for once, Sirius didn't resist.
He let himself lie down, the sheets clean, the room warm, the nightmares mercifully distant.
As his eyes fluttered closed, the last thing he heard was Dumbledore's voice, low and steady.
"You're not alone anymore, Sirius. Rest. There's still a future to build."
And then… darkness.
But not the kind he'd lived in for so long.
This one was gentle. Healing.
The kind of sleep one only finds after knowing they've been found.
After knowing… they're home.
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[A/N] - I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. I'd love to hear your thoughts—what's working for you, what's not, and what you'd like to see in future chapters. Your feedback means a lot and helps me make this story even better. Please let me know in the comments or drop a review!
Thanks for reading !