The torches lining the stone walls flared brighter as Dumbledore rose from his seat at the high dais, his deep blue robes flowing like water. His gaze swept over the Wizengamot and the crowded courtroom below—Ministry officials, Aurors, press observers, and a handful of invited witnesses.
"The court is now in session," Dumbledore said, his voice calm yet commanding. "We are gathered today to determine the guilt or innocence of Peter Pettigrew and to review the wrongful conviction of Sirius Black. Madam Bones, if you would proceed."
Amelia Bones stood, stern in her plum robes, monocle glinting. "Thank you, Chief Warlock."
She turned, her voice clear and clipped. "Bring in the accused."
The great door at the side of the courtroom creaked open. Peter Pettigrew was dragged forward by two Aurors, his limbs shackled, eyes darting madly. He looked smaller than Harry remembered—shrunk in on himself, a rat in every sense of the word.
Gasps echoed around the chamber. For many, it was the first time seeing a man they had believed dead for over a decade.
Madam Bones stepped forward, reading from a scroll. "Peter Pettigrew is hereby charged with the following crimes: the betrayal of James and Lily Potter to Lord Voldemort; the murder of twelve Muggles and framing Sirius Black for the same; evading justice by faking his death and living illegally as an unregistered Animagus; and consorting with known Death Eaters."
Murmurs rippled through the court.
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Mr. Pettigrew, do you deny these charges?"
Peter trembled violently, mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. Under the weight of the room, the truth, and the wand of one very grim-faced Auror at his back, he finally croaked out, "I—I did it… I betrayed them. I thought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would win. I was afraid."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Lucius Malfoy rose smoothly from his seat, cane in hand, face a perfect mask of polite concern. "Forgive me, Chief Warlock, but might I remind the court that this—confession—could easily have been induced? A well-placed Confundus Charm, perhaps even a subtle Imperius. Black is no stranger to the Dark Arts. Is it not possible this is all a clever fabrication to clear his name?"
A few heads turned. Some nodded uncertainly.
Madam Bones, however, didn't miss a beat. She stepped forward, voice sharper than ever. "The accused bears the Dark Mark."
Gasps echoed again.
At her nod, one of the Aurors yanked up Pettigrew's left sleeve. There, on his forearm, was the unmistakable black skull and serpent, burned into his skin.
Madam Bones turned to Lucius, eyebrow raised. "Unless Mr. Black has discovered how to bestow the Mark of You-Know-Who himself, I believe your theory is unfounded."
Lucius sat down, lips tight and white.
"Thank you, Madam Bones," Dumbledore said quietly. "The court will now hear the testimony of Sirius Black."
Sirius stepped forward. Gone was the haunted fugitive—this man stood tall, shoulders back, voice clear.
"I never betrayed James and Lily. I was their Secret Keeper in theory only—we switched at the last moment. Peter volunteered, thinking no one would ever suspect him. I agreed. It was my mistake."
His voice broke for a moment, but he continued.
"The night they died, I went to check on Peter. I knew immediately something was wrong. He staged his own death, blew up that street, and left me to take the fall. The Aurors never gave me a trial. They threw me into Azkaban based on a lie."
For a heartbeat, the chamber was still—then the murmuring began. Low and disbelieving at first, but it swelled like a tide.
"No trial?" someone whispered near the back.
"That's impossible—surely there was a hearing—"
But Sirius went on, jaw clenched, voice cutting through the gathering outrage like a blade.
"I escaped not to run—but to bring the real traitor to justice. That's what I've done."
Gasps and furious whispers rippled through the benches. Even among the Wizengamot, a few wizards exchanged scandalized glances. One elderly witch clutched her robes as if suddenly chilled.
Madam Bones's expression had gone from stern to stormy.
Dumbledore didn't speak—he didn't need to. The weight of what had been said echoed through every stone in the courtroom.
A man locked away in Azkaban without due process. No trial. No defense. Just twelve years in darkness based on assumption.
Harry could see it plainly now: this wasn't just about one man's freedom. It was about the system that had failed him—and how many others it might have failed, too.
Then Dumbledore raised his hand. "We will now vote. All in favor of clearing Sirius Black of all charges, and formally declaring Peter Pettigrew guilty of the crimes listed, raise your wands."
Wands rose like a wave—dozens of them, unwavering. Only a small pocket of dissent—Lucius Malfoy and a few tight-lipped allies—kept their hands lowered.
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "The motion passes. Sirius Black is hereby cleared of all charges."
Cheers erupted from the gallery. Arthur Weasley gripped Molly's hand. Tonks gave a sharp whoop.
Dumbledore continued voice grave. "Peter Pettigrew is hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. A reinforced ward will be placed on his cell to prevent Animagus transformation or magical escape of any kind."
Peter screamed, thrashing against his bonds. "No—please! I was scared! I didn't have a choice!"
Sirius looked down at him, calm now. Cold. "We all had a choice, Peter."
The Aurors dragged him from the room, his screams echoing off the stone.
As the doors slammed shut, Dumbledore turned to Sirius and gave a quiet nod. "Welcome back, Mr. Black."
Harry stepped forward, unable to help the grin spreading across his face.
Sirius looked at him, eyes bright, voice almost trembling with disbelief. "I'm free, Harry."
The cheers were still echoing when Sirius stepped forward again. He wasn't trembling anymore, but his voice wavered with emotion as he looked up at the dais.
"Chief Warlock, if I may…" he said louder this time, projecting past the ringing applause. "There is something more I must ask of this court."
The room fell silent once more. All eyes turned to him.
Sirius swallowed. "Twelve years ago, James and Lily named me godfather to their son. I was meant to protect him if the worst should happen. And it did."
He looked to Harry, then back at the assembled court.
"I failed once. I let Peter take everything. But I'm asking—begging—for a chance to do right by him now. I ask that this court grant me guardianship of Harry James Potter, as his rightful godfather and the one entrusted with his care."
A beat of silence followed.
Then Dumbledore rose, his expression unreadable but his voice kind.
"The court acknowledges Mr. Black's request. It is supported by the will of James and Lily Potter, which names Sirius Black as Harry's primary guardian in the event of their deaths."
Gasps followed that revelation—most had never known any such will existed, and fewer still that it had been ignored.
Dumbledore turned to the Wizengamot. "Given that Mr. Black has now been cleared of all charges, and in light of his request and the Potters' explicit wishes, I motion that guardianship be restored upon completion of a short evaluation period, as required by Ministry child welfare laws."
Several wands immediately raised in agreement. A second wave followed. The motion passed without a single voice of dissent.
Dumbledore gave a solemn nod. "So it is recorded. Sirius Black shall be named the legal guardian of Harry James Potter."
Sirius's shoulders sagged—not in defeat, but in relief. He turned back to Harry, eyes glistening.
"If you'll have me," he said softly.
Harry hesitated for a second. " Of course, I will ", he whispered.
As the great doors of the courtroom creaked open, Sirius and Harry stepped out into the corridor, the noise of the trial still echoing behind them. The tension that had gripped the walls of the courtroom seemed to dissolve, replaced by something quieter—softer.
For the first time in twelve years, Sirius walked as a free man.
He exhaled deeply, shoulders rising and falling as though shedding the weight of a thousand storms.
"I still can't quite believe it," he muttered, glancing at Harry with a grin that was equal parts joy and disbelief. Then his tone turned more serious. "Listen, Harry… before we do anything else—I need to get myself checked in at St Mungo's. The healers want to do a full restoration cycle. Twelve years in Azkaban wasn't exactly good for my… everything."
Harry nodded, and Sirius put a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm all right. Just tired, and a bit worn. Nothing that a few days under proper care won't fix. But I'll write to you the moment I'm allowed to, I promise."
Harry nodded slowly. "Okay."
"And—if everything goes well, and I'm cleared before the end of term," Sirius continued, "I'll have the old house cleaned up. It's not much yet, but… we can make it better. I want you to spend Christmas with me."
Harry blinked, stunned. "Really?"
Sirius smiled. "Really. It's time we had a proper holiday. No Dursleys. Just us. Maybe some warm socks, exploding snap, and a lot of fun."
Harry laughed for real then, and Sirius looked like he'd just heard music for the first time in years.
They reached the golden lift and stepped inside with Dumbledore and Madam Bones. It rattled upward, passing floors and levels until it opened into the glittering Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.
It was chaos.
Dozens of reporters swarmed the space, quills, and cameras flashing in every direction. The golden statue in the center gleamed dully under the flare of magical flash powder. Questions shouted over one another like spells in a duel.
"Sirius Black, how did you survive Azkaban?"
"Mr. Potter, did you know the truth all along?"
"Is it true Pettigrew was living in Hogwarts? What does this mean for school safety?"
Sirius's jaw tightened, but his eyes scanned the crowd and found Harry's, calm and sure.
He leaned, voice low but firm. "I'll handle this, all right? You don't need to face this lot. Not today. Go back to Hogwarts with Dumbledore. You've done more than enough."
Harry nodded as Dumbledore was already placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"He's right, Harry," the old wizard said, his voice as steady as ever. "Come. Let your godfather have this moment."
Sirius nodded once more to Harry, then stepped forward into the chaos of flashing lights and flying questions.
He didn't flinch.
He stood straight, met the storm, and began to speak—not as a fugitive, but as a man reclaiming his name.
Harry turned away only once Sirius caught his eye and gave a little wink—something just between the two of them.
He followed Dumbledore to the fireplaces at the far end of the Atrium, green flames already roaring as a Ministry worker held out a pot of Floo powder.
"Back to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter?" the woman asked kindly.
Harry stepped into the grate, heart light and heavy all at once.
"Yeah," he said, clutching the powder. "Back home."
And with a flash of green, he was gone.