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Hogwarts, Gryffindor Common Room.
Harry sat quietly at the round table by the window, his hands clasped together, head resting on his arms. Behind him, a group of students was practicing diligently. After that special lesson, everyone was buzzing with excitement about the Patronus Charm.
They chanted the spell over and over, waving their wands nonstop, all hoping to summon a majestic guardian.
But the room was filled with swirling silver mist, vague shapes flickering in the floating orbs of light. The silver glow spilled onto the floor, mixing with the candlelight and firelight, giving the common room a whole new vibe.
The photo on the Daily Prophet page shifted slightly. Sirius only took up half the space—not the scruffy, wild-haired guy from the summer wanted posters anymore, but a fresh shot from the holding room. Those steel-gray eyes had a bit of sparkle now, with a faint smile in them, full of hope and anticipation for what was coming.
But the other half ruined the mood. Peter Pettigrew's pudgy face was swollen and pale, his rat-like eyes squinted in a way that just felt off-putting.
"Who's the Traitor: Black and Pettigrew Face the Real Trial"
Right now, the hearing was already underway.
Harry knew the exact time—it was happening over the weekend. He'd asked Dumbledore if he could sit in, but the headmaster passed along Sirius's wishes and turned down the weekend outing.
He wasn't giving up, though. On Hermione's advice, he'd written to the Ministry, applying as godson to attend the trial. But the Enforcement Office shot it down, saying he wasn't immediate family.
Now that the trial had officially started, Harry had to face facts—he couldn't be there to help Sirius.
Hundreds of miles away in London's Ministry of Magic basement, Sirius was locked in his seat for the hearing. All Harry could do was sit here and wait quietly for the outcome.
"Harry... when you're casting, is it the happy memory that's more important, or the protective mindset?" Someone came up behind him.
During Patronus practice, this was a classic dilemma. If you got stuck second-guessing, the guardian's silver light would flicker and fade.
"Both matter, but follow your gut and commit to one," Harry said shortly, pushing down his anxiety.
He turned to see Seamus and Dean, their faces lit up with eager grins, eyes sparkling like stars, a few drops of potion lingering at the corners of their mouths—probably from the Cheering Charms George and Fred were selling.
The twins weren't short on research funds anymore; hawking potions was just for fun. What exactly they mixed in, though, was anyone's guess.
"Any one will do?"
Seamus and Dean looked surprised, exchanging glances and grumbling: "This is your fault—you kept harping on happy feelings, and now I'm overthinking it, can't focus."
"And you were all about the protective vibe! If I'd chugged more Cheering Charm, I might've nailed it by now."
"It's your fault!"
"No, yours!"
Their usual playful bickering suddenly grated on him, even got annoying. Harry felt out of place with them.
That's when Hermione came down the spiral staircase, pulling her notes from her side bag: "If you've got time to argue, why not get back to practicing? Keep it up, and the Cheering Charm will wear off!"
These were her old tutoring notes, scribbled down from memory and research after class. Harry felt a wave of gratitude—she was sharing her prized notes just to shoo the two away.
Ron had wandered over at some point, offering a box of Chocolate Frogs: "Hoping some sweets cheer you up a bit."
He hadn't summoned a corporeal Patronus yet. According to him, he was this close—just needed Peter Pettigrew's trial to wrap up, hear the guilty verdict, and ride that genuine rush of joy to call forth a lion-like guardian.
"Don't worry, Harry. Dumbledore's the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot—his word carries a ton of weight with the jury. And Professor Levent's got pull in the wizarding world too." Hermione said softly, trying to reassure him.
"And my dad's at the Ministry!" Ron puffed out his chest.
"Hermione, Ron, thanks..." Harry managed a smile, thinking Mr. Weasley probably couldn't sway much.
"Dumbledore knows you're on edge. He'll rush back right after the trial and fill you in first thing."
"Maybe Sirius gets off scot-free and comes back with the professors to see you." Ron leaned back in his chair, munching chocolate casually.
Their back-and-forth comfort helped Harry feel better. The sweet taste of the Chocolate Frog wrapped around his tongue, making the bitter wait seem a little less tough. But soon, Cormac McLaggen butted in again, peppering them with basic Patronus questions but ignoring Harry and Hermione's advice—he just wanted them to agree with him.
After shooing McLaggen away for the fourth time, Harry's anxiety crept back in, leaving him restless and short of breath.
"I need some fresh air," Harry said.
"Want us to come?" Hermione asked, concerned.
Harry shook his head: "Just need a minute alone."
He didn't head to the dorms. He slipped out the portrait hole and wandered the corridors aimlessly, turning a few corners until he was near the headmaster's office. The oak door was shut tight, flanked by two snarling gargoyle statues that clearly weren't welcoming visitors.
Harry stood outside for a few minutes, then turned and wandered elsewhere, still without a plan. He didn't want to go back to the common room or the Great Hall—the school was full of kids practicing the Patronus Charm.
Strolling through the ancient, quiet hallways, the eighth floor had few portraits and hardly any ghosts. It felt like he had the whole level to himself, and those worries seemed to fade away.
Harry thought about everything that had happened lately, about Sirius.
Then, footsteps echoed from around the corner ahead.
"Jack of spades, a dark-haired young man..." Professor Trelawney's muttering voice came from behind the bend.
Harry ducked behind a suit of armor, watching as Trelawney shuffled around the corner, cutting and shuffling a grimy deck of playing cards, reading the suits and numbers.
"Ten of spades, violence... Seven of hearts, luck."
As Trelawney passed, Harry caught a strong whiff of sherry—combined with her slurred drawl, he was sure the professor was tipsy.
Watching the Divination teacher shuffle away, Harry let out a breath and stepped out to keep going. But then a weird, raspy voice sounded behind him.
"It's happening tonight."
Harry spun around. Trelawney looked off—her hands hung limp at her sides, cards scattered on the floor, head bowed toward him, eyes unfocused.
When she said that, Trelawney seemed out of it, way more real than her usual dramatic act at the start of term.
Harry's mind raced: "Professor? Professor Trelawney?"
But Trelawney was lost in her own world, like she couldn't hear him. Her eyes started rolling, body twitching slightly, like some kind of episode.
Harry hesitated, wondering if he should run to the hospital wing.
Then Trelawney spoke again, head still down, that raspy voice nothing like her own—as if another soul had taken over her body and was speaking through her mouth.
"In the distant forest, the Dark Lord lies alone, friendless, abandoned by his followers.
"For these twelve years, his servant has been imprisoned.
"Tonight, before midnight, this servant will break free and seek out his old master.
"The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever before.
"Tonight... before midnight... the servant... will break free... and rejoin... his master."
As the words ended, Trelawney jerked suddenly, like waking from a dream. Her head snapped up, she blinked, focus returning as she saw the student in front of her.
"Sorry, dear boy, I had a bit too much... Did something happen?"
"Nothing major..."
Harry stared into Professor Trelawney's eyes, pausing: "You just seemed to make a prophecy. You told me the Dark Lord is rising again, that his servant is returning to him..."
"The Dark Lord? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? My dear boy, that's not something to joke about... Rising again, how could that be?"
Trelawney looked totally panicked, like she had no memory of it.
"But that's what you just said?"
"I think you must've had too much too, dear!" Trelawney shot back loudly. "I'd never predict something so distant and awful!"
Watching the Divination professor hurry off, Harry stood there stunned for a few seconds, then headed back to the common room at a quick pace.
Hermione might've dropped the wrong class—Trelawney really could prophesy!
...
Ministry of Magic, Underground Level Ten, Courtroom One.
Upstairs, staff hurried about, elevators dinged nonstop, piles of letters and files stacked high. The fallout from the Minister's removal hadn't been cleared up yet, but the trial was starting on schedule.
This was the biggest case in the wizarding world in nearly a decade: a Death Eater escaping justice, an innocent wizard wrongfully imprisoned for twelve years, breaking out to save his godson, the Boy Who Lived.
On the ceiling, the Ministry's wand emblem hung high, its handle pointing to the chief judge's seat, the tip aimed straight at the defendants' cage.
The courtroom was a circular hall, with tiers dropping inward. The chief judge and jury stood on the outer ring, looking down from above. Peter and Sirius sat in the central iron cage, separated by barbed grates.
Peter kept his head down, face hidden.
Sirius nodded slightly, acknowledging a few familiar faces in the jury.
The jury—Ministry staff and Wizengamot members—was filing into seats along the side of the hall. Staff wore standard black robes with a gold "M" on the chest; Wizengamot members had plum-colored robes with a silver "W" embroidered on the left.
Dumbledore sat calmly in the front row, his expression steady, blue eyes behind half-moon glasses meeting Sirius's. His silver-white beard and hair gleamed faintly.
Just sitting there, he radiated authority, drawing every eye and steadying hearts.
The other big name, Professor Levent—the mastermind behind toppling two Ministers—was tucked in the back of the public gallery, keeping a low profile.
"Looks intense!" Bagman sat next to Melvin in the gallery, which was packed with wizards. "Haven't seen this kind of setup at the Ministry in over a decade—not since little Barty's trial."
"This one's a Death Eater trial too, but Mr. Crouch isn't presiding."
Melvin glanced thoughtfully ahead. The International Cooperation head sat ramrod straight, face grave, eyes flickering with light—who knew what was on his mind.
"How's the Quidditch World Cup coming along?" he changed the subject.
"Umbridge is no slouch—she climbed the ranks on her own. Handling the Cup committee was a breeze for a Senior Undersecretary! She dug into each member's event history, twisted arms, played favorites—I bet she could've been Minister!" Bagman marveled.
Up ahead were wizards from Magical Creatures Regulation, originally Umbridge backers, looking grim. Walden Macnair, the executioner from the Dangerous Creatures Committee, sat in front of them.
Macnair sported a thin black mustache. He'd been eyeing Peter in the center, but overhearing them, he turned with a cold glare, his gaunt face twitching.
Bagman ignored the losers, pressing on: "Mr. Levent, per your advice, I'm heading to the Muggle world in a few months to study top event practices. Guarantee the Mirror Club rakes it in."
"Shh... trial's starting."
Bagman zipped it. The weight of those Galleons in his vault matched the young professor's pull—heavy.
The deep underground courtroom had black stone walls, heavy iron doors shut tight, lit only by a few torches. Shadows danced in the dim light as the gallery and jury whispered.
The chief judge banged the gavel, and an ominous silence fell.
Madam Bones looked solemn, her voice echoing through the hall:
"Trial of January 31, regarding Sirius Black III's violations of the International Statute of Secrecy, Azkaban Management Act, and Animagus Registration Act, and Peter Pettigrew's violations of the Animagus Registration Act, Wizarding Criminal Code, International Statute of Secrecy, and Muggle Protection Act..."
"Just hearing the charges tells you the sentences won't match," Bagman whispered. "For Sirius, illegal Animagus is the heaviest. For Peter, that's the lightest."
Melvin stayed quiet.
Madam Bones banged the gavel again:
"Interrogator: Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement..."
"I declare the trial officially open!"