Dumbledore's office.
Sirius had his arm around Harry and was midway through a story about James Potter's fifth-year attempt to charm the Quidditch pitch goalposts to automatically dodge incoming Bludgers — which had worked, briefly, and spectacularly incorrectly — when the others filed in.
Dumbledore was at his desk with a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, apparently content to let the reunion happen at its own pace.
"I don't think we've been properly introduced," Sirius said, looking at the new arrivals. He'd cleaned up considerably. Dark suit, the wild hair brought under control, the hollowness already beginning to fill out after real food and real sleep. The energy that had survived twelve years in Azkaban fully intact was currently operating at full capacity. "Sirius Black. Former Hogwarts student. Harry's godfather, as of the paperwork going through. Delighted to meet all of you."
Ron and Hermione introduced themselves. Kevin shook his hand and said his name once.
Sirius looked at him. "You're the one who talked Severus down in the Shack."
"I gave him his wand back," Kevin said. "Different thing."
"You dislocated Peter's shoulder."
"Strategic."
Sirius appeared to like him.
Dumbledore walked them through the past forty-eight hours. Ministry interrogation — Legilimency, Veritaserum, the full apparatus. Sirius's formal exoneration. Twelve years of wrongful imprisonment acknowledged in the bloodless language of official documents that said nothing adequate about what had actually been taken.
It was a better ending than the story deserved.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, with the mildness of someone raising a subject he has been waiting to raise, "Sirius has signed your Hogsmeade permission slip. You won't need to improvise transport for future visits."
Harry winced.
"And you, Kevin." Dumbledore's eyes moved across the room. "You could simply have asked me."
"Headmaster, that is a serious allegation. I'll need to see evidence before I make any statement."
Kevin put his hands on his hips.
"Madam Puddifoot photographs every couple who visits her establishment," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "She has been doing so for thirty years."
Kevin opened his mouth. Closed it.
Hermione, standing two feet away, had progressed through several colours and arrived at something close to crimson.
"I'm pursuing legal action against Madam Puddifoot for violation of image rights," Kevin announced, with the dignity available to him under the circumstances.
The room laughed. Dumbledore with more genuine amusement than most.
Kevin filed a mental note to obtain that permission slip before term ended.
Sirius extended an open invitation for the holidays — new place, proper rooms, no shortage of space. Harry didn't wait to be asked a second time. He accepted for himself and for everyone else in the room before anyone else had spoken.
A burst of flame interrupted the settling mood.
Fawkes' delivery method for urgent correspondence.
Dumbledore read the letter once, then once more. His expression changed.
"There was an ambush during Pettigrew's Ministry transport," he said. "He escaped. An Auror managed to signal before the attackers — there were casualties."
The room went silent.
Kevin let it settle. Then he reached into his bag and held out a photograph.
"Mr. Black. For context."
Sirius took it.
The Boggart from Lupin's Defence class — shaped like a dog, wearing Sirius Black's human face, sitting in miniature confusion in a Hogwarts classroom, looking deeply uncertain about its own existence.
Lupin saw it over Sirius's shoulder. He laughed properly for the first time since they'd walked into the office.
"Harry's Boggart," Sirius said. His voice had something complicated in it.
"Kevin took the photograph," Harry said. "In class."
Sirius looked at Kevin.
"Long-term investment," Kevin said. "Every time you're being difficult."
Sirius looked at the photograph again. Then — despite everything, despite the letter, despite the weight of the room — he grinned.
Dumbledore closed the meeting with quiet efficiency and sent them back to their dormitories.
Two days later, the newspapers changed. Sirius's poster replaced by Pettigrew's. The world adjusted.
Sirius went to London to find a house. Something new, with no history in it.
Not Grimmauld Place. He'd fled that house at sixteen and had no intention of returning to it for any reason. The memories were exclusively bad, and he was a free man with money, and free men with money don't voluntarily walk back into their worst years.
He found a building. Five stories. Central London. Enough room for everything he intended to fill his life with.