(Gilderoy Lockhart)
Monday, November 1, 1993
Last night, after the meeting with Dumbledore, I brought Sirius and Peter with me to the The Three Broomsticks, which very nearly resulted in poor Rosmerta hexing me on instinct.
It is not every evening that a presumed mass murderer walks into your establishment beside your lover carrying a snow globe containing a disgusting rat.
Aurora reached for her wand immediately.
Rosmerta simply stared.
Sirius, who at that moment was still in human form and looked considerably less feral than the posters suggested, raised both hands and said, "Before anyone screams, I can explain."
They did not scream.
But it was a close thing.
After a brief, and carefully edited explanation, the tension eased. Aurora lowered her wand first. Rosmerta followed a moment later, though she kept eyeing Sirius as if weighing whether she could take him in a duel across her own bar.
To her credit, she recovered quickly.
"If he breaks anything," she said crisply, "he pays for it."
"Of course," I replied smoothly.
Sirius was given a room upstairs for the night, under strict instruction not to transform, escape, duel anyone, or start a bar fight for old times' sake.
When he learned that I was involved with both women, and that one of them was Rosmerta, a long-standing fantasy of half the male population of Hogwarts, he looked personally betrayed.
"You?" he demanded. "How?"
"Talent," I replied.
He squinted at me suspiciously. "During my glory days, I never managed to be with two women at once without getting hexed the second they realized I was two-timing."
"That," I informed him, "is because you were two-timing."
He frowned, "How did you do it then?"
"A touch of honesty," I continued, "combined with the proper application of charm. The old Lockhart charm."
He snorted. "And what's my problem?"
"Unfortunately," I said kindly, "you do not possess either of them."
He muttered something about arrogance and unfairly good hair.
Peter, meanwhile, remained confined within his enchanted snow globe on Sirius's bedside table, trapped in perpetual winter. Sirius shook it once before sleeping, purely for morale.
Before retiring to sleep for the night, I composed two letters.
One to Minister Cornelius Fudge, and one to Madam Amelia Bones.
My message was simple: I had in my possession evidence that would drastically alter the outcome of the following morning's proceedings, specifically the trial of Fenrir Greyback and his associates, and requested a private meeting before court convened.
I sent both letters via Dobby, who vanished with an audible crack and the kind of determined enthusiasm that suggested he would deliver them directly into their hands if necessary.
The replies arrived within the hour.
Both were rather enthusiastic.
Fudge's handwriting was hurried and slightly blotched with ink, always a sign of agitation. Madam Bones' reply was crisp, concise, and disturbingly efficient.
They would see me first thing in the morning.
Which is how I found myself now standing in the Minister's office at the Ministry of Magic.
Sirius sat at my feet in his large black dog form, tail curled neatly around his paws. To any observer, he was nothing more than a particularly grim stray I had decided to adopt.
He was also under strict instructions not to bite anyone unless I said so.
The office itself was ostentatious in a way only politicians could achieve. Deep green carpets. Framed portraits of past Ministers lining the walls. A model of the British Isles rotating slowly beneath a hovering banner reading Progress and Prosperity. The faint smell of polished wood and anxiety lingered in the air.
Minister Fudge stood behind his desk, wringing his bowler hat between his hands.
"Gilderoy!" he said with forced warmth. "Good of you to come so early. You mentioned… evidence?"
Madam Bones stood nearby, spine straight as a blade. Her monocle gleamed beneath the office lights as her sharp eyes flicked briefly toward the dog.
"Your letter implied urgency," she said evenly. "I trust this is not just theatrics."
"Perish the thought," I replied smoothly.
Sirius's tail thumped once against the carpet.
Fudge glanced down at him nervously. "Er, is that animal safe?"
"He is very well trained," I assured him.
Sirius bared his teeth in what might generously be called a smile.
"But I'm considering neutering him, Merlin knows he's been humping anything that moves."
Sirius's smile vanished immediately and his eyes widened in alarm.
I ignored him and reached into my coat pocket slowly.
"Minister," I said calmly, "Madam Bones, before today's proceedings begin, I believe it is only fair that you meet the true traitor responsible for the fall of the Potters."
The room stilled.
Even the portraits leaned closer.
From my pocket, I withdrew the snow globe.
Inside, the blizzard swirled and the rat began to squeak desperately, hitting the crystal with its tiny paws as if it was begging to be taken out.
…
"Are you saying the traitor is a rat?" Fudge asked, blinking rapidly. "What about Black?"
His expression twisted in genuine confusion.
Madam Bones rolled her eyes with such controlled disdain that I almost applauded.
"It's an Animagus, isn't it?" she said sharply, eyes fixed on the snow globe. "Are you suggesting that Black is a rat Animagus?"
At my feet, Sirius let out a low, offended growl.
Amelia's eyebrow arched slightly.
"Or," she continued coolly, "are you implying the traitor was someone else entirely?"
Her gaze lifted slowly to me.
"Because if that is the case… that would mean the Ministry made a rather catastrophic error."
The word catastrophic landed with surgical precision.
"No!" Fudge shot to his feet so abruptly his chair screeched backward. Both palms slammed onto the desk, rattling the inkpots. His bowler hat tumbled dramatically to the carpet.
"Absolutely not! Do you hear what you're saying, Amelia? If that were true, the Ministry's reputation would be dragged through the mud!"
He was sweating now.
The portraits lining the office walls leaned forward, whispering among themselves.
Amelia narrowed her eyes, clearly preparing to dismantle him piece by piece.
But before she could begin, I allowed myself a soft chuckle.
"Minister," I said gently, "surely you misunderstand the opportunity being presented."
He paused.
Opportunity was a word he understood.
"It was not your administration that handled the Black case," I continued smoothly. "It was your predecessor's. And more specifically, Bartemius Crouch Senior, who oversaw the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time."
Amelia did not interrupt.
Fudge slowly sat back down.
"In fact," I went on, folding my hands, "history could record that you were the Minister who corrected the greatest miscarriage of justice in recent memory."
His breathing steadied.
"You would be seen not as the man who erred… but the man who fixed it."
I let that settle.
"And," I added casually, "you would gain the gratitude, and likely the political support, of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black."
Amelia's brows rose slightly.
Ah. She hadn't expected me to approach the Minister from that angle.
Fudge's eyes flickered with calculation.
"The House of Black…" he murmured. "Substantial holdings… old alliances… influence…"
"And generous donations during election cycles," I supplied helpfully.
His fingers tightened around his recovered hat.
"Well," he said slowly, "when you put it that way… the narrative does change somewhat."
Amelia crossed her arms.
"That is assuming, of course, that Lord Black would support the Ministry."
I smiled.
"He is here right now. Why don't you tell them yourself, Mr Black?"
There was a heartbeat of silence.
Then Sirius chose his moment.
The large black dog shimmered and twisted, fur retracting, bones shifting, until Sirius Black stood in the center of the Minister's office in full human form.
Fudge made a strangled noise and nearly tipped backward in his chair.
Amelia's wand appeared in her hand in a flash of disciplined reflex, but she did not point it. Merely held it at her side.
Sirius dusted off his sleeves as though he had just arrived at a dinner party.
"Minister Fudge," he said with a formal bow befitting centuries of pure-blood arrogance, "a pleasure. Though I do wish it were under more flattering circumstances."
Fudge wrung his hat like a damp towel.
"Yes, well, quite, yes."
Sirius turned toward Amelia, and a slow, roguish grin spread across his face.
"Amy. Long time no see."
Her expression did not change.
"It pains me," he continued theatrically, "that you never visited me in Azkaban. I thought what we had was special."
Amelia stared at him with all the warmth of a courtroom verdict.
"We had a strictly professional relationship," she said flatly. "Supervisor and subordinate. Anything else would have been grossly inappropriate."
Sirius wiggled his eyebrows.
"But you're not my supervisor anymore."
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"So how about that date now?"
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
"Mr. Black," Amelia said calmly, "you are currently a fugitive standing in the Minister's office while admitting to unlawful Animagus transformation within Ministry premises."
He blinked.
"That… does complicate things."
"Yes," she said dryly. "It does."
I cleared my throat delicately.
"I feel," I said, "that you may be forgetting something important."
Sirius looked at me blankly.
"What?"
I held up the snow globe.
"Peter Pettigrew. The actual culprit responsible for your alleged crimes."
Sirius stared at the globe.
"Oh. Right."
Inside, Peter was attempting to burrow into the artificial snow.
"I completely forgot about the damn rat."
Fudge leaned forward cautiously.
"That… that is Pettigrew? But, isn't he dead?"
"Yes, and I assure you he's very much alive," I said pleasantly.
Amelia stepped closer, monocle gleaming as she examined the trembling rodent.
"Missing toe," she murmured. "As reported in the incident file."
She looked at me sharply.
"You can reverse this containment charm?"
"Easily."
"And compel him to testify?"
"With appropriate safeguards."
Fudge swallowed.
"And he would confirm this entire story? The switch? The betrayal?"
Sirius's expression darkened.
"Oh, he'll talk."
I smiled faintly.
"Especially if presented with the alternative."
Peter let out a faint, hysterical squeak.
Amelia straightened.
"Very well," she said decisively. "We will suspend the Greyback proceedings temporarily and convene an emergency hearing before the Wizengamot."
Fudge flinched.
"Today?"
"Today," she repeated firmly. "Before rumor spreads beyond containment."
She turned to Sirius.
"If your testimony aligns with verifiable evidence, and if Pettigrew confesses under Veritaserum, you will receive a formal trial."
Sirius's jaw tightened.
"A real one?"
"As real as it can get."
Silence fell.
Fudge inhaled slowly.
"Yes," he said, finding his footing again. "Yes, that's right. Swift action. Transparency. Reform."
He straightened his robes, "The Ministry will correct past mistakes."
Then he glanced at Sirius, "I hope you will remember who facilitated this."
Sirius smirked, "Oh, Minister. The House of Black never forgets its friends."
Nor its enemies, but that part was left unsaid.
I caught Amelia watching me with an unreadable expression, as if she were reevaluating me.
Interesting.
I gave the snow globe a gentle tap with my staff.
"Shall we proceed, then?"
Inside the glass prison, the rat began to sob.
And for the first time in twelve years, justice began to move.
…