Chapter Text
The news of Voldemort’s defeat made the front page of the Daily Prophet. It was good news, and of course people were celebrating – except the Death Eaters, that was. It was, however, not the end of the war.
Barely two days later, there was a new bombastic headline in the papers.
Sirius Black arrested as a Death Eater
Black is accused of killing Peter Pettigrew and a dozen muggles, as well as betraying the Potters’ secret location to You-Know-Who.
Arcturus Black, head of the House of Black, looked at the paper and felt his heart give a tug inside his chest. Sirius?! Sirius as a Death Eater?! With shaking hands, he called Bettany, his house-elf.
“Master called?” she asked. She was a little past her prime for a house-elf, but her tea towel with the Black coat of arms on her breast was clean and sharp. She had been with him for over twenty years and was the only one of the Black elves he trusted and the only one at Black Manor; most of the others who served the family had been far too influenced by the Death Eater mentality of the rest of them.
“I want you to…” He stopped himself before completing the thought. He had been about to tell her to summon Walburga, but realised that wasn’t a good idea. His daughter-in-law wasn’t pleasant company at the best of days, and this was far from that.
Merlin, he was tired. So tired.
“Master? Master, are you well? Should Bettany be calling a healer?” the elf hovered worriedly, wringing her hands.
Arcturus sighed. “No, that won’t be necessary. Bring me some tea.”
Bettany nodded and disappeared.
Arcturus sagged back in his chair and tried to think.
Sirius wasn’t a Death Eater. The very idea was preposterous. He certainly wouldn’t have betrayed Potter, not for anything. That anyone could even think he would was ridiculous. Surely it would come to nothing. Surely someone would realise it, and Sirius would be released. It had been several months since Arcturus had left the house, but he would be present at the trial. He owed Sirius that much, at least, since he knew Walburga wouldn’t do anything.
However, when two days had passed and there was no more news of the trial – nor of a summoning for the Wizengamot (the regular monthly sessions had been cancelled a few months ago because of the war) –, Arcturus began to worry. He sent a letter to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch – a detestable little man, but needs must – and got no reply. He considered summoning Walburga after all, but just the thought of dealing with her exhausted him. She had never been nice, and had only got worse after Orion’s death. Not that his son had been much better, in the end, though he at least could be reasoned with – and he’d respected Arcturus enough to be polite even when they disagreed (which was often).
Not for the first time, Arcturus cursed his weak health. In his prime, he had been a force to be reckoned with, but as the years went by his strength had flagged more and more, and he hadn’t been able to do even a fraction of what he used to do. He had been forced to let Orion deal with most of the family matters, and it hadn’t gone well. His son had never been very good at politics – never able to see the bigger picture and too easily led by his harpy of a wife. And the two of them had managed to alienate both of Arcturus’s grandsons, and thus the future of the House of Black. The loss of Regulus was still painful, and Arcturus would be damned if he lost Sirius too. There was no way he was going to leave the House in the hands of Pollux’s children and grandchildren.
If Charlus or Fleamont Potter were still alive, Arcturus could have gone to them. Their deaths were also heavy losses to the wizarding world. As much as the Potters’ politics had been at odd with the Blacks’, they were decent pureblood wizards. Without them, however, Arcturus wasn’t sure who to approach. Given his family’s reputation, he himself speaking up might do Sirius more harm than good.
After another day went by with no word from Crouch, Arcturus realised he would have to do something. He couldn’t have his grandson in Azkaban for something he didn’t do a moment longer. There was one person he could go to, much as it would grate him to do so.
“Bettany.”
“Yes, Master?”
“Get this letter to Hogwarts.” He extended it to the elf, who bowed and popped over to the owlery.
Albus Dumbledore was an insufferable bastard, but for Sirius Arcturus would put up with him.
Dumbledore’s reply arrived the next day, and Arcturus prepared himself to make the trip to Hogsmead for the meeting he had requested. He wasn’t up to apparating anymore, so Bettany would have to take him, which was only marginally better than a portkey or the Floo.
He arrived at the Three Broomsticks and requested a private room, which was granted. Arcturus was early so he’d have a chance to catch his breath before Dumbledore got there.
Dumbledore, not surprisingly, was late. He entered the room with the same affable expression that had always driven Arcturus up the wall, and he had to grit his teeth not to grumble.
This is for Sirius, he told himself.
“Dumbledore. Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Of course. It is good to see you, Arcturus.”
It wasn’t. They had never liked each other, but politeness had to be observed.
“And you. Now, I’m an old man, so you’ll forgive me if I get right to the point.” Dumbledore was actually older than him by twenty years, though Arcturus was the one who looked it. As much as he hated to consider it, he had begun to suspect that it had something to do with his family’s line. Too many Blacks had aged prematurely in the last centuries compared to other Houses, even pureblood ones. Perhaps it was time to inject some new blood – even if it wasn’t strictly pure – into it, lest the Blacks disappear altogether.
But for that, he needed his Heir out of prison.
“I haven’t heard anything about Sirius’s trial or a Wizengamot session.” All he had managed to ascertain was that there hadn’t been one yet, and he didn’t like the delay at all. “I’d like to know what’s taking so long, and Crouch hasn’t answered any of my letters.”
Dumbledore’s expression turned grave. “My dear Arcturus, I’m afraid Sirius has been convicted.”
“What? What do you mean convicted? There wasn’t a trial.”
“The evidence was quite strong against him. He was the Potters’ Secret Keeper. He betrayed them.”
“That’s absurd!” Arcturus said, reigning his temper in with difficulty. “Sirius would never betray Potter. They were as close as brothers.” Closer than Sirius was with Regulus, in fact.
It had pained Arcturus to see his grandsons grow apart from each other; they had been inseparable as children. Sirius’s sorting into Gryffindor had thrown the family into a tailspin, and, to his shame, Arcturus hadn’t realised how bad things had got until it was too late to do anything about it.
He should have seen it. He should have known that Orion and Walburga wouldn’t be able to get past it, that they had seen it as personal insult (and perhaps it was) and reacted accordingly. No doubt they had made Sirius’s life hellish enough that he had fled and never looked back. To think he could ever support Voldemort… It was the stupidest thing Arcturus had ever heard in his life.
“Facts do not change because we dislike them.” Dumbledore sounded apologetic, and Arcturus wanted to hex him into oblivion.
“Sirius is not a Death Eater, and if you think he is then you are even more of a fool than I ever thought you were.” And that was saying something, considering his general low opinion of the man. “Regardless of your – or anyone else’s – belief in his guilt, he still deserves a trial.” When Dumbledore said nothing, Arcturus continued. “I would have thought you of all people would want to be fair to everyone. You know Sirius. How can you just write him off?” There was more going on here than Arcturus was aware of, and he vowed he would get to the bottom of it.
“I don’t think a trial will change anything,” was what Dumbledore finally said. “As I said, the evidence is very compelling.”
“Then I would hear it.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t going to let this go, so Dumbledore inclined his head.
“I will see what I do.”
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor, Dumbledore. It’s what should have been done in the first place,” he snapped. “It’s your damn job.”
Arcturus was no stranger to ingratiating himself to people, but he had always hated the way Dumbledore went about it. He had this air of benevolence and goodwill about him, which people never seemed to look past. In reality, however, the man always had ulterior motives; he didn’t care nearly as much as he pretended to, it simply suited his purposes to have people in his debt while thinking him wonderful.
Dumbledore’s eyes tightened, though the rest of this expression didn’t change. He rose. “Have a good day, Arcturus.”
“Bloody bastard,” Arcturus mumbled after the other man had left. He summoned Bettany and went home.
He got a reply from Crouch at last the next day, saying the trial had been scheduled for the December session of the Wizengamot, on the 14th, over a month away, which had Arcturus snarling in anger.
“A month! A bloody month! No, that won’t do at all.”
“Master?” Bettany appeared, looking at him with apprehension. “Master mustn’t agitate himself like this, it’s not good for Master’s health.”
“It’s not good for my health to have Sirius languishing in Azkaban!” he snapped. Merlin, the poor boy. He didn’t deserve that. A month was far too long to leave him there – he had been there long enough already. Perhaps he should summon the rest of the family anyway. Pollux and his children were annoying (Merlin, how he regretted agreeing to have Orion marry Walburga), but they had the Black name and were in better health (well, Pollux not so much, though better than Arcturus). The problem with that, of course, was that Sirius was rather the black sheep of the family, and the others might not want to have him back, and Arcturus was too weak to use his position as Head of House to force them to it. It was a rather infuriating situation.
Then things got worse. Bellatrix, her husband and his brother were apprehended after breaking into Longbottom Manor and attacking Frank Longbottom and his wife. There was no question of their guilt, as they were caught in the act, and freely admitted to it – flaunted it, even. It was sickening. And yet another taint to the Black name.
Blast Pollux and Cygnus and Bellatrix to hell!
It did, however, give him an idea.
He sent Bettany with the letter rather than using an owl, and waited anxiously for a response.
It came two days later, delivered by the Longbottoms’ house elf. Madame Longbottom agreed to meet with him in a neutral location, and Arcturus readily agreed to the time and date she suggested. He got an emergency portkey made just in case, however. Augusta was a formidable witch, and it wouldn’t do to underestimate her – or her anger and grief, which he could well understand.
Arcturus arrived early as usual, and Augusta did the same. They looked at each other warily for a moment, and Arcturus began.
“Madame Longbottom. Please accept my deepest condolences for what happened to your son and daughter-in-law. It is a terrible tragedy. If there is anything I can do, I would be willing to assist you in whatever you need.” He did his best to convey his sincerity. While he might disagree politically with her, he wouldn’t wish such horrors on her and her family – or on anyone, really.
“You will forgive me if I find that hard to believe,” she replied stiffly.
“I understand that.” He sighed. “If I may be blunt, Madame Longbottom, I am appalled by the actions of Bellatrix – and other Death Eaters, of course. I might be a traditionalist when it comes to matters of blood purity, but I am not a murdering fanatic, and it pains me that some of my family members are. Unfortunately, I cannot control what they believe, or who they ally themselves with.”
Arcturus had urged Orion to remain neutral when the war had started, and he realised now that it had been the wrong strategy. He should have made his position clear – he should have denounced Voldemort and the Death Eaters openly, even if it meant putting himself (and his family) at risk. They were no safer as they were, as it turned out, and perhaps many senseless deaths could have been avoided. Having the Blacks on his side had helped Voldemort far too much.
“You didn’t have to call me to say that, however,” she said. Of course she knew he had another reason for this meeting.
“No. What I wanted to talk to you about is my grandson, Sirius. I would ask for your help.”
Her eyes narrowed. “My help? To a Death Eater? You must be joking.”
“Sirius is not a Death Eater,” he stated as firmly and with as much conviction as he could. “I believe your son knew him. Surely he had some doubts about Sirius’s culpability.” Arcturus certainly hoped so. It would be a terrible blow to Sirius if none of his friends and acquaintances believed in his innocence.
Augusta sighed. “As a matter of fact, Frank didn’t believe in his guilt at all. Nor did Alice. They’d been trying to get Crouch to listen for days.”
“I have been doing the same. The most I have been able to accomplish is a promise of a trial for December. That is far too long.”
“And what will you have me do, Arcturus?” she asked wearily. “My Frank and Alice are in St Mungo’s, and the healers don’t know if they’ll recover. They don’t recognise me, or Neville.” Her voice hitched up, and she looked away. “I have no thought for anyone but them.”
“I am sorry. I’m sure the healers will manage something with more time.” He certainly hoped so. “Neville is your grandson?”
“Yes. He’s 15 months old.” She smiled faintly, eyes shining with unshed tears. “A lovely boy.”
“I’m sure he is,” Arcturus agreed. “My own grandson is a good man as well. I cannot have him in Azkaban for something he didn’t do. It isn’t right.”
Augusta took a deep breath and composed herself. “No, it isn’t. None of this is right.”
“No,” Arcturus agreed. “I want to help Sirius, but I am too old and weak to do much, I’m afraid. And now… with Bellatrix’s actions… I fear that Sirius’s situation is even worse than it was. I fear that even with a trial he will not be released. People want someone to blame, and a Black is an easy target.”
“The Blacks did that to themselves,” she said, and Arcturus winced slightly. She wasn’t wrong, after all.
“Sirius distanced himself from the family. He wanted nothing to do with his parents’ beliefs. He shouldn’t suffer for the actions of others.”
“Those others are you son and daughter-in-law.”
Arcturus clenched his teeth. “I did not agree with Orion or his wife. He might have been my son, but that didn’t mean we thought the same, or that he was willing to listen to me. Not in this.” He shook his head sadly. “Perhaps it is my fault. Perhaps I raised him wrong. Both my children, considering Lucretia hasn’t spoken to me in over two decades, not since my wife died.” Lucretia had always been the apple of her mother’s eye, and they looked very much alike. It had been painful to lose Melania, and he had pushed Lucretia and the reminders away. “I failed as a father,” he admitted. “I’ve already failed as a grandfather to Regulus. I cannot fail Sirius too. I am willing to do whatever it takes.”
Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to be so honest and vulnerable with Augusta, but stoic distance had not worked out for him so far, and what the hell did he have to lose at this point anyway? He was well aware that his days were numbered, and he didn’t want to waste his last few years being alone and miserable with his pile of regrets. If he could do one good thing in his life, it would be to make sure Sirius was all right.
Augusta’s expression softened. “I will see what I can do. I will expect something in return, however.”
“Of course. As long as you don’t want me to do anything illegal,” he added. He didn’t think she would ask that, but better safe than sorry. More likely, she would want his agreement on politics and such. It had been years since Arcturus had been to a Wizengamot session due to his poor health (and he couldn’t say that he missed it), so first Orion and then, after his death, Cygnus, had taken the Black seat. Neither were suited for it, and had likely clashed with Augusta quite a lot. Her ideas were likely to align with Sirius’s, however, so it might be a good way to mend bridges with his grandson when he was out of prison, since Arcturus did not anticipate a warm reunion. He could not blame Sirius for being angry and wary of him, unfortunately.
She nodded, and made her way to the door.
“If there is anything I can do for your son, let me know. I mean it,” he said.
“Thank you.”
*****
When he got home, he saw that a letter from the Ministry had been delivered. It stated that there would be a Wizengamot session on Monday, a few days away, in which Bellatrix and the other Lestranges would be tried for their crimes. Arcturus immediately wrote to Cygnus to say he would be representing the Blacks, though Cygnus was, of course, welcome to attend and see his daughter. He also called Bettany and asked her to get his healer. If Arcturus was going to be doing such strenuous work, he had to be careful. It wouldn’t do to take to bed and be unable to do anything for Sirius when the time came.
“Mr Black, I really don’t think going to the Wizengamot will be good for you,” Healer Mayfair said once he had finished his examination. “You are not strong enough.”
Mayfair had been telling him that for years, and Arcturus suddenly began feeling suspicious that the man might have an ulterior motive for that. Perhaps he was not as trustworthy as Arcturus had believed.
“Thank you,” was all he said. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
When he was gone, he called Bettany again. “Bettany, find out who the Potters’ healer was and ask if I can get an appointment with whoever it is, as soon as possible. I’ll pay double whatever their standard fee is.”
Bettany smiled. “Yes, Master. Bettany be going right now.”
It was a sad state of affairs when Arcturus trusted a house-elf more than a wizard, he thought.
The healer, a woman named Sophia Norton, came by the next day. She seemed to be in her fifties, and eyed him a bit suspiciously when Bettany let her in. “Mr Black.”
“Ms Norton, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”
“Your elf was rather insistent,” she replied ruefully.
“Yes, I’m afraid she is concerned for my health.” He turned to the elf in question with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Bettany.”
“Of course, Master.” She bowed and popped away after serving the tea.
“What can I do for you, Mr Black?”
“Well, believe it or not, I am in need of a healer.”
That made her snort. “I would imagine a man in your position has many at your disposal.”
“I do,” he agreed. “However, I’m not sure I trust them. A man in my position also has enemies.” He had done what little research he could on Norton, and found she was a Hufflepuff half-blood, which made her unlikely to want to stab him in the back – he hoped.
“I see. Shall I make an examination, then?”
He gestured for her to proceed, and answered her questions as she did so.
“I will need some time to analyse these readings in detail,” she eventually told him, “but they do not appear to be as alarming as your healer made it sound. Perhaps a restorative potion made specifically for you might make you feel better.”
“Can it be ready for tomorrow? I have a Wizengamot session I must attend on Monday.” She narrowed her eyes at that, no doubt knowing what he was referring to. “I’ve no desire to defend Bellatrix, but she is still family,” he said, not wanting to mention Sirius specifically just yet. If (no, when) the boy was released, he would need a healer, and it was best to keep any bias from being formed.
“I’ll do my best. Can your house-elf collect it this evening?”
“Certainly, and I’ll be sure to compensate you for your trouble. Thank you, Ms Norton.”
*****
He did feel a bit better as he made his way to the courtroom on Monday morning, though he allowed Bettany to help him find his place. Neither Pollux nor Cygnus were anywhere to be seen, and Arcturus wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Most people stared at him as he settled himself in the Black seat, some with anger, others surprise. He nodded discretely to Augusta and waited for the proceedings to start, not wanting to make small talk with anyone just yet.
Dumbledore called the session to order and opened the first item on the agenda: the trial of the Lestranges. Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rastaban were brought in in chains, all wearing drab gray robes and satisfied smiles. Arcturus wanted to wring their necks.
The trial was over very quickly, since they had already confessed and didn’t seem inclined to change their stories now. The vote to convict them was unanimous, and Arcturus made sure to be seen casting his – which made Bellatrix scowl in his direction –, though he did not speak. Bellatrix was a disgrace to the Black name.
They moved on to the next item, which concerned some dark objects apprehended with the Lestranges. Some were in favor of destroying them, while others thought they should be placed in a secure location. Destruction won by a thin margin, and Dumbledore took the floor once more.
“If there is nothing else,” he said, and Arcturus lit his wand to signal he wanted to speak. Dumbledore blinked in surprise, as if he hadn’t been aware of Arcturus presence. Bastard. “Mr Black?”
Arcturus stood. “I would like to know why Sirius Black hasn’t been given a trial yet, when he was arrested two weeks ago. Mr Crouch said it would be more than a month yet before that, and I don’t understand the delay when the Lestranges’ trial was arranged so quickly.”
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room, broken by Augusta. “I share Lord Black’s confusion over this matter. My son and daughter-in-law tried to get an answer to this question before they were attacked, but Mr Crouch ignored them.”
The mention of Frank and Alice Longbottom made the tension in the room even thicker, and Crouch gnarled his teeth in anger.
“Sirius Black has been convicted,” he said.
“Without the presence of the Wizengamot? That’s highly irregular,” Arcturus protested.
“There is no question of his guilt,” Crouch argued.
“There was no question of the Lestranges’ guilt either, yet we just held a trial. What makes Sirius’s case so different?” Arcturus stared Crouch down, then swept his eyes over the others present. “If there is evidence of his guilt, I would like to hear it. I would like to hear what he has to say for himself.”
“As would I,” Augusta said. “I propose that he be brought in immediately, so that we might clear this matter up as soon as possible. It has already been delayed for far too long.”
“I second the motion,” Arcturus said. A few others – those he knew were allies of the Longbottoms – did the same. After that, more people did likewise. Crouch spurted, but the motion carried, and someone was dispatched to bring Sirius.
The room erupted into nervous mutterings, and Arcturus did his best to remain calm despite the way his heart was hammering in his chest. He really hoped Sirius would be up for speaking in his own defense, because he was the only one who really knew what had happened.
When the aurors finally arrived with their prisoner, Arcturus felt tears spring into his eyes. Merlin, Sirius looked terrible. He was as pale as a sheet, dirty and unkempt, eyes dull and listless. He dropped into the chair and barely seemed to notice the chains that wrapped themselves around his arms.
Arcturus wanted to rush there, take the boy into his arms and never let go.
“Well, then. Sirius Black,” Crouch sneered the name, “you are accused of helping You-Know-Who of learning the Potters’ location, and thus leading to their death. You are further accused of murdering Peter Pettigrew and a dozen muggles. How do you plead?”
But Sirius was clearly not listening, slumped into the chair as if he had no strength to hold himself up.
“I said, how do you plead?” Crouch repeated, almost spitting the words, and Arcturus had enough.
“Sirius has just spent two weeks in Azkaban, Crouch. Perhaps he should be given a moment to get his bearings,” he said sharply. “Also, a healer wouldn’t go amiss. We won’t be able to learn anything unless he is coherent enough to answer questions.”
Augusta agreed – along with some others –, and a healer was brought in. Arcturus saw them perform a diagnostic spell and give Sirius a potion and some chocolate. It took a few minutes, but he finally seemed to come back to himself, watching the people in the room with trepidation.
“Mr Black?” Crouch asked. “Can you hear me?”
Slowly, Sirius nodded. He shook his head and visibly tried to pull himself together. “Yes,” he answered, voice rough and scratchy.
Crouch repeated the charges and this time Sirius flinched, lips trembling.
“How do you plead?”
“I…” He looked around again, perhaps searching for a friendly face, so Arcturus leaned forward and pulled on the family magic as hard as he could to get Sirius’s attention. The boy’s eyes locked on his, and Arcturus poured all his feelings and thoughts into his expression. I am on your side, he wanted to say. I know you didn’t do it. I will get you out of this.
“Mr Black!” Crouch shouted, and Sirius flinched again. He blinked several times and turned to Crouch. “How do you plead?”
“I didn’t betray James,” he finally said, voice hoarse, but strong. “I would never betray him.”
Crouch hissed. “Do you deny that you’re a Death Eater, then?”
Sirius’s eyes flashed, and some of his colour seemed to return. “Yes, I deny it! I would never join those fuckers. And fuck Voldemort!”
There were gasps of fear and outrage at the forbidden name, and Arcturus stifled a grin. There you go, boy. You tell them!
“So you deny that you were the Potters’ Secret Keeper?” Crouch asked, fuming.
“Yes, I deny it! I was going to be, but…” he trailed off, and seemed to lose himself. Arcturus tugged on the family magic again, doing his best to push some strength into the boy, and that seemed to snap Sirius out of it. “We switched at the last minute. Peter Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper. He was the Death Eater, and he betrayed James and Lily! That fucking traitor! He killed James and Lily!” He shouted, and squirmed in his bonds. “I’ll fucking kill him!”
Chaos erupted at that, and Dumbledore had to call for order.
“You’ve already killed Peter Pettigrew, Mr Black,” Crouch said, a smug grin on his face.
But Sirius shook his head. “No, the bastard got away. I don’t deny that I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t. He caused an explosion and escaped in the confusion.”
“You’re the one who caused the explosion,” Crouch said. “You’re the one who killed all those muggles.”
“No, it was Peter.”
“We have witnesses who saw you.”
“Check my wand if you don’t believe me,” Sirius replied, and he seemed much more alert now. “I would never have betrayed James and Lily. Never! I’ve spent my whole life denying my family’s blood purist nonsense, why the hell would I support fucking Voldemort? I was fighting against him! Risking my bloody life! Ask Moody. Ask Frank and Alice. Ask Dumbledore. I’m not a bloody Death Eater!” he was shouting by the end, and Arcturus was glad to see it. Anger was good sometimes, it helped to keep one going. “Here, check my arms.” He tried to roll up his sleeves, but the chains were too tight. “Loosen these bloody things and check!”
Crouch looked like he had swallowed a lemon, but some people were beginning to believe Sirius, Arcturus could see it. Someone was sent to get Sirius’s wand from wherever it was while someone else argued for checking his arm. Crouch tried to protest, saying Sirius could escape.
“Put me in a body bind before you do it, then,” Sirius said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and Crouch was too stupid to think of it – which was true.
It was done, and of course Sirius’s arms were bare, no trace of any mark and no concealment spell of any kind.
“Not every Death Eater bears the mark. Witnesses said they heard Pettigrew accuse you of giving away the Potters’ location,” Crouch insisted.
“Of course he bloody did!” Sirius exclaimed. “He wasn’t going to admit he did it, was he? Of course he tried to put the blame on me, the fucking treacherous rat!”
“You admitted it,” Crouch said, rather desperately. “Witnesses heard you.”
“It was my idea to switch,” Sirius said, and all of a sudden his anger was gone, replaced by sadness and grief. His eyes filled with tears. “It was my idea to use Peter. If I hadn’t… I only wanted to protect them, and I got them killed. I only wanted to protect them…” he muttered, sounding broken. “I failed them. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” The tears were falling freely now, though Sirius didn’t seem to care.
Oh Sirius, Arcturus thought, heart aching. I’m so sorry.
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Even Crouch couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say.
The auror returned with Sirius’s wand, and there was clearly no explosive spell of any kind cast recently, only a lot of apparations, stunners and shields, as well as the kind of spells commonly used in a duel. Nothing dark. Nothing that could have caused the destruction he had been found in.
Sirius roused enough to explain how he had gone to Pettigrew’s house after the Fidelius had been performed, only to find it empty with no signs of a struggle. Following a gut feeling, he had gone to the Potters and had found them dead.
“I realised then that Peter was the spy,” he choked out, “so I went after him. It was stupid, I know, but… I just wanted him to pay.” Then he shook his head and stared at Crouch as if seeing him for the first time. “What about Harry? Is he all right? What happened to him?”
Crouch said he didn’t know, and that wasn’t the point at the moment. Sirius looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded. “After Peter got away,” he continued, “I kind of… lost it. It all caught up with me… that James and Lily were gone, and it was my fault for switching, and… I don’t really remember what happened after that.” He sniffed and tried to make himself more comfortable in the chair without much success. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
Again, no one seemed to know what to say, so Arcturus stood. “Shall we take a vote?” he said.
It was not unanimous, but enough people had believed Sirius that he was found not guilty.
As soon as the verdict was entered into the record, Arcturus made his way to his grandson, who was stumbling out of the chair with an auror’s support.
“Come, my boy. Let’s get you home,” he said as gently as he could.
“Grandfather?”
“Yes, Sirius. It’s all right now. I’m going to take you home.”
Sirius shook his head. “I don’t… James and Lily…”
“I know. I know. Come on. Let me take care of you. It’s going to be all right.”
It wasn’t like Sirius not to argue, but he was clearly at the end of his strength, and in no condition to do anything but accept. They walked out of the courtroom together leaning on each other, with Arcturus glaring at anyone who even looked like they wanted to approach. He would send an owl to Augusta later with his thanks, but right now he wanted to get Sirius somewhere safe.
Once they were outside, Bettany apparated them both to Black Manor. Sirius swayed and dropped into the couch immediately.
“Oh, poor young Master,” Bettany said, tugging at her ears in distress and hovering nervously. “How can Bettany be helping, Master?”
“Ask Healer Norton if she can make a house call. Tell her it’s urgent.”
“Yes, Master.”
Arcturus did his best to arrange Sirius in a more comfortable position and settled nearby to keep an eye on him.
Sirius was home now. He would need time, of course, but he would recover. He would be all right.