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They didn't make much noise, containing their conversation to a few whispers and one creaking door with old whingy hinges, but it was enough to send Harry out of bed seeking the source.  He was in time to watch Sirius supporting Remus in a stagger down the chilly corridor, ending in a rush for the loo at the end.  Harry hugged his arms to his chest, shivering equally at the cold of the dim grey dawn and the sound of a stomach violently emptied.

'Sirius?' Harry dared, shuffling to the jamb of his bedroom door, toes curling on the seam of his rug.  'I could get a hot tea.'

'Thanks,' a strained low tone replied, and Harry darted out on bare feet for the stairs.

By the time he'd returned-- he wasn't allowed to perform magic during the summers, and had to heat the kettle in the Muggle fashion on the stove-- the worst was over, and Sirius was sitting on the edge of the old porcelain bath with Remus tucked between his knees, head resting on his thigh.  Remus freed a shaking hand from his bed quilt to reach for the tea, but Harry knew better than to trust his tenuous grip.  He held the mug by the handle and let Remus guide it without taking on the weight, but Remus drank no more than a swallow or two before he drooped wearily, translucent lids falling shut as if he couldn't stop them.  He was horribly pale, but for two burning spots of fever in his cheeks, and his skin was blisteringly hot.

'He'll be all right,' Sirius murmured, catching Harry's worried glance as he stroked damp hair from Remus's forehead.  'Truly.  It's only his potion makes him so ill-- damned poison.  What you doing up, anyway?'

'Couldn't sleep.'

'I'll be all right too, you know.'  Sirius smiled, but it was braced, not at all the easy grin of a man telling the whole truth.  'Nothing left to do but take the Veritaserum and testify.  Be out before lunch.'

'I know.' 

'Sure you do.'  Sirius sighed, and sipped from the tea before setting it aside on the sink.  'Come on.  Let's get Moony tucked into bed, and catch a few hours before we've got to be up and about.'

So there was nothing for it but to help Sirius carry Remus back to bed-- the bed Harry wasn't supposed to know they shared, that Remus always took care to avoid til after Harry's curfew.  It was a polite, if unnecessary, fiction; Harry had had the lecture on Health and Relations in Religion at Crowhill when he was nine, complete with coloured diagrams and videos about the horrible diseases one inevitably contracted through pre-marital relations.  It was Mr Thompkins' favourite time of year, a free-for-all excoriating Crowhill's crop of useless sinners-in-the-making.  It gave Harry great good cheer to consider that Mr Thompkins would be utterly appalled by two men-- two wizards-- sharing a bed and kissing and whatnought.  But there was no whatnoughting at the moment, only Remus lying ill and sweaty and trembly beneath the sheets, barely able to lift his head.  Twice already during the summer Remus had been this poorly, and though he did recover each time it filled Harry with a nameless anxiety.  The stock of potions at the bedside table in unlabelled, illicit bottles bought from anonymous Potioneers in unspeakable places only seemed to grow, never shrink.  Sirius coaxed Remus into downing one of them, leaving a rim of blue on Remus's bitten lips.

'All right, since you're up,' Sirius said.  'Fetch me that box?'

Harry obeyed, returning to the bed with a heavy package that had been brought, just yesterday, by owl.  The box was wrapped in thick brown paper and sealed with silk ribbon, which Sirius tossed aside casually along with the lid.  Nestled in tissue was a fine robe of midnight blue, lined in silvery satin.  Sirius heaved a big sigh as he dumped the box.

'Ancient and Noble,' he told Harry, sticking his arms into the sleeves and thrusting his head through the largest hole.  The robe settled crookedly on his shoulders and snagged on his night shirt, bunching up over the belly.  'I hate this kind of thing.'

'You look perfect,' Remus said, in a cracked whisper, and Sirius softened.  He bent to rub noses with Remus, and let Remus smooth his ruffed-up collar.  'Everything will be fine.  All you have to do is tell the truth.  This is your vindication, your justice.  You'll walk out of here Lord Black, restored to everything that should always have been yours.'

'Damned timing, though,' Sirius fretted.  'You think they planned it?'

'How could they?  Don't be paranoid.'

'It's not paranoid, those bastards are out to get me.  They've all got a vested interest in keeping Blacks out of the Wizengamot, and Black money in their pockets,' he added bitterly.

'Pads.'

'Rest.'  Sirius tucked the sheet tightly about Remus's shoulders, effectively trapping him in place, and pulled Harry onto the bed to subject him to the same treatment on the free side.  'Get some sleep, I'll wake everyone for breakfast.'

'You can't cook,' Harry protested, as Sirius wedged a pillow beneath his head.

'I'll wake everyone up to cook me breakfast then.'  Sirius gave him a gentle fist to the chin.  'No back-talking.'  He flicked a wand at the light, and it popped off, plunging them into darkness.  The sound of four paws padding away didn't surprise Harry overmuch, nor Sirius's abrupt departure.  He sighed.

'It's only nerves,' Remus whispered, from his left.

'I know.'

Remus wrestled weakly with the covers, finally turning onto his side.  His hand found Harry's shoulder in the dark, giving it a squeeze.  'I've been thinking.  We should do your school shopping as we're in London.  After the trial.  I know the full book list isn't out yet, but we can pick up the standard supplies.  Then when you have to go back, you'll have more time to spend with friends.'

'Okay.  That sounds nice.'

'Did I ever tell you... did I ever tell you about the time Lily testified before the Wizengamot?'

Remus's hand was so hot it burnt through the flannel of Harry's nightshirt.  'No,' he said, seeking out the pale gold reflection of Remus's eyes in the dark.  'Was she in trouble?'

'Probably never in her life.  No, she testified about promoting magical education for Muggleborn witches and wizards.  She was selected... selected out of a group of us, we all submitted essays.'  Remus went breathy and confused for a moment, his hand losing strength.  'She wanted to win so badly, your mum.  Competitive.  Even more than James sometimes.'

Harry fought dragging eyes to wait for more.  Though Sirius in particular was always full of stories about Harry's father James, it was rare anyone told him much about his mother.  Severus Snape had given Harry a story, which he dragged out over the course of nearly the entire summer of Potions tutoring, one or two sentences for every successful potion Harry produced.  As Harry's successes in that field were still erratic and unpredictable, the story had been a long time coming.  It was a rather thrilling tale, however, of an adventure had by the two of them, his mum and Snape, in the Forbidden Forest, seeking out the eggs of the Ashwinder rumoured to nest in certain clearings therein.  They'd been chased by centaurs, stumbled into a foaling of Thestrals, and freed an enchanted prince from stone with water from the Crystal Caves, who had promptly proposed to Lily, though she had politely declined, being only twelve and a thoroughly modern sort of woman who intended to marry for love if she must marry at all.

'I've been trying to replicate her final casting,' Remus said abruptly, just as Harry was drifting off to a vision of his mum in enchanted princess robes, her long ginger hair braided with diamonds.

Harry rolled his head to the side.  'Her final casting?'

'The last spell.  The one that saved your life, when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on you.'

'I thought you already knew what it was.'

'I have guesses.  Theories.'  Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder gently, took back his hand to drag it across his face.  'Charms was never my best subject.  But if I knew how she'd done it--'

'It could be done again.  For everyone.'

Remus dashed that excitement with a soft shake of his head.  'Not if it's true it required Voldemort's blood.'

Harry had long since told Remus about the vision he'd had, when his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Quirrell had been possessed by the Dark Lord Voldemort, and had in turn been intent on possessing Harry.  For much of Harry's first year at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he had shared dreams with the spirit inhabiting his professor, via a link of the minds that Harry still didn't quite understand, but which seemed to have been definitively undone by the spectacular manner of Professor Quirrell's death.  Harry didn't like to think of it-- he had been the one to kill Quirrell, if somewhat by accident.  Snape and Remus had been much of the summer trying to figure out why Harry's spells often went just a bit awry.  Sometimes he couldn't get them to work at all, though more often they worked in ways that defied explanation.  When Harry wanted something badly enough, he could make it happen without even properly casting a spell, without even bothering with Latin.

Remus seemed convinced Harry could do without a wand if he really tried, reasoning that since young children often cast accidental magic without wands, it was the height of emotion and desire that mattered, not the focus, and that modern training might in fact interfere with natural ability by confining the free mind to habits and patterns through the rote memorisation preferred for most spellwork.  So far, however, Harry had little luck with wandless magic.  At least on demand.  Early in the summer, after a particularly distressing nightmare, Harry had waked to find himself floating above his mattress, and his mattress floating above the bed frame, and bed frame floating above the floor, along with every other bit of furniture and decor in his bedroom.  He and all his possessions had gone crashing down the moment Harry realised he didn't usually sleep mid-air, and the subsequent clatter had aroused Remus's scholastic fervor.  Remus often had long discussions with Snape after Harry's tutoring sessions.  Sirius did not approve.

But this seemed a new direction.  Remus hadn't given up on pursuing Harry's crooked abilities, but pursuing Lily Potter's was a leftward dodge.  The events of Halloween night of 1981 were infamous: Voldemort had been in pursuit of Harry's parents, who had hidden themselves behind a special spell which required a Secret Keeper.  Unfortunately, they had trusted the wrong man to keep their Secret.  Peter Pettigrew, a childhood friend of James', had given the Secret to Voldemort.  In the dark of night, Voldemort had broken past the wards on the Potters' small cottage in Godric's Hollow, and killed first Harry's father, James, and then, after a vicious battle, Harry's mother, Lily.  That much was known by nearly everyone in the Wizarding World, and to many it had been known in far greater detail than Harry had, til he'd shared a vision of his mother's death from Voldemort's mind.

They had fought, yes, and his mother had, if briefly, held her own against the wizard so feared few had ever gone toe-to-toe with him.  But Lily was no match for the Dark Lord, and so she had turned to the only option available-- giving her last breath to protect her infant son.  Harry could remember her breathy shout-- Diffindo! Accio blood!-- her sobbing farewell as she'd pressed a bloody thumb to Harry's forehead, in the spot he now bore a lightning bolt-shaped scar.  She had fallen to the Killing Curse, and Voldemort had next turned his wand on Harry Potter, who had hardly been in a position to fight for his own life.  But when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on Harry, Harry hadn't died.  Instead, the curse had rebounded.  It had struck the man who'd cast it, destroying his physical body, unanchoring his spirit, and what was left of Voldemort had fled, leaving two Potters dead and one improbably alive, orphaned, and alone.

'Then what's the good of figuring it out?' Harry wondered.  'If no-one else could use it to save themselves.'

'Knowledge is useful whether one uses it or not,' Remus murmured.  'That was the greatest spell ever cast, I think.  To take a life is terribly easy.  But to tie life to life and preserve it?  It wasn't chance, or a whim, or an accident.  At the very least, the world should know what she accomplished.'

'I like that,' Harry said.  'She'd be famous.  Instead of me for just living.'

'For what it's worth, I'm rather glad about your living, too,' Remus whispered, and this time put his arm over Harry's chest, squeezing him in a hug.  'Go to sleep, Harry.  We'll have a job between us in the morning, keeping our Padfoot calm and orderly.'

**

Harry had been to the Ministry of Magic before, but that trip had been relatively brief, away from the hustle and bustle of the main floors.  Courtroom 10 was an entirely different sort of quiet, a hush that seemed oppressively enforced by the presence of armed Aurors stationed at even intervals about the octagonal outer edge of the chamber.  The floor was sunken several levels of tiers for milling witches and wizards in sumptuous robes to mill about in, the echoing noise of their chatter filling the vaulted ceiling.  It was an imposing room, with strange painted murals that moved in the Wizarding way, ancient figures in togas all whispering to each other, and it was quite cold, though Harry thought the cool air felt good on his overheated face and neck.  Sirius was sweating outright, mopping repeatedly at his temples and upper lip.

The anteroom in which they loitered had an open archway which provided full view of the court, but a bit of dim privacy that felt rather cave-like, lit only by a single blue lamp.  Lyall Lupin had the lone chair, slumped uncomfortably in its uncushioned seat, but his eyes were on his son, who was upright by dint of sheer will and little else.  Remus propped himself upright against the wall, his skin the same colour as the grey of his robes.  Sirius divided his energy between frenetic pacing and fussing over Remus and yanking at the high collar of his sleek robe as if it strangled him.

'Stop,' Remus murmured.  'You're making me dizzy.'

'I should've let you spell my hair long,' Sirius fretted, running a hand through the short length of it and dislodging his careful grooming.

'I like it this way.  Padfoot.  Breathe.'

'I'm breathing,' Sirius retorted.

'Mr Black.'  Their heads turned as one towards the archway, where Lucius Malfoy invited himself inside with a short nod towards Lyall first, then Harry.

'Potter,' Sirius corrected, thrusting his shoulders straight.  'I adopted the name.'

'So you did.  I recall.'  Lucius Malfoy turned his piercing gaze to Harry.  'Master Harry,' he said.  He smiled, though it seemed to involve a certain amount of effort and the result was not altogether pleasant.  'My son has bid me deliver a letter on his behalf.  And his wishes to you and your godfather for swift release from this unfortunate miscarriage of Wizarding justice.'

'Oh,' Harry said, a little startled by that.  'Thank you, sir.  For, er, both.'  He took the folded parchment note Mr Malfoy handed him, rubbing a thumb over the seal of silver wax embossed with the Malfoy family seal.  Draco hadn't managed to send many letters over the summer, having been shuffled off to Sweden almost the minute he returned home from school.  So far as Harry knew, Draco was still there, boarding with an ancient old auntie who, Draco had informed Harry, dined exclusively on sauerkraut and pickled herring and smelled exactly as one might imagine such a diet would induce one to smell.  It was not exactly a punishment, Draco's Swedish exile, but Draco bitterly interpreted it as a disciplinary measure meant to remind him of his place.

'Though the Malfoy family have, unfortunately, no role in the Wizengamot, I have exerted my small influence wherever possible on the Minister of Magic and the Chief Warlock,' Malfoy said then.  He put his pointy chin in the air with great dignity.  'It is my hope that reason will prevail and your sentence will be issued swiftly, Mr Potter.  With appropriate compensation for the suffering you have endured, and the damage willfully inflicted on the House of Black.  And the House of Potter, given your role therein.'

'That is kindly said, and much appreciated,' Remus answered for Sirius, who was worming a finger beneath his collar again and scowling.

'Mr Lupin,' Malfoy acknowledged him.  'The governors have received your curriculum submission.  I believe you will be quite the asset to Hogwarts.'

'I certainly hope to be so.'

'I must to my other duties,' Malfoy said, and, with a final bow, left them.

'Well that was damned odd,' Sirius muttered.  'Influence my left foot.'

'What was that about?' Lyall asked his son, who put him off with a small shake of his head.  Lyall huffed.  Harry rather agreed.

Still, they had hardly been alone a minute when they had another visitor.  It was Rufus Scrimgeour, the Chief Auror of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and his visit, at least, they had known was coming.  Scrimgeour, like Malfoy and Sirius, had formal robes for the occasion, his red Auror robes but with a special black stole hung with long gold tassels like a vicar.  His wiry ginger hair was like the tassels, maning his severe face and fierce eyes.

''You've got the full Wizengamot today, Black,' he announced.

'Potter,' Sirius snapped.

'Black.  The adoption may be legal under goblin terms, but you'll find the Wizengamot eager to set their own stamp of approval on the smallest details of this fiasco.  I wouldn't claim that in front of them til you've had a bill of innocence.'  Scrimgeour removed his gloves with two precise tugs and tucked them through his belt.  'I wanted to speak to you about Peter Pettigrew.'

Sirius's eyes widened.  Then narrowed.  'What about the rat,' he said coolly.

'Once we have a verdict, we have the papers drawn up to begin an investigation into his whereabouts-- officially.  Unofficially, I've had a few of my boys on it since we recovered you.  I'd like to review a few items with you, if you could spare us the time.'

'Absolutely,' Sirius growled, and accepted Scrimgeour's hand for a vigourous shake.

The trial itself was brief.  Harry had no idea what to expect, having never experienced Wizarding court before; or Muggle court, for that matter.  As family, Remus and Lyall and Harry were allowed to witness proceedings, but not to speak, and so they found themselves climbing to the highest tiers where non-participants were relegated.  This difficulty consumed much of the opening remarks, between supporting Lyall on his crutches and worrying that Remus ought to be supported in turn, he was so pale, but Remus kept his feet til they made it to an open bench.  Harry sat himself on the end, where he could see over the tall furred hat of the wizard seated ahead of him, and at last spotted Albus Dumbledore at his elevated desk looming above the elegant plum-robed members of the Wizengamot, looking down in judgement at the dock, where Sirius sat very alone in a strange chair.  The arms seemed very ornate and bulky, but it wasn't til Sirius shifted restlessly that Harry realised the chair was adorned with chains, and they had slithered about Sirius and bound him down.

'Remus?' he worried.

Remus correctly interpreted his distress, however, and smiled reassuringly.  'Don't worry.  He's come a long way.  He can do it, Harry.'

'If you are ready, Mr Black,' said Dumbledore, looking up from a long roll of parchment he read, 'we will administer the Veritaserum.  I will lead the primary questioning, but you are to answer any member of this body who wishes to pursue a particular issue.  Your testimony will be captured for the record and made available for any person with appropriate clearances.  As per statute, your hearing is also open to the press, as you have waived your right to a closed hearing.'  He indicated a small group of people sat at the bottom tier, all of whom had lap desks with rolls of parchment and quills at the ready.  Harry, peering down, scowled to see Rita Skeeter amongst them.  The Daily Prophet columnist had been stopped writing a book about Harry last year, but had been testing the waters of late with articles about him.  Since it had become public knowledge that Harry had been adopted by Sirius, she could claim to only be passing on what everyone already knew, and Harry could do little about it.  He quite disliked her, however, and Sirius had refused the Prophet an interview thirteen different times on Harry's behalf.

'I have,' Sirius replied.  Harry was cheered to hear his voice, strong and unwavering.

'Then let us begin.'

Harry, of course, had already heard Sirius's story.  Remus seemed rivetted by the re-telling, but Harry didn't like the effects of Veritaserum, and focussed instead on the interesting details of the trial.  It was most intriguing to see Dumbledore outside Hogwarts.  His sombre robes, for instance, made Dumbledore less a figure of whimsy and fit more Harry's idea of a judge, an old man in a white wig like in cartoons and films.  In other respects, however, Dumbledore seemed like himself.  As he questioned Sirius, he twirled his long beard about the tip of his wand, a habit Harry had observed many times before, when Dumbledore was deep in thought.  His air was cool and deliberative, but he was not unkind, and delivered his list of questions in a manner both reassuring and impartial.  He deferred a few times to a witch who sat near his podium, a lean woman with a canny look about her and an abrupt way of speaking, and twice asked Scrimgeour for a clarifying statement.  But Harry wasn't truly paying attention til he realised that someone had asked Dumbledore a question, and all eyes had turned towards the Headmaster and Chief Warlock.

'No,' Dumbledore answered briefly.  'I knew of the Fidelius, of course, but I advised the Potters to keep the identity of their Secret Keeper a-- well, a secret.'

'But you understood their choice to be Sirius Black,' pressed the canny-looking witch at his right.

Dumbledore inclined his head.  'I did.'

Harry tugged at Remus' sleeve.  'Why did Dumbledore know anything about it?' he asked quietly.

'Because of the Order,' Remus replied softly.

'But I thought that was a secret too?'

'Your father in particular had a long-standing friendship with Dumbledore.  He considered Dumbledore something of a mentor, even a father figure, since his own parents had passed away by then.  That's all Madam Bones is referring to, although I wouldn't be surprised if she did know something about the Order.  Her brother Edgar was in the Order.  Eddie and all his family were killed by Voldemort, and Amelia would've investigated what drew the Dark Lord's attention to a mid-level Ministry official so viciously.'

'Is she someone important?'

'The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' Lyall grunted from Remus's other side.  'The first witch to hold the position since the Department was created, and, if you believe the rumours, she's the one who ousted old Crouch.  With a fist fight.'

'It was a proper duel,' Remus corrected, amused.  'Though I heard she did prefer spells with a particularly aggressive effect.'

'So there's no material proof that the Potters switched their Secret Keeper, other than your word?' an ancient-looking wizard was saying critically.

'The word of a man under compulsion to speak the truth,' pointed out his colleague a row beneath him, twisting back to look.

'I have heard that there are methods and ways to subvert the Veritaserum,' said a craggy-faced crone, sniffing with disapproval the way Lady Longbottom often did.

'With respect, Honoured Madam,' said Scrimgeour, 'questioning the validity of Veritaserum threatens to overturn dozens of convictions from the last session alone.'

'But is this true?' asked another, looking to Madam Bones as well as Scrimgeour.  'Veritaserum can be fooled?'

'If I may,' said a voice from near the floor, 'I can assuage the court's fears.'

Harry sat up straight.  He knew that voice.  He'd been at summer tutoring with that voice every week for two months.

'Please come forward, Master Snape,' Dumbledore invited, and that was when Harry was sure this had been planned.  He knew how busy Snape was over summers, brewing everything that would be needed for the new schoolyear, brewing private commissions, conducting his own research-- Snape made a point of telling Harry how very busy he was whenever Harry threatened to waste his valuable time by inattention or poor performance.  Snape didn't hang about the Ministry on the off chance he'd need to offer testimony, and he especially didn't offer testimony in favour of Sirius Black, with whom he had a very real and very lively feud.  Remus had banned Sirius being in the house when Snape was set to visit for Harry's tutoring sessions, it was that bad.

'Who is this young man?' demanded the old crone who'd brought up the problems with Veritaserum.

Snape bowed politely.  'Madam von Vczelmann, I am one of only three authorised brewers of Veritaserum for the Ministry.  I can confirm that Veritaserum does indeed function as a "truth serum", within certain constraints, as is the case with all potions.  The appropriate dosage is crucial to the effectiveness of Veritaserum, which, when administered to a subject, experiences a declination of potency over a period of time which observation and experimentation has pinpointed to be approximately twenty minutes per the recommended dose equal to three troy grain weights under the Apothecary's Weights and Measures system, pre-Imperial, of course.'

Harry had been made to memorise not only the Apothecary's Weights and Measures system, both pre- and post-Imperial, but also the English troy system, the Avoirdupois system, and the umbrella system of English units, since wizards did not, so far as Harry could tell, have any understanding of the metric system now used by Muggles based on decimals, which Remus had been at pains to teach him in Harry's limping education in all things Muggle he wasn't being properly exposed to at Hogwarts.  Remus said most wizards couldn't do maths more complex than what could be achieved with ten fingers and ten toes; Snape had grudgingly agreed, and given Harry the illustration of a famous Potioneer in the Edwardian period whose recipes were uniquely structured around eights, having lost two fingers to an acid accident in the laboratory.  Harry gathered most of the Wizengamot were of this type, given the blank looks and uncertain muttering going on amongst the members of the court seated above Snape.

'Approximately?' prompted Madam Bones.

Snape bowed again, this time to her alone.  'Approximately, Madam, because one must include in one's calculations the mass of the individual being dosed-- that is, their height and weight-- as well as their age and relative health, and the possible influence of outside factors such as magical strength.  Veritaserum is functional for Squibs, for instance, because a magical core exists, but not for Muggles, who have no magic at all.  The standard dose of Veritaserum represents the Goldilocks Theorem: it is neither too much nor too little for most wizards and witches.'  Snape paused to let that sink in, though Harry mostly used the short silence to wonder whether he'd actually heard the dignified Potions Master refer to a Muggle nursery story.  'As to the question of whether Veritaserum can be "fooled" or "subverted"-- there are those who may boast of such methods, but if-- I stress "if"-- such has ever been achieved, it could only be within the brief window of the serum's lowest effectiveness, which is the moment of ingestion and the moment of dissipation.  For this reason, the use of Veritaserum is always observed by a trained monitor.'

'If there are no further objections,' Dumbledore said, tapping his wand on his desk and producing a brightly lit Tempus charm that showed a dwindling number of minutes.  'We have limited time to complete our questioning.'

'Interesting,' Remus murmured.

'Not any more interesting now than it was for three weeks of revising,' Harry muttered back.

Remus's lips curled upward slightly.  'Not the bit about measurements.  Dumbledore.'

'Dumbledore?  What did he do?'

'By all appearances, he kept his word.'

'His word?'

'He told you he would support you staying with your chosen guardian.  He just brought a ringer to your godfather's trial to ensure he'd get off-- and I'd bet he planted the notion of faulty Veritaserum with Madam von Vczelmann.  Most of the Wizengamot are old and long past their schooling-- not that good marks are a necessary qualification for a seat.  He set Snape up to undermine the most valid objection they could raise, and Snape belaboured the point so much it would be humiliating to challenge him further on the subject.'

'Shhh, I'm listening,' Lyall hissed, broadly nudging his son.

But there was little left to listen to.  Dumbledore finished his list of questions, which Sirius answered promptly in that flat, remote way people did under Veritaserum, and soon the whole story was out.  The Potters had settled on the Fidelius as the only way to protect their young family, but the Fidelius required a Secret Keeper.  They had wanted Sirius at first, but Sirius had suggested they switch to Peter Pettigrew, who was less likely to be suspected-- though, in truth, it was Peter's idea, and Peter had urged the switch in order to bring that valuable intelligence to Voldemort, who hunted the Potters as he'd hunted many Aurors fighting his Death Eaters.

And less than a week after Peter gave up the Secret, Voldemort had broken the Fidelius and killed Harry's parents.  And tried to kill Harry, only to fail extraordinarily.

No less extraordinary was this: Dumbledore didn't cease his questions for Sirius at the revelation that it was Peter Pettigrew, too, who had murdered a dozen Muggles after framing Sirius for the crime, and cut off his finger and disappeared so no-one would know he had survived the massacre.  Though that conclusively proved Sirius's innocence in the matter, Dumbledore had one question more.

'And did you, Mr Black, escape from Azkaban Prison with the sole aim of protecting your godson, young Harry Potter, who not three months ago faced down a man who was possessed by the spirit of Lord Voldemort?'

Instantly the chamber erupted.  Wizards were on their feet shouting, the old crone fell back in a faint, witches cried out and fanned themselves with the wide sleeves of their formal robes.  Lyall let out a little barking laugh and slapped his knee, chortling to himself.  Remus only drew a deep breath, and nodded as if something important had just been confirmed.

In the din, it was at first impossible to hear Sirius's response.  Dumbledore was obliged to request a repeat, and, even then, it was Rufus Scrimgeour whose deep voice boomed out the answer.

'Yes,' Scrimgeour said.  'Even so.'

'Lies!' hollered a middle-aged wizard with long curly hair flowing over the furred collar of his robe.  He waved beringed hands as if swatting down gnats all around him.  'It is lies, Albus, there's no way You-Know-Who--'

'But it cannot be lies, my dear Montclare,' Dumbledore replied serenely.  'We still have minutes on the clock with this dose of Veritaserum, well within the safety margin.  Mr Black's testimony cannot be anything other than truth.'

Rita Skeeter and the other reporters sat with her were scribbling furiously.  Skeeter in particular looked gleeful.

'That's how Albus Dumbledore wins wars, Harry,' Remus said.  'That right there.'

**

They had a celebration at the Leaky Cauldron, a huge spread of food and desserts and a bottle of champagne, which Harry was allowed to try given the momentous situation.  There was plenty of time after to do a little shopping in Diagon Alley, though it seemed word went around in short order that Harry Potter and his infamous godfather were on the town, and they retreated once a crowd began to hound them from store to store.  Dinner was a more subdued affair; each of them was tired, and it was pleasant enough merely to sit with each other in their suite, talking of everything from what Harry would study in class his second year to reminiscences of the past to speculating on whether the Aurors would have any luck tracking Peter Pettigrew.

'Peter was a clever little rat,' Sirius said bitterly.  He gazed into his glass of wine with an implacable scowl.  'There were a fair number of Ravenclaws who went Dark,' he added abruptly.  'A lot of Purebloods go to that House.  Purebloods with foreign ties.  Immigrants, you know-- they care about things like merit and hard work.  Slytherins would rather work smart than hard.  That was Peter all over, though.  I'd give a lot to know what the Hat thought of him.'

'The hat?' Remus wondered.

'Sorting Hat,' Harry guessed, stirring uneasily over his cocoa.  The Sorting Hat had wanted to put Harry in Slytherin.  He hadn't yet found reason to inform his godfather of this fact.  Sirius hated Slytherins in general and several Slytherins for very personal reasons.  Given the horrible things he'd been through, fighting Death Eaters in the war and betrayed by one of his closest friends, imprisoned in a horrible place for ten years, Harry couldn't say Sirius hadn't earnt his hard feelings.  He just didn't want to invite Sirius to express those feelings in his direction.

'Enough of that,' Lyall said suddenly, leaning over to pluck the wine glass from his son's hand.  'Alcohol won't sit well on your potion.'

'Da!'

'He's right, love.'  Sirius leant over the arm of his chair to nuzzle familiarly at Remus's ear.  'But give it back for one final toast, Da, and then we'll all be good boys and go to bed.'  So Remus reclaimed his wine, and Harry lifted high his cocoa, and Lyall his whiskey, and Sirius raised his glass.  'To James and Lily,' he said.  'And to Harry, and to all of us.  And, hell, to Peter.  May he rest in pieces once I've done with him.'

Harry was awakened from his doze some hours later to find the sun had set at last, a warm summer twilight with a refreshing breeze from the open window.  A check of his wristwatch confirmed it was only nine, but already Lyall was snoring away in the bed next to Harry's.  His years at Crowhill Boys' Home had inured Harry to that sort of racket.  It was, in fact, the sound of ginger footsteps that had waked him.  Someone was moving in Sirius and Remus's room.  Two someones.  And those someones were opening and then closing the door and creeping down the corridor outside their suite.

Harry followed, naturally.  Sirius had hold of Remus, supporting him as they picked their way down the stairs towards the Leaky's common room.  Knowing he'd be scolded for being out of bed, but worried nonetheless, Harry trailed their descent, and emerged in time to watch Sirius raiding the pot of Floo Powder at the big hearth.

'Sirius?' Harry blurted.

A dark head turned towards him.  'Hey there,' Sirius whispered.  'Go back to bed, kid.'

'Are you leaving?'

'Just to pick up something from home.  We'll be back when you wake up.'

'He's doing really poorly, isn't he?'

'He'll be right as rain tomorrow, you'll see.'

'I'm not a little boy, Sirius.'

Sirius looked at him a long time, despite the sagging weight of Remus leaning half-sensible on him.  Sirius nodded then.  'No, I can see that.  But it's the truth.  He'll be better tomorrow, once he isn't taking the potion anymore.'

'Why's he got to take it, if it makes him so ill?  I mean... I mean, isn't there anything better?'

Sirius grimaced as if this had touched a nerve.  He hefted Remus, catching his lolling head on his shoulder.  'I don't think he should take it at all, but I don't win that argument.  There'll be time to talk later, Harry.  Go back to bed.  We'll be back before you know it.'

There was no arguing with that.  Sirius didn't linger.  He flung his powder into the fire, and carried Remus into the ashes.

'Ty Mawr, Beddgelert,' he said, and they vanished in a flash of green flame.