# British Ministry of Magic - Department of Magical Law Enforcement - Interview Room Seven
The holding cells beneath the Ministry were nothing like Azkaban—a fact for which Sirius was profoundly grateful—but they still carried the particular institutional grimness that all government facilities seemed to acquire over time. Gray stone walls warded against magic, enchanted lighting that never quite achieved natural brightness, and the subtle hum of monitoring charms that tracked every movement and conversation.
Still, compared to twelve years of dementors and despair, this felt like a luxury resort.
Sirius sat at the battered wooden table in Interview Room Seven, his hands resting flat on its scarred surface in the deliberately non-threatening posture that Amelia had suggested during their brief private conversation before the official proceedings began. He'd been given clean robes—simple but decent—and allowed to wash properly for the first time since his escape. The transformation was remarkable: with actual soap and running water, the gaunt fugitive had become something approaching presentable again.
The mirror in the small washroom had shown him truth he'd been avoiding during his weeks on the run. Yes, imprisonment had aged him. Yes, there were lines around his eyes that hadn't been there at twenty-one. But the bones were still good, the features still sharp and aristocratic beneath the wear. With proper food and rest, he could be handsome again. Striking. The sort of man who commanded attention rather than pity.
More importantly, his eyes still burned with that particular intensity that had always been his trademark—intelligence and determination and just enough recklessness to keep things interesting. Those eyes had gotten him through Hogwarts, through the war, through twelve years of hell. They would get him through this too.
The door opened with a soft click of well-oiled hinges, and Amelia Bones entered with her characteristic no-nonsense efficiency. But she wasn't alone.
Two men followed her into the room, and Sirius felt his breath catch as he recognized one of them immediately.
Sebastian Delacour looked every inch the sophisticated continental diplomat in robes that probably cost more than most British wizards earned in a year. Dark hair touched with distinguished silver at the temples, intelligent dark eyes that missed nothing, and an air of casual competence that suggested he was accustomed to walking into rooms and being the most capable person present.
But it was the second man who made Sirius's chest tighten with something approaching hope.
Ted Tonks.
Andromeda's husband, father to young Nymphadora, and—according to whispers Sirius had heard even in Azkaban—the Muggleborn solicitor who had spent the better part of twelve years trying to reopen his case despite having no client, no funding, and no political support. The man looked tired, worn down by years of bureaucratic stonewalling, but his eyes were sharp and his posture suggested he'd walked into this room prepared for a fight.
"Mr. Black," Amelia said formally, settling into the chair across from him with practiced ease, "allow me to introduce Sebastian Delacour, representative of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Edward Tonks, who will be serving as your legal counsel for these proceedings."
Sirius's voice came out rougher than he'd intended, still unused to regular conversation after weeks of speaking only to himself or his canine alter-ego. "Ted Tonks. You're... you've been trying to help me."
Ted's smile was tired but genuine, carrying warmth that made something tight in Sirius's chest finally relax. "For twelve years, Mr. Black. Though I'll confess, I expected our first meeting to occur under rather different circumstances than your dramatic surrender in Diagon Alley."
"Sirius," he corrected automatically, then paused as memory caught up with present circumstances. "Unless that's too familiar, given the professional relationship?"
"Sirius, then," Ted agreed, settling into the chair beside him and opening a leather briefcase that appeared to contain enough documentation to reconstruct the entire case from scratch. "And I should tell you—my wife will want to speak with you once this mess is sorted. Andromeda has... opinions about what happened to you."
The mention of his cousin—brilliant, fierce Andromeda who had chosen love over family fortune and never looked back—sent another surge of emotion through Sirius that he carefully contained. "She didn't believe I was guilty?"
"She knew you weren't guilty," Ted replied with absolute conviction. "Said the Sirius Black she grew up with might be reckless and dramatic and occasionally insufferably arrogant, but he would never betray the people he loved. She's been funding my attempts to reopen the case through her own family inheritance, though we had to be careful about it given the political climate."
Sirius felt tears he'd thought long dried up threatening to spill. "She believed in me. Even when everyone else..."
"She never doubted," Ted said firmly. "And neither did I, once I started examining the actual evidence rather than the propaganda."
Sebastian Delacour leaned forward slightly, his accented English carrying the sort of diplomatic precision that came from years of international negotiations. "Mr. Black—Sirius—I should explain my involvement in your case, as I suspect you 'ave questions about why a French diplomat would interest 'imself in British judicial matters."
"The thought had crossed my mind," Sirius admitted, studying the man with the sort of careful assessment that had once made him a brilliant strategist during the war. "Though I'm not about to question the motives of someone who's apparently orchestrating my vindication."
Sebastian's smile suggested he appreciated the cautious response. "My interest is not purely altruistic, though I do 'ave strong opinions about justice and ze proper application of magical law. My involvement centers on someone you 'ave never met but who is very important to my family."
Sirius frowned, trying to work through the implications. "Someone important to your family who has a connection to my case?"
"Your godson," Sebastian said simply. "Harry Potter."
The name hit Sirius like a physical blow, driving the air from his lungs and making his hands clench against the table's scarred surface. "Harry. What about Harry? Is he all right? Has something happened to him?"
The panic in his voice must have been obvious, because Amelia raised a calming hand before Sebastian could respond. "Harry is fine, Sirius. Better than fine, actually. Which is precisely why Mr. Delacour's family became involved in your situation."
Sebastian nodded, his expression growing more serious. "My wife and daughters are full Veela, Sirius. Apolline and our two girls—Fleur, who is fifteen, and Gabrielle, who is ten. Zis summer, due to... complicated circumstances involving 'is magical transformation... Harry came to stay with us in France."
"Magical transformation?" Sirius repeated, his mind racing through possibilities. "What kind of transformation? Is he hurt? Was there an attack?"
"Nothing like zat," Sebastian assured him quickly. "Though ze situation is complex enough to require detailed explanation. Harry experienced what we call a Creature Inheritance—specifically, a draconic one. Ze combination of basilisk venom and phoenix tears during an incident in 'is second year at 'Ogwarts triggered dormant genetics zat 'ave given 'im..." He paused, clearly searching for adequate description. "Unprecedented abilities and characteristics."
Sirius stared at him. "Dragon genetics. Harry has dragon genetics."
"Among ozer things," Sebastian confirmed. "Enhanced physical capabilities, supernatural senses, developing fire abilities, and—most relevant to why 'e came to stay with us—an aura zat compels people to submit to 'is authority. 'E needed specialized training to control zese abilities, and my wife, as a full Veela with 'er own powerful aura, was uniquely qualified to 'elp."
The information was almost too much to process. Harry had transformed into something with dragon heritage and magical compulsion abilities? The cosmic irony was staggering.
"And this led to your involvement in my case how?" Sirius asked, though he was beginning to piece together the connections.
Sebastian's expression grew gentler. "Because 'Arry deserves to know ze truth about 'is parents, about what 'appened ze night zey died, and about ze man zey chose to be 'is guardian. When I learned about your situation—about ze lack of trial, ze absence of proper investigation, ze political expedience zat sent an innocent man to Azkaban—I decided zat justice required intervention."
"'He used 'lhis position with the ICW to pressure the British Ministry into conducting a proper review," Amelia added with evident approval. "Which led to my examination of the original case files and the discovery of... significant irregularities."
Ted pulled several documents from his briefcase, spreading them across the table with the precision of someone who had memorized every detail. "The Priori Incantatum results on your original wand are particularly damning for the prosecution's case. The last spells you cast were defensive charms and a Stunning Spell—not the Blasting Curse that would have been necessary to cause the explosion that killed Peter Pettigrew and those twelve Muggles."
"Because I didn't cast it," Sirius said, his voice rough with suppressed fury at the memory. "Peter did. With his own wand, after I'd cornered him. He cut off his own finger, shouted that I'd betrayed James and Lily, and blew up the street before transforming into a rat and escaping through the sewers."
"Which brings us to another critical piece of evidence," Amelia said, pulling out what appeared to be a recent photograph. "We've confirmed that Peter Pettigrew is alive and has been living as the pet rat of the Weasley family for the past twelve years."
The photograph showed a plump gray rat with a distinctive missing toe, and Sirius felt vindication surge through him with enough force to make his hands shake.
"Thank Merlin," he breathed. "I saw him in the Prophet photograph, recognized Peter immediately. That's why I escaped when I did—I couldn't stand the thought of Harry living in the same house as the bastard who'd killed his parents."
"Ze Weasleys 'ave been notified," Sebastian added with grim satisfaction. "Ze rat 'as been secured by Aurors and is currently being 'eld in specialized containment designed for Animagi. Once ze trial proceeds, 'e will be questioned under Veritaserum about 'is role in ze deaths of James and Lily Potter."
Sirius felt something that had been wound tight in his chest for twelve years finally begin to unwind. "You're really going to prove it. You're really going to show everyone what actually happened."
"Not just prove it," Ted said with the sort of fierce determination that suggested he'd been waiting twelve years for this moment. "We're going to systematically dismantle every piece of the prosecution's case, demonstrate that proper procedures were violated at every stage, and ensure that you receive not just exoneration but public vindication."
He pulled out another document, this one bearing multiple official seals. "I've filed formal charges against every Ministry official who participated in your unlawful imprisonment. Malfeasance, violation of statutory rights, corruption of the judicial process—the list goes on. By the time we're done, there won't be any question about your innocence or about the systematic failures that allowed this injustice to occur."
Sirius stared at the man who looked exhausted but determined, who had spent twelve years fighting for someone he'd never met simply because it was the right thing to do. "Why? Ted, I appreciate this more than I can say, but... why dedicate so much of your life to helping a man you didn't know?"
Ted's expression grew soft with something that looked like understanding. "Because Andromeda asked me to. Because she believed in you when no one else did, and I believe in her. But also..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Because I'm a Muggleborn solicitor in a magical world that still hasn't fully accepted that people like me deserve the same rights as purebloods. I know what it's like to be judged based on prejudice rather than evidence, to have the system stacked against you before you even enter the room."
He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Your case represents everything wrong with our current judicial system—the willingness to sacrifice individual rights for political convenience, the assumption of guilt based on circumstantial evidence, the complete disregard for proper procedure when it's easier to just lock someone away and forget about them. If I can help fix this, if I can help restore your life and your relationship with your godson, then maybe it means the system can be changed. That justice can actually mean something in magical Britain."
Sirius found himself genuinely moved by the passion in Ted's voice, the absolute conviction that drove him to fight battles that most people would have abandoned as hopeless.
"Thank you," he said quietly, the words inadequate but sincere. "Both of you. All of you. I don't have the words to express—"
"Zen don't try," Sebastian interrupted gently. "Simply focus on what comes next. Ze trial will be public, televised through magical broadcasting, with international observers present to ensure procedural fairness. Ze evidence is overwhelming, ze political pressure is substantial, and ze Ministry knows zat failure to provide justice will damage British magical standing on ze international stage."
"When?" Sirius asked, though part of him wanted to add 'how soon can I see Harry' to the question.
"Two weeks," Amelia replied with satisfaction. "The Wizengamot has been convened for a full formal trial with proper representation and due process. You'll remain in Ministry holding until then—comfortable cells, access to your legal team, proper meals and medical attention."
She paused, her expression growing more personal. "Sirius, I want you to know that I've reviewed every piece of evidence in your case. Not as someone with a personal history with you, but as Head of DMLE conducting an objective investigation. And I believe you're innocent. Completely, unequivocally innocent of the crimes for which you were imprisoned."
The admission from the woman who had once shared his bed and his dreams of reforming the Ministry carried more weight than any official documentation could have provided.
"I should have questioned it twelve years ago," she continued, her voice carrying genuine regret. "Should have demanded proper procedures, should have insisted on a trial regardless of the political pressure. I failed you then. I won't fail you now."
Sirius felt tears he'd been holding back for twelve years finally spill over, tracking down cheeks that were no longer as hollow as they'd been a week ago. "Amy, you didn't fail anyone. The system failed. The war had everyone so paranoid and desperate that procedure seemed like a luxury we couldn't afford."
He reached across the table, and after a moment's hesitation, she took his hand. The touch sent electricity through him—not romantic necessarily, but connection, proof that he was real and valued and worth fighting for.
"But you're fighting now," he continued, his voice rough with emotion. "You're all fighting for me. And that means more than I can possibly express."
Ted pulled out yet another document, this one appearing to be a comprehensive legal brief. "We should discuss strategy for the trial itself. The prosecution will likely try to focus on your escape from Azkaban rather than the original crimes, suggesting that an innocent man wouldn't have needed to flee."
"Let zem try," Sebastian said with dangerous calm. "We 'ave documented evidence of ze psychological damage caused by wrongful imprisonment in Azkaban, ze desperation zat would drive any innocent person to escape such conditions, and ze fact zat 'is escape was motivated by concern for 'is godson's safety rather than criminal intent."
He pulled out what appeared to be a photograph, sliding it across the table to Sirius. "Speaking of which, I thought you might like to see 'im. Zis was taken last week at our château."
Sirius picked up the photograph with trembling hands, and his breath caught as he saw Harry for the first time since that terrible night twelve years ago.
The boy in the image was almost thirteen, tall and lean with the sort of unconscious grace that suggested exceptional physical coordination. His black hair was longer than James's had been, falling past his collar in waves that caught the Mediterranean sunlight. But his eyes—his eyes were pure Lily, that brilliant emerald green that had always been so striking against her red hair.
He was smiling in the photograph, genuine and unguarded in a way that suggested he felt safe and happy in the Delacours' company. The transformation from the abuse he'd endured with the Dursleys to this confident, content young man was visible even in a still image.
"He's beautiful," Sirius whispered, unable to tear his gaze from the photograph. "He looks so much like James, but with Lily's eyes and her smile..."
"'E is remarkable," Sebastian said with evident fondness. "Intelligent, brave, remarkably mature for 'is age despite—or perhaps because of—ze challenges 'e 'as faced. And 'e very much wants to meet you once ze trial is complete."
Sirius looked up sharply. "He knows about me? About the investigation?"
"We told 'im everything," Sebastian confirmed. "About ze wrongful conviction, about your escape, about our efforts to prove your innocence. 'E deserves to know ze truth about 'is parents and about ze man zey chose to be 'is guardian."
"And he wants to meet me?" Sirius asked, hardly daring to believe it. "Even knowing about Azkaban, about the escape, about everything?"
"Especially knowing about all of zat," Sebastian replied with a slight smile. "Harry 'as considerable experience with being judged unfairly based on circumstances beyond 'is control. 'E understands what it means to be condemned without proper consideration of ze truth."
Ted pulled out another document, this one appearing to be some sort of custody agreement. "Once you're exonerated, we'll need to address Harry's guardianship situation immediately. The Dursleys are completely unsuitable—there's extensive evidence of abuse and neglect that should never have been tolerated."
"I'll kill them," Sirius said flatly, his voice carrying the sort of cold fury that made it clear he wasn't being hyperbolic. "If they've hurt him, if they've—"
"Zey 'ave," Sebastian interrupted grimly. "Though perhaps not in ways zat would leave physical evidence. Psychological abuse, emotional neglect, systematic attempts to suppress 'is magical nature and destroy 'is self-worth. 'Arry lived in a cupboard under ze stairs for ze first eleven years of 'is life."
The rage that surged through Sirius at those words was white-hot and absolutely murderous. Only the knowledge that Harry was now safe, that he was thriving in the Delacours' care, kept him from transforming into Padfoot and trying to escape to exact immediate revenge.
"They will face consequences," Amelia said firmly, clearly recognizing the fury in his expression. "Once your case is resolved, we'll be opening a formal investigation into the placement decision and the complete lack of oversight regarding Harry's welfare. Dumbledore will also need to answer some very pointed questions about why he left a child in such conditions."
"Dumbledore," Sirius said, the name carrying layers of anger and betrayal. "The man who was supposed to ensure Harry's safety, who knew about the blood wards but apparently never bothered to check whether those wards were worth the abuse Harry endured to maintain them."
"Ze investigation will be thorough," Sebastian assured him. "And 'Arry will never return to zat 'ouse. Never. 'E 'as a 'ome with us for as long as 'e needs it, and once you are free, we can discuss more permanent arrangements zat prioritize 'is wellbeing above all else."
Sirius looked at the photograph again, at Harry's genuine smile and confident posture, and felt something settle in his chest that had been displaced for twelve years.
"What happens now?" he asked, forcing himself to focus on practical matters rather than drowning in emotion. "Before the trial, I mean."
Ted consulted his comprehensive notes with the efficiency of someone who had planned for this moment extensively. "First, we'll conduct several more formal interviews to get your complete statement on record. Everything from the night James and Lily died, through your imprisonment, to your escape and the weeks you spent in hiding."
"We'll also need detailed information about Peter Pettigrew," Amelia added. "His habits, his abilities, anything that might be relevant when we question him under Veritaserum about his role in the Potters' deaths."
"And zen," Sebastian continued, "we prepare for ze trial itself. This will be ze most public magical trial in British 'istory, with international attention and significant political implications. You will need to be ready to testify clearly and convincingly about everything zat 'appened."
Sirius nodded, feeling determination settle over him like armor. "I've spent twelve years rehearsing what I'd say if anyone ever bothered to listen. I'm ready."
"Good," Ted said with satisfaction. "Because we're going to make sure that every single person in magical Britain understands exactly what was done to you, and why it should never be allowed to happen again."
As they continued discussing strategy and evidence and the intricate details of building an airtight case, Sirius found himself repeatedly drawn back to the photograph of Harry. His godson—brilliant, brave Harry who had survived abuse and neglect to become someone remarkable, who wanted to meet the man his parents had chosen to raise him despite twelve years of separation and false accusations.
In two weeks, Sirius would stand before the Wizengamot and reclaim his innocence, his freedom, and his right to be part of Harry's life.
And then, finally, he could begin to fulfill the promise he'd made to James and Lily on the night Harry was born—to love their son, protect him, and ensure he grew up knowing he was wanted and valued and absolutely extraordinary.
The wait would be difficult, but Sirius had waited twelve years already. He could manage two more weeks.
After all, he had something to live for now. Someone to fight for.
Harry was waiting for him on the other side of vindication, and Sirius Black had never been one to disappoint the people he loved.
—
The strategy session had been going for nearly two hours when Sebastian glanced at his elegant pocket watch and cleared his throat with the sort of polite insistence that suggested he had something important to add.
"Before we conclude for today," he said, his accented English carrying a note of gentle significance, "zere is one more matter I should mention. Tomorrow is 'Arry's thirteenth birthday."
The words hit Sirius like a physical blow, driving the air from his lungs. July thirty-first. Of course it was. He'd lost track of dates during his weeks on the run, but Harry's birthday—the anniversary of the night everything had changed, when James and Lily had trusted him with their most precious gift—that should have been carved into his consciousness.
"Thirteen," he whispered, staring down at the photograph of the confident young man who barely resembled the baby he'd held on that long-ago summer night. "He's going to be thirteen years old, and I've missed every single birthday since he turned one."
The grief in his voice was raw enough that even Ted, who had maintained professional composure throughout the meeting, looked away with evident discomfort.
"You 'ave missed much," Sebastian agreed with gentle honesty. "And zat is a tragedy zat cannot be undone. But Sirius, you 'ave ze opportunity now to be part of 'is future, even if you cannot reclaim ze past."
Sirius looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
Sebastian pulled a leather writing case from his bag, setting it on the table between them with careful precision. Inside were sheets of high-quality parchment, a silver fountain pen that looked like it cost more than most people's monthly wages, and sealing wax in what Sirius recognized as Gryffindor colors.
"You cannot meet 'Arry yet—not until after ze trial, when your legal status is resolved," Sebastian said, his dark eyes warm with understanding. "But zere is nothing preventing you from writing to 'im. From giving 'im a letter on 'is birthday from ze godfather who 'as been fighting to return to 'im for twelve years."
The offer hung in the air like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. Sirius stared at the writing materials, his throat tight with emotion that made speech difficult.
"You'd deliver it?" he managed finally. "Make sure he gets it for his birthday?"
"Personally," Sebastian confirmed. "I am returning to France zis evening on urgent business, and I will ensure zat 'Arry receives your letter first thing tomorrow morning when 'e wakes. You 'ave my word as a representative of ze ICW and as someone who cares deeply for your godson's wellbeing."
Sirius reached for the writing case with trembling hands, pulling out a sheet of parchment that felt impossibly fine compared to everything he'd touched in the past twelve years. The pen was weighted perfectly, balanced for someone accustomed to quality instruments, and for a moment he just held it, trying to remember what it felt like to write something that mattered.
"What do I even say?" he asked, looking between Sebastian and Ted with something approaching desperation. "How do I compress twelve years of loss and love and regret into a birthday letter? How do I explain why I wasn't there, why I let him suffer with those monsters when I should have been protecting him?"
"You tell 'im ze truth," Sebastian said simply. "Not all of it—not ze details zat would burden 'im unnecessarily—but ze essential truth. Zat you love 'im, zat you 'ave fought to return to 'im, zat you will spend ze rest of your life trying to be ze godfather 'is parents wanted 'im to 'ave."
Ted nodded agreement, his expression carrying the sort of gentle wisdom that came from years of helping desperate people navigate impossible situations. "From what I've heard, Harry's a remarkable young man, Sirius. Sebastian's told me about his transformation, his abilities, his maturity beyond his years. He'll understand more than you might expect. Just... be honest. Be yourself. Let him know that despite everything that's happened, you're still the person James and Lily chose to love him."
Amelia stood, gesturing for Ted and Sebastian to follow. "We'll give you some privacy. Take as long as you need—there's no rush, and the guards have been instructed to allow you whatever time is necessary."
As they moved toward the door, Amelia paused and looked back at him. "Sirius, for what it's worth... he's lucky to have you. Even after everything that's been stolen from both of you, even with all the complications ahead—Harry is very lucky to have a godfather who loves him this much."
The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving Sirius alone with the blank parchment and the weight of everything he needed to say.
For several long minutes, he just sat there, pen poised above paper, trying to organize thoughts that had been chaotic for twelve years into something coherent and meaningful. How did you summarize a lifetime of devotion to someone you'd barely had the chance to know? How did you apologize for absence that wasn't your fault but still felt like personal failure?
Finally, he set pen to parchment and let his heart guide his hand.
---
*My dear Harry,*
*I should begin by wishing you a happy thirteenth birthday, though the words feel inadequate to express what this day means to me. Thirteen years ago tonight, you came into this world and changed everything for the people who loved you. Your parents threw the most spectacular party at Potter Manor—your father got drunk on champagne and kept announcing to everyone that he'd helped create "the most perfect human being ever to grace the planet," while your mother held you close and sang lullabies that made even the portraits cry with happiness.*
*I was your godfather from the moment you drew breath, and I made promises that night that I've spent twelve years being unable to keep. I promised your parents I would protect you, guide you, make sure you grew up knowing how deeply you were loved. I promised them I would tell you stories about their courtship (which involved considerably more hexing than your mother ever admitted), teach you the Marauders' tricks (though perhaps not all of them—some are rather illegal), and ensure you understood that you came from a family that would move mountains for you.*
*I've failed to keep those promises in every way that matters. While you were growing up, I was locked away in a place so cold and dark it tried to steal even my memories of the people I loved. I wasn't there for your first words, your first magic, your first day at Hogwarts. I wasn't there to answer questions about your parents, to hex anyone who treated you poorly, or to simply be the family you deserved.*
*But Harry—and this is crucial for you to understand—I never stopped fighting to return to you. Every single day in that hellhole, when the darkness tried to convince me that nothing mattered and no one cared, I held onto thoughts of you. The baby with your mother's eyes and your father's hair, who deserved to know he was wanted and loved and absolutely extraordinary.*
*I escaped not to run away from justice, but to run toward you. To protect you from someone who had already stolen everything from both of us, who was living under the same roof and waiting for opportunities I couldn't allow. I know how it must have looked—the wanted posters, the manhunt, the propaganda about dangerous criminals. But every step I took in freedom was driven by the need to keep you safe and to reclaim the right to be your godfather.*
*Sebastian Delacour has told me about your transformation, about the extraordinary abilities you've developed and the challenges you've faced. I won't pretend to fully understand what it means to be part dragon or to manage the sort of aura that compels submission. But I do understand what it means to be changed by circumstances beyond your control, to wake up one day and discover that the person you were has become someone you barely recognize.*
*Your father once told me that the mark of a man isn't what power he possesses, but what he chooses to do with it. You could have used your enhanced abilities for revenge against the Dursleys, for dominance over your classmates, for any number of things that would have been understandable given what you've endured. Instead, you've chosen to learn control, to seek help when you needed it, to become someone who wields power responsibly rather than carelessly.*
*That makes me prouder than I can adequately express. Not just because it demonstrates the quality of your character, but because it proves that despite the Dursleys' best efforts to break you, despite years of abuse and neglect and systematic cruelty, you've become exactly the sort of person your parents hoped you would be.*
*I want you to know something, Harry, and I need you to believe it with absolute certainty: None of what happened to you was your fault. The abuse, the neglect, the cupboard under the stairs that makes me want to commit murder every time I think about it—you deserved none of that. You should have been raised in a home filled with love and magic and endless stories about the parents who adored you. You should have had a godfather who was there for scraped knees and homework struggles and late-night conversations about whatever troubled you.*
*The fact that we were both denied that future isn't your burden to carry. It's the burden of the people who failed us—the system that imprisoned an innocent man without trial, the authorities who placed you with monsters instead of family, and most especially, the traitor who destroyed everything we should have had together.*
*But Harry, here's what I want you to understand about your thirteenth birthday: It marks not just how long we've been apart, but how close we are to finally being together. In two weeks, there will be a trial. I will stand before the Wizengamot and prove my innocence. The evidence is overwhelming, the political pressure is substantial, and the people fighting for us are both brilliant and absolutely determined.*
*When—not if, but when—I'm exonerated, my first priority will be meeting you. Not as a fugitive or a wanted criminal, but as your legal godfather with every right to be part of your life. We'll have time to get to know each other properly, to build the relationship your parents intended us to have, to become the family we should always have been.*
*I won't lie and pretend it will be simple or that twelve years of separation can be overcome immediately. We're essentially strangers who share profound connections, and building trust takes time. But Harry, I want you to know that I'm committed to that process. To learning who you've become, to answering whatever questions you have about your parents or our shared past, to being whatever kind of godfather you need me to be.*
*Your mother once told me that the best families aren't the ones you're born into, but the ones you choose through love and commitment and the willingness to show up even when it's difficult. The Dursleys may have had biological obligation, but they chose cruelty over care. The Delacours have no obligation whatsoever, but they've chosen to give you a home and help you master abilities that terrify most people.*
*And I choose you, Harry. I've always chosen you, from the moment your parents asked me to be your godfather until this very instant as I write this letter in a Ministry holding cell. I will continue choosing you every single day for the rest of my life, because that's what family means—showing up, staying present, and never giving up no matter how difficult things become.*
*So happy birthday, my brilliant godson. May this be the last birthday you spend believing yourself alone in the world, because by the time your fourteenth rolls around, you'll be so thoroughly surrounded by people who love you that solitude will require considerable effort.*
*I can't give you material gifts yet—prison and poverty tend to limit one's shopping opportunities—but I can offer you this promise: Once I'm free, once the trial is complete and my name is cleared, I will dedicate my life to being the godfather you deserve. We'll make new memories to replace the ones we lost, build traditions to carry forward, and create the sort of bond your parents dreamed of when they trusted me with their most precious treasure.*
*Until we meet face to face, know that you are loved beyond measure, that you've never been alone even when you felt most isolated, and that the future holds possibilities neither of us has dared to imagine.*
*With all my love and devotion,*
*Sirius*
*P.S. - Your father would want you to know that the Marauders created several spectacular pranks specifically designed for thirteenth birthdays. Once I'm free and we've had time to get properly acquainted, I'll teach you every single one. Your mother would protest, but even she had to admit that some mischief is essential to proper magical education.*
*P.P.S. - Sebastian tells me that you've become rather close with his daughters. This delights me more than you might expect—the Delacours are extraordinary people, and the fact that they've welcomed you into their family suggests they recognize what I've always known: You're someone worth fighting for, worth protecting, worth loving with everything we have.*
---
Sirius set down the pen and stared at the letter, reading it over several times to ensure he'd conveyed everything essential without overwhelming Harry with too much emotion or information. It was imperfect—too sentimental in places, perhaps, and unable to fully express the depth of love and regret he carried—but it was honest.
And honesty was all he could offer.
He folded the parchment carefully, sealed it with wax that he pressed with his thumb since he no longer had access to the Black family seal, and wrote Harry's name across the front in careful script that he hoped conveyed dignity despite his circumstances.
When the door opened again, all three of his legal team entered, and Sirius held out the sealed letter with hands that were steadier than they'd been in twelve years.
"Make sure he gets this," he said to Sebastian, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. "First thing tomorrow morning, before anything else."
Sebastian took the letter with the sort of careful reverence typically reserved for priceless artifacts. "You 'ave my word, Sirius. 'Arry will wake to this letter on 'is birthday, and 'e will know zat 'is godfather loves 'im and is fighting to return to 'im."
"Thank you," Sirius managed, the words inadequate but sincere. "For everything you've done, for everything you're doing. I don't know why you've chosen to fight this battle, but I'm grateful beyond words."
Sebastian's smile was warm and genuine. "I fight because 'Arry deserves ze truth, and because justice matters even when it is inconvenient for those in power. But also..." He paused, his expression growing more personal. "Because I 'ave daughters who 'ave come to care for your godson very deeply, and I would do anything to ensure zeir 'appiness. Including reuniting ze boy zey love with ze family 'e deserves."
The implications of that statement sent Sirius's mind racing, but before he could formulate questions, Ted was already moving toward the door.
"We should let you rest," Ted said with professional concern. "The next two weeks will be demanding, and you need to be in the best possible condition for the trial. Eat properly, sleep as much as you can, and try not to let anxiety overwhelm you."
"Easier said than done," Sirius admitted with a slight smile. "But I'll try. And Ted... thank you. For twelve years of fighting when you had every reason to give up."
"Family fights for family," Ted replied with simple conviction. "Andromeda considers you family, which makes you mine as well. We'll see you tomorrow for the next round of interview preparation."
As they filed out, Amelia lingered for a moment longer, her expression mixing professional assessment with something more personal.
"That was a good letter," she said quietly. "Honest, heartfelt, exactly what a thirteen-year-old boy who's never had proper family would need to hear."
"I hope so," Sirius said, suddenly uncertain. "I'm not exactly practiced at emotional communication after twelve years of enforced isolation."
"You did fine," Amelia assured him. "And Sirius... I meant what I said earlier. Harry is lucky to have you. Don't doubt that, even in the difficult moments ahead."
After she left, Sirius found himself alone with his thoughts and the memory of words he'd poured onto parchment. Somewhere in France, Harry was going about his evening, unaware that tomorrow morning would bring the first communication from a godfather he'd never had the chance to know.
The thought terrified and exhilarated him in equal measure.
What if Harry didn't want a relationship with him? What if twelve years of absence had created a distance too vast to bridge? What if the boy had built a life that didn't include room for a damaged ex-convict with a criminal record and enough trauma to fill a psychiatric textbook?
But then Sirius remembered the photograph—Harry's genuine smile, his confident posture, the way he looked at home in the Delacours' company. This was someone who understood what it meant to be judged unfairly, who had survived abuse and emerged stronger rather than broken, who had developed unprecedented abilities and chosen to seek help rather than let power corrupt him.
This was James and Lily's son, brilliant and brave and capable of forgiveness for things that weren't even his godfather's fault.
And if that extraordinary young man was willing to give Sirius a chance, then Sirius would spend the rest of his life proving worthy of that trust.
Two weeks until the trial. Two weeks until vindication, freedom, and the opportunity to finally fulfill promises made thirteen years ago on a summer night filled with champagne and lullabies and love.
Sirius could wait. After all, he'd been waiting twelve years already.
What was two more weeks when family waited on the other side?
He settled onto the cot in his holding cell—comfortable by his recent standards, luxurious compared to Azkaban—and let himself imagine the moment when he'd finally meet Harry face to face. Not through photographs or letters, but in person. Father and son reconnecting after a lifetime apart.
It wouldn't be simple. There would be complications, difficult conversations, the gradual process of building trust between strangers who shared profound connections. But it would be real, and it would be theirs, and that was enough to sustain him through whatever challenges lay ahead.
As Sirius drifted toward sleep for the first time in weeks without fear of discovery or capture, his last thought was a prayer to James and Lily, wherever they were:
*I'm coming back to him. I'm going to keep the promises I made. Just give me two more weeks, and I'll finally be the godfather you trusted me to be.*
And somewhere in the darkness, he could have sworn he heard James's laugh and Lily's gentle voice, telling him they'd never doubted it for a moment.
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