Flashback.....
A round table of pale wood. Blue-white wards humming softly along the walls. Tall windows looking out over a city Harry did not recognise, its skyline threaded with spell light and floating sigils that marked it as neutral ground.
The International Confederation of Wizards did not conduct its most delicate business in public.
Harry sat between Dumbledore and a witch in robes edged with silver constellations, Magistra Elira Vael, one of the ICW's arbiters. Several others observed from the shadows, their presence felt more than seen.
"This hearing," Vael said, fingers steepled, "is not about Animagi. It is about precedent. The Ministry fears what it cannot control."
"They always have," Dumbledore replied mildly.
Harry had listened quietly until then, absorbing strategy, legal frameworks, lines of argument. But something had been burning behind his ribs since the Prophet headline had broken.
He leaned forward.
"If the Ministry can be forced to acknowledge international authority," he said carefully, "then could it… revisit other cases?"
The room stilled.
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, though his expression remained calm. "What case do you have in mind, Harry?"
Harry did not hesitate. "Sirius Black."
Remus's name was not spoken, but it hovered there, unvoiced.
Vael studied Harry with new interest. "You believe the conviction flawed."
"I know it was," Harry said simply. "He never had a trial."
A murmur rippled among the observers.
Dumbledore folded his hands. "The ICW has long suspected irregularities in that matter," he said. "Political expediency often masquerades as justice."
Vael turned her gaze inward, consulting silently with others through channels Harry could not perceive. The quiet stretched.
"At minimum," she said at last, "a Veritaserum-reviewed testimony may be compelled. If truth supports the claim, we will intervene."
Harry exhaled, tension loosening from his shoulders for the first time in days.
Sirius did not believe it at first.
When the ICW summons arrived—sealed in silver and blue, he laughed, sharp and disbelieving. "They're having a go at me," he said. "Been too long since someone tried."
Remus placed a steadying hand on his arm. "This isn't the Ministry."
The trial was held the next day.
No spectacle. No Dementors.
Veritaserum was administered under ICW oversight, pure, measured, unavoidable.
The truth spilled out.
Peter Pettigrew's false death. The betrayal. Sirius's laughter in the street, not madness, but shock. Azkaban without charge, without voice. Twelve years of screaming silence.
The Marauders.
The Animagus pact. The night Sirius escaped, not to kill, but to protect. Third year through his eyes: the dog in the shadows, the near-miss at the Whomping Willow, the truth in the Shrieking Shack.
Then the Ministry's refusal.
Fudge's denial.
The order for the Dementor's Kiss.
And the desperate flight, on a stolen Buckbeak, into exile.
The chamber was silent when it ended.
Several ICW arbiters stood.
"This is a miscarriage of justice," one said flatly.
Vael's voice was cold. "This is criminal negligence."
The ruling was immediate.
Sirius Black was declared innocent.
His record was expunged. His name restored.
Harry crossed the chamber in two strides and hugged him fiercely. Sirius froze, then returned it with shaking arms, laughter breaking through tears.
Remus joined them, eyes wet, voice unsteady. "Welcome home."
The world reacted violently.
International papers blazed with the story. THE MAN WRONGED. MINISTRY LIES EXPOSED. JUSTICE AFTER TWELVE YEARS.
At Hogwarts, students whispered in disbelief. Professors reevaluated years of assumption. McGonagall wept openly.
Sirius registered his Animagus anew, with pride this time.
And Cornelius Fudge's name became synonymous with cowardice.
Harry watched it all with quiet satisfaction.
Truth, once freed, did not return to its cage.
And neither did Sirius Black.