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Harry Potter and the Second Chance - Chapter 72 - The Trial
🕑 Added 2025-06-11 21:56:25 +0000 UTC“Quiet!”
Dumbledore’s voice rang out, not loud but impossibly clear, echoing over the chaos like a thunderclap of calm. Even Harry, who had heard Dumbledore do the exact same thing before, felt a chill run down his spine. The entire chamber stilled.
The members of the Wizengamot, draped in deep plum robes embroidered with silver, snapped to attention. A variety of Ministry officials, clustered on the lower levels of the courtroom, froze in mid-sentence. All eyes turned to Sirius Black, whose dark eyes flicked between the faces around him but never dropped. He stood tall despite the shackles on his wrists, his shoulders back, a look the boarded on amusement, just behind his eyes.
For several seconds, the room held its breath. Then, Dumbledore stepped forward, eyes blazing behind his half-moon spectacles. “Yes,” he said clearly, “the case I am referring to is that of Sirius Black, who is indeed the man standing behind me now. However …” he raised his voice ever so slightly “he is innocent of the crime he was charged with over a decade ago. The same crime that resulted in his imprisonment in Azkaban for twelve years.”
Gasps rippled through the room. A few voices tried to interrupt, but Dumbledore simply lifted a hand, and silence quickly returned.
“Twelve years,” Dumbledore said, the weight of each word hanging in the still air. “Twelve years in the darkest prison this country has access to. Twelve years of being accused of the death of his closest friend, James Potter, rather than be allowed to mourn it. Twelve years spent carrying the guilt of believing he had failed in his duty to that friend. And yet …” he paused, his expression tightening, “he did not betray James. He did not betray Lily. And he did not betray Harry.”
Harry felt his heart twist at the sincerity in Dumbledore’s voice. A glance at Sirius showed a flicker of emotion in his eyes—pain, perhaps, or gratitude.
Then a familiar voice cut through the room—blustering, angry, and utterly out of place compared to the calm, commanding tone of Dumbledore.
“Aurors!” shouted Minister Fudge, leaning forward on his podium and pointing a trembling finger at Sirius. “Seize that man! He’s dangerous! A murderer! Attack …”
He didn’t get the chance to finish.
Dumbledore moved like lightning.
One moment he had just calmly finished speaking and was glancing around at the members of the room. The next, he had stepped between Sirius and the Minister, his wand in hand, not raised, but visible. The speed of the sudden movement was so unexpected, so deliberate, so quick, that the entire room froze again.
The Aurors near the perimeter of the chamber, directly below Fudge had been halfway through drawing their wands, but now they stopped, glancing nervously between the Chief Warlock and the Minister of Magic. The indecision was palpable.
“I must object,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm but firm, the kind of calm that only came from immense power held in check. “You have no authority, Minister, to command an attack on a man who is already in custody—particularly not here, in this chamber.”
Fudge’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato—whether from anger, embarrassment, or panic, Harry wasn’t sure.
Dumbledore continued, “Sirius Black turned himself over to Madam Amelia Bones, and requested a formal hearing to review the legitimacy of his conviction. He has come here willingly. He is cooperating. And as you can see …” Dumbledore motioned to the magical restraints binding Sirius’ hands “he is not a threat to anyone in this room.”
“You …” Fudge sputtered at Dumbledore before jabbing his finger toward Sirius again. “Of course he’d say he’s innocent, Dumbledore! He’s a guilty man, tired of running from Aurors who’ve nearly caught him more than once! He’s afraid! He doesn’t want to go back to Azkaban, or worse, to be killed for what he did!”
Harry looked over to Sirius, who was standing tall, chin slightly raised, and as Dumbledore continued his intense exchange with Minister Fudge, Harry caught a quiet scoff escape Sirius’ lips.
“It’s not like I had any actual trouble evading the Ministry,” Sirius muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear. “The Aurors would’ve had more luck trying to capture their own shadows than me.”
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, his lips twitching upward despite the tension in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore tilt his head ever so slightly toward Sirius and give a subtle shake of disapproval. But as Dumbledore turned back to address Fudge, Harry could’ve sworn he caught the faintest glint of amusement in the old wizard’s eyes.
Fudge, clearly trying to maintain some shred of composure, straightened his robes and addressed Dumbledore again in a tone that was bordering on patronizing. “Dumbledore, this man already had his trial twelve years ago. He was convicted and sent to Azkaban. What you’re doing now is turning this entire court into a circus!”
Dumbledore’s eyes swept slowly across the assembled members of the Wizengamot. He looked weary, with a pained smile slowly growing on his face.
“That is where you are wrong, Minister …” he said softly, allowing his words to hang in the air.
He let the silence stretch for five long seconds. The chamber held its breath.
“There was no trial.”
The explosion of sound was instantaneous. Dozens of voices broke out in disbelief, outrage, and skeptical questions. The echo of the outcry reverberated against the tall stone walls of the court. Members of the Wizengamot leaned forward, shouting over each other, trying to make sense of what they had just heard.
Amelia Bones stepped forward, her wand glowing with a charm that amplify her voice. In the end, it took a full minute, far longer than it had for Dumbledore, to bring the room back under control.
“I will explain,” she said crisply, as the last murmurs died down. “Sirius Black contacted me directly with claims of innocence. I’ll admit, I didn’t believe him. Why would I? But I followed my duty and began a preliminary investigation.”
She turned slowly, making sure every pair of eyes in the room met hers.
“What I found,” she continued, “was that Sirius Black’s name does not appear in any court records. There is no trial transcript, no court docket, no signed conviction. He was imprisoned without any formal process.”
There was a stunned silence, heavy as a tombstone. Even those who had been muttering in doubt before were now staring at Sirius, their eyes wide with disbelief.
“I demand, as is my right under the Magical Law Enforcement Charter,” Bones continued, her voice unwavering, “that a proper inquiry be convened for Sirius Black, here and now, with the full attendance of the Wizengamot.”
Gasps echoed again, but this time it was tempered with a low buzz of agreement. Even some of the older members, who had looked skeptical earlier, were now frowning at each other, clearly disturbed by what they’d heard.
A murmur spread through the assembly, and soon the Chief Clerk called for a vote.
“Those in favor of proceeding with a formal inquiry,” the clerk announced, raising his wand.
Dozens of wands lit up in the air, the glowing tips casting eerie light across the courtroom.
After they were counted, the clerk revealed that there was a majority.
Harry exhaled, unaware he’d been holding his breath.
“The motion carries,” the clerk announced. “A formal inquiry will proceed immediately.”
Amelia nodded sharply, then waved her hand. A file folder appeared in front of her, hovering at chest height. With a tap of her wand, it opened and projected a large illuminated list in mid-air.
“The first piece I am entering into the record,” she said, “is the official docket of all criminal cases heard by this court from the time period starting a week before the attack on the Potters through to the week after Sirius Black was incarcerated.”
The glowing trial names scrolled through the air, for Death Eaters and minor infractions alike. But Sirius Black’s name never appeared.
“There was no trial,” she repeated. “I checked the restricted archives, the sealed court records, even the private log maintained by the Department of Mysteries. Nothing. His case was never scheduled and never reviewed. It never happened.”
Fudge rose to object, his voice strained. “Perhaps … perhaps it was a private session! Or a misfiled document! It was a chaotic time! Surely there’s been a mistake.”
Amelia turned to face him, her expression like granite. “These are the official records of the Ministry, Minister. Every case is filed and stamped and registered. And to further confirm, I have brought forward one of the three individuals required by law to be present at every trial: the official court stenographer of that period, Madam Eltha Greenwhistle.”
An elderly witch stepped forward, her spine significantly stooped but her eyes alert. She gave a curt nod to the assembly and stepped beside Madam Bones near the center of the court.
“She is prepared to submit her memories of every trial conducted during that period,” Amelia explained. “I have already reviewed them myself and confirmed, no such trial ever took place. If she had been present for the trial, as she was for every other proceeding, I would have found some evidence for it.”
The tension in the room thickened. Whispers spread like wildfire. Harry could feel the tide turning.
But Amelia wasn’t done.
“Additionally,” she said, her voice rising slightly, “I have gathered the memories of three eyewitnesses to the event that led to Sirius Black’s arrest, the confrontation with Peter Pettigrew in a Muggle street shortly after the Potters’ deaths.”
With another flick of her hand, she motioned to a wizard who floated a pensive into the room.
“These memories were collected from three bystanders, two purebloods and a Squib, who were in the area right before the explosion. They witnessed the confrontation from different angles. And while the scene was chaotic, one thing becomes clear when looking back on the event. A fact that cross-referencing the memories confirms: it was Peter Pettigrew who cast the spell that caused the explosion, not Sirius Black.”
A stunned silence again. Fudge’s mouth flapped, but he seemed lost for words.
“To maintain impartiality,” Amelia declared, “I request that three randomly chosen members of this court view the memory, to confirm what I said.”
A rustle of movement followed, and three names were called by the Chief Clerk, an older wizard with a silver beard, a middle-aged witch in Ministry blue, and a young wizard who couldn’t have been more than 10 years Harry’s senior.
Harry remained quiet, watching as they approached the pensive and leaned forward, each placing a hand on the surface. The silvery memories rippled and drew them in.
Harry felt Hermione’s hand slip into his and squeeze gently. He turned and saw her watching the process, her face tight with nervous tension, but her grip steady.
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It took several minutes but the chamber was silent as the three randomly selected members of the Wizengamot finally straightened after emerging from the memory in the Pensieve. Their faces were pale and thoughtful, and there was no mistaking the weight of what they had just witnessed.
“I concur with Madam Bones’ interpretation,” said the silver-bearded wizard, his voice grave.
“As do I,” added the middle-aged witch in Ministry blue.
The younger wizard paused for a second before giving a curt nod. “It is exactly as she stated. The spell that caused the explosion was not cast by Sirius Black.”
Amelia Bones gave a sharp, satisfied nod. “Let the record show that three independent members of this body have confirmed the memory’s content as consistent with the evidence presented.”
She took a breath, then turned to face another direction entirely, directly behind her, where Harry and Hermione stood just behind Dumbledore and Sirius.
“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger,” she called, her voice formal but not unkind. “May I request your assistance? Specifically, your memories of the events in the Shrieking Shack last year, when you encountered both Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, when you learned of Sirius’ innocence.”
The room erupted into chaos at that statement but Madam Bones ignored the noise as she looked at the two of them
Harry blinked, before looking over at Hermione, noticing that her expression was equally surprised but quickly resolved into one of determination.
“We’d be willing,” Harry said walking towards her.
A ripple of murmurs passed through the chamber as the gathered witches and wizards turned to look at them more intently. Harry’s heart thudded in his chest—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the moment.
Madam Bones gestured them to sit down on a pair of chairs that she had conjured with a sweep of her wand.
“This won’t take long,” she said, her tone shifting slightly to one of reassurance. “All I need you to do is focus on the memory, picture it in your mind as clearly as you can. I’ll extract it with my wand. You’ll feel a light tug, but there will be no pain. Do you understand?”
Harry nodded, and Hermione gave a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.”
Amelia turned to Hermione first. “Begin when you entered the Shrieking Shack, Miss Granger. Focus on everything you remember from that encounter: what Sirius said, how Peter reacted, what was revealed.”
Hermione took a breath, closed her eyes, and nodded.
Amelia raised her wand and gently touched it to Hermione’s temple. A glowing silver strand of memory emerged, coiling around her wand like a thread of starlight. She pulled it free, carefully guiding it into the waiting Pensieve. Then she turned to Harry.
“Your turn, Mr. Potter.”
Harry swallowed and closed his eyes. He let his thoughts drift back to that surreal night: the creaking floorboards of the Shack, Sirius' wild eyes, the unbelievable truth of Scabbers' identity, and the moment when everything fell apart and Pettigrew escaped.
When he opened his eyes, Amelia had already begun the process. The sensation was strange—like a tug just behind his eyes. Then the glowing strand of the memory was pulled away from his forehead. He blinked his eyes at the sensation and fought the desire to scratch his forehead.
“Thank you,” Amelia said, placing the second memory into the Pensieve beside Hermione’s.
She then turned and faced the Chief Clerk. “Three more members,” Amelia said, “if you would kindly select them to step forward to verify the contents of these memories.”
Three new names were called. After a second the new individuals stepped onto the floor and approached the Pensieve.
As they came to a stop besides the Pensieve, Amelia turned back to the court.
“For the sake of transparency and thoroughness, I will also note that I have in my possession two additional memories of this same event, submitted by former-professor Remus Lupin and Professor Severus Snape. Should there be any doubts regarding the validity of the memories we have just collected from minors, these can serve as corroborating testimony.”
This time, the reaction in the chamber was less contained.
“Snape?” someone hissed.
“Lupin? Isn’t he …”
Fudge, regaining his nerve in the silence that followed, suddenly puffed up his chest and exclaimed, “Madam Bones, I must object! Severus Snape is a known Death Eater. How can his testimony be considered valid in a court of law?”
Before Amelia could respond, Dumbledore stepped forward. He looked almost weary but no less authoritative.
“Severus Snape’s past affiliations are well known,” Dumbledore said firmly. “However, this very court, this Wizengamot, formally cleared him of all charges due to services rendered in the war against Voldemort, services for which I personally vouched. His status as a credible witness was confirmed by this body.”
Fudge opened his mouth again, but this time it was Umbridge who leapt into the fray, her sweet voice dripping with condescension.
“And the werewolf?” she asked, her eyes gleaming maliciously. “Madam Bones. Surely, we are not expected to take testimony from a creature such as …”
“That’s enough, Madam Umbridge.” Her voice rang out, clear and sharp, cutting across the chamber like a blade.
“Your personal biases are well-documented and frankly irrelevant. Despite your very vocal and bigoted beliefs on the matter, individuals afflicted with lycanthropy are still considered citizens under wizarding law. As such, they are afforded the same legal rights as any other witch or wizard, including the right to have their memories admitted as evidence.”
Several heads nodded around the room. Others looked uncomfortable but remained silent. Umbridge, for once, had no immediate reply. She sat back, fuming.
Madam Bones then turned to the three individuals who had come down to view the memory and motioned for them to continue.
After a second the three appointed Wizengamot members leaned over the Pensieve, the swirling silver surface rippled, then pulled them down into the memory.
The chamber was still, the gathered witches and wizards leaning forward with barely concealed anticipation. Amelia Bones gave a quiet nod to the scribes stationed nearby, indicating that they were to transcribe what the viewers reported.
A long pause followed—ten seconds, twenty—before one of the witnesses, began to speak aloud as the memory unfolded in front of them his eyes.
“We’re in a completely wooden room that is incredibly poor repair,” he said, his voice sounding as if it was coming a long way away. “It’s Potter, Miss Granger, and a red-haired boy about their age. Looks like a younger Arthur Weasley. They’re confronting Sirius Black. It appears as if Mr. Potter has a wand pointed at Black, but … Black isn’t attacking. He’s not even defending himself.”
“Potter is certainly angry,” murmured the young witch beside him. “He’s shouting at him, demanding answers. Then—wait. There’s movement. Someone’s coming, that must be Professor Lupin. He just entered. He’s speaking urgently. The children are confused, especially the redheaded boy. He’s injured.”
There was a low murmur among the seated Wizengamot. Some leaned to whisper to their neighbors, trying to parse the scene based on what was being said. Amelia gestured for silence without taking her eyes off the Pensieve.
“The conversation …” the older wizard now joined in, brow furrowed in concentration. “Lupin just revealed something. He says he knows the truth. He says Sirius isn’t the one who betrayed the Potters. But wait—Snape arrives. He’s enraged, doesn’t believe them.”
“There’s confusion,” said the witch quickly. “Lupin tries to explain, but Snape won’t listen.” She paused and let out a small chuckle and Harry could only imagine she was not a big fan of Snape and was watching him get stunned.
The witch gasped quietly. “It was Pettigrew! He’s alive. He appears to be an animagus. Black and Lupin are now explaining to the children how he faked his death.”
Even some of the seasoned members of the Wizengamot blanched at that.
“They’re deciding on what to do with Pettigrew now,” said one of the wizards. “Potter wants to hand him over to the Ministry. Eventually Black agrees.”
“There’s confusion,” said the witch quickly. “It’s … it’s chaotic, but the intent is clear. They don’t want Pettigrew killed. They want him arrested to clear Sirius’ name.”
A longer pause followed.
“He escaped,” murmured the wizard gravely. “It appears that Professor Lupin had transformed in response to the full moon, and Pettigrew took advantage of the distraction to flee.”
Finally, the three slowly rose out of the Pensieve, each of them looking pale, stunned, and thoroughly convinced. The silence in the courtroom was absolute as one of the wizards turned to face the crowd.
“I confirm the memory’s integrity,” he said with certainty. “And I confirm that it shows without question that Peter Pettigrew is indeed alive and Sirius Black was not the Potters’ betrayer.”
The witch nodded. “The memories are consistent and vivid. I believe they are truthful.”
The murmuring in the chamber was beginning to rise again—speculation, questions, and disbelief rippling like a wave through the ranks of witches and wizards in the Wizengamot. Amelia Bones raised her wand and sent a crackling spark into the air. The light flared above the crowd, instantly silencing them.
“I have one final piece of evidence to submit into the record,” she said, her voice crisp and unwavering. “These are transcripts of interviews conducted with two Romanian Aurors, Tiberius Vasile and Elena Drăghici, who, while investigating a string of magical disturbances and stolen supplies near the Carpathian Dragon Sanctuary that occurred in the summer, traced the incidents back to a single fugitive operating under a false identity.”
She paused, letting the room absorb the implication before continuing.
“That fugitive was identified through magical signature analysis and a brief confrontation as none other than Peter Pettigrew. Though he escaped before capture, their report confirms his identity and adds weight to the claim that he has been alive.”
Gasps and whispers broke out again, but this time they were more shocked than skeptical.
Madam Bones allowed it for only a few seconds before raising her voice once more. “These transcripts, along with the memory evidence, reviewed and verified, as well as witness testimony, are sufficient, more than sufficient, in my professional opinion, to conclude that Sirius Black was improperly imprisoned in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit.”
She looked directly at the Minister of Magics chair as she shook her head.
“If the Wizengamot still wishes to pursue a formal trial to determine whether Mr. Black bears any culpability in the events leading up to the death of the Potters, that is within your rights. However, there is no legal or moral justification for this man’s continued status as a fugitive, nor for his imprisonment. Not after what we’ve seen today. Especially in light of the evidence pointing to the fact that there was no trial.”
The room went deathly still for a moment, until Minister Fudge abruptly stood, his expression flushed with a combination of anger, embarrassment, and discomfort.
“I—I believe we’ve all seen enough theatrics for one day,” he huffed. “This assembly has descended into a circus of speculation and memory smoke! If there is to be any further deliberation, it will have to wait. The Wizengamot is hereby …”
“You do not have the authority to dissolve the Wizengamot in the middle of a deliberation, Minister,” Dumbledore said, stepping forward. His voice was soft, almost gentle, but the impact was absolute.
Fudge gaped at him. “You … you can’t seriously intend for me to call for a …”
“I do,” Dumbledore said, calmly but firmly. “A vote must be taken. The law is clear.”
The Minister’s jaw clenched and he stared at Dumbledore for several seconds, but after a long pause, he gave a curt nod and turned to the assembly. “Very well,” he muttered. “Then we shall call a vote.”
He sounded like a child told to apologize after being caught misbehaving. Nevertheless, he lifted his hands and cleared his throat.
“All those in favor of the motion that sufficient evidence has been presented to conclude that Sirius Black was wrongfully imprisoned and should never have been sent to Azkaban, raise your wands.”
Harry held his breath as he looked around.
It was as though a forest had sprouted around him. Wands rose across the chamber, slowly at first, then with growing confidence. Dozens. Scores. Nearly every single member of the Wizengamot raised their wand high.
Harry’s eyes widened further as he recognized some of the faces: Lucius Malfoy among them, his expression cold but oddly calculating. Nearby, another wizard Harry recognized from the graveyard also had his wand raised.
Harry shook his head as he mumbled under his breath, “They’re protecting their own image. They don’t want to be seen as holding out on what seems to be an open and shut case.”
Or, Harry thought with a smile, there may be some part of them that actually things Sirius is one of Voldemort’s secret lieutenants and they don’t want to be responsible for sending him back to Azkaban.
Fudge scanned the room with visible reluctance, his frown deepening as he counted the number of raised wands. Finally, with a deep sigh and no avenue left to escape, he gave a short nod.
“So noted,” he muttered. “The motion passes with a significant majority.”
Then, louder, almost resentfully he turned to the man standing in the center of the room. “It appears that the Wizengamot finds you innocent, Mr. Black.”
Sirius had stood frozen through the entire vote, silent and unmoving as though afraid to believe it. At those words, he finally blinked, his mouth parting slightly in shock. His eyes swept across the chamber and Harry was pretty sure he saw a couple of tears in the corner of his eyes.
Harry couldn’t wait a second longer. He bolted forward, the echoes of his footfalls muffled by the roaring in his ears, and wrapped his arms around Sirius before the man could even react.
For a moment Sirius remained still, and then, slowly, almost shakily, he returned the embrace, pulling Harry tightly against him.
“Thank you, kid,” he murmured hoarsely, barely loud enough for Harry to hear. “I don’t even have the words.”
Harry didn’t reply. He just held onto him.
After a long moment, Harry saw Dumbledore approach and place a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. His blue eyes were warm with emotion, but there was a knowing edge behind them too.
“Congratulations on your freedom, Sirius,” he said softly. “A long time coming, and well deserved.”
Sirius stepped back, still looking slightly dazed. “Thank you, Albus. I honestly didn’t think this would ever happen.”
Dumbledore nodded. “Now comes the hard part for you. Cornelius will eventually realize that this verdict does not reflect poorly on him and will find some way to blame this on the prior administration. When that happens, things will certainly begin to get easier for you. It may take time, but he will see the political benefit in distancing himself from those past mistakes.”
Sirius snorted, regaining some of his dry humor. “Ah … politics. I haven’t missed that part.”
Dumbledore smiled faintly. “As such in the short term I advise caution. While you are no longer technically a fugitive, the court of public opinion may take some time to persuade at least until Fudge decides to stop dragging his feet on making a formal announcement.”
He glanced toward the exit, before looking back to Harry.
“In the meantime, keep a low profile. Try to let everything settle before you reemerge into the public eye.”
Sirius nodded slowly before smiling. “Well … I suppose I can certainly try. Although no promises.”
“I … well I suppose that is the best I can hope for,” Dumbledore said with a chuckle, then clapped him gently on the back. “But we’ll get there. I promise we will get there.”
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Story Note 1 – I have seen several fics where the trial occurred and decided to come up with my own using a different mechanic that I think turned out quite well. However, I do look forward to your feedback!
Story Note 2 – Sirius is free and the Wizengamot knows about Peter! Well this will certainly change things. Kinda excited to see what the outcome of this will be!
Thanks to those of you out to those of you who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you enjoy them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or reach out to me directly.
Disclaimer – It has come to my attention recently that I unfortunately do not own Harry Potter. Who knew.
