Chapter 422

Ministry of Magic, Office of the Minister

"Lockhart, I know there's something extraordinary about this."

Cornelius Fudge's voice quivered slightly, though he tried to mask his nervousness with a smile. His pudgy hands gestured animatedly as he paced across the gleaming floor of his office, the sunlight from the enchanted windows glinting off his pinstriped robes.

"But now, the Dark Lord has returned, and a large number of Death Eaters have been freed by him." He paused, his brow furrowing deeply. "The Ministry of Magic needs celebrated wizards like you to step forward, to speak up and bolster public confidence."

Gilderoy Lockhart, ever poised, leaned casually against the ornate desk, his polished wand twirling lazily between his fingers. His bright smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which gleamed with calculated sharpness as he listened.

"Now is the time for us to come together as one," Fudge continued, his tone edging on desperation.

Lockhart remained silent, letting Fudge's words hang in the air. Behind his ever-charming façade, his mind worked quickly.

Fudge's motives were transparent. To maintain his fragile grip on power, the Minister was scrambling for a scapegoat—or a savior. He'd dismissed Dumbledore as a potential ally, knowing full well the elder wizard's influence threatened his position. That left Lockhart, a figure famous enough to inspire the masses but far enough from the center of power to seem non-threatening.

Lockhart finally interrupted, his voice smooth as silk. "Minister Fudge, how does the Ministry plan to handle the situation with Sirius Black?"

The name hit like a thunderclap. Fudge's ruddy face paled, his expression betraying a flicker of panic. His mind raced. How does he know? The leaks were supposed to be contained! Dumbledore… it must be him.

"Minister," Lockhart continued, his tone light yet pointed, "this is no secret. A number of Aurors were present during the interrogation." He paused, letting his words sink in before adding, "And Director Scrimgeour… well, he has held his position for quite some time."

Fudge's eyes narrowed. Lockhart's implications were clear. Scrimgeour's ambitions were no secret, and if this matter spiraled out of control, it could be the final nail in Fudge's political coffin.

"Lockhart," Fudge finally croaked, his tone pleading, "what do you suggest we do?"

Lockhart's smile widened ever so slightly. "The Sirius Black case can no longer be suppressed, Minister. The verdict must be overturned. But," he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we'll need Dumbledore's support to navigate this storm."

Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office

Lockhart sipped his tea with an air of satisfaction, his posture relaxed in the high-backed chair across from Dumbledore's desk. The headmaster's piercing blue eyes twinkled as he listened to Lockhart outline his plan.

"Later," Lockhart continued, "we'll have Sirius collaborate with the Daily Prophet. A public statement will help sway opinion and pave the way for overturning his conviction."

Dumbledore stroked his long beard thoughtfully. "You've taken great trouble to assist Sirius, Lockhart," he said warmly. "Allow me to thank you on his behalf."

Lockhart waved a hand dismissively. "No need for thanks, Headmaster. Just remember your promise."

"Ah, yes. The new school library," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "You'll find my application form waiting for you. Take it to the library and copy whatever books you require—but do tread carefully. Some texts are enchanted, and they resist duplication."

Lockhart inclined his head, his smile never faltering.

Before they could part ways, Dumbledore asked, "By the way, Lockhart, what did Gellert mention to you during your visit?"

Lockhart's expression didn't waver. "He spoke mainly about his meditation techniques. He plans to introduce them at Ilvermorny, making meditation a core part of their curriculum."

"Meditation," Dumbledore murmured, his voice thoughtful. "Gellert, always the visionary. I wonder… what has he foreseen this time?"

Hogwarts, Hospital Wing

Golden sunlight filtered through the tall windows, bathing the white hospital bed in warmth. Sirius Black lay still, his gaunt frame sinking into the mattress as he savored the rare luxury of sunlight.

"Time for your potions, Sirius," Madam Pomfrey announced briskly, bustling into the room with a tray of colorful vials. Her voice was warm, but her eyes held a trace of pity.

Sirius cracked his eyes open, his gaze settling on the mediwitch. He didn't resist as she approached, but his silence spoke volumes. The shadows of Azkaban still clung to him, making his newfound freedom feel almost unreal.

Pomfrey, undeterred, began administering the potions with practiced efficiency. Her creed was simple: patients needed medicine, rest, and a firm hand—no exceptions.

"Alas," she muttered under her breath, "if only someone had listened earlier. Peter Pettigrew, the traitor! Who would've thought…"

A soft, hesitant voice broke through Sirius's haze of exhaustion.

"Harry, this is your godfather, Sirius Black."

The words were spoken with a blend of pride and awe, and Sirius opened his eyes to see a familiar figure standing at his bedside. The boy's emerald-green eyes and lightning-shaped scar were unmistakable.

"Lily, James…" Sirius rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "This is your son."

Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. The pale, haggard man before him seemed both a stranger and someone deeply familiar.

"You're Harry," Sirius said hoarsely. "You may not remember me, but I held you when you were born. I'm your godfather."

"Godfather?" Harry echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief and wonder.

Before the moment could stretch further, Lockhart stepped forward, his tone brisk but kind. "Sirius, it's been too long. We need to discuss some urgent matters." Turning to Harry, he added, "Harry, you'll have plenty of time to speak with your godfather later. For now, let us talk."

Harry hesitated, glancing between Lockhart and Sirius. Finally, he nodded and left the room, casting one last curious look over his shoulder.

as Harry's retreating figure disappeared through the doorway, Gilderoy Lockhart pulled a chair close to Sirius's bed. His usually dazzling smile softened into something more subdued, though his piercing gaze remained unwavering.

"Sirius," Lockhart began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, "you don't want to leave your godson Harry again, do you? Not after everything he's endured... and certainly not by returning to Azkaban."

The weight of the words lingered in the room, a quiet reminder of the stakes that still hung over Sirius's freedom. Sirius sighed, leaning back against the pillows, his pale blue eyes betraying a flicker of vulnerability.

Ministry of Magic, Lecture Hall

The cavernous hall buzzed with hushed conversations. Rows of wizards sat in attendance, murmuring to one another while glancing curiously at the podium. The occasional flash of light marked the eager movements of reporters capturing every angle of the assembly. Whispers of anticipation filled the room.

Word had spread quickly: today, there would be news of great significance.

Near the podium, several Aurors stood like sentinels, their expressions steely and their wands subtly at the ready. The tension in the air was palpable.

A series of loud coughs suddenly silenced the crowd. All heads turned toward the stout figure who now stood at the center of the podium. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, adjusted his robes with deliberate care, his round face a mix of solemnity and self-importance.

"I am Cornelius Fudge," he began, his voice steady yet tinged with gravity. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. I'm sure many of you have heard the rumors… and I regret to inform you that they are true."

A dramatic pause followed as Fudge's expression darkened, his voice dipping into a tone of sorrow.

"We have received devastating news—several Aurors stationed at Azkaban have lost their lives in the line of duty."

The hall erupted into gasps and muttered exclamations. The shock rippled through the crowd like a wave, and Fudge allowed the murmurs to build for a moment before raising his wand to his throat.

Sonorus.

"I understand your distress," he continued, his voice now amplified to command attention. "This is not a sight any wizard wishes to see. Though the wizarding world has enjoyed relative peace in recent years, let me remind you—there is no true peace without vigilance. It is thanks to the brave souls of our Aurors, who stand as the first and strongest barrier against darkness, that we enjoy the freedoms we have today."

The hall fell into a somber silence as Fudge's words sank in.

"Let us now stand and give a moment of silence for our fallen Aurors."

As one, the attendees rose. Heads bowed in unison as a minute of stillness descended over the hall. Even the reporters lowered their cameras, momentarily respecting the weight of the moment.

When the silence ended, Fudge's voice returned, steady and commanding. "Though we mourn their loss, we must not let fear paralyze us. The Ministry has acted swiftly. We have identified the culprits—Death Eaters."

At the mention of the Death Eaters, a visible shiver ran through the crowd. Whispers of dread and memories of past horrors swept across the room.

"But rest assured," Fudge pressed on, "the Ministry has formulated a comprehensive plan to ensure your safety and to bring these criminals to justice. And to that end, I present to you the leader of this effort—Sirius Black."

The name struck like a bolt of lightning. The hall erupted again, this time in confused murmurs. Sirius Black? The once-infamous Death Eater?

Before the speculation could spiral out of control, Fudge raised his hands. "I know many of you have questions," he said, his tone calm but authoritative. "Allow me to clarify. The Ministry's earlier stance on Sirius Black was part of a classified mission. Today, we declassify this secret."

What followed was a masterclass in political theater. Fudge spun a tale of heroism and sacrifice. According to him, Sirius had been working undercover for the Ministry all along. Wracked with guilt over trusting Peter Pettigrew—a betrayal that had led to the deaths of James and Lily Potter—Sirius had volunteered to infiltrate Azkaban, gathering intelligence on Death Eater movements.

The story painted Sirius as a tragic hero, enduring unimaginable suffering for the greater good. It was a carefully crafted narrative, designed to transform public opinion and divert attention from the Azkaban debacle.

As Fudge spoke, the mood in the hall shifted. Suspicion gave way to admiration. By the time Fudge concluded, the room was filled with subdued awe.

When Sirius finally took the stage, his smile was thin, his movements hesitant. Though he resented being a pawn in Fudge's political machinations, he understood the necessity. For Harry's sake—for his own chance at freedom—he would play the part.

Hogwarts, Great Hall

Back at Hogwarts, the Daily Prophet was the talk of the castle. Students crowded around the enchanted tables, waving copies of the paper as they discussed the stunning revelations about Sirius Black.

"Sirius is incredible!" exclaimed a young Gryffindor, slapping the front page. "To endure all that for years… if I had a friend like that, I'd be the happiest wizard alive!"

"I know," another chimed in, eyes wide with admiration. "He's a real hero. I've decided—Sirius Black is my new idol!"

On the front page, a photograph of Sirius adorned in fine robes dominated the layout. His expression in the moving image was stoic yet resolute as he addressed an unseen crowd. The headline beneath proclaimed: Sirius Black: The Hero We Didn't Know We Had.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger leaned toward Harry, holding the paper tightly. "Harry, is Sirius really your godfather?"

Harry nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah, Hermione, he is. I've been spending time with him lately, thanks to Professor Lockhart."

Hermione's eyes lit up with excitement. "Do you think he'd give me an autograph? He's such a fascinating figure now!"

Hearing this, Ron perked up. "Count me in, Harry. An autograph from Sirius Black would be brilliant!"

Harry couldn't help but smile at his friends' enthusiasm. His relationship with Sirius had grown steadily over the past few days, and he felt an immense sense of pride in his godfather.

Hogwarts, Library

In the quiet sanctity of the library, Lockhart perused the shelves, his fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes. His faint smile betrayed a mix of satisfaction and anticipation.

For a school, the number of books in its collection reflects its heritage. At Hogwarts, the towering shelves of the library stood testament to centuries of magical study and discovery. But for Gilderoy Lockhart, the significance of these books had shifted.

The texts in Hogwarts' collection no longer posed a threat to him. After all, he had struck a deal with Dumbledore. The headmaster, ever the idealist, had agreed to grant Lockhart access to rare tomes in exchange for his support in stabilizing the wizarding world during these turbulent times.

As he considered this arrangement, Lockhart's thoughts wandered to Sirius Black.

Sirius, now a symbol of hope and resilience, had unexpectedly become the center of attention. His transformation from a disgraced fugitive to a celebrated hero was nothing short of remarkable. Even Cornelius Fudge's approval ratings had seen a modest increase, largely due to Sirius's newfound fame.

But fame was a double-edged sword. Lockhart knew that Sirius's rise came with its risks. While the Azkaban scandal had been temporarily silenced, whispers still lingered. More importantly, Sirius was now tasked with leading the campaign to encircle and suppress the Death Eaters.

"Tsk, tsk," Lockhart murmured to himself. "If he succeeds, the glory will be his. But if he fails, the blame will crush him. How convenient for Fudge."

Lockhart's lips curled into a knowing smile. The Minister of Magic had masterfully avoided taking on any direct responsibility, placing Sirius in the spotlight while shielding himself from potential fallout.

Still, for Lockhart, this was all part of the plan. Sirius needed purpose—a fulcrum to motivate him. And what better incentive than the hunt for the Death Eaters? After all, every grand story needed a catalyst, a touch of drama to set events into motion.

Hogwarts, School Hospital

Sirius Black lay on a hospital bed, his frame thin but his spirit slowly recovering. After a decade in Azkaban, the toll on his body and mind was evident, but Madam Pomfrey's comprehensive care had worked wonders. For the first time in years, Sirius found himself enjoying a moment of peace.

For Sirius, the idea of catching Death Eaters felt almost like play. He had faced horrors far worse than anything these remnants of Voldemort's forces could muster.

"Godfather, how are you feeling?" Harry Potter's voice broke through his reverie.

Sirius turned his head, a genuine smile lighting up his face as he saw his godson leaning over the bed. "I'm fine, Harry. You don't need to worry about me."

"How's Hogwarts treating you?"

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. "It's been great. Professor McGonagall's brilliant, and the headmaster is kind. I've learned so much magic." Then, with a slight scowl, he added, "Except from Professor Snape."

At the mention of Snape, Sirius's expression darkened. "That greasy git," he muttered. "He's as vile as ever, skulking around and playing with dark magic. Harry, don't let him get to you. If you ever need help, just ask me."

Harry nodded eagerly. He didn't like Snape either, especially the way the Potions Master seemed to delight in tormenting him during class.

As if suddenly remembering something, Harry reached into his bag and pulled out a quill, several posters, and a small stack of notebooks. Placing them on Sirius's bed, he asked, "Godfather, can you sign these for me? My friends all want your autograph."

Sirius chuckled, ruffling Harry's messy hair. "Of course. If they're your friends, they're mine too."

As he signed the posters and notebooks, Sirius's tone grew nostalgic. "Harry, friends are one of the most important things in life. Treasure them. Someday, you might need their help more than you know."

His voice faltered slightly, and a shadow passed over his face. "But remember, Harry—never trust someone with a rotten heart. Surround yourself with people who stand for what's right."

Harry, sensing the change in Sirius's mood, nodded solemnly. "I understand, godfather."

Sirius smiled faintly, brushing away the moment of melancholy. He continued signing the items, adding little notes of encouragement beneath his name.

When he picked up a photograph, however, his hand froze.

"Harry," he asked, his voice trembling, "whose picture is this?"

Harry leaned closer, glancing at the photo. It showed himself, Ron, and Hermione smiling brightly. On Ron's shoulder perched his pet rat, Scabbers.

"That's Ron," Harry replied. "He's my best friend. Why?"

Sirius's eyes narrowed, his hand shaking as he pointed at the rat. "Harry, this… this rat. Is it Ron's pet?"

Harry frowned, confused by Sirius's sudden intensity. "Yeah, that's Scabbers. But he's been missing for two months. Ron thinks a cat ate him."

Sirius's expression hardened. His blue eyes burned with fury as realization struck him like a thunderbolt. "Peter Pettigrew…" he muttered under his breath. "That filthy rat is alive."

Sirius's breathing quickened, his thoughts spiraling into chaos. Images of James and Lily, betrayed by their friend, flashed in his mind. Pettigrew had lived all these years, hiding in plain sight, mocking their sacrifice.

"Pettigrew must die," Sirius growled, his face contorted with rage.

Harry recoiled slightly, startled by the sudden ferocity in his godfather's demeanor. Before he could say anything, another voice interrupted.

"Sirius, calm yourself," Lockhart said as he entered the room. His tone was soothing but firm. "You need rest. Let me handle this."

Sirius closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his muscles slowly relaxing. When he opened them again, his gaze locked on Lockhart with steely determination.

"Professor Lockhart," he said, his voice steady but icy, "the Ministry has tasked me with capturing the Death Eaters. That includes Peter Pettigrew. He won't escape me this time."

Lockhart's smile flickered, though he nodded in agreement. "Of course, Sirius. But you'll need to be careful. We can't afford another scandal."

Sirius didn't respond. His thoughts were already elsewhere. Peter Pettigrew, you're going to pay for what you've done. This time, there will be no escape.

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