Chapter 8: Black as the Name

My limbs tingled unpleasantly as I woke the next day, the lingering effects from the cruciatus curse showing their effect.

I gingerly got out of the hospital bed, feeling a tingle across my tongue as it seemed that I had crossed a magical barrier.

I flexed my limbs under the pajamas I had been provided, wincing at the odd sensation that flowed through them, like needles prickling from inside my skin, raising my toes slightly as I stepped on the cool stone of the castle’s floor.

“Mr. Black,” Madam Pomfrey called out sharply, emerging from her office.

Her eyes landed on me, and her expression softened the smallest amount. “How are you feeling?” she asked, far more gently as she stepped up to me, raising her wand and making a small gesture over me, causing a wave of magic to ripple over me.

“Fine, Madam Pomfrey,” I said quietly, shrugging my shoulders, though I was unable to contain my wince as my muscles seized for the smallest of moments.

There was lingering magic I noted within my body, lingering sparks of energy that occasionally sparked up to crackle through my limbs.

She clicked her tongue, looking sternly at me, “Don’t lie to me, young man, the cruciatus curse isn’t a small thing to be subjected to, to think it would happen to a student…”

She trailed off, looking at me with a small frown, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She had asked the question enough last night, and the answer hadn’t changed today, the horror on her face from learning that it had been Professor Quirrel who had done this to me, though…

That had been pretty funny.

“Really,” I shook my head, “I’m fine,” I replied.

Madam Pomfrey grimaced at me, “A stiff upper lip isn’t required, young man. While the effects of the curse aren’t treatable traditionally, I’d still like to know what effects are still bothering you.”

“I’m fine,” I shook my head before meeting her eyes directly, “I’d like to head back to my common room so I can get ready for classes.”

Madam Pomfrey’s lips thinned before she sighed and gave me a stern look, “You’re just as stubborn as-“ she hesitated before shaking her head, “Fine, but you’ll come straight back if anything bothers you.”

The words were a firm statement rather than an ask, and I could do nothing in reply other than nod without meaning the motion in the slightest.

Perhaps the eleven-year-old boy who had entered Hogwarts in the prior year would have been more amenable to such a suggestion, but with full depths of my memories unlocked… well, it felt a little humiliating to be treated as my age.

Still the same boy… but more.

I braced myself against the bed for a moment, stumbling a couple of steps forward, tasting the air, and wincing at the lingering taste of dark magic that lingered within me.

I glanced at Madam Pomfrey, who was looking at me with thin lips.

“Fine,” I repeated, slinging my grin on my face, now fully aware it was an expression I had often given in my previous life for lesser reasons.

I continued walking forward, shrugging to myself, rolling my shoulder, and made to walk out of the Hospital Wing.

I made it three steps before stumbling slightly as my nerves gave out in my leg, not giving the appropriate response.

I ignored Madam Pomfrey’s gaze burning into my back as I continued my walk a little more slowly, exiting the Hospital Wing with a sigh of relief.

The early morning light was only now shining through the windows of the castle as I made my way through its stone corridors.

Entering back through the portrait of the Fat Lady, I was sure it would be early enough that there wouldn’t be anyone in the common room.

I was taken by surprise to see Iris lying on the couch, dressed as she had been yesterday, seemingly having fallen asleep. She had followed me to the Hospital Wing the other night, only to be kicked out by Madam Pomfrey, who had directed her to go to bed, but it looked like she had disobeyed said instruction and remained in the common room waiting for me.

I had to shrug away the small feeling of awkwardness within me as I approached the couch with my full memories. Now, it was readily apparent what I had been avoiding for a long time.

There were… feelings I had that involved Iris. I didn’t know where they had come from, and they certainly hadn’t been my intention at the beginning of our relationship.

Yet they remained all the same, yet now that I had faced them, I realized that I wouldn’t be acting on them.

Couldn’t act on them.

Iris, it was clear, had some affection for me, but as was equally clear to me, she had already been through far more than any other eleven-year-old should have gone through. Whatever it was she felt for me, I would give her the time to figure it out herself, there was no rush and no hurry.

What I had to give her right now was something she had never had.

Unconditional love, though I could admit internally at least that was something I was never good at.

Uncomfortably, I felt heat shift through my veins, this time magical. Standing now in the same room with her, I could feel my magic pulling towards her, slowly being siphoned away from me.

It wasn’t a high rate, but it was noticeable, slowly straining at me, though not so much that the energy wasn’t being replenished. I was unsure of what that really meant in the long term, but even if it meant I would be slightly weaker, it was acceptable, and I thought it was something I could probably get used to enough to mean little if anything.

I walked up to her, looking down at her peaceful expression, unable to resist brushing her dark hair away from her face with one of my hands

Her small nose wrinkled slightly before her emerald eyes flickered open sleepily as she looked up at me, “Ares?” she mumbled, her vibrant green eyes blinking at me, not quite awake.

I gave her a small grin, “One and the same, what’re you doing sleeping on the couch?”

Iris shrugged languidly, “Was waiting for-“ she yawned and blinked her eyes rapidly, seemingly coming fully awake, looking at me with wider eyes.

“Ares!” she cried out and then barreled straight into my chest, almost taking me to the floor.

I grabbed her, gently supporting her weight as she hung off my neck, her eyes wide as she stared at me, “You’re back,” she mumbled softly.

I gave her a small grin, carefully not wincing as her very touch sent sparks of agony through me, “It was just a night in the hospital wing.”

Her eyes narrowed, and what were sleepily pools of green became a fierce burning glare, “Because of that curse you took for me,” she growled.

I shrugged, “Better-“

I didn’t even get to finish the sentence as Iris’s magic flared about her, and I felt my own magic flaring back in response, coiling lightly around her own.

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Iris whispered softly, “Do you have any idea of how scared I was?”

I frowned, staring at the girl, parsing her words before a new awareness rippled through me; this girl cared, genuinely cared, in a way that no one had cared about me in… well, certainly not in this lifetime, I had no idea about the other one.

Still, I didn’t regret my choice, “Iris,” I said softly, looking her directly in the eyes, “I’d take as many of those curses as I had to if it meant protecting you.”

I felt Iris freeze in my arms, her emerald eyes widening as she gazed into my own pale grey. She shook her head, seemingly trying to dismiss my words, “Please, you can’t,” she whispered softly.

I gave her a soft smile, not stretching it as I usually did into my grin, “It’s my choice,” I replied.

Iris shook her head, “I don’t want anyone to die or sacrifice themselves for me,” she glared at me, but in her own emerald depths, I could see the smallest glimmers of fear past the front of anger.

“Says the girl who leaped in front of Voldemort’s spirit,” I replied with a raised eyebrow at her, her cheeks flushed the smallest bit red as she looked away.

“That’s different,” she mumbled.

I shook my head, “It’s not, but I don’t want to argue,” I said softly, “Can we leave it for now?”

Iris bit her lip, seemingly thinking over my words before she sighed and nodded, “Okay, Ares,” she mumbled.

I smiled thankfully at her and made to set her down, bending slightly so I could put her back on the couch, only for her arms to tighten around me, refusing the motion.

“Iris?” I asked softly.

She shook her head mutely, but no words emerged from her mouth, her eyes refusing to meet my own.

I considered her for a moment before I turned, settling down on the couch with her clinging to my chest, watching as the early morning light of the sun continued rising through the window.

-

“I can’t believe you two!” Hermione exclaimed shrilly as she paced back and forth in my usual commandeered classroom.

Neville had taken a seat on a desk and was looking at the pair of us, seemingly dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open as he seemed to search for words on what to say.

Iris shrank slightly at her outburst, her eyes flicking to me for a moment, a small amount of panic in her eyes, before she straightened her posture, showing her Gryffindor courage, “I’m not going to apologize for going after Ares,” she said sullenly, glaring at Hermione.

A low growl ripped through the bushy-haired girl’s throat as she turned to look at me exasperatedly, “And you! Why did you even go into the Forest in the first place?”

I kept my amused smile from rippling onto my face as I leaned back against the desk. It wasn’t fair, but it was hard to take her frustration seriously with her cheeks inflated in what looked like a pout.

“I told you,” I shook my head, “Something was off, and then I saw the Unicorn blood,” I replied.

I was still circumspect about mentioning my ability to taste magic. It wasn’t a lack of trust but merely the fact that it was a hidden card that I didn’t want getting farther than it had to.

I actually had given more thought to the ability and compared it to Dumbledore’s own finding myself curious where it could have originated from.

Hermione looked like she wanted to shriek, and I decided I should finally go about calming the girl down, “Look, we’re all fine, and all’s well that ends well, we even stopped Voldemort.”

Hermione gave me the hardest glare that an eleven-year-old could give a boy, “Facing down Dark Wizards is the last thing you should be thinking about, you’re both eleven!”

Iris spoke up softly, “But if we hadn’t, Voldemort could have returned.”

And wasn’t that a frankly absurd sentence, but it was true.

That simple sentence seemed to be enough to take the air out of Hermione’s sails, and she slumped slightly back in her chair, “I mean-“ she sighed, “That was incredibly reckless, both of you.”

I didn’t really have a response to that, so I shrugged and looked at Neville, who seemed lost in thought, his eyes looking distantly at the wall.

“Nev?” I asked.

The boy blinked, seemingly coming back to himself, before he turned to look at me, his lips pulling down in a small, sad frown, “It’s just-“ the boy hesitated, then shook his head, “Never mind, I’m glad you’re all right, mate.”

I wanted to push, the words were already on my lips, but knowledge filtered into my mind instantly, the circumstances surrounding his parents, my own cousin’s involvement in them.

I had been hit by the cruciatus curse, just like his parents; it was bound to bring up bad memories.

In retrospect, there was something incredible about Neville for acting as he had toward me from the start; he also had a reason to dislike, even hate, my family, yet, knowing that, he still had formed a friendship with me.

The classroom descended into a small bout of silence before I sighed and clapped my hands together, and my friend's attention was drawn to me instantly. “If that’s everything, let’s get some homework done, yeah?”

I ignored the incredulous eyes on me; it was better to focus on something than sit in my thoughts.

-

The spring semester was beginning to wind down, noted by the preparation of the students for the end of school exams that was subsuming the school in its dire wake with only a brief Quidditch match to interrupt the monotony of studying.

My Friends and I studied, and as my mind was now whole, I had little trouble using my Occlumency to further effect than I had been able to do before. It wasn’t necessarily a cheat sheet to think better, but it certainly made memorization far easier, which was something I remembered not being my forte.

DADA was filled out by a rotation of professors who each took on extra classes to finish out the education for the rest of the year, something they seemed rather accustomed to.

Which, now that I had memories of this world fully unlocked, I remembered that there was a jinx, wasn’t there?

At least for now, it was probably safe to say that the Jinx was holding its position for now, though it had been technically I who had killed the Professor, who was Voldemort, so I wasn’t sure how a Jinx created by Voldemort would act against his own interest.

Which was a bit of weight that I didn’t like to think about. Not necessarily because of overwhelming guilt or sadness about the event, but from how little I felt about killing Professor Quirrel.

After careful analysis with Occlumency and my recently made whole mind, I determined simply that it was because there was something different about my brain. A great deal of things were different, in fact, than how my brain had operated previously; that much was clear. A certain shadow flitted through my thoughts when I examined my situation.

A shadow that made me circumspect about putting any caring into what I had done.

I had killed Quirrel because I had to; it was as simple as that. I hadn’t enjoyed the sensation, I hadn’t hated it, I didn’t feel much about it.

It wasn’t a normal sensation, and I could only wonder at the metaphorical hardware of the brain I was operating with; this body was different from what I remembered of my past life, and not just because of the magic.

So I spent long amounts of time practicing my Occlumency in my empty classroom in between my bouts of practicing my Vorpal magic.

It was within my head that I began to construct a list of what would have to be done if similarities continued with what I had known about the other world.

While there were some differences, Quirrel had been the same, Voldemort had been the same.

Did that mean that a Horcrux would make its way to the Castle next year? Philosophically, there was the question of butterfly wings and somehow my actions preventing the occurrence, but that also wasn’t something I could depend on.

Regardless, what was clear to me was that I wasn’t strong enough, physically or magically, too little knowledge, and the body of an eleven-year-old was bound to do that.

Of course, solving that problem was not easy, and there was not much I could do until I could reach a library not as curated as the Hogwarts one. I hadn’t considered it at the time, but all the publicly available books within the library were more in the realm of the theoretical when it came to more dangerous magics.

It made sense even though it was frustrating.

Yet there was still something I could focus on.

The Vorpal magic was something I needed far more control of. It had carved straight through a magical shield of an adult wizard.

Not to mention his neck.

I wanted to be able to use my Mother’s family's magic rapidly and with ease, and now, controlling that which had eluded my fractured mind was far easier.

I sat on top of the desk at the head of the classroom, concentrating simply on the taste of strawberries, letting the flavor submerge my tongue and letting it suffuse my body, surrounding myself in the aura of its flavor.

My eyes were wide open, though it wasn’t the sense I was concentrated on. I felt my body shift and then jerk slightly as I rose slightly into the air, only some tens of centimeters, but it was progress.

I could feel my limbs practically vibrating with vorpal energy, pure unadulterated force bent to my will in this one instant.

I let myself float for some time, keeping the vorpal magic active while at the same time not using its destructive potential. It was difficult, and the whole exercise was more guesswork than anything, but I had no better options.

It wasn’t like I had any cheat codes for better unassailable magic; any progress would have to be the modulated practice of hard work with a mind I could freely admit was better than the one I had previously, and a sense of magic which I had to admit was a little unfair.

So I worked and studied, focusing singularly on refining my mother’s gift to something entirely within my control.

-

Weeks turned to months, and finals passed with barely a whisper at the end of May. Gryffindor seized the Quidditch Cup with a stunning performance from Iris, which promptly placed Gryffindor in the lead for the House Cup, clear by the incredible amount of Rubies within the Gryffindor Hourglass.

“Fred and George, No!” I exclaimed sharply, standing with my arms barred out on both sides in front of the Weasley twins.

Each held a pile of stinkbombs in their arms, looking at me with equally wounded expressions.

“Ares,” George said, and I was sure it was George because his magic was ever so slightly darker in flavor than Fred's, “It’ll be a stain on our honor!”

“A travesty,” Fred nodded his head, looking absolutely bereft.

“You can’t seriously tell me the pair of you swore an unbreakable vow that you would never let Gryffindor win the House Cup?” I asked exasperatedly.

Both twins glanced at each other before back at me, and they nodded together firmly, “Sorry mate,” Fred said, “It’s absolutely true, how could we ever live up to our names as the most fearsome of pranksters if our House was to win, it’d mean that we had failed.”

George nodded gravely, “Plus, we still promised to send our Mum a lavatory seat.”

I smacked my head with a dull thud, taking a moment of respite as my flesh collided with my forehead.

-

I had talked them down… if barely, it had been closer than even I was willing to admit, I had finally said I wouldn’t be tasting any more of their products if they inflicted a grievous loss on our house points.

That had been enough to convince the boys to relax in their mischief-making.

Finals had come to an end, and a singular week remained in the term, which was when a burly black man with a smooth bald head walked into the hall carrying a thick official-looking envelope in his hand.

He looked about in the sudden silence of his presence before his eyes landed on me, and he walked up to me.

“Antares Black?” he asked, his voice calm and even.

“Yes?” I asked.

The man nodded to himself and handed me an envelope which had a proud M emblazoned across its front.

“My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I have a summons for you.”

Without a thought, I had slit it open quickly with a finger and a touch of vorpal magic, scanning through its contents rapidly.

Ministry of Magic

Department of Magical Law Enforcement Wizengamot Administration Services

TO BE HANDED DIRECTLY TO MR. ANTARES BLACK, HEIR OF THE MOST ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK

Subject: Official Summons for Testimony Regarding the Matter of Sirius Orion Black and Peter Pettigrew

Date: June 5, 1992

Mr. Black,

You are hereby formally summoned to appear before the full session of the Wizengamot, acting as the presiding body for a Petition of Innocence.

Your presence is required to provide sworn testimony and a full statement detailing the capture of Peter Pettigrew, the purported victim of Sirius Orion Black, on the evening of October 31st, 1991. Your actions in securing the prisoner have directly provided the essential evidence required for this proceeding.

This hearing shall address:

1. The Petition for the complete exoneration and immediate release of Sirius Orion Black.

2. The formal trial and sentencing of Peter Pettigrew for the crimes of Treason, Espionage, Accessory to Murder of James Fleamont Potter and Lily Potter and the Mass Murder of twelve Muggles.

Details of Required Appearance:

• Date: June 10th at 9:00 am Courtroom 10

I looked up at the man, who was looking at my finger, seemingly confused.

“How am I supposed to attend?” I asked.

Kinglsey frowned before looking up as Dumbledore approached our small huddle, drifting to a stop in front of me with a subtle grace, “That I believe I can manage,” Dumbledore said calmly, “Fortunately, I will be attending the trial as well.”

Right, Chief Warlock, at least until Minister Fudge decided that wasn’t going to be a thing anymore.

Kinglsey looked between us, and I noticed that he seemed to be notably looking to Dumbledore for direction. When Dumbledore did not say anything more, the man nodded, “That will be acceptable, Chief Warlock. I will be on my way then.”

The man turned just as abruptly as he had come, exiting the hall to the murmurs of the assembled students whose eyes had focused on me questioningly.

“Ares?” Iris asked, looking at me, flickering confusion in her eyes, Hermione and Neville looking no different.

Right, I still hadn’t explained anything to them, and Iris still didn’t know the truth about our parents.

It wasn’t that I had been avoiding it; it was just, well, I didn’t want to raise any hopes, give any information without absolute certainty, Iris didn’t deserve to get her hopes raised for nothing.

I didn’t want to raise my hopes for nothing.

I shook my head at her,  “I’ll explain later,” I said quietly.

Hermione spoke up, looking concerned, “Why are you getting summoned by the Wizengamot?” she asked, evidently she knew about the body already, despite being a Muggleborn.

Neville also looked concerned, “Do I need to talk to my gran Antares?” he asked.

I waved the concern away, “It’s fine, I was expecting this,” I said.

“You were expecting this?” Neville questioned.

I nodded and then noted the muted looks of hurt that flashed across my friends' faces, “You didn’t tell us.” Iris said quietly, her expression small and quiet.

I grimaced, “It’s not that I didn’t want to,” I said, “It’s just,” I struggled for words, “It’s difficult to explain,” I admitted quietly.

My reasons sounded sane in my mind, but in their own way, I knew they were cowardly. I could have told my friends at any point in time; months had passed, yet I hadn’t, and now I would have to live with it.

“I’m a witness to a trial,” I said, “I can’t say anything more, but that was a summons.”

Can’t perhaps was not the right word, the whole thing was just so much bigger than me, I was eleven and about to be testimony for a trial to help my Father go free, I could speak on it but as it was I wanted the full story to come out in one fell swoop from the trial, in a way that everyone would know I spoke the truth.

“A trial?” Neville questioned, “For whom?”

I sighed, shaking my head, “Look, it’s a little complicated, is all, it’s also personal, I just wanted the trial to occur before I said anything.”

Neville gave me a long look, his eyes peering into me, “Alright, Antares,” he said quietly, nodding his head, looking at me firmly, trusting in my decision.

Hermione nodded as well, her frown twisted as she seemed to war with herself, “If you say so,” she said quietly. I could see her wanting to ask more, needing to ask more, but for now she held herself back.

Iris looked at me for a moment, “You’re not in danger?” she asked quietly.

I shook my head at her words, “No, this is just, well, you’ll understand hopefully when it all comes out.”

Iris’s lips twitched upward into a small smile, and she leaned into my side, “Then I trust you, Ares.”

A twinge of guilt went through me as I looked at her emerald eyes. I wondered if she knew what I was planning, if she would say those words so firmly.

-

I rose on the day of June tenth, making my way to Dumbledore’s office early in the morning, passing through a common room that was still slightly messy from our victory, achieving the House Cup, and breaking the Slytherins' long streak. I had been barely able to focus more a bundle of nerves than anything since the summons.

I walked past the Gargoyle and up the stairs to Dumbledore’s office, meeting the man who was behind his desk, dressed in shimmery, silvery grey robes with small moons upon them.

“We will be taking the floo Ares,” he said quietly, and I made no comment to his continued use of my nickname, wondering if there was some meaning behind it but leaving the matter to rest for now.

“My fireplace has been opened to Amelia Bones' office for this occasion, so you may step in after the floo powder,” Dumbledore tossed a dusting of floo powder into the flames, causing them to flare green, “Head Auror's Office,” Dumbledore spoke clearly, before gesturing me forward.

I stepped into the flames, and a taste somewhat grape flavored but more energetic than apparition seized me, the world rapidly spun, and in moments I found myself stepping out onto a carpeted floor, rapidly trying to adjust myself.

I continued walking forward even as I felt another presence rapidly approaching me from behind and I turned to see Dumbledore calmly stepping out of the fire.

I turned as the familiar taste of Amelia Bones made itself known, and I looked to see the woman standing tall and firm as she looked at us behind a monocle.

“You’re early,” she remarked, and by her tone, I couldn’t tell if it was an admonishment, praise, or a simple statement.

Dumbledore chuckled, “I believe wizards should endeavor to always be where they’re supposed to and when they’re supposed to.”

Bones raised an eyebrow and then shook her head in seeming bemusement, “That as it may be, we can begin walking to the courtroom then.”

She led us out of the office and into what I could only describe as a wizarding bullpen office, desk scattered about as red cloaked Aurors scratched out messages, and others moved in huddles heading for exits.

“Moody! Tonks!” Bones barked out, and the grizzled Auror I had met before reappeared, followed by a pretty young woman with a heart-shaped face and long, fluffy pink hair.

“Wotcher!” the woman who must be Tonks exclaimed with a grin, “What do you need Boss?”

She blinked, and her eyes widened as she seemed to take in Dumbledore’s presence.

Bones' expression remained grim, not a single smile peaking through her lips, “We’re heading to a trial, you’re the escort, Tonks, for Mr. Black, as an auror, there at the time of arrest, Moody, you’ll be there for any statements.”

Tonks looked at Moody, confused, then seemed to realize exactly what Bones had said, turning to look down at me, “Did you say Bl-“ her eyes were now practically full circles, in fact, they most certainly were giving her face a very odd expression, and I tasted an odd flare of magic go through her in that moment.

“Focus,” Moody barked at her, and she winced before nodding and falling into line behind us, though I noticed her eyes did not leave me.

As we walked through the auror department, I noted many eyes focusing on us, drawn by Dumbledore’s presence most likely, but then I noted the brief flashes of confusion as they noted a child was accompanying them.

We walked up to a lift and got in before Moody jammed a button with his hand, and the grate slid closed, and we began journeying down.

Down and down we moved, various announcements echoing dully in my ears until, “Courtrooms.”

We walked out and down a smooth black hallway amid a stream of black and red-robed wizards who were talking quietly to each other before they stopped suddenly at our presence, any of the wizards and witches in our company, aside from Tonks and me, likely to be enough to trigger such a reaction.

We walked through a courtroom door into a massive room with a half circle of chairs with some seats already filled with wizards and witches, two chairs positioned directly in the center, each with chains that seemed ready to seize the person there, judging by the taste.

Dumbledore gestured at a box to the side, “That is where witnesses sit. I am the presiding Warlock, so this is where we must part.”

He gave me a calm look, patting me gently on the shoulder, before he drifted away up to the top of the stands, nodding and conversing softly with other members within the chamber.

I moved to the chairs as Dumbledore directed, noting Tonks follow along behind me as Bones began journeying up to the top box.

Tonks settled next to me, and I noted her slightly nervous jittering of her eyes, continuing to flick to me, but attempting to act as if she was not looking at me.

She was young-looking, similar in age to the seventh year at Hogwarts; she had probably just graduated from Hogwarts. I was aware from my new influx of knowledge that she was related to me in some way, though I didn’t remember exactly to what degree, her mother, Andromeda, had been a Black who had been disinherited and was the sister to Narcissa Malfoy, Lyra’s mother.

My face was probably freaking her out something fierce just as it had for McGonnagal.

A part of me realized now was the time to talk to her, to get a feeling for my family, regardless of the fact that her mother had been cast out of mine; that was something that could be easily remedied.

If this went well, and they were still willing to talk to me in the end.

I refocused on the courtroom as it continued to fill until every seat was filled. A shorter man in a black robe walked to the side of the top podium, where Dumbledore also stood. They exchanged murmuring words, and then finally Dumbledore spoke loudly, his voice magically amplified.

“Bring in the accused,” Dumbledore called out.

From doors at the back of the courtroom emerged two groups of red-cloaked aurors leading two men in chains.

One I recognized, a balding man who looked like he had recently lost a great deal of weight recently, walking across the marble floor with the demeanor of a man walking to the gallows, watery eyes flicked about before landing on me, and he immediately shivered in horror on his face.

I smirked back the expression pasted onto my face for lack of a better option.

The other man was tall and still somewhat gaunt, cloaked in dark black robes with pale grey eyes that flickered rapidly about the room, glancing at Pettigrew and narrowing in hatred before they flicked back up and away as he seemed to calm himself for the barest of instants, his eyes looking about hungrily before locking onto mine.

Grey met grey of the same shade, and unwilling, my breath froze in my lungs, and my magic flickered through my limbs, almost stretching free from my control.

The man stopped walking, continuing to stare at me as I stared at him, his eyes hungry, seeming to drink me in as one would water after being stranded in the harshest of deserts.

One of the aurors gently tapped him on the shoulder, and an older man whispered something in his ear.

He nodded slowly and then began moving slowly to the chair in the center of the room, sitting down slowly, his eyes not removing themselves from me for a moment.

I could hear whispers as people noticed his distraction, their eyes flicking to me as well as realization slowly began to filter through the courtroom

Dumbledore spoke again, breaking through the whispers, “Members of the Wizengamot. We are gathered this morning for a necessary reckoning. For almost eleven years, the Wizarding World has believed that Sirus Orion Black was the betrayer of the Potters and the murderer of twelve Muggles and one wizard.”

“Today, we are here to address the petition for the immediate exoneration and release of Sirius Orion Black as well as the formal trial and sentencing of the individual whose capture has made this entire proceeding possible: Peter Pettigrew, accused of Treason, Espionage, and the murder of twelve Muggles.”

I noticed the shifting of some of the members of Wizangamot and muffled whispers seemingly broken from their silence.

“The evidence presented to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is compelling. It suggests a catastrophic miscarriage of justice occurred in the darkest hours of our recent history.”

“This morning’s proceedings will begin with the testimony of the sole witness to the capture of the accused traitor, Mr. Peter Pettigrew. Mr. Antares Black, will you rise?”

I rose to my feet and felt the full weight of the attention of the wizards and witches in attendance, a murmuring of words, a rustle of robes as some attempted to get a better view.

Dumbledore continued, “Please state your name for the record, Mr. Black?

“Antares Black,” I said softly.

Dumbledore nodded his head before a raspy voice made itself known, “Polaris.”

The attention of the room shifted onto the form of my Father, who was still focused on me; the silence was deafening.

“His name is Antares Polaris Black,” my father said quietly, still looking at me with eyes just the same as mine.

I looked back at Dumbledore, hesitating for a moment before I spoke again, “Antares Polaris Black,” I said quietly while attempting to grapple with the fact that I had not even known my middle name to this moment, while at the same time realizing what this meant, that my Father did now remember me.

The heavy silence thickened further as the room seemingly focused even further on me.

“Where were you the night of October 31st?” Dumbledore asked.

“I was in the dungeons of Hogwarts searching for a man who was masquerading as an animagus as a Ronald Weasleys rat?”

“How did you know that the rat was an animagus?” Dumbledore asked.

“His magic, sir, a wizard's magic tastes different than that of an animal.”

The room shifted, focusing further on me.

“Do you mean to say you can taste magic, Mr. Black?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Did you find Ronald Weasley's Rat?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes sir,” I said shortly.

“What did you do then?”

“I had practiced the animagus reversal spell,” I said, “I cast it upon the rat to reveal a wizard whom I proceeded to incapacitate.”

“Hem hem,” a woman with a strangely toad-like face spoke up, directing the attention of the room upon her, “Do you mean to say that you, in your first year, were able to cast a complicated spell like that? Whoever taught you?”

“I taught myself,” I answered.

The room stirred at my words, though I was unsure entirely if they were surprised by a first-year student accomplishing advanced magic or that it was self-taught.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to continue only to be interrupted again as the woman spoke, “And how did you incapacitate the wizard?”

Something uneasy shifted in my gut, but I maintained eye contact with the woman, “I broke his limbs before petrifying him. I was concerned that he would escape by transforming once again unless I did so.”

The room shifted again, and I noted a subtle increase of interest in the assembled wizards and witches only observable from the taste of slightly accelerated magic in the room.

“So it was not self-defense?” the woman asked, her voice saccharine sweet.

I could see the positioning she was attempting, so I chose my next words carefully, “An animagus walking the corridors of Hogwarts was a risk to myself as well as fellow students.”

Dumbledore spoke before the woman could, “What happened next?” he asked.

“I brought the man upstairs looking for a teacher, upon which I encountered a Troll,” I said calmly.

“Troll!” exclaimed a wizard, “What was a troll doing in Hogwarts?”

Whisperings stirred for a moment before Bones rose and spoke, “The Troll encountered was reported to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and a full investigation was launched. We recently discovered that the Troll was let in by the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at the time, Professor Quirrel, who disappeared some months before our investigation concluded.”

“A Troll, though!” another wizard exclaimed, “Whatever did you do?”

I hesitated for a moment as I attempted to think of a good way to say my next words, before realizing there was no really good way, “I killed it, upon which my Professors arrived, and Headmaster Dumbledore took Pettigrew into custody after recognizing him.”

The room stirred vigorously at my words, and I was slightly taken aback at the focus diverting as such, though perhaps I shouldn’t have.

The same woman spoke again, drawing her hideously pink cardigan around, “How could a first year kill such a creature? Who taught you such magic?”

I practically felt the majority of the wizards in the room lean forward, curiosity peaking through the crowd.

“My Mother’s family magic,” I said.

A rumble echoed through the chamber before Dumbledore spoke, his voice echoing out loudly, “Such questions I would remind this august body are not relevant to the current question at hand. Is there any other questions for relevant testimony that a member would like to ask?”

From the somewhat discontented murmurings in the chamber, I imagined there were many other questions not related to my Father. I suppose it was to be expected for Wizards and Witches to get distracted by magic such as that.

The murmurings died down with no more questions, and Dumbledore spoke again, “You may return to your seat, Mr. Black.”

I nodded and walked back to the box, settling down next to Tonks, who was looking wildly between my father and me, her jaw hanging slightly open.

Dumbledore spoke again, “Now, Lord Black, I would like to question you about the night of October 31st, 1981. Where were you that night?”

My Father stirred in his chair, looking up at the gallery. His voice was somewhat raspy. “I had gone to check on Peter Pettigrew. I had not heard from him in some time, and I was concerned.”

“Why were you concerned?” Dumbledore asked.

“The Potters had gone into hiding under the fidelius charm; they needed a secret keeper, and I suggested Peter Pettigrew instead of myself, thinking that Voldemort would never suspect as such. To tell the world I was the Secret Keeper a double fake to keep them safe.”

The wizards and witches stirred, and loud murmuring occurred, which Dumbledore allowed for several moments before he spoke again, silencing the chamber.

“You were not the Secret Keeper for the Potters then?”

“No,” my father shook his head, his voice rough.

“What happened next?”

“He wasn’t there, and I knew,” my father choked, “I knew what must have happened, I raced to Godric’s Hollow, but James and Lily,” he took a deep, shaking breath, “They were dead, and I knew it was all my fault, and I knew that I had to get to Pettigrew before he gathered any more Death Eaters to come back for Iris. I tracked him down, and that was when he blew up the entire street after shouting that I had betrayed them. I-”

My Father released a shuddering breath, and his grey eyes were unfocused, not within the room where we stood.

A low rumble echoed throughout the room, and eyes flicked to a mustached man who sat still, solid, almost unmoving in the rows of wizards and witches.

“Mr. Pettigrew,” Dumbledore’s voice echoed out throughout the room, and the entire room's animosity and attention were drawn to the shivering man seated in the chair next to my father.

“You stand accused of the murder of twelve muggles and betrayal of the Potters to Lord Voldemort, crimes of which are treason and espionage. How do you plead?”

The man’s watery eyes looked rapidly about the room, looking for something, seemingly anything that would show him a way out.

“The- the- Imperius Curse-“ the man began.

Dumbledore interrupted his voice loudly booming out, “The Imperius curse cannot break the Fidelius charm, did you hide for nigh on eleven years for a crime you did not commit?” his tone was calm, but something stormy lay underneath his voice as blue eyes burrowed into Pettigrew.

Pettigrew looked about his face, pale and shiny, desperation in his eyes, “Please-“ he whispered out, the only word it seemed he had left.

Dumbledore spoke, turning to the body of Wizengamot members, “As Chief Warlock, I ask this august body whether to proceed on the petition. To clear Sirius Orion Black on all charges and to levy the charges Treason, Espionage, Accessory to Murder of James Fleamont Potter and Lily Potter, and the Mass Murder of twelve Muggles against Mr. Pettigrew. As these are separate matters, we shall first take a vote on the first, to clear Sirius Orion Black of all charges.”

Wands were raised rapidly in the air, the entirety of the hall, not a single wand was left down, though I noted some members were slower. A man with long blonde hair and several other wizards grouped near him, only raising their wands as the majority became clear, not what I had hoped but it was still enough.

“And on the second, whether to charge Mr. Pettigrew with said crimes.”

Rapidly, wands were raised, and the entirety of the courtroom signaled Pettigrew's guilt the lest politically contentious item, after all this wasn’t putting the House of Black back in power on a different side. The man began to break down in tears, crying in heaving sobs.

But it wasn’t enough, not yet.

I took a deep breath and spoke, “As Heir Black, I demand satisfaction for the unjust actions perpetrated by Peter Pettigrew, as the Old Law dictates, given his conviction before this body, I demand his life.”

My voice echoed throughout the suddenly silent courtroom, and eyes turned rapidly onto me, and I noted Dumbledore’s blue eyes looking at me with a somewhat shocked expression.

I understood that, before I had retrieved my memories, I wouldn’t even think of this option. Without Neville’s book, I wouldn’t even know it existed.

Dumbledore spoke, his voice echoing throughout the room, “State your case,” he said softly, and I met his blue eyes, noticing that his expression looked drawn, and his features had stiffened.

He hadn’t been expecting this.

I wouldn’t have chosen it either, given another option, but the fact remained that as long as Peter Pettigrew was alive, he was a threat to everyone I cared about; all it would take was a transformation into a rat, or even to be freed by some other circumstance, and Pettigrew could come back just as dangerous as before.

He could revive Voldemort.

He was a threat to Iris.

I rose, walking out of the box, avoiding the shocked gaze of Tonks as she looked at me, and avoiding my Father’s gaze because I didn’t know how he would look at me.

The shadow that flitted through my mind fully submerged my thoughts in cool logic. Azkaban was no permanent solution. I knew that from my memories; there was only one way to guarantee Peter Pettigrew never hurt what was mine again.

I stood before Peter Pettigrew, contemplating the nerves that had raced through my gut these last months, fearing his escape, worried that I had let the man live, there was an easy solution, and it was one the new, darker side of my mind agreed with.

“Peter Pettigrew’s actions directly led to my Father’s false imprisonment for eleven years, eleven years which my Father will not get back, cannot be gotten back,” My words were heavy and pointed, not words of an eleven-year-old, “The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, a member of the Sacred Twenty Eight almost met it’s end as a consequence of his actions.”

I turned back to the Wizangamot with a grim smile on my face, “As Heir of the Blacks, there is only one thing I can ask for, his life.”

My eyes locked onto the blonde man who had hesitated along with several other members near him. He was looking at me with a slightly raised eyebrow, intrigue and interest breaking through on his face.

I was almost sure it was Malfoy’s father, and now I was wondering if my efforts would bear fruit, originally intended to get my Father’s innocence, now for another purpose entirely.

Dumbledore spoke, his voice soft but still carried by the charms of the room, “I do not believe that such is for the best, but as Chief Warlock, I bring your motion for a vote, all those in favor/”

A full third of the room didn’t move at all, among them Amelia Bones and many wizards and witches whose eyes flicked to Dumbledore in seeming surprise, though it was muted.

Then Malfoy raised his wand, and the wizards next to him, like rippling waves, raised their wands until around two-thirds of the room had their wands raised in the air, including a grim-faced older woman who looked at me with an uncanny smile on her face and another woman next to her who seemed positively gleeful.

It was about what I expected from my studies of the body, and it was what I was relying on; if I was anything other than the pureblood heir of an ancient, most noble house, this would be impossible, but because I was.

Dumbledore looked about, and his expression tightened before he looked down at me, “The motion carries,” he said heavily.

I turned to look at Peter Pettigrew, looking at the man in his watery blue eyes as he opened his mouth presumably to scream or beg for his life.

My wand sang electricity, seemingly crackling through my arm as I made a single gesture with my wand.

Violet flashed, and Pettigrew's expression froze before a thin red line appeared on his throat. I tasted the air, breathing a sigh of relief as I felt Pettigrew’s magic fade entirely, relief loosening my arm to my side.

I finally turned my eyes to my father, meeting the man’s eyes now that I knew that I wouldn’t second-guess my decision.

His pale grey eyes stared at me, and I was surprised by the small, sad understanding quirk to his lips.

He rose from his chair and walked slowly toward me. Even now, these months of recovery later, I noticed his steps were slightly shaky, his face still too thin.

Coming to a stop in front of me, he wrapped his limbs around me firmly, with surprising strength. A soft whisper came from his lips, too quiet to be heard by any but me, saying the last words I would expect, “You did the right thing.”

He drew back, and I stared up into grey eyes again, eyes that now, as I was close to them, carried a familiar spark, a spark I had seen first in the mirror after the return of my memories.