Blake's words struck Sirius like a blade, piercing his already tormented heart.
The guilt had gnawed at him for years: it was his idea to make Peter the Secret Keeper instead of himself. That single decision had doomed James and Lily. Sirius had never stopped blaming himself.
Now Blake's calm words reopened the wound—reminding him not only of his friends' deaths but also of Harry's suffering afterward. Once again, because of his failure, James and Lily's son had endured hardship.
Sirius' lips trembled, but no words came. His fierce desire to kill Peter at all costs slowly gave way to crushing guilt.
Seeing the fire in Sirius' eyes fade, everyone silently exhaled. If he had insisted on revenge, they might have been forced to restrain him. No one wanted that.
"Calm down?" Blake asked gently. "Think about the consequences before you act. Think about those who still care about you."
"In the end," Blake added softly, "most of us don't live only for ourselves."
Sirius stared at Blake, breathing raggedly. "You... you're right... it's all my fault."
He lifted his hand, striking himself on the head in self‑punishment.
"Don't do that!" Lupin said, grabbing Sirius' wrist. "Don't you... don't you want to see him? Harry... he looks so much like James. And he has Lily's eyes."
At the mention of Harry, Sirius froze, guilt and longing battling inside him.
"Is it really all right?" he whispered. "That child... he won't hate me?"
"He knows the truth," Blake replied. "All he has now is hope for you. You may not realize it, but for someone who lost his parents so young, every relative is precious."
"Go see him," Blake urged. "Leave the rest to us. Professor Dumbledore is working for you, and even Snape—yes, your old enemy—is guarding Peter day and night so your name can be cleared."
"So look after yourself," Blake finished softly. "Don't disappoint Harry again."
Sirius' shoulders slumped as Blake's words sank in. His fury melted, leaving only determination.
"You're right," he murmured. "I... let me see the child."
"Of course, Padfoot," Lupin said. "But rest first. Harry will come to you—you can't let him see you like this."
"All right... then I'll trouble you." Sirius' voice was quiet, but the wildness was gone.
Professor McGonagall nodded briskly. "We must hide you somewhere safe until Albus settles things with the Ministry."
She reached into her pocket and drew out an invisibility cloak—plain but functional. It wasn't as powerful as Harry's Deathly Hallows cloak, but it would do.
Blake glanced at it, then spoke up. "No need for that, Professor. I know a place. And I think Lupin and Sirius will remember it well."
With a wave of his wand, a glowing dimensional door sparked open, revealing a furnished room beyond.
Sirius blinked, astonished. "Is that..."
They stepped through together. Lupin stared around, recognition dawning.
"The Shrieking Shack," Sirius breathed. "How could I forget? We used to spend every full moon here."
"Yes," Blake said. "Professor Dumbledore used it to teach me certain magic. Now it's empty—and perfect for Sirius to rest."
The room had changed: new furniture, softer light, and clean air. Dumbledore had renovated it long ago for Blake's training.
Professor McGonagall nodded thoughtfully. "It's indeed safer than my plan—but let's add protections."
"Leave it to me," said Professor Flitwick, drawing his wand.
"And some plants too, Professor Sprout," Blake suggested.
"Of course! I've been eager to see what other magical plants you've come up with," Sprout replied, smiling.
Lupin uncorked a potion Blake had prepared and handed it to Sirius, urging him to drink.
While they worked, Sirius sat quietly, watching them all move around the room.
And for the first time in years, he felt the warmth of friendship again.
Far away, in the grand hall of the Wizengamot Tribunal, the atmosphere was tense.
"You cannot bypass me and open the Tribunal yourself!" Minister Fudge shouted at Dumbledore, face red with fury.
Dumbledore faced him calmly, the silver in his beard catching the torchlight. "As Chief Warlock, I can open it with majority support. Over eighty percent of members have agreed."
"It's legal," Dumbledore continued, unshaken. "And just."
Fudge's mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but he had no answer.
"I demand a trial," he snapped.
"Naturally," Dumbledore replied mildly. "As Minister, you remain presiding judge."
Fudge shot him a glare and stormed from the hall.
As his robes vanished beyond the doorway, Dumbledore called after him, voice soft but firm. "Justice exists to protect the innocent, Cornelius. Don't forget why you entered public service."
Fudge paused—just for a heartbeat—then kept walking, faster than before.
Dumbledore sighed. Blake had warned him: Fudge was relying on Grindelwald's hidden influence. Dumbledore had always kept a wary eye on Grindelwald—but now, it felt closer than ever.
"Albus," a voice interrupted his thoughts.
An elderly wizard in purple robes stepped forward. Ephias Doge—an old school friend, his eyes still bright despite the years.
"I'm glad you acted, finally," Ephias said gently.
"I wish I hadn't had to," Dumbledore admitted, weary. "Circumstances force our hand."
"Better to act than remain silent," Ephias said. "And we're supporting more than you, Albus. We're supporting justice itself."
"I know," Dumbledore said softly. "Thank you, old friend."
"The Tribunal should not serve anyone's ambition," Ephias continued, glancing toward the door Fudge had slammed. "I will watch this case closely. If Sirius is truly innocent, no judge can bury the truth."
It was past two in the morning when Dumbledore finally returned to Hogwarts. The Tribunal had gone more smoothly than he'd dared hope; most of the Wizengamot trusted him far more than Fudge. Even those who didn't vote in favor simply abstained—they feared Fudge's wrath, but refused to oppose justice openly.
Dumbledore sank into his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose. His part was done—for now. But what about Blake and the others? Had they found Sirius in time?
Guilt gnawed at him. His faith in Fudge had been misplaced, and that mistake had exposed Sirius' Animagus form—putting the man in even greater danger.
The door opened, breaking his thoughts.
Professor McGonagall stepped in, her expression composed but eyes bright with urgency.
"Minerva, you're still awake?" Dumbledore asked, surprised.
"I had much to arrange tonight," she admitted. "But Armando told me you'd returned, so I came."
She meant the portrait of Armando Dippet, former headmaster. Portraits traveled faster than people, so she'd asked him to keep watch for Dumbledore's return.
"What kept you so busy?" Dumbledore asked.
"We found Sirius," she said simply.
Dumbledore stood, startled. "Truly? How?"
"Blake found him," McGonagall said, a small smile appearing. "I don't know what method he used—but it worked. I sent him to bed; we can question him tomorrow."
Relief softened Dumbledore's lined face. "I knew he wouldn't fail. How is Sirius?"
"Physically weak, mind exhausted—but alive," she said. "He hasn't slept yet. If you wish to speak to him, now would be a good time. After so many years in Azkaban, he deserves to hear the truth from you."
"You're right," Dumbledore agreed. "Where is he?"
"Blake hid him in the Shrieking Shack," McGonagall replied.
Meanwhile, atop the mountain base in Blake's private room, a quiet conversation was unfolding.
Blake sat with Old Lepp, the trusted fixer. Smoke curled from Lepp's pipe, drifting into the dim air.
"Your information was accurate," Blake said. "But how did you get it so quickly?"
Lepp blew a smoke ring, his eyes calm. "Through former Wiccan Party contacts—those who now serve Grindelwald. For information like this, they didn't hide it from us."
Blake nodded, his suspicion confirmed. Only someone inside the Ministry—someone under Grindelwald's network—could get such precise details.
"We need to reactivate the intelligence network," Blake murmured, drumming his fingers on the table. Using Grindelwald's reach felt like borrowing power that could turn against them.
"What do you plan?" Lepp asked, leaning forward. "Our people aren't trained for covert work anymore."
Blake's eyes narrowed thoughtfully—then a small, sly smile appeared.
"There are many house‑elves in Knockturn Alley," he said slowly, "who lost their masters..."
Lepp's brows rose. "Ah. Clever. Discreet, loyal, and overlooked. Yes... that could work."
He tapped out his pipe. "Leave it to me. But as for you—get some sleep. Staying up late will only make your hair fall out faster."