Silence held. Sirius' question hung in the air like a weight.
Arcturus let the count run to ten. He did not fill the room for the Chief Warlock. When the last beat fell, he turned his head.
"So, Chief Warlock Dumbledore. What says the law? Or shall I carry that task as well?"
Albus frowned. "There must be compensation," he said, the words careful.
"Correct," Arcturus answered. "One hundred thousand galleons for each year he was left in that place. The parties responsible for his lawless confinement will pay from their own vaults. The Treasury will be touched only if the Minister for Magic, the Chief Warlock, and the Head of the DMLE who sat in office when he was thrown into Azkaban cannot meet the sum with liquid coin or with deeds and artefacts of equal value."
Two figures rose at once. Bartemius Crouch Senior. Albus Dumbledore. The first was the Head of the DMLE in those days. The second still wore the Chief Warlock's ring. Millicent Bagnold was not in the chamber, but retirement would not shield her vault.
Arcturus lifted his palm. "Order." His voice cut clean. "What exactly do you object to."
He did not wait for their answer. "You sent an innocent man to sleep with Dementors. You did it without process. You will pay the price before you leave this floor. You are fortunate I do not send you to taste the cells you used so freely." He looked from one to the other. "If you still wish to object, we can put it to a vote."
The benches knew what that meant. Numbers had already chosen a side. Dumbledore sat. Crouch followed. The clerk began to write.
"Thirteen years," Arcturus said, as if reciting a sum for a child. "At one hundred thousand per year. Four hundred and thirty four thousand galleons from each of the three. The Goblins will conduct a binding audit. Do not attempt to hide coin or move plate. Deeds and artefacts will be taken at fair valuation to make the balance good. If there remains a shortfall, the Treasury will complete the sum and record the debt against the names concerned."
No one laughed. The sound in the chamber was the scratch of quills and the small hiss of magic on parchment.
Before the Chief Warlock could close the sitting, Corvus rose from the Traditionalist side. "Minister. Chief Warlock." He waited.
Albus hesitated before he nodded permission. The smile on the young Lord's face was not warm. It was cold and sharp as a blade laid flat on ice.
"Lords and Ladies," Corvus said. "Be proud. We have cleared an innocent man's name. We have also named the truth that the traitor still lives. There remains the matter of honours. Peter Pettigrew was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, after his supposed death. That stands in insult to the dead and to the living. I move to annul the award and to post a bounty for the apprehension of Peter Pettigrew. Alive if possible. Notices to be circulated today."
A ripple moved along the rails. On the Progressive side a few faces pinched. On the Neutral side several heads inclined. Among the Traditionalists there was the faintest stir of approval.
Arcturus's eyes caught the light. A glint lived there for an instant and was gone. Only two men in the room knew why. One sat in the Minister's chair. The other had just taken the Rosier seat. They would enjoy claiming a bounty that would cost them literally nothing.
"The motion is noted," Arcturus said, voice even. "Clerk, prepare the form. We will take it with the next order. Chief Warlock, you may close this part of the sitting."
Albus set his jaw. "So ordered," he said. "This sitting will resume after the notices are prepared."
--
The chamber reconvened. Robes looked heavier than they had in the morning. No one left.
Albus stood. "The bounty for Peter Pettigrew is set at five thousand galleons."
Corvus scoffed. "Good luck finding him for that." He did not bother to lower his voice.
Albus's temper showed at last. "Do you have a figure in mind, Lord Rosier."
"We are speaking of a traitor who sold his friends to Voldemort," Corvus said. A hiss rolled across the benches at the name. "He is an Animagus. A common rat. Offer a bounty that respects the task and mouths will open."
Murmurs rose and settled.
Sirius spoke from the floor. "I will add my compensation, all of it. To the one who brings Pettigrew to me alive."
Arcturus's eye twitched. The man had not learned to count to ten before speaking. The offer was enormous and the room knew it.
"You may do so, Mr Black," Corvus said evenly. "It does not set the official rate."
"The Ministry can sweeten the pot," Arcturus interjected, as if tired of the haggling. "There are two shops in the Alley; the Ministry got them recently through a generous donation. They will be conveyed to the finder upon delivery alive to the DMLE. The five thousand stands as coin."
Albus kept his face still. He did not need Legilimency to know the Blacks either had the rat or knew exactly where he was. He had no lever to pull in the open. The clerk read back the terms. The matter was closed and the eventful session ended.
Sirius left with Arcturus and Corvus. Grimmauld Place received them with its old wards and older air. In the entry hall, Arcturus reached out and cuffed Sirius on the back of the head, a hard, flat sound that put the thin man on his hands and knees. Walburga simply scoffed at the scene.
"Moron," Arcturus said without heat, and walked on. "Come along."
Sirius rubbed the back of his skull and followed. They went down to the ritual room, the safest chamber after the wardstone vault. Corvus glanced over his shoulder.
"A question," he said. "You mean it. You will hand over the full amount to whoever brings you Pettigrew alive."
"Yes," Sirius said.
Corvus stopped. Arcturus sighed and shook his head once. Corvus called for Tibby. Parchment and quill appeared.
"Turn around," Corvus said. He set the parchment between Sirius's shoulders and wrote in a quick, tight hand. The terms were plain. Sirius Black would pay the full Ministry compensation, one million three hundred thousand galleons, to any person who delivered Peter Pettigrew alive into his custody. A final line barred Sirius from killing the Animagus once delivered.
Sirius frowned down at the page when Corvus handed it over. "What is this."
"Certainty," Corvus said. "Sign."
Sirius signed without thinking twice about why.
They reached the ritual room. Corvus looked to Arcturus. "If you would be so kind, Grandfather."
"Kreacher," Arcturus called, and ordered the 'box' when the old elf appeared.
Before going back to bring the rat, Kreacher turned to Sirius and started to murmur darkly.
The elf arrived with another pop. The glass box sat in his hands. Arcturus took it and passed to Corvus, who in turn passed it to Sirius with a grin.
"I present Peter Pettigrew," he said. "Alive. If you are to torture him, a kind reminder. You lack a wand, so you will do no more than tumble him. Given your present strength though, would you like help, free of charge."
Sirius swallowed and nodded once.
Corvus opened the box, levitated the rat and laid him on the flagstones. A spell forced the Animagus to his human form. Flesh lengthened. Clothes gathered. A small, pale man lay where the rat had been, breathing slow under the coma curse.
Corvus checked the pockets. A wand. Another wand with a handle made of bone. Both went straight to his mokeskin pouch.
"Ready?" he asked and countered the coma curse with a neat twist of his wrist.
--
Peter Pettigrew woke to stone and cold light. For a few heartbeats he did not know where he was. Then he saw the room and the men. Sirius Black stared at him with a look that could sour iron. The younger wizard stood to one side with his wand loose in his hand, a faint, polite smile on his mouth.
"Si… Sirius," Pettigrew said. "My old friend. How many years has it..."
Sirius crossed the space and struck him. The blows were not heavy, but they were quick and without pause. Pettigrew curled and squealed. Sirius hit him again and again until his breath ran short. Shouting, how could you. He turned to Corvus after a while and spoke through his teeth.
"Please. Make him suffer."
Corvus did not move his eyes from Sirius. "As you wish." He raised his wand. The tip stilled. A word hardly louder than breath left him and the room filled with Pettigrew's screams.
Time lost its edges. The work had a clean rhythm. Wards kept the sound inside the room. Binding and pain, release and return, a careful sequence that left no lasting mark unless they chose to leave one. Pettigrew begged, then lied, then begged again. When he tried to shift to his rat form, pain increased. He learned quickly that there was no escape inside this room.
Arcturus watched the first measures with an old soldier's eye. He offered a suggestion or two that would add 'colour' to the task at hand before he grew bored. "You have it in hand," he said, and left the chamber.
Sirius did not tire of it though, On the contrary, he enjoyed every second of the 'session'. He was a strange man. Though he was a Black, at least when torturing his enemies. Naive in many rooms, not in this one. He urged Corvus to try new hexes he had only heard of. He asked to lengthen the intervals and intensity of the misery, to hold the silence longer before the pain returned. He shook with excitement and fury and needed help to keep his feet. He asked for a machete to dismember some delicate parts of the Rat and ordered the bastard to devour it. Corvus blinked. If a finger was enough to convince the ministry to the Rat's death what would they say to some other parts. Though some of them were already 'gone.'
Twice, Corvus used Aetherveil to bring the Rat back from the bliss of catatonia. "You will pay for those," he said in an even tone. "They are not cheap."
"Send the bill," Sirius said. His voice was rough and pleased.
The hours slid. Pettigrew stopped calling for mercy and started promising names. He tried to sell the Dark Lord's shadow and found there were no buyers. When the promises failed, he cried. When the crying failed, he fell silent and shook.
"Enough," Corvus said at last. He stepped back. His wand lowered by an inch. Pettigrew lay where he had begun, but the life in him had been turned and twisted. He would not be running anywhere soon. Bone vanishing was strangely effective in this regard.
Sirius's chest rose and fell. He looked at Pettigrew without pity. "Can we do that again?" he asked.
"Gladly," Corvus answered, calm as if discussing a timetable. "Ten thousand galleons for a session and since you are family, I will extend a discount. Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine." The smile never left his mouth or his eyes.
Sirius gave a breath that might have been a laugh. "You will make me cry."
Corvus flicked his wand and let Pettigrew back into stillness. The coma curse settled like a cloak.
They stood in the quiet for a moment. "Rest," Corvus told Sirius. "You have more to do tomorrow."
Sirius tugged his sleeves straight and nodded. "Grandfather will arrange for healers tomorrow, a mind healer included. "Pick up the pace and do not contact anyone, especially from Dumbledore's side," Corvus said. Sirius nodded again. It was a beautiful day. Starting tomorrow, Wizarding Britain will hear of the rise of the Blacks.