Albus followed Cornelius into the meeting room, with Minerva just behind him. Since he was attending on behalf of the International Confederation of Wizards, Minerva was there in her capacity as the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. The school year hadn’t officially ended, and Misters Potter and Weasley needed someone there who was solely concerned with their wellbeing.
Amelia was there as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and was going to be responsible for accepting custody of the prisoner, though Albus wasn’t entirely sure who they would be taking back to England. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in attendance as the Auror in charge of Sirius Black’s case, while John Dawlish and Rufus Scrimgeour were acting as Cornelius’s personal bodyguards.
Cornelius was there, of course, as a matter of politics. Albus was just glad that Cornelius had finally relented on the subject of the Dementors. The room was feeling entirely too crowded, even without the sort of presence the Dementors would have brought along.
Harry was seated next to his guardian, who had taken the place at the head of the table. Ron Weasley was next to Harry, and Sirius Black was seated several places down from him, looking very alone. A tall, broad-shouldered man Albus didn’t recognize was pacing back and forth behind the long table. From the look of his clothes and the way he was reacting to everybody in the room, Albus marked him as the American representative to the proceedings, although he wondered where the rest of the man’s colleagues were. Surely he wasn’t there by himself.
Peter Pettigrew, and looking at him, Albus had no doubt of who it was or the veracity of Sirius’s tale, was unconscious on the table.
“What in Merlin’s Name is going on here? Why isn’t Black secured?” Cornelius demanded. “Don’t you know how dangerous he is?”
“Not so dangerous I can’t handle him, considering he doesn’t have a wand,” the American Marshal said, his arms crossed. “As for what’s going on here, I’d like to know that myself. I was told this was just supposed to be a prisoner transfer, but I’ve never seen a prisoner transfer require half the receiving government show up.”
“Then you must never have dealt with a criminal this dangerous,” Cornelius sniffed.
“Everybody just hold on a minute, there’s no need to be hasty,” Harry’s guardian said, standing up. “I think there’s just been some miscommunication going around, and since we’re all here, now is a fine time to sort everything out.”
“And just who are you, sir?” Amelia asked diplomatically.
“My name is Bruce Wayne, and I own the building you’re all standing in. As for why I’m here specifically, I’m Harry’s guardian, and the man who’s been hosting these two men for the past few days,” he explained, gesturing to Sirius and Peter.
Albus watched Cornelius. While the Minister didn’t have much love for anything he saw as Muggle interference into his business, he was still a shrewd politician who could recognize how much money owning an office building like the one they were in would mean, and money was something Cornelius could understand.
“Well, then you obviously know how dangerous Black is! I don’t know what he’s told you, but he’s a murderer,” Cornelius insisted. “He killed Peter Pettigrew, and a dozen more with a single spell. There were over fifty witnesses.”
“Oh, come off it Fudge,” Sirius snapped. “They were Muggles who didn’t have the first idea of what they saw. And I didn’t kill Peter, he’s right there on the table in front of you! Peter blew up the street himself to fake his death, he’s the traitor you want.”
Rufus stepped forward menacingly. “That’s the Minister you’re speaking to, Black. If I had my way, you’d be gagged and shackled.” Albus didn’t miss the way Rufus was fingering his wand. The Head Auror had always been a man of action, but once he had an idea in his head, it was difficult to dissuade him from his course.
“But since he’s technically my prisoner, we’re not going to do that,” the Marshal said.
“And just who are you, anyways?” Rufus growled. “I was told the Americans were taking this seriously. Clearly that’s not the case.”
“I’m Marshal Mark McCain, and I’m the man in charge of all the Marshals in New England. And the fact that I’m here means ‘the Americans’ are taking this seriously. I’ve got a vampire running around seducing schoolgirls, and he’s killed nearly two dozen so far. Up north I’ve got a family feud going back two hundred years ready to explode again unless I figure out a way to step in without getting my head blown off. And just this morning, I got word that some rustler’s made off with half a dozen unicorns from the Mohegan Warded Reserve. Considering that’s just what’s going on in my personal jurisdiction, and not the other five states I’m also responsible for protecting, I’d say I have more important things to do.”
Marshal McCain took a seat at the table. “Now, we can all sit around jawing all day, or we can get down to the business of figuring out why you want this man here for murder, when the person you’re so hopped up about him killing is alive and in front of you.”
Albus was the first to sit down, and Minerva led Harry and Ron out of the room. Cornelius was shaking his head as he left the Aurors to stand guard around him.
“Marshal, I apologize if you feel you’ve been slighted, but Black is one of the worst Dark Wizards Britain has ever produced, just behind He Who Must Not Be Named himself. It’s obvious to me that he’s used some kind of terrible Dark Magic to make this heinous facsimile. I, for one, am not going to be fooled.”
Marshal McCain shook his head. “As far as I can tell, that’s a regular wizard. Only magic on him are the spells keeping him unconscious.”
“Having known Peter Pettigrew for many years before his disappearance, I feel I can say with reasonable certainty that this is him,” Albus said, twisting his wand in a detection spell. “And I can say with absolute certainty that there are no traces of alchemical, necromantic, or illusionary magic on him. Unless Peter had an unknown twin that managed to stay concealed for the past thirty-four years, then we must re-examine the events that we thought we knew.”
“Fine, I’ll go along with this farce,” Cornelius said. “But no amount of storytelling will change the fact that at the end of the day, Sirius Black is a criminal! I was there when he was caught.”
“We can argue about who’s a criminal and who’s not when we’ve got everything laid out,” Marshal McCain said. “Let’s hear your story.”
“If you don’t mind, Marshal, I think I will handle the questioning,” Amelia interjected. “Sirius Black is a fugitive from our government, and unless you’ve gotten your hands on confidential DMLE documents, I know this case better than you.”
Marshal McCain motioned for her to proceed and leaned back in his chair.
“Now then, let’s start at the beginning.”
0oOo0
Minerva guided her two wayward students out of the room, seeing no reason to expose them to the inquisition the Minister would be leading. Besides, she had questions of her own.
"Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, it's good to see you're both doing well. I trust you are doing well?"
"Of course, Professor. Why wouldn't we be?" Harry said.
"Well, you've both spent the last few days in the company of an escaped convict, which to some, could be unsettling."
"Can't be a convict if you've never been convicted. Sirius Black never got a trial, and Pettigrew's been in hiding for more than a decade, so neither one is really a convict."
"There's no need to be difficult, Mister Potter. Well, Mister Weasley? How have you been? Your mother's been worried sick, and she's made sure I know it."
"I've been fine, honest Professor. Alfred is a great cook, and they've got this Muggle thing called a telly that they've been letting me watch. It’s great, even better than the programs on the Wizarding Wireless. It’s not just words, it’s pictures too, but instead of a little bit of movement, it’s whole stories–”
“I’m aware of what a television is, Mister Weasley. Have you been spending every moment since your arrival in front of it?”
“No!” Ron immediately denied.
“Yeah, he comes out to eat every few hours,” Harry added helpfully.
Minerva sighed. “I suppose I can’t blame you for getting absorbed in Muggle television, Mister Weasley, especially since exams have finished. Now that I know the two of you are okay, might I ask what the two of you were thinking throughout all this?”
Ron started to stammer out an answer, and Minerva prepared herself for a string of terrible excuses.
“All I can say is that while it may look bad, everything we did made sense at the time,” Harry said.
Minerva arched her eyebrow. She’d reduced students to tears with that eyebrow. “Looks bad? Mister Potter, your actions have led to an international incident; that is far more than ‘looks bad’.”
“If it makes you feel better, we weren’t trying to do that. At the beginning, all we were trying to do was catch Ron’s pet rat, so really, none of this is our fault.”
Minerva felt a headache coming on. “I will be the judge of that, Mister Potter. Start at the beginning.”
“It really does make sense, once you know the whole story, but I warn you, it’s a little unbelievable.”
Ron nodded. “I lived it, and I’m still not sure I believe it.”
Minerva listened as Harry talked, and if it wasn't the whole truth, it was as close as any Hogwarts student ever got. That didn't stop it from being a giant mess of a story, full of utterly impossible coincidences. Honestly, if Alfred hadn't been so kind as to provide her with a cup of strong tea, she wasn't sure she would have made it through.
"After the doctor checked us out, that's when I sent Dobby off with the letters to get all this set up. Or at least let the right people know so they could get this all set up."
Minerva didn't trust Harry's innocent grin for a second. A normal Third Year? They'd never be able to organize something like this, but Harry was hardly a normal Third Year, especially if the rumors she heard regarding the Abbotts were correct. Normal Third Years didn't get themselves involved in international business, either.
"Mister Potter, that has to be one of the most outlandish tales I have ever heard in all my years of teaching, barring certain tales from your father or Mister Weasley's brothers. If you didn't have Peter Pettigrew himself in the other room, I wouldn't believe you for a second. However, based on the evidence and Mister Weasley's corroboration, I'm forced to believe you are, in fact, telling the truth, fantastical as it may be."
"Well, you know what they say about the truth being stranger than fiction. Where do we go from here?” Harry asked.
“We wait until the meeting is over, and then the two of you will accompany me back to Hogwarts. Mister Weasley, you should expect to see your mother at the castle, she is determined to see you as soon as you step foot back on British soil.”
Harry furrowed his brow. “Professor, do I really have to go back? Exams are long over, and there’s only what, two days left of term? How much are we really going to do that I’m going to miss?”
Minerva arched her eyebrow. She should have expected this argument. “Just because exams are finished does not mean we are done with you yet, Mister Potter. There are summer assignments to be assigned, and exam results to be passed out. Not to mention the Leaving Feast.”
“Both things that can be owled to me, Professor, and unless someone in Slytherin blew up part of the castle, they’ve got the House Cup locked up tight, so I don’t really need to see Hufflepuff lose the Cup again. And remember, if I go back with you, I’ll have to fly home from London, and international travel the Muggle way is a lot slower than the Magic way. I’m already home, I might as well stay here, don’t you think?”
Minerva pursed her lips. Harry really should go back to Hogwarts, but he wasn’t entirely off the mark with his points. “Very well, Mister Potter. If you can prove to me that you don’t need to go back to Hogwarts, you may stay.”
Harry nodded, the same look on his face that Lily wore whenever she was challenged to something. “Great, what do you want me to do?”
Minerva pointed to one of the unused chairs. “Transfigure that chair. Impress me.”
“Alright, here we go…”
Harry shook out his hands and pointed his wand at the chair. Not quite the right angle for peak efficiency, Minerva noted, but one that would allow for a smoother transition from one transfiguration to another. Not the method she preferred, but one that was still technically correct.
The chair swelled and changed color as Harry murmured. Within fifteen seconds, the spell was done and there was a baby black bear where the chair had been a moment before.
“Chair to bear, very nice, Mister Potter, now let me see,” Minerva said. “Shape is right, but the eyes don’t match, and you should work on the texture of the fur, it’s not quite right. I assume you transfigured a baby because of Decadon’s Sympathetic Properties of Age?”
“Babies are easier to transfigure because babies are already used to change, yes. Also, I would have needed more material for an adult, and a baby’s less likely to try to break my control and attack us.”
“Very good, Mister Potter, all excellent reasons. Certainly above what I expect from a Third Year student, but you’ll find I won’t be so lenient come exam time next year. Clean up those details, or you’ll never truly master Transfiguration. Now then, turn the nice bear back into a chair, and you will have satisfied me.”
Harry obliged her, and quickly the bear was a chair once more. “Alright Mister Potter, as Deputy Headmistress, I release you from the final two days of school. I’ll speak with your teachers about getting your summer assignments owled to you, and perhaps you can send your house elf to pick up your belongings.”
A door banged open down the hall. “I believe that is our cue that we’re finished here. Mister Potter, I do hope you have a good summer. Mister Weasley, come along.”
Minerva met Albus out in the hall after watching the Minister storm past. “I take it things didn’t proceed as the Minister envisioned?”
“Well, Sirius Black is going to have his name cleared rather than the Dementor’s Kiss, so no, they did not. However, the fact that he’ll be able to present Peter Pettigrew as the true betrayers of the Potters should bring his mood up after he’s had some time to think about it. That said, Sirius did inform me that he has no plans to return to Britain for the next ten years or so, something about it being safer over here in the colonies.”
“Really, are you sure he’s thinking straight, Albus?”
“I suspect it’s just a cover to hide how much he wants to be close to Harry. He’s missed so many years, after all.”
“Ah, of course, and after Azkaban, I doubt this country could be much worse.”