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The day had dawned clear and bright, an unseasonably warm morning for late autumn. The pristine suburban streets of Little Whinging, Surrey, lay quiet and undisturbed, save for the occasional chirp of a bird or the hum of a passing car. Number Four, Privet Drive, stood as it always did - a beacon of conformity with its neat hedges, freshly painted door, and sparklingly clean windows. Inside, however, a storm was about to hit that none of its inhabitants could have anticipated.

The quiet of the street was broken as several police cars sped down the street, sirens blaring, pulling in just in front of Number Four. The noise drew the attention of the entire neighborhood - exactly as planned.

Sirius sat comfortably in the passenger seat of an inconspicuous black car parked just down the street. The vehicle was glamoured to look like a detective's police car, and with the cars converging on Number Four, they also moved forward. Next to him, Remus drove, looking distinctly uneasy.

"You're really going through with this?" Remus asked, his voice low but strained with concern.

"Of course," Sirius replied, utterly unrepentant as he straightened his muggle outfit. To the muggle eye, they would be two stern-faced detectives on an important mission, leading a search warrant on those dastardly criminals- the Dursleys.

"This is petty even for you," Remus muttered, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

He hadn't exactly been pleased with what he'd been told about the Dursleys either.

"They deserve it," Sirius said, his voice turning cold. His usual irreverence was gone, replaced by a quiet but burning rage. "I've told you about the cupboard, Moony. The cupboard. They left Harry there like some unwanted piece of furniture. If I hadn't intervened, they would have broken him down into something unrecognizable. Tell me, does that sound like they don't deserve a little public humiliation?"

Technically, these Dursleys hadn't done much above some minor neglect - but Sirius was petty enough to punish them for what they would have done - if he hadn't intervened.

Remus sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "No, it doesn't," He admitted reluctantly. "But Sirius, muggles don't handle this sort of thing well. It's..."

"Too much like muggle-baiting?" Sirius finished for him. "Perhaps. But it's not like I'm hexing them or tossing them in Azkaban, now am I? This is just a nudge to remind them of their crime in neglecting Harry." He smiled sharply, his teeth gleaming like a wolf's. "Where it hurts most - their reputation."

Remus couldn't argue with that. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat but fell silent. The sound of distant footsteps brought both men's attention to the group of Aurors gathering outside Number Four's front door. They weren't wearing their usual robes but were instead glamoured to appear as police officers. Their enthusiasm for the assignment was evident.

As Minister, Sirius constantly had a detail around him, so it wasn't like he could do this without them - so he'd told them what they were doing, and more importantly, why.

They had joined in on this theater with gusto after that.

"Ready?" Sirius called out, sticking his head out of the car window.

"Ready, Sir!" one of the Aurors called back, a burly man named Dobson, who grinned like a kid about to unwrap a particularly satisfying Christmas gift.

Sirius gave them the signal, and the Aurors moved into position. With a loud bang, the door to Number Four was slammed through as the 'cops' broke down the door, drawing curious eyes from behind lace curtains and barely cracked windows, some neighbors beginning to cautiously emerge from their houses to gawk

Remus winced at the dramatic entry. "You couldn't have just have them knock?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Sirius asked cheerfully, stepping out of the car to watch the proceedings with a satisfied air.

Inside the house, chaos reigned. Vernon Dursley, red-faced and blustering, was bellowing incomprehensible protests as two Aurors restrained him on the couch. His beady eyes bulged in his purpling face, and his jowls quivered with fury. Petunia sat beside him, her pale face frozen in shock, her thin hands clasped tightly in her lap. Dudley, meanwhile, had been whisked away by a pair of Aurors and was being entertained with harmless charms to keep him out of the way.

Dobson, towering at over seven feet tall, took a deep breath and began shouting accusations that could be heard halfway down the block. "We've got them dead to rights!" He roared, his voice carrying like a town crier's. "Child abuse, neglect, drug dealing!"

Sirius had given him carte blanche to make up whatever he wanted as charges. He struggled to keep a stern face as he approached the door, Dobson still shouting out charges, audible to the gathering crowd of neighbors.

"Tax evasion, fraud, public fornication, impersonating the Queen! Public fornication while impersonating the Queen!" Dobson continued as Remus gave Sirius an exasperated look as they finally entered the living room.

Vernon turned an even deeper shade of purple, his mustache quivering with rage as he tried to bellow a denial. Unfortunately for him, the silencing charm placed over his mouth rendered his attempts useless.

Dobson wasn't finished. He jabbed a finger toward the front door, as if addressing an invisible crowd as he bellowed louder than ever. "And finally, sheep buggering! What disgusting behavior, Dursley! Where did you even find sheep around here, huh!?"

Sirius, standing back and allowing the man his moment, doubled over in laughter. "I might have to give that man a raise," He managed to say between guffaws.

He doubted the neighbors would ever let Vernon live down a charge of sheep buggering.

Sirius was already low-key planning to plant unremovable inflatable sheep on their lawn for Christmas, for the rest of Vernon's life.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, torn between exasperation and reluctant amusement. "Sirius, you do realize people are going to talk about this for years, don't you?"

The look on Petunia's face as she heard Remus say that, really made Sirius day.

"Good," Sirius replied breezily, giving Petunia a dark smile. "The Dursleys deserve a permanent black mark on their perfect little suburban paradise. Let's see how they like being pariahs for a change."

Petunia had begun wringing her hands, her long neck craning like a frightened bird's as she darted glances toward the front window, where she could see curious neighbors gathering to watch the commotion. Her worst nightmare was unfolding before her eyes.

Couldn't happen to a better person.

"Sirius," Remus said quietly, his voice cutting through the din. "End it now, no point in sticking anything else on them, alright? Just... Let's find Harry and let's get out of here."

Sirius's expression softened, just a fraction. "You're right. Enough theatrics. Let's get Harry."

He turned to address the Dursley's. "Ah, the lovely guardians of my godson," He said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He approached them with a predatory grace, his piercing gray eyes boring into Vernon's. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you both."

Vernon flinched at that, angry eyes turning Petunia's way. Even this whale was able to understand he'd met with Petunia. And hadn't told him.

Oh, did I create trouble in paradise? He thought sarcastically, my bad, I'll get him a complimentary sheep to make up for it.

Petunia flinched at his words, jaw trembling for a moment. "You!" She hissed, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

"Yes, me," Sirius said with a mock bow. "Now, before we continue, Dobson?"

The towering Auror turned, his face split into a gleeful grin. "Yes, sir?"

"Be a dear and go interview the neighbors, won't you?" Sirius said, his smile turning razor-sharp. "Make sure they all understand just how vile these people are. And be loud about it."

"With pleasure, sir," Dobson replied, his tone gleeful as he turned and stomped out the door.

The Dursleys' faces went pale as they watched him leave. Vernon struggled against his magical restraints, veins bulging in his neck as he tried to shout through the silencing charm.

Sirius ignored him, turning to Remus with a calm expression. "Go upstairs and find Harry, will you? Take him to the car. I'll handle things here."

Remus hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Be quick about it," He said, disappearing up the staircase.

Sirius turned back to the Dursleys, his expression hardening. "Now, let's have a little chat, shall we?" He said, his voice dangerously low.

Petunia quailed under his gaze, her bony hands twisting together in her lap. Vernon, silenced and furious, could only glare at him with impotent rage.

For Sirius, it was almost poetic. They had treated Harry like a nuisance, something to be hidden and ignored. Now it was their turn to feel powerless, to be at the mercy of someone stronger than them.

Justice, he thought with grim satisfaction, was long overdue.

Was it morally wrong to punish them for what they would have done?

He didn't give a damn.

The living room of Number Four, Privet Drive, was uncomfortably silent for a minute after that. Vernon Dursley's face was a mottled shade of purple, his mustache bristling as he glared daggers at Sirius. Petunia sat stiff and rigid beside him, her knobby hands gripping the edge of the couch so tightly her knuckles turned white. Their usual air of smug superiority was nowhere to be found. Instead, they looked like cornered animals, twitchy and desperate.

Sirius stood before them eying them darkly, behind him, the Aurors loomed like grim-faced sentinels, arms crossed, making it very clear to the Dursleys they had no possible out here.

With a flick of his wand, Sirius ended the silencing charm. Vernon immediately erupted, his voice booming in the enclosed space.

"HOW DARE YOU BREAK INTO MY HOUSE!?" He bellowed, his face quivering with rage. "I'LL HAVE YOUR BADGES FOR THIS! YOU PEOPLE THINK YOU CAN JUST -"

"Quiet." Sirius's voice was sharp, icy, and it sliced through Vernon's tirade like a knife. The room fell silent again, the oppressive weight of Sirius's authority settling over the Dursleys.

He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a stack of parchment, bound neatly with a golden ribbon. He set it on the coffee table in front of them, the papers making a soft thump against the wood.

"This," Sirius began, his tone calm but cold, "is a contract. It states, in no uncertain terms, that you are relinquishing all rights to Harry James Potter. You will no longer be his guardians. You will no longer have any authority over his life. You will never see him again."

Petunia's lips thinned into a tight line, her pale face flushing with anger. "You can just take him away!" She hissed. "We don't want him, just fix this… This travesty! Use your…" She made a face like she'd sucked on a lemon, whispering, "Magic." Before continuing, "He was left here -"

"Against your will," Sirius interrupted smoothly, his gray eyes pinning her in place. "Yes, I know. And believe me, that little detail has been thoroughly documented in the contract as part of your statement."

He'd been a nice enough bloke to write their entire statement up for them. No need to trouble them with the particulars.

Or tell them how the document had them admit child abuse and neglect…

Vernon's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?" He growled.

Sirius smiled, but it was a cold, humorless thing. "It means that the contract includes a full acknowledgment that Harry was forced upon you by one Albus Dumbledore, with no consultation, no option to decline, and no alternative arrangements provided. It doesn't exonerate you, but It does provide testimony that you were preyed upon in a way by a wizard whom you couldn't refuse."

Not too unlike this situation, really, but at least Sirius had the balls to fuck them over face to face.

"Your own abuse… We're willing to leave it as it is, if you sign." Sirius said coldly. Only somewhat lying.

He wouldn't press charges. They got Harry early enough nothing truly bad had been done anyway.

But once he moved against Dumbledore… Their names as the abusers of the boy-who-lived would be public record and it would not be by his hand they got further comeuppance.

And that was if these lovely Aurors didn't spill the beans before then.

Petunia's mouth snapped shut, her face pale as a sheet. Vernon looked furious but remained silent, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Even they realized they would get no better deal.

Sirius gestured to the parchments again. "This is your chance to avoid immediate public disgrace - or at least mitigate the damage. Sign the contract, and I take Harry. I won't press charges, and I'll leave you to rebuild your precious little reputation. Refuse..." His smile widened slightly, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. "And I let my Aurors share every sordid detail with your neighbors. Shall I start with the cupboard? After that I could just make shit up and they'd believe it."

Petunia let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. Vernon looked like he might explode, but even he seemed to understand the precariousness of their position. The threat was clear, the choice obvious.

With shaking hands, Petunia reached for the quill Sirius offered her. She hesitated, glancing up at him with pleading eyes. "You'll fix this, won't you?" She whispered. "Fix our reputation? Make sure the neighbors don't think..."

Sirius's smile turned icy. "I'll do my best," He said insincerely, his tone dripping with false sweetness.

The Dursleys signed the contract. Petunia's signature was jagged, her hand trembling. Vernon pressed the quill so hard it nearly tore the parchment, his rage barely contained. When it was done, Sirius took the documents, tucking them back into his coat with a sense of finality.

"Good," He said, his tone brisk. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a child to take home."

At that moment, Remus reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, Harry cradled securely in his arms. The toddler blinked sleepily, his small hands clutching at Remus's robes. The sight of him - so small, only hardened Sirius's resolve.

"Let's go everyone, the Dursleys are fragile folks, no need to continue to infect them with our freakishness." Sirius said coldly, leading the way.

Petunia surged to her feet, her bony frame trembling. "You can't just leave us like this!" she shrieked. "We signed it! You promised to fix -"

"Goodbye, Petunia," Sirius said curtly, cutting her off as he strode out the door.

The Dursleys scrambled after him, their protests following him out onto the front lawn. A crowd of neighbors had gathered by now, their curious and judgmental faces peering out from behind fences and hedges. Sirius paused, surveying the scene with amusement.

He cleared his throat loudly, drawing all eyes to him. "The Dursleys," He said in a monotone, his voice carrying over the hushed murmurs of the crowd, "Are definitely not criminals."

There was a beat of silence before he pulled out a stack of conjured bills, thumbing through them casually as if inspecting their authenticity. He stuffed the notes back into his pocket with an air of indifference, his expression unreadable.

There. He helped.

Petunia fainted, and to his amusement Vernon didn't even react, the man simply gaping at the crowd of onlookers, face white.

Without another word, he turned and climbed into the waiting car. Remus was already seated in the back, Harry fast asleep against his chest. The Aurors followed quickly. As the car pulled away from Number Four, Sirius allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

By the time Dumbledore arrived at Privet Drive, having been held up by a critical meeting Sirius had orchestrated, Harry was already safe at Grimmauld Place.

With the Ministry and Prophet behind him - Dumbledore was left with very few options.

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Hours later, Grimmauld Place.

The sitting room at Grimmauld Place felt far too small, even though it was vast by most standards. The high ceilings and richly embroidered curtains should have added a sense of grandeur, but to Sirius, they seemed to press down on him, making the air thick and stifling. He sat in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, a nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey perched on the small table beside him. His fingers tapped against the armrest in an uncharacteristic display of nervous energy, the sound helping distract him from the soft murmur of Remus' voice across the room.

Remus was crouched in front of a small child with untidy black hair and green eyes far too solemn for someone so young. Harry Potter sat on the carpet, legs tucked underneath him, staring up at Remus with an expression that was equal parts curious and cautious. His little hands clutched the hem of his oversized jumper - a relic of his time with the Dursleys that they hadn't been able to pry off him yet - he seemed unsure of whether to trust what was happening, even if he knew Remus by now.

"This is your new home, Harry," Remus said softly, his voice gentle. He gestured around the room. "It's a little old, but it's safe, and you'll be with us now. Me and Sirius."

At the mention of Sirius's name, Harry's wide green eyes flicked toward the man in the chair. Sirius stiffened under the gaze, his attempt at a smile turning into something closer to a grimace. He looked away quickly, grabbing the firewhiskey bottle and pouring himself another generous glass.

He knew he shouldn't have gotten involved in the kids' life. He was entirely unsuitable. Why wasn't he dumping this entire thing on Remus again?

Remus sighed and turned his attention back to Harry. "That man over there," He said, nodding toward Sirius, "Is your godfather. He's a bit grumpy sometimes, but he's a good man. And he cares about you very much."

If only it was that simple… Sirius thought.

Harry tilted his head, as if considering this information, but said nothing. His gaze lingered on Sirius, who was now staring into his glass like it held the answers to life's mysteries.

"Relax, Sirius," Remus said, his tone exasperated but affectionate. "You look like you're dying."

Sirius snorted into his glass, though there was no real humor in it. "I know how to deal with dying, Remus," He muttered, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I'm an expert, really. Children... Now that's a different matter entirely."

Especially this one. The chosen one. Sirius could fix the Ministry, the country, but a kid? Anything he'd do would likely make a kid a thousand times worse then what canon wrought.

Remus gave him a long, pointed look before turning back to Harry. "You'll be alright here," He continued, as if Sirius's discomfort didn't exist. "We'll take care of you, I promise. No more cupboards, no more nasty relatives. Just a home. Your home."

Harry blinked, his small face still serious, though there was a flicker of something softer - hope, perhaps - in his eyes. He reached out tentatively to touch Remus's sleeve, his fingers curling around the fabric.

Sirius wondered if his silence was due to the Dursley's, or the suddenness of his new situation, was he supposed to do something? Get a therapist? Buy him toys to make him comfortable?

His fingers tightened around the glass, he hadn't felt this uncomfortable since Azkaban, something tight clenching in his chest.

"You're safe now," Remus said firmly, his hand resting lightly on Harry's shoulder.

Sirius downed the rest of his drink in one go and set the glass down with a sharp clink.

"I should -" He began, his voice rough. He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. "I should talk to him… Right?"

Remus arched an eyebrow. "I think that would be a good idea."

Remus was studying him in a way he knew meant the man was growing worried.

Not like Sirius could say he was torn between a memory of loving the kid, and a larger part who didn't want anything to do with him, rather focusing on his goal.

Sirius stood, the motion stiff and awkward, as if his limbs were betraying him. He crossed the room slowly, each step heavier than it needed to be, and knelt down awkwardly in front of Harry. He wasn't sure what to say or how to say it.

"Uh... Hey, kid," Sirius said, his voice strained. He ran a hand through his hair, his usual charm nowhere to be found. "I know this is... Different for you. But you're going to be safe here. I promise."

Harry stared at him, his small face still solemn. Sirius felt like the weight of those green eyes was too much to bear. He looked away, scratching the back of his neck.

"You'll be taken care of," Sirius continued, his words halting and stilted. "You'll have everything you need. And Remus will look after you."

"And you too," Remus interjected firmly from behind him, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sirius's lips twitched in an approximation of a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. Me too." He lied.

He turned back to Harry, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "Remus will take care of you," He said again, almost as if he were reassuring himself. Then, without another word, he pushed himself to his feet and fled the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Remus watched him go, his brow furrowing in disapproval. He sighed, turning back to Harry and offering the boy a reassuring smile. "Don't mind him," He said softly. "He's just... Figuring things out. We both are."

…

Sirius wandered aimlessly through the inner halls of Grimmauld Place, his thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and self-loathing. He hated how he'd handled that - hated how he'd fled. What kind of godfather bolted at the first sign of responsibility?

"Idiot," He muttered under his breath, his hands clenched into fists. "Bloody useless idiot."

He found himself in a dim corridor lined with portraits of scowling ancestors, their disapproving faces echoing the voices in his head in his imagination. You're not fit to raise him. You'll only ruin him. You have more important things to do. An equal world requires sacrifices.

Sirius slammed his fist against the wall, the impact sending a dull ache through his hand but doing little to quiet the storm in his mind. He hated himself for even going near the kid, hated the way his presence seemed destined to poison everything it touched. Harry deserves someone better - someone whole. Not a broken man who had come out of Azkaban as a man willing to do anything to change the world.

His hands would be too bloody to touch a pure soul like Harry's.

He sank onto a nearby bench, burying his face in his hands. He didn't know what he wanted, didn't know how to fix the mess inside him. And until he figured that out, he had no business being anywhere near Harry.

The sound of quiet footsteps drew his attention. He looked up to see Remus standing in the doorway, his expression soft but firm.

"You're not doing him - or yourself - any favors by running away, you know," Remus said quietly.

Sirius didn't respond. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tight.

Remus sighed and crossed the room, sitting down beside him. "He needs you, Sirius. You're his godfather. He's lost everything, and then just now had his world turned upside down again, and you're all he has left."

"I'm not good enough for him," Sirius said finally, his voice raw. "I'll just mess him up."

"Then be better," Remus said simply. "He doesn't need you to be perfect, Sirius. He just needs you to try."

Sirius let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not," Remus admitted. "But nothing worth doing ever is."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between them. Finally, Remus clapped a hand on Sirius's shoulder and stood.

"Come back when you're ready," He said. "But don't take too long. Harry needs you."

As Remus left the room, Sirius leaned back against the wall, his eyes drifting closed. He didn't know how to do this.

No matter what Remus said…

The kid would be better off with Remus and some professionals looking after him.

He stood up, going to look for the nearest repository of alcohol.

He needed to stop feeling things for a moment.

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Two days later, Grimmauld Place.

The morning sun streamed through the enchanted windows of Sirius office. Parchments were strewn across his polished desk, some teetering on the edge, and an untouched cup of coffee sat cold and forgotten. Sirius leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of irritation and discomfort as he glared at the latest parchment in front of him. Across from him, Narcissa Malfoy sat with an air of poised patience, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her growing irritation.

"This one's a definite no," Sirius said firmly, tossing the parchment aside.

Narcissa arched a perfectly shaped brow, her manicured fingers delicately adjusting a strand of her platinum blonde hair. "Why?" She asked, her voice cool and measured.

"Her name is Petal Moonbeam," Sirius replied with a grimace. "That alone disqualifies her. Harry needs a nanny, not a failed flower child who's going to chant about chakras and sprinkle fairy dust on him."

Even the magical world had hippies apparently.

Narcissa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Sirius, she came highly recommended. She's worked with several prominent wizarding families, all of whom praised her discipline and care."

"Doesn't matter," Sirius said stubbornly. "The name's a red flag. Next."

This person would be around Harry. Raising him alongside Remus. Nothing less than perfection was allowed.

Narcissa's lips thinned, but she plucked another parchment from the stack beside her and slid it across the desk. "Fine. What about this one? Rebecca Goldstein. Pureblood, educated, experienced with magical children."

Sirius skimmed the parchment, then shook his head. "Nope. She worked for the Parkinsons for three years. I don't trust anyone who could stomach that family for that long."

Also, only three years? He thought, red flag.

"That's ridiculous!" Narcissa snapped, her patience wearing thin. "Just because she worked for the Parkinsons doesn't mean she's unfit. She might be exactly what Harry needs."

"Or she might teach him to hex first-years for looking at him funny when he starts Hogwarts," Sirius retorted, his tone edging toward petulance.

Narcissa let out an exasperated breath, tossing her hands in the air. "You've rejected every single candidate so far, Sirius. Petal Moonbeam is too whimsical, Rebecca Goldstein is too connected, and Meredith Trent was - what was it? Too tidy?"

"She was too tidy," Sirius said defensively. "Did you see how she put organizing and proper decorum as her most valuable asset? Harry's going to grow up thinking he has to iron his socks or something."

Narcissa stared at him, her eyes narrowing. "Sirius," She said slowly, her tone dangerously calm. "Are you being impossibly picky because none of these nannies are good enough... Or because you're panicking about raising Harry?"

Sirius flinched, the words hitting closer to home than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding her gaze. "I'm not panicking," He muttered, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him. "I just want the best for him."

"And you think rejecting every qualified nanny will somehow achieve that?" Narcissa asked, leaning forward slightly. "Sirius, I've known you for a long while. You're not this difficult without a reason. So tell me - what's really going on?"

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. For a moment, he considered brushing her off with another quip, but the look in her eyes stopped him. Despite their differences, despite the years of estrangement, Narcissa knew him too well.

He couldn't fully trust her. But as long as their interests aligned, she could be counted to at least move in lockstep.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Cissy," He admitted finally, his voice low. "Harry deserves someone who can give him what he needs, someone who won't screw him up. I'm not that person. I never will be."

Narcissa's expression softened, and she reached across the desk, resting a hand on his arm. "Sirius, every parent feels that way. Do you think I wasn't terrified when Draco was born? I was convinced I'd ruin him somehow."

Sirius looked at her skeptically. "You? Terrified? I find that hard to believe."

Also, she kind of did ruin him in canon, or his daddy did anyway. Which kind of made him take her words with a pinch of salt.

She gave a wry smile. "Believe it. I was a mess. I kept thinking - what if I wasn't strict enough? What if I was too strict? What if he hated me? What if I failed to protect him?" Her voice softened further, her eyes distant. "There were nights I couldn't sleep, just lying there, staring at him and wondering how I could possibly be enough."

Sirius was silent, her words cutting through his defenses in a way he hadn't expected. He'd always thought of Narcissa as unflappable, the epitome of grace and control. Hearing her admit to doubts and fears made his own seem... Less insurmountable. Yet… It didn't change anything.

He was still not fit to raise a child.

"So what did you do?" He asked quietly.

Narcissa shrugged, her fingers tracing the edge of the desk. "I have done the best I could. I have made mistakes - Merlin knows I have made mistakes - but I love him and that's what matters most. Harry doesn't need you to be perfect, Sirius. He just needs you to be there."

"That's easier said than done," Sirius muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I have issues. I'm probably an alcoholic, I'll have more blood on my hands then Voldemort by the time I'm done, even if only through proxy, I am not…"

Narcissa's gaze sharpened, even as she shuddered for a moment at hearing that name, her voice taking on a firm edge. "You're not alone in this. You have Remus, you have me - Merlin, you even have Kreacher if you can tolerate him long enough to give him orders in regards to the child. And Harry isn't expecting you to be perfect, he's a lost child. He just needs to know you care."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. "I care," He said softly. "I just don't know if I care enough."

If he had to pick between his goal and Harry…

He wouldn't pick the kid.

That alone disqualified him from playing parent.

"Then start there, at caring, baby steps Sirius," Narcissa said simply. She picked up another parchment and handed it to him. "Now, stop overthinking this and read the next one. You're not going to find the perfect nanny, Sirius. But you'll find someone good enough."

He took the parchment reluctantly, his eyes scanning the neatly written details. It was exhausting, this whole process, but Narcissa's words lingered in his mind. Maybe he didn't have to have all the answers right now. Maybe it was enough to just try.

He threw the parchment down in disgust. Veronica Crabbe!?

Now he knew Narcissa was just messing with him!

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The next day, the Ministry of Magic.

The chamber of the Wizengamot was as imposing as ever, the members of the Wizengamot, resplendent in their deep plum robes, sat in the tiers of seats that encircled the chamber, their expressions varying from cold detachment to open hostility.

At the center of the room, bound by magical chains to a chair that seemed more like a throne of judgment, sat Peter Pettigrew. His small, rat-like frame trembled visibly, the metal links clinking softly with every twitch. His watery eyes darted around the room, desperate and pleading, though he found no sympathetic faces in the sea of observers. His cheeks were gaunt, his hair greasy and limp, and his lips trembled as if he were on the verge of sobbing.

Madame Amelia Bones stood tall and commanding at the prosecutor's podium, her square jaw set and her monocle glinting ominously in the torchlight. Her tone was clipped and professional as she outlined the charges against Pettigrew - betrayal, espionage, conspiracy, and the murder of twelve Muggles with a single curse. The weight of the evidence was overwhelming, and Pettigrew's Veritaserum-induced confessions had left little room for doubt.

Sirius sat beside her, his gray eyes were locked on Pettigrew, cold and unforgiving, and his hands rested lightly on the desk in front of him, though his fingers occasionally twitched, betraying the effort it took to keep himself still.

He was here not as a direct participant in the prosecution but as a silent overseer - a symbol of the justice that had been long denied. Pettigrew's betrayal had cast a shadow over Sirius's life, leading to his wrongful imprisonment in Azkaban. Today, Sirius was determined to ensure that justice was served, and if justice wasn't enough, vengeance would have to do.

And as with everything else, Pettigrews trial served a purpose beyond putting the traitor away.

Madame Bones was in her element in the courtroom. Her questions to Pettigrew were precise, slicing through the man's pitiful facade with ruthless efficiency. Under the influence of Veritaserum, Pettigrew's monotone voice spilled every damning truth - his role as a spy for Voldemort, his betrayal of the Potters, his staged death that framed Sirius, and his time spent in hiding as a rat. The chamber was silent save for his confessions, the weight of his guilt hanging heavy in the air.

The Wizengamot members, for the most part, listened impassively. The evidence was irrefutable, and there were no grand debates or fiery speeches. Pettigrew's fate was sealed before the trial had even begun.

Sirius's gaze flicked briefly to Dumbledore, who sat among the senior members of the Wizengamot. The old man's expression was unreadable, though his bright blue eyes were fixed intently on Sirius. He had been trying to get Sirius's attention all week - sending owls, messages, even Fawkes on one occasion - but Sirius had ignored every attempt. Now, Dumbledore seemed to be silently pleading, his gaze a forceful presence that Sirius pointedly refused to acknowledge.

Dumbledore was too powerful to fully remove, but it didn't mean he was safe. Even a thousand small cuts could bring down a behemoth.

Sirius couldn't afford to lose his entire faction, so it was a precarious dance where he needed to tarnish Dumbledore to his followers - while not seeming so antagonistic that Dumbledore would choose to openly fight him.

Now that Sirius had Harry under lock and key, Dumbledore couldn't alienate him too much, or he'd lose access, which gave him an advantage.

If he hadn't succeeded in acquiring the Prophet, things would be looking very different…

"Do you have anything to add, Minister Black?" Madame Bones asked, turning to him briefly after concluding her latest round of questioning.

Sirius stood slowly, his chair scraping against the stone floor as he rose. His movements were deliberate, almost casual, but there was an edge to his voice when he spoke. "Just a few questions, Madame Bones."

Amelia nodded curtly, stepping aside to allow Sirius the floor. He moved toward Pettigrew, his steps measured, his eyes locked on the quivering man in the chair. The chamber seemed to hold its collective breath as Sirius approached, his very presence commanding attention.

Everyone here remembered when he'd declared himself chosen by magic, the only ever survivor of the Dementor's kiss. It gave him a certain gravitas.

"Pettigrew," Sirius began, his voice deceptively calm, "During the time you were spying for Voldemort, did anyone else know about your activities?"

Pettigrew's lips moved silently for a moment before the Veritaserum forced him to answer. "No... No one knew."

"And yet," Sirius continued, tilting his head slightly, "You were given an order to spy on Death Eaters in bars and meeting places while in the Order of Phoenix, bringing you into contact with Death Eaters. Who gave you that order?"

It was something he hadn't known until Pettigrew had been interrogated. Something which made him denigrate Dumbledore even further. How in Morgana's bountiful booty had Dumbledore not suspected Peter if he had ordered the man to spend time around Death Eaters?

The room stirred at the unexpected line of questioning. Pettigrew blinked, his expression blank as the serum worked its magic. "Albus Dumbledore."

The murmurs grew louder, the name rippling through the chamber like a shockwave. Dumbledore, who had been sitting with his hands folded in his lap, straightened slightly, his calm facade slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of unease at the direction this was taking.

Sirius didn't believe for a moment Dumbledore knew, but the incompetence inherent in thinking the best of everyone was still something he'd blame the man for, and he would put it in the minds of the people.

"Dumbledore ordered you to spy on Death Eaters," Sirius repeated, his voice carrying clearly through the room. "Why?"

"To gather information," Pettigrew answered tonelessly. "To find out what they were planning."

Dumbledore rose from his seat, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "I fail to see how this is relevant to the trial, Minister."

Thank you Albus, do make yourself seem involved.

Sirius didn't look at him. "I think it's very relevant, Albus," He said coldly, continuing to address Pettigrew. "When we were preparing to hide James and Lily, when we were looking for a spy in the Order - did Dumbledore know you were spending time with Death Eaters? Had he already ordered you to spy on them at this time?"

"Yes," Pettigrew said, his monotone delivery making the word seem all the more damning.

The murmurs turned to outright whispers, Wizengamot members glancing between Sirius and Dumbledore with expressions ranging from curiosity to unease.

It wasn't a silver bullet. But it did put some serious questions on what the old man had been thinking.

Sirius leaned closer to Pettigrew, his voice dropping slightly, though it still carried. "Did he know you were a Death Eater?"

He doubted it, but it needed to be asked at this point.

"No," Pettigrew replied.

Sirius straightened, his face carefully neutral, though his eyes were hard as steel. "No further questions," He said, turning and walking back to his seat without sparing a glance at Dumbledore.

The chamber was buzzing now, the members exchanging hushed words, their expressions contemplative. Sirius sat down, his face an unreadable mask, but inwardly he was satisfied. He couldn't openly attack Dumbledore - not yet - but he could plant seeds of doubt. Questions had been raised, and in the world of politics, questions were often more damaging than answers.

The truth, as always, wasn't nearly as fun as speculation and scandal.

As the trial moved toward its conclusion, Sirius allowed himself a small, private smile. By tomorrow, the Prophet would run the story of Pettigrew's confession, alongside an exposé about Harry's time with the Dursleys. Dumbledore would have his hands full with damage control, his once-untouchable reputation chipped away, piece by piece.

And as for Pettigrew... Sirius's gaze flicked back to the trembling man in the center of the room. The Dementors could have him for now. Let him feel the cold, the despair, the suffocating darkness that Sirius knew all too well. It wasn't justice, not entirely, but it was a start.

He'd end Azkaban, that was already set in stone.

Until then… Peter joining the demons in that hell wouldn't make him shed any tears.

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That night, The Ministry of Magic.

The Ministry's holding cells were nothing like the grandeur of its upper levels. Cold stone walls loomed around Sirius as he strode through the well lit corridor, the air thick with the faint scent of despair.

With the Ministry clean up in progress, Moody had begun filling these cells with plenty of now former employees.

Even still, corruption wasn't entirely eroded, something he was taking advantage of.

The head guard on duty had been easy enough to handle. He was suspected of being willing to take bribes - but had passed his Veritaserum screening for any previous action, Sirius knew. So a quick glamour and a few hundred coins, had him let down into the cells - proving the guard was indeed willing, and felt safe now that he was past the screening. A quick charm to adjust his memory on his way back, and Bones would come down on the guard later, taking another corrupt member of the Ministry down.

A bonus to tonight's work really.

It hadn't been hard, even. Which showed how much he needed to upgrade the defenses.

The hardest part had been getting away from his security detail, some Polyjuice doing the trick, no one tested the Minister in his office after all. It meant he didn't have too much time however…

It would be awkward if his secretary turned back to herself before he was back.

The corruption of the head guard left Sirius free to walk unchallenged. He moved with purpose, his steps echoing ominously against the stone as he approached the cell where Bartemius Crouch Sr. awaited his fate.

Crouch sat on the narrow cot bolted to the wall, his back ramrod straight despite the dank surroundings. His prison robes were almost immaculate, even after days of captivity, although his usually immaculately groomed hair was disheveled. Even now, there was an air of haughty indignation about him, his sharp eyes glaring daggers at the door as Sirius entered.

"Black," Crouch spat, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. "I see you've come to gloat."

Sirius stopped just short of the bars, his hands resting casually in the pockets of his robes. His expression was a mix of mockery and disdain, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. "Gloat? Maybe a little. Mostly, I came to see if the great Bartemius Crouch had finally found a way to justify having a Death Eater stashed away in his wardrobe."

Crouch's lips twisted into a snarl. "I did what I had to do for my family. You, of all people, should understand that sacrifices are necessary to maintain order. But no, instead of standing by me, you let me rot in here after all I've done for you."

Sirius tilted his head, his gray eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, yes. You did so much for me, didn't you? Let's not forget the pinnacle of your service - throwing me into Azkaban without a trial. Really, Barty, it's a wonder I didn't send you a thank-you card."

Crouch's face reddened, and he gripped the bars of his cell tightly, his knuckles whitening. "I got you elected, Black! I used my influence to clear the path for you. You owe me!"

Sirius chuckled darkly, his tone laced with venom. "I owe you? No, Crouch, what I owe you is nothing short of poetic justice. If you didn't have skeletons - quite literally - in your closet, you wouldn't be here. You made your bed; now you get to lie in it."

Of course. Even if he hadn't had a hidden Death Eater son in his home, Sirius would have made up something and made it stick. Crouch was never going to get away with putting him in Azkaban.

Sirius was just cold enough to get his use out of the man before he served up his revenge.

The former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well as International Cooperation, let out a bitter laugh, his eyes blazing with fury. "You think you're untouchable, don't you? Riding high on your throne, thinking you can crush anyone who opposes you. But I'll tell them everything I know about you, Black. Tomorrow, at that trial, I'll drag your name through the mud so thoroughly, you'll wish you'd never crossed me."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "By all means, Barty, do try. I'm sure your credibility as the man who hid a convicted Death Eater under his roof will win over the Wizengamot."

Quite frankly, Sirius found him amusing, why exactly did he think Sirius was down here?

Crouch's breathing quickened, his anger boiling over. "You think I don't know some of your secrets? You think I won't turn the tide against you? You'll be a pariah before this is over!"

For a moment, Sirius said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he withdrew his wand from the inside of his robes, the polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light. He twirled it idly between his fingers as he regarded Crouch with cold detachment.

It was why he was down here, of course. A political operator like Crouch wouldn't have moved forward with Sirius without some insurance. Whatever he'd snooped out, it would not come out on Sirius' watch.

Crouch's eyes widened, his anger giving way to alarm. "You're mad," He hissed. "Any magic in these cells will trigger the alarms. You wouldn't dare."

Sirius's smirk widened, his voice dripping with mockery. "Ah, yes, the vaunted security of the Ministry. Except… It turns out not every corrupt Auror has been purged just yet." He took a step closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "The alarms are temporarily… Disabled."

The head guard really had let the almighty galleon and passing the first Veritaserum test blind him. The disabling of the alarms was always going to catch him once the morning staff came in.

A pity Sirius wouldn't be able to do this again. This 'infiltration' would give him every excuse to severely upgrade internal Ministry security. The Wizengamot would rubber stamp it, not wanting to run the risk of any of their heirs or even themselves running afoul of poor security with the amount of time they spend at the Ministry.

Crouch's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his pale skin now tinged with gray. "You - You wouldn't."

Sirius leaned against the bars, his tone almost conversational. "Oh, Barty, you've already lost. The trial tomorrow is a mere formality. But I can't have you ruining my carefully laid plans with your hysterical accusations. So… Shall we get on with it, old chum?"

Crouch straightened, summoning the last dregs of his pride. "Do your worst, Black. You don't have the guts to kill me."

Sirius's grin turned feral, and he raised his wand. "Kill you? No, that would be too kind. But memory… That's a trickier thing, isn't it?" He tilted his head, his expression suddenly contemplative. "What if you don't remember? Old age isn't all erectile dysfunction you know?"

Crouch's face went ashen, his bravado crumbling. "You wouldn't dare - "

"You see," Sirius interrupted smoothly, his wand now steady and aimed directly at Crouch, "You were always going to go down for sentencing me to that hellhole without a trial. My only regret..." His voice dropped to a soft, almost tender whisper. "Is that you won't remember it was me who sent you there."

"Obliviate," He said softly, the spell glowing faintly as it struck Crouch.

Crouch's body stiffened, his eyes glazing over as the memories were meticulously stripped away. Sirius worked methodically, removing every trace of his plots from the man's knowledge. By the time he finished, Crouch's face was slack, his once-fierce gaze now vacant and confused.

Sirius stepped back, slipping his wand into his robes with a satisfied sigh. "There. Much better."

As he turned to leave, Sirius made a point of passing the corrupt Auror serving as Head guard, who had disabled the alarms. The man, a burly figure with a perpetually nervous expression, straightened as Sirius approached, his eyes darting around nervously.

Sirius stopped, his wand once again in his hand. The Auror opened his mouth to protest, scrambling for his own wand, but Sirius cut him off. "Oh, don't worry. You won't remember this little arrangement."

"Obliviate," He murmured again, erasing every trace of their encounter.

By the time Sirius emerged from the dungeon, the weight that had settled in his chest during his time in Azkaban felt a little lighter. Justice - or at least his version of it - had been served. Tomorrow, Crouch would face his trial, a broken shell of the man who had once condemned Sirius to a living nightmare.

And as for the corrupt Auror? When Amelia Bones inevitably discovered the disabled alarms, the man would take the fall, clueless as to how he'd been involved.

Sirius adjusted his robes and strode toward the lift, his head held high. For the first time in a long while, the scales felt balanced.

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The next day, the Ministry of Magic.

The Wizengamot chamber was steeped in an oppressive silence as Bartemius Crouch Sr. was brought before the assembly. The high stone walls seemed to amplify every shuffle of chains, every murmured comment from the gathered audience. Sirius didn't sit at the forefront of the chamber in his seat as Minister of Magic today, instead using his Black seat, his expression a mask of neutrality that betrayed none of the satisfaction simmering beneath the surface.

Oh, how he relished this.

The assembly hall was crowded, every bench filled with members of the Wizengamot, Ministry officials, and curious onlookers. The air was charged with anticipation, the trial of one of the Ministry's once-great figures drawing attention far beyond the usual political circle.

As the trial began, Sirius leaned slightly back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Crouch. The man's once-proud demeanor was gone, his shoulders hunched as sat in the center of the chamber, chains binding his wrists. Though his robes were still fairly impeccable, they were scrunched up awkwardly due to the chains.

If Sirius knew the man at all, he'd be just annoyed about that wardrobe issue as the charges.

The Chief Warlock called for order, and the trial began in earnest, Amelia Bones leading the prosecution again. She moved with crisp efficiency, her words cutting and precise as she laid out the charges - harboring a Death Eater, circumventing Ministry protocols, and gross misuse of his position. The case was solid, airtight, bolstered by damning evidence and testimony - the use of Veritaserum voted for and approved. Every word was a nail in the coffin, and Sirius allowed himself a flicker of grim satisfaction as he listened.

Midway through Amelia's presentation, a soft rustle of fabric drew Sirius's attention to his left. Isabella Zabini, dressed in dark green robes that clung to her figure just enough to hint at the power she wielded in her own way, slipped into the seat beside him. Her arrival was as smooth as silk, her movements unhurried but deliberate as she drew eyes with her sensual stride.

"Minister," She purred, her voice low and teasing. She adjusted her robes with an elegant movement that flared her cleavage, a subtle display of confidence that matched the glint in her eyes.

"Lady Zabini," Sirius responded evenly, his gaze flicking back to the proceedings. His tone was cool, but there was a faint edge of wariness. He had learned early on that Isabella was not a woman to be underestimated.

She leaned slightly closer, her perfume subtle but intoxicating - no blood magic this time, he noted, just regular perfume. "How fortuitous," She murmured, her voice almost drowned out by Amelia's sharp questioning of a confused and forgetful Crouch. "Old Barty seems to be having some... Memory issues. Such a shame, don't you think?"

Sirius's lips twitched into something that could almost be a smile. He didn't look at her, his eyes still fixed on the trial as he replied, "The kind of thing that happens to madmen, I suppose."

Her laugh was soft, a melodic sound that seemed to ripple through the tension in the room. "Indeed," She said, her tone dripping with amusement. "Tragic, really."

The way Amelia glanced at him when Crouch was unable to answer, made Sirius feel slightly worried. He'd have to break a few laws to correct the Ministry and the country into a just vision, but he knew she wouldn't see it that way.

She wasn't one to subscribe to the idiom of - you need to break a few eggs to make an omelet. The law was the law to her, with very few rules perhaps bent instead of broken, as her one vice.

He'd have to be more careful going forward. Amelia turning against him would be an annoyance to deal with.

The trial progressed, the evidence mounting like a tidal wave against Crouch. Witness after witness took the stand, each testimony on his abuse of power throughout his career another crack in the fragile veneer of his defense. Veritaserum-laced accounts of his own actions painted a damning portrait, and even the staunchest of his former allies began to shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Crouch, it turned out, had ruined lives, many, many times in his career. Many of those instances were not quite legal, not when handed out by the man who wrote the laws to give himself loopholes.

Isabella waited until the chamber quieted again before leaning in once more. "The hit piece on Dumbledore," She began, her tone conversational, as though discussing the weather. "Nicely done. Not just the big, obvious front-page reveal, but those delicious little jabs sprinkled throughout the rest of the paper."

Sirius turned his head slightly to meet her gaze, his expression unreadable. "The news always prints what it wants," He said neutrally.

Of course he'd taken the Prophet's hit on Harry in the books, and just reinvented it with Dumbledore as the target instead. It was a good way to slowly tarnish him. Not that he'd admit it out loud.

She laughed again, a light, lilting sound that carried just enough sharpness to show she wasn't fooled. "Oh, Sirius, it's adorable how you try to deflect. Almost makes me want to pinch your cheek."

He didn't dignify that with a response, though the faintest flicker of irritation crossed his face. Isabella, of course, noticed, her smirk widening as she returned her attention to the trial.

Crouch himself was called to speak one last time, though it was clear his spirit had been thoroughly broken. His words, faltering and scattered, did little to mitigate the damning evidence against him. The room seemed to hang on every syllable, the weight of his disgrace pressing down on everyone present. When the Chief Warlock finally called for the verdict, the tension was not there anymore.

Everyone knew the outcome.

The sentence was unanimous - life in Azkaban. A murmur rippled through the visitor gallery as the decision was announced, Sirius felt only cold satisfaction. He watched as Crouch was led away, his once-proud shoulders slumped, his eyes hollow.

The irony wasn't lost on Sirius. He would destroy Azkaban one day, obliterate that living nightmare for good. But until then, Crouch would get a taste of what Sirius himself had endured - if only for a time.

And just like Crouch had sent him to Azkaban, he'd now returned the favor.

Although at least he'd had the courtesy to send an actually guilty man to prison.

Isabella watched the proceedings with a faint hum of approval, her expression coy. As the chamber began to empty, she turned to Sirius, her tone light but pointed. "Justice served, wouldn't you say?"

Sirius's voice was quiet, almost a murmur. "Something like that."

She tilted her head, studying him with a faint smile. "You're a fascinating man, Sirius Black. So cold, so calculated. And yet, there's something almost... Noble beneath it all. It's a pity you hide it so well."

He gave her a sidelong glance, his tone dry. "I'll be sure to put that on my epitaph."

She laughed, the sound drawing a few curious glances from nearby spectators. "Oh, I do enjoy our little chats. Speaking of which..." She leaned in slightly, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "We have a date this Saturday, I've decided."

Sirius sighed, his expression resigned. "Of course. At least I can get one of what I owe you out of the way… Dress code?"

After all, this was her idea, so unlike a normal date, she'd be running the show and picking the location. Sirius even intended to make her pay for it.

He wasn't exactly doing this willingly. It was simply part of a deal. The cost of doing business.

Her smile turned sly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Dress code… Slutty." She winked, her expression as wicked as her words.

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. "Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?"

Isabella rose gracefully, smoothing her robes with a practiced elegance. "Oh, you will," She said lightly, her tone almost playful. "But I promise it'll be worth it." She smirked dangerously, "Some regrets weigh heavier than others."

With that, she disappeared into the throng of departing spectators, leaving Sirius alone with his thoughts. As the last of the crowd trickled out, he allowed himself a small, sardonic smile.

At least things were never boring…

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Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office.

The ornate silver instruments on Dumbledore's desk whirred and clicked softly, but their usual soothing hum did little to ease the atmosphere. Albus sat behind his desk, his expression a mask of forced geniality, though the faint lines on his face betrayed the strain.

Across from him, Minerva McGonagall stood ramrod straight, her robes swishing as she gestured sharply, her cheeks flushed with indignation. Seated near the fireplace, Severus Snape's dark eyes gleamed with cold fury, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glared at Albus.

Albus had expected this ever since the news broke, it didn't make it anymore pleasant to experience.

"This," McGonagall snapped, slamming her hands on the desk, "Is an unmitigated disaster, Albus! How could ye - how dare ye - place a bairn, any bairn, let alone Harry Potter, wi' those... Those people - and ne'er even bother to check on him!" Her Scottish brogue sharpened with every syllable, her anger clear on her face.

Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him, his tone calm but tinged with weariness. "Minerva, I understand your frustration, but the Dursleys - "

"Frustration?" McGonagall cut in, her voice rising. "Frustration does not begin to cover it! You promised me, Albus. When you left Harry on that doorstep, you assured me it was for his safety, that they were the best choice to protect him from the chaos of our world. And now I learn from the Prophet, of all places, that he was abused under their care!"

Albus didn't know if it was better, or worse, that her Scottish brogue had slipped out of her speech again. Considering the circumstances, he, if he was a betting man, would bet on worse.

All this became young Sirius couldn't let go of the past. He thought the man had chosen to forgive. He'd obviously been overly optimistic.

Snape snorted, his sneer cutting through the room. "I'm not even going to mention the promises you've broken… What could have possessed you to leave the child with Petunia, and count on only the hope of human kindness!?" His voice dripped with venom as he hissed out the last sentence.

Dumbledore's eyes flicked to Snape, his calm demeanor slipping for a moment. "Severus, this is not the time for cynicism."

"Cynicism?" Snape repeated, his tone deadly quiet. "You entrusted the supposed savior of the wizarding world to Muggles who couldn't care less if he lived or died. And now, thanks to your... Oversight," He spat the word, "Sirius Black has him. That reckless fool is hardly an improvement."

McGonagall's glare shifted to Snape. "As opposed to being locked in a cupboard? Whatever Sirius's faults - and they are many - he will not let that boy suffer."

Snape leaned forward, his black robes billowing as he fixed McGonagall with a cold stare. "And when Black's instability and penchant for vendettas inevitably place the boy in danger? Will you sing the same tune then, Minerva? He's already manipulated the press to his advantage. He'll use Lily's son as a pawn."

Albus tented his fingers, uncomfortably aware that his potions professor was not wrong. Little Harry Potter's situation had hardly improved.

"Sirius Black may be impulsive, but he cares for Harry, I'm sure of it," McGonagall shot back, her voice firm. "Which is more than can be said for the Dursleys, and evidently, you, Albus."

The jab landed, and for the first time, Dumbledore's genial facade cracked. He sighed heavily, his fingers steepling again as he leaned back in his chair. "I made the best decision I could at the time," He said softly. "Harry needed the blood wards provided by Petunia Dursley. They were his best protection against Voldemort's followers."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Protection? Protection from what, Albus? The child has spent more time in danger from his own relatives than from any Death Eater if the prophet is right! And those wards you so value? Useless if the family inside the house treats him as less than a person."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said quietly, "I miscalculated."

He didn't believe so, but he needed to appease Minerva slightly. They couldn't afford division if Sirius was truly lost. She'd been quite cross with the man lately, so it shouldn't take too much effort to point her ire in the right direction again.

"Miscalculated?" McGonagall repeated, her voice rising again. "That is the understatement of the century! Did you even explain to the Dursleys what would happen with Harry and his accidental magic? What the magical world entailed? The differences in child rearing a magical child? Or did you simply hope for the best?"

Snape's sneer deepened, his gaze shifting back to Dumbledore. "A letter, wasn't it, Headmaster? Not even a proper conversation to gauge their suitability? To put the fear in Petunia?" He mocked, joining in.

Dumbledore's silence was all the confirmation they needed.

McGonagall let out a sound of pure exasperation, throwing her hands up. "Merlin's beard, Albus, what were you thinking? You couldn't have spoken to them, ensured they understood the gravity of raising Harry?"

"I believed," Dumbledore began, his voice gentle but firm, "That a simple life away from our world would offer Harry a chance to grow up unburdened by his fame. That the Dursleys, as his only living relatives, would rise to the occasion."

Snape scoffed, the sound cutting through the room like a knife. "And yet, here we are. Black has the child, the Prophet has painted you as negligent, and the wizarding world is beginning to question your infallibility."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened, the weight of Snape's words settling heavily on his shoulders. "Do you truly believe Sirius Black is a better guardian than the Dursleys?" He asked, somewhat imploringly.

"Yes," McGonagall said without hesitation. "Because even with all his flaws, Sirius will try. He will love Harry, and that alone is more than the Dursleys ever offered apparently."

"And what of his temper? His recklessness?" Dumbledore pressed. "His fixation on revenge?"

"Those are concerns," McGonagall admitted, her tone firm, "But they pale in comparison to the alternative. At least with Sirius, Harry will have a chance to heal."

Snape's lip curled, but he said nothing. His dark eyes flicked between Dumbledore and McGonagall, calculating.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, until McGonagall finally spoke again. "I've heard enough. You've made mistake after mistake, Albus, and it's high time you started owning up to them instead of deflecting blame. Sirius Black may not be perfect, but he is the lesser of two evils in this case."

With that, she turned sharply on her heel and swept out of the office, her robes flaring behind her.

Albus pondered how to appease her in the future, at least her dislike of Sirius should prevent any kind of issue stemming from this. He didn't need to have Sirius interfering in Hogwarts to go with everything else.

He did regret how things had turned out, he knew things would be dark for Harry, but he'd hoped it would help the lad grow - something now in danger with the excesses of Sirius Black.

He'd have to contact Remus and Arthur, see if he could get information as to the child's circumstances.

The door clicked shut, leaving only Dumbledore and Snape in the room. For a moment, neither man spoke, the silence broken only by the faint whir of Dumbledore's silver instruments.

"She has a point," Snape said finally, his tone begrudging. "Though it pains me to admit it, Black is a fool, and will raise a fool, but he's not worse than Tuney."

Dumbledore sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Sirius's focus on revenge concerns me deeply, Severus. He is a man consumed by past grievances, and that is not a stable foundation for raising a child."

Not one as important as Harry was.

"Then we keep a closer eye on him," Snape said coldly. "I have contacts who can monitor his movements, you know who. If he steps out of line, we'll know. Anything that inconveniences Black, I'll gladly help with."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his gaze distant. "Yes. And I will attempt to reach out to him, to offer guidance. For Harry's sake, if nothing else."

Snape's expression soured, but he inclined his head. "If he listens."

"That," Dumbledore murmured, "Remains to be seen."

As the two men sat in contemplative silence, the weight of their decisions pressed heavily on the room, the future of Harry Potter hanging precariously in the balance in Albus' mind.

The kind of boy Sirius Black had been upon entering Hogwarts…

Harry Potter could not be allowed to be that boy.

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