Chapter Text
November, 1982
James quickly stubs out his cigarette when the front door opens and Sirius steps out onto the porch. He’s been attempting to quit smoking – he really has no reason to keep going considering both his mates have somehow managed to kick the habit – but it’s been a particularly stressful few weeks and he knows nobody would fault him for smoking a stick here and there.
Sirius stands beside him, his head in his hands, elbows digging into the porch fence. Distantly, James hears the sound of his Floo. Remus has just gone home.
“If I go now, I’m going to pick another fight with him and I’d just like to relax before all of this blows up in my face,” Sirius mutters. “Can’t believe he’s letting me go home with him anyways. First time in over a month, you know? The prick.”
His eyes glance over at James' pack of cigarettes, but James is swift in putting it away before he gets any ideas.
“Want to stay over?”
“No. I need to sleep in my own bed.”
He doesn’t say it, but James knows Sirius also needs Remus.
“Alright.”
There’s a long drag of silence. It’s so dark that fireflies have come out, but the declining sunset is also still visible behind the row of trees in front of James' yard. The bugs occasionally illuminate in front of their faces. Sirius moodily swats at them, but James watches them flutter around peacefully. They remind him of his father who’d shown him how to catch them, laughing softly when James sobbed to his mother about the little bugs getting trapped. Fleamont always released them minutes later but waiting for him to do so was akin torture to James. James always felt too much.
“I’ve made up my mind,” Sirius finally says.
James gently bumps their shoulders together. “Moony and I both know that.”
Sirius goes quiet again. The tension in his face makes James' chest squeeze with discomfort, so he leans over and slings his arm around Sirius' waist, tucking him closer.
“Everything is going to be okay.”
It takes time for Sirius to let go of his stubbornness and give into the embrace. James rubs his back when Sirius drops his head against James' shoulder, taking a shuddering breath.
“They’re going to lock him up anyways,” he whispers, grinding his teeth together. “Is it so wrong that I try to help? Is that not what I should do as his brother?” He picks his head up, knocking it against James' chin. “Would you do that?”
Sirius' eyes are grey and wide and stormy, eyebrows pinched together as if pained.
“I would,” James murmurs, wiping Sirius' eyes. “I would do it for you.”
Sirius stays with him for some time before he raises his head off James' shoulder and lets him clean his face again. “Everything is going to be okay,” James repeats, holding Sirius' face tightly. “I swear it. Now go back to Remus before he suspects we’re snogging and kill me.”
Sirius snorts wetly. “In your dreams.”
James kisses the top of Sirius' head. “Definitely.”
He returns inside, not at all surprised to find Harry sitting up in James' bed, knuckling at his eyes. Harry glances up at James and lets out a small huff as if he can’t believe they tried to put him asleep without his father beside him. James scoops his baby up and cuddles him close, rubbing his cheek against one another.
“And I’d do it for you too,” he whispers, inhaling the clean baby shampoo scent. “Without question.”
___
James holds Harry extra close to him the following morning. He dresses his two year old in overalls and trainors, and packs an extra bag with his swim clothing because Lily and Mary have excitedly written to him that the mini pool is all set for Harry. Harry leans on James' shoulder sleepily, his thumb in his mouth, but when Lily answers the door with a soft coo and bright eyes, Harry’s head is up, eyes wide and awake. He’s squirming out of James' arms into Lily’s awaiting ones.
“My baby is here!” Lily exclaims dramatically, spinning Harry around. He laughs wetly. “Yes he is!”
James drops Harry’s bag next to her feet. “I didn’t pack any extra clothes – just assumed you’d want to put him in the ones you bought for him last week. He’s really excited for the pool.”
Lily nods. “I’ll take pictures of him with the little floaties.”
“Thanks, Lils.”
She smiles and steps outside to give James a hug and kiss on his cheek. “Hanging in there?”
James takes a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s not me. It’s more… Sirius, you know?”
“Of course. It’ll all go well.” She ruffles his hair teasingly. “Haven’t seen you in a suit in quite some time. Nearly forgot how handsome you are.”
James rolls his eyes, but he’s unable to get his smile to go away. “Yeah, yeah. Save the flirting for Mary, eh?”
“In all seriousness, though, everything is going to be okay.”
“I keep telling everyone that.”
Lily gives him a very pointed motherly look. “And do you believe it yourself?”
“Don’t parent me.” He leans in and kisses her cheek and then the top of Harry's head. “I’ll see you soon.” He turns and starts walking back to his car, only stopping to glance back when Lily calls for him again.
Standing at the doorway, Lily, as beautiful as ever, raises one of Harry’s hands. “Bye bye, daddy!”
James laughs softly and waves back, feeling like the boulder on his chest that’s been there since last week has slightly lifted. It’s always the case with Lily Evans – she knows how to make someone feel lighter, their problems light years away. It’s one of the reasons why James fell in love with her, and one of the parts about her that he will always love.
—
James should have guessed that the Ministry would be overrun by reporters. Still, he’s not used to Rita Skeeter flashing a fucking camera in his face.
The entire ninth floor is shut off for the court, but that doesn’t mean the Daily Prophet and its puppets don’t follow him all the way there. The lift ride really tests his patience. He tries to keep his face neutral, staring into the corridors at every stop with blank eyes, but at the seventh floor, he cracks and snarls, “Get that shit out of my face or I’ll break it and your teeth” to one of the meager looking reporters holding a camera. The camera goes down after that.
He steps out of the lift, where Remus, who looks equally as annoyed, waits. There aren’t many people on this floor, which is a relief, but the one person James actively looks for isn’t there.
The Wizengamot are in their offices, preparing for the trial. The few witnesses that have been called by Regulus' defense are huddled closer to one another, all with manila folders in their hands. Amongst them, James notices Pandora Lovegood who meets his eyes and then glances away. Her husband is beside her, rubbing a soothing hand on her back. James doesn’t recognize any other people.
“Where is Sirius?” James asks Remus. “Don’t tell me he’s run away.”
“He’s meeting with the lawyer and Regulus right now. Going over the defense case.”
“Ah.”
“Went about half an hour ago. Told me to wait here and try to make friends.” Remus rolls his eyes and pulls at his collar. “I hate being here. All of these fuckers would jump me if they knew.”
Remus' lycanthropy is known by few people, and those people only know largely in part because of Dumbledore who sent Remus out on missions to sway the werewolves loyalties towards the light side one pack at a time. Often, Remus came back in human form with more scars from other packs rather than his own, igniting a dark type of anger in Sirius and James at Dumbledore. Packs were most fiercely dedicated groups of werewolves, and they never took a liking to a stray weaseling his way into their Alpha’s brains.
James pats Remus' shoulder. “You know what will distract you?”
“What?”
“Telling me how good I look in this suit.”
“Get out of my face,” Remus replies curtly.
“Be honest, if you weren’t madly in love with Sirius, you’d totally have a crush on me.”
“Must I remind you that it was you that had a crush on me in 5th year and not the other way around. Some may even call it your bisexual awakening.”
“Look, I even combed my hair.”
“Would you like an award?”
“Yeah, got any more of those chocolates in your pockets?”
Finally, Remus glances over at him, irritation still laced in his eyes. But he gives James a once over and grunts. “Looks expensive.” Before James can remark, he quickly adds, “The suit, not you.”
“It bloody was expensive, thank you. Figured I’ll wear it at your wedding too. I’ll lend it to you when I get married as well.”
Remus blinks. Then his eyes focus on something over James' shoulder and he blinks again, this time his shoulders falling with relief. “All right, Pads?”
James turns to look at Sirius. He’s in a similar all black suit and his hair tied up neatly. His finicky fingers have likely pulled out those curls that fall loosely around his face, giving him a perfect picture of careless handsomeness and professionalism. James thinks that if anyone were to be getting photographed by Rita Skeeter and her band of fuckers, it should be Sirius. His light blue steely gaze is firmly fixed on his two friends as he walks to them, hands gripping a folder so tight, that when he hears James enough, James can see the white knuckles hold.
Remus sees something in Sirius' face that James doesn't. It's always startling how easily Remus can read his lover, but that’s what makes him qualified to be one, it seems. He gently grips Sirius' upper arm and frowns. “What is it?”
Sirius slices his head once to the left. “Regulus is ready. I’ve paid them to not put him in the bloody cage before the court.” His lips thin as he leans imperceptibly towards Remus' warm touch. “I’ve had a talk with the lawyer and the team as well. A bunch of secretive bastards they are – didn’t tell me their defense case but it seems like they’re riding on something big.”
“That’s good,” Remus says, shooting a look at James. “That’s good, right?”
“I think so. Wish they’d tell me what it was.”
Sirius takes a deep breath, his shoulders trembling. “I saw the witnesses.”
“I only recognize Pandora.”
“Right. She married her bloody lunatic husband and had a lunatic child with him a few months before Harry was born. Did you know that?”
“Heard whispers.”
“Don’t know what she could say in his defense. If anything, she’s a landmine ready to unleash more of Regulus' offenses. I think she’s the only one to have known him as close as one could during the last four years.”
James cranes his neck to get another glimpse of Pandora Lovegood, but her long, near white hair is nowhere to be seen.
The doors to the courtroom open and all parties begin to make their way inside. Remus walks in with Sirius with James trailing behind, his hands in his pockets.
The last time he was in the courtroom was with his father when he was a boy in 1968. Fleamont was an exceptional potioneer and to finally unveil his new potion, he needed permission from the Wizengamot and the stamp of approval from the Ministry to sell. James sat in one of the seats behind the questioning chair, though to his 8 year old brain, it didn’t seem like a place where someone would get interrogated for something wrong. His father had laughed with the Wizengamot members, cheekily cracked jokes, and even asked multiple wizards and witches to come by for dinner at the Potter house some day.
Back then, James had glanced around the room with its high ceilings and bright lights with wide curious eyes. The entire elegant aesthetic caused sparkles in James' eyes. The golden hues of the room matched well with the dark robes of the Wizengamot.
Now, the same courtroom has an air of coldness to it. The Wizengamot and Barty Crouch Sr. watch Sirius, Remus, and James enter. The three of them nod politely to the court before taking their seats, but the prickling glares continue to follow them.
Sirius fidgets with his cuffs. Remus' narrow eyes flutter around, staring each wizard in their faces. James just swallows harshly. There is no trust in the courtroom.
Once everyone is in their respective seats, Barty Crouch Sr. adjusts his robes and his cap and reaches for his wand. He taps it on the edge of his podium several times to get order in the courtroom and then reaches for his stack of papers. He blinks down at them, adjusting his glasses, and if it weren’t so tense in the room, James knows Sirius would be jabbing his elbow into James' ribs and cracking a joke about the poor bastard.
“I call for order from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Wizengamot, the defense, and the witnesses. The trial of Regulus Arcturus Black is now in session,” Crouch Sr. says, glaring at the room over his glasses.
He bears no resemblance to his son, Barty Crouch Jr, who has been missing for several years. James wonders if Regulus knows where Crouch could be. They'd been good friend in school, after all.
The metal bolted door to the left of the council opens with a heavy groan. Two guards in robes step out first and then move to the side to accommodate their prisoner. James doesn’t realize his hands are in clenched fists until Remus glances at him through the corner of his eye and gently lays a hand on his forearm. James nods minutely and carefully smoothes out his collar, suddenly overwhelmed with heat.
Regulus Black ducks his head as he enters through the threshold of the courtroom, raising his eyes to glance around the room. He’s led to the corner of the raised dais next to Crouch Sr., a good few yards away still. The guards around him stay posted on either side of him as Regulus continues to sweep his eyes through the crowd.
Similar to his brother, he’s in an all black suit, a stark difference to what James had been expecting to see him in. The Daily Prophet has managed to snap photos of prisoners being escorted to Azkaban to the court for trial, but all the criminals have been in tattered clothing, often too short or too big on their frames. James especially remembers Bellatrix Lestrange’s trial. Bellatrix was captured by Moody two months prior and she’d been in such a disarray. Her long, unruly hair had been tired out of her face, her clothing too large on her, and perhaps the only way James even recognized her on the front page of the paper was from the starved, crazy look in her eyes and her grin that suggested she was going to trial without any regrets.
James expected Regulus to be in a similar disheveled state, but he should have known that the Black in him would never allow it. Regulus holds his head high, his strong brows arched, and his grey eyes neutral. With his mouth in a straight line, he nods to his guards on either side of him, efficiently thanking them. As he does, James catches sight of a star earring dangling from his lobe as well as a silver bar running through his outer ear shell.
The last time James saw him, Regulus was barely 17. Now, he’s 22, nearly as tall as Sirius. His black hair is down to his chin in elegant waves, rings on his fingers, and despite the clear signs of his tiredness – from the slight purple circles under his eyes and the sunken hollows of his cheeks – he does not look like a prisoner. Nor, James thinks, a shiver running through him, someone that looks particularly upset about being captured. At most, he looks mildly inconvenienced.
The boyish handsomeness remains in his features, though now hardened by war and evident lack of rest. His expression has been schooled carefully into a blank stare, likely enforced on him by Sirius and his lawyer. He stands stoic, arms at his sides.
James had foolishly thought that he wouldn’t recognize the man Regulus had become after years of not knowing him. How stupid he’d been to assume that. Despite not being intimately familiar with Regulus in four years, it comes as second nature to him to accept the man before him.
That is Regulus Black. It could never be anyone else.
And yet at the same time, James can’t believe this is the same boy that looked at him when he was 13 years old, dead in the eye, unimpressed. “Regulus got it?” he’d said. “It’s not Reggie or Reg. Re-gu-lus.” He had such an air of regality.
It still remains, despite everything.
There is something else. It blends in with the black suit, but something circles around Regulus' neck. It’s too thick to be a necklace. James squints at it, breath catching when he realizes.
“Is that a fucking–” James whispers to Remus.
“Sirius said it’s the only way the court agreed to keeping him out of the cage,” Remus mutters, looking equally as appalled. “Imagine it’s there to make sure he doesn’t lie since it’s now illegal to force veritaserum down their throats.”
Sirius stares at his brother with intense eyes, biting the inside of his lip. Regulus exchanges a wordless glance with Sirius, offering him a slight nod. It’s barely noticeable. Sirius returns the gesture.
Regulus doesn’t look at James, but there’s no doubt in James' mind that he knows of his presence. Sirius must have told him.
Crouch Sr. hits his wand against the podium again.
“Regulus Arcturus Black. You are put on trial before the court and the Wizengamot for crimes including conspiracy against the Ministry, the murder of Evan Rosier, arson, and use of the Unforgivable Curses. This trial will be held for three days. You will be given time to reconvene with your team about possible witnesses to call before the court throughout these three days. You are expected to speak only the truth and will be forced to accept consequences should you tell a lie. We must now test the device and ensure it’s in working condition.”
Sirius clenches his hands. “This is barbaric,” he argues under his breath. “I paid these fuckers to put a leash on my brother?”
Crouch Sr. turns to face Regulus. “Answer incorrectly, Mr. Black. Do you understand?”
Regulus says, “I understand.”
“Tell the court your birth year.”
He hesitates for half a second. It would go unnoticed by anyone not watching him as intently as James is. “1963.”
James watches in horror as the collar around Regulus' neck erupts in electricity, crackling loud enough for the back rows to hear. Regulus' shoulders tense, lips thin. It’s clear from his twitches that the pain coursing through him from the force of the shock is blinding, but he holds on, eyebrows pushed together. When the shock subsides, his eyebrows relax and the color returns to his face. A curl falls into his eyes.
Crouch Sr. makes a noise at the back of his throat. “Excellent. I will now read the statement from the Ministry regarding this trial and your crimes.”
“Why did they need to test it in front of 200 people? It’s nothing more than a humiliation tactic,” Sirius hisses, eyes filled with rage. Remus grips his hand tightly to keep him from lunging.
Regulus rolls his neck with discomfort, the corner of his mouth twitching, but once Crouch begins to talk, he stops. He looks at the table before Sirius as if trying to read the notes on his lawyer’s parchments.
“Mr. Black has been on the Ministry’s Wanted list for three years. Mr. Black is a confirmed Death Eater and devout follower of Lord Voldemort. Mr. Black has evaded arrest multiple times by attacking Aurors, Ministry officials, and by traveling through the illegal usage of portkeys. Mr. Black is accused of murdering Evan Rosier through the use of the Killing Curse. Mr. Black is represented by the Black family lawyer and witnesses for his defense to lessen his sentence at Azkaban. Currently, Mr. Black is looking at a life sentence in Azkaban should the defense fail to sway the Wizengamot’s votes.” Crouch looks up from his papers. “Does this all sound correct, Mr. Black?”
Regulus says, “Yes, it does.”
He says it so easily, so casually, it befuddles James. He's just accepted it?
“First, I call on the prosecutor to make their initial statement.”
The Auror that stands is an older man in fancy robes that fly behind him as he takes the center in front of the court. He nods his head at the Wizengamot and then at the witnesses and the three of them.
“Auror Rufus Scrimgeour.” He addresses the court in a bold voice.
“Begin, Scrimgeour.”
And so the Auror does. He’s clearly well practiced and skilled. Reading out Regulus' life story comes easy to him, as if he’s spent weeks researching him.
“Just shy of turning 17, Mr. Black took the Dark Mark at Malfoy Manor. The Black family is amongst the Pureblood families that instills ancient and albeit traditional pureblood rituals and ideals into the minds of their children, so it comes as no surprise that Mr. Black should be so willing to receive the mark. At the age of 19, it is reported that Mr. Black was one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted companions, leading raids and interrogations on the Dark Lord’s behalf. As a result of these orders, many innocent wizards and witches were murdered, including members of the Order, which Mr. Black’s brother continues to be a prominent member of.”
Scrimgeour begins to pace around, making sure his eyes meet with everyone seated in the Wizengamot benches. His robes continue to flutter around him.
“Notable raids the Mr. Black took part in included the raid on the Prewitt household leaving both Fabian and Gideon Prewitt severely injured as a result of the Cruciatus curse, and several raids at safe houses which resulted in the disappearance of Caradoc Dearborn, Benjy Fenwick, and the death of Edgar Bones.”
James looks at Regulus, hoping to see some kind of remorse at the mentions of the casualties, but there’s nothing on his face that indicates his emotion.
“Mr. Black has been an Undesirable following the confirmation that he accepted the Dark Mark when Auror Alastor Moody witnessed him summoning the Dark Lord upon the capture of Kingsley Shacklebolt outside of London in 1979.
“Upon his arrival at the Ministry two weeks ago, Mr. Black’s wand was confiscated, however with a quick cross examination with Ollivander, it was deemed that the wand did not belong to Mr. Black, but in actuality to Antonin Dolohov, whose whereabouts are still unknown. Therefore, tracing the spells on the wand have proven useless. I remind the council that there is evidence within the testimonies of previously captured and incarcerated Death Eaters that show Mr. Black’s involvement in these heinous crimes.
“Prosecution intends for a life sentence for Mr. Black. Thank you for your time.”
Scrimgeour nods curtly and moves to the side of the courtroom.
“The defense’s lawyer may speak now,” Crouch Sr. announces.
Besides Sirius, the Black family lawyer stands up. He, too, is in robes, walking calmly up. Unlike Scrimgeour, he doesn’t hold any parchment with him and stands at the front with nothing in his hands.
“Jasper Fieldwake, lawyer at Fieldwake Firm, representing the Black family for 24 years.”
“Begin, Fieldwake,” says Crouch Sr.
“Thank you, sir.” Fieldwake turns to address the court.
Beside him, Sirius looks like he’s holding his breath. His grey eyes hold such emotion, it seems like he’s about to burst with everything he’s feeling. Remus now holds his hand, soothingly rubbing his thumb over white knuckles, but James isn’t sure how much it’s helping. Sirius' shoulders are rising and falling as if on the precipice of a panic attack, his face flushed, and his eyebrows furrowed. James has been best friends with Sirius long enough to know that he’s utterly desperate for good news right now.
James' eyes slide over to the dais. Regulus is no longer looking at the notes on the table, but at the back of the court. It’s as if he sees right through the three of them, namely James who he has yet to look directly at.
“As mentioned by Scrimgeour, Mr. Black was raised to believe very particular things, including the idea that caused the Dark Lord to recruit so many young loyalists: an old pureblood belief about blood supremacy. The matter of this idea is far more complicated than it may seem to the average wizard. More than 80% of families today are half-blood. Families may have a witch for a daughter and a muggle for a son, and it is entirely random. On the other hand, families may have no trace of magical lineage in their family, and yet one fateful son or daughter gains magical abilities. They will have never heard of Hogwarts in their life, their worlds turned upside down with a single letter in the post.”
Fieldwake pauses, waiting several seconds to let the words sit before continuing.
“The truth is that the blood supremacy idea is so far-fetched, no modern wizard or government truly believes in its success on a world wide scale, despite what the manifesto states. In no plausible way is the idea destined to be successful, and this is something that the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters know. This idea is contained in Europe even after 10 years of their war mongering.
“If you’ve noticed, most of the Death Eaters that have been captured and convicted have been under the age of 30. Most of them, in fact, have been recent graduates of Hogwarts. Mere children, you could say, who have had their minds molded for them from the minute they were born, and Mr. Black is no exception to this.”
Fieldwake doesn’t pace like Scrimgeour. He stands still and looks at the Wizengamot unflinchingly.
“It comes down to this: the blood supremacy ideals are true, but not a manifesto to eradicate muggles, muggleborns, and half-bloods, but to maintain the Sacred 28 at the top of the hierarchy of wizardry by any means necessary, to make their voices above the law. Or, in coming years, the law. That is the driving force of the Dark Lord’s mission, and it is something that my client, Mr. Black, has never believed in.”
From James' left, Sirius lets out a rigid sigh.
“There is no denying that once Mr. Black turned the legal age of 17, he would answer to the consequences of his action. But to the court, I remind you, that Mr. Black received the Dark Mark prior to the consenting age, and had been in the servitude of the Black family until the death of his parents one year ago. I will present the court with numerous pieces of evidence to show that Mr. Black committed his crimes out of necessity, rather than due to his own prejudices. I will call upon a number of witnesses.
“And finally, I would like to note that despite the current height of the war, Mr. Black turned himself into the Ministry willingly. That is all.”
Silence rings throughout the courtroom. James' heart beats fast in his chest, glancing at Regulus who continues to stare at the back wall blankly.
“That was good,” Sirius whispers, hope lodged in his throat. “Better than I was expecting.”
“Yes,” Remus murmurs. He’s still holding Sirius' hand.
“Scrimgeour, I ask that you begin your questioning. Thank you, Fieldwake,” Crouch Sr. grumbles, motioning the defense lawyer back to his seat. Fieldwake nods and returns to Sirius’s side.
A wordless exchange between Sirius and Fieldwake ensues before he sits down.