"How much more just a cause seems to a lawyer who is well paid for it." © Blaise Pascal
"Hello, Edward," I said, standing in front of the open door of a large house on Rogue Street.
This was the home of one of the most famous lawyers in magical England, Edward Atkins, who had died in an accident three years ago. Through a solicitor, I had paid a certain sum to find out the address and name of the current owner, Edward Atkins, the son of the very lawyer whom Walburga had hired shortly before her death.
The owner himself opened the door. He was a young man of about twenty-five, with black hair slicked back and, despite his youth, attentive grey eyes.
"Do I know you?" the guy frowned, casually reaching behind his back. Something tells me he has a magic wand there. Anyway, I'll be quicker than him. I recently bought two special holsters for both hands that shoot a magical instrument straight into the palm, which makes life a lot easier. By the way, strangely enough, these holsters were restricted in sales and were intended only for ministry employees. Fortunately, there were no such restrictions in France. And no one had cancelled Lyutny...
"No, but you may have known my aunt, Valburga Black. I am Marius Black. I am here about your father's case.
Eward was stunned by my statement, but the astonishment on his face quickly disappeared, replaced by a grim concentration.
"And I'm supposed to take your word for it?" the young man raised an eyebrow sceptically.
I silently showed him the ring on my left ring finger. With a mental command, it glowed dark gold with a recognisable coat of arms.
"I knew it would happen someday. But I still didn't expect it..." With these strange words, he waved invitingly and, without closing the door behind him, stepped back into the house. "Come in, Mr. Black. The coat rack is on your right. I'll put the kettle on..."
I entered, closing the heavy door behind me, took off my coat and began to look around the house with interest. The short hallway gave way to a spacious living room with a fireplace. In the centre stood a large round table, surrounded by comfortable armchairs. Everywhere there were cupboards crammed with books and papers. An owl hooted discontentedly by the window. Further down the hallway, I noticed a staircase leading to the second floor. Basically, it was a typical classic English mansion. Except that it seemed a bit empty for one person. But nowadays, you can find houses like this almost everywhere. After several devastating wars, the number of mages in Britain had clearly decreased.
Edward was indeed making tea. He was in the living room, pouring the delicious-smelling drink into small porcelain cups. I relaxed a little, but activated my poison analyser just in case.
"Sit down," Edward waved his hand, pointing to a chair. At the same time, he began searching for something in one of the cabinets.
"You said you knew 'it had to happen'. Can you explain?"
"Yes, of course, now... Here!" He took a thin leather folder out of the cupboard and handed it to me.
"What is this?" I took the object with some caution. However, the protective amulets did not react to it or to the tea.
"The Sirius Black case," replied Eward, sitting down opposite me and leaning back in his chair, still glaring at me. "Have some tea, I'll explain everything..."
It was a difficult, though brief, conversation, during which I didn't touch my tea. Evard had a lot on his mind. Only his innate sense of etiquette kept him from speaking his mind.
He sincerely believed that his father had been killed because of Sirius Black's case. It seemed that he blamed my family for this. And I must say that his conclusions were quite logical. From the moment old Atkins took up the defence and representation of Valpurga's son, a storm of indignation from the magical community descended upon him. "How dare he defend a 'devourer', a traitor and a murderer..." It all started with the usual anonymous letters containing threats and warnings. However, Edward would not have been a professional lawyer if he had been intimidated by such trifles. Especially since Lady Black was paying him more than generously.
And he himself wanted his share of fame by unravelling such a "high-profile" case, which seemed to have no other interpretation. Atkins insisted on reviewing and evaluating all the facts of the case and their legal classification for one simple reason: the entire prosecution was based on circumstantial evidence and the defendant's testimony under the influence of truth serum.
According to his son, half of the necessary expert examinations had not been carried out at all. Atkins rejoiced when he obtained all the necessary papers, bypassing some officials. People's opinions are not permanent. If everything had turned out as planned, Atkins would have become a hero. And he would have received a certain amount in galleons... But everything turned out as it did.
Just as Edward had agreed to a retrial of the Black case, Valpurga died. An "accident," the "natural death" of a sorceress who had barely reached her seventies. No one believed this explanation, but it was too convenient to refute. Valpurga was buried in a closed coffin, accompanied by the mournful silence of a few relatives in black robes.
After this incident, Atkins decided to close the case of the younger Black and retire. It wasn't even because of his innate sense of justice. We're talking about a lawyer, for goodness' sake. It was simply that the bulk of the fee was due to be paid into his account after the acquittal. But shortly before the Wizengamot hearing, the old lawyer also died.
Heart attack, the coroner said, finding the body of the respectable gentleman not far from the ministry.
"Nonsense!" was the only time Edward allowed himself to lose his temper, banging his fist on the table. "My father never had any heart problems. He was regularly examined by a private doctor!"
The Wizengamot meeting proceeded as usual, quietly and peacefully deciding the fate of one prisoner in cell No. 13. Life imprisonment in Azkaban. The sentence is final and cannot be appealed.
After all these events, Evard decided to leave the family criminal defence business and now represents the economic interests of the Ollerton family's Chistomet company. They have had another conflict with Cometa over copyright.
This was a clear hint that I should not count on his help in the case of his "cousin." The guy was clearly afraid of ending up like his father, even though he obviously hated the killers. And I understood him, I must say. Only, unlike him, I had no choice. So I politely bowed to the still sullen Atkins, said goodbye, and was about to leave.
Already at the door, the young man called after me and quickly gave me a few names:
"Garrow, Walsingham, Geoffrey... maybe they can help you. I wrote down their addresses, they're in the folder.
"Thank you," I said in surprise, already at the door. Evard quickly disappeared into the house.
A strange fellow. But I was grateful to him nonetheless.
While we were talking about his father, I glanced through the documents collected by Atkins senior. There was a copy of the sentence, the minutes of the hearing, and a few other interesting documents... With them, I headed to Mr. Thomas Jeffery, whose surname, as given to me by the goblins, matched the one Evard had written down. I went to him first, as the two recommendations suggested that he was a professional in his field.
Actually, Likbukh recommended that I go to Miller Ruf first, based on the fact that he had defended many former devourers. However, for me, this was more of a disadvantage than an advantage. He could easily turn me over to his patrons for a certain amount of money.
So, I decided to visit old Geoffrey first. The matter was complicated by the fact that his law office was located on Diagon Alley, and I had to keep my ears open. I don't know what happened, but I kept seeing the robes of Auror employees flashing among the crowd of wizards. I wasn't particularly afraid of them; all the necessary rituals had long been performed, and it was impossible to track me down now.
However, such "stirring" was alarming. Nevertheless, I reached my destination without any problems. "Jeffrey's Law Office," read the bright gilded sign on the corner of a two-story building. Inside, I was greeted by a young girl, a secretary, who offered to make an appointment.
"Tell Mr. Jeffrey that I'm here on Atkins' recommendation," I smiled at the girl, casually leaving a box of chocolate pots on the table. This time, I was dressed as a charming blond, somewhat resembling Lockhart.
"Right away, of course..." The girl blushed and quickly ran into the next room when I winked at her.
A minute later, Thomas himself came to meet me. He was an elderly wizard, about eighty years old. But for his age, he looked simply wonderful, at most fifty. Even his hair wasn't grey yet. However, that could have been potions... Wizards age unevenly, although much later than ordinary people. But it all depends very much on their level of power. Dumbledore, for example, looks great at almost 150. And he's not the oldest inhabitant of Foggy Albion. Judging by everything, the old man has enough power. But the most important thing for me was that from the very beginning he behaved like an experienced lawyer, handing me a scroll with a magical contract.
"A standard non-disclosure and confidentiality agreement," he explained in response to my questioning look. "Everything you say in this office will remain here."
"Fine," I said, skimming through the contents. I had used such contracts several times in the past. Of course, they did not provide complete protection, but at least they offered some guarantees. I signed the contract with a "blood pen," which Mr. Jeffery did as well, looking at my signature with some amazement.
"Here," I handed the lawyer the folder with my case file. "This will tell you more than I can."
He grunted vaguely but took the papers. As he read, his face showed almost no emotion. The only thing that was clearly visible was astonishment. He read at an incredible speed, quickly turning the pages. At that moment, I was thinking about what I could and should say to him. And what I shouldn't even mention... Despite its obviousness, the question was not an easy one. The more the lawyer knew, the better my chances of a successful defence in court. But the more he knew, the more likely it was that, if I was exposed, I would be sent to a place even worse than Azkaban.
That's what I was thinking until Thomas put the folder down. He looked at me appraisingly with his cold, almost colourless "shark" eyes. I didn't back down, trying to withstand his oppressive gaze and not respond with an Avada. The beast inside me growled discontentedly. After all, his time in Azkaban had left its mark on Sirius's personality... and mine.
The old man grunted again vaguely and waved a magic wand that appeared out of nowhere, activating some kind of spell. Judging by the look on his face, it was protection against eavesdropping.
"So, what do you want from me, Mr Black?
"Oh, Arthur," Perkins appeared inside the old fireplace, looking agitated. His thick grey hair was tousled, and his suit was rumpled.
"Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do: wait for you here or not. I just sent an owl to your house, but it must not have found you. Ten minutes ago, an urgent message arrived. The toilets are erupting again!
"Merlin's underwear! This is the third time in two days!" Arthur, who had stayed late at work to clear things up before his sons arrived from Hogwarts, quickly began to gather his things. A couple of papers fell off the table and flew towards the fireplace. But Perkins deftly caught them and put them back on the table. "Thank you..."
Arthur thanked him absent-mindedly as he opened a jar of flying powder.
"Address?
"Three erupting public toilets in Bethel Green..." Perkins stepped back, letting the red-haired man pass.
"Bethel Green!" the man shouted clearly, throwing the powder at his feet and disappearing in a green flash.
When Arthur blinked after his less than successful transition, he found himself in the empty hall of a snack bar. Strangely, there were no customers, nor were there any owners. Pulling his wand out of his jacket pocket, Arthur moved forward. He was liking this less and less. This unknown pest was too clever, leaving no traces of magic behind. Only Mordred's toilets and bewildered Muggles — plumbers, I think that's what they called the people who fix pipes. And Arthur had been looking forward to a warm family dinner with everyone together. Molly was supposed to meet the twins and Percy...
The fireplace flared up again.
"Bang!" Something heavy fell on the second floor.
"Perkins, follow me!" Arthur rushed upstairs, determined to finally catch this prankster and go home. However, suddenly his legs stopped obeying him... The last thing the man heard were the words of the second unforgivable person, spoken in a painfully familiar voice.
***In the morning, the entire red-haired family headed to Diagon Alley. Arthur received a reward for catching a toilet bomber red-handed. It turned out to be none other than Willie Wizerdshins, a notorious criminal wanted for smuggling biting cups. And for once, the head of the family decided to spend his money not on his hobby or an old Ford, but on his family, buying each of them a Christmas present.
In Molly's opinion, her family had long deserved this stroke of luck. Take Percy, for example — the best student in Gryffindor, who intends to become head boy in the future. The pride of the family! Although he's not like the rest of his brothers...
Molly glanced at Percy's thin figure. He was standing at the counter in a junk shop, engrossed in a boring book called "Head Boys Who Made It." Molly and her sons had gone there to look for something for the house. Unfortunately, their finances did not allow them to buy new things. And Molly herself had never excelled at domestic chores. Being a Prewett, she did not think she would need them in the future. However, life, as it turned out, was a complicated thing. When she met Arthur, she chose love over a secure life...
"The Hogwarts Headmasters and Their Lives," Fred read aloud in a lisping voice from the back cover.
"Don't bother me!" Percy snapped, without looking up from his reading.
"What an ambitious and determined brother we have. He probably wants to be Minister of Magic. Don't be like that," said Bill, stepping away from the future prefect and ruffling his younger brother's red hair.
"Yeah, Ron, or you'll end up as boring as this useless book," George chimed in.
"Don't hurt your brother," Molly interjected. "Next year, I expect you to do just as well as him and Charlie!"
"Yes, Mum!
"Of course!" the boys exclaimed in unison, laughing heartily. Molly just shook her head in concern. Something told her that they were unlikely to be model students.
An hour later, they hurried to Flourish and Blotts. And, it must be said, they were not the only ones rushing there. When they approached the shop, the Weasleys were surprised to see a huge crowd at the entrance, trying to get inside. The reason for this was obviously the huge sign in the upper window:
Gilderoy Lockhart is signing copies of his autobiography, "I Am a Wizard," today from 12:30 to 4:30 p.m.
"We're going to see Gilderoy himself, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley stammered excitedly, clinging to her husband.
The crowd consisted mainly of women and girls. At the entrance, a bedraggled wizard repeated endlessly:
"Calm down, ladies, calm down! Don't push! Please be careful with the books!
Molly and her sons struggled to squeeze inside. The queue stretched all the way to the back of the shop, where Lockhart was signing his books. Taking a copy of The Holiday with the Crag, Percy and the twins rushed along the queue to where their parents were standing with their older brothers.
"There you are! Wonderful!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, breathing excitedly and smoothing her hair. "Just one more minute and we'll see him!
And there he was — oh, joy!" They saw him. He was sitting at a table surrounded by his own portraits. They all winked and smiled dazzlingly at their admirers. The living Lockhart was dressed in a forget-me-not-coloured robe that matched his blue eyes. His magical hat was jauntily tilted over his golden curls.
A nervous-looking little man danced around the table, clicking away with a large camera, which emitted thick purple smoke with every flash.
Suddenly, Korosta, who had been sitting quietly on Percy's shoulder, began to toss and turn from side to side, then jumped off the boy's robe onto the floor, nearly falling under the photographer's feet.
"Get out of the way!" he barked at Percy, backing away and nearly stepping on both the poor animal and the boy, who was trying to catch his pet. "Can't you see I'm taking pictures for the Daily Prophet?"
"You almost killed her!" Percy lunged at the photographer, holding the injured rat out in front of him with outstretched arms.
"Uh...
Lockhart heard the exclamation. He looked in Percy's direction. Suddenly, he jumped up as if a flying saucer had landed in the shop.
"Poor boy! You can't be hurt, can you?" cried the wizard anxiously. He rushed over to Weasley, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him to the table.
"No, only Crookshanks got hurt..." Percy didn't know what to say and blushed.
"Never mind, we'll fix your pet right up!
Whispering excitedly, the crowd parted before the wizard, then the wizards burst into thunderous applause. Posing for the photographer, Lockhart dramatically raised his wand, holding the writhing rat with his other hand. The camera clicked furiously, sending thick clouds of smoke towards the Weasleys.
And then, after another flash...
"BAM!!!" — suddenly, the table legs buckled, and in the next few seconds, everyone in the room witnessed a disgusting sight. It was like watching a tree grow in fast motion. A head appeared and began to grow, followed by limbs. Another moment — and where the rat had just been standing, there was a little man, cowering in fear and wringing his hands. His thin, colourless hair was tousled, with a large bald patch on top of his head; his skin hung loosely, like that of a fat man who had lost all his weight overnight. For a second, silence reigned in the hall.
"Pettigrew!" someone in the crowd gasped in amazement.
"Peter Pettigrew, you are under arrest for illegal animagi," said a tall, thin man who pushed his way to the front. The audience recognised him with surprise as the former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch, Sr.
Peter, in turn, sniffed, glanced towards the door and rushed there at full speed, pushing aside the screaming ladies. Lockhart, out of habit, threw some kind of spell after him, which spread black slime across the floor. And then it all started...
And no one in this situation paid any attention to the girl in the yellow dress, sitting on a chair in the corner of the hall, who was whispering something to a pen scribbling rapidly on a scroll of parchment.
***
"Sirius Black — Darker than Dark?" The front page of the Daily Prophet greeted me with a screaming headline and a photo of me as a young man, waving happily to someone alongside James.
"The recent reappearance of Peter Pettigrew, who was believed to be dead, has forced us to take a fresh look at the facts at our disposal. Bartemius Crouch, who was directly involved in today's events, agreed to give a short interview..."
At that point, I put the newspaper down, as there was no point in reading it a second time. Rita had done everything right, for which she would receive a small gift in gold. In fact, according to the plan, it was Lockhart's job to neutralise the rat. However, he almost ruined everything he could, under the influence of adrenaline, casting something similar to a dark magic curse instead of a simple binding spell. And although he "exposed" Peter, Crouch took the lion's share of the glory. Although the peacock still got something.
Maybe after all this, he'll even get some kind of medal. If not, no big deal. I didn't really need him... The main thing is that the job is done — Peter is in custody and getting ready for questioning. And I was politely asked to turn myself in. Through a lawyer, of course, without publicity. Geoffrey doesn't eat his bread with caviar for nothing... However, after some thought, it was decided to make the surrender public. That way, there was less risk of me simply being quietly killed "while trying to escape." Of course, I didn't want to surrender at all.
Memories of Azkaban were still fresh in my mind. But this was a prerequisite on the part of Miss Bones, the chair of the trial. Dumbledore, as a person who had previously testified in this case, was dragged away from the chair of the head with a creak. At that moment, my personal safe unexpectedly showed its bottom. It would be quite unpleasant if all my efforts were in vain... although, I must say, I definitely wouldn't need the gold in that case.
***A day later, I went to turn myself in. Everything possible had been done, a defence strategy had been devised by my lawyer, and the loyalty of most of the Wizengamot members had been bought, or at least their neutrality. I removed all compromising memories and placed them in glass jars near the memory pool with an explanatory note for each one. I still needed to erase my memory of those very fragments. I planned to ask Medu to do this, making sure I didn't see her face.
That way, I could answer any compromising questions with a simple "I don't know." Many devourers used this trick to disown their sins. Memories in a vial — a wand to the temple, and Obliviate. They would also cast Imperius on each other beforehand so that they could say with certainty in court that I was under the influence of Imperius, a Death Eater, and acting according to his will. Of course, this does not provide a complete guarantee. There are still witnesses, evidence, Priori Incantatem, various magical examinations... And then everything is in the hands of the lawyer and the prosecutor.
If he manages to ask the right questions and catch someone out on an imprecise wording or an inconsistency, that's it — bare walls of Azkaban for the rest of their life. No one has ever managed to lie under the truth serum.
And so the valiant servants of the snake-headed man flew to prison, or to a kiss in almost every case. Crouch Senior was a master of rhetoric, unlike his replacement, Amelia Bones. That would have been fine, but she was clearly Fudge's protégé, and the fat man valued money more than justice. But now...
"Are you sure, Siri?" Meda's trembling voice came from somewhere behind me. Now there was only one step left to my freedom. Come on! It was яnow or never...
"Yes," I nodded, gathering my courage. I wasn't ready at all.
"Obliviate!
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970