Chapter 1
The stone walls made the court chilly, but I could tell Silas Fawley was sweating. From my seat in the centre of the tiers that wrapped around the room, I watched a bead of sweat roll down his long nose. He sat in the centre of the floor, his mustard-colored robes creased, his gaze darting frantically to the Wizengamot sitting around me. A small smirk played on my lips. The anticipation of finally settling this case, which had kept me awake for weeks, poring over endless transaction receipts, was intoxicating.
“Silas Peter Fawley,” I started my opening speech as I watched his eyes land on me. “You have been brought before the Court of Magical Law charged with illegally trading numerous magical objects, some of which are ancient and priceless. You are also before us charged with laundering funds obtained from such illegal trades”
“Madam Megera,” Fawley began, the patronising lilt his voice usually had cracking slightly. “These allegations of—of ‘laundering’ and ‘illegal trades’ are entirely false. I am a respected Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
“Indeed, you are,” I said, arching an eyebrow. I tapped the stack of parchment in front of me with the tip of my wand. A dozen perfectly duplicated copies of the brief I had prepared soared across the room, landing softly on the bench in front of the Wizengamot members and Cornelius Fudge.
I turned to the Wizengamot as they all looked down at the parchment “This brief contains a list of permits-“
“Those permits - I need them for my class; they are nothing sinister!” Fawley spluttered, his voice loud to drown out mine “In fact, they are a matter of public record!”
“Which is why it was relatively simple to cross-reference them with the confiscation reports from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” I continued, my tone conversational. I turned back to the Wizengamot, “If you turn to page four, m’learned friends, you will see a permit signed by Professor Fawley on the twelfth of August, authorising the transport of a sixteenth-century grimoire, taken from the Hogwarts library, I might add, for, and I quote, ‘advanced theoretical study’. This is count one.”
Cornelius Fudge flipped through the brief, his eyes quickly scanning the pages, and I watched patiently until he looked up at me and said “Yes... yes, I see it all here.”
“Now,” I said, leaning forward slightly and placing my hands on the bench in front of me. “If you turn to Annexure A, on page seven you will find a Gringotts ledger from the fourteenth of August. It details a transfer of four thousand Galleons from an anonymous vault into Professor Fawley’s personal account. This is count two.”
“A coincidence!” Fawley barked, his voice finally losing its polished edge. “A private sale of an antique family heirloom! You cannot possibly prove—”
“I don’t need to,” I cut in smoothly, looking at Fawley. “Because the grimoire in question was confiscated during an Auror raid on Borgin and Burkes yesterday afternoon.” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Mr Borgin was remarkably cooperative under the threat of Azkaban. He quickly confirmed the grimoire was delivered to him by you, Professor. In exchange for four thousand Galleons. The grimoire was identified by none other than your own colleagues at Hogwarts, where you so kindly reminded the court youwereemployed.”
The whispering broke out as Fawley’s face drained of colour. He spun toward Fudge, his hands gripping the arms of the chair as his “respected” professor act dropped.
“Cornelius, you know me! You know my family! This is preposterous! She is trying to ruin me because of my associations—because I refuse to bow to her blood-traitor politics!” He turned his furious gaze on me, his lip curling. “You arrogant girl. You think because of what you did to your own mother and father you can simply treat other respectable people like this!”
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t even blink. I simply stared at him, letting the cold, inherited arrogance I spent my life trying to bury settle across my features like a mask.
“Are you confessing, Professor Fawley, or are you merely attempting to stall the inevitable?” I asked quietly.
Fawley opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked around the Wizengamot once again. Fudge cleared his throat. “I’ve heard enough. Take Mr Fawley to Azkaban pending a formal sentencing.”
Fawley didn’t fight as two Magical Law Enforcement Officers flanked him, dragging him toward the heavy oak doors. He just stared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred, but he didn’t intimidate me in the slightest. I didn’t break eye contact until the doors slammed shut behind him.
The chamber emptied quickly, and within five minutes, it was just me and the scratching of my own quill as I made my court notes.
“A masterfully constructed argument,” a voice said softly.
I didn’t jump, but the sudden noise made my hand twitch. I finished writing before looking up. Albus Dumbledore was descending the stone steps from the gallery, his long silver beard tucked into his belt, a small paper bag clutched in one hand.
“He was sloppy,” I replied, standing up to gather my parchments. “He left a paper trail a mile wide. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed.”
“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said, coming to a halt in front of the bench. He offered the paper bag. “Lemon drop?”
I frowned as I looked at the bag “No. Thank you.” I paused as he stood there silently “Was there something you needed, Albus?”
His blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles, but there was a sharp, calculating intelligence in his gaze that put me instantly on edge. “It appears I find myself suddenly, and rather forcefully, short-staffed.”
I paused again as I tried to figure out where he was going with this conversation. Why did I care about his staffing problems? If anything, he should be thanking me for relieving him of Fawley. “Well, I do apologise for that. However, you ought to think about doing a more thorough background check for your next Magical Law teacher.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I was thinking that myself.”
“Well, I can get you an advertisement spot in the Prophet tomorrow if you like,” I offered, stepping to the side intending to leave, but Albus didn’t move.
“I’ll need someone with extensive knowledge of Magical Law,” he said as he peered inside the paper bag of sweets.
I frowned again. “Well, of course.” I agreed.I would have thought that was pretty obvious.I thought to myself.
“Someone I can trust,” he said, pulling a sweet out of the paper bag and examining it. “Someone who has proved their loyalty to me.”
My frown deepened, “Are you asking me to write the advertisement for you? Because I don’t really-”
“I want you to take the post,” he interrupted me gently.
I stared at him. Then, I let out a short, humourless laugh.
“Excuse me?”
“You clearly know far more than Silas ever did,” Dumbledore continued, popping the lemon drop into his mouth. “You have proven your loyalty to me tenfold in the past. And frankly, I believe the students would benefit greatly from having a professor who currently holds a seat on the Wizengamot.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, curtly. “I don’t babysit teenagers.”
“No,” Dumbledore agreed softly. “You prosecute Death Eaters.” He took a slow breath, the twinkle fading from his eyes, leaving something much older and heavier in its place. “Which is precisely why I need you in the castle. Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban.”
The name hit me like a physical blow to the stomach, and I locked my knees to keep from swaying. Of course I knew he had escaped.
But I had spent the last twelve years burying him, hating him, waking up in cold sweats thinking about him.
“I know,” I managed to say, my voice suddenly very tight. “I read the Daily Prophet.”
“He may come to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said simply. It wasn’t a guess. “And if he does, I would prefer not to leave the defence of the students solely in the hands of the Dementors.” He tilted his head, watching me with piercing clarity. “We both know what, or rather who, he is hunting.”
Harry.
My best friend’s son.
I looked down at the Fawley file, the neat, undeniable proof of my control over my life, over the law, over the chaos my family had created.
“Term begins in three days,” Dumbledore said sharply, pulling me from my thoughts. He turned toward the stairs. “I shall expect to see you at the sorting feast,Professor.”
The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing in the empty chamber.
I stood perfectly still for a long time. I waited until the footsteps faded entirely down the stone corridor outside. Only then did I allow my fingers to release their death grip on the file I was holding.
Sirius Black. For twelve years, I had successfully reduced that name to ink on a page. I had buried it under mountains of legislation and Ministry procedures; I had trained myself to hear his name without flinching as my heart broke every time. Learning of his escape from Azkaban had made him a physical reality again.
I sank slowly back into my chair, the polished wood feeling suddenly hard and unforgiving. The perfectly constructed walls of my mind—the shields I had spent years building began to crack, letting the memories bleed through.
Sirius, laughing on the grounds at Hogwarts.
Sirius, pressing a kiss to my temple in the quiet of the Hogwarts library.
Sirius, staring at me with a reckless fire in his eyes the night we whispered our vows in secret, defying everything our families stood for.
And then, the final, inescapable memory: standing in front of a ruined cottage in Godric’s Hollow, where just hours ago my best friend took her last breath. Because of him.
A sharp, phantom chill brushed the back of my neck, snapping me out of the past. It was a coldness I knew too well—the lingering psychological residue of the thing I had hidden in the castle all those years ago.
If I went back to Hogwarts, I wouldn’t just be facing the ghosts of my husband and my best friend. I would be sleeping under the same roof as that dark secret. I would be wondering every day if it was still hidden in that room I still wasn’t entirely sure existed.
I rubbed my face with my hands and let out a sigh as I let my arms fall to my side. One thing at a time, Meghana, I mentally scolded myself.
If Sirius really was a Death Eater and was on the run to avenge Voldemort, then Dumbledore knew exactly what he was doing. He knew, with absolute certainty, that I would never, ever let Lily’s son be taken by the likes of Sirius Black, even if it meant I did have to babysit a bunch of teenagers.
