AN-

'To the cherished Readers of Broken Shackles,

Two years ago, a journey began with a single word, a mere whisper of a tale. Today, with over 255k/235k words behind us, (depending on where you are reading) it's overwhelming to reflect on the shared odyssey of emotions, discoveries, and boundless love you've shown.

Each word was breathed to life by your support, every chapter a testament to our collective spirit. From the deepest recesses of my heart, thank you for cradling Broken Shackles with such tenderness. Here's to more stories, more tears, more smiles, and an unending bond.

Gratefully,

Black Infinity 1289.'

As you already know, next 4 chapters are available on my pa#tron page to read. If you like to and can afford to support me, you can access them there.

Without further ado, let's get started.

Enjoy.

Broken Shackles

Chapter 37

Crow's Ascent

1st July 1994

With a final bang of her gavel, Amelia declared, "This trial is now officially closed."

As Amelia's gavel struck for the last time, the reverberations seemed to echo not just in the courtroom but in the hearts of everyone present. The gravity of the moment is palpable, leaving some with a profound sense of relief and others with an unsettling realisation that their world has irrevocably shifted.

Sirius stood up slowly, his eyes shining with emotion that had been bottled up for years. He looked towards Harry, and the two shared a moment that transcended words—both a culmination of struggles past and a promise of better days to come. Andromeda enveloped Sirius in a family hug, her smile as vivid as it is heartfelt. Dora gave a high five while Ted gave an emotional nod of approval as if confirming he is finally free.

The room is abuzz with chatter, a maelstrom of shifting sentiments. In the midst of it all, Rita Skeeter is scribbling furiously, her Quick-Quotes Quill dancing across the parchment. She knew she had the makings of a blockbuster story that would sell out every newsstand in Magical Britain. She glanced toward Fudge, noting the mixture of shock and humiliation that coloured his features—a juicy tidbit she couldn't afford to overlook.

Fudge himself felt like he was trapped in a nightmare. His eyes flicked to his aide, who seemed equally shocked. Amelia's decision and the pressure from Harry had effectively tied his hands. He had no choice but to concede to the court's orders, a move that would surely damage his already shaky reputation. He knew what followed and so he was a step ahead and called his aide, briefing him on the next course of action.

Lucius sat stiffly, his mind racing as he considered the implications of this verdict. With Pettigrew incarcerated and Sirius exonerated, the balance of power had shifted in a way he couldn't yet fully understand. Caesar is equally contemplative, pondering what the bold revelations meant for the old families, the Ministry, and the future of Magical Britain.

As the murmurs of the courtroom began to subside following Amelia's verdict, a subtle shift in atmosphere marked the next important transition. The Wizengamot's grand chamber, bathed in the soft glow of the enchanted ceiling, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Dumbledore stood, his long, silver beard flowing like a river of moonlight, and his half-moon glasses capturing the room's reflection. He approached Amelia with an air of quiet authority. For a brief moment, their eyes met—two stalwarts of Magical Britain, both having weathered countless storms in the service of justice.

Amelia, with a nod of acknowledgement and respect, handed over the gavel to Dumbledore. The weight of the gavel in Dumbledore's hand symbolised more than just a position—it is the weight of responsibility, of guiding the Wizengamot through an era fraught with challenges.

Non-members and invited guests were given seating at the Visitor's Gallery while most of the Ministry staff emptied to attend to their work. The Chamber held its breath as everyone watched Dumbledore.

As Dumbledore took his position at the head of the chamber, the members of the Wizengamot stood in unison. A sign of respect for the Chief Warlock. Dumbledore, ever the calm and composed figure, raised his hand for silence.

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore addressed the assembly. "Lords and Ladies, esteemed members and honourary guests of the Wizengamot," he began, his voice firm yet gentle, "while the echoes of today's verdict still resonate within these walls, we must remember that our responsibilities to the wizarding world extend far beyond any single trial. As we convene this extended session, let us remain guided by wisdom, fairness, and an unwavering dedication to the greater good."

The weight of Dumbledore's words hung in the air, imbuing the chamber with a sense of renewed dedication. With the recent trial as a backdrop, the Wizengamot stood at the threshold of a new chapter.

The extended session of the Wizengamot had been Fudge's brainchild, a strategic move he had hoped would solidify his position in the eyes of Magical Britain as the situations were in his favour with no Dumbledore to stop him because of all the allegations the Headmaster had been dealing through, he could appoint a temporary Chief Warlock who will be his 'yes man'.

Fudge had anticipated that by orchestrating a longer session immediately following the trial, he would capitalise on the momentum and display his leadership skills, underlining his competence and control over the legal proceedings.

The case involving Black is high-profile, drawing the attention of almost every witch and wizard in Britain. Fudge had believed that a decisive and swift verdict would earn him accolades, allowing him to then segue into the extended session with an air of triumph.

It would be a masterstroke, showcasing him as both a strong leader and a man of action. The extended session, in his mind, was meant to be a platform for him to shine, to address other matters of state, and to demonstrate his capability to guide the Wizengamot and, by extension, the entire Ministry.

However, as the revelations of the trial unfolded and Black's innocence became undeniably clear, the extended session, initially meant to be Fudge's pedestal of triumph, instead transformed into a glaring spotlight on his misjudgments.

As the echoes of chatter began to fade from the courtroom, there was a quiet presence that marked the return of Dumbledore to the fore. His blue robes shifted like the depths of an undisturbed lake, a stark contrast to the flurry of emotions that had pervaded the chamber earlier. Everyone present shifted their attention to him, sensing the weight of the moment.

Dumbledore's eyes settled upon Amelia for an instant, then darted to the somewhat flustered figure of Fudge. "Minister Fudge," Dumbledore began, voice calm but insistent, "as per the court's verdict and in light of the grave injustices Sirius Black has faced, the Ministry is mandated to provide compensation. I trust you have made the necessary arrangements?"

Fudge, discomfort evident on his face, hesitated before nodding slowly. With a subtle gesture, a chest bearing the Black family crest appeared, revealing neatly stacked Galleons within. "7 million Galleons," Fudge acknowledged reluctantly, "as ordered."

Sirius blinked in disbelief, barely having time to register this before Dumbledore continued, "Furthermore, Minister, an official apology from the Ministry—and yourself personally—is not just appropriate but essential. The weight of a leader's words can go a long way in mending the fractures of the past."

Visibly swallowing his pride, Fudge reached into his coat and presented a sealed envelope. "Here it is," he murmured, avoiding Sirius's gaze.

The tension in the room is palpable as Sirius opened the envelope. The words within, while unable to reverse the pain of the past, served as an acknowledgement of the grave miscarriage of justice.

Dumbledore, standing as a beacon of moral authority, addressed the room. "While today has seen justice served, it is a stark reminder that we must always strive to uphold the principles of fairness and integrity, even in the face of difficult truths."

Sirius's eyes shimmered with a mix of emotions as he whispered a heartfelt, "Thank you." He wasn't addressing Dumbledore, but the people who stood by him and made the system finally acknowledge its failings after years of injustice.

In the aftermath of the verdict, justice served and past wrongs acknowledged, the courtroom, though less populated now, still retained an electric atmosphere. There is a collective, almost tangible anticipation as Dumbledore sat in his seat as Chief Warlock, his tall form lending an aura of gravitas to the proceedings.

He raised his hand, allowing the chatter to die down, and then turned to face Sirius, who stood with a strange combination of relief and apprehension.

As the dust of testimonies and declarations began to settle, Dumbledore stood, his towering presence dominating the Wizengamot chamber. His gaze, sharp yet compassionate, locked onto the worn but resilient figure of Sirius Black.

"Sirius Orion Black," began Dumbledore, each word resonating with gravitas, "in light of today's revelations and the rectification of a long-standing injustice, I, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, hereby recognize you as the Reagent of House Black, the rightful heir and only surviving member of one of our most ancient and noble families."

The chamber seemed to draw a collective breath, the weight of Dumbledore's pronouncement sinking in. He continued, voice unwavering, "Until this day, Lord Malfoy has been representing House Black in this assembly. With Mr Black's reinstatement, it is only fitting that he assumes his rightful place."

A deliberate pause followed, as Dumbledore's eyes scanned the room, challenging and inviting any objections. "If any member of this assembly has concerns or objections to this proclamation, speak now."

The silence that ensued was almost deafening. Many eyes darted to Lucius, expecting a protest or a flicker of indignation. Yet, whether out of genuine acceptance or an unwillingness to challenge Dumbledore in such a charged atmosphere, not a word of dissent was uttered.

Seeing no objections, Dumbledore's gaze returned to Sirius, a hint of pride and satisfaction evident in his eyes. "Very well. Sirius Black, may you honour the legacy of your house and uphold the responsibilities that come with this position."

The chamber was abuzz with murmurs and whispers, as members absorbed the magnitude of the moment. Sirius, overwhelmed but standing tall, nodded in acknowledgement, the weight of his new responsibilities evident but not daunting.

Though silent, a storm of indignation and fury raged in Lucius's mind. To the outside world, his face remained an impassive mask, but those who knew him could detect the minute tightening of his lips and the barely perceptible clench of his jaw. The Malfoy patriarch had, for years, enjoyed the privilege and power that came with representing House Black in the Wizengamot. To lose it so publicly, and to Sirius Black of all people, is a grievous blow to his pride and ambitions.

The control of House Black had not just been a matter of prestige for Lucius, but also one of influence. With its vast wealth and historical gravitas, House Black's favour could tip the scales in many a political game, and Lucius had skillfully played his cards to maintain a semblance of control over it. Now, with the house's true heir reinstated, the cards are no longer in his hands.

As Lucius grappled with his internal tempest, Dumbledore turned his attention to Fudge, whose demeanour had noticeably shifted throughout the trial. The Minister, once confident and almost smug, now looked very deflated.

"Minister Fudge," Dumbledore's voice rang out, "do you have any declarations or matters to bring forth before this esteemed assembly?"

Fudge, adjusting his bowler hat and clearing his throat, responded, "No, Chief Warlock, I believe everything has been addressed."

A murmur ran through the assembly. Many had expected Fudge to use this platform for some manner of political posturing, but it seemed the day's events had taken their toll on him.

Dumbledore, nodding gracefully and declared with authority, "Then, in light of all proceedings and decisions made today, I hereby adjourn this session of the Wizengamot. May we always remember our duty to uphold justice, fairness, and the greater good of the wizarding world."

With those closing words, members and guests of the Wizengamot began to rise from their seats, discussing in hushed tones the ramifications of the day's events.

Lucius, still seething but ever the master of his emotions, sat glued in his seat with as much dignity as he could muster, pondering what can be done, while Sirius, surrounded by family, took his first steps as the fully recognized Reagent of House Black and most if a Free Man!

While everyone left, inside the vastness of Dumbledore's mind, a maelstrom of thoughts, plans, and emotions constantly swirled, each layered with years of experience and intricate understanding of Magical Britain and its inhabitants. As he stood to officially welcome Sirius back into the fold of the wizarding community, Dumbledore's blue eyes, always sharp and observing, studied the man before him.

In the intricate tapestry of his plans and predictions, Dumbledore had foreseen Sirius claiming guardianship over Harry in every situation. It was logical, after all. The bond between godfather and godson, once mended, would be a potent one. Harry would need that familial connection, especially after the hardships he had faced. And Sirius, having lost so much time, would undoubtedly wish to take an active role in Harry's life.

Yet as Dumbledore spoke, offering Sirius the recognition and titles he was due, he keenly observed the man. There was an air of relief about Sirius, a certain peace that seemed to emanate from him. And Dumbledore realised, with a growing sense of surprise, that Sirius was not stepping forward to make any claims.

Dumbledore's mind raced. Had he miscalculated? Was there another reason for Sirius's reticence? Perhaps it was the years of imprisonment, the burden of lost time, that had changed Sirius in ways Dumbledore hadn't anticipated. Or perhaps it was a deeper understanding, a realisation on Sirius's part that Harry needed the freedom to make his own choices.

For a moment, Dumbledore felt a pang of unease. His plans, though always made with the best intentions, sometimes hinged on the predictability of others. And here is Sirius Black, proving once again that human emotions and choices could never be entirely predicted.

As the session concluded, Dumbledore internally adjusted, recalibrating his understanding of the man standing before him. Sirius's unpredictability reminded the venerable wizard of the ever-evolving nature of life and the importance of humility, even for one as wise as he.

There would be time to discuss, to understand Sirius's decisions better. For now, Dumbledore allowed himself a brief moment of introspection, appreciating the lesson in unpredictability and recognizing that sometimes, even the best-laid plans could be beautifully upended by the human heart.

As the massive doors of the Wizengamot chamber slowly swung open, the occupants of the room were immediately met with the sight of Rita Skeeter, her quick-quotes quill poised and ready, her acid-green quill matching the glint of anticipation in her eyes. Behind her, a small crowd of reporters and photographers had gathered, their lenses trained on the exit, waiting for the prime subjects of the day's news.

"Sirius Black!" Rita called out, pushing her way to the front with a determination only a seasoned reporter like her could muster. "A moment of your time for the readers of the 'Daily Prophet'? The wizarding world is eager to hear your thoughts on today's verdict."

Sirius, having been prepped for this very moment by Andromeda, took a deep breath and stopped, allowing the reporter her moment. Beside him, Harry and the rest of their group exchanged wary glances, well aware of Rita's reputation for twisting words and creating sensationalist stories.

"It's a day of justice, Ms Skeeter," Sirius began, choosing his words carefully. "I am grateful to those who stood by me and believed in my innocence. It's a new beginning, not just for me, but for our society to reflect upon its values."

Rita's quill scribbled furiously, capturing every word. She then turned her attention to Harry, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Mr- I mean, Heir Potter, any comments on your godfather's official exoneration and his reinstatement as the Reagent of House Black?"

Harry, having had his fair share of lessons, replied with caution, "I'm happy for Sirius. Everyone deserves justice, and I'm glad he's finally received his."

Rita, sensing the guarded responses and wanting something more tantalising, prodded further, "And what of your future, Mr Black? Any plans now that you're a free man and back in the good graces of Magical Britain ?"

Before Sirius could reply, Andromeda stepped in, placing a protective arm around Sirius's shoulder. "All in good time, Ms Skeeter. For now, we'll be focusing on family and rebuilding what was lost."

Rita gave a slightly disappointed huff but nodded, scribbling a few more notes. "Very well. Thank you for your time." With a sharp turn on her heel, she moved to pester other members of the Wizengamot for their statements.

As the group moved away from the press and towards the exit, Tonks whispered to Harry, "Handled that well, didn't you?"

Harry smirked, "We've danced this dance about Rita before. Best to keep things simple with her."

Sirius chuckled, relief evident in his voice, "One battle at a time, right?"

Amidst the whirlwind of press and politics, the small group found comfort in their unity, ready to face whatever challenges the future held for them.

As she saw them leave, Rita's eyes sparkled with a glee that was hard to disguise. The trial had been a journalistic gold mine, and the verdicts—oh, the verdicts!—were the cherry on top. Her mind raced as she took in the scene, already envisioning the headlines she would pen for the special edition.

'Innocent Man Finally Free: The Ministry's Grave Errors Revealed!' or perhaps, 'Sirius Black: The Man Wronged by the System!' she thought, the words virtually dancing in her mind. "And let's not forget, 'Pettigrew Exposed: Hero Turned Villain!'" She cackled.

This was the sort of sensational story that could make even a seasoned journalist's career. She could almost hear the Daily Prophet presses roaring to life, each printed word further vindicating her reputation as the wizarding world's go-to reporter for all things controversial.

Of course, there was the matter of Minister Fudge's complete and utter humiliation. Rita didn't particularly care for Fudge, but he had been a useful source on occasion. However, as she saw it, he'd set himself up for the fall. 'Fudge Fumbles: Minister's Major Missteps,' she mused, chuckling internally. Her readers would eat it up.

She couldn't ignore Dumbledore's involvement either. The venerable wizard had always been a magnet for reader interest. 'Dumbledore's Return: Is the Old Warlock the New Face of Justice?' That headline would surely generate interest, not to mention sell papers.

As the throng of reporters slowly dispersed, Rita's gaze followed the retreating forms of Amelia Bones and Edward Tonks. Amelia had been formidable, her integrity shining through at every twist and turn of the trial. And Edward, Sirius's legal counsel, had presented the case with such precision and passion that even Rita, ever the sceptic, found herself silently rooting for him.

'Amelia Bones: The Beacon of Justice in a Tarnished Ministry?' she pondered, realising that highlighting Amelia's role could bring even more depth to her coverage. As for Edward, 'Edward Tonks: The Unsung Hero Behind Black's Freedom?' Yes, that's catchy,' she thought, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.

The day had been eventful, filled with drama and unexpected revelations. Rita could feel the weight of the scoop she held, and she was all too ready to share it with the wizarding world.

Taking one final look at the magnificent Ministry atrium, she whispered to her quick-quotes quill, 'Let's make history.' With a final flourish, she apparated away, eager to put pen to parchment and immortalise the day's events. Her fans need to wait a few more hours for her to put all her ideas into action.

Meanwhile

Lucius thought long and hard about the verdict and the impending investigations that may follow. He sat fixated in his seat as the chamber emptied, trying to come up with ways to push everything under the rug and move on writing off today as a nightmare. But all his plans aren't strong enough unless he has high-level influe-. That's it! He realised.

His eyes flickered to Fudge, whose face was flushed a disconcerting shade of puce as he walked out of the chamber, way behind everyone not wanting to draw attention. Lucius recognized the anger and embarrassment roiling behind the Minister's eyes. It is a weakness, yes, but also an opportunity.

As the crowd began to disperse, Lucius made his way smoothly through the throng of witches and wizards, stopping in front of Fudge. "Cornelius," he said softly, a hint of faux sympathy in his voice, "what an unfortunate series of events."

Fudge looked at him, his eyes narrowing for a moment before relaxing, recognising his old friend. "Lucius," he murmured. "Yes, very... unfortunate."

Lucius glanced around to ensure they are not overheard. "Perhaps," he started in a low whisper. "Given the rather embarrassing public defeat today, it might be wise to divert public attention elsewhere. A small victory, so to speak, to ensure your administration isn't remembered for this... fiasco."

Fudge looked up, clearly interested. "Go on," he said cautiously.

"The Quidditch World Cup is fast approaching," Lucius said, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "A global event, watched by millions. An ideal platform to showcase the Ministry's effectiveness and Britain's influence in the wizarding world."

Fudge's eyes lit up. "Of course, the World Cup! It could be a spectacular event that puts the Ministry—and me—in a favourable light."

"Exactly," Lucius said. "Now, what if we were to add a certain... grandiosity to the event? Something that would reflect well on your administration. A display of magical prowess, perhaps, or a new, high-profile security measure that demonstrates the Ministry's capabilities?"

Fudge considered the idea. "That does sound tempting. People love a spectacle, and it would be an excellent distraction."

"And if executed well," Lucius added cautiously, "it could serve as a platform for some of the policies we've discussed. Policies that might otherwise face resistance."

Fudge nodded, beginning to see the full scope of Lucius's suggestion. "A favourable context could make all the difference for some of the legislative changes I've been considering. But what did you have in mind in terms of 'grandiosity' or 'security measures'?"

Lucius leaned in closer. "Well, given the current climate, perhaps we could unveil a new, state-of-the-art security spell. It would not only keep attendees safe but also serve as a demonstration of the Ministry's strength and innovation."

Fudge looked impressed. "That could work. That could definitely work. And it would reassure people after today's fiasco."

Lucius smiled. "It's a win-win situation, Cornelius. Your administration gets a much-needed boost, and the people get a spectacle that overshadows any... recent unpleasantness."

Fudge extended his hand, smiling for the first time since the trial began. "Very well, Lucius. I think this is the beginning of a very productive partnership."

"As do I, Minister, as do I," Lucius said, gripping Fudge's hand firmly.

As he walked away, Lucius couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He had successfully redirected Fudge's attention away from the issues that could harm him, all while setting the stage for future moves that could prove beneficial. Yes, today has indeed been a promising day indeed.

Ministry Atrium

The atmosphere outside the courtroom is one of electric excitement. The large atrium of the Ministry, usually a place of quiet bustle and solemnity, is now alive with the sounds of exultation. Members of the wizarding public, journalists, and Ministry officials, all have gathered, creating a sea of eager faces.

Harry, alongside Sirius, is at the centre of this whirlwind. It felt surreal to the young wizard, who is more accustomed to the harsh whispers and covert stares. Now, those stares are open, and the voices raised not in suspicion, but in cheer. "Sirius Black! Harry Potter!" they chanted, as if they are heroes returning from battle.

Beside them, Dora's usually vibrant hair seemed subdued in its pink shade, perhaps in an attempt to blend in. But her pride in her father, Ted, is evident. She kept shooting him radiant smiles, clearly pleased with how the trial had transpired. Ted, for his part, wore an expression of contentment, a job well done.

Andromeda, regal in her demeanour, tried her best to usher the group towards the exit. However, their progress is slow. Many in the crowd reached out, attempting to shake Sirius's hand or pat Harry's back. Their faces reflected a myriad of emotions: elation, relief, admiration.

How they can act so well, Harry didn't understand. A month ago, hell even a day ago, he knew these same people demanded Sirius's capture and now when he is proven innocent, they are cheering for him like the ignorant dumb sheep they are.

And the cheers are so high, it makes one think as if they are on their side from the beginning. Harry sighed in disappointment. Whenever he thought wizarding population has a chance at redemption for better, they go out of their way to prove him otherwise.

As they finally made their way to the Apparition point just outside the atrium, Sirius paused, seemingly overwhelmed. The weight of the years in Azkaban, the bitterness of betrayal, and the sweet release of justice, all came crashing down. With a deep breath, he raised his hand, acknowledging the crowd. The cheers grew louder.

Harry, feeling a tug on his arm, turned to see Dora pointing her wand discreetly, creating a small protective bubble around them to give them a moment's respite. "Ready to go home?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the din.

Sirius nodded, his eyes misty. "More than ready."

With a series of coordinated pops, the group Disapparated, Harry with Dora, Sirius with Ted and Andromeda by herself, leaving behind the echoing cheers of the crowd. The Ministry's atrium, witness to countless stories over the ages, had today played host to another chapter in the tale of Magical Britain's most infamous prisoner. But for Sirius, this is not an end, but a hopeful beginning.

Tonks Residence

The gentle pop of their arrival echoed in the quiet sanctuary of the Tonks' living room. The atmosphere is a stark contrast to the echoing halls of the Ministry's atrium. The family found themselves in a familiar setting, the warmth of the hearth providing a cosy ambience. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden hue across the room.

As they got their bearings, the faint aroma of something delicious wafted through the air. It isn't long before a house elf, wearing a neat little apron, appeared with a tray of refreshments. This is Sibby, the newest addition to the Tonks household, a surprise gift from Harry. Her large, round eyes twinkled with excitement as she presented a tray of freshly brewed tea and an assortment of biscuits.

"Master and Mistress, young Master and Mistress and Mister Sirius, welcome!" she squeaked, her voice filled with reverence as she saw them. "Sibby has prepared a special lunch for today's celebration."

As it is late afternoon, everyone is hungry. The trail took longer than anyone expected with an impressive 3 hours and the additional Extended session and escaping the crowd pushed the time real quick with it being almost 2 PM.

Sirius knelt down, offering a genuine smile. "Oh you know we won? Smart little elf, aren't you?"

"Thank you, Sibby. It smells wonderful." Harry complimented, making the elf beam in pride.

The group moved to the dining room, where a grand feast awaited. The long wooden table is laden with an array of dishes, from roast chicken glazed with honey and thyme to a creamy mushroom risotto. Bowls of fresh salad, platters of roasted vegetables, and jugs of pumpkin juice dotted the spread.

Andromeda took her seat at the head of the table, the matriarch in her element. "This looks splendid, Sibby. You've outdone yourself," she praised, causing the house elf to blush a shade of deep green.

As they began to serve themselves, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Tales of the trial, the reactions of the crowd, and the way forward for Sirius dominated the discussion. Harry listened with patience, occasionally chiming in with a question or observation.

As the meal continued and the atmosphere grew more relaxed, Dora, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, turned to Harry, who was sitting beside her. "You know," she began, taking a moment to dramatically swirl the juice in her glass, "there was a moment in the trial that I don't think any of us will ever forget."

Ted, catching on to where this is headed, chuckled softly. Andromeda raised an eyebrow in anticipation, while Sirius simply smirked.

Harry, realising he is about to become the centre of attention, felt a pink dust on his cheeks. "What are you on about, Dora?"

She grinned. "Oh, just your very 'subtle' outburst. The one where you practically channelled your inner dragon and roasted the opposition." Dora mimicked a dragon's roar, sending the entire table into fits of laughter.

Sirius, feigning shock, said, "I thought the room had gotten a tad bit warmer at that moment. I had no idea it was just Harry's fiery demeanour."

Andromeda, always the voice of reason yet not immune to the playful teasing, added, "While it was certainly... unexpected, Harry, it was also quite impactful. I'm sure Fudge would have pulled some strings to make things in his favour if not for that little 'Dragon Roar'." She gave in with a giggle.

Harry groaned playfully, hiding his face behind his hands. "Alright, alright! I admit, I might've lost my cool a bit."

Dora nudged him with her elbow. "A bit? That's the understatement of the century!"

Chuckling, Ted raised his glass. "To Harry's fiery spirit. May it always burn bright, and only scorch those who truly deserve it."

The table erupted in laughter and cheers once more. While the moment of light-hearted teasing is all in good fun, it also served as a testament to Harry's growth. He has always been known for his bravery, but now, he is also recognized for his fervour and conviction.

Glasses clinked, smiles exchanged, and for a moment, the world outside faded away. There is only the present, the warmth of kinship, and the joy of being together. The burdens of the past seemed lighter, and the path forward, though uncertain, felt filled with promise.

Lunch stretched into the late afternoon, punctuated by laughter and storytelling. The day's events had not just marked Sirius's freedom but also solidified the bond of a family brought together by shared trials and tribulations.

As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the room, Harry felt a sense of contentment he hadn't experienced in a long time. Here, surrounded by people who genuinely cared, he felt at home. And as Sirius caught his gaze and gave him a reassuring nod, Harry realised that, for both of them, this is just the beginning of a new adventure.

As the final remnants of lunch are cleared away, the golden afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the dining room. The lingering satisfaction from the morning's triumph was evident in the room's ambience.

Sirius, stretching his arms and letting out a contented sigh, looked around at the gathered family. "It's been an eventful day," he commented, his voice carrying the weight of years of struggle, now lifted. "I think I might take a small nap."

Andromeda, ever the graceful hostess, nodded in agreement. "A little rest sounds delightful." She exchanged a knowing glance with Ted, who gave a gentle smile. "The events today were tiring, in a good way. But rest is in order."

Ted chimed in, "I second that. All the legal manoeuvring has left me a tad exhausted."

With goodbyes exchanged, the older generation slowly made their way to their respective rooms, leaving the younger members in the living room.

Dora, her hair transitioning between shades of blue and pink, reflecting her playful mood, turned to Harry. "So, Mr Potter," she began, mischief evident in her eyes, "Any other courtroom outbursts you're planning soon?"

Harry chuckled, brushing a hand through his unruly hair. "Only if you're there to have my back."

"Hmm, that sounds like a good idea. I should be there to protect you after all." She said in self-importance. Harry turned to her with his eyes full of similar mischief.

"Care for a spar to prove that?" He challenged. Dora was ready to take the challenge but something came to her mind. "Sure. Only after you catch me." She taunted him and apparated with a silent pop. Harry was stunned by the sudden turn of events and started searching for her around the house.

After an hour of searching, sad he couldn't find her, as Harry ascended the staircase to his room, finally in the mood to rest, he heard the occasional giggle and the swish of a paintbrush. Pausing for a moment, he pushed his room door open cautiously, unsure of what new brand of chaos awaited him.

There, in the midst of a room turned into an explosion of colours and playful drawings, is Dora. Armed with a paintbrush dripping with iridescent paint, she seemed every bit the mischievous artist. Her hair, as always changing, now resembled a splash of paint itself - a brilliant shade of azure blue with neon green streaks.

"Merlin's beard, Dora! What are you doing?!" Harry exclaimed, eyes wide.

She turned, paint smudged on her cheeks and her grin wider than the Cheshire Cat's. "Ah! There you are, Harry! Thought you'd never find me."

Harry's room has transformed. The walls, once a plain cream, now sported doodles, funny illustrations, and cheeky quips. One section showcased Harry flying on his broom, but instead of the fierce Quidditch player he was, the drawing depicted him clinging onto the broom for dear life, with the words, "Harry's first flight!" scribbled in curly lettering.

Another portion showed a snickering Dora chasing after a tiny Harry with a paintbrush. The most audacious was a portrait of Harry with his hair even wilder than usual, accompanied by the caption: "Bad hair level: Expert."

Seeing the shocked expression on Harry's face, Dora tried to contain her giggles. "Thought I'd give your room a bit of a... personal touch. It's just some temporary paint. Comes off with a bit of magic!" She said with a satisfied smile.

Harry, though initially startled, couldn't help but laugh. "You're bonkers, you know that? It's... it's brilliant, actually."

She beamed at him, twirling the paintbrush. "Knew you'd love it! And just so you know, if you're planning any retaliation, remember I'm a Metamorphmagus. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Harry chuckled, already contemplating how he could possibly get back at her. "We'll see about that."

Their laughter is interrupted by the soft tinkle of a bell as Sibby appeared with a tray of refreshments. "Mistress said the young master and mistress might want something to drink," she squeaked, placing the tray on the table.

Gratefully, Harry and Dora helped themselves, the conversation flowing easily between them. From Quidditch matches to the latest pranks pulled at Hogwarts, to their hopes and dreams for the future, the duo found themselves engrossed in shared stories and experiences.

The evening sun continued to bathe the room in its warm embrace, the bonds of friendship and family growing stronger with every shared laugh and memory.

As they got lost in each other's stories, Harry realised about his shape-shifting and his summer objective to learn that. Seeing Dora casually change her face to mimic Fudge's ashen one, he asked. "Dora?"

She paused, turning around with a curious tilt of her head, her hair shifting to a hue of inquisitive lavender. "Yeah?"

Harry took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "You know, you've shown me a bit about your Metamorphmagus abilities before, but... would you actually consider teaching me? I mean, properly? I'm genuinely curious about it, and I think it could be useful."

Dora raised an eyebrow, her playful demeanour momentarily replaced by surprise. "Are you serious? It's not exactly something one can learn, you know. It's a rare genetic trait."

Harry nodded with a smile, "I know. What if I say I may have it to some extent? So understanding it, even if I can't do it now, would be insightful. Besides, maybe I could find ways to emulate some of its aspects magically."

She studied him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. Then a slow smile spread across her face. "Alright, Mr Curiosity. I'm game. But only if you promise to be patient. It's not something I've ever tried explaining before."

Harry grinned, relief evident in his eyes. "Deal. And in return, I'll share a secret with you. Something I haven't told anyone else."

Dora's eyes twinkled with mischief, her hair momentarily flashing gold. "A secret from The-Boy-Who-Lived? Now that's intriguing! You've got yourself a deal, Potter."

With a playful nudge and a shared chuckle, they made their way to the dining room. "Don't forget, Harry," she winked, "I'm looking forward to our little exchange."

Harry chuckled, the promise of shared knowledge lingering in the air. "Trust me, Dora, I intend to keep my end of the deal."

And Cut.

That's it for this Chapter, folks. Hope you all liked it. Tell me, what you think of the chapter and story in general.

Any suggestions are welcomed.

See y'all in the next chapter.

Black Infinity 1289,

Ja Ne.