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Sirius Black watched the grand room fill up with the old and the rich with equal parts familiar disdain and swirling doubts. The Wizengamot, a body of the rich and powerful, was built to pass laws and settle disputes. It was meant as a neutral governing body to balance the Ministry of Magic. Ancient magic created the original Wizengamot, a simple round table that called the most prominent magical families of the time that built into the circular room it was today.
His eyes swept over the room, down to the floor, where magic etched the round table into the design, a stark reminder of the history and gravity the magic demanded. By right, Sirius should be in the chairs that surrounded the middle. His eye caught on the Black family chair, shrouded in a gray cloth to signify its inactive status. The Black family held a chair in the Wizengamot since nearly the beginning.
But right now, he was being denied his seat, his right. Something he didn’t even want before his stint in Azkaban. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it now. Just looking at the seat made him want to hurl. But being denied the seat made him furious and that overrode his petulant desire to refuse.
Denied because he had been imprisoned, as if half the people here hadn’t been imprisoned and then let go after gold passed hands. Denied because he was not ‘mentally stable’, as if he had been mentally stable before languishing away in Azkaban.
He did still struggle with remembering when he was. He knew he repeated himself more often than not. Harry was a good sport about it. Merlin, he loved that kid.
“If you will not cease fidgeting, I will stun you,” his favorite cousin, Andromeda, hissed from beside him.
Andy had the unfortunate pleasure of hiding under James’ old invisibility cloak with him as they waited for the session to start. She had graciously agreed to attend with him to help keep him focused and to take up proxy of the Black seat after today.
They did not have to hide. They registered their wands when entering the public section. But here they were, huddled under a cloak that had no right to be big enough for both of them.
For no other reason than drama.
Sirius had not planned on hiding when he stopped making excuses (and when Natasha told him to get his act together). He planned on glaring at anyone that attempted small talk while he made his appropriately dramatic entrance. But then the cloak appeared as he was figuring out which set of robes was least hideous. He didn’t know how, but the cloak always did seem to be just within reach whenever they planned mischief.
So many memories tied to this cloak. Happy memories, tinged bittersweet because the dementors did not just steal joy, then tainted all the rest. He’d give it to Harry after this final prank. Harry deserved the best.
A gong rang out. The doors sealed. People settled in their seats.
Sirius stilled.
The first ten minutes was rote procedure: calling attendance, announcing minutes. Sirius bid his time. Albus Dumbledore, who sat above the Wizengamot like a dragon over its hoard, watched the proceedings with a genial smile that would put any kind, permissive grandfather to shame.
Sirius sent a silent snarl his way. Andy swatted him on the arm.
He waited through the boring pieces of legislature until Dumbledore called for order on the final item on the agenda: handling defunct seats and ungoverned estates.
At first glance, Dumbledore’s legislation seemed perfectly reasonable. Seats should not be left to rot indefinitely nor should families crippled by war be left without assistance. But Sirius knew his old headmaster was looking to muzzle Sirius, to keep him dependent and reliant. He wanted control over his godson. He had already tried threatening legal action if Sirius did not fall in line.
As if Sirius ever behaved once in his life.
He waited for his moment. Dumbledore finished speaking. He cast a quiet Sonorous and said, “You have no right.”
His words echoed, silencing an already quiet chamber as everyone twisted back and forth to find who spoke. Sirius stepped out from under the cloak, a thrill ran through him much like what he used to feel after a particularly good prank. He met Dumbledore’s gaze without fear.
“Lord Black, Wizengamot public guests are not permitted to speak,” the speaker of the house, a mousey sort of fellow, said.
At least he got one thing right. Sirius was a lord, equal status to all the other bloodsuckers around him. He sauntered down the aisle. “And the Wizengamot cannot dictate house affairs, yet here we are. I was denied my claim to my seat as if my unlawful incarceration could disown me.”
He looked around the room and met the eyes of several known Death Eaters in their own seats.
“Sirius, my boy—”
Sirius turned back to Dumbledore, the leader of the light, his general, one more person in a long line of adults that refused to help him away from his family, and raised a single brow. He had reached his family’s ancient seat. With deliberate movement, he reached out and touched the chair. The magic that held the chair in stasis, that shrouded the chair as if in mourning, shimmered and disappeared.
That was a gamble. If magic did not recognize him, he could get booted out or even lose his magic for daring to go against ancient oaths. But he was confident it would be fine. Mostly confident. Well, it didn’t matter now.
He sat in the chair and steepled his fingers.
“Sirius Black cannot claim the Black seat!”
He looked over at Elphias Doge, a cantankerous old man even when Sirius was a child, sitting next to the Potter seat that indicated he was acting as proxy. James would have eviscerated him for daring to act as proxy. James wasn’t much for all the politics, but he made sure his proxy was one he respected and trusted.
Sirius wondered what happened to Wilson, who held the proxy before.
“You are dismissed from your duties,” Sirius said with the appropriate gravitas.
Doge disappeared with a pop and a shimmer of gold. Magic of the room removing him from falsely claiming the seat.
With a sigh, Sirius stood and walked over to the chair, touching the back and letting the magic show the rest of the room that he had been accepted as proxy. He took an oath to be Harry’s godfather, swore his magic to protect and love him. He had every right to claim management over the Potter line until Harry was old enough to do so himself.
He wouldn’t remain as proxy. Nor would he keep the Black house seat. He wasn’t much for politics. And honestly, his head space wasn’t the best. He was getting better, but arguing with dusty old relics wasn’t going to help.
That wasn’t the point of today.
He turned back to the room at large. Everyone watched with baited breath. Sirius got the theatrics he wanted. Time to end it and go back to pranking with Harry.
“You lot were perfectly fine letting me rot away in Azkaban for something I would never do. I was locked up and thrown out without even the courtesy of a trial. And when I did your job for you and cleared my name, you decided to deny me further. A slight against me I can ignore, but then you dragged my godson into it.”
He had perfected his own death glare in Azkaban, the one that promised hellfire and creative retribution should anyone dare cross him. He used this look to pin each and every Wizengamot member. The light shifted. The dark glared back.
They should all burn. They should all spend a day with a dementor and see how well they fare. To think that they dared to argue about whether Harry should go to him, as if they had any say in it, as if they could be allowed to dictate his godson’s life. He would gladly ignore and rebel against each one of them, but pulling Harry into their arguments as if he were a piece of legislature marked them all for revenge.
“You dared to dictate the last of the Noble House of Potter. You dared to dictate the last of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Albus Dumbledore has no right to present legislation that allows him free reign over struggling seats. And you are all complicit in house line theft. Before you start squabbling over this unlawful piece of legislature, think very hard about what protects you from being stripped of your rights and removed from your family.”
He lounged back in the Black seat and looked back at Dumbledore. The old man looked grave and sad. Good. Sirius was done playing by his rules.