Thick of it : reboot

The wizarding world was in absolute chaos. For years, Peter Pettigrew had been enshrined as a martyr, his name whispered with reverence by those who believed he had died heroically at the hands of Sirius Black. The truth, however, was far more grotesque. Pettigrew had been alive all along, living as a rat—Scabbers—under the noses of countless witches and wizards. The Ministry of Magic, already notorious for its ineptitude, had never looked more incompetent. The revelation of Pettigrew's survival and his subsequent confession under the influence of Veritaserum had sent shockwaves through the magical community.

The Wizengamot had been a scene of pandemonium. Pettigrew's trembling voice echoed through the chamber as he confessed to betraying James and Lily Potter, framing Sirius Black, and living in hiding for over a decade. The air was thick with tension, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone present. Sirius Black, newly freed from Azkaban, had lunged at Pettigrew, his face a mask of fury, only to be restrained by a wall of Aurors. The image of Sirius's gaunt, haunted face, contorted with rage and years of injustice, was seared into the memories of all who witnessed it. Pettigrew, on the other hand, was a pitiful sight—his greasy hair plastered to his forehead, his beady eyes darting around in terror, his body trembling as if he could already feel the cold breath of the Dementors.

The Daily Prophet had wasted no time in capitalizing on the scandal. The morning edition bore a striking image of Sirius, wild-eyed and desperate, being held back by Aurors, while Pettigrew cowered in the background. The headlines screamed:

PETER PETTIGREW—ALIVE!

SIRIUS BLACK—INNOCENT!

A MINISTRY DISGRACE!

The public outcry was immediate and deafening. How could the Ministry have been so blind? How could an innocent man have rotted in Azkaban for years without a trial? The streets of Diagon Alley buzzed with outrage, and owls carrying angry letters flooded the Ministry's mailroom. By morning, the verdict was clear: Sirius Black was exonerated, and Peter Pettigrew was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. The Ministry, meanwhile, was drowning in a sea of public fury.

The Gryffindor table was unusually subdued, the usual chatter replaced by a heavy silence. James, Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat together, their plates piled high with eggs, sausages, and toast, though none of them had much of an appetite. The events of the past few days had left them all reeling.

Harry rubbed his temples, his forehead creased with a frown. "This is still giving me a headache," he muttered, pushing his toast around his plate.

Hermione huffed, setting down her goblet of pumpkin juice with a sharp clink. "The Ministry being this irresponsible is totally mental. I mean, they locked up an innocent man for twelve years without a trial! Twelve years! How do they justify that?"

Ron, who had been unusually quiet, looked up from his plate, his face pale. "I still can't believe Scabbers was a man. I—" He shuddered, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I slept with my rat."

James , trying to lighten the mood. "Look on the bright side, mate. At least you didn't have to spend six years with him like Percy did."

Ron's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, Merlin's beard… Percy! He must be—"

"—Absolutely losing his mind," James finished, nodding. "I heard he hasn't slept in days. Keeps muttering about how he shared a bed with a Death Eater."

James chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "And that explains why his hair's been looking even more 'precariously placed' than usual."

The group snickered at that, the tension easing slightly—except for Harry, who was staring down at his plate, poking at his toast absentmindedly. His mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of the man who had just been freed from Azkaban.

James nudged him gently. "So, Harry, when are you meeting your godfather?"

Harry looked up, hesitating. "I don't know… Dumbledore said he'd be here today."

As if on cue, the heavy wooden doors of the Great Hall creaked open, and in walked three figures: Albus Dumbledore, his silver beard gleaming in the morning light; Sirius Black, his unkempt black hair and gaunt frame making him look both wild and regal; and Remus Lupin, his light brown hair streaked with grey, his kind eyes scanning the room with a tired but warm smile.

Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat. Sirius was thinner than most wizards, his face hollowed out from years of Azkaban's torment, but there was an undeniable energy about him—a fierce, almost feral vitality that seemed to radiate from his very being. His grey eyes, sharp and piercing, scanned the hall until they landed on Harry.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together, his twinkling eyes crinkling at the corners. "Harry, my boy, I believe there are two gentlemen who would very much like to meet you."

Harry swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists beneath the table. There had been so many times he had wished for family—any family. Now, his godfather stood before him, a man who had fought for his parents, suffered for them. And he didn't know what to say.

James leaned in, his voice low and encouraging. "Go on, mate. They're waiting for you."

Harry stood up, his legs feeling stiff and unsteady as he approached the trio. Sirius's eyes softened as Harry drew closer, and a small, tentative smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Harry," Sirius said softly, his voice rough but warm. "You look just like your father."

Harry blinked, a lump forming in his throat. "And my mum's eyes. People keep telling me that."

Sirius chuckled, the sound tinged with both joy and sorrow. "They're right. You do."

Remus stepped forward, his hands tucked into the pockets of his worn robes. "Hello, Harry. I'm Remus Lupin. I was a friend of your parents."

Harry looked at him curiously, his green eyes wide. "You knew them?"

Remus nodded, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "We were best friends—your father, Sirius, and me. We were inseparable. And now…" He gestured to Sirius, his voice gentle. "Sirius is your godfather."

Sirius's expression turned serious, and he knelt slightly to be at eye level with Harry. "That's right. James and Lily asked me to look after you if anything ever happened to them. And I failed you, Harry. I failed you for years." His voice cracked slightly, the weight of his guilt evident in every word.

Harry hesitated, shifting on his feet. "It wasn't your fault."

Sirius's eyes softened, and he reached out to place a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're too kind to say that. But I intend to make up for it."

They spoke for a while, the conversation flowing easily as Sirius and Remus shared stories of Harry's parents. Sirius recounted tales of James's mischievousness—how he once turned McGonagall's quill into a snake during Transfiguration, how he and Sirius had bewitched the Slytherin robes to flash I Love Gryffindor in bright gold lettering. Harry listened, enthralled, his heart swelling with a sense of connection he had never felt before.

At some point, the conversation shifted, and Sirius's grin widened as he leaned forward. "I hear you're a Seeker."

Harry nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. First-year Seeker for Gryffindor."

Sirius's grin widened. "Just like James."

Harry beamed at that, his chest swelling with pride. He liked hearing that he was like his parents.

But then Sirius's expression turned serious again, his grey eyes narrowing slightly. "Harry, tell me about the Dursleys."

Harry hesitated, his smile faltering. 

So Harry told them. About the cupboard under the stairs. About the years of being treated like a burden. About the locks on his door . By the time he was finished, Sirius's hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles white, and Remus's kind eyes were filled with a quiet, simmering anger.

"That's it," Sirius said, standing up abruptly. "You're coming to live with me."

Harry's heart leapt, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. "Really?"

"Of course!" Sirius said, his voice firm. "I'm your godfather! You belong with me, not those—"

"Harry must remain with the Dursleys," Dumbledore interjected gently, stepping forward. "Until he turns seventeen."

Sirius spun around, his face a mask of frustration. "Why? After everything he's been through—"

Dumbledore raised a hand, his expression calm but resolute. "Because of the protection his mother left him. Voldemort could not even touch him because of it."

That silenced Sirius, though the frustration in his eyes was still palpable. Remus exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping slightly. "That… doesn't mean we can't visit him."

Sirius smirked, a glint of determination in his eyes. "Oh, we'll visit, alright."

Harry grinned, the weight on his chest lifting slightly. For the first time in years, he felt like he had a family—people who cared about him, who wanted to be a part of his life.

Sirius then turned to Harry, his expression softening. "By the way, this James—he's the one who caught Pettigrew?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. James Dawson."

Sirius grinned, his eyes lighting up with gratitude. "Well then, let's meet this James."

James was summoned over, and he walked up to Sirius with his usual confident stride. Sirius reached out and shook his hand firmly, his grip strong and steady. "Thank you. You saved Harry and me from a life of misery. If you ever need anything, remember me."

James smirked, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement. "No problem."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, his twinkling eyes sweeping over the group. "And now, if I'm not mistaken, you two have classes to attend."

With that, Harry and James left the Great Hall, walking side by side. James nudged Harry gently, a grin spreading across his face. "See? You've got family now."

And for the first time in years, Harry felt truly happy. The weight of loneliness that had clung to him for so long was finally beginning to lift, replaced by a sense of belonging he had never known. He had a godfather, a friend of his parents, and a future that suddenly seemed a little brighter.