Chapter Text
Dear Albus,
This is the thirteenth letter I have sent from this desolate hellscape. I have been imprisoned for a crime I did not commit for 1,817 days, and 1,200 of those days have been as Padfoot. I have attempted to reach you through methods both desperate and degrading, and I am quite frankly isolated from all reasonable people, surrounded by death eaters and fanatics. Despite unfortunate appearances, I have at no point in my life, depressing though it may have been, murdered or injured any innocent. Peter Pettigrew was not killed by Sirius Black, nor were any of the many muggles present.
Albus Dumbledore, you are quite literally my only hope. Should this letter find you, I beg of you to at least arrange a meeting with me, or appeal on my behalf. I have preserved my memory so as to prove my innocence, and as Chief Warlock I do believe that if anyone can help me, you are him.
I have the honour to be, your obedient servant
Sirius Orion Black,
Heir to The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore exhaled slowly as he carefully reread Sirius’s words. 1,817 days. One thousand, eight hundred seventeen days of torturous existence, devoid of any joy, and still Sirius was unreasonably lucid. Sirius Black, who wrongly lost three best friends and lived among lunatics, was formally requesting legal help.
Of course. Of course Padfoot hadn’t betrayed his brother. Sirius Black, daredevil extradonaire, was nothing if not loyal, and he had been repaid in spilled blood.
Shit.
Albus Dumbledore stroked Fawke’s head as a single tear rolled down his nose, and began to write. As ink spread across the page, and Sirius Black lay awake in his cell, Albus Dumbledore worked harder and faster than he had in years, determined to rectify this wrong. And as the last drop of ink dried, the last tear was shed, and Fawkes flew to Fudge, the last day of captivity began for Sirius Black.
***
Sirius couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it when his cell door swung open, and he found himself leaving his little corner of hell. He couldn’t believe it when he stepped into the Ministry of Magic and was greeted not by dementors, but by human Aurors.
While he may normally have been sniping and wry, now Sirius stood silent as he was shuttled through security. And when he was returned his wand and assured he would be compensated (as if galleons could make up for five years), Sirius made no quips, simply turning on the spot and vanishing to Grimauld Place.