Alastor nodded. "I'm available." He eyed her speculatively. "Are you going to declare Black innocent?"
"Ideally, I'd like his veritaserum testimony."
"Or Pettigrew's."
"Or Pettigrew's." Amelia sighed. "From a prosecution perspective, I can't charge Black with killing Pettigrew and the muggles: his wand clears him of casting any kind of explosive spell, there's the lack of Pettigrew's body, and while witness testimony places him at the scene and casting a spell, there's nothing that points at Black actually causing the explosion. On the other hand, the idea that Pettigrew caused the explosion and escaped somehow to blame Black would fit with the evidence we have – the positioning of the blast, the single finger, the way Pettigrew yelled his accusation in front of muggles breaking the Statute of Secrecy."
"Which leaves the betrayal of the Potters leading to their deaths." Alastor said.
"And that all comes down to hearsay testimony that Black was the Secret Keeper. The strongest statement is Dumbledore's," she tapped the file, "as he recounts James Potter told him Black would be the Secret Keeper and Dumbledore cast the initial Fidelius that made him so."
"But the Granger girl gave a very nice recounting of how Black switched with Pettigrew behind the scenes, and they all determined to tell everyone Black was the Keeper as a bluff to divert attention away from the real one…that brings in reasonable doubt." Alastor said sagely.
"I know and a good advocate like Brian Cutter would tear a prosecution case apart in moments." Amelia said. "Truthfully, I can tell our esteemed Minister that what little evidence there is against Black is circumstantial and won't stand up in a court; that Black would never be convicted if everyone judged the evidence fairly."
"Not quite the same as clearing him." Alastor noted dryly.
Amelia shrugged. "It will be for Cornelius. Let's face it though; if we get the Boy Who Lived stating on record that he believes Black wasn't the Secret Keeper that will be more than enough for most people."
o-O-o
Remus stepped out of the floo and was almost assaulted by an anxious Sirius. Not for the first time he mused on the relative similarities between Sirius and Padfoot and wondered if a rolled up newspaper to Sirius's nose wasn't in order.
"Well?" demanded Sirius.
"She actually seemed to take me seriously." Remus admitted cautiously. "I caught sight of Ronald Weasley just as I was leaving and Moody was there." He commented as he led the way out of the reception room to Sirius's study. "He was disillusioned and in the corner but I could smell him."
Sirius did a little happy dance through the library and into the study.
Remus debated momentarily whether to tell Sirius about the note that would be going into his werewolf registration file and decided against. Sirius would only feel guilty and it wasn't truly his fault – Remus had been the one to forget to take his Wolfsbane. "I gave her Harry's address too."
"I don't see how it will make a difference to my getting custody." Sirius complained. He hadn't wanted to risk compromising Harry's location.
Remus poked his friend in the arm. "Trust me, it'll make a difference."
"Well in that spirit of optimism," Sirius pulled him over to the desk, "come and help me pick out a house."
"You do realise that it takes more than a month to exchange contracts on a muggle property?" Remus argued, exasperated.
"Muggle auctions, Moony, are a wonderful thing, not to mention money talks or it did with the house Brian is organising for the Dursleys." Sirius countered.
Remus looked at him suspiciously. "He used magic, didn't he?"
Sirius shrugged. "I ask no questions…"
"And he tells you no lies." Remus sighed but he set to the task of choosing a home for Harry with a rush of happiness that he hadn't felt in a long while.
o-O-o
The muggle house looked prim and proper with a pretty front garden filled with roses. It was not the type of place where Amelia had envisaged the last of the Potter line residing, never mind the Boy Who Lived. She would have wondered why none of the Potter properties had been used except there was an impressive set of blood wards surrounding the house singing with Lily Potter's signature and additional wards with Dumbledore's. It explained why Dumbledore had placed Potter with his aunt, and Amelia had always understood keeping the address need-to-know, but it didn't explain why there wasn't a record of visitations to confirm the child was safe.
Alastor had told her that he'd taken the precaution of 'offering' to check out the wards when he'd gone to talk with Dumbledore the day before about his Hogwarts job offer. Dumbledore had refused but as Alastor pointed out to Amelia, his old friend would not be surprised that Alastor had ignored him, tracked down the address and gone ahead with his offer anyway. It gave them a wonderful cover for their visit if Dumbledore had some means of monitoring the residence Alastor couldn't see.
Amelia glanced down at her smart brown pantsuit and nodded to Alastor who had actually taken the time to transfigure his usual garb into a badly fitting muggle suit and trench-coat; his magical eye had been charmed to appear normal to a muggle.
He rang the doorbell and they could both hear the echo in the house. A few moments later, Petunia Dursley answered the door.
Amelia blinked. Any resemblance she had expected to see between Lily Potter and her sister disappeared immediately; the horsey brunette in front of her could have been deemed handsome perhaps, if she lost the snooty air and sour expression. "Petunia Dursley? I'm Amelia Bones from the DMLE. I sent you a letter…"
"Yes, I received it." Dursley sniffed. She ran her eyes over them and peered beyond them as though to check if the neighbours had noticed them. "You'd better come in."
The inside of the house wasn't large but it was reasonable and not unduly small. Amelia noticed Dursley darting a glance at the cupboard under the stairs as she waved them through into a well-proportioned living room. The furniture was well-maintained although there were signs of aging in the sagging sofa and chairs. There were pictures everywhere of a plump blond boy at various ages; other photos of Dursley and an obese man who had to be her husband were in evidence. There were no photos of their famous nephew or his parents and Amelia's suspicions from the interviews with Harry's friends came raging back tenfold.
"Harry is outside in the garden doing his chores. I'll get him for you." Dursley left before they could say anything.
Amelia exchanged a 'this doesn't look good' gaze with Alastor. They remained silent and soon enough footsteps signalled someone coming into the room, Amelia focused on her first close-up look of the Boy Who Lived.
As reported, he was a miniature James Potter in features but his eyes were brilliant green. His hair was a dark mop, the fringe pulled down over his infamous scar. His clothing was scruffy; oversized t-shirt and shorts that were too baggy on his small frame – hand-me-downs, Amelia surmised, but Dursley was probably hoping to pass them off as gardening clothes hence Potter being in the garden when Dursley knew they were coming to interview him. He had nothing on his feet; probably whatever shoes he wore had been left at the back-door. His hands were wet, red and scratched; his upper lip had a layer of hard-earned sweat; he'd barely been given time to clean-up.
Dursley frowned at them all. "I have appointments to keep. Our son is out for the day but my husband will be home in four hours. Make sure you lot are gone by then."
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