Escape from Azkaban!
July 30th, 1993
He was free.
Sirius Black was fucking free.
He lumbered up onto the rocky shoreline, all matted fur and jutting bones. Frigid water droplets fell sporadically onto rocks beneath him as great tremors wracked along his spine.
Fucking freezing, more like.
He huffed a laugh, which came out somewhere between a sickly bark and a hacking cough.
Dragging his canine body up the jagged coast, Sirius collapsed beneath the overhang of a particularly large fallen rock. His muscles spasmed and gave out, entirely exhausted from his mad escape from the prison—Azkaban. He shut his eyes against the weak light of the moon and was unconscious almost instantly.
July 31st, 1993
The Daily Prophet dropped from the taloned claws of a large black owl—and straight into Lyra’s goblet of pumpkin juice. The silver cup toppled, spilling vibrant orange juice across the ancient wood of the dining table before rolling off the edge and clanging loudly onto the floor. Lyra jumped, staring accusingly at the offending owl swooping out through the stained glass window as juice dripped down onto her lap.
“Bloody hell—” she was cut off by a sharp slap to her wrist.
“Language!” snapped her grandmother. Lyra winced, clutching her hand in an attempt to rub away the sting.
“Sorry, grandmother,” whispered Lyra, but Walburga Black interrupted her with a screech.
“KREACHER!” The wrinkly old elf appeared with a crack, a dishtowel flung over one shoulder.
“Yes, mistress?”
“Clean up this mess, would you? The ungrateful little brat—”
“—It was Nyx’s fault, not mine!”
“Silence!”
Lyra huffed and slumped down in her chair, her wild black hair spilling down over her eyes.
A sharp pain pulled from the top of her skull to the base of her spine. She yelped as her back snapped to attention, watering eyes quickly zeroing in on the wand clenched in Walburga’s hand.
“Posture, young lady!” Snapped her grandmother, before placing her wand back on the table and resuming her meal. Lyra sat uncomfortably straight in her chair, even as the magic ebbed away. She knew better than to reply. Instead, she reached for the newspaper, shaking the golden droplets of pumpkin juice from the wrinkled edge of the front page.
Escape from Azkaban!
By Rita Skeeter
Notorious wizard and convicted mass murderer Sirius Black has escaped from the supposedly impenetrable fortress of Azkaban! Sirius Black reportedly betrayed the Potter’s whereabouts to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back in 1981 and subsequently killed 13 innocents with one single curse.
The circumstances surrounding Black’s escape remain murky at this time, as the Ministry of Magic launches a full-scale investigation into the breach of security at Azkaban. How a prisoner deemed to be one of the most dangerous wizards of our time managed to break free from the wizarding world’s most secure prison is a question that demands urgent answers.
Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has issued a statement urging all members of the wizarding community to remain vigilant and report any sightings or suspicious activities related to Sirius Black. “We cannot underestimate the threat that Black poses to our society,” Minister Fudge emphasized. “Every effort will be made to recapture him and bring him to justice.”
Lyra’s brows drew in confusion. Sirius Black? The name couldn’t be a coincidence—right? She hadn’t heard her grandparents ever speak of a Sirius. By the sounds of it, he was just as enamored by the Dark Lord as they were, and yet she hadn’t so much as heard of the man. It was unlike them to leave any opportunity for bragging unexplored, especially when it came to a member of their own noble family.
“Grandmother?”
“Yes, girl?”
“Who is Sirius Black?”
The air in the dining room shifted from stuffy to lethal within a single breath. Walburga stood, slamming her hands down on the table with a crack. Orion clutched his fork in a white-knuckled grip before turning the full force of his attention on Lyra.
“Where did you hear that name?” He said in a deadly calm.
Lyra withered under the intensity of the gazes directed at her. Her mouth dried out and she found herself temporarily unable to speak.
Her hesitation seemed only to anger them further.
“Who told you that name?” Shouted Walburga from across the table. Lyra flinched back before remembering herself and flipping the paper around to show the name printed in bold across the front page.
Walburga snatched the paper violently from her hands. As she held it up to her face, Lyra watched her grandmother’s face begin to darken, shade by shade, until she resembled something of a beet.
“So, who is he?” Asked Lyra, once the silence had stretched longer than her curiosity could bear.
“He is none of your concern.” Said her grandfather with a hard air of finality. He didn’t meet her eyes.
“He is obviously someone,” Lyra reasoned, “he’s a Black and yet I’ve never heard of him. Is he some cousin of yours?”
“The insolence! Your grandfather said that that man is none of your concern!” hissed Walburga.
“But—”
“But nothing, young lady!”
When Lyra opened her mouth to press the subject, she realized a moment too late that she had grievously overstepped a boundary she hadn’t known existed. Her grandmother stepped forward, quick as a whip, grabbing a fistful of her hair. She waved the paper in Lyra’s face, forcing her to look.
“Forget you ever heard this man’s name, Lyra Arcturus Black. Do you hear me? He was nothing but a blight upon this house, and I will not tolerate the use of his name under this roof. Am I understood?”
Lyra nodded weakly, as much as she could against the iron grip of her grandmother. Walburga held her a moment longer, as if to assure herself that the message had sunk in.
Lyra nearly collapsed when Walburga released her but managed to stay on her feet.
“To your room, girl.” She said, folding the newspaper neatly and placing it face-down on the table.
Lyra nodded once more and took her leave.
***
Back in her room, Lyra slumped against her old writing desk, gazing out at the cloudy summer day. Her mind was running rampant with errant thoughts and emotions, as it often did. It wasn’t until her stomach growled that she realized she had gone up without ever having eaten her breakfast.
Well she surely couldn’t go back now.
Instead, she pulled out a piece of parchment from her drawer, grabbed her quill from its inkwell, and began to write.
Draco,
Diagon Alley tomorrow at noon? I need to get out of here. Orion and Walburga are more off their rockers than usual. Also, a scoop of earl gray ice cream from Fortescue’s sounds divine right about now.
Will you pen the others for me? I don’t feel like writing that many letters.
See you soon,
Lyra
P.S. I read about the Azkaban escape in the paper today, but couldn’t get much out of O&W.
Who is Sirius Black?