Sirius Black
August, 1993
Was in pub in London. Two old ladies were drinking sherry as breakfast. With that title on the wizard’s paper, ‘‘Daily Prophet’’, who’s not drinking to forget? To calm down?
Sirius Black, a cold blood assassin, an insane person, scape from Azkaban, the ‘‘most’’ secure prison. At least, it was. Until today. Sirius Black was the first wizard that could do it, the first one who cheated the Dementors, and no one has a clue about how. His picture, a close up to his deadly face and empty eyes, on the front page. So Big. So Scary. No. No just on the paper. Sirius face was everywhere. Even on the muggle world. Everyone was looking for one of the most dangerous person ever after... you-know.
One of those ladies in the pub, had the Daily Prophet opened between her hands, reading, before comment with her friend what they say, what they are doing to capture Sirius Black, she cleared her voice:
‘We are doing all we can to recapture Black,’ said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, ‘and we beg the magical community to remain calm.’
The other woman laugh. ‘Prime Minister of the crisis’ said, and the two of them, with no more sherry on the cups, agreed. ‘Can you please? Stop. Put that down, he makes me chill’, begged.
Margaret, the one who was reading, raised her hand in order to ask for another round. They needed it. Really. Maybe, even, something stronger. Maybe they wanted alcohol in the purest form of it.
‘Look. Goosebumps! Hate this! the fact they are doing NOTHING’.
‘As usual’.
Fiona, the other one, turned pale as a ghost.
‘What?!’
‘I was thinking…’ swallowed, trying to eat her own words before saying it. ‘What if… what if her, who know who her, the crazy one… helped him to scape? What if they are again together and… Oh my… WHAT IF THEY HAVE A PLAN ON THEIR MASTERS NAME? To raise again?’
Margaret screamed, with a hand on her heart, terrified.
A man, with a bulldog face, sitting on the table next to the women laugh ironically. Denying.
‘That one was just an idiot kid’.
‘I don’t think so… I heard things’.
‘Me too’ affirmed Margaret. ‘She was with them. Was part of them… of the Blacks’, whispered. ‘And also, she could have been insane, or whatever you say, but was really smart. Dumbledore affirmed that’.
‘And loyal. Maybe not to you-know-who. But loyal to the brothers’.
‘No. No. No, Fiona. The brothers where loyal to her. She was the one behind everything and they followed her as two silly dogs’.
‘Do you think so?’
‘I mean… she betrayed her own brother.’
‘Told you. She was just a stupid kid’ repeated the man. ‘With power. Which makes it worst’.
‘I remember the screams on Hogsmeade’ said Fiona petrified, shaking. ‘Everyone running away from her. From the fire and… and I saw her, I heard her… God.’
‘And the incompetents who govern us never could catch her. Never could find her.’ Argued the man.
‘I hope she’s burning in hell. That’s what she deserves’.
‘Bitch… Ahhh!’ yelled after being bitten by an animal under the table. And then, was kicked out of the pub. (The animal not Margaret who stills feeling those sharp teethes on her leg). Had to walk alone and hungry for the same streets that Harry Potter was going to be arriving that night. After he almost blow up Vernon’s sister. Same place where he was going to meet the Minister of Magic. Same places where he was going to spend the last weeks of summer, and also where Ron took his rat-pet ‘Scabbers’ to the vet, and, finally with too much about the words 'same, where and place' where Hermione bought a not-so beautiful cinnamon cat with big big round eyes.