Escape From Azkaban

Escape from Azkaban

The sun rose, burning crimson against the crisp morning sky. Owls returned from a night of hunting, looking forward to a long day's rest. Blue jays and hummingbirds sang sweetly as if to say, "Get out of bed, sleepy head." On a morning like this, nothing could hamper the bright spirits of London's inhabitants. Except for one.

Inside a beautiful peach-coloured manor, a balding man resiliently woke up. "Oh, I don't want to do this. To bad someone else can't do it. Sigh. But it's my job." And with that, he got up, crossed to the wardrobe, and pulled on his pin striped trousers, shirt, and tails. Finally, Cornelius Fudge headed downstairs for a quick breakfast before departing, all the while dragging his feet and dreading what lay ahead.

* * *

Azkaban prison. The foliage was a beautiful mask covering the horrors inside. All hope is lost in this treacherous atoll. Every prisoner to pass through this penitentiary has utterly lost his mind. Dementors stalk every corner of this forsaken fortress, gliding sightlessly over land and water, glistening as if they had died a horrible, watery death. Ghastly shrieks erupt form the mouths of the lost souls within.

The air was like ice, vapor rising from the mouths of those who dared enter. No happiness was to be found here; only despair, depression, and desperation. Only one soul which lurks within endures the horrors of Azkaban prison. Sirius Black.

Inside his cell, Black sat, merely talking with the squat Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

"Anything interesting in the news today?" Black politely asked, seeing the paper, The Daily Prophet, in the Minister's hand.

"Nothing, really. Just something about the daily cash drawing. One of my employees got it," replied Fudge. "Well, I'd better be going. Got a lot of work to do."

As the minister got up to leave, Black suddenly asked, "Minister? I don't suppose I could have your paper. I miss doing the crossword."

Fudge paused for a second, as if to think about it, then handed his paper to the criminal. As the minister walked away, Black looked down at the paper and received a vast surprise. There, on the front, was the one person he hated most in the world, the one reason he was in Azkaban in the first place, the one person he wanted to kill.

". . . who will be returning to Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he whispered to himself.

* * *

The rain fell hard, echoing as the entire Tasmanian army. Lightning slashed and thunder clapped. Wind whistled, whipping trees as if they were rag dolls.

Inside the malevolent prison, Black tossed and turned in his so-called bed, speaking three small words. He's at Hogwarts. Slowly, a scheme started to formulate in his malicious mind.

* * *

"It'll work, I know it," Black pondered, pacing nervously around his cell. "But with the dementors stalking me all the time, it'll be difficult. Very difficult. But if they catch me, I'll be even worse off. . ." Sirius shivered.

* * *

That night, as his nightly gruel was brought to him, he transformed. A beastly, black dog replaced the repulsive prisoner. The dementors didn't suspect a thing. They feel their way to people using emotions, sucking all happiness and hope from those around them. As the door of the prison cell slowly screeched open, the murderer silently crept out.