Fantastic Prisoners and How to Kill Them // kazuscara

1

"We'll need those printed copies by tomorrow morning, Mr. Kunikuzushi."

The door to the journalism room closed shut with a loud bam, followed by twists and turns of locks, echoing throughout the room.

Scaramouche sighed, glancing up and down at his hand-drawn copy of The Daily Prophet. Openings of new bakeries and boutiques, daily horoscopes he spent little to no time divining, even book recommendations, if you will. Anything typical and atypical you'd seen in a newspaper, all written in the newest edition.

But there still lies a tiny, obscure, blank box, making Scaramouche's head ache at the sight. What should he write in the box?

Warnings for You-Know-Who? No, people have seen the same message plastered across London for years. A reminder for the re-opening of Hogwarts coming up in three months? No, that's a whole three months away! Quotes from famous Wizards and Witches from all around the world? No, The Daily Prophet's milked every sliver of quote ever spoken. Unless Mr. Lockhart says anything controversial again, he'd be better off quoting himself.

What's new, today?

That prison escape from Japan?

Before he could think again, he'd already directed his feather towards the bottle of ink, dabbling itself in warm dark ink before scribbling atop the paper parchment.

'Japanese Prison Onaga's Escapee'

And the newest edition is finally finished.

He made sure the machines were slowly stamping out the newest The Daily Prophets before unlocking the towering doors of the journalism room, every creak and bang amplifying in the large stadium of the Ministry of Magic. If he were ever a criminal, he'd be the worst one out there. With echoes fading out as he stood at the dozens of lined-up fireplaces, he rubbed his sleepy eyes. Getting out takes him immense energy, especially when he's half asleep, sprinkling floo powder with crossed eyes.

He focuses with the last of his remaning energy, the closest open fireplace near his apartment building.

Perhaps he was not so cautious during his travel. As he had completely missed an ominous figure inching closer towards him, almost like he wanted to grab him.

Scaramouche could barely keep his eyes open. It took him the last of the energy he could muster to even stand up straight.

Before he knew it, he felt a sudden stretching sensation all over his body. His vision blurred, he opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn't hear himself. It was as if someone muffled his vocal cords, not a sound vibrating from his throat.

The next thing he saw, he was in a dark alleyway, the stink of leftovers from pets and drainage combined made him cough. He covered his mouth in disgust.

Apparition. He knew this as a wizard.

Who in the world would pull such a sacrilegious stunt on him, late at night? A prank, perhaps? This wasn't the first time he had been pulled somewhere else through apparition – they're especially popular among graduates, ones who had just come out from wizarding school, having no idea what to pursue in life now that Hogwarts no longer catered to their every need.

He sighed, regretting the fact he had allowed the last remains of stench-less oxygen into the wild, polluted air. Where each breath he took could've caused him to faint from the smell.

"Now what's up with one of you youngsters here?" He said, sarcastically.

"You might want to reconsider what you say." a tenor voice rung to his left, he immediately snapped his head towards the voice.