Alexander Altair Black, the son of the infamous Sirius Black, found little enjoyment in life as the sole heir of a family known for nothing but its darkness and misery. The name has followed him around all his life, casting a shadow over everything...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞.
( the escape )
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
♚♜♚
August 7th, 1993
ALEXANDER BLACK sat silently at one end of the long, ornate table, his spine straight against the wooden backing of his chair. He was fast asleep only ten minutes prior, rolling out of bed groggily when his blanket was ripped off of him and stumbling down the stairs to settle himself in the dining room with bleary eyes and a fog filled brain.
The fog dispersed quickly as soon as he realized why he was woken up unceremoniously. He snapped to attention instantaneously as if a cane was baring down on the backs of his shins in a stinging reprimand.
His brown eyes turned stoic as they scanned the cover of the latest issue of the Daily Prophet over and over again, in disbelief at the face staring back at him. He held his body perfectly still even as his mind spun frantically and his eyes darted nervously from word to word, trying to piece together what he was seeing.
This couldn't be happening.
Why was this happening?
Typically, he ignored the newspapers and tabloids, preferring to get his information from more credible places, or even choosing to be ignorant of the world happenings altogether. But today's paper was different, and Alec was grateful Kreacher had taken it upon himself to force him out of bed and show it to him anyway, even if it brought his mood down considerably and he sort of felt like running upstairs and pitching himself off the nearest balcony.
Kreacher had caught sight of the newspaper while dusting a collection of teapots back at Grimmauld Place. The paper, delivered by Owl, was part of a subscription service that had never been cancelled.
The house-elf spotted the horrid face looking up at him on top of the growing stack of old papers and immediately dropped his duster in favour of swiping the newspaper up between knobby fingers and apparating to Byun Manor.
Now, as Alec pored over the paper, Kreacher's pitch-black, beady eyes darted nervously to every exit in the dining room. His thin, shaky hands wrung the bottom hem of the rag he used as a makeshift shirt as he glanced up at his Young Master, noting the pensive look on Alec's rapidly paling face.
As unaffected as Alec tried to appear, his darting pupils betrayed his confusion and caution as he read the words.
Kreacher's gaze flicked back to the wrinkled paper in Alec's hands and the picture emblazoned on the cover of Sirius Black.
Oh, how Kreacher hoped to never see that blood traitor's face again.
Kreacher had never truly seen the resemblance between Master Alexander and the blood traitor now lurking among them. Not when he first met his Young Master as a child years ago, and not even now as he looked between the picture and Alexander's face to try and spot the similarities side by side.
