𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲

𝟎𝟏

August 6th, 1993

    Lyra Euphemia McKinnon-Black choked on the cornflakes she had been spooning into her mouth, dropping her spoon into the cereal bowl in shock.

    Her grey eyes stared down at eyes that, if the Daily Prophet had printed color pictures, would have been identical to her own.

    "What the bloody fuck?!" She burst out, left hand flipping the paper open so that she could read the article in its horrific entirety.

    Remus Lupin poked his head into the kitchen from the small sitting room, honey brown eyes softening even as he gently reprimanded, "Language, Lyra."

    He looked at the newspaper in her hand, milk droplets marring the face of the man who had once been one of his best friends in the entire world. And Lyra's father.

    "...Bugger..."

    "Language Uncle Moony," Lyra absentmindedly teased, soaking in the words that portrayed her father, the only parent she had had since three years old, as a homicidal psychopath that truly lived up to his unfortunate last name.

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

    Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner to ever be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

    "We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."

    Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Confederation of Wizards for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

    "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?"

    While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

    Lyra's hand shook from where she held the edges of the parchment in a vice grip, the newspaper corners crinkling and her knuckles bleeding color away until they were white as bone.

Five words ran through her head, jumping out of the page and burrowing their way into her brain. Her heart pounded in time with each word she mouthed to herself.

Sirius Black... still eluding capture.

She may have been a Gryffindor and a little too reckless for her own good, but she wasn't stupid.

"How long?"

   Remus flinched at the raised voice, one that dripped with frustration and - though Lyra would be loath to admit it - hurt.

"How long has my DAD been on the run without you telling me?!" Lyra exclaimed loudly, slamming her hand on the table and standing up from the chair, the legs screeching as she pushed the chair back.

"How many days has the constant whispering and the staring been because everyone in bloody magical Britain expects me to be following in his footsteps?"