Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International
Federation of Warlocks 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.
"How is this even possible? You can't escape Azkaban." He stared, horrified, at the
screaming image of Sirius Black—once his friend, once his pack. A man he thought could
never harm those he loved. A man whom Remus was still, somehow, inexplicably Vowed to
take care of thanks to a promise he had made to Mia fourteen years earlier before she
vanished out of his life.
He remembered the Unbreakable Vow. He had promised Mia that only after fifteen
years would he reveal to Sirius her true origins. Specifically this year. His mouth fell open
as he realised that somehow, he must have not broken the timeline after all. But that also
meant something much more horrific: she had known. She had known about Sirius and
Azkaban—about Lily and James. She knew he would escape this year. Why? Why any of
this?
Remus had reflected on his Vow from time to time over the years, usually when
stumbling upon the box of Sirius's things that Dumbledore had given him at James and
Lily's funeral. Remembering that he could not snap Sirius's wand without getting a painful
warning, he had tried to push the thoughts of his former friend to the back of his mind
knowing that it was pointless. It was all pointless as Sirius Black was stuck in Azkaban for
the rest of his miserable life. And no one escaped Azkaban.
Except... Sirius Black had done just that.
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