Harry Potter 05 - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Ron together.
    For answer she spread the newspaper on the table in front of them and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizards’ faces and the tenth, a witch’s. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.
    Antonin Dolohov , read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at Harry, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.
    Augustus Rookwood , said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secrets to He Who Must Not Be Named.
    But Harry’s eyes were drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out at him the moment he had seen the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though he had seen it sleek, thick and shining. She glared up at him through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Like Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but something – perhaps Azkaban – had taken most of her beauty.
    Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.
    Hermione nudged Harry and pointed at the headline over the pictures, which Harry, concentrating on Bellatrix, had not yet read.
     
    MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS ‘RALLYING POINT’ FOR OLD DEATH EATERS
     
    ‘Black?’ said Harry loudly. ‘Not –?’
    ‘Shhh!’ whispered Hermione desperately. ‘Not so loud – just read it!’
     
    The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.
    Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.
    ‘We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped,’ said Fudge last night. ‘Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black’s cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals, and we beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached.’
     
    ‘There you are, Harry,’ said Ron, looking awestruck. ‘That’s why he was happy last night.’
    ‘I don’t believe this,’ snarled Harry, ‘Fudge is blaming the breakout on Sirius ?’
    ‘What other options does he have?’ said Hermione bitterly. ‘He can hardly say, “Sorry, everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined Lord Voldemort” – stop whimpering , Ron – “and now Voldemort’s worst supporters have broken out, too.” I mean, he’s spent a good six months telling everyone you and Dumbledore are liars, hasn’t he?’
    Hermione ripped open the newspaper and began to read the report inside while Harry looked around the Great Hall. He could not understand why his fellow students were not looking scared or at least discussing the terrible piece of news on the front page, but very few of them took the newspaper every day like Hermione. There they all were, talking about homework and Quidditch and who knew what other rubbish, when outside these walls ten more Death Eaters had swollen Voldemort’s ranks.
    He glanced up at the staff table. It was a different story there: Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave. Professor Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap from her stationary spoon. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Professor Umbridge was tucking into a bowl of porridge.