A biting chill began to sweep through Godric's Hollow as evening descended.
The man slumped in the cemetery let out a weary sigh. Having skipped several meals, he struggled to soothe the gnawing hunger in his gut.
"Not too late, then."
Twisting a decorative mechanism on his bracer, the man drew out a brown wand. His hand hesitated for a fleeting second before he began weaving magical incantations, one layer upon another.
Stasis charms, shielding spells, chronometric slowing wards—he cast them all into the empty air before sliding his wand back into the bracer.
"Setti, it's time for us to part ways for a while."
A metallic rasp echoed from inside the bracer, sounding almost like a whisper.
"I know. It might be a long time before we see each other again. But you understand, don't you? It has to be this way."
The rasping sound turned into a hiss of protest. Moments later, a massive Horned Serpent slithered out from the confines of the bracer.
"Meeting you was the greatest luck of my life, Setti."
The man gently stroked the serpent's horns.
"Pine, unicorn hair, thirteen inches."
The serpent held the man's gaze for a heartbeat before retreating back into the bracer. When it emerged again, it carried an identical bracer hooked onto its horn and held a thirteen-inch dark-brown wand in its mouth.
"You haven't forgotten the Transfiguration spell, have you? That's right. I'll come looking for you first, so don't worry."
The man responded as he donned the items the serpent had brought him. The snake coiled once around his body, flicking its long tongue against his forehead.
"I have to go, Setti. If I'm any later, James and Lily might be in danger."
He fastened the swapped bracer near the serpent's tail.
Setting the creature down carefully, the man watched the faint trail of smoke dissipating over the alleyways before vanishing from the cemetery in a blur.
Inside a cottage where warmth spilled from the windows, the man greeted a young couple.
"Don't forget, James. You go first."
"I know."
James's hair was as windswept and untidy as it had been in their school days, but his eyes held a profound sadness.
"I'll say it once more: I don't know how long this will take. When the time comes, James goes to Sirius, and Lily to Frank."
"Eric, thank you."
Lily's green eyes studied the haggard face of the man—Eric—whose hands were trembling ever so slightly.
Eric met her gaze for a moment, then closed his eyes.
"If only I were stronger, we wouldn't have to go through all this trouble."
"It's alright, Eric. This is enough."
Knowing full well that Voldemort was hunting them, Lily placed her hand over Eric's.
His hand was unnaturally cold, defying the warmth of the room.
"I'm leaving now. Let's see each other alive."
Eric gently withdrew his hand and stepped out of the Potter residence. The couple's eyes followed his tattered coat into the night.
"See you in a bit, Big Paw."
Eric paused, turning back with a smirk.
"The price is three butterbeers, Prongs."
In an instant, Eric was gone.
The roar of a heavy engine shook the air of Godric's Hollow. Sirius, wearing mismatched socks in his desperate haste, practically tumbled off his motorcycle.
"James! Lily!"
The Potter's house lay in ruins, half-collapsed. Sirius's eyes darted to his two friends lying on the ground.
"It's my fault."
"Sirius."
Rubeus Hagrid, who was using his massive bulk to pin someone to the ground, called out to the grieving Sirius.
"He ain't resistin', but he's insistent on seein' yeh."
Only then did Sirius notice Eric, who was smiling despite being crushed under the weight of the furious half-giant.
"What?"
"Now for the final stage."
The sight of Eric smiling so brightly, as if he had just fulfilled a lifelong dream, filled Sirius with a sense of revulsion.
"You madman!"
Rubeus's massive fist descended on Eric. After lying limp for a moment, Eric opened his eyes and smiled again.
"Next is you, Sirius."
The blood vessels in Eric's eyes had burst from the impact, yet his gaze remained disturbingly, radiantly joyful.
Azkaban was a place where only the occasional scream or groan broke the silence. While the recent influx of captured Death Eaters had brought a temporary clamor, it had been short-lived.
To the Dementors, they were nothing but fresh prey, soon drained until they lacked even the strength to scream.
Sirius, having lost his best friend through a momentary lapse in judgment, wanted nothing more than to lose his mind. Beyond the bars of his cell, there was only the erratic churning of the tide. It should have been a solitary cage of despair, save for the occasional Dementor hovering on guard.
That was the only way he could properly curse himself for handing the Secret-Keeper's role to Pettigrew.
"Remarkable, Sirius Black."
Cornelius Fudge looked down at him.
"You still possess enough consciousness to speak?"
"Hmph."
Though nearly twelve years of imprisonment had left him with long, matted hair and a wild beard, the distinct spark of the House of Black still glinted in his eyes.
"The Weasley family is in the papers—the ones who are so close with the Potter boy you wanted dead. I thought I'd bring it to you."
As if in mockery, Cornelius tossed a copy of the Daily Prophet through the bars. Sirius picked up the paper with ragged nails, his gaze fixated on the moving photograph.
"He's at Hogwarts."
"What?"
Cornelius was startled by Sirius's mutter.
"He's there!"
Sirius lunged at the bars, clinging to them.
"He's at Hogwarts!"
Cornelius recoiled at the sight of the madness in the prisoner's eyes. Sirius ignored him, returning his obsessive focus to the photograph in the newspaper.
Gripped by fear, Cornelius hurried out of Azkaban, feeling as though Sirius's insanity might swallow him whole if he stayed a moment longer.
But Cornelius failed to see that it wasn't just madness in Sirius's eyes. There was a faint, burning ember of hope mixed within.
A few days later, the British wizarding world was thrown into an uproar. Sirius Black—the man who had betrayed the Potters and murdered twelve Muggles—had escaped from Azkaban.
Azkaban, largely abandoned by the Dementors in the wake of the breakout, fell back into a silence punctuated only by the odd groan.
Eric, imprisoned on charges of murdering the Potters and collaborating with Voldemort, lay quietly in his solitary cell.
Waking slowly after Sirius's escape, Eric dragged his heavy body toward the iron bars.
"The time has come, James."
The guards—or what passed for them—slowly approached with food. The moment the lock clicked to slide the tray in, Eric's hand became carpeted in thick, white fur.
July 31, 1993. The British wizarding world was rocked once more. Eric Stewart, the killer of the Boy Who Lived's parents, had followed Sirius Black's lead and escaped from Azkaban.