It was a cold windy night in England, the stars were covered up and the moon could only scarcely be seen through the thick layer of fog.

The waves crashed as rain hit the water.
Nothing alive could be seen for several miles, apart from one creature, a black dog. Struggling against the tough winds, the dog swam and swam as though his life depended on it, which it very well did.

Not too far from here was a dreadful place, a prison, more commonly known to magical folk Azkaban. Its walls filled with rotting bodies as dementor glide through and attempt to steal your souls.

This dog was also, believe it of not, an escaped convict, a - or so people thought, a mass-murder.

Dementors could be seen from the shore, and tomorrow the witches and wizards there knew that there was no worry about a loss of news for the Daily Prophet...