It was a beautiful morning. The sun was busily rising behind me, gently warming my back, throwing streaks of golden light across the dew-kissed grass of the lake bank that I was sitting on. The golden beams fell onto the glittering lake water, which was so calm that the sky above and the surrounding trees were reflected perfectly on the water, looking as if they had been painted there and hiding the interior of the lake completely from view. The early morning sky was still a peaceful periwinkle blue, so unlike the harsh color it turned as noonday approached. The breeze was still cool and refreshing, as it softly whispered through the leaves of the trees, and the grass blades in which my fingers were entwined. My silky, pale pink robes were spread out behind me, my legs in the slightly warm lake water, my toes being tickled by small fish apparently searching for a morsel of food.
The morning would have remained beautiful – if a brisk wind hadn’t suddenly risen out of nowhere, coming up behind me and whipping my new sun hat clean off my head. I lunged for the hat – it had been extraordinarily expensive, I couldn’t lose it – but my fingers missed the hat brim by inches, the wind raising the straw hat slightly higher, mocking me. I sprang to me feet, causing the fish in the lake to scatter, the silence broken, and pounced in the general direction of my hat, jumping up and down in the soothing water, trying to grab a hold of the wretched thing.
Then suddenly the wind fell. I made a herculean jump and grabbed the hat out of midair – only to slip on the soft mud that formed the lake bed. I crashed down into the water and rose spluttering a moment later, my hair plastered to my face, my new robes sopping and muddy. Miraculously, my hat was still dry.
Gasping, I turned back to climb up the back and found, to my embarrassment and surprise, that my audience of cackling birds and astonished fish had been enlarged by the arrival of a man, who had found a comfortable seat at the base of the nearest tree, a weeping willow, and was now watching me with a mixture of interest and amusement.
He was an obviously tall, well-built individual with fair skin and a head of the fine dark, rather long hair that fell elegantly over his forehead. His eyes were large, gently-mocking and gray, the skin at the corner’s smooth and as unlined as a newborns. His nose, enviably straight and perfectly positioned, lived over a mouth whose default position seemed set to half-smirk. He was wearing dark robes that set off his eyes, but looked slightly shabby, sun-bleached as they were around the shoulders and patched slightly at the elbows.
I didn’t recognize him, had not seen him before in the village. He was probably a visitor, perhaps a relative of one of the resident’s of Godric’s Hollow, I decided.
He regarded me gravely as I stumbled onto the back, sopping and dripping like a half-drowned dog, and then smiled a sardonic smile when his eyes met mine.
‘Your health,’ he said, in a rich, deep voice.
I returned his greeting as politely as I could in my flustered state, mortified at having been caught diving into the lake after a hat. He smiled again, slightly less mocking this time, and I quickly busied myself in the job of wringing out my robes and hair as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. I expected the man – truly, he was little more than a boy, no older than nineteen, I was sure… not much older than myself – to question my stupidity, but he remained silent, watching me struggle with my clothes and hair interestedly.
Finally, when I was ready to give up trying to dry my clothes, he spoke, ‘It would be easier if you used your wand.’
I stared at him for a moment, his remark processing itself (I admit, I do not do well under pressure) before blushing furiously and picking my wand up from the grass where I had left it. I dried myself off quickly, biting the insides of my cheeks in humiliation, and then returned to my seat near the edge of the bank, cramming my cursed hat back onto my head. I could hear soft snuffles behind my, from the mysterious man, but when I turned to face him, under the impression that he was laughing at me, he quickly rearranged his face, rubbing his nose hastily. I turned back to face the lake, satisfied, though concerned. He probably had a cold – but that doubled my chances of coming down with something. I had spent ten minutes standing in open air, sopping wet, and now a man with the sniffles was sitting behind me.
‘Are you new around here?’ he asked after an interval during which his snuffling miraculously ceased.
I shifted position slightly to face him, and frowned. ‘No – I’ve lived here all my life.’
The man looked surprised. ‘I’ve never seen you around.’
‘Perhaps the reason is that you are a stranger here.’
‘No – no, I don’t live here, but I do visit often.’
I shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve just returned home from Hogwarts. After finishing my seventh year.’
‘That’s probably why – you were only around in the summer before. Which house?’
‘Hufflepuff,’ I muttered and didn’t enjoy the smirk that spread on his face at the reply.
‘Queer lot, aren’t you?’ he asked.
‘Queer?’ I exclaimed, affronted. ‘I should think not! Which house were you in? Slytherin?’
The man’s eyebrows contracted sharply. ‘Gryffindor,’ he answered flatly. ‘Where dwell the brave at heart,’ he added.
I snorted. ‘Well, I should think you would have tried to save a drowning lady, if you’re so courageous.’
‘I was enjoying the show too much.’
‘And if I had died, they would have blamed it on you, I hope you know. The only witness. They’d probably accuse you of murdering me. Perhaps you pushed me in. Who’s to say?’
The man seemed to find this ominously amusing. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, I would probably have deserved it.’
I found this remark confusing. ‘Deserved it? Why? You arrived after I had jumped – you couldn’t have pushed me.’
‘Some punishments take time to get to you.’ He looked up at the sky and then added, ‘If I were you, I’d be careful. Wouldn’t ask too many questions – you may regret it someday.’
‘What? Why? What are you talking about?’
‘The more questions you ask the more you know – the more likely you are to be pinpointed.’
‘Pinpointed for what?’
‘Questioning. By the Ministry.’
I stared at him, suddenly realizing that the man could quite well be an escapee from the local insane asylum.
‘You see, I’m a murderer,’ he said, smiling slightly at the look I was giving him, as he got to his feet and dusted off his robes.
‘A murderer?’ I said, amazed. He looked nothing like a murderer. Murderers didn’t have straight noses and aristocratic good-looks – they had club feet!
The man was already walking away. As casually as I could, I called out to him, asked what his name was, and who he had murdered. The suspense would kill me if I didn’t find out.
He turned back to me for a moment, hands in pockets and smiled charmingly. ‘What did I say about asking questions?’
I shrugged feebly, and for reasons I could not fathom my heart skipped a beat. The man barked a laugh.
‘My name’s Sirius,’ he said. ‘Sirius Black. I killed my wife.’