~ CHAPTER ONE ~
~ The Cloaked Wanderer ~
Pearls of muddied sweat smeared the unwashed, pallid face of Sirius Black. Hither and thither he was elbowed and shouldered, through the sticky crowds milling around Blood Street, the north-south vein across the age-old city of Plundertown. Over the hundreds of years of town history, rumours had circulated that this place had been given its grisly name due to the many bodies crushed to smithereens within the depths of the merciless throngs on Market Day. From the welcome Sirius had received so far the resident witches, wizards, hobgoblins and blooskens, he couldn't say the stories surprised him.
This unimaginably hot Wednesday afternoon saw the wrathful sun beat down on the tanned Plundertownians with the unyielding, searing intensity of a thousand whip lashes. The heavy black cloak which concealed all but the deep, enigmatic eyes of Sirius Black clung to his breathless, sweating body like a second skin. The coverage together with the extreme discomfort were entirely necessary, as Sirius knew all too well.
He knew the destiny he faced if he was to reveal his identity in a public place such as this. If he was lucky they'd just kill him; if not, they'd pace him at the mercy of a nightmarish, soul-stealing creature from the netherworld: what they called Dementors. Already this honest man had been imprisoned with these hellish monsters for the longest eleven years of his life; all for somebody else's unforgivable crimes.
Twelve years ago, a so-called friend had committed a most cowardly act of betrayal which had torn lives apart at the seams, Sirius' among them. Layers of lies had led common belief to be that Sirius was a maniacal killer; a highly dangerous personification of evil. For those dreadful eleven years Sirius lost hope of ever finding a state of content again as he sank deeper and deeper into an isolated depression in the confines of Azkaban prison. However, circumstances had found him his freedom a little more than a year ago; now he was in a strange, changed world where the mention of the name Sirius Black spurred malice and hatred. Now he had finally gained the chance and the courage, he was ready to face a part of his life he had known before it all deteriorated. He had been reliably informed that what he sought was here in the city, although after three weeks of a painstaking quest Sirius had had little luck.
Plundertown was the savagely bustling capital o a wizarding island called Trainload, situated in the patch of tranquil blue-green ocean between Florida, Puerto Rico and Bermuda. Sirius had travelled thousands of miles from England on his hunt, partly to escape the hostile British Ministry of Magic. Now he was here, his steps were becoming increasingly hesitant as sorrow came seeping back into his thirty-three-year-old veins. His throat was so parched it felt like he had swallowed barbed wire, and his feet ached with the weeks of fatigue that had been laid upon them. He scanned the nearby shops and stores for the nearest watering hole, and discovered a sociable, intimate tavern called The Merry Musician. It was a rickety, ice-cream pink building sandwiched tightly between an Apothecary and the Plundertownian branch of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Such a welcoming establishment was a sweet rarity in the hustle of this miserly place, predominantly powered by greed and ruthless ambition. Struggling through the relentless torrents of people, Sirius reached the inn's stained glass doors and was able to chisel his way through the circles of cheerful customers.
He pulled up a stool to the bar, and was greeted by a lively, pretty young bloosken barmaid with tufts of chalky hair dressed in plaits. She couldn't have been more than four-feet tall and was dwarfed by the humans that surrounded her.
"Can I help you, sir?" she caught the cloaked stranger's attention. Sirius fingered the few coins in his pocket and grimaced under his black shroud. After a year of hiding in the shadows, he was swiftly running out of wizarding cash.
"A goblet of chilled pumpkin juice would be wonderful, thank-you, Madam," Sirius replied courteously, pushing seven silver coins across the counter. In the moments the barmaid disappeared, Sirius surveyed the cosy, oak-panelled room with interest. It was furnished as any traditional Plundertownian pub, saving the usual dinginess, grime and general unpleasantness. Blue lamps glowed in the darker parts of the room, echoing the sky-blue satin upholstery and giving the impression of a high-class haunt. Plundertown folk from all walks of life mingled with mead in hand, swapping gossip with friends and strangers alike.
"Here you are, sir," the barmaid presented him with a pewter goblet filled to the brim with home-made iced pumpkin juice. Sirius savoured a long gulp of the frosty orange liquid, careful to sustain his disguise behind his hood.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" asked the barmaid.
Sirius hesitated over whether to trust the seemingly charming young girl. He needed help, that was for sure, but he had learned to be cautious over who he asked.
"Actually... some information would be beneficial to me," said Sirius.
"A tourist, are you?" the girl assumed. "I detect an English accent."
"Well, this is more of a... business trip," Sirius skimmed over the truth. "I'm looking for someone."
"Aren't we all," giggled the girl.
"No, you misunderstand me," Sirius shook his head. He furrowed in his cloak pocket to expose a crumpled magical photograph which he showed to the barmaid. It showed a beautiful young witch in her late teens judging by her gentle, pale, flawless complexion and glassy blue eyes catching the sunlight like dazzling precious stones. Her long, rich, dark locks rippled elegantly by her shoulders, contrasted by the pale bluish lilies ornamenting it. Her dainty figure was dressed in glittering, resplendent, flowing azure gown that swept the floor airily like a gentle, frothing wave of water.
Sirius opened his mouth to ask the woman if she recognised the girl in the photograph, but from her surprised expression it was plain that she did. Sirius struggled to suppress his excitement.
"This is Arabella Figg," the barmaid frowned. "How do you know Bell?"
"I haven't seen her in many years," Sirius admitted. "I hear she looks much the same."
"She does," the barmaid nodded. "She's barely aged at all, despite all she's been through."
"How do you know her?" Sirius found bursts of curiosity exploding inside his head like fireworks, but he maintained his composure.
"Oh, its a very long story," said the girl. "Let's just say that a few years ago she did me and my sister a huge favour, and we've been best friends ever since. Bell's a wonderful person. I guess you knew her as an Auror, or from Hogwarts?"
"Both, actually," Sirius revealed.
"I suppose you know Remus too, then," the girl smiled. "Such a damn shame that such horrible things have happened to such nice people. But that's just the way of this crummy world, I guess. What's your name, sir? She may have mentioned you to me."
"Oh, I doubt she wants to talk about me much," Sirius' words wobbled with anguish as he relished the last drops of pumpkin juice.
"Ex-boyfriend?" the girl chuckled.
"Well... yes, actually," Sirius admitted sincerely, the memories of his relationship with Arabella Figg still painfully sore.
An epiphany sparked in the girl's brain as an expression of comprehension passed over her pretty face. Sirius twitched nervously as an excitable fear flooded through him; he prepared himself to run at any given moment.
"You can calm yourself," the girl said loudly enough to reach only Sirius' ears. "You're quite safe here."
Sirius' breathing became shallow as he tried to fathom what it all meant.
"You'd better come into the back room," whispered the girl. "It's too risky to talk out here."
Sirius' face creased with suspicion as he followed the bloosken maiden behind the bar; he had reached for his wand before he remembered he didn't have one. Already he was considering himself foolhardy for trusting someone, though he had no proof of this yet.
She closed the door and turned to face him, her eyes shining with curiosity.
"My name's Meg Charmers," she introduced herself. "I know who you are - and that you're innocent," she added hastily as she noticed Sirius jerk tremulously.
"How could you possibly know?" Sirius begged to understand.
"Bell always knew," Meg said, recognising the power of her words. "She's always loved you, you know... despite it all ... she told me everything. She told me you could never have betrayed Lily and James Potter, and committed those awful crimes. I believed her every word. Neither of us needed the letter she received from Remus a few weeks ago to know that... he told Bell what happened at Hogwarts. She'd never known how it all happened, but she was forever convinced of your innocence."
Sirius took a few moments to digest this new information before the spirals of questions began to spin inside his head; it was a struggle to maintain his reserve when inwardly he was bubbling like a brewing potion with excitement.
"Is she well?" he asked weakly.
"She's had a bit of a rough time of it," Meg disclosed sadly. "Although she'd never admit to how she's suffered. She's well physically, and prospering as she always had done, but she has missed you, Lily and James terribly."
"... Does she ... talk about me?" Sirius inquired feebly.
"All the time," Meg smiled warmly. "Hell would freeze over before Bell would forget about you."
Sirius beamed with pleasure; his reunion with his one true love was more perfect than he had ever braved to imagine. The bonds of devotion had not been severed by the tragedies of October 31st, and now their love was free to blossom again.
"Now how about you let down that hood of yours, so I can see this gorgeous face I've heard so much about," Meg giggled as she removed Sirius' mask. She grinned ruefully at his pale, bony features grazed with scruffy stubble and deep shadows ingrained perpetually beneath his fatigued, haunting black eyes. Where his shiny, thick black locks used to be was a mass of matted, oily hair, framing his ghostly shadow of a once charmingly handsome face.
"I don't suppose I'm recognisable from what she's said to you," Sirius said wearily.
"You've lost weight," Meg laughed warmly.
"I won't deny that after substantially living on a diet of rats for a year," Sirius grimaced.
"You've been eating at those Muggle fast-food joints too much then," Meg laughed. "How about I rustle you up a good hearty meal, and I'll fetch out some decent clothes for you. You can stay here free of charge tonight, and catch you some zeds before you see Bell in the morning."
"Well, I wouldn't be a gentleman if I refused that," Sirius accepted gratefully. "Thank-you most kindly, Miss Charmers. I can see clearly why Bell befriended such a wonderful creature."
Meg giggled bashfully, playfully knocking Sirius on the arm. "It's the least I can do for an old friend of Arabella," she said seriously. "She's done so much for me and my sister - any way I find of thanking her is more than worthwhile."
"You're very sweet, Miss Charmers," he complimented Meg, giving her a gentlemanly peck on the cheek. "I shall find my own way to thank you when I can."
"Please, call me Meg," she blushed. "You certainly haven't lost your charm, Sirius."
Sirius spent most of that afternoon in the bar sipping his complimentary pumpkin juices while shaping the following morning in his mind; rehearsing the possible chain of events over and over. He would spend the remainder of his wizard money at the daybreak market to buy the biggest bouquet of roses he could afford. He would then find Bell's home and knock on the door confidently; she would waltz over to answer, her long locks angelically floating behind her while her skin shined with the same youthful radiance it always had done. He would appear as a mysterious stranger concealed behind the shadowy folds of his cloak, and enigmatically introduce himself as 'an old friend'. She would invite him in warmly, thanking him for the beautiful flowers before Sirius asked her to close the curtains. He would then reveal his identity. She would gasp, placing her hand on her heart while weeping tears of heartfelt joy... he would enfold her delicate frame, comforting her before the old passions took hold. They would look at each other tenderly, confessing their continuing love for one another before kissing intimately. With a flourish he would literally sweep her off her feet, romantically taking her in his arms up the stairs to the bedroom...
So maybe his daydreams were surreal and improbable. It was the first time he had risked to fantasise about the fair-faced brunette in so long, and it was an immensely liberating experience. No Dementor was here to take these blissful thoughts away from him.
That evening he feasted on Meg's home-cooked meal of best-quality beef steak, Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, new potatoes, mixed vegetables, gravy and horse-radish sauce. He took his first proper bath in weeks; shaving away his grubby stubble and washing the shine back into his hair. He barely slept beneath the comforting covers prepared for him as he fidgeted in a blend of anxiety and excitement.