Reminiscence of a Nightingale

Reminiscence of a Nightingale

Yonder lies her precious hand,

Fair, her marbled aloofness stands,

Were I a nightingale perched upon her hand.

The majority of all ex-convicts never recover from their imprisonment in Azkaban. In fact, rarely many of them are privileged to leave the place at all. Therefore, it was needless to comment on the speculations of luck, and for some, the dark arts, that must have ran through the veins of Sirius Black, for he, if history had not been grossly misreported, was the first ever escapee from such a place.

Yet even one year after all the hue and hubbard had died down, eccentricity and emotional scars were still evident from such a man like Sirius Black. Azkaban had always been notorious for its high percentage of dementia, insane Azkaban ex-convicts, and more shamefully, corpse disposals of those who had accidentally wandered into a dementors' feast party. However, even though Sirius Black did contribute to any of those unfortunate percentages, he still had his odd habits and moments, of which this narrative has been centred on.

Every morning, the enigmatic Mr. Black placed on his right palm a figurine of a nightingale resting upon a marble hand. Then, for the following hour, this figurine would be loudly thrown onto the floor, picked up, smoothed, and cast violently back down again. And as each new day arrived, the timing of these actions became so precise that all Mr. Black's neighbours would have had their ear-muffs ready by 9.00 a.m.

Some clever people had explained this strange behaviour as one of the side effects of Mr. Black's traumas caused Azkaban. Others with more literal intellect had even recited a passage from 'Romeo and Juliet' concerning a nightingale-

Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day,

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,

That pieced the fearful hollow of thine year.

However, those who were the closest to phantoming Mr. Black's strange behaviour belonged to the category of the old neighbourhood gossips. They, with a certain mind for detail and tongue for scandal, might have recalled a certain Graduation Ball in the year 1975, where a certain Sirius Black and Narcissa Blackthorne partook in a particular dance, causing particular gossip.

9.00 a.m. Mr. Sirius Black picks up the marble statue and so the cycle begins this day.

If time had been rewound thirty or so years ago, we would have come cross a certain scene with a certain young coxcomb we all know so well. He had been the bane of younger girls everywhere, with his bright dashing eyes and she resembled beautiful Goddesses of Grecian mythology if she could have but smiled more. So different they were in nature, and so unlike in circumstance. He had danced with her to escape the possessive grasps of another. She had not refused him because to refuse meant to initially accept. To have said that the mood was tense would only be an educational guess; to have said that it was the foundation of something new would only be foolish, for one was too aloof to have enabled a beginning.

9.10 a.m. and as Mr. Sirius Black fingers the statue again, his whole right hand trembles slightly.

However, despite the girl's well-known coldness, that particular dance must have still excited many people's curiosity, for he was a poor and lowly Gryffindor, and she, she deemed was worthy of stature so much higher. Many whisperings took place then, many rumours spread, and many hot tempers erupted.

Perhaps a friend had scolded, "I couldn't believe you were dancing with Sirius Black yester-night. You know he's filthily poor, Narcissa."

"Of course Sylvania. His filth would have covered me had I not backed away after the second dance," was perhaps the reply that had later travelled to the ears of the young Sirius Black himself.

"A poor Gryffindor without any future asked for my hand yester-night. I could only disdain at his impudence."

9.15 a.m. now, and at this very moment, Mr. Sirius Black throws the statue angrily on the ground.

Angry rash thoughts must have had passed through the young man's mind after hearing of the conversation. His resolve must have had been equally as rash as his temper, impulsive as his behaviour, and stubborn like his mind. He might have had decided that, since he could get every other girl in the world, she would succumb equally as easily. He might have had decided to storm up to her, walk past her and then kiss her. And he did. Just that quick, just that unexpected; a surprise, and an ambush. A failure in one way, and confusion in another.

9.20 a.m. The marble is retrieved from the ground and slowly smoothed, as if Mr. Sirius Black is trying to make up for all the hurt he has done to it in all entirety.

He had certainly expected a kiss in response, like the ones other girls bestowed on him. Yet all he received was a feeling such as if one had pressed his lips upon cold hard marble. And it had been then that Sirius Black looked up and perceived Narcissa with a new curiosity.

She seemed different, irreproachable, and that was enough. For one moment he thought he saw around her a glittering frost of impenetrability, and that which stood in front of him was smooth marble.

"Why must you kiss me?"

"I would have it no other way."

9.30 a.m. A violent noise is heard, as the statue is once again cast upon the ground. Perhaps Mr. Sirius Black is recalling that which he wished to have forgotten.

A wedding was inevitable. Because although she scorned the life of a young trophy-wife, to her parents, she was still but a crowning triumph raised for marriage. That itself had been reasonably bearable to Sirius Black. Childish adoration had long passed, and only fleeting curiosity remained, as he went from one blond to another brunette.

It might have had forever remained that way if she had not purposely grasped his hand when they met after her wedding. A faint quick brush of the fingertips was all that passed, but it was still a surprise, and still an ambush. She felt like she was pressing against a warm brick wall. He shivered at the reminder of her impenetrable marble.

"Why did you do that?"

"I would return it no other way."

9.35 a.m., and still the marble statue is left lying on the ground, and for a span of twenty-five minutes, it remains, as is chosen by Mr. Sirius Black.

But life must have still gone on, and it must have been a turn of the head before three decades had passed. They had must have had been difficult years, where many events of sorrow and joy took place. There had been two births, two boys with destinies that were as different as he and she had been. There were also many deaths, many deaths on both sides, and many small, sad meaningless victories. God- father and son were reunited. And still he had wondered. He wondered why she had let herself diminish into just being 'tall and slim, and nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose'...

Now however, it is 10.00 a.m. and the statue is finally picked up by Mr. Sirius Black again. Whether this final act is a reminder of a past long ago, or a possible future far ahead, it is impossible to tell. But the owner of the hand as it touches the marble is still warm, and curiosity still has not been satisfied. The heart still wonders, and that is enough.

Were I a nightingale upon her hand lifetimes ago,

For now I fear to touch her forevermore,

To seek and find a serpent's claw.