I loved him the first time. But we never had the chance to talk. I could only picture in my thoughts how his dark hair falls upon his eyes as he tries to strain whenever he concentrates on something. Or whenever he feels a little angry at the system and all its faults. His eyes narrow. How I wish that fabulously sinister stare, backed with the mischievous smile, was directed at me. But, no. I can only watch.

I loved him for his courage. Though his temper may not be safe for me play with. Knowing how I have an eerie liking to dangerous men, I am continually drawn to him, each time, getting nearer, and nearer. I could almost feel his eyes bearing on my soul. His breath on my cheek. If only I could reach out and touch him and tell him his being at large does not bother me at all. I would even risk trying to keep him from being caught.

I was getting involved with the hunted. We met every night. In my room. Just me and him.

But circumstance dictated we were not to be together. Never. Last night, he was taken away from me. I suppose he is happy where he is now. He is probably with the company of his friends who had died before him. All of them, to risk their lives for what they believed was right. I do not grieve as much, knowing my love died a hero.

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To the memory of Sirius Black. For him I wept.