Why was she here?

Orla hardly ever came near Hogsmeade if she could avoid it - in fact she made a point of it - but she was here, in the park, and for the life of her she couldn't recall why. Work? It had to be. It was the only sensible reason she could think of but before the thought has crystallised in her mind the counter that it was a lie she was telling herself to make sense of everything appeared. She didn't even have her camera or...had she left it somewhere? She certainly had it earlier but she had closed her eyes for a moment and now she was here and it was gone.

It was unsettling, but then what wasn't these days? The strange man at the Leaky Cauldron with his ridiculous portents of death; the unseasonable slate sky getting more overcast by the second; her unsettled circadian rhythms; that twitchy looking witch by the bushes giving her a strange look. Did she know her? That was, after all, why Orla avoided Hogsmeade: too many faces from the past that would probably want their pound of flesh if they ever found her. No, she decided - did she know the face? - she couldn't be here.

Turning around Orla walked rapidly towards the lake, hoping the breeze coming off it would clear her mind, remind her why she was here, or at least get her away from the people around her. There were too many of them, she decided. Their numbers were nowhere near London's of course but the fact that they were all chatting and lingering with each other made it suffocating: at least it town everyone minded their own business. A woman could walk for miles without being glared at like she she had two heads.

Why was it so warm? It certainly hadn't been earlier, though for the life of her Orla couldn't recall what it had been like earlier. (Why was she here?) How long had she been leaning against this tree? The bark scratched her back as she felt, quite suddenly, as though her whole weight was pulling her to the ground. She couldn't just lie on the ground like an animal.

But she could sit on the bench, couldn't she? Just for a moment. Just until she felt like herself again. (She could lie down too, of course, and before she had really made the conscious choice Orla could feel the blessedly cool oak against her cheek and - just about - hear the murmurs around her.)

Why was she cold and why - (Why was she here?) -

Behind her eyes Orla imagined a final burst of light, smoke that had come out of her camera a thousand time - where had she put it? - and then the total darkness of a covered lens.