He walked a short way around the lake, sat down on its bank, sheltered from the gaze of passers-by behind a tangle of shrubs, and stared out over the gleaming water, thinking...
A skinny boy of fourteen looked back at him, his bright green eyes puzzled under his untidy black hair. He examined the lightning-bolt scar of his reflection more closely.
Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and touslehaired, next to fourth year AliciaSpinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her.
They were swarthier than ever from four years' exposure to sun and storm, thinner, more wiry, and the wild black beards they brought back from the war made them seem like strangers.