The Eve of The Battle of Hogwarts

Hey!

I just decided to write something related to HP because, well, it is May 2, the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. Also, this poem’s name is inspired by a poem in my English book, The Eve of Waterloo by Lord Byron. It is a fantastic poem by the way (Eve of Waterloo not this one.) This one is for you Fred Weasely, thanks for making us laugh as we grew up!

Under the moonlight pale,

They slept,

Sheltered beneath the ground

And above the skies,

In a home altered by deceit and loss,
But yet few plotted to welcome a hero home.

Crawling, hiding, crying, tearing

They broke, they rushed, they saved and they lived

On the run,

Behind the walls of chambers unseen,

Yet there to receive their hero home.

Morning arose, pale and golden, bearing naught a sign of

What the toll an evening could bring.

For them it was but another day,

To maim and kill.

Blood splits on hearts pure,

And then a hero was welcomed home.

Mysteries were unfolded,

Masked men were removed

As a silver purity shone out,

Saving is yet ruining all.

Crawling, hiding, crying, tearing

They broke, they rushed, they saved and they lived

On the run,

Behind the walls of chambers unseen,

Yet there to receive their hero home.

Behind the one who lived,

Crawled in others, raising joy,

Even as tears flow.

And though no one knew,

Everyone had known.

He came, guided by gold,

Not fortune, but

A friendship that would never unfold.

Laughter rang as brothers came close

And then he passed away

With a smile all alone.

Leaving behind a legacy,

Having welcomed their hero home.

Crawling, hiding, crying, tearing

They broke, they rushed, they saved and they lived

On the run,

Behind the walls of chambers unseen,

Yet there to receive their hero home.

So full of life,

Everlastingly fun,

His hair red, but faces pale,

As he left the one who competed

And died with a smile all alone.

Years passed and there he was,

Now old and gaunt,

But never having changed a bit,

In eyes frail.

A half,

But to her he seemed whole.

To his mother,

He seemed whole,

Even if his half had died having welcomed their hero home.

Maybe that day,

Red had won over the green,

And hate crumpled under love

But to him, a half gone and another living yet dead.

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