Author's note: I own nothing.
The moon is as cold as the of ice on this tomb,
And the mist about my feet from the forest creeps…
The smell of grass and dirt, moss and flowers sickly sweet,
Accompanies the cold that through my body seeps.
Old man,
Fallen, felled,
Thought you could save me? Did you?
Old man,
You played, and you lost,
And I can't hear your voice… when I need you.
Even at the end, a part of me denied,
That I had held the wand, and it was I that cried,
The light was swift and fleeting, it stained your snowy hair,
And you spoke no more to me, and I was barely there…
Old man,
Broken, beaten,
Look at what I've done to you…
Old man,
A serpent bites,
And I can't see your face… when I need you.
I had no wish to come, and the danger is too great,
But I am here regardless as the hour wanes late,
A single blossom I have brought, as withered as my soul,
It seems a petty token, but on you it will look whole.
Old man,
Untouchable, unreachable,
Soon I will lay beside you,
Old man,
My trial must end,
And I will seek death, where they hide you.
The moon is as cold… as the ice on his tomb,
As cold as my heart, as cold as my curse…
As cold as Avada Kedavra.
...Old man, I'll see you soon.