The Locket
Regulus was a fool to ever think he could destroy me.
I am the Great Salazar's Parselmouth Locket,
I am the Dark Lord's pure and powerful soul.
I am magic. Magic is might.
We have influenced all who have had the audacity to wear us,
Lord Voldemort's soul and I.
When that wretched Mudblood wears us about her neck,
We dream only of tightening, tightening.
We have been thrown, cursed and burned yet still shine,
Our ornate snake, superior and smiling
Those muggle-loving traitors believe they can end us?
His soul's laughter is music within.
Inferiors, unworthy and ignorant.
Their hope lies in a naïve little boy.
Harry Potter, the boy who lived?
Harry Potter, the blood traitor who fails.
We hear the surprising hiss of the command to open.
We are compelled by our own mother tongue.
An attack is upon us but we will conquer,
As we have seen his dreams,
We can present his fears,
He will turn upon his friend instead.
They are weak. Foolish. Worthless.
Empty.