a/n: this started life as a piece of prose but I really didn't like it so et voila, a free verse yay
disclaimer: really? Title from Between Two Lungs by Florence + the Machine.
.
and up and down the country witches and wizards were gathering together
holding up their goblets
saying in hushed voices
to harry potter – the boy who lived!
.
but there was no cause for celebration
for you
because
you'd made the prophet
(it was a running joke amongst you four
-moony-wormtail-padfoot-prongs-
that for all your haughty good looks
and charismatic persona
you would one day make the front page of the prophet)
MASS MURDERER MAKES FINAL MISTAKE
sirius, baby;
on november 2nd,
the headlines screamed for you.
.
there was no cause for celebration for you
because
although you're an unassuming blonde and you have a promising future ahead of you
you made a decision to put on your dressing gown
and put out the rubbish bags.
mundane – boring – normal – deadly
a car backfiring?
once, twice.
there were no drivers around
but you could see someone
his long dark hair was flying wildly
his face contorted in a vicious snarl
his hand jabbed and slashed
he yelled an unfailing streamofunintelligiblewords
a shorter man with lighter hair
dueling just as fiercely, twirling and slicing with his -
look again, darling muggle
the second man shouted something
throat constricted with emotion
how could you betray them?
how could you?
lily and james,
harry, sirius!
how could you?!
then quite suddenly there were
blinding spears of light
and then
darkness
.
there was no cause for celebration for you
because
when you step out to collect the milk bottles from your porch, petunia, dear,
you don't expect to find a baby (a living breathing crying baby) lying there
your first thought, though, wasn't for the baby, was it, petunia?
you glimpsed the crest
the wax seal
– ridiculous, stupid, stupid –
it was over a decade late
(too late)
but here it was
your hogwarts letter
petunia evans, you were finally on your way to -
and the baby woke and his eyes opened and
lily and swings and spinners end and freak all over again
we commit these bodies to the
ground
earth to earth
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
a disjointed murmur of repetition from the pitiful crowd
these are the few who have come to pay their respects to your sister and that good-for-nothing
(good-for-her)
husband
no
when you step out to collect the milk bottles from your porch, petunia, dear,
you don't expect to find a baby lying there
but petunia, honey,
your first thought; it wasn't for the baby
.
there was no cause for celebration for you
remus, dearest
the hunter has finally come
BANG
who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
big
ha!
you're so little now
without your friends around you
wormtail – padfoot (traitor) – prongs
and in a funny sort of way
if it hadn't been for you, remus, darling
they'd still be here
(probably)
because you tie them all together, don't you?
the marauders
live fast
die young
(too young)
you cry for them
because we are all too young to die
bad?
ha!
you're only bad under the light of the moon
when you're not yourself
(but you are, because remus and moony are one and the same)
you're only bad under their influence
and now there's no-one to influence you
but if the good die young
you suppose it's fitting
because
they were the best.
remus, sweetheart,
you're on your own now
and when you hear,
you don't cry.
you howl.
.
So while I'm drowning in an ocean of my tears, maybe could review? It would help me stay afloat, I promise.