A/N
I own nothing,
but a rhyme or two.
I don't earn money,
I write for myself
and, dear reader,
You.
From the moment he strode into the room
The happy atmosphere turned into gloom.
There was no longer talking to hear
As the students were all filled with fear.
We follow the instructions in the book
But from time to time I have to look
At the dark figure making a potion of his own
With a grim expression, cold as stone.
His ebony eyes show the misery in his life
As He bitterly cuts ingrediences with his knife.
The blade rhythmically hits the board,
His eyes glistening, showing stories untold.
Perhaps He was remembering something from his past?
As I think of that, He glares again at his class.
I flinch, returning my attention to the given task,
But can't stop wondering about his sullen mask.
Almost done with my potion
I try to look again, see his emotions.
They're gone,
along with the figure I feared for so long.
I understand now.
He's just alone.
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