Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the poem Wildflowers
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Wildflowers
- - -
Yesterday, you called me a wildflower,
and I knew what you meant: a free spirit
blooming outside domestic gardens,
precious for that, bursting with color
but destined to be always and irrevocably other
- - -
- Draco Malfoy -
Yesterday I watched as you studied in the great hall at dinner, whilst the other girls of Hogwarts flirted and giggled, running away from the boys that were chasing them in jest. I was shocked to see you look up from your book, gaze upon the fools, and sigh with regret.
It was, I think, a lament at not being chased around the table yourself, in a cycle that in no way ended.
Why?
Why want to be common? Why want to be chased? Why think that one as wild as you could ever be caught?
Numerous women think that they are individual, yet it is you who is truly a free spirit. Doing what you wish; reading your books, wearing no extra trinkets to diminish your beauty, fawning with false love over no man. It is you who really cares nothing of what others think.
You are precious for that
You are as beautiful as the other girls, if not more, and as free in your heart as they were when in their performance of carelessness. Yet you alone are different. That is your regret, I think; that you will always be irrevocably….other.
- - -
Perhaps you were imagining the field
by your house where wildflowers struggle
up upon their roots, despite harsh winds
and human traffic; or how, in the wild,
flowers use their softness to crack through rock,
thirsting deep to hidden springs
- - -
Even now, the wild guilt refuses to leave my mind and imagination. How can I have caused you so much contention in past years? Vicious name-calling. Devious plots. All of which are so unforgivable to me now.
And yet, you did conquer. Not only over your heritage, in spite of my harsh words, and common abuse. But you conquered over me; unknowingly using your sweet manner to break through my heart, which I had once given up as a lost cause.
Some time ago I overheard you defending me to your friends. Me. The man who, I now realize, is not worthy to unbuckle your shoes. My fingers are too dirty. You defended me?
It was then I first realized that, no matter who you are presented with, you find the good in that person, no matter how repulsive they are, or were to you.
In finding my strengths, you became my weakness. Because you alone looked for the veiled virtue I did not know I had. You alone understood that my road to hell was paved with good intentions.
- - -
Because the wild flowers inside you,
your eyes sometimes melt,
and I feel awe washing over me
as you savor the iridescent wildflower
perched on a leather outcropping
only a few feet away, in a Byzantine land
where winds brawl, tempests toss,
and, driven wild, flowers fly in all directions.
- - -
I observe you in the library, surrounded by literature, when you are truly at peace. I watch you lean into the edge of your leather chair whilst you smile, cry, and laugh at books; all three responses are valuable to me. Because when you read your eyes flower with wild joy at what seems a simple page of words.
I feel awe washing over me, and regret also. For I can never have such joy as your innocence brings you, as you sit a few feet away, in your wilderness, where the winds of knowledge toss your wild thoughts in all directions. I never thought to be enchanted by anyone's mind, trust you to revolutionize that, Hermione Granger.
- - -
After hours, when time crashes down,
I wonder, do you sit below the cauldron
of night, watching moonlight spill
onto the savage farm and wildflowers appear
as if by incantation, to beguile you
with their slow recital of dreams?
- - -
As I sit at my blackened window, unable to sleep for nightmares are high in my mind, I wonder; do you ever sit at the window as I do, watching the moon set and sun rise onto the wild grassland of the castle, unable to sleep for the nightmares that would plague you?
And I do see you, creating your path to the radiant lake, like my own mind and imagination had summoned you to emerge from the ground like a wildflower.
I get up, and make my way down to meet you, wondering if we should share a dreadful recitation of paralleling nightmares.
- - -
There, as chaotic winds whisper
Over the cold lips of the wilderness
Faint clues to life's exuberance
And reach, I know you're searching
For lost words of redemption, and hope
You find some with me, where the wild flowers.
- - -
I come closer to you, and as the wind whips your hair, I feel as if to confess my affection for you, whilst also begging you to make me whole. But with great passion, it is you who does so. As if I could make you whole?
It is only then I comprehend, we are both reaching for loving redemption.
And hope to find it with the other, where the wild flowers.
- - -
Wildflowers
Yesterday, you called me a wildflower,
and I knew what you meant: a free spirit
blooming outside domestic gardens,
precious for that, bursting with color
but destined to be always and irrevocably other
Perhaps you were imagining the field
by your house where wildflowers struggle
up upon their roots, despite harsh winds
and human traffic; or how, in the wild,
flowers use their softness to crack through rock,
thirsting deep to hidden springs
Because the wild flowers inside you,
your eyes sometimes melt,
and I feel awe washing over me
as you savor the iridescent wildflower
perched on a leather outcropping
only a few feet away, in a Byzantine land
where winds brawl, tempests toss,
and, driven wild, flowers fly in all directions.
After hours, when time crashes down,
I wonder, do you sit below the cauldron
of night, watching moonlight spill
onto the savage farm and wildflowers appear
as if by incantation, to beguile you
with their slow recital of dreams?
There, as chaotic winds whisper
Over the cold lips of the wilderness
Faint clues to life's exuberance
And reach, I know you're searching
For lost words of redemption, and hope
You find some with me, where the wild flowers.
Diane Ackerman
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