The Highwayman
A voice sounded from the room next door. "Hey guys! Look at what I found!" Hermione came bounding into the sitting room.
Ron glared at her as she sat next to him, laying a book across her lap. He then grimaced in pain. He and Harry, as well as a few other friends, had gone out the night before to celebrate Harry's bachelorhood that was soon to end. He and Ginny were getting married in a week. Ron had gotten a whole lot more drunk than the rest of them and he was paying for it.
"Oi! Hermione! A book?" Ron complained when he got a good look. He and Hermione had been marred for close to a year and yet Ron still got annoyed when Hermione got her books out and forced him to actually read something. He still didn't understand her obsession.
Harry smiled from his place on the floor, Ginny's head in his lap and his hand in her hair. They were spending the day together away from the stresses of wedding preparations.
Hermione returned his glare and opened the book. "It's a book of poetry, Ronald."
"And that is better how?"
Harry and Ginny snorted with laughter and Ginny continued. "At least it is not Hogwarts: A History."
Hermione glared at her but Ron agreed. "I brought it out to read one to you. I thought you would find it interesting."
"What's it called?" Harry asked.
"The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes."
He thought about it and said. "I think I've heard of it. … Yeah, one of my primary teachers loved it and always read it at Halloween. It's a ghost story, isn't it?"
"Yes, but it is also a tragic love story," Hermione answered surprised that he knew the ballad. "And its one of my favorites."
"It's a muggle poem?" Ron asked as if amazed that muggles could write poetry.
"Read it, Hermione!" Ginny said sitting up much to the dismay of Harry because she moved.
"Well, if Ron –" She started.
"No, Hermione, read it," Ron said looking at the opening page. "It looks interesting."
"Well, … alright," she said and then started.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
And the highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding
The highwayman came riding up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doeskin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Harry had slumped back on the floor and was lost in the story. He remembered that day in primary school well. He still didn't know he was a wizard; it was the same day he found himself on the roof of the school building and didn't know how he got there. Then the teacher had read the poem to them and he had lost himself in the story then. Although he didn't realize it he was soon asleep and he found himself on a horse galloping toward an old inn.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the darkened inn yard,
And he tapped with the whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune at the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter
Bess, the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love knot into her long black hair.
Harry looked up into the girl's brown eyes and said.
"One kiss my bonnie sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet if the press me sharply, and Harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me by the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand.
But she loosed her hair i'the casement! His face burned like a brand.
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast, and he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh sweet waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his reigns in the moonlight; And galloped away to the west.
He did not come at the dawning; He did not come at noon,
And out o'the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsies ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red coat troop came marching,
Marching, marching,
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn door.
They swept by; their wands in hand.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at the casement with muskets at their sides!
There was death at every window,
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see through the casement the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention with many a snickering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her with a barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by the moonlight
Watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell shall bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till the fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years!
Till, now, on he stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of her finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
Tlot—Tlot had they heard it? The horse's hoof rang clear.
Tlot—Tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding,
The Redcoats looked to the priming! She stood up straight and still!
Tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.
Her turned, he spurned to the west, he did not know she stood,
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlords daughter
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watch for her love in the moonlight and died in the darkness there.
Back he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the skies.
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood red were the golden noon; wine red was his velvet coat;
When he shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
Harry felt the bullet and the blood and looked down. He saw the red on his clothes and his hands and everything went black.
'Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor.
A highwayman comes riding
Riding, riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Hermione's voice died and Harry slowly opened his eyes. He turned to Ginny who seemed to have fallen asleep next to him. There was an uncomfortable cough from the coach and they looked up to see Ron and Hermione staring at them.
"What just happened?" Harry asked sitting up.
"You fell asleep mate," Ron said.
Harry looked over at Ginny, who had the same look on her face that he did. "Were you taken into the story as well?" he asked slowly.
She nodded slowly then took a lock of hair in her hand and stared at it. After a moment she sighed in relief. "Its still red," she said at his inquiring look.
Harry face softened and pulled her close. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."
Ron sat in disbelief and then asked. "What happened?"
Harry answered before Ginny could. "The same thing tat happened when my teacher read it all those years ago. I- I mean we- were taken into the story and lived it as the characters did." Harry was struck by a thought and quickly turned to Ginny. "Have you ever heard that poem before?"
She shook her head, but said. "No, but I do remember the story as if from a dream." Then it dawned on her. "You don't think?"
Harry merely shrugged. "We may never know." He pulled her close again. "But if it did happen it just shows that we're truly meant for each other."
The room fell into silence before Ron's voice interrupted their cuddling. "You mind sharing what that was about?"
Hermione looked between them and realization hit her. She turned to her husband and said. "I'll explain it to you later, Ron."
Ron grumbled some unintelligent words, but didn't argue.
Harry sat next to his love as the last words of the poem echoed in his head, the eternal promise that they would be in the moment of their love, not their death.
'Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor.
A highwayman comes riding
Riding, riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door.
A/N: I love this song by Loreena McKennitt, and I love the poem even more. The Poem is the Property of Alfred Noyes. All the characters belong to J.K Rowling. I just borrowed them for a time. Thanks for reading and if you liked it leave a note. Vàna out.