My Mistake
Rating: G
Summary: Rabid bunny fluff – fwp (fluff without plot).
"I must confess a terrible mistake,
I made, once, long years ago,
So dire that to this very day,
Its correction – I still do not know.
Such a simple mistake, yet -
So thoughtlessly cruel,
To state that I used …
My Christmas list – as a tool…
To sort out the worthy,
The good from the bad,
Not realizing its impact,
Or how truly sad…
That sentence – how harsh
— a conviction, it would seem
To children raised, sadly,
Lacking proper esteem…
And yet I stand here
In awkward surprise,
Attempting to explain myself,
To your unforgiving eyes…
Eyes that I had long ago
Lost the hope of seeing,
As from self-guilt you seemed
Beyond the task of freeing…
For it is a child's belief
That acts as gate, as lock and as key,
And where fear and guilt hold sway
I simply can not be,
So per force, I watched you
Albeit from afar
And marveled at the man you became
The hero that you are…
And held in-trust the gifts
You would have received,
If, in your own worth,
You could have believed:
A infant's blanket of silver fleece,
A rattle of crystal and fairy's lights,
A tiny drum, a flute, and a lute,
A children's broom for magical flights…
Fingerpaints, chalk, and fairy sand,
Sketchbooks and quills and ink
Readers, fairy tales, adventure books,
And an orb that displays whatever story you think…
A new broom, quidditch Gloves,
A winter cloak, and a partridge down vest
A journal, parchment, fine quills
And a potions chest…
And those might have been all,
If, raised otherwise, you had reached the stage,
When most young wizards decide that
Believing in me is beneath their age.
But, despite your most surly attempt,
To seem untouchable, most staunch and dour,
When your young snakes came, asking of me,
Never once, their beliefs did you sour,
Or chastise them for keeping their faith,
But gently, and with utmost tact,
Guided them to hold their beliefs,
But always guard their back…
And, so, the gifts that they,
Selfless-ly, wished for you,
In all good honor, I do feel,
That these should be yours too…
A bowler hat, a new cauldron
A self-inking quill,
A purple ink pot –
That you need never refill…
A pinwheel, cologne,
An antique silver vase,
A map specially spelled
To show you anyplace…
Tea samplers, crackers,
Scones and sourdough,
A tankard of ale from Hagrid, each year,
And there's more in this bag, but I really must go."
And … Albus, on saying that… he handed me a thickly stuffed bag, bid me good night, and then as I was looking – like a house elf- he faded from sight." The potion's professor groaned as he realized that he had inadvertently picked up the strange rhyming pattern.
"Oh, how interesting, how interesting indeed. I knew Nicolas was pressed for time or he would have stopped for tea."
"What?" Severus stared, barely realizing that he must have appeared totally gob-smacked. "You knew... that he was real."
"Well, of course. Have you not wondered how passes through the wards?" Albus twinkled – quite enjoying Severus's utter shock