Complicated Courtship
I spoke to him many times that year.
At first he stared, reacted with surprise:
How could the little girl he'd known
His best friend's cousin, now full-grown,
Look at him with love in changing eyes?
I spoke to him many times that year.
The second time he registered protest:
Said that he'd long since grown old,
And the difference in our ages told
Him that for me, he'd clearly not be best.
I spoke to him many times that year.
The third time he said, with a trace of shame
That he could not provide for me,
For he was poor, and I should see
The reason for that, yes, and know its name.
I spoke to him many times that year.
The fourth time he said firmly he'd not dare
For the curse he bore distorted
His mind, and his form contorted,
And my life with that beast I should not share.
I spoke to him many times that year.
I pleaded; he said what he'd said before:
That he was telling me the truth,
And I deserved a human youth.
I protested; he turned and shut the door.
I spoke to him many times that year.
He was resolute, in his reasons quite set.
I wept and railed; Molly cajoled,
Quietly, he said he'd told
Me his answer, and him I should forget.
I spoke to him many times that year.
"No," he said, and with that turned his back.
But even when he went away,
From my thoughts he did not stray:
Though Tonks by name, I'm stubborn as a Black.
I spoke to him many times that year.
He'd not answer; on missions he'd escape.
My devotion was strong and true:
I said to him (and now to you),
It even changed my Patronus' shape.
I spoke to him many times that year.
Seizing him, shaking him: "I don't care," I said,
"About age, poverty, or curse;
Than those it would take so much worse
To strike the love I harbor for you dead."
I spoke to him many times that year.
At last he told me, "Yes," and put aside
The excuses he'd made before,
Took my hand, opened the door
That barred his heart, and let me come inside.