Chapter 2. Midnight
Monday, December 16th, 1929
Tick, tick, tick.
A fireplace glowing with a radiant gold flame,
leaking smoke without any aim.
A cold body at its side,
the fire roars with pride.
Tick, tick, tick.
Plum pudding so decadent
it would have made Midas' fortune less resplendent.
A serving of buttery green beans,
sprinkled with garlic and salt and just a hint of lime,
sitting proudly next to a rare steak in its prime,
its juice pooling at the center of the plate,
usurping from the butter sauce its fate.
Untouched, cold. Forgotten.
Tick, tick, tick.
Light auburn curls,
unspooled and spread out,
soaked in burgundy blood,
as Death beside purls.
Suddenly, a shout,
opening the gates to a flood.
Tick, tick,
tock.
A minute past midnight.
Harry Potter, kneeled next to his wife's corpse,
moaning her name,
as if it were a psalm,
in a vain attempt to have God bring her back from the night.