Returning
The
mists of Azkaban release him at long last,
Again into the wide
open spaces of the world.
He takes his first faltering steps on
English land,
Tasting and testing that familiar bittersweet
freedom.
Grey white gulls soar over his bowed head.
Their
mournful cries cut through the air,
Echoing his thoughts as he
walks down the pier,
Of what his long incarceration might have
lost.
The way her body molded against his
Pushed back the
coldness in his bones
And her bright laughter rung in his
ears,
Pierced the ice of his shivering heart.
A familiar
voice calls his name,
He turns and looks into beloved brown
eyes,
Whose warm light banishes all his cold fears.
And then he
is:
Running, enveloping, spinning her in his arms,
Burying
his nose in her library scented hair.
He sighs his relief against
her velvet cheek,
His joy against her soft lips.