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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, sore and weary,
Over many a dark and dangerous volume of arcane lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some hand was gently rapping, rapping at my dungeon door.
"'Tis some dunderhead," I muttered, "tapping at my dungeon door-
I'll have to hex them to the floor."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in frigid December,
And each separate dying ember wrought visions of my ghosts upon the floor.
Eagerly I waited for the morrow;- hesitantly I sought to borrow
From fic writers an end to sorrow- sorrow for Lily, now no more-
For the rare and radiant Lily, who treads the ground no more-
Shipless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of Slytherin green curtains
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic plot bunnies never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood complaining,
"'Tis some dunderhead entreating entrance at my dungeon door-
Some fool dunderhead entreating entrance at my dungeon door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my ire grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, my forgiveness you'd best implore;
But the fact is I was "napping", and so rudely you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my dungeon door,
That I hoped I had not heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, sneering,
Doubting, muttering words no mortals ever dared to speak before;
But the silence outside unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the words there spoken were the whispered words, "Merlin's drawers!"
These I whispered, and an echo grumbled the words, "Merlin's drawers!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Bugger.
Back into the dungeon turning, all my ire within me burning,
Yet again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is an owl at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what message, and this mystery explore-
Let me read again, damn you, after this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with an awkward leap and sputter,
In there stepped a pale patronus I knew I had seen before;
Not the least apology made she; not my hasty hex did sway she;
But, with mien of lord or lady, trotted near my dungeon door-
Trotted over to the bookcase just beside my dungeon door-
Trotted, sat, and nothing more.
Did this ghostly form beguiling my grim countenance into smiling?
No, not the grave, even snarling, visage of the countenance I wore.
"Thy cruel form wounds my shattered heart, thou," I said, "reminder of my senseless part
In mistakes that sent me, blindly, wandering to the Nightly shore-
Must thee remind me of my journey to and flight from the Night's Plutonian shore!?"
Quoth patronus, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled the answer clearly besmirking that which cost me dearly,
As though it had the power to erase the guilt and pain I bore;
For absolution was it giving, but no witch or wizard living
Could mistake the creature standing near my dungeon door-
But I could scarce imagine hundreds crowding in my dungeon door,
Pointing fingers nevermore.
Softly watching my growing madness, as I fell to the stones in sadness,
The pale and glowing figure did my tears and threats ignore.
Nothing further then she uttered- no, no further message muttered-
And my pain-filled eyes grew shuttered, "my hopes of redemption have come and flown before-
On the morrow she will leave me, as my dreams have flown before."
Then the doe said, "Never More."