Author's Note: This is just a fun little poem that came to mind a few days after I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. In case you missed the warning in the summary, I repeat, there are DH spoilers…just FYI…
EDIT 3/22/2008: Just reposted this because of formatting issues (the site took out all my stanza spacers…grr…). None of the content has been changed.
EDIT 4/2/2009: I went back over this and tweaked a few things to try to smooth out the scansion in the rough patches. I think it's better now, but you know how it is—after I've read the lines to myself a few times, it's hard to tell whether they sound right because they're actually right, or because I've gotten used to manipulating them into place…
The Boy Who Wouldn't Die
I went to his house, late one cold autumn night,
"Avada Kedavra!" I screamed.
The nursery was filled with my spell's bright green light,
but the tiny young boy merely dreamed.
I was torn from my body, I tossed, and I thrashed;
I was much less than human or snake.
But in time I grew stronger, my will unabashed,
and I knew what I needed to take.
I was inches from triumph, so happy, so proud,
when that bothersome young boy appeared.
Then my host grasped his throat, and he screamed pain out loud—
And he died, much more frail than I'd feared.
For three long lonely years, I sat biding my time,
until fortune crept in with a rat.
And then late one spring eve, among graves fringed with lime,
I emerged whole again from a vat.
The boy cowered and ran behind headstones and tombs,
but we both knew his number was up.
"Avada Kedavra!" I shrieked between booms,
but the boy slipped away with the cup.
I was angry and wretched, and frustrated too,
but I couldn't give up, not just yet.
There was more to be known about him than I knew;
it was clear now what I had to get.
I lured him down to the Ministry's maze,
and he picked up the orb as I'd planned.
But it smashed, and men fumbled, and quite in a daze,
my mind was fought off at his hand.
It was Dumbledore's fault, I determined just then.
The old man—he most surely must die.
So I sent my young minion to Hogwarts again,
to dispatch my old rival, or try.
With not one more protector to stand in my way,
now my path to young Potter was clear.
I attacked his old school chums, while calmly at bay,
for wherever I was, he'd be here.
I was not disappointed, though was made to wait,
but the boy knew the sound of the knell.
"Avada Kedavra!" I said, with cold hate
and a smile on my lips as he fell.
Oafish Hagrid was forced—his beard drowning in tears—
to convey the boy's corpse to the door.
There I challenged them all, quite annealed by their fears—
but it seemed the boy lived yet once more!
Face to face we two dueled, pacing round the Great Hall;
and he said, "Show remorse," but I sneered.
"Avada Kedavra!" I cried out overall—
but his spell flashed, and backward mine steered.
How on earth could this vermin, this cockroach, this brat,
Defeat one so almighty as I?
With my last ragged breath I cursed all but the cat
of this damn boy who just wouldn't die.
A/N: Well, it's not much, but I think it's sort of funny (--grin--). I've also been toying with some more serious ideas inspired by Deathly Hallows, but I thought it would be fun to explore the lighter side as well…