We all are men,
In our own natures frail, and capable
Of our flesh; few are angels.
And so, I wrote about Draco Malfoy.
Arm aloft, their pride on show.
Aching to his heart.
Winter frost calls time,
A near-death shatters the mask.
Yet he breathes again.
Nights darken, dreams die.
Relentless voices stabbing.
Dawn brings bless’d release.
Blackness encroaches.
Facing the end, wavering,
Pulls back from the brink.
Burning, searing flesh,
Swirling flames surround his soul.
Purifying heat.
Time heals the wounds.
The past blurs and seeds renew.
Darkness never dies.