The clouds disperse as darkness fades to dawn,
As moonbeams flit away from rays of sun.
With knifes of light the tranquil night is torn.
And on this night, the battle’s lost and won.
The duelling stops; victorious the red.
The cackling witch her rightful end has met.
He lives, the boy, who all had thought was dead;
Towards his mortal foe, his words: regret.
He calls the Dark Lord Tom and says –Remorse.â€
The snake head shakes and screams a curse; to parry
The boy lets fate run its disarming course:
O’er green and red the wand spins home to Harry.
The air drips red with joyous pain and heat,
And sun explodes where mortal spells did meet.