The wind swept up their dreams

in the sunset and dress seams.

A faulty house stood on its last posts

haunted by years of ghosts

from the man with an unspeakable name

in an attempt to keep fear aflame.

They thought they knew better, the two in the house,

for there were easier flames to douse

than fear.

They could hear him outside, too,

the man hidden from the blue

flame.

So he stood on the first floor,

and guarded the door,

his body shaking with regret,

because¬†he wasn’t really attune

to the door opening soon

and it was something he would never forget.

Because that door did open,

and his life remained broken,

one the nameless man stepped in.

He took the man’s life, and his love’s,

but the baby he didn’t know how to get rid of.

So a simple curse ought to do it, “He’ll be my ploy!”

but little did Voldemort know, he would be the boy

who lived.