The Highwayman
So obviously I do not own Harry Potter, nor the Highwayman. I know that it’s pretty much plagiarism, but a lot of work went into turning it into a Harry Potter fanfic! A lot of work! A lot! Anyways, Harry, Draco, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling, and though they dance around in my dreams far too much, they don’t belong to me, and I didn’t ask to use them. Sorry. “The Highwayman” is likewise Alfred Noyes, but it’s really good. I couldn’t help it.
The Deatheater
by Closet Skeleton and Alfred Noyes ((Proper credit also goes to J.K. Rowling))
I
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, leading to number four,
And the deatheater came riding-
Riding-riding-
The deatheater came riding, up to the old oak door.
II
He’d a white half-mask on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and a skull upon his skin;
The black cloak was over his head: his books were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle,
His silver pin a-twinkle,
His Slytherin crest a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
III
Over the hedges he flew, by broom into the darkened yard,
And he tapped with his wand on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the Dursley’s green-eyed nephew,
Harry, the Potter’s son,
Writing a blood red love-note to the one who would care.
IV
And dark in the Dursley’s yard a gate latch creaked
Where Lupin the wolf listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were a tortured werewolves’, his clothes were patched and worn
But he loved the Dursley’s nephew,
Like the son he couldn’t have,
Soft as a lamb he listened, and he heard the Malfoy say-
V
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after the prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the plan you need before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight.
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
VI
He rose upright on his broomstick, he scarce could reach his hand.
But Harry leaned his way o’er the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As Harry leaned into him, hand resting on the other’s chest;
And he kissed his lips in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet red lips in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his broom in the moonlight, and sped it away to the West.
I
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o’ the tawny sunset, before the rise o’ the moon,
When the road was a gipsy’s ribbon, looping to number four,
An Auror troop came marching-
Marching-marching-
Scrimgeour’s men came marching, up to the old oak door.
II
They said no word to the Dursley’s, they hexed their son instead,
But they froze their nephew and bound him to the foot of his narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at his casement, with wands drawn at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For he could see, through the casement, the sky that he would ride.
III
They had tied him up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound his wand beside him, with the tip pressed against his chest!
“Now keep good watch!” and they cursed him
He heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
IV
He twisted his hands behind him; but all the knots held good!
He writhed his hands till his fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! Harry’s wand at least was his!
V
The tip of one finger touched it; he strove no more for the rest!
Up, he stood to attention, with the tip pressed beneath his chest,
He would not risk their hearing; he would not strive again;
For the sky lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of his veins in the moonlight throbbed to his love’s refrain.
VI
There against the moon! Had they seen? The figure flying low,
There! There he was, in the distance! Were they blind that they did not know?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The deatheater came riding-
Riding-riding!
The aurors looked to their priming! He stood up straight and still!
VII
There with that immortal silence! There, like a thief in the night!
Near he came and nearer! Harry’s face was like a light!
His eyes grew wide for a moment; he drew one last deep breath,
Then his spell he said in the moonlight,
Ward alarms shattered the moonlight,
Shattered his breast in the moonlight and warned him - with his death.
VIII
He turned; he raced to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with his head bent to his chest, drenched with his own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Harry, the Potter’s son
The green-eyed Chosen One,
Had watched for his love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
IX
Back he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the Dark Mark smoking behind him and his wand tip brandished high!
Blood-red was his wand i’ the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they cursed him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
X
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight leading to number four,
A deatheater comes riding-
Riding-riding-
A deatheater comes riding, up to the old oak door.
XI
Over the hedges he flies by broom into the darkened yard,
And he taps with his wand on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the Dursley’s green-eyed nephew,
Harry, the Potter’s son,
Twisting the golden locket that he wears, with a smile.
Return to Harry Potter.