We sit in wooden chairs
Beneath the deep blue sky
Scattered with white puffs of cotton clouds
(So unusual for this part of the country,
and for this time of year,
wouldn’t you agree?
Oh my, yes.)
Despite the brightness of the day,
A stillness hangs in the air
As we all hold our breath.

He steps onto the stage
Beside the remade tomb,
The tall boy who saved our world from evil.
(If you didn’t already know his name, though,
he wouldn’t seem anything special.
Black hair and green eyes –
common enough.)
He raises his wand to his throat
And smiles, a little sheepishly,
As though feeling foolish.
Nitwit.

I am not the only one
Who hears the echoes
Of another man’s voice as this one speaks.
(As he raises his hands and says, “Welcome back,�
we all hear the whisper.
“I would like to say a few words.�
We remember.)
He says the sorrow we all feel
Must not be denied.
In the front row, a mother sobs.
Blubber.

He says it feels so strange
To be speaking to us
Here, before the students even arrive.
(But McGonagall asked him to,
in consideration of
what he did for us.
How lovely.)
In the softness of the moment,
He speaks, strange as it feels,
And we begin to heal.
Oddment.

Many of us remember
This day seven years ago,
When an old man stood in Harry’s place.
(When we were hopeful and not mourning
for those who died in the Battle,
before the Dark Lord rose
and fell once more.)
But now the world is forever changed,
Changed at the hands of the boy
Who stands before us now
And reopens Hogwarts.
Tweak.