We said our dreams would carry us, and, if they don’t fly, we will run.

We want more than the wars of our fathers.

The brightest witch had long since learned the ins
and outs of the boy who lived. She knew what to say
and when to hug and when his patience wore thin,
and still, with him, she always chose to stay.

He knew her, too, that clever witch, much better
than she thought. He knew which looks meant “go
away” and when to try again. He never
dreamed he’d find the one by battling a troll.

Although they’d started out as friends, the years
had changed their hearts. The boy who lived became
the boy who loved, despite his founded fears
that, in love, their bond would never be the same.

But still, the boy who lived suspected this:
the brightest witch’s love was worth the risk.

(This is the direct result of this. And the direct cause of a great deal of sleep deprivation and teeth gnashing.)