Dear professor Lockhart,
I wrote this poem from your point of view to make it more personal.
Arriving at night, the moon shining bright,
I walked to the major’s small household.
The door hung from one of its hinges. The sun
started rising and yet I grew cold.
I opened the door and saw blood on the floor,
I entered the bedroom, back upright.
The room was as still as a grave on a hill.
So the werewolf they feared struck tonight?
There was one left alive with no scratch of the strife,
His face was pale white, his eyes dim.
The major looked down on his dead wife’s nightgown,
And I saw how his loss consumed him.
'She left me,' he said, falling down on his bed.
'Her spirit flew out like a songbird.
At morning she sung,' and his calm mask sprung.
And he cried, I had no soothing words
'I'll find him, make sure no one else shall endure
The loss of a wife, child or man.'
With my promise and calls I could’ve addressed the walls,
But I said 'I will do what I can.'
I searched every day and each week of month May,
For a trace or a sign near the Mansion.
But no trace could be found in the house, on the grounds,
And I saw full moon coming with tension.
On the eve of full moon, the first day of June,
The answer came: ghastly but thrilling
The werewolf genome was in the major’s home
I started to see who’d been killing.
From his house came a shout so I pulled my wand out,
And I quietly opened the door.
The monster sat there with a mass of grey hair,
Once major, now wolf to the core.
Like a violent coyote he aimed for my throat,
His weight almost choked me to death.
And on his large paws he had fatal claws,
Would the last thing I smelled be his breath?
With my face in his hair and my last bit of air,
I shouted 'Homorphus' to change him.
The forceful spell flung him away from my lungs,
And his features grew smaller and slim.
The next day was a feast – they got rid of the beast,
The wolf that destroyed them was slain.
So thanks to me Wagga Wagga was free,
Of the werewolf that once caused them pain.