Sometimes, it’s in the page turns.

Magic oozes, pours, and churns;

enchanting you with flying cars and Whomping Willows,

or ensnaring you with fiendish merfolk or Veela bellows.

Other times, it’s in the little things.

A small, unassuming stone with little shine,

or a stick with strange grooves.

It’s hard to assume a cloak with such elegant moves,

can be united with the other two to create a magical whole.

Most of the time, though, it’s in the people.

Magic is in the best friend who would turn a shade of purple,

before honoring you and defending you to the death.

It’s also in the wonderful, caring, clever girl who carries an intelligent breath;

her dedication and determination make you grateful to be alive.

Magic is even in the “wrong kid”,

the one who constantly berates whatever he did,

but in the end, he’s a better man than you,

and you’re not ashamed to say who.

Magic is in your worst enemy,

the schoolboy whose attitude screams “me”,

but at the end of the day, you’re the sides of the same coin, you two,

so you both begin to understand, and you say “me too.”

Magic is in your first love, and your true love.

It’s in the man who kills to love,

and it’s in the man who would love to kill you.

It’s in the man who guides you, and who leads you astray,

and it’s for everyone else who’s in the gray.

But since you’ve held your first child,

and you’ve had those nights you went too wild,

you realize that you haven’t discovered all the different magics yet;

so until you do, you raise your wand without any threat,

and whisper in the night,

“Thanks Mum and Dad, you’ve done by me all right.”


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(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter)