Disclaimer: This is all JKR's fault.

A/N: This is to be my repository of Harry Potter poetry from hence forth, since I've got too many stories on this site already and this way I won't bump up the count artificially. Previous poetry can be found under my profile (there're at least two others). This means that each chapter in this 'story' is completely unrelated to what came before or after.

A requiem of sorts for Albus Dumbledore.

Death, Be Not Proud - A Requiem
by Bil!

HBP spoilers.

Disclaimer: Hey, I didn't kill him!

A/N: Er, yeah. Not my sort of poetry, at least not to write, and I'm not entirely certain what I'm trying to say, but here it is. Written pre-DH, when I firmly (or more like hoped wildly) that Snape was in fact a good guy. Overall I do like Dumbledore, just possibly not as much as this poem might suggest: he made some bad choices, but most people do.

Death stood beneath the mighty tower
In the darkling mid-night hour,
Beside the body dead and still
Where the spirit lingered still,
And in a voice cold as the grave
Said "Lo! thou now hast been betrayed."

The spirit looked upon the one
Who comes to all when life is done
And smiled, as though Death were no foe,
And simply said but one word: No.
But Death, who never knows defeat,
Said, as one without conceit:

"Thy soul is mine, thy life is done,
For thou hast been betrayed by one
In whom thou trusted, whom thou loved."
He raised a hand, of bone ungloved
By skin; his deadly scythe did shine;
And said then, "All thou art is mine."

The spirit (hero, wizard, mage,
Mentor, teacher, student, sage)
Said, "I have never feared your touch.
My life was long, accomplished much.
And if betrayal caused my death
I do not love my friends the less."

Death gazed at him with wondering eyes,
His head full of a wild surmise;
He lowered his scythe and failed to strike
A soul with no desire to fight.
"Thou dost not choose to hate thy slayer?
Thou givest mercy to betrayers?"

"He has been a friend to me.
Betrayer? That we yet shall see.
The game is not yet played out, Death,
And there is hope while there is breath."
He smiled; his voice was soft and low,
As if to soften a coming blow.

"You may take me now but know:
I do not die, I do not go,
While one remembers how I lived.
And yes, my killer I forgive."
Lo! Death took off his heavy crown,
Before the spirit he bowed down...

So lift your voice in praise of one
Whose life has warmed us as the sun
Beams down upon the rows of corn
In fields crowded and fields forlorn,
Giving hope that all may pass
Through strife - and victor be at last.