I'll have words with you both to cease these incidents,
                              
To bring peace, to London and our country,
                              
Once more, on pain of death, all people depart.
                              


                              
Exeunt all but JAMES POTTER, LILY POTTER, and RON
                              


                              
JAMES POTTER
                              
Who set this quarrel into a riot?
                              
Speak, my son's honorary brother, were you there when it began?
                              
RON
                              
There were the police officers of your adversary,
                              
And your Aurors, nearly fighting as I approached:
                              
I drew to part them: in that instant came
                              
The fiery Bellatrix, with her weapon drawn prepared,
                              
Which, as she breathed hatred and violence to my ears,
                              
She brought up her weapon and her bullets cut the wind,
                              
Barely missing me. Nothing hurt, but she screamed for more men.
                              
While we were meeting shots for curses,
                              
More came and more and fought, for them and for us,
                              
Till the prince came, who parted either part.
                              
LILY POTTER
                              
O, where is Harry? saw you him today?
                              
Glad I am he was not at this fray. 
                              
He has not the desire to see more blood spilled.
                              
RON
                              
Ma'am, an hour before the bright sun
                              
Peer'd forth from the golden sky of the east,
                              
I decided to walk around your estate;
                              
Where, underneath the grove of a sycamore
                              
Hidden in the western part of your lands,
                              
So early walking did I see your son:
                              
Towards him I walked, but he was ahead of me
                              
And Apparated away before I could reach him:
                              
I know he reacts to things like I do,
                              
And takes comfort in thinking when he's alone,
                              
I respected him by not pursuing him,
                              
And will gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
                              
JAMES POTTER
                              
Aye, many a morning hath he there been seen,
                              
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew.
                              
Adding more dark clouds with his deep sighs;
                              
But we know little of what is causing his depression
                              
Should he blame me for this crisis? For not saving him from the war?
                              
The shady upbringing he had when Voldemort stole him from us 
                              
and left him at an orphanage to grow up with muggles, 
                              
But he came back to us, after the war. We thought him better...
                              
Away from the light, he drifts, my poor son,
                              
And locks himself in his private chamber,
                              
Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out
                              
And makes himself an artificial night: