Starlequin languished 'pon his lilypad,
and dreamd of vocations he once could've had.
Caretaker of the local Quidditch field,
or digging through ancient vault tombs left long sealed.
He could have kept up his earlier struggles
to study the cultures of those strange little muggles,
or worked in his mother and father's stores,
but he hadn't the heart to accept such dull chores.
No, he'd wanted adventure, this bumbling wizard,
as likely to die in a self-conjured blizzard
as fall victim to some nefarious curse
from these Death Eaters; he wondered which would be worse.
At least being murdered by fiends was respectable,
more than the fatally incompetent spectacle
his parents and teachers and friends all expected
(well, they'd never said, but he'd always suspected).
His prior accusal had left him downhearted,
but surely they simply were grieving departed
Moirae, by all means a hard act to follow;
her absence had left the Ministry hollow.
As Starlequin's tongue darted into the air
and snatched down a fly from a dizzying pair,
giving nary a thought to his verse-entwined mind,
a pair of thought rhymes collided, combined.
The first was that Kythia's duck did seem strange,
as many a wizard had mentioned in range.
No familiar he'd ever heard of conversed
on matters from sweets to the recently cursed.
The second notation to enter his brain
was the one that caused Starlequin emotional pain.
It was Chelemar that most others suspected;
did he miss a clue that his betters detected?
Well, he knew it was possible, even likely; indeed,
her innocent guise would only help her succeed
in destroying them all, but he couldn't believe
that by Chelemar they'd all been deceived.
He still felt a haze of initial suspicion
that ThatRPGuy had embarked 'pon dark mission
to strike at their hearts from within and without.
For him, froggy Starlequin kept an eye out.