'Twas the night before Quidditch, when all through Hogwarts,
Not a wizard was stirring, not even Harry Potter;
The flying brooms were stacked on the field with care,
In hopes that Gryffindor would win the game there;
The young wizards were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Snitches danced in their heads;
And Hagrid in his hut, and I in my tower,
Had just settled down for a nap that lasted an hour,
When out on the grounds there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the common room I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and drew in a huge gasp.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of midday to dark wizards below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
The Dark Lord, my greatest fear,
With a circle of Deatheaters, so sly and scary,
I knew in a moment that this night wouldn't be merry.
More rapid than eagles his Deatheaters they came,
And he hollered, and shouted, and called them by name;
Now! Lucius, now! Bellatrix, now! Greyback and Crabbe
On! Severus, on! Pettigrew, on! Karkaroff and Draco!
To the top of the tower! To the top of the wall!
Now blast away! Blast away! Blast away all!
As dry leaves that before the wand battle fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, wands to the sky,
So up to the castle his followers they flew,
With their sticks full of magic, and dark revenge too.
And then, to my terror, I heard on the roof
The sound of Deatheaters trying to break through.
As I drew out my wand, and was turning around,
Down through the ceiling, Voldemort came with no sound.
He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,
And his cloak was so dark it was the colour of soot;
A Dark Mark was showing on his arm,
And he looked like a snake, about to do harm.
His eyes - how they flashed! His skin as grey as stone!
And in his hand was his wand, the colour of bone!
His thin little mouth set hard and cold,
Knowing the terrors this night would behold;
And the light, it gleamed off his teeth,
As he gave me a wicked grin that gave me grief;
For I knew that any breath could be the end,
That by the time dawn glowed, I could well be dead.
But in a blur and a flash, there he stood,
Harry raised his hand, ready to cast what he could,
With a cackle and a twist, away the lord went,
And I knew that I had no more to dread;
Harry spoke not a word, but went back to bed,
And I stood in the common room, glad not to be dead.
And from outside, Voldemort gave me a glare,
Before disapparating to who-knows-where;
I sprang back to my feet, and went to my room,
Trying to ignore the danger that loomed.
And as I lay down, I said to myself,
"What a mess to be cleaned by that poor, little house-elf!"
I made it to be in Hermione's point of view, but you can really say it's anyone, like Ron or Neville.