The Hogwarts Poets' Society

"I'm bored," announced Draco. "Amuse me!" After a rather awkward night and some uncomfortable sleeping, the boys were now sitting across from each other. The door had shown no signs of budging. The good news was that it was a Saturday, meaning that neither Snape, Dumbledore, or McGonagall had to explain why Harry and Draco was missing.

"Why should I have to amuse you?" asked Harry. Most people would be intimidated by Draco Malfoy. However, Harry Potter had grown up under the bullying eye of Dudley Dursley. Being commanded around wasn't anything new to him, however, he had long decided that he wasn't going to take any more of it.

Harry Potter, it seemed, did not thing through the situation very well.

"Mr. Harry James Potter, if you don't amuse me I will curse you," said Draco in a high-and-mighty sort of voice.

Harry meeped at the idea of being cursed by Draco Malfoy. Draco obviously knew some Very Scary Curses. Who wouldn't meep at the thought of Very Scary Curses?

"Er, I don't know how I'm going to amuse you," said Harry.

"You could dance," suggested Draco, his eyes glinting maliciously.

"But I don't know how to dance!" said Harry hopelessly.

"Oh, come on," encouraged Draco. "It could be fun. Dance, or I'll curse you." Draco Malfoy firmly lived by the theory that you get more from a kind word and a big gun than a kind word alone. He didn't know that, though. He thought it was his own idea, which shows you why he should have taken Muggle Studies.

Harry stood up and feebly tried to dance. He sort of shook his upper body and waved his arms about over his head. He did this for about thirty seconds, before stopping and turning to Draco Malfoy. The blond was laughing silently, clutching his abs and crying from mirth. When he finally calmed down enough to talk, which took a whole ten minutes, he spoke.

"Who taught you to dance?" he asked. This prompted another bout of uncontrollable giggles, and it was another ten minutes before he could catch his breath. "No, really, who taught you to dance?"

"Nobody," said Harry angrily. It wasn't his fault he hadn't learned to dance. He'd just have to add that to his to-do list, wouldn't he? A to-do list currently filled with things like Kill Evil Things, Escape Death Several Times, and Be Gossiped about Endlessly. He definitely had time for dancing lessons, yes, siree, Bob.

"You mean you didn't take dancing lessons as a child? I thought those were mandatory, sheesh," Draco muttered. He himself had been forced into ridiculous, frilly pink tutus and pranced about with the neighborhood kids. Of course, he hadn't asked anybody else about their dancing lessons. His mum had assured him it was perfectly normal for a wizard boy to learn to dance in such feminine attire.

"Er, no, sorry," said Harry. "I was too busy sitting in my cupboard, thanks."

"Your cupboard? Don't you mean your room?" Draco asked, shocked at this bit of information. What kind of child spends time in a cupboard, anyway? He decided he didn't want to know. "I'm bored again. Amuse me!"

"But, I don't have anything to amuse you!" said Harry, eyeing Draco's wand apprehensively. "I don't even have anything in my pockets. Look!" And he flipped his pockets inside out, proving that he had nothing to amuse Draco Malfoy.

"If I hex you, I'd be amused," he said, a strange glint in his manic eye. "On the other hand, it'd be much more amusing to watch you dance again!"

"But I can't dance!" exclaimed Harry.

"Yes, yes, simmer down!" snapped Draco. "It's a small cupboard and it hurts my ears when you shout."

"Fine," said Harry in a voice that was just above whispering.

"I could teach you to dance," said Draco. "It'd pass the time, anyway."

Harry simply stared. Draco Malfoy, teach him to dance? That was ridiculous, absolutely preposterous, indeed. He harrumphed a bit, trying to buy himself some time.

Draco sat patiently, waiting for the inevitable agreement that was sure to come.

Meanwhile, in Dumbledore's office...

"I will not have you locking up my godchild in a bloody closet!" Snape was shouting. McGonagall was standing behind him, waiting patiently for her turn to rant at the raving old lunatic. "Merlin's pants, Dumbledore, you can't do this!"

"I have a plan," said Dumbledore calmly, his eyes twinkling.

"A PLAN OF IMMINENT DOOM!" shouted Snape. "You can't do this! You can't! You can't! I won't let you!" He began stomping his feet in a very childish way.

"That's enough, Severus. If you can come up with one good reason why I can't lock the two boys in a closet, I'd be happy to hear them, but I won't let you throw a temper tantrum in my office." He had a mock-pompous voice and was obviously enjoying this whole shenanigan.

"Dumbledore, you know as well as I do that Granger and Weasley are going to start poking around before long," she said, looking much more dignified that Snape, who was now pouting in a corner. "They can never leave anything alone, which is well enough when they're off fighting Evil Things or helping a condemned prisoner escape. But they won't like this one. They'll report you to the Ministry or something!"

"They won't," said Dumbledore calmly. "I'll tell them what happened, don't worry, Minerva, darling."

Snape turned green in the corner. The two Professors went off, swearing under their breath as they went. At the corridor where they were to part, Snape turned to McGonagall.

"Minerva, darling," he mocked, and then ran for his life as Minerva McGonagall chased after him, attempting to hit him with every jinx known to wizarding kind.