The Hogwarts Poets' Society

"What do you think everyone is up to right now?" Harry asked, musing. Draco was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, fully satisfied after being fed.

"Who's doing what?" he asked sleepily.

"What do you think everyone is doing? I mean, out there," he gestured towards the door. Draco opened one eye and peered at Harry.

"I give up, what are they doing out there?" he asked sarcastically. He was rather sick of being stuck in a closet, even if he did have food. And, quite honestly, he didn't care what anyone else was doing "out there" while he was stuck "in here". Of course, this was a rather snobbish attitude to take, because he had no way of getting himself out of the closet without the help of someone from the outside.

"That's just it," Harry said, still musing over what everyone else might be doing. "We don't know, do we?"

"No kidding," said Draco, the sarcasm positively dripping from his voice.

"Well, we can't get out without them, can we?" Harry snapped. He was irritated. He was tired. And he was claustrophobic.

His breath caught in his chest. His eyes widened in panic and he looked around the small, windowless room. At least his cupboard had had gaps around the door. He focused on breathing, but his thoughts became more and more irrational. He stood up, determined to find a way out. There had to be another way out. He was hyperventilating, sweating, and on the verge of a meltdown.

"Oi, Potter, what's the matter?" Draco asked, feeling rather unconcerned.

"I just remembered that I'm claustrophobic," Harry panted. Then he fainted dead away. Draco looked on with mild interest for about five minutes. Then, he began to get a little worried. What if Harry didn't wake up? What if Dumbledore didn't come back? Or worse, what if Dumbledore came back and found Harry like this? He might blame Draco and then they would never get out of this godforsaken closet...

All of these thoughts whirled around quickly. Draco stood up.

"I have a plan!" he said, feeling rather heroic. He sat back down again, closer to the unconscious Potter. "Harry!" he said, loudly and clearly. "Harry! Wake up, Harry! Come on, wake up!"

Nothing happened.

"Come on, Harry, wake up! If you wake up, I swear I'll get the house elves to make treacle tart every night of the week! Come on, Harry!"

Nothing continued to happen. Draco began to feel a little disheartened and panicky. Finally, in desperation, he put his hand out and sort of petted at Harry's hair.

"Come on, wake up, Harry," he said, ready for Harry to be awake and annoying again. "Wake up!"

Harry began to stir.

There was a knock on the door.

"Boys, I'm coming in," somebody announced. The door opened, and in came Professor Dumbledore. Harry, at this point, was about to ask what the hell had happened, but had been interrupted by Dumbledore's convenient arrival.

Dumbledore opened the door. Draco watched, wondering if there was any way he could possibly make a run for it. He didn't like his chances. Dumbledore took one look at the boys, who both looked flushed and sweaty, and smiled with glee.

"You may come out now for the meeting," he said. "Have you written any poetry?"

"Er..." said both of the boys simultaneously. The truth was, they hadn't written any poetry at all.

"No matter," said Dumbledore, pleased that the Plan of Imminent Doom was coming along so well. "You'll just have to help us review the others then." What he didn't know was that the Plan of Imminent Doom was falling apart.

Harry and Draco stepped out into the room. They were both ecstatic.

"FREEDOM!" shouted Draco, dropping to his knees. "Sweet, glorious freedom!" The other members of the Poets' Society looked away politely. It was rude to watch such a dignified member of society have an emotional outburst such as this.

Dumbledore surveyed the room. Everyone was present. Peeves was there, bobbing about near the ceiling, quietly reciting his poetry to himself so that he wouldn't forget it. McGonagall was there, eyeing Harry to see if any bodily harm had come to him. Harry Potter was there, looking dishevled, sweaty, and tired. Dumbledore, of course, thought that the boys had become much, much, much closer during their time together in the closet. Therefore, he thought his Plan of Imminent Doom was going well. Draco Malfoy was there, in the same condition as Harry, which Dumbledore thought confirmed his positions. And Snape was there, though he looked strangely comfortable, confident, and smug.

"Let's begin," Dumbledore said. "I am pleased to see all of you at the meeting tonight!" He beamed at them. "Peeves has told me that he would like to begin with a personal composition titled Filch. Take it away, Peeves!" Dumbledore sat down.

Peeves went to the center of the circle of chairs.

"Filch," he said. Then he began:

"Though he may not be pretty,

And he may not be very nice,

Though he may complain and rant,

And his heart may be made of ice,

I write this poem about Filch,

I now insert a random word: SLICE!

Filch is the caretaker, the one and only,

He cleans up the floors and walls.

He has an evil cat, his companion,

Who roams with him in the halls.

And because we all detest him,

We're happy when he falls.

He despises magic, students, and noise,

He resents anyone having fun,

He can be found wandering the school,

And he thinks Madame Pince has a nice bum.

He's a Squib through and through,

And this makes him quite glum."

"Hold it," said Draco suddenly. "Fun doesn't rhyme with bum and glum." Peeves looked furious at being interrupted.

"It's close enough," he said.

"No, it isn't," said Draco. "If you're going to have a rhyming pattern, you should at least be dedicated to that pattern."

"Oh, hush up," said Peeves.

"Enough, children," said Dumbledore, amused. "You may continue, Peeves."

Peeves cleared his throat and began again with enthusiasm.

"I've been at this noble school for ages,

I've watched the years pass by,

Caretakers have come and gone,

They retire or they die.

But I have to admit that Filch

Is the hardest to make cry.

I'll make a mess and cause a ruckus,

I'll make the kiddies wail,

And livid as a junkyard dog,

Filch will come without fail.

He swears he'll get me thrown out.

His middle name is Gail."

"Gail?" interrupted Harry. "I thought Gail was a girls' name!"

"It is," said Peeves gleefully. "And it happens to be Filch's middle name, too."

"You're kidding!" said Draco, feeling rather pleased with this bit of news.

"I wouldn't say anything about names, Draco," said Severus smoothly. "Seeing as your middle name--"

"Shut up!" Draco shouted, looking panicky.

"What?" Harry said, looking around. "What's your middle name?"

"It's nothing," Draco said, blushing.

"Your middle name is Nothing? Who names their kid Draco Nothing?" This time, it was McGonagall.

"His middle name is Darling," Snape said, looking triumphant. Two moments ringing silence followed this statement before everyone broke out into zealous laughter.

"Now, it's not nice to make fun of someone for something they can't control," Dumbledore admonished the group, but they weren't listening. Finally, everyone settled down.

"Darling," Snape said again, and the laughter continued.