Chapter Text
“Will you quit pacing. You’re making me anxious. Honestly, Goyle, what’s got into you today?” Draco throws a balled-up piece of parchment at him.
“Poetry.” Greg mumbles.
“Did you say poetry?” Blaise laughs from his bed.
Theo looks up from the book he’s reading with a grin.
“What’s that?” Vince asks.
“Lyrical prose.” Draco shakes his head.
Vince scratches his nose with his middle finger, “Perfect, thanks. That clears it up for me.”
“Why are you thinking about poetry?” Blaise smiles.
“Luna.” He blushes, “She asked us...”
“That bitch!” Draco stands from his bed.
“Oi! She is not.” Greg stops pacing to glare.
“Obviously not Lovegood.” Draco storms from the room.
Blaise starts laughing, his laugh is contagious until Theo and Vince are laughing as well. Greg keeps pacing, he’s going to have to go to the library. He doesn’t know how to write a poem. He sighs. He hasn’t been to the library this much throughout his whole time here. Has he ever read a poem?
“What’s a good poem?” He asks Theo.
“That’s subjective.” He closes his book, “Like most forms of art, poetry speaks to the reader. One cannot say that one painting is better than another based solely on one’s own impressions. Each painting must be viewed for its own merit. One has to consider not only the subject matter, but the era in which it was produced. A modern painting will differ from those of the Renaissance. So be it with poetry. I can list amazing poets, even the muggles produce superb works of art. I can tell you to read William Shakespeare, however he died in 1616; I can tell you to read Elizabeth Barrett Browning who died in 1861; or I could tell you to read Dylan Thomas who died in 1953. If you studied these three poets you would discover the similarities of the mechanics, but the time and place will influence their writing to a level that you could not give an honest disposition of the work in comparison to each other. Take Shel Silverstein, he is an American poet that is so whimsical that his works have been compiled into books for children; and yet another American poet, Edgar Allan Poe’s work is so dark that few would feel that it would be appropriate literature for the young. Poetry speaks not only to your mind but to your soul. Think of poetry as music. There is music so profound that you weep upon hearing it, and yet there is music that demands the listener to get out of their armchair and dance. Do you understand?”
Vince chuckles, “That didn’t even come close to answering his question. I swear, this isn’t a classroom, Nott. Your new obsession with Muggle Studies isn’t doing us any good here.”
“This year we’re studying Muggle literature.” Theo states flatly, “It’s amazing, some of the works they’ve produced... Like Shakespeare, he wasn’t only a poet but a playwright. His works are still being performed today...”
“You’re not allowed to ask Theo anymore questions.” Blaise laughs, “We’ll be here all night.”
“No, that was useful.” Greg shakes his head, “At least parts of it was. Poetry is like music, and it should speak to your soul. Draco said it was lyrical, so music again. No, this helps, I think.
“Apologize, Zabini.” Theo smirks, “Apologize to me right now, and I won’t hex you.”
“No, I will not apologize.” He pulls his wand, “This is the mountain I plan to die on.”
“So be it.” Theo’s wand is in his hand pointing at Blaise. He slowly moves from his bed.
Draco opens the door with Pansy and Daphne in tow. He sighs at his two roommates but just leaves them to it.
“Honestly.” Daphne demands, “Both of you stop this foolishness this instant.”
“What’s going on in here?” Pansy walks between Blaise and Theo.
“Did you put Luna up to this?” Vince smiles, “Was this your idea?”
“What are you talking about, Darling?” Daphne looks down at Vince sitting against his bed.
Blaise drops his wand but doesn’t put it away, “Lovely Luna asked for a poem.”
“Did she now?” Pansy beams. She starts bouncing and clapping. “Let me see what you’ve written.” She holds out her hand.
“Ah...” Greg blushes.
“Macmillan is going to win this test.” Daphne smiles, “Can you imagine Longbottom trying to write poetry?”
“You two didn’t put Luna up to this?” Draco frowns, he was certain it was Pansy.
“I wish we did.” Pansy laughs, “I want to hug whoever’s responsible. I love them. I’m in love.” She grabs Daphne, “Come help me write a poem to my new love. She has to be amazing. I’m smitten.”
Greg grabs his bag to follow behind the girls.
“Where are you going?” Theo asks, pointing his wand back at Blaise.
“The library.” He sighs.
*****