A H.P Version of "The Raven" By Edgar Allen Poe. HP belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Once upon a midnight dreary while Harry pondered,
weak and weary,
Over many a stupid essay given by the
Potions Master.
While Harry nodded, nearly napping,
suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at his
chamber door.
"'Tis Ron Weasley," Harry muttered, "Tapping at my chamber door-
This it is and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly he remembered it was in
the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost
upon the floor.
Eagerly he wished the morrow; vainly he had
sought to borrow
From his essays surcease of sorrow-sorrow for
the lost Hermione Granger.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the
angels name Hermione Granger-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling
of each red curtain
Thrilled him-filled him with terrors never felt-
even with a death eater.
So that now, to still the beating of his heart,
Harry stood there repeating,
"'Tis Ron Weasley entreating entrance at
my chamber door-
Just Ron entreating entrance at my
chamber door-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then
no longer,
"Ron,” said Harry, “Ron Weasley, I am sorry for not
opening the door;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently
you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping
at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you-" here
Harry opened wide the door; -
Ron came in and nothing more.

"Harry, " said Ron, upon Dumbldore's voice hearing, long
I stood in the office peering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no wizards ever
dared to dream before.
And the whispers there were unbroken, and the
minister gave no token,
And the only topic there spoken was the
whispered topic 'Hermione Granger.'"
This Ron said, and Harry murmured back the words,
"Hermione Granger!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all their soul
within them burning,
Soon they heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely, " said Harry, "surely that is something g
at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this
mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and
this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here Harry flung the shutter, when with
many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately phoenix that looked unlike Fawkes,
belonging to Dumbledore.
Not the least obeisance made it; not an
instant stopped or stayed it;
But with mien of wizard or witch,
perched above Harry's chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Lion just above
Harry's chamber door;
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then the red & gold bird beguiling Ron's
sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the
countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,
thou," he said, "Art sure no craven,
Ghastly and grim, like a raven wandering from
the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on
the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the phoenix, "Nevermore."

Much Ron and Harry marveled this ungainly fowl
to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little
relevancy bore.
For they could not help agreeing that no living
human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above
his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above
his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the phoenix sitting lonely on the placid bust
spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word
he did outpour.
Nothing farther then it uttered-not a feather
then it fluttered-
Till Harry scarcely more than muttered, "Other
phoenixes have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes
have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so
aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said Ron, "What it utters is its only stock
and store
Caught from some unlucky death eater whom
unmerciful dementor
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs
one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Happiness that
melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore.'"

But the phoenix suddenly beguiling all Harry's sad soul
into smiling,
Straight he wheeled a cushioned sea in front of
bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, Harry betook
himself to linking
Voldy into Fluffy, thinking what this ominous
bird of yore
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and
ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This Harry sat engaged in guessing, but no
syllable expressing,
To the fowl whose ruby eyes now burned
into his scar's core;
This and more he sat divining, with his head at ease
reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the
lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet red and gold lining with the lamplight
gloating o'er,
Hermione shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then Harry thought, the room grew denser,
perfumed from an unseen censor,
Swung by Ginny whose faint foot-falls
tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," Harry cried, "Dumbledore hath lent thee-
by Ginny he hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories
of Hermione Granger;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget
the lost Hermione Granger!"
Quoth the phoenix, "Nevermore."

"Trelawney!"said Ron, "thing of evil! Trelawney
still, if bird or devil!
Whether You-know-who sent, or whether tempest
tossed thee here ashore;
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land
enchanted-
On this castle by Peeves haunted- tell me truly,
I implore-
Is there- is there death eaters still in Azkaban? Tell me,
tell me, I implore!
Quoth the phoenix, "Nevermore."

"Trelawney," said Harry, "thing of evil- Trelawney still,
if bird of devil!
By that snitch that fly above us- by that Quidditch
that we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within
the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels
name Hermione Granger-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the
angels name Hermione Granger."
Quoth the phoenix, "Nevermore."

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or
fiend!" Ron and Harry shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back to the tempest and
the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no red and gold plume as a token of that
lie thy soul has spoken!
Leave our loneliness unbroken! -Quit the bust above
the door!
Take they beak from out our hearts, and take thy
form from off the door!"
Quoth the phoenix, "Nevermore."

And the phoenix, never flitting, still is
sitting, still is sitting,
On the pallid bust of lion just above
Harry's chamber door;
And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon's
that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er it streaming throws its
shadow on the floor;
And Ron & Harry's souls from out that shadow that
lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

"Father William" belongs to Lewis Carroll. HP belongs to J.K.Rowling. I only own this poem. This poem takes place in the future, and it was a bit funnier to think of Snape as the weird one.

"You're old, Professor Snape," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head-
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Professor Snape replied to Lucius Malfoy's son,
"I feared that it might injure the brain;
But now I am perfectly sure that I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You're old," said Draco, "as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly thin;
Yet you turned a back somersault in at the door-
I thought that you thought it was a sin!"

"In my youth," said the greaseball, as he shook his white locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this potion- ten sickles the box-
Allow me to sell you a couple."

"You are old," said Draco, "and your jaws are to weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the hippogriff, with the bones, the talon, and the beak-
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said the professor, "I took to teaching,
And talked until the bell's chime;
And the strength in my jaw, a higher point reaching
Will last the rest of my time."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was a steady as ever;
Yet you balanced a flobberworm on the end of your nose-
What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said the professor, "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll curse off your hair!"

Sympathy belongs to Paul Laurence Dunbar, and H.P belongs to J.K.Rowling.

Neville knows what the bullied boy feels, alas!
When he is taunted by Malfoy and his gang;
In front of people standing in a huge mass,
And from his now blood flows like red glass,
When the taunts around the dungeons coldly rang,
And there is no one for him will appeal-
Neville knows what the bullied boy feels!

Neville knows why the bullied by sobs alone
Til by his tears, his pillow is soaked;
For there is no one to hear his anguished moans,
And the pain from the bullies' taunts he can feel in his bones
While he tries to defend himself from being further provoked
And unsuccesfully hides from mobs-
Neville knows why the bullied boy sobs!

Neville spots more bullied boy. He sees-
More boys who are hurt and their hearts sore
Whose wishes are nothing but to be
From the taunts and jeers free,
Whose hearts are bleeding, in their core,
And a plea, that skyward they fling,
To fly away from the taunts with wings.

A/N: Yep. Bullied people have a rotten life. I know it because I was one. This poem is important to me.

The song is by Arlen-Harburg. H.P is J.K.Rowling's. All I have are some books, a hyper brain, and myself.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way down low, not high
There's a castle that J.K.Rowling dreamed of
Called Hogwarts, oh my oh my

Somewhere over Hogwarts
The skies are blue
And all the magic that you do there
Really do come true.

Someday you'll find an owl
Coming toward you, and an letter, that you see
Has come from Hogwarts school
That you've never heard of but sounds really cool
And you scream, "Wheeee!"

Somewhere over the rainbow
Barn owls fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?
Someday you'll wish upon a star
And wake up where Harry Potter walk
And Bludgers try to kill you
And fake teachers try to fool you
And Peeves hit you with a quill that goes "bok!"

Somewhere over the rainbow
Barn owls fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?

If happy little owls fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?

Azrael's answer: Because I am a muggle and I don't have a broom.

Lo! This poem belongs to Edgar Allen Poe, and H.P characters and places goes to J.K.Rowling. I have a classical guitar.

Lo! randomness has reared itself a throne
In a strange school lying alone
Far down in the dim Northwest
Where the good, the bad, the worst, and the best
Had welcomed in an unwelcome guest.
There students and ghost and professors
(Including people who are hot!)
Slave endlessly in yellow, blue, maroon, and wine towers,
By an author who is forgot,
The Hogwarts castle lies under the sky,
And all logic that enters it die.

Hogsmeade Village Randomness took as its own
To rid all logic in that town;
It declared, "Logic is gone! Wheeee!
"The centaurs are servants of me,
"All beings in this place shall be free
"Of Logic. Come, serve me all!
"Serve me ghosts, going through the wall!
"Come, Peeves, and wreck havoc in the tower!
"You shall be my butler from this very hour!
"Paint the towers with colors divine!
"Yellow, blue, maroon, and wine!
"Hogsmeade and Hogwarts are mine!
"The Hogwarts castle lie under the sky,
"And all Logic that enters the castle die!
"Oy, you, McGonagall, sitting there,
"You shall be the cleaner of my secret lair!
"It is somewhere deep down
"The dungeons! And wear this filthy gown!"

Snape, in the dungeons, raves,
As his beloved ingredients he saves.
Pickled toadstools and eel's eye
Powdered hornets and an engineer's tie.
Bat guts, worms waiting to be fed,
Herbs, caterpillars long dead,
And on his desk, a glittering mass
Of butterfly wings that shine like glass.
Unhappy is he
Who tries to save everything that he see.
As Snape's room is waiting to be seen
And checked by Peeves, who is mean.

And look, there's Logic, cowering there!
And Randomness flying through the air!
As Logic's corpse is thrown aside
For nothing but Randomness can abide
In Hogwarts- its governing is given
To Randomness from Heaven
And Imgination have a steadier flow
And Creativity has a stronger glow-
But can you hear Logic's groans?
For in Hogwarts shall settle hence,
Randomness rising from a thousand thrones
Shall eternily do it reverence.

A/N: Randomness rules the rest of the world, too!

"Trees" is by Sergeant Joyce Kilmer, and the Whomping Willow Tree belongs J.K.Rowling. I don't know why she wants it, but it's hers.

I think that I shall never see
A thing as violent as the Whomping Willow Tree.

A tree that in a week, at least,
Kills enough animals to make a feast.

A trees that kills in a day,
Crows, wrens, larks, and jays.

A tree that will not consent to bear
A nest of robins in its hair.

Minions of beast were by this tree slain;
This tree kills, day or not, sun or rain!

Begonias are planted by people like me,
But only a fool would plant a Whomping Willow Tree.

And here's an extra line that I made up:

However, Dumbledore planted the tree, too,
Leaving us to think that his brains were made of goo.

Hem, hem, J.K.Rowling created H.P. Clement Clarke Moore created "Twas the night before Christmas."

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the Gryffindor house
NNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The students were nestled all snug in their beds,
While greedy thoughts of presents danced in their heads.
And Ron in his pyjamas, and Harry in his cap,
Had just snuck outside with the Marauder's map.

When Ron knocked over the armour, there was such a clatter,
Filch sprang from the corridor to see what was the matter.
Away from the floor Harry and Ron flew like a flash,
Lest they should get, from Flich, a bash.

They ran, they ran, beside doors and windows,
And they did not stop until they went out in the snow,
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a rickety old sleigh, and eight tinny Greptineers.*

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
But they did not know if he was St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As the wobbly sled began to rise very high,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the castle-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and the person too.

And then, in a twinkling, they heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As they drew inside the door, and was turning around,
Down the corridor Dumbledore came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a present labelled "Potter, Harry,"
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
But Harry and Ron were as frightened as a house-elf!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave them to know they had everything to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And through all the presents, the last one with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the staircases he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, and fell on his back,
And narrowly missed breaking his neck.
But they heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

"Dumbledore is crazy!" Harry exclaimed,
As his own toys he slowly claimed,
"Yeah, well, I always told you so,"
Said Ron, "Now the old man's secret we know!"

*Greptineers are horses that are made of ice. It is one of the things that Miss Lovegood claim to exist. It was cut from OoTP after a nasty argument with the pony club.