Drarry Terza Rima

“…Then Pansy threw a snowball at your head,
and Greg ate too much cake, Blaise lost his ring,
your mother caught us jumping on the bed…”

It’s midnight and I’m sleepless, following
the echo of his voice through empty halls.
I find him near the Room of Hidden Things,

red-eyed, disheveled, slurring at the wall,
a firewhiskey bottle in his hand.
He glowers at me from his bleary sprawl.

“Crabbe’s birthday,” he announces, drunk and grand.
“We used to be like brothers. You don’t know.
I don’t expect you’d ever understand.”

I sit and coax him upright, sighing. “So.
Let’s hear about that birthday in the snow.”