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The Night After Christmas, 1983

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Old May 11th, 2020, 7:48 pm
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The Night After Christmas, 1983

I have been curating (i.e., copying them from websites before the sites are closed) my old attempts at fanfics, and saw there was a poetry corner here. I do not believe I ever posted this bit here, so even though it is out of season as i post, I thought i would put it up.

The Night after Christmas, 1983, as told by Vernon Dursley

T'was the night after Christmas, and through Little Whinging
Not a burgher was stirring, all collapsed from the bingeing;
Dudley was tucked in his room with his haul,
Worn out from crying, though we'd cleaned out a mall.
With pride I looked in, it left my head reeling
The little tyke needed things stacked to the ceiling,

Then Petunia in leathers, and me in my thong,
Had retired together to sing a love song,
When down in the parlor there arose such a din,
I sprang from my knees to see what had come in.

Away to the stairs I crept like a cat,
While ripples of goose bumps danced down my fat.
The light from the gadgets with zeroes all flashing
Gave a pallid green glow so I could see what was crashing.

And what to my so normal eyes then appears,
But a tiny green twit with ridiculous ears,
With enormous round eyes, and a four-inch-long beak
Whatever it was, I hated this freak!

He bounced on our couches without any shame,
And giggled, "If the Malfoys only knew that I came!"
He played with the buttons on all of our things,
Then jumped 'round the room as if he had wings.

He was dressed in a pillowcase, and naked below:
What was he doing here I dreaded to know.
He looked round the room as if trying to find
Whatever it was he had on his mind.

Like a marble might bounce around in a bowl,
He searched till he came to Potter's small hole.
He twiddled the latch and opened the door;
I could swear that a tear dropped down to the floor.

"No puzzles, no games! no cuddlies, no toy!
Is this any way to raise up a boy?"
So he criticized me!? The nasty green rat!
I ought to have bashed in his brains with a bat.

And then, with a pop, he pulled out some stuff,
And placed it inside, said it wasn't enough.
He called Potter a hero, did that greasy scant punk
who should have been clobbered and tossed out with the junk.

His eyes -- how they glistened! His smile so sad!
His cheeks wrinkled like paper, his nose sniffed so bad!
His repulsive great ears flapped as he turned,
The weirdness was wretched, my stomach it churned.

Then he reached down to feel the scar on the boy,
He quick shut his eyes as though it gave him great joy;
He tousled Potters' hair, as if you could know,
I thought this must be a beast straight from below.

He was scrawny and bandaged, a nasty little twirp,
His voice was high-pitched, a mean rasping chirp;
I crept down to look better at what he had done,
Was he here on some business or just to have fun?

He smoothed out the new quilt he had placed on the child,
Such a beautiful thing for a boy who's so vile;
And on top of the timbers he placed a toy truck
And in Potter's hands a pale rubber duck.

The brat gave a small coo, and the freak startled back,
And he spoke as he stood, 'fore he vanished with a crack
"Dobby must go; hope you hasn't see'd me,

Where are they now? (part 42)
(an occasional series following wizardry after the Second Voldemort War)
Rubeus Hagrid continued as groundskeeper and Professor of Magical Beasts.

Here he is on a summer vacation trip to the Canary Islands with Fluffy, his second favorite dog.
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