Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, and neither is the wonderful poem I drew inspiration for this fic from.

Notes 1: According to wikipedia, Atlas was a God in Greek mythology who was condemned by Zeus to hold up the sky forever, and prevent it from meeting the earth - obviously an important task. I remember a mention of him in The Odyssey, which I'm currently reading, so I don't think wiki was making it up. But if you know any better, don't hesitate to let me know.

Notes 2: Dramione is what kick-started my love of fanfic, so in honour of this being my 50th (!) posted fic, I decided to post this on its own. It's pretty simple, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Please review, even if you just want to let me know if I've lost my touch with the pairing. But I hope you enjoy~


'There is a kind of love called maintenance

...which upholds

The permanently rickety elaborate

Structures of living; which is Atlas.

.

And maintenance is the sensible side of love

...which keeps

My suspect edifice upright in air;

As Atlas did the sky.'

-From 'Atlas' by U. A. Fanthorpe. Note that the '...' are not of the original text: they mean that I skipped lines in between the first sentence and the bit after the ellipsis. I used several themes from the whole poem in the fic, but it's a long poem.


There is a kind of love called maintenance.

That runs the house, keeps the taps from dripping and the grass from overgrowing, and makes sure the stubborn House-elves keep their pay, no matter how much they don't want it - and no matter how much you agree with them.

There is a kind of love called maintenance.

That makes things feel like work, so often. Dull work, but it has meaning. And often it comes with a satisfying feeling of accomplishment, when things go right: maintained happiness. The type you rarely saw from your parents.

There is a kind of love called maintenance.

That pushes prejudice aside. That makes you understand and eventually love someone that you used to hate. That makes your father, your mother, your friends, and everyone that loves both you and her try to do the same, too. Every day. No matter how much it may hurt them. No matter how hard it can be sometimes. Because it's worth it.

There is a kind of love called maintenance.

That laughs at your tired, bad jokes, and makes the tea, and lives your life. That always knows what to do where the other is concerned. That loves this, even if it sometimes means too-short laughter and broken-down kettles and not even being able to see by the end of the day for all the things you have to do and can't forget, not least because she won't let you.

There is a kind of love called maintenance.

That entwines your hands and keeps you going. That glues that broken, treasured heirloom together as much as it glues you both. That keeps you up in the vast air

...as Atlas did the sky.