"I went to a marvellous party—"
To the tune of Noel Coward's song of the same name.
Damn Harry Potter!
I don't think I ought to
Consort with him, quite.
Now that I hate her
(I mean, his creator),
It wouldn't be right.
Nobody cares that Dumbledore's gay—
He'd already sucked in one sense anyway—
But though Herr Tannhäuser's
Become a despiser
Of J.K.R., quite,
Yesterday night
I went to a marvellous party
With Draco and Rita and Snape.
I don't think much more
Of those three than before—
They're a twerp, and a whore, and an ape—
Yet still, I admit I prefer them
To Harry, that petulant bore;
And the Slytherins weren't all panting, at least,
To wank themselves blind o'er the spectacled beast,
Though the rest of the world's taken vows as his priest.
I couldn't have liked it more.
Calvinist teaching
And J. K. R.'s preaching
Seem to conflate:
Total depravity,
Lacking in suavity
'S something innate.
If you perchance are Slytherin,
You are forlorn and born in sin,
Bound to be burning
In Hell; now turning
By way of contrast
To Saturday last,
I went to a marvellous party.
Rosmerta was there by the bar;
She was chatting with Blaise
Of her Serpentard days,
Though I'd never seen her chez Poudlard.
Young Draco accosted a goblin
Who fondled the leather he wore,
While Rita of Seagram's inhaled quite a quart,
As Severus stood in a corner apart,
And scowled, as she howled, 'What she'd done for her art!'
I couldn't have liked it more.
I went to a marvellous party.
A piano had put us at ease,
And young Dobby Two
(The House-elf's nephew)
Was tickling the ivory keys;
He was playing a thing of Noël Coward's,
With words I had set to the score—
When Ron, who'd rolled in with a magnum at two,
And sworn his romance with "that Mudblood" was through,
Explained to us all the true meaning of S.P.E.W.:
I couldn't have liked it more.
I went to a marvellous party,
Whence Pansy departed with Flint;
She'd never, I guess,
Thought much of that dress,
From the minimal time she spent in't;
While Nott, who had "tied one on" early
Now hung by his heels at the door,
And seized on each one who came into the flat,
Inviting in this one, and kicking out that,
And sorted 'em better than any old Hat:
I couldn't have liked it more.
I went to a marvellous party,
Where, smiling, with serpentine guile,
We each got our kicks
By slating the pics
That a fan-artist drew—manga-style—
And I said, "I'd not seem over-critical:
Though J.K.R.'s books I deplore
To the point of appearing a bit of a jerk,
Yet I feel it's a duty I simply can't shirk,
To esteem what I deem such original work—
I couldn't have liked it more."