A/N: This is my parody of Tim Burton's 'Vincent', and obviously, it's about Draco. So the usual disclaimer applies – I don't own Tim Burton's original poem, though I wish I did! I'm just borrowing the form of it. Hope you enjoy. Oh, and by the way, I love Draco, but I like parodies of him even more!
Draco Malfoy
Draco Malfoy is fifteen years old,
He's never polite, or does what he's told.
For a boy his age he's evil and short,
And he wants to be just like Lord Voldemort.
He doesn't mind living with his mum and his dad,
Though he'd much rather live in a bachelor pad.
There he could reflect on the people he's tormented,
And the certain Gryffindor he's always resented.
Draco is nice when Pansy comes to see him,
But imagines locking her in his family's mausoleum.
He likes to experiment on his pals Goyle and Crabbe,
In the hopes of eliminating their horrible flab.
So he and his nasty pie-eating mates,
Can go searching for victims at the Hogwarts gates.
His thoughts though aren't only of organized crime,
He likes to primp and preen to pass some of the time.
While other kids study, sleep or play,
Draco likes to look in his mirror all day.
One morning while adding some extra hair gel,
He looked in the mirror and let out a yell.
Such a gruesome sight could not be believed,
He thought that his eyes must be deceived!
He turned from the mirror with growing dread,
And came face to face with George and Fred!
With a scream he ran back to his common room,
A place hidden in the Dungeon of Doom,
Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life,
Alone in the house of corruption and strife.
While alone and insane, encased in his doom,
Severus Snape burst suddenly into the room.
He said: "Damn that boy Potter! Damn him to Hell!
Where was I? Oh yes. Draco, what is that smell?"
Draco tried to talk but he just couldn't speak,
The sight of the Weasleys had made him quite weak.
So he took out some paper and scrawled with a pen:
"I am not sure but it won't happen again."
Snape said: "What's the matter with you, boy? You look almost dead,
With no make-up on your face or extra gel on your head.
You're a rich Slytherin, you're Draco Malfoy,
Not yet tormented or insane, you're still a young boy.
You're fifteen years old, not seven or one,
Now get outside and have some real fun."
His anger now spent he walked out through the hall,
And while Draco backed slowly against the wall,
The room started to sway, to shiver and creak,
His hair gel deprivation had reached its peak.
He saw Crabbe and Goyle make their way through the gloom,
And heard the Weasley's call from beyond the room.
They opened their mouths and made ghoulish sounds,
And banged on the walls with punches and pounds.
"We have your hair gel!" they cried and beamed,
And smiled even wider when poor Draco screamed.
To stop the madness he reached for the door,
But fell, limp and lifeless, down on the floor.
His voice soft and very slow,
He spoke his last words of dreadful woe:
"My days of going to the make-up store,
Shall be realised nevermore."
The End.
