Please note that the first few chapters are mostly following the film in order to establish the plot. Gradually, chapters will deviate until there is a whole new plotline that only incorporates events as they unfold in the film.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dead Poets Society and any recognisable dialogue has been taken from the movie and/or clips from deleted scenes found online.

'She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;

And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips

Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:

Ay, in the very temple of Delight'

~ Ode on Melancholy by John Keats (1820)

Chapter Two - Carpe Diem

Three days, to Kathleen's bewilderment, had not been sufficient time to re-acquaint herself with the mansion. Almost a decade had passed since her last family visit. Although the decor had not changed, the scale certainly had. Her new perspective was rather muddling. Without the guidance of the boys she certainly would have been late to dinner.

In the few minutes it had taken to reach the Jacobean style main staircase, all traces of tension had vanished. Neil had shed the shackles of dejection, emerging as the cheery leader of the strange blend of personalities. He led them on a guided tour, jesting with Charlie over portrait opinions, and telling anecdotes for the benefit of Todd and herself. As they trailed along admiring the architecture, the debate over Charlie's detention for sledding down the stairs in third year became an argument over who had the worst Summer.

"What about you two?" asked Knox.

"Yeah, any horror stories from your summers?" Neil nudged Todd with an encouraging smile.

Todd shrunk away from the contact. "Uh, no. My summer was-my summer was fine," he stuttered.

"Mine was great until I got here," Kathleen added, watching as Todd ducked his head, hiding the rising flush in his cheeks. She wondered if his nerves would recede somewhat with the reassurance of a few acquaintances. "I'm relying on you guys to change that now. I'll go loopy if I'm stuck with my grandfather every day."

"God, what's he like as a grandparent?" Charlie's amused expression dropped at the thought.

"I learnt the four pillars by my fourth birthday," she muttered, earning a mixture of groans and laughs, "and every time I visit, I'm sent to various dinners and dances, all dressed up like a possession to show off and charm his associates."

"Ah, you're one us after all," Charlie winked, "only prettier."

She blushed, letting a laugh speak for her, but it faded as the group approached the dinner hall. As the heavy doors were thrown open, the large, rectangle room came into view. It was well lit by old candelabras which glowed like stars beneath the high, shadowy ceiling. The walls were adorned with tapestries older than her grandfather, hung in the large spaces between the tall windows. The parquet floor was shining, newly cleaned, under the rows of tables which lined the room. By the left wall was the buffet area. Boys and teachers queued with plates to serve themselves. At the far end of the room was the teachers table, and Mr Nolan was sat in the centre, conversing with the new teacher - Mr Keating.

She took a deep breath and followed the boys over to the welcome buffet. "Thanks," she muttered as Knox passed her a plate. At least the food seemed nice enough. There was a wide selection to choose from, and a few deserts on a smaller table. She piled her plate up with food and exchanged a nervous smile with Todd, whose hands were shaking as he poured the gravy. It was a rather intimidating room where everyone else knew where to sit, what the rules were, and the air was full of history with one another.

"Hey!" A shout cut through the din of crockery and chatter, its source found in a blond boy with elfish features. His pale blue eyes held a challenge, briefly meeting Neil's from the table nearest to where Todd, Neil, and herself were stood waiting for the others to finish up. "Sweetheart, why don't you sit with us?"

"No, thank you." Kathleen said tensely. This was exactly the kind of thing which she had dreaded happening. If there was a scene, she would be isolated from the other students for her entire stay. It wouldn't matter whose fault it was to Mr Nolan.

"Her name is Kathleen, Fraser, not sweetheart." Although his tone seemed as light as before, the warning could not be missed.

"I don't remember asking you, Perry. I was talking to the girl with the pretty face," Fraser goaded over his friends' raucous laughter.

"And I don't wish to engage in any further conversation," Kat said hotly.

"Come on, I was being nice!"

"No, you're being an ass," Neil retorted, "come on guys, let's grab a table. The others will catch up."

The pair followed Neil to the other side of the room where they found a large, empty table, far from the jeering idiots, much to Kathleen's relief. Todd sat on the end of the bench, Kathleen next to him and Neil opposite Todd. Soon after the others found them. Charlie sat next to Neil, Knox next to Kathleen, and Steven opposite her and Knox with another two boys who she had not yet met.

"Kathleen, Todd," Steven said, "let me introduce you to Gerard Pitts and Richard Cameron."

"Hi," the four echoed to each other. Dinner was rather subdued, small talk was made and jokes told but tiredness started to creep up on the students who one by one began to yawn.

Finally, at Gerard's sensible suggestion, the group traipsed out of the hall and up towards the dormitories. At the top of the staircase Kathleen recognised the corridor which led to her own, isolated room.

She waved the boys away. "My room is that way," she explained, bidding them goodnight.

Calls of "night" and "see ya" followed her down the passage. She let herself into the room, almost knocking over the table lamp in her distraction. A small smile graced her lips as images of the boys' kindness danced through her mind. Whatever her grandfather may throw at her, she could have friends, and that fact made all the difference in the world. Her smile grew, fading only as she slipped away into hands of her dreams.

XXXX

Waking up to a clanging alarm was slightly disorientating. Kathleen half expected to be greeted with the sight of her three roommates in various states of morning chaos, before remembering that she was alone. She showered and dressed, donning her substitute uniform as instructed. It consisted of a white blouse, a grey jumper emblazoned with the Welton logo, a knee length skirt, and white socks with her patent Mary Janes.

Upon seeing the time, she left her room and turned the corner to the staircase. It was like a zoo. A mad rush of boys stampeded down the stairwell, each one ignoring the frazzled teacher shouting about "slowing down." She also caught the words "horrible pubescent's" and she stifled a giggle as she joined the chaos to reach breakfast. In the dining hall, she grabbed a croissant and headed off to chemistry.

The first lesson only proved Charlie's words, Welton was tough. One lesson in, and she already had a chapter to read with twenty questions to complete for the following day. Latin consisted purely of mind-numbing repetition, and trig was pure hell. By the time she got to English, she - along with the rest of her year - had a horrifying stack of textbooks and homework assignments. Observing the classroom was empty, they took their seats and did what all teenagers do when they finally get a minute to relax - complain and throw paper planes at one other. Kathleen chose a desk near the back, in front of Charlie and across from Pitts and Neil. She had begun to pick up on how things worked around here, some boys were referred to by surnames or nicknames, others by their names only. She hoped that she wouldn't be granted with an awful nickname in her short stint as a student.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr Keating. He strolled casually in, adjusting his tie as if they were not present. The class fell silent, yet he continued to ignore them in favour of whistling as he exited the room. Looks of utter confusion were exchanged, their collective questioning only increasing as Mr Keating stuck his head back in and beckoned them to follow.

They complied, grabbing their hymnals on the way out.

"What the hell is going on?" asked Charlie as they left the room.

"Not a clue," Kathleen murmured back.

Cameron led his peers into the foyer used as Welton's trophy room. Under the grotesque stag head mounted on the wall were the many alumni accomplishments on display to make every passer-by feel inadequate. Keating sustained his tune as Cameron came to a halt behind the table dividing the space. Kathleen slipped into the front of the semi-circle her classmates formed on the side nearest to the classroom. She glanced around as she waited for the others to settle, noting their proximity to the banners from yesterday's assembly, each suspended from one of the four corners. 'Discipline' hung to her right, and 'tradition' to her left, while Mr Keating's side was framed by 'honour' and 'excellence.' She wondered how any of this could be applicable to poetry.

"O' Captain, my Captain. Who knows where that comes from? Anybody?"

Only Spaz - whose real name was still unknown to her - answered in the form of sneeze.

"Walt Whitman," Kathleen said hesitantly. "He wrote the poem about Abraham Lincoln."

"Indeed," he replied. "Now in this class you can either call me Mr Keating, or if you're slightly more daring, O' Captain, my Captain." A few uncertain chuckles rang out, but his face remained serious. "Now, allow me to dispel a few rumours so they do not fester into facts. Yes, I attended Hellton. And survived. No, at that time I was not the mental giant you now see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight-pound weakling. I would go to the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face. Now Mr..." He looked down paper register, "Pitts? That's a rather unfortunate name, Mr Pitts. Where are you?"

Pitts raised his hand.

"Pitts, would you open your hymnal to page five forty-two. Read the first stanza of the poem that you find there."

His face dropped. The class scrambled to open their copies, barely restraining their reactions as he read the title, To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time.*

"Yes, come on. Somewhat appropriate isn't it."

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today

Tomorrow will be dying."

The words took her back to her last term at St. Mary's when the bored of Governor's almost fired a teacher over the use of Marvell's To His Coy Mistress.* The poem's sentiments towards life were certainly similar. She wondered which poem was published first.

"Thank you, Mr Pitts." Mr Keating's voice stopped the reading, much to Pitts' relief. " 'Gather ye Rosebuds while ye may.' The Latin term for that sentiment is Carpe Diem. Who knows what that means?"

Meeks raised his hand, "Carpe Diem, that's seize the day."

"Very good, Mr..?"

"Meeks, Sir."

He paced back and forth, energy emanating from his being. "Meeks. Another unusual name. 'Seize the day, gather ye rosebuds while ye may.' Why does the writer use these lines?"

"Because he's in a hurry?" Called Charlie from the back.

"No," Mr Keating stepped forward, his arm hitting an imaginary bell, "but thank you for playing anyway." Chuckles filled the room, less uncomfortable and more amused by the odd man that seemed to have returned to stuffy, old Welton by mistake.

"Because we are food for worms lads," his voice dropped into solemnity, but he spared a wink for Kathleen, "and lady." His eyes focused, moving to meet those of every student looking his way, "because believe it or not, every one of us in this room is going to stop breathing, turn cold and die."

Silence.

"I'd like you to step forward." He gestured to the glass cabinets lining the far wall. "Over here please. I'd like us to peruse some of the faces from the past. You've walked past them many times, but I don't think you've really looked at them."

The class shuffled forwards; gazes fixed on the photographs of students from days long gone. One hundred years of Welton graduates were lined up before them, and soon these boys' faces would join the archive. Kathleen leaned in to see, briefly wondering if she would one day be unique enough to count.

"They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts, other than yours of course," he grinned at Kathleen. "Full of hormones just like you, invincible like you feel, the world is their oyster. They believe that they're destined for great things just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make their lives even one iota of what they're capable of? Because you see, these boys are now fertilising daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on. Lean in."

Baffled, the class complied.

"Listen," Keating cupped a hand behind his ear, "do you hear it?"

A whisper moved behind them; the words floated from one side of the gathering to other. "Carpe...Carpe Diem."

Multiple students caught their friends' eyes. Cameron looked disgusted at the breath ghosting his shoulder.

"Carpe Diem. Seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary."

He was mad, thought Kathleen, well and truly mad.

And it was brilliant.

XXXX

"That was weird!" Pitts exclaimed, throwing open the doors to the courtyard. Sunlight poured over the emerging class, its golden rays slinking west in time with their walk towards the building listed next on their timetables.

"Different," Neil commented, raising his voice over the ringing of the school bell.

"Spooky if you ask me," added Knox.

"He is definitely insane," Kathleen agreed, handing Knox the book falling from his unstable stack, "but I like him."

"Yeah, but do you think he's going to test us on that stuff?" Queried Cameron.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Cameron. Don't you get anything?"

"What?" The red head protested, "what?"

"Nothing," she said to Cameron kindly, "we won't be tested on that."

The boys ran off to their next lesson, fencing. It was one of the many school sports her grandfather had deemed inappropriate for a young lady. Instead, Kathleen made her way to the library with her mountain of study, hoping to get the majority of it done during the next hour. Being alone and undistracted seemed conducive to her goal, yet her mind wondered.

"Gather ye rose buds while ye may," she recited the words under her breath. The woodland visible from the large window pulled her eyes from the pages of her chemistry book. "And this same flower that smiles today," she paused, watching a leaf fall from a sugar maple tree, "tomorrow will be dying."

Ink flowed from her pen, filling in the answers in a rush of anticipation. Before the last drop had a chance to dry the book was slammed and shoved under her arm as she hurried out of the library. Air filled her lungs with first step out of the man-made structure, and into Mother Nature's domain. Kathleen dropped her satchel under the sugar maple, and she spun around its trunk as the sun set orange over its fiery leaves. A few moments later, she dropped onto the grass, bathing in the warmth with rosy cheeks. Just one hour, she promised herself, forgetting the other assignments calling her name.

After all, she needed something to work on in study group.

* 'O'Captain! My Captain!,' Walt Whitman (1865) - written about the death of U.S. President Abraham Lincoln after he was assassinated by a Confederate sympathizer while attending the theatre in April 1865, a few days after the end of the American Civil War.

* 'To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time,' Robert Herrick (1648)

* 'To His Coy Mistress,' Andrew Marvell (1681) - I actually did study this in class at age 15 and that was an awkward and vaguely gross lesson we all wanted to forget.