Harry the poet?

AN: There's one little mistake in POA, where it's supposed to say 'Hospital wing', it says 'Dormitory'. Seriously, page 305 of the Bloomsbury edition, it really is there. So, I don't know how one simple mistake led to this crackfic, but, well…uh, read on? I know it's sucky and weird, but please read it? Not meant to be serious, I don't ship Drarry or Severitus, but I mean no offence to you if you do.

"We did it!" said Harry breathlessly. Sirius has gone, on Buckbeak…"

Dumbledore beamed at them.

Well done. I think-" He listened intently for any sound within the hospital wing. "Yes, I think you've gone, too. Get inside-I'll lock you in-"

Harry and Hermione slipped back inside the dormitory.

~At this point, imagine Harry and Hermione, about to step into the Hospital Wing, but instead, float serenely all the way back to the Gryffindor dorms before stepping into them.~

It was empty except for Ron, who was lying motionless in the end bed.

(Ok, so, let's just assume that Dean, Seamus and Neville have gone off on midnight adventures. Yay.)

As the lock clicked behind them, Harry and Hermione crept back into their own beds, Hermione tucking the time-turned back under her robes. Next moment, Madame Promfrey had come striding back out of her office.

"Ok, wait a minute," said Harry. "Hermione, since when was your bed in our dormitory?"

"Oh Harry," she said. "I moved in yesterday because Pavarti and Lavender pushed me out, and I was homeless, remember?"

"Alright…" said Harry, not remembering at all. "What about you, then?" He pointed at Madame Promfrey. "Why is your office suddenly in our dorms now? And why the heck are you here in the first place?"

"Oh Harry," she sighed. "You know, being a matron is so boring sometimes, so I decided to come and read your secret diaries!" She giggled.

"What? I don't have a secret diary!" exclaimed Harry.

"Oh yes you do, what about that fluro pink one under your pillow?" Hermione accused.

"HEY! How do you know about Sweetie, Hermione?" said Harry, turning as pink as the diary of subject.

"Oh you know, I just come here and read your diary to get my daily dose of slash. You know, nothing big."

"WHAT? I-" but he was cut off by Madame Promfrey.

"Ooo, Hermione, do tell!"

"Ok, let's see…" And without warning, she grabbed the poor diary from underneath Harry's pillow, leaving Harry open mouthed with shock.

The too fangirls (well, strictly fangirl and fanwoman) leaned in and started reading. Out loud.

Dear Diary,

Today I saw Draco once again. He was as beautiful as ever. Today, he called me 'Potter' again. My ears respond quite well to my name, called in his sweet, sweet voice, but I wish that one day, he would call me 'Harry', because I know that he is only hiding his feelings under that cold mask of emotions, and that he feels as strongly for me as I do for him. The thought of that makes me have a desperate urge to write poetry for our love.

Dear Draco,

My love for you is like Spring,

Tender, sweet, and uplifting.

My love for you is like Summer,

But your gaze strikes me even dumber.

My love for you is like Autumn,

If there are diseases, I have caught them.

My love for you is like Winter,

Pure, clear, without a splinter.

Apart, our dreams cannot be reached,

So today, to you I do beseech,

Take me by the hand,

And alone we will stand,

Stronger than ever!

At this point, both the girls giggled, and Hermione said, "Harry, you'll have to give me poetry lessons!"

Harry was not amused. He was not amused. He was not amused. HE WAS NOT AMUSED.

But no one cared.

As the girls kept reading, they found even more poetry. This time, to Snape.

Seriously.

Dear Sev,

My mother may have broken your heart,

But I'll mend the pieces, not take them apart.

One day, I'll make, a potion for you,

With emerald and ebony, our very own hues.

And with the potion, ultimately I'll cure,

That heartbreak that prevents your heart from being pure.

So Sev, my love, I do proclaim,

Is pure and truthful, not just a game.

"Harry, you should really just stick to one person, you know." said Madame Promfrey wisely.

"Hmph."

Just then, Ron woke up. Well, not really. Let's just say he was listening the whole time.

"Harry," he said. "I always knew you were gay. But, I mean, Malfoy and Snape? Seriously?"

"I-" But before he could say anything he was cut off by a strange site out of the windows.

Neville, Seamus and Dean were flying through the skies on a unicorn. The hell? But the thing is, there were three of them, and only one unicorn. And, unicorns don't fly anyway...

It was painful.