Norbert the Ridge-Backed Dragon (Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Johnny Marks)

Here's a silly little ditty about Hagrid's pet dragon Norbert to the tune of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Norbert the Ridge-Backed Dragon

You know Chinese and Swedish and Welsh ones are scary.
Horntail from Hungary tried to kill Harry.
But do you recall
The most fearsome dragon of all?

Norbert the ridge-backed dragon
Had a fire-breathing nose.
When the gamekeeper hatched him,
He ignited Hagrid's clothes.

All of the burns and scratches
Added up, and Hagrid knew
He had to banish Norbert,
Send him to a dragon zoo.

Then one balmy summer's eve,
Charlie Weasley said,
"Norbert's fine, and by the way,
It's Norberta, with an 'a'."

Hagrid was most astonished,
Crying in perplexity,
"Norbert the ridge-backed dragon,
How'd I miss that you're a she?"

Unhinging Hagrid

I have always been cursed with a very, shall we say, weak constitution. I've gotten carsick on the way to the post office before - and that's four blocks away. So I think I know just what Hagrid is going through when he boards that cart with Harry, and I'm guessing that he dreads having to make the trip to Gringotts whenever the need arises. I wouldn't want to go on that roller coaster either...

Unhinging Hagrid
Hagrid could handle a blast-ended skrewt -
Actually thought that the buggers were cute.
He never worried about getting germs
While he was digging for fresh flobberworms.

Norbert the dragon had lived in his hut.
He'd gently coddled a three-headed mutt.
Hagrid was puzzled by others' alarm,
Wondering why no one else saw their charm.

Big, hairy spiders excited to eat
Wandering students? He thought they were sweet.
No living creature, no matter how grim,
Bothered, befuddled or terrified him.

Yet Hagrid shivered as he slowly neared
Gringotts, for this place held something he feared.
No sword-like teeth and no fiery breath
Made Hagrid's face turn the color of death.

No killer claws haunted him as he stopped,
Clutching his stomach, which fluttered and flopped.
No spiky spine and no peaked pinchers loomed.
Still, Hagrid walked like a man who was doomed.

Once in the bank, as he silently shook,
Poor Hagrid followed the goblin Griphook,
Dreading the journey he knew would soon start.
Hagrid, unhinged by a rickety cart.

Vernon's Dream

Poor Vernon was having a very bad day in The Boy Who Lived. Here, I imagine him chalking it all up to a bad dream, until he can't deny it anymore...

Vernon's Dream

The most bizarre, disturbing dream
Assaulted me last night.
I thought, "It must be something that I ate."
What else could make the city teem
With sights that caused such fright
And left my mind in such a frenzied state?

It started when I saw the cat.
An ordinary beast,
Except... Since when do cats know how to read?
Well, what was I to make of that?
I didn't have the least
Intention of remaining. No, indeed!

I hurried on away from there,
But then what did I see?
A bunch of dodgy, closely clustered blokes
With scandalously unkempt hair -
Some just as old as me! -
All loitering about in colored cloaks.

And then, the lowest blow of all!
A fellow, barking mad,
Insulted me, I think; what did he say?
Ah, yes. The ruddy rotter called
Me "Muggle". Then he had
The gall to hug me! What a dreadful day...

The evening news reported birds
Were swarming in a host
Of wicked wings and evil beaks and claws.
To top it off, I know I heard
The name that I hate most:
The Potters, my degenerate in-laws.

Such fear I'd never felt before,
But still it didn't turn
Me inside-out or make me quail and quake
Until I opened my front door
And was distressed to learn
That all that time, I had been wide awake.

Weatherby (Let It Be, Paul McCartney)

Poor Percy, working so hard for Mr. Crouch in Goblet of Fire, and his boss can't even get his name right. Here's a little parody to the tune of Let It Be.

Weatherby

When the tournament is too much trouble and I lack the energy,
I call my assistant, Weatherby.
And when I see the Dark Mark and am shamed before the Ministry,
I call my assistant, Weatherby.

Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby.
Jolly good assistant, Weatherby.

And when I've been outsmarted by the boy who's out to ruin me,
I'll make great demands of Weatherby.
I fear that someone's started to suspect I helped my son to flee.
I'll make great demands of Weatherby.

Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby.
Yes, I'll make great demands of Weatherby.
Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby.
Jolly good assistant, Weatherby.

Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby.
Jolly good assistant, Weatherby.

Bartemius is rowdy, as disgraceful as a boy can be.
I would rather borrow Weatherby,
A young man to be proud of. Oh, why couldn't he belong to me?
Jolly good assistant, Weatherby.

Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby.
Oh, I'll make great demands of Weatherby.
Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby, Weatherby.
Jolly good assistant, Weatherby.

The Waltz

It's such a tiny, throwaway moment, but I love the dream that Harry has in OotP of Professor Sprout and Neville dancing with each other while Professor McGonagall plays the bagpipes, so I couldn't resist writing about it...

The Waltz
The scene exists only within Harry's dream.
No others will see this event,
And that is a shame, for the three of them seem
Completely serene and content.

Pomona, the kind-hearted lover of plants,
And Neville, the student who shines
In each of her classes, are locked in a dance
As graceful as blossoming vines.

In daylight, the teacher would find it bizarre
To waltz with a pupil like this,
But here in the vision, by light of a star,
They're caught in a whirlwind of bliss.

Minerva stands by in an emerald gown,
And, giving her bagpipes a squeeze,
She sways to their music, displaying no frown,
Her locks flying loose in the breeze.

It's only a snapshot that dims with the dawn,
Yet he'll return once in a while.
In silvery slumber, he'll stumble upon
The dancers and piper and smile.

Dumbledore (El Shaddai, Michael Card)

Harry has suffered a lot of losses throughout the books. Here, to the tune of Michael Card's El Shaddai, he reflects on Dumbledore's death.

Dumbledore

Dumbledore, Dumbledore,
What did you drink poison for?
Did you know back in that cave
You were headed for the grave?
Dumbledore, Dumbledore,
I am shaken to the core.
I can't stay here anymore,
Dumbledore.

I'm still learning who I am.
I doubt I'll pass this last exam,
For without your guiding hand,
I can't hope to understand
That perplexing prophecy
Or where those Horcruxes could be.
Oh, how do I fulfill my destiny?

Dumbledore, Dumbledore,
What did you drink poison for?
Did you know back in that cave
You were headed for the grave?
Dumbledore, Dumbledore,
I am shaken to the core.
I can't stay here anymore,
Dumbledore.

Though I'm fearful, it is clear
That I have to persevere,
Since I can't help but agree
That this task belongs to me.
You were the wisest of all men;
Won't you counsel me again?
When I face the great unknown,
Must I do it on my own?

Dumbledore, Dumbledore,
What did you drink poison for?
Did you know back in that cave
You were headed for the grave?
Dumbledore, Dumbledore,
I am shaken to the core.
I can't stay here anymore,
Dumbledore.

She's Got a Whole World in Her Head (He's Got the Whole World in His Hands, Traditional)

Here's a little tribute to J. K. Rowling to the tune of He's Got the Whole World in His Hands.

She's Got a Whole World in Her Head

She's got a whole world in her head,
She's got a whole wide world in her head,
She's got a whole world in her head.
She's got a whole world in her head.

She's got the wizards and the witches in her head,
She's got the Muggles and the house-elves in her head,
She's got the centaurs and the giants in her head.
She's got a whole world in her head.

She's got Hermione and Harry in her head,
She's got Minerva and Albus in her head,
She's got Dolores and Draco in her head.
She's got a whole world in her head.

She's got the Ministry of Magic in her head,
She's got the sleepy town of Hogsmeade in her head,
She's got the hallowed halls of Hogwarts in her head.
She's got a whole world in her head.

She's got foamy butterbeer in her head,
She's got sorcerers that scare in her head,
She's got books beyond compare in her head.
She's got a whole world in her head.

She's got a whole world in her head,
She's got a whole wide world in her head,
She's got a whole world in her head.
She's got a whole world in her head.

Burning Rage (Turn the Page, Bob Seger)

Harry's got an awful lot on his mind in Deathly Hallows. Here's a reflection by him to the tune of Bob Seger's Turn the Page.

Burning Rage

It's a long and lonesome journey lacking room and board,
And I listen for the not-so-distant murmurs of discord
As I think about my mission, to at last bring down that evil lord.
Though I'm glad to have some company, I sometimes think the glue
That has bound us three together may grow weak as we pursue
Heinous Horcruxes in hiding. It's a taxing thing to do.

Hey, that vile man's in my head again,
That vile man four times my age.
Voldemort's searin' my scar again,
Voldemort's burning rage...

Well, in retrospect, Ron didn't want this unwieldy load.
Now I realize despondently the bitter seeds I sowed
When I let him and Hermione come follow me upon this road.
When he left, he didn't walk; Ron just up and ran,
And he Disapparated like that always was his plan.
Oh, I just can't help but wonder, is he a splinching fan?

That vile man's in my head again,
That vile man four times my age.
Voldemort's searin' my scar again,
Voldemort's burning rage...

Xeno's tricks were not right, but at least we got away.
I'm still glad we went, 'cause he enlightened me today.
I'll preserve my feeble body with the Hallows. Where are they?
Those two don't believe me, think I'm dizzy in the head.
Now distraction comes to camp, and I am chortling at Fred.
The broadcast ends, and I forget whose name must not be said.

Now that vile man's in my head again,
That vile man four times my age.
Voldemort's searin' my scar again,
Voldemort's burning rage...

Oh, that vile man's in my head again,
That vile man four times my age.
Voldemort's searin' my scar again,
Voldemort, Voldemort...

G-I-M-L-I (Oscar Meyer Bologna Song)

Here is one of the shortest parodies I have written, to the tune of the Oscar Mayer bologna song. I was on a car trip and trying to take my mind off of motion sickness. My brother warned me against such a venture; I ignored him for this little post-Rivendell rant by Legolas. At least it's over in the blink of an eye...

G-I-M-L-I

This companion has a first name.
It's G-I-M-L-I.
This companion has no second name;
He's just that sort of guy.
Our Fellowship would be just great
If we could knock nine down to eight,
'Cuz bearded Gimli has a way
Of I-R-K-ing me all day.

Silly Hair

Here is a silly poem about Bill's silly hair. Incidentally, I wonder if the shaggy hair and the fang were a bit of sly foreshadowing about his werewolf encounter...

Silly Hair

"Your hair is getting silly, dear,"
Said Molly to her son,
"And now that I have got you here...
Well, something must be done."

Bill snatched the scraggly strands away
And flashed a patient smile.
He said, "No thanks, Mum. Not today.
I'll keep it long a while."

"I like it," Ginny stoutly said.
"Your earring's wicked too."
"We'll get ours next," chimed George and Fred.
"We can now, thanks to you."

"Oh, no, you don't," chastised their mum.
"One problem at a time!
And, honestly, a fang? How come?"
Bill shrugged, "It's not a crime."

The rest of them seemed to agree,
So Molly held her tongue,
Recalling how it was to be
So frivolous and young.

But as the evening sky turned black
Around the Weasley lair,
She plotted a surprise attack
Upon his silly hair.

I'll Have to Say I Love You With a Snog (I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song, Jim Croce)

It's tough to be in love with Harry Potter when Voldemort's after him. Here's a little invitation by Ginny on the occasion of Harry's 17th birthday to the tune of I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song.

I'll Have to Say I Love You With a Snog

Well, I feared my heart would break
When you refused to date me.
Although you did it for my sake,
It's more than I can stand.

Since you came, my heart's been leaping
Just like a chocolate frog,
So I'll have to say I love you with a snog.

Oh, I knew things had to change;
Voldemort draws near you,
But today is your special day,
So come and take my hand.

Since you came, my heart's been leaping
Just like a chocolate frog,
So I'll have to say I love you with a snog.

Soon you'll face your final fight
And you'll brave Dementors' fog,
So I'll have to say I love you with a snog.

Yeah, I feared my heart would break
When you refused to date me.
Now you're on the verge of going away;
It's more than I can stand.

Since you came, my heart's been leaping
Just like a chocolate frog,
So I'll have to say I love you with a snog.

Like Forrest (Feather Theme, Alan Silvestri)

One of my very favorite pieces of cinematic music is Alan Silvestri's whimsical opening feather theme from Forrest Gump. Here's my attempt to put words to it.

Like Forrest

Stifle your surprise
When you realize
That it would be wise
To look through his eyes...

Forrest is filled with gentle wisdom
Even though he's a fool.
Pride in his gaze, he watches his son
Boarding the bus to school.
Since he was born, he's always sworn to
Follow the Golden Rule.
What ecstasy to be
Like Forrest!

He's a simple man,
But he ran

Into the people who changed the course of hist'ry.
Catalyst unaware,
Forrest remains enmeshed in myst'ry
Under his crew-cut hair.
Sweetest of men, he showered Jenny
With his abundant care.
What an ideal to feel
Like Forrest!

Don't berate Forrest Gump;
Emulate Forrest Gump.

Though he has lived through tragic trauma -
Losing his two best friends,
Witnessing cancer take his mama -
He doesn't break; he bends.
Caught in the race of life, he's graceful,
Savors the time he spends.
What I would give to live
Like Forrest!

Wish I could see like Forrest Gump.
Wish I could be like Forrest Gump.

The Chudley Cannons

I find it endearing that Ron is such an ardent fan of the Bad News Bears of Quidditch. Here's my hunch as to why he's so devoted to the Chudley Cannons...

The Chudley Cannons
The Chudley Cannons are my team.
All right, they're not too fast;
They're clumsy clunkers, and they seem
To always come in last.

Those fellas often fail in flight.
They falter; they don't zoom.
I'm not too sure they learned the right
Technique to mount a broom.

They're quite adept at messing up.
Alas! That's nothing new;
They haven't won a single cup
Since 1892.

And yet when they embrace the air,
I let my faith take hold.
Their robes, as blazing as my hair,
Contain a hint of gold.

I understand just how it is
To regularly lose,
To feel like a substandard wiz,
To crave another's shoes.

But somewhere in me, buried deep,
Resides a champion,
So I won't sit around and weep
About where I have been.

I think I'd rather look ahead,
Imagining a day
When Weasley is the king instead.
I'll disregard dismay.

The Chudley Cannons are my team.
That's just as it should be,
For if they can achieve their dream,
There might be hope for me.

Hogwarts Bound (Homeward Bound, Paul Simon)

Hogwarts was an integral part of the first six books, so it was strange to read through Deathly Hallows and not get to school until the end. It was strange for Ron and Harry too. Here, to the tune of Simon and Garfunkel's Homeward Bound, is a song in which the two of them, realizing the rest of their class is on the way to school, wish that they were headed to Hogwarts...

Hogwarts Bound

Ron: I'm sittin' here in Padfoot's kitchen
Plotting locket theft and body-switchin'.
Harry: I am not a Horcrux fan.
I've seen how they affect a man.
Ron: I'd rather have a foolproof plan,
But if we can't do it, no one can.

Ron and Harry: Hogwarts bound,
I wish I was
Hogwarts bound.
Ron: School, with the Stinksap reekin'.
School, with the Mandrakes shriekin'.
Harry: School, where I'm swiftly Seekin'.
Feels like home to me.

Harry: After nights of creepy dreams,
I wake to hear Walburga's screams.
Ron: The elf's improved dramatically;
He's pleasant and he makes us tea.
Harry: I've got my friends for company,
But on the whole, I'd rather be

Ron and Harry: Hogwarts bound,
I wish I was
Hogwarts bound.
Ron: School, with the Stinksap reekin'.
School, with the Mandrakes shriekin'.
Harry: School, where I'm swiftly Seekin'.
Feels like home to me.

Ron: I might not board that train again.
It's such a shame how things end.
Harry: But I must press on doggedly
And fight for our democracy
While Death Eaters chase after me.
Ron: I hate that name that starts with "V"!

Ron and Harry: Hogwarts bound,
I wish I was
Hogwarts bound.
Ron: School, with the Stinksap reekin'.
School, with the Mandrakes shriekin'.
Harry: School, where I'm swiftly Seekin'.
Feels like home to me.
Feels like home to me.

The Importance of Being Sockful

I was killing time on Facebook the other night, and I decided to doodle on my brother's page, eventually settling on a sketch of a rather Jerry Garcia-looking Dumbledore accompanied by the words "Socks. Don't leave home without them." This got me thinking about that "Wear Sunscreen" speech that was so popular when I graduated from high school in '99. Evidently there are no graduation ceremonies at Hogwarts, but there's the big end-of-the-school-year feast, so I figure that's a good time for Dumbledore to have delivered this little address...

The Importance of Being Sockful
Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs,
Gryffindors and Slytherins,
Kindly lend your eyes. Incline your ears.
Though I'm sure you've had enough
Of this old man's blithering,
Listen, youngsters; listen, seventh-years.

Don't forget to always keep
Fresh supplies of socks on hand:
Fleece or cotton, checkered, striped or plain.
Study hard, and you will reap
Rich rewards. Don't ever stand
Idly by as someone causes pain.

When your potion-making's done,
Please be sure to scourgify;
Keep your cauldron free of slime and ooze.
Love and laugh. Don't flee from fun.
Never fight the urge to cry.
Destiny is something that you choose.

Whether you are Muggle-born
Or a Pure-Blood through and through,
Show respect to everyone you meet.
Seek out friends when you're forlorn.
Look at beans before you chew
Lest an earwax flavor mar your treat.

Do not dabble in Dark Arts.
Thank the elves who cook your meals.
Know the time for lumos and for nox.
Brains are grand, but so are hearts;
Worthy is the one who feels.
Most of all, though, trust me on the socks.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

I just couldn't leave poor George with that despairing poem I wrote right after I finished the book. So here's another one that imagines him a little while later, having reopened the joke shop with Ron at his side...

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
I've had a chance to grieve now. While I will always mourn
The loss of the companion I had since I was born,
The passing of a brother I cherished from the womb,
I'm not prepared to join him. I won't embrace the tomb.

The shop doors have reopened. I'm back to telling jokes
And sharing mirth and mischief with merry-making folks.
They nosh our nosebleed nougats and crunch canary creams;
They slip into the bliss of our patented daydreams.

They set off wildfire whiz-bangs, which still leave Filch in tears,
Crash whispered conversations with stretchy, dangling ears,
Dissolve into the darkness with powder from Peru
And, causing consternation, distribute U-No-Poo.

I laugh as I imagine the censure in Fred's face
On learning Ickle Ronniekins works here in his place.
He's got a head for business; we're raking in the dough.
I sometimes think that we were too hard on him, you know.

The world is now more peaceful, and happiness can reign.
It's nice to think I aid in assuaging people's pain.
Although my twin has left me, he isn't really gone;
Through Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, his memory lives on.

The Snape-Shaped Hole

Shortly after I finished reading Deathly Hallows, I exchanged a series of Facebook comments about the book with my brother's friend Sara, and she told me, in the purposely vague language of one trying to avoid spilling spoilers in a place where friends who've not yet read the book might see them, that her favorite line in the book contained the phrase "Snape-shaped hole". I laughingly agreed to the comedic value of that sentence, but as I turned the words over in my mind, an idea took hold, rooted in the final stanza. Ah, poor Severus...

The Snape-Shaped Hole

"Our headmaster has departed," seethed Minerva as she started
To devise a plan of action, and Pomona gawked in dread
Past the shards that had been scattered when the classroom window shattered,
Leaving one large Snape-shaped hole that marked where Severus had fled.

As the batlike form retreated, Harry's task, not yet completed,
Loomed, and so he pushed disgust at Snape's maleficence away,
Too intent upon destroying diadems to let annoying -
Make that downright evil - Slytherins distract him from the fray.

When he neared the crown he hunted, he was once again confronted
By antagonists whose irksome ways had plagued his months at school,
But his days of Seeking Snitches - chasing wizards, racing witches -
Served him well, and while astride his broomstick, he maintained his cool.

His audacity diminished when, mid-frolic, Fred was finished;
Now it seemed the world was wildly spinning out of his control.
Then, a flash! He spied Nagini, and the sallow-featured meanie
Filled his mind as Tom decided he had found a Snape-shaped hole.

So he journeyed through the willow, saw his teacher's terror billow
And - when Riddle had deserted, deaf to Severus's cries -
Although powerless to save him, took the silver strands he gave him,
Then, accepting his request, looked down into his dimming eyes.

Cast-off memories swirled thickly, and they lapped upon him quickly.
Rapt, he watched his aunt and mother and a boy inclined to lurk
In the shadows who, observing Lily, found her most deserving
Of a Hogwarts education, though his fawning didn't work.

Still, in time their friendship flowered, and Snape hungrily devoured
Every flicker of affection in the lovely Lily's smile.
But her righteous rage erupted as he slowly was corrupted,
And he choked upon the pleas for pardon burning him like bile.

Harry goggled, disbelieving, at the Snape who quavered, grieving
For the woman he had worshipped since he first beheld her face.
Then, with comprehension dawning, he resolved to heal the yawning
Snape-shaped hole that drove a hatred that was painful to erase.

He absorbed his raw emotion and the depth of his devotion.
As Snape sealed a solemn promise to Professor Dumbledore,
Harry's soul was stitched together, freshened like a phoenix feather.
He'd detested Snape for seven years; he didn't anymore.

He relinquished all his rancor, for his mum had been Snape's anchor,
And for her sake, he'd protected Lily's son year after year.
Snape, who'd long declined to show it, hadn't wanted him to know it,
But this peek into the Pensieve made his ardor crystal clear.

Severus's motivation fueled a somber conversation
Whose grim contents fell on Harry's ears and seared him to the bone.
There was no use in denying he must conquer Tom by dying,
And his heartbeat was a death knell as he soldiered on alone.

To his consciousness, unbidden, sprang a wish for what lay hidden
In the golden orb he'd caught while streaking through an azure sky.
He drew strength from the selected saviors who he resurrected,
With the Snape-shaped hole obscured as Harry steeled himself to die.

No Patronus charm could guard him from the sorcerer who'd scarred him.
Harry didn't even raise his wand; he welcomed the green light.
Then the woods around him vanished, and he realized he'd banished
Riddle's feeble fragment of a soul when he refused to fight.

Albus, palpably contented that his doom had been prevented
By the blood of she who'd thrown herself into its icy jaws,
Claimed a Snape-shaped hole existed still, so he forsook the misted
Station's comfort, tensing under Mrs. Malfoy's piercing claws.

With Narcissa's bold deception, Tom awaited his reception
As the worthy ruler over all. He jeered as Hagrid wept,
Bearing his beloved Harry - such a bitter load to carry! -
And the giant roared at centaurs for the distance they had kept.

Now his nemesis was bragging and his comrades' hopes were sagging,
And Minerva rent the darkness with a horrifying sound.
Then the sword that had gone missing came to Neville, and the hissing
Of Nagini sputtered, silenced as her body hit the ground.

In the chaos reigning after, he heard Bella's final laughter,
And he shielded her attacker from the overlord now bent
On avenging his apostle. Though his enemy was hostile,
Harry calmly stood and offered him the option to repent.

"Snape was never yours," he told him. He felt confidence enfold him
As he wondered how the wrath-encrusted Riddle would respond.
"I'd advise you," he suggested, "try for some remorse. I bested
Draco Malfoy. I'm the rightful master of the Elder Wand."

Riddle sneered and strove to harm him, but, attempting to disarm him,
He perceived the curse rebounding just before Tom's death occurred.
As euphoria descended, Harry knew the war had ended,
And insightful Luna granted him the peace that he preferred.

Passing corpses bruised and bloody, Harry ventured to the study
Where he sought the sage instructor he'd regarded as a god.
Now he recollected faintly that he wasn't quite so saintly:
Albus Dumbledore was human; Albus Dumbledore was flawed.

Once, that knowledge had been crippling, but, sustained by reverence rippling
Through his spirit, he apprised his beaming mentor of his plan
To restore the wand that brought him to the point where what he'd taught him
Was enough to mold this orphan boy at last into a man.

It was right that this headmaster who'd prepped Harry for disaster,
Gifting gentle words of wisdom, ruminate with Harry first,
But as he, Ron and Hermione left, there might have been a tiny
Reconciliation with the one of whom he'd thought the worst.

Just a hint of green eyes blazing with respect as they were gazing
On the portrait of brave Severus, who'd helped him reach his goal,
Would, with eloquent perfection, have sufficed for the connection,
But alas! Inside the office was a gaping Snape-shaped hole.