Once upon a late June evening, while I gave my hair a greasing,

Still bitter over all the times I'd been teased for being poor-

As my hair grew slick and slimy, "Ah," I thought, "perfectly grimy,"

Something came gently rapping, rapping at my dungeon door.

"'Tis some Slytherin," I muttered, "needing a raised exam score-

Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I recall it, I had a 'specially yellow pall: it

Was achieved by eating small amounts of a stinky poisonous spoor.

Fretfully I paced my chamber, hoping that that stupid Granger

wasn't knocking to arrange her-extra help on Goblin Lore-

Interrupting thoughts of dead Mudbloods whom I adore-

Nameless here for evermore.

Banishing my thoughts of Lily- whoops, not nameless now, how silly!

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, your business could wait till morning I am sure;

But, you see, I was shampooing, fantasizing still of wooing

Potter's mum, so I am shooing, shooing you from out my door,

"Please come back upon the morrow."-here I opened wide the door-

Darkness there and nothing more.

"Potter, is that you, now ferried, in that stupid cloak?" I queried.

But in stepped a fiery Phoenix from its jaunt across the moor.

I offered him some of my ergot; he just stood and singed the carpet.

"Fawkes," I asked, and stamped the flames out, "what're you here for?"

The goddamn Phoenix simply perched above my dungeon door-

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then the flaming bird, it ruffled its feathers and looked quite puzzled,

At the many shades of dour and solemn black vestments I wore,

Its gaze upon me seemed to rivet. "Out with it, Fawkes, why the visit?

Stupid fucking flaming bird dropping cinders upon my floor.

Tell me right now who has sent you, to the point, wherefore?"

Quoth the Phoenix, "Dumbledore."