Work Text:
Untitled Poetry
by Alan Houlden
She had an itch.
A goddamn powerful itch.
All consuming it made the poor young girl twitch.
She scratched it and scratched it as hard as she could
But whatever she did it wasn't no good
She asked Madame Pomphrey to do what she could
Whatever they did it did no good
Not all her creams nor all her unguents,
Lotions and potions, ointments quite pungent
All of them worthless all with a hitch
Whatever they tried she still had an itch
Where did it come from, why was it here,
Who the hell knew only one thing was clear
She had an itch.
On gateposts and doorknobs she rubbed herself frantic
But the itch was still there whatever her antic
Then one afternoon as she frigged on a manger
She spotted the itch Hermione Granger
The answer was simple there was nought else to do
She and Hermione just had to screw
One day in the shower she grabbed at her chance
She brushed past Hermione and gave her a glance
Their eyes locked together the answer was clear
Right here and right now they'd conquer her fear
They kissed and they groped they moaned and they sighed
And one thing was sure the itch did subside
Hermione I love said gingered haired Ginny
And I love you too you silly old ninny.