A/N: This was written for Sylvia (formerly Budapest All Over Again, now glowing neon (I think)) for her birthday. I hope you had happy one! Oh, and I'm sorry that I didn't exactly follow your list of pairings, but hopefully this will be cracky enough to distract you from that. I got inspired by your prompt 'oh where is my hairbrush?" hehe.

Warning for sexual canoodling with an inanimate object, implied incest in some twisted alternate universe (if you want to look at it that way), character death and Jily not being together. I regret nothing.


A Poeme Chronicling Ye Great Love Of Hairily

Our story starts one sunny morn

When a pretty girl had the misfortune to wake up feeling forlorn.

She hopped out of bed and, miserable, cried,

"Where the hell is my hairbrush; where the hell did it hide?!"

Before, dear reader, to the wrong conclusions you leap,

Know this: the pretty girl was Lily, and with her hairbrush did she sleep.

At nights she cuddled it, rubbed it, kissed it.

She'd even go as far as to rub it 'gainst her tit.

And before you think, "Lo! What sluttiness is this?"

Know that, to Lily, there was nothing odd about each passionate kiss.

She felt no guilt, no regret, and not an ounce of shame.

For she was in love with the hairbrush, a fact which had given her much fame.

The boys who had pursued her would gape at her,

Skipping down the corridor, ne'er not busy brushing her hair.

"I hear she insured it for ten thousand pounds," they'd mutter.

"I hear she punched someone when they stole it once, then kicked them to a gutter!"

The one who muttered loudest, was, of course, James.

("If she had a baby with that hairbrush, I bet it'd be really bad at coming up with names!

"I'm far better for her, can't she see that?"

"Granted, I can't comb her hair, but I can braid a plait!")

Usually those boys did not bother sweet Lily,

But James, that toerag, really wanted to show her his willy.

So he chased her 'round the castle, wherever she went,

Once he even tried to follow his love when she went home for Lent.

Lily, loyal and fidelious woman that she was, did not melt to James' sayings.

"His words are nothing more to me than a silly goat's brayings!

You need not worry, my love, my darling,

I love you more than even JK Rowling."

But though she snogged the brush whene'er James appeared,

He did not sadden, but rubbed two fingers 'gainst an invisible beard.

For, you see, James was a boy with brains,

Busy thinking of a Plan which might justify his endless pains.

Lily knew that there must be something he was plotting.

She'd seen him in the library, reading, and in his notebook jotting.

She'd fallen over in her surprise at him actually doing work,

But had thankfully been caught by a passing dork.

So, when Lily woke up w'out her hairbrush that day,

She knew exactly who was going to, for her distress, pay.

She stomped her feet to the boys' dormit'ries

(Almost scaring the pants off her friend, Patrice).

Our heroine growled and jumped on the bed of her stalker.

She grabbed him by the neck, "I know you're a talker,

You ass of a baboon, so talk!

Tell me where you kidnapped my Hairy, or it's off a plank you'll next walk!"

Even though James was being throttled, he couldn't not grin.

He had gotten his wish, he had managed to win.

Lily was straddling him, and because she slept naked,

James' brain wasn't the only organ that had wake'd.

He had o'erestimated her strength though, and soon, he fainted.

The sight of Lily throwing back his covers a pretty picture painted.

For, you see (or might rather not).

James had no clothes on, and was actually quite hot.

Lily, however, did not notice his wonderful abs.

Instead, she gave his body a few strong jabs.

Because James loved her, and because he was 'smart',

She knew he would keep her treasure with him, close to his heart.

For the hiding place she searched:

Was it on a window-sill perched?

Was it under a pillow thrust?

Where could it be? for somewhere, it must.

Suddenly, our Lily heard an almighty fart.

Her Hairy was hidden in James' butt! (What a tart!)

She watched it as it flew out of the ass,

And through the window, breaking the glass.

"Noooooooo!" good Lily wailed.

She ran forward, and through the window, also sailed.

James woke just in time to see her fall.

"Noooooooo!" his scream was heard all through the hall.

Pretty, good, sweet Lily had the misfortune to, that morn, die.

Poor girl didn't even have the chance to tell her love 'goodbye'.

At her funeral, James cried buckets,

And disturbed her parents with his continuous pronouncements of "fuck it"s.

At the last moment, he even tried to throw himself into her grave.

"I want to die too; I shouldn't have been the one to kill her—but to save!"

Really, though, he shouldn't have been sad.

For Lily was in Heaven, and happier now that she wasn't being stalked by some lad.

Never again was her pleasure-time with Hairy interrupted,

For her Guardian Angel, whose eyes had long ago been corrupted,

Made sure that no-one else in Heaven would have to see what it had seen.

The disturbing images might have damaged the souls of those who weren't yet teen.

Dear reader, I wish I could see your face right now.

I wish I could hear you thinking, "Wow.

What. The. Fuck. Did. I. Just. Read."

I hope this was enough to, your crack addiction, feed.

The End (for now)