Bar of Soap
By
Snuffles4Eva
A/N: Don't even ask me what this is, or why I'm publishing it at gone 2 in the morning, and I need to be up and gone for 9 tomorrow morning, and I'm a teenager who NEEDS their sleep. 9 full hours of it. And I'm gonna get 7. If you know me, I'd stay out of my way. As most of you don't that's ok for you then.
Disclaimer: I don't even own the 'poem', or the music I'm listening to – YouTube, people. I don't so illegal stuff. Call me boring, but there you go.
It was Hermione's idea.
Of course it was. Everything Muggle was Hermione's idea. The telephone sitting in the hallway was Hermione's idea. The television with which was currently occupied with an old Muggle film was Hermione's idea. And when he said Old, he meant OLD. Like as in black-and-white old.
So, he was sat here, spending his free Saturday sat with Hermione on his sofa, watching some black-and-white film where some guy was sat in a bath.
He knew too.
Oh great. Now he was singing.
He tuned out. And daydreamed. About his wife.
He blamed Hermione. I mean, how much more sad can a guy get?
That particular question was answered when 10 minutes later he grabbed a note pad and Muggle pen (again Hermione's idea. They were useful, though), and began to scrawl down a poem.
A poem.
And not just any poem. A poem about his wife. His wife. Ginny Potter.
Oh great. He was the world's biggest saddo.
Maybe excepting Dennis Creevey. No offence to Colin, of course.
He read the poem through, and blanched. It was as corny as heck.
'Oh why is it that you're cold, and then you're hot?'
It was true. Ginny could change moods faster than Lavender could change clothes (and yes. That's faster than you think). Arguments would go from horrendously ugly, to seductive within seconds. Ginny could be yelling at him one moment, and then snogging the living daylights out of him before he knew what was happening (he usually just decided to go with the flow, anyway. Didn't seem too bad to him).
'You're like putty in my hands, and then you're not'
He could have her begging for more one moment, and then the next she would be dominating. He could tease her to no end, until she's the one that gets up and leaves, letting him wonder how she managed to turn the tables. She was a sneaky little vixen. Harry never knew how his attempts to seduce her were going to go.
'Why is it that you're bold and then so shy with me?'
She could be so daring, teasing, initiating, yelling, but yet she would still blush at his romantic deeds, or comments. She was a danger to live with, play Quidditch with, doing things he would never have imagined she could do, yet she was still so reserved in some areas of their life. Harry could never understand her.
'You slip through my fingers and you hide from me'
He remembers those days at Hogwarts, when they were dating, she would send him a saucy grin, before sauntering out of the Great Hall, practically begging him to follow her. And then he would catch glimpses of her here and there, just enough to keep him going. Then suddenly she would appear from nowhere, and drag him into a nearby broom cupboard, or empty classroom. Either that, or he would find her again in the Gryffindor Common Room, half an hour later, reading a book with faux-innocence plastered on her face as she gives him that same smile (before he would leap over the sofa and pin her down so that she can't escape him anymore).
'I love the squeeze that sends a chill and makes me wriggle'
Her touch was electric. He loved just snuggling with her. Every moment was, truly, magic. Any contact still sent shocks raging through his body, causing him to wriggle in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
'I hate the tease that ends a thrill and makes you giggle'
Indeed, he did hate it when she teased him. Send him almost crazy, and then leave him hanging. She could be mean, cruel almost. She would leave him standing there, frozen. And then she would walk away, swinging her hips in a way she knew drove him crazy, snickering at her control over him. He hated it. She loved it. Cruel, cruel, but amazing.
'I'm aware that you'll resist if I ensnare you'
Oh, Ginny could put up a fight, especially if she thought if it was worth her while. He supposed that was one of the few plus points about her having 6 older brothers. She had socked all of them one, at one point or another.
'But I swear that I'll persist, you little square you'
Square? Honestly, they haven't used that kind of terminology since the 1950s. What was he coming to? Now he hadn't got the whole saving the world thing, he really was becoming an old man. It had a point. He would persist. He would do anything for Ginny, not to mention that he was notoriously possessive. And she certainly wasn't normal. She was special. She was Ginny.
'I'll chase you, and find you, you can't escape'
He would follow her anywhere, including the time she decided that Hawaii was a nice place to take a picture of the beach. He agreed – although it would've been nice if she told him where she was going before she actually went. Instead she just left, leaving him to scour the world for her. He wasn't kidding. The WHOLE world. He even visited Australia. Thank Merlin for Apparation.
'I know your perfume, and I know your shape'
Oh boy, was that true. He could distinguish Ginny anywhere. She was perfect. Perfect, in a world of imperfection. The flowery scent that followed where ever she went, and lingered in his mind far too long, and the lines and contours in her body, he could map them all from memory. Nobody was like Ginny, that was for sure.
'Wherever you gone, I'm sitting on'
Oh yes, she was always going somewhere. Never still. Always filled with bouncy, infectious energy. Needing to see something, or someone, new.
'A volcano, with a halo, 'round my head'
That was quite a pertinent anecdote, actually. He was married to the volcano, yet it was perfect. Always with it, never really knowing if it was going to erupt. There were warning signs, sure. You just never knew. But he wouldn't have it any other way.
'I'm trying to be good, so don't erupt'
He was always trying to be good. Half the time he didn't know what he did to upset her. Sometimes he thought that she just like to yell at him. She seemed to do it a lot, no matter how good he tried to be. He was always doing something wrong. You'd of thought he'd learnt.
'With your fiery little temper, and disrupt'
Fiery. One word that was Ginny. In a word. Fiery. She could spark at any moment. And, yes, she was certainly disruptive. She could commandeer the attention of everybody in the room, if she wanted to. When she was angry at him, usually everybody turned to watch. The meaning of fiery, to him, was Ginny. Not only had she acquired the temper, she had the image. Brilliant trademark Weasley red hair, beautiful features, flashing chocolate-brown eyes. In Harry's eyes, 'Fiery' meant 'Perfection'.
'Any hope that I'd've had'
Oh, she could crush hope alright. His hope of winning an argument – his hope of avoiding an argument. Just one look at her and most of his hope shatters into a million pieces, and falls to his feet. Only to gather itself up, and perk up again a few days later.
'Before I choke, I'd be glad'
Great. Now he wasn't even making sense. He supposed he choked sometimes. Choked on his own words, unsure of what to say. Choked on a particularly deadly piece of broccoli the other day. He knew he should've never have trusted that broccoli. It looked dodgy. Not that Ginny's cooking wasn't usually divine, but that piece of broccoli just resembled Bellatrix LeStrange a little too much (what with her hair style). He was surprised that he didn't whip he wand out and yell 'AVADA KEDAVRA!'.
'If when I pull out the plug'
He'd officially gone bonkers. Plug? What plug? Most people used showers. They didn't have plugs. I suppose it could have been meant metaphorically. He could sometimes 'pull the plug' out of an argument by three simple words: 'I love you?' Worked 99% of the time. The other on per cent of the time he simply silenced her – either Silencio or snog. He nicknamed it the SS. Just for fun.
'I get one little hug, from that'
He did like hugs. But usually they weren't little. And he didn't think Ginny would appreciate being called 'that'.
'Very elusive, makes me abusive'
She could be as sneaky as a shadow – as the only person in the world that could sneak up on him, Boy-Who-Lived, Man-Who-Defeated, Auror, she would have to be. But she was also misleading. She could distract him way too easily, and she knew it. He knew it too, as she used it over him often. He didn't really mind, he supposed. But the abusive part… He wasn't the one with the imaginative curses sprouting from his mouth. The things she said when they were alone, he shuddered to think what her mother would do if she heard her daughter screaming profanities at the top of her voice. Probably have her doing the dishes, cleaning and degnome-ing for the rest of her natural life. And her unnatural life too, probably.
'Piece of Soap'
He really thought he'd lost it. Now he was comparing his wife to a bar of soap. He was sure she'd be delighted. Well, it did all fit… Oh great, now he was verifying comparing his wife to a bar of soap. It was all Hermione's fault.
'Hermione!' he demanded
'Yes?' She turned and caught sight of the piece of paper he had just finished scrawling frantically upon 'What's that, Harry?'.
She always had been unnaturally nosey.
'Nothing' he said defensively. Hermione gave him that sceptical look of hers. 'Ok, I had a spark of inspiration' she raised an eyebrow 'and I wrote a poem.' Both eyebrows went up at this.
'A poem, Harry? What is this poem about?'
He looked down, refusing to answer her question.
'You're not going to answer?'
He shook his head, closely resembling his stubborn his eleven year old self.
'That settles it then'
He looked up at Hermione in confusion.
'It's about Ginny'
'How did you know?' He exclaimed, amazed.
'Harry, there's nothing else you are so secretive about. It had to be Ginny'
He didn't answer.
'Can I read it?'
'No'
'Oh. Well, I suppose I'd better go' she checked her watch 'Ron'll be home soon'
This time it was Harry's eyebrows that rose in confusion. Hermione giving up so easily? He'd never seen her do that before. Cautious, he watched as she gathered her things and made for the door. Just before she reached it she turned.
'When's Ginny expected back, Harry?'
'Well her training finished at-'
'-ACCIO HARRY'S POEM'
Harry watched in horror as the poem he had written flew from his hand, and into Hermione's. He watched, in annoyance, as her face moved from curious, to amused.
'What? I don't write poetry'
'No, Harry?'
'Yes' he replied, curtly.
'This is the song off of the film' Hermione was clearly trying not to laugh
'What?' he ripped the paper out of Hermione's hand, reading, and rereading frantically. His shoulders slumped.
'I compared Ginny to a bar of soap' he said, his head in his hands. Hermione quickly turned her laughter into a coughing fit. Harry glared at her. She stopped quickly.
'Well, I'd better start dinner. See ya, Harry'
'Yeah. See you.' He muttered, sourly.
He had compared Ginny to a bar of soap. He felt so stupid.
But all of the things he had meant by it were real. He truly did think she was perfection, clean, sweet-smelling and beautiful, if you could call a bar a soap beautiful.
So a bar of soap she was.
The most perfect bar out there.
A/N: Ok, lame ending, I know. But review if you recognise the song! And if you don't, review anyway :)
Thanks, and hoping that y'all (in England, at least) are sensible enough to be sleeping now (2:10, English time, 3:10, Western Europe, 9:10, Eastern U.S.A.. Ok, I s'pose it's not bad for you guys)