Anagrams

Inspiration: Comedy TV and Fanta

Disclaimer: I don't own HP, though I'm proud of the few anagrams in this I actually made up.

Severus Tobias Snape sat, hunched and imposing, at his classroom desk. His greasy head was bent forward as he gently massaged his temples in a sturdy clock-wise motion. For the eighth time that minute the man's obsidian eyes glared at the grimy gold pocket watch that had the audacity to tell him that the inevitable was closing in.

Harry Potter had detention.

Again.

The professor sighed angrily and leaned back in his seat as the watch ticked again – 6:45. In fifteen minutes he'd be forced to endure an extended amount of time with the little brat, watching him closely to make sure he didn't damage any of the cauldrons he had to scrub or tamper with his potion ingredients for a joke. Such a waste of his spare time it should be illegal.

The watch ticked again – 6:46. If he didn't know any better – and he certainly did - Severus could have sworn he could hear the traditional funeral tune echoing through his potion's classroom. Dum dum da-dum dum da-dum-dum dum da-dum . . . It was slightly catchy, but Severus would never admit that in a million years.

In the two years that the Potter spawn had appeared at Hogwarts and brought it upon himself to make Severus' life miserable, he had neglected to do one thing – grow a brain that does more than breathe and Quidditch tricks. Of course he had no idea how the boy was doing in his other classes (why would he care?), but if his potion's marks were anything to go by, then he may get his dream of the brat getting a Troll in all of his classes realised. If he was expelled, well Snape didn't have to stand up for the Gryffindork . . .

The Potions Master shook his head slightly and sneered at the pocket watch – 6:50. With a muted curse centred on time wasting and brainless Gryffindor runts, the man stood and stretched, the bones in his shoulders popping unpleasantly.

Suddenly, arms above his head, Severus stopped. A twisted grin spread onto his face as an idea formed in his mind. If another person had been in the room, they would swear on their magic that, by the look of the smirk, Snape was the Grinch in disguise.

Potter needed to utilise what little grey matter he had – so Severus would help him.

In his own way.

Harry Potter trudged slowly along the dank dungeon corridors, wishing he could simply turn tail and run like hell back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Dum dum da-dum dum da-dum-dum dum da-dum . . . He hummed quietly, watching his feet drag and scuff against the ancient stone floors. The song was fitting for the awful fate that was going to befall him. Well, it was fitting to Harry and probably any other student who was on their way to a detention with Professor 'Greasy Git' Snape.

No matter how slowly he walked, or how much he wished that Snape would suddenly gain an unexpected case of amnesia leaving him unfit to teach, Harry arrived outside the classroom door much quicker than he wanted to.

"Come in." Echoed the bored voice from inside before Harry could even raise his hand.

How the hell did Snape do that?

When the small boy shuffled into the room, he was greeted by a shocking sight. Yes, Snape sitting at his desk marking things that he wasn't really bothered by, and the dungeons room was still colder than the rest of the castle, but, what was new was that there were no cauldrons in sight.

No, the most unusual thing was the muggle dictionary that lay abandoned and unsuspecting on his desk. That and Snape's gleeful smirk that is. Before this day, Harry could say that he had no idea how a smirk could be gleeful, least of all come from the dour Potions Master.

In seconds the smirk turned back to a scowl and the boy breathed a sigh of relief – all was right in the world.

"Sit Potter." The lank-haired man drawled and Harry quickly complied, avowing his gaze in favour of studying the dictionary and the other utensils.

Green eyes widened in curiosity as they took in the sight. The dictionary was most definitely a muggle one – an old one at that – with 'Collins' written on the front in fading and important lettering. The other – and unexpected – items were things he was long familiar with: a piece of parchment and a quill.

Oh bugger.

Whatever this was, it wasn't good.

"As you can see Potter," Snape's sneering baritone voice cut through the air like a knife and Harry's head snapped up to see the professor standing on the other side of the desk, "you have a new task for detention. Something that will make you think twice before misbehaving in my classroom again.

"It's time you used what little brain you have and complete the task so you can stop wasting my time. You are to pick out ten words at random from the dictionary and you are to create anagrams that have something to do with the word in question."

Snape sneer grew and Harry flinched back as the sharp shark-like teeth were revealed. "Understand? Because if you don't you are more of a dunderhead than I had originally imagined."

And with that final scathing remark, the professor stalked out of the room and into his ingredients cupboard, enveloped in a flurry of black billowing robes.

Harry gaped after his professor with his mouth on the floor and his eyes wide as saucers. He'd been gearing up for back-breaking manual labour until early morning, but this was brilliant.

An impish and cheeky grin spread like wildfire over the boy's face. He could use this day as a testament that he actually could have amazing luck.

You see, one of Harry's few specialities was anagrams. When he was curled up and shivering at night in his cupboard, or lying in the garden under the stars bleeding from his last beating, he'd need to do something that kept his mind away from the fact that he couldn't feel any of his arms and feet because of the cold at night. Anagrams of words he could remember were a great way of keeping himself entertained – well that and his imagination.

So, in reality, Snape had not given him what he expected to be a living hell – he'd given him an enticing puzzle that Harry was itching to get started on.

Harry picked up the dog-eared dictionary gingerly because by the looks of it, it would fall to pieces in the lightest of breezes. Unwillingly, emerald eyes glanced at the slightly ajar storage room, where he could hear the Potions Master near silent steps and the clinking glass vials.

Best not to break the book then . . .

The raven-haired boy took a deep breath, reluctantly closed his eyes – just so he wouldn't cheat and pick out an easy one – and opened the book at a random page. The first step done, Harry jabbed one of his fingers forward, realising too late he should've done that a bit gentler.

His eyes flickered open quickly and flickered to wear his lone finger was on the page. The word: Dormitory.

He smiled – that wasn't too hard. But what to write? He put the book down and scribbled 'DORMITORY=' on his parchment.

Immediately, the boys mind drifted to images of his own dormitory and dorm mates and he couldn't help but smile, albeit slightly dreamily. He could imagine Ron reading a Quidditch book, Neville caring for his plants and toad, Seamus and Dean having clothes fights and throwing dirty socks and pants at each other . . .

It was as if a light bulb had appeared above Harry's messy mop of hair. The dormitory was a room, and he could make that with those letters. The only ones he had left were 'D', 'I', 'T', 'R' and 'Y' - which he could rearrange to make 'DIRTY'. His smile widened as he wrote 'DIRTY ROOM' after the equals sign on the parchment. He still had it!

With more enthusiasm, Harry flipped through the dictionary with his eyes open, opening the book at a random page and placing his finger down before he could read the contents. He nearly groaned as he saw the next word: FUNERAL. Like last time, Harry wrote down the word and the equals sign, but he began to tap his quill on the parchment, little splodges of black ink staining the page. The tapping and the sound of Snape's light footfalls were the only noises in the dungeon, even though Harry swore he could hears the cogs in brain turning.

Funeral, funeral, what can I make with funeral? Ones that make sense anyway because I don't think FLANEUR or FLEA RUN really count. Funerals aren't very cheery, even if the first main word is fun.

Harry envisioned the word in his head, and then tried rearranging the letters to new areas and new words. After a few minutes, a new one came to mind and Harry had demolished the first two words.

'FUNERAL = REAL FUN'

A chuckle escaped him – it did have something to do with funerals and that was the sarcasm.

He heaved the dictionary back to him – it really was pretty big and heavy, but that may have just been because his stomach was too small to hold enough food to give him the strength. Damn those Dursleys!

Harry repeated the same ritual and looked at the word he'd chosen. Colour flooded his cheeks, eyes widened and a small nervous giggle escaped his pursed lips. The word? Masturbation.

He picked up his quill but hesitated as he wrote down the first letter. Could he really write that down and not get in trouble for it? The professor would find a way to blame it on him somehow, but he'd said random words . . . That and Dean had already come up for a pretty good anagram for that one.

I swear he should be named the Hogwarts Pervert. He thought, an amused smile jumping to his flushed face.

With that final reason in mind, Harry scribbled down the rest of the word and the anagram 'ANATOMIST RUB'. Then he quickly scrabbled for the dictionary, eager to move past that word and onto something less trouble-making.

The next word was 'ASTRONOMER' – thankfully something very different from the cringe worthy word from before. Harry set the book down and glared at the parchment where he'd written the new word.

"What did we do in the last Astronomy lesson?" Harry murmured quietly to himself.

They'd learnt a few more constellations and that didn't help at all for this anagram. He though back further, sifting through the lessons he could remember – still nothing useful! Huffing silently, the boy closed his eyes and thought back to his trip to Diagon Alley with Hagrid before he came to Hogwarts. What was the name of the shop again? Wiseacre'sWizardingEquipment, I think.

He remembered the shop now – he'd had to go there for a telescope and a few other utensils. There had been bits and bobs on shelves that he had never seen before in the muggle world, but some were recognizable. There'd been models of planets and moons and stars . . .

Harry perked up and removed the word 'MOON' from 'ASTRONOMER'. The letters left spelt out 'STARER', but it was the wrong spelling. If only there'd been another 'R' things would be set, but nooo, someone had to go out and make the spelling with only two 'R's the right spelling.

Harry shrugged, sighed, and lugged the heavy book back over to him as the word 'STARER' would just have to do. It made sense, right?

The word 'ANIMOSITY' was an easy one: Harry had thought this one up on the first day he went to Snape's potions class. It was just luck for him to have gotten this word.

'ANIMOSITY = IS NO AMITY'

Harry found it easier to write the words in capitals. That way he could break them up easily and it made the whole thing less confusing (for him anyway, Harry didn't know if others made anagrams like this).

Twenty minutes later and Harry was finished with his anagrams and feeling rather proud. All of them were correct, used all of the letters and had the same topic as the word they were made from. Now all he had to do was keep cool and make sure he didn't shove it in Snape's shocked face.

He read over his list, checking for mistakes because there was no doubt in his mind that if there was a tiny little in-correction, the Greasy Git would make him do it all over again.

DORMITORTY = DIRTY ROOM.

FUNERAL = REAL FUN!

MASTURBATION = ANATOMIST RUB.

ASTRONOMER = MOON STARER.

ANIMOSITY = IS NO AMITY.

MOTHER-IN-LAW = WOMAN HITLER!

DESPERATION = A ROPE ENDS IT.

CONVERSATION = VOICES RANT ON.

FLAMETHROWER = OH, FELT WARMER!

CHEMISTRY = SHIT, ME CRY.

All of it seemed fine to the boy – he just hoped like hell that Snape would take points of for swear words and incorrect spellings and grammar mistakes.

Brimming with pride, Harry hoped of the stool and ventured quickly to the Store Room, where he could hear Snape rustling around for something.

"Professor?" He called meekly, his confidence slipping away in seconds.

All sounds stopped.

"Yes Potter?" Growled an annoyed and exasperated voice that could only belong to the professor.

Harry tried to look through the slight gap between the door and the wall, but all he could see was darkness.

"I-I've finished." The boy said quietly, shuffling his feet slightly.

The door slammed open and Snape stepped out gracefully in one full step. He glared down at Harry in pure annoyance, an ugly sneer gracing his pale features.

"That's a lie Potter – it's only been thirty-five minutes. Now get back to the table!" He sneered angrily, striding back to his desk, where he kept one beady eye on the boy.

Harry's shoulders sagged as he forcibly reminded his legs he had to go back to his desk and pretend to work. Why did Snape never believe him? It wasn't fair! The Greasy Git believed Malfoy when he was spouting delirious crap, but not Harry when he told him the truth.

He plonked back down on the seat and glared at the dictionary – the wonderful luck he'd had before had run away and hidden in the girls' bathroom: a place where Harry couldn't reach it without being labelled as a pervert.

I should ask Seamus to go and get it back from the bathroom. He'd probably have no problem doing that so long as he gets a laugh out of the whole thing . . .

Images of Seamus running into the girls' bathroom and using 'Alohomora' on every occupied stall nearly made him laugh out loud, but he wasn't oblivious to the glare being sent his way.

Hesitantly Harry picked up his quill, and an idea lashed through his mind like thunder. A devious grin twitched in anticipation on the corners of his lips as he thought about what he could make with those particular letters.

In the end he had two options, so he wrote them both down, expecting another detention as he did so.

'SEVERUS SNAPE = UP AVERSENESS and SEVERE ASS PUN'

Another popped into mind, one that would surely land him another detention. Harry wrote it down, but scribbled it out with a shake of his head. His head would be mounted on a spike if Snape paid enough attention to it.

'SNAPEY WAPEY = A WEEPY PANSY'

He scribbled another in its place:

'ALBUS DUMBLEDORE = A BULBOUS MEDDLER'

Quickly scribbling his name at the bottom of the parchment, Harry dashed up to Snape desk, put down the parchment and ran like wildfire out of the room and back to the Gryffindor Common Room – he wasn't staying any longer now that he'd done more than he'd been asked.

Snape stared after the brat in anger, hearing the fast footfalls fading beyond his range. Going after the brat was tempting, but it was his personal time and he wasn't getting any younger, so to speak.

I'll give the spawn a detention the next potions class, he reassured himself, pleasant images of Potter's horror struck face as he is assigned with multiple detentions.

Severus remained seated in his chair, and with a swift flick of his wand the quill and dictionary were stored on a shelf – good, now he knew he wouldn't forget. His black eyes glared at the table, x-raying the table for the parchment as though it may have melded it into its very woodwork.

Brief embarrassment caught up with him as he realised the crumpled parchment that Potter had unceremoniously slammed on his desk – another detention, might he add – was the anagrams he'd assigned him.

What bull did Potter come up with? He chuckled coldly as he unravelled the parchment in front of him, fully expecting utter drivel of the lowest quality.

He, in all his glory, was wrong.

The cold frown deepened as Severus read and re-read the answers, adding detentions for masturbation and shit – honestly, the boy was an idiot, putting words that he knew would get him a detention. Attention seeking brat.

Severe ass pun? What the hell was that about? Idiot boy – it seems Weasley stole some of his brains. No, wait, that's impossible, he's dumber than ever.

However that all changed when he reached the anagram of the Headmaster. That, he admitted with a large smirk, was right on the money.

Five points to Gryffindor, Potter, for giving me new material to tease the Headmaster with.