I don't own any of the characters, only the idea (and snoranges)
Hermione's hand furiously scribbled out another failed line of poetry. That brought the total up to twenty-seven. It was just like Professor Burbage to assign something as completely off-topic as writing poetry. Her poem was masterfully written, if she did say so herself, but it depended on her ability to find a rhyme for one particular word. Orange.
"What's wrong?" asked Ron, being particularly perceptive.
"I can't find a rhyme for bloody orange," she snarled, glaring at her parchment.
"Snorange."
"What is a snorange, Ronald?" she asked scathingly.
"A plant the yetis grow in the North pole," explained the red-head. "Everyone knows that."
"Oh."
Review?