Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Voldie-dear do not belong to me, but to a certain British authoress. The anagrams came from little anagram-making program, which I do not own either.

Devil Marmot Drool:

A Parody of The Chamber of Secrets and Lord Voldemort

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"Why do you care how I escaped?" said Harry slowly. "Voldemort was after your time…"

"Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "… is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter."

He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:

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TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

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Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves to form:

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MOLOTOV ARM RIDDLE

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Now, this apparently was not what Riddle expected, as Harry watched the older boy's face darken once again with visible indignation, Riddle waved Harry's purloined wand at the vicinity of the three words. And…

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MOD MAILLOT DROVER

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Appeared.

Having forgotten about Harry and the unconscious Weasley in his frustration, Riddle's eyes positively burned as he made one more attempt to rearrange his name into the correct outcome.

Unfortunately, what next appeared was obviously not what Riddle desired:

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MORTAL DILDO MOVER

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By this time, Harry's sluggish mind had sent the message, "wait a sec, this is really You-Know-Who, not Tom Riddle." At all odds with how one normally feels when confronted with the Dark Lord, Harry felt a small giggle threatening to bubble up. Was he going batty or dreaming this whole scenario up? Surely Voldemort was not incapable of doing a simple anagram spell?

Meanwhile, the incongruous phrases

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DEVIL MARMOT DROOL

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VIRAL DODO MEMLORT

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And

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MILD ATOM OVERLORD

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glowed one after another in the ether, oblivious to the supposedly unbreakable will of the Dark Lord.

Right after being named as overlord of atoms, Riddle suddenly remembered the fact he had two victims whom he should be impressing with a great revelation. A venomous glare came Harry's way that said plainly:

"Not one word, or I shall crucio you into oblivion."

Yet Harry could not help the amusement surfacing at seeing Riddle's plight.

With the next phrase, an event that to the casual observer would appear too strange for words occurred.

The Boy Who Lived actually burst into gales of laughter! Harry Potter dared to show mirth in the face of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!

Why? Well, very likely it was due to the next phrase that appeared:

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IMMORTAL DOVE LORD

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As Riddle gaped in abject horror at this latest and most awful abomination created of his revered name, he dimly heard in the background the exclamation "Dove Lord! Ha ha ha har har!" spouting from the Boy-Who-Should-Be-Cowering-In-Fear.

Riddle, or shall we say, the newly christened "Dove Lord," then had a choice to make:

Should he Avada kedavra that annoying Boy-Who-Lived and get no satisfaction from having Potter know that he, being in truth the Dark Lord, was about to finally end Potter's pathetic life?

Or try to nurse his wounded dignity and make that accursed anagram spell work, then kill Potter?

Naturally, Riddle being in his (non-existent) heart a very insecure person, chose the latter, growling out the some-what strangled sentence:

"Potter! Prepare to shiver in your boots! Know that I…" swishhhh

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I ATE LORD VOLDMMOR

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However, instead of terrifying Harry out of his wits, this simple phrase made him roar all the louder. It confirmed his growing realisation that Voldemort's bark was much, much louder than his legendary bite. Why, he could no more do an elementary anagram spell than kill off a one-year-old toddler! Perhaps in his quest for immortality, the not-so-Dark-Lord had burnt out his magical control along with his skin?

Well, anyways, by this time Ginny woke up, blinking blearily at the scene before her eyes.

Now, while some lesser persons would have quailed, affright of the decidedly unexpected sight of the Boy-Who-Lived laughing his head off at a stunned You-Know-Who with the words "I ate Lor Voldemmor" hovering in the background…

Ginny was a true Gryffindor-sue.

She got up, albeit with a bit 'o' shakiness, and began striding towards Riddle, who still stood staring, lost in disbelief at that last glistening marquee. This enabled Ginny to snatch Harry's stolen wand from Riddle's lax grip.

Turning, Ginny shot a strong wingardium leviosa upon the basilisk stalking up behind. This speedy save rescued the Boy-Who-Still-Shook-With-Mirth from a gruesome, grisly death under the stare of Riddle's medusa-eyed serpent. Right after Ginny's enunciation, Fawkes flew right out of a plot-hole in the cavern ceiling and set to work pecking the basilisk's eyes out.

Unseen by Ginny (but not Harry.) Fawkes brought along a raggedy brown parcel, which he dropped before attacking the serpent. Harry, his giggles not quite gone, crawled towards this parcel. He tore it open and promptly started guffawing for the third time.

Well, in Harry's defence, the parcel contained nothing but the Sorting Hat… what sane person sends a sorting hat to the rescue, after all?

But the sorting hat, annoyed with Harry's ignorance, chomped down hard on the boy's hand and screeched, "pull out the sword already, you Gryffindor dunderhead!"

Harry, startled but not hurt in the least by the hat's indignant action, did so.

And a smart action it was too.

For at that moment, Riddle was lurching towards the diary that had started the whole fiasco.

Meanwhile, the basilisk thrashed about for the sake of thrashing about in its agony. In the throes of blindness, it heard… a shuffling coming from the left… It struck-

And gobbled up "Lor Voldmmor" and the diary.

The scaly thing would have gotten Ginny too, when she screamed at the sudden deathstrike. Thanks be to Merlin though, for Harry saved the girl and the day with a quick stab of Godric Gryffindor's rapier to the basilisk's tonsils!

After which he proceeded to fall into another untimely, unseemly fit of giggles and collapsed. On top of an angry, tired phoenix.

An angry phoenix due for a burning day.

Needless to say, in the aftermath of this incident and his recovery from third degree burns in the infirmary, Harry was hard pressed to refrain from chuckling whenever some one mentioned "You-Know-Who, "Voldemort," or most especially, "the Dark Lord."

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EN FIN. DAS ENDE. The End.

This one-shot was written nearly 1.5 years ago and finally posted due to the wheedlings of my sister. Its no great piece of literature, but I hope it gives someone a laugh or two. -Dunebird

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NOTES: For any readers who don't quite get the full meanings of some of the rather wacky anagrams.

1. I got the anagrams from some anagram-making website I have now forgotten.

2. The word Molotov is usually associated with the "Molotov cocktail," a homemade firebomb made from a bottle filled with flammable liquid, stoppered with a rag that's set on fire and the whole thing is thrown at a desired target. The firebomb is named after a former USSR statesman.

3. A marmot is an Australian mammal (and, I think, also a marsupial, like a kangaroo or koala)

4. A maillot is a fancy French term for a one-piece bathing suit.

5. A dildo is "a cactus (Cereus swartzii) found in the West Indies", (or if you prefer, a "refrain or nonsense word in odd songs, often implying obscenity.") - Both definitions came from Webster's New Twentieth Century Dictionary, 2nd Edition. A third definition also exists but this fic is supposed to be G rated… so I'll leave that one for those who get it. cough

6. A memlort is a really vile name used by wizards to denote the region between a bird's toes, in this case, a dodo's toes… Ok, you got me. I made the word up! If you really want to know where this word came from, I took "trommel" (meaning a sieve used for cleaning ore or coal) and rearranged the letters to make "memlort." Memlort sounds better … besides, would magical folk really be still burning coal today, anyway?