"Surely that is too specific a target for simple wonton cruelty." –Tempest Kiro, "The Peace Not Promised"
"How do you mean, Severus?" said Dumbledore.
"Well, consider," said Snape. "Suppose that you were Bellatrix, and that all you wanted was to pour asafœtida on innocent pork-filled dumplings and then laugh at their indignity. Wouldn't it be the plainest of common sense that you ought to target many different Chinese restaurants, rather than just one? That way, anyone who sought to avenge your victims' honour would be unable to predict where you would strike next, and you could expect to continue your reign of terror unhindered for years to come. Of course, you would create far more enemies for yourself among the restaurateurs of London, but why should Bellatrix Lestrange care about that?"
Dumbledore had to concede the soundness of this argument. "Then you think there is something about the wontons at the Mien Chü Buffet that particularly awakens Bellatrix's sadism?" he said. "It may be so, of course, but I can't think what. I've had them myself, and, satisfying though they are, I can't imagine them arousing anyone's violent passions."
"No," Snape agreed. "I think the business of cruelty to wontons is merely a pretence, to cover up her interrogations in the fruit cupboard. I made some enquiries this morning; do you know who supplies Mien Chü's pears?"
Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Pao-li?" he said softly.
"Correct," said Snape. "And certainly, if Bellatrix were trying to torture one of Chi-ko's sisters into revealing the current name of a certain young orchard ward, she wouldn't want the fact getting out; an excuse for her repeated break-ins would be a sine qua…"
Dumbledore rose from his seat abruptly, his face grim with resolution, and withdrew the Elder Wand from his robes. "Excuse me, Severus," he said shortly.
Snape obligingly stepped aside, a broad smile on his face. Such paternal devotion, he felt, did a wizard's heart good to see – especially if it meant, as he felt sure it did, extreme imminent pain for Bellatrix Lestrange.
"'He's fallen on hard times,' Ogden insisted, face red with suppressed emotion. 'He hasn't got a truly violet bone in his – in his –'" –murkybluematter, "The Ambiguous Artifice"
"His…?" Madam Malkin prompted, as Tiberius Ogden trailed off.
The firewhiskey distiller snapped his fingers vaguely. "You know. Place you keep bones in; there's a Latin word, I can never remember…"
"Ossuary?" Bertie Bott supplied.
"That's it, yes," said Ogden. "Poor Leonard's is crammed full of red, orange, and yellow bones, a number of greens and blues, and even an indigo or two, but not a single genuine violet. And he's poured all his savings into the search, so now he's living absolutely hand to mouth. I tell you, it's enough to break an uncle's heart."
Hector Dagworth-Granger shook his head with sombre disapproval. "He ought to have stuck with Galleons," he said decidedly. "This business of placing artificial monetary value on rainbow-coloured chicken bones, just to keep the Gringotts goblins from being able to meddle with one's finances – it's a fool's game, that's all, the bubble to end all bubbles."
"Try telling that to Leonard," said Ogden ruefully. "He's just about the most fervid devotee that Bonecoin has."
"What must be a hundred women of all different age groups whispering and tittering amongst themselves reminds her of the noise from the chicken coup at her grandfather's farm when they used to visit." –inell13, "This Charming Man"
"Your grandfather was beheaded by his own chickens?" said Ron.
Hermione nodded, shuddering at the memory. "It was the summer after I turned seven," she said. "My parents and and I were staying at the farm for the weekend, the way we used to do a lot that time of year. Grandpa told us he'd gotten a new rooster who seemed to be making the hens restless, but we didn't think much of it until just around midnight that night, when we were woken by the most extraordinary racket coming from the front lawn – like a throng of romance fans waiting to meet a popular novelist." (This seemed to Ron a rather remarkable choice of simile, but he decided not to pursue it just then.) "Grandpa went out to investigate, and never came back; the next morning, we found his carcase simmering in a giant stock-pot, and the hens were pecking his name off the mailbox and replacing it with scratchings of their own.
"The rooster granted us safe conduct off the land; I think he hoped that we could spread word of their coup, and that the story would inspire similar uprisings on neighbouring farms. Instead, we drove back to Liverpool as fast as Mum's old car would take us; we didn't even notify the police, since we were sure they wouldn't believe us. We never went back, once we got home, and none of us ever spoke of it again." She sought Ron's eye, and added, plaintively, "That wasn't shamefully cowardly of us, was it?"
"Oh, no, I don't think so," said Ron. "You can't blame a couple Muggle civilians for not wanting to mess with a chicken coup. Those things are bad news."
"Swiftly locating Mrs. Figg on his map, Snape stalked over to her house, his nose twitching in distaste when he caught the stench of boiled carriage oozing warmly from the open front door." –CrimsonMyriad, "With Soul of Light and Dark"
"Ah, Severus!" said Mrs Figg brightly. "Do come in, won't you? I was just brewing a few gallons of carriage soup; the axle on my old surrey snapped last night, you know, and I hated to let it go to waste. Shall I dish you up a bowl?"
"Thank you, no," said Snape stiffly. "I don't consider myself an especially fussy eater, but I'm afraid I do draw the line at boiled carriage."
"Oh, that's just because you've never tried it the way my grandmother made it," said Mrs Figg. "An extra pinch of paprika, cream instead of milk, and some rickshaw-flour spaetzle thrown in: I tell you, there's nothing better. Come on, sit down, you'll love it."