"And telling her legal clients to tell lies sometimes, even when they were searing on the [B]ible…" –SinghSong, "The Smartest Snake: The Story of Mafalda Prewett"
"Your soundest course, Headmistress, is to stick to straight denial," Cloris Prewett said, raising her voice to be heard over her client's agonised screams, the sizzling of said client's searing flesh, and the library paintings' cries of Serves you right, you dirty usurper! "Under Clause Six of Educational Decree Twenty-Three, any information that would tend to undermine the authority of the Inquisitorial office is ipso facto classified, so there is ample legal imperative for you not to admit yourself to be a she-demon from the pits of Hell. Many of your students, I believe, already suspect this fact, and to learn that your mere proximity caused Roger Bacon's Bible to leap from the Restricted Section, drag you to the ground, and engulf you in flames, could only encourage and legitimise their speculations."
Umbridge's only response to this trenchant assessment was a sound like "Aaaaiiiieeerrrggghhhh!", and it occurred to Mrs Prewett that her client might not be in the mood for an in-depth consultation at just that moment. "But we can go into all that later, if you prefer," she said, snapping her briefcase briskly shut again. "For now, I'll just see myself out and… oh, by the by, do you mind if I use your office's fireplace? I need to call Minister Fudge, and let him know that he can't actually be removed from office just for being a Deep One of many-columned Y'ha-nthlei."
"[A]fter the Stature of Secrecy was passed, Flavia Weasley altered the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and Obliviated those scholars who would notice the changes." –Susan M. M, author's note to "1066"
Arthur Weasley, looking far older than his seventy-eight years, entered his son's joke shop and fixed the proprietor with his gaze. "George, I'd like a word with you," he said.
"Sure, Dad," said George agreeably. "What's up?"
"My office was notified this morning of a queer disturbance at the British Museum," said Arthur. "When we arrived there, we found a number of eminent historians wandering around outside, quacking like ducks; going in, our attention was directed to Cott. Tib. B iv, which informed us, to our surprise, that the Battle of Stamford Bridge had been won by Axebanger Brookstanton, who was able to drown Napoleon Bonaparte in the River Derwent thanks to the timely intervention of Frodo Baggins."
"Really?" said George. "Well, you'll want to correct that, definitely. Everyone knows it was Merry Brandybuck who…"
"George, this is no joking matter," said Arthur. "There's no use pretending you don't know the law; I happen to know the Minister's written to you about it personally. I love Flavia as much as any of my other grandchildren, but the fact remains that leprechaun blood is untamable dynamite, and humans who bear it must be kept apart from the Muggle world. Period."
"No, not period," George reminded him. "You remember the loophole Hermione stuck in that law. If the hybrid being exceeds five feet, three inches in height, it is assumed that his leprechaun heritage is too slight to significantly affect his temperament, and he is accordingly loosed from the restraints enumerated hereunder. So, when Flavia's recent growth spurt brought her up to five foot three and a half, naturally I took her around to see some of the sights of London, as she's been longing to do for fifteen years."
His father stared at him, open-mouthed. "George, you can't be serious," he said. "Did you seriously think that passing the Stature of Secrecy by half an inch would make your quarter-leprechaun daughter's sense of fun one whit less dangerous to the Muggle public?"
"I stand on the letter of the law, Dad," said George. "Incidentally, have you managed to round up all of the Mildenhall Treasure yet? I told Flavia that that was going a bit far, but she argued persuasively that, in a place so dedicated to Muggle culture, the dish simply had to run away with the spoon."
"Miss Granger, my dear, you can not save him if you carry the gilt of letting him be taken." –Fallen Darkness, "Braking, Broken, Pieced Together"
Hermione's hand stole to her cheek, and she ran her nails along the thin layer of gold that now coated her skin from head to toe. "I know," she said softly. "The touch of his beloved's lips… But what are we supposed to do, then? You say it can't be removed…"
"No," Dumbledore agreed. "Once the Cor Magiæ has been awakened, its judgments are naturally irreversible by mere wizardry; since it regarded you as having betrayed its champion for gold, and accordingly condemned you to be gilded with the same in perpetuity, no possible magic can peel that gilt off again."
The logic was irrefutable, and, Hermione being Hermione, she surrendered to it with a piteous moan. Another girl might have tried to shut her eyes to the facts, to change them by sheer will-power – or, at least, to protest that she hadn't known she was pawning Harry's magical soul to pay for her schoolbooks; he had, after all, never told her why the ivory phoenix was so important. But Hermione had cultivated rationality, both theoretic and practical, for far too long to forsake it now; all she could do was weep over her folly – and so, burying her face in her arms and falling forward onto the Headmaster's desk, she did.
From somewhere above her, she heard Dumbledore cough gently. "There is, however, one way that you may be able to aid in Harry's recovery," he said. "As you know, to have any chance of defeating Dame Babur, we will need all the creatures of the Forbidden Forest behind us, including the feral automobile that formerly belonged to Arthur Weasley. It seems, though, that that creature has acquired some severe mechanical defects over the years, which will have to be attended to before it can be taken into battle; its braking system, in particular, appears to be badly corroded by Acromantula venom. And, to complicate matters further, it has evidently taken a violent dislike to all creatures of flesh and blood; nothing that is not metallic like itself can safely approach within ten yards of it. So it may be, after all, that your affliction will prove to have – if you'll pardon the expression – a silver lining."
Hermione couldn't quite bring herself to laugh, but she did manage a smile as she raised her head again and dabbed at her eyes. "All right, sir," she said. "Give me a few days to study, and I daresay I can learn to piece a broken braking back together."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Excellent."
"Oh, you know, the usual. Saving the wizarding world from arrogant gits like yourself by getting rid of your bullock's laws and policies." –Elocintheelvenprincess, "The Dance"
"In conclusion," said the Right Honourable the Member for New Sarum, "if this House regards it as a cause for pride that the State should interfere in the most intimate aspects of its citizens' domestic affairs, by all means let it vote this measure down. But if, in the hearts of those assembled here, there yet beats the faintest love of private liberty and the sanctity of the British home, then I say to you that these noble sentiments could not be expressed more fittingly than in the passage of the 2016 Elladora Black Memorial Elfin-Taxidermy Bill. I have done."
And, amid the enthusiastic cheers of the half-dozen other M.P.'s who had been notified of this special session of Parliament (most of whom were too drunk and/or Confunded to notice that the orator they were applauding had four legs, a cream-coloured hide, and a brass ring in his nose), he trotted down from the podium and out into the Members' Lobby, where he lowed with quiet pride to the pale figure leaning against the Churchill Arch.
"Good boy, Strephon Champion," said Draco Malfoy, reaching down to scratch his loyal bullock's ear. "Here, have a salt lick."