"Over the next few months, a discrete romance developed between Diamondback and the Rattler." –selenepotter, "Son of the Serpents"

"Morning, Gustav," said Rachel Leighton in a bored tone, slipping past her fellow émigré from Earth-616 en route to the Malfoy Manor breakfast table.

"Dzień dobry, Rachel," murmured Gustav Krueger, not even glancing up from his scrambled eggs.

Bellatrix Lestrange watched these proceedings with bewilderment. "What is with those two?" she whispered to her husband. "Just yesterday, they were practically panting with desire for each other, and now they're barely acknowledging each other's existence. And it's not just today, either; every time we see them, they seem to have switched from deathless infatuation to utter indifference – or vice versa, as it may be."

Rodolphus shrugged. "Supervillains aren't like us, Belle," he said. "They don't have the endurance it takes to have a continuous romance, so they have to get theirs in little isolated, spasmodic chunks. Natural, really; they're still Muggles, after all, however powerful and evil they may be."

Bellatrix shook her head. "Sad."

Rodolphus shot a sly glance at her, and grinned. "Oh, I don't know," he said, leaning down to nuzzle a particular spot that he knew about on the nape of her neck. "After all, even a discrete romance is better than none at all, right?"

"Ron was the couch for the Chudley Cannons, a team that had won two cups, much to Ron's joy." –JacobApple, "Harry Potter and the Disorder of the Phoenix"*

"Roll Caissons!" Ruby Crockstone exulted, as her fellow Cannons carried her in triumph into their cabin behind the stadium, where Ron, silent and faithful as ever, stood waiting for them.

"Two years, two United Kingdom Quidditch Cups!" cried Protagoras Rizzi, pumping his fist in the air. "Eat that, Southwark!"

"We are the champions, my frie-e-e-ends!" Alina More caroled, with little tonal elegance but indisputably sincere fervour.

And, with a laugh, the whole team fell down as one into Ron's cushions, causing the battered old sofa to sigh inaudibly with a private joy of his own. Perhaps it was a snobbish illusion on his part, but there did always seem to him to be a peculiar satisfaction in being pressed by the buttocks of champions – and especially such champions as these: merry yet sober, vigorous yet courteous, in every way the flower and epitome of British sportsmanship.

Yes, indeed, he thought to himself, it was a blessed day when I became the couch of the Chudley Cannons.

"I smile as I remember the way she takes full-fat evaporated milk and drowns her other wise healthy granola in it…" –Anisky, "Her"

"Mark my words, young Ginevra," said the brimming bowl of dried fruit, nuts, and oat clusters. "You may think yourself very bold and liberated now, but the time will come when you will surely regret having bestowed your charms so freely upon the youths of Hogwarts. Chastity is a matter, not merely of the flesh, but of the spirit; she who dallies with many lovers in her heart, though her maidenhead remain intact, will yet find her soul scarred as by fire, for the joys that belong to true purity will be – AAAAIIIIEEEEE!"

Ginny tapped her fingers dispassionately as the Healthy Granola's screams mingled with the hum of the microwave; then, when the bell dinged, she withdrew the bowl (from which faint whimpers could still be heard to issue) and returned to the breakfast table. "Bill says it's better warm, anyway," she remarked laconically.

Hermione put down her muffin, and covered her mouth to hide a smile. "You do have it out for that stuff, don't you?" she said. "I remember that other bowl you had last week, that kept trying to tell you how much sorrow it would bring you to go to the Nightshade Revels in defiance of parental strictures – and you just laughed sardonically and said, 'Oh, well, I'll dance it off at the Lamia Club later,' and then poured the whole bowl into the milk jug and held it under the surface until it drowned."

Ginny flushed slightly – she preferred not to think about the Nightshade Revels, just yet – but her voice remained cool. "Naturally," she said. "If Mum wants me to have good advice, she ought to give it to me herself, instead of buying a box of cereal to do it for her. I don't mind my breakfast being healthy," she added, reaching for the brown sugar, "but I draw the line at its being wise."

"That was all Weasley needed. He lunged towards me, only to be restained by Granger." –harrypottermagic32, "A New Beginning"

"Hermione!" he gasped, disbelieving. "You… you turncoat! You…"

"Oh, don't be insipid, Ron," Granger snapped, shouldering her marker again as she spoke. "You know perfectly well that you're not allowed to attack an opposing player for staining you, even if it is Malfoy. I had to stop you somehow before you got the whole Gryffindor team disqualified, and restaining you myself was the quickest way of getting your attention. Now, do I have to re-restain you, or are you ready to behave like a civilised human being?"

To his credit, Weasley was man enough to look abashed. "Yeah, okay, good point," he said. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted, Weasley," I said, though I knew perfectly well he hadn't been speaking to me. "Now, down with your weapons and off with you to Green Base – and you, too, Granger."

Maybe this whole Muggle-sports program isn't so bad after all, I thought as I watched them meekly obey. If the next few Dumbledore has planned are at all like this paintball thing, I just might be persuaded not to miss Quidditch.

*Sorting-Head tip to AlienKing321 for finding this passage. (And to the guest reviewer who brought the "Sorting Head" error to my attention. I didn't want to use that in a Minuet proper, since it seems to me to be more an error of proofreading than of grammar or spelling, but it does seem to belong in this fic somewhere, so – here you go.)