Author's note: Yes, I did consider reshuffling this chapter so that it could be called "Some, Foul, Wretched, Weasley", but, as much fun as that would have been, I think this arrangement reads better.


"Draco… Draco, open this retched door… NOW." –cocodog, "Control"

With lazy, unhurried movements, Draco rose from his bed, sauntered over to his bedroom door, and pulled it open. "Yes, Father?" he said sweetly.

Lucius, who seemed to be in a generally foul mood, scowled at one of the streaks of hardened dragon sputum that decorated the black-charred portal. "Why do you insist on keeping this foul thing, anyway, Draco?" he said. "Our family funds may have been depleted a bit in the latest round of Ministry bribes, but we're hardly so destitute yet that we can't afford to get you a new door – something in a nice rowan, perhaps, or hawthorn to match your wand, or… well, anything that wasn't retched out by a Norwegian Ridgeback during the infestation three years ago."

Draco shrugged. "Call me sentimental."

Lucius snorted. "Well, I'll call you worse than that, young man," he said, "if you don't come down and give your grandmother a kiss goodbye…"


"Looking for sum action?" –kristen granger, summary to "Once Up on a Time in NY"

"Good morning, everyone!" Professor Vector caroled as she swept into the Hogwarts faculty lounge, with a movement that had several of the characteristics of a pirouette.

Professor McGonagall glanced at the young arithmancer, and arched an eyebrow. "Well, it clearly is for one of us, anyway," she said with a chuckle. "What's happened, Theano? I haven't seen you so sprightly since the Headmaster tapped you to write last year's Christmas-Exchange list."

"I'll tell you what's happened, Minerva," said Vector, beaming. "I – I, Theano Cartesia Vector – not one of my predecessors, not someone with the same name as mine, but I – have been invited to join the Witches of Maria Agnesi at their 37th annual conference, beginning two weeks from Thursday in Rochester, New York."

"Really?" said McGonagall. "Well, that sounds nice."

"Nice?" said Vector. "It's glorious. And look at this year's topic!" She pulled a flier out from under her robes, and held it up for all to see. "'On the Derivation of Power-Series Representations for Transcendental Arithmantical Functions, with Particular Emphasis on the 18th-Century Wizarding Annotations to Maclaurin's Treatise of Fluxions'. Of course, the 18th Century isn't my area of expertise, so I'll have to do some research on it when I get there – but, once I'm up on the time, I'll have a whole weekend ahead of me full of nonstop sum action!" And she pumped a fist in the air. "Yowza!"

McGonagall laughed. "Well, good for you, Theano," she said. "I can't pretend that's something I would be interested in, but I'm glad you've found a place to look for it."

"Thanks, Minerva," said Vector. "I'll bring you a mug or something when I come back."

"That will be lovely."


"Draco turned when he heard Wesley shouting." –bushlaboo, "Sworn Enemies"

"But are there not some among you," John Wesley thundered, "that did once renounce this conformity to the world, and dress in every point neat and plain, suitable to your profession? Why then did you not persevere therein? Why did you turn back from the good way? Did you contract an acquaintance, perhaps a friendship, with some that were still fond of dress? It is no wonder…"

Draco rolled his eyes, and turned back to his companion. "Nothing," he said. "Just some mad Muggle preacher. So what were you saying?"

"I was saying," said Blaise, "that, if we ever want to see our own century again, the first thing we need to do is get back to Hogwarts. We can't take the Express, of course – no locomotives in 1784 – but there must be a carriage service or something that could get us there."

"Right," said Draco, digging into his wallet. "Here's five Galleons; put a glamour on them to hide the date, and see how far they'll get you. I'll be waiting here."

"…Now, to-day, before the heart is hardened by the deceitfulness of sin, cut off, at one stroke, that sinful friendship with the ungodly, and…"

"Or," said Draco, with another sour glance at the father of Methodism, "on second thought, maybe I'll go with you."


"'Pissant is a fowl word, is it not?' Narcissa asked." –dracosgirl2515, "No Longer Just a Mudblood: The Sequel"

"Not that I ever heard," said Andromeda. "I was under the impression that it was a Muggle term of abuse – something to do with urination, I think."

"No, no," Narcissa insisted. "It's a fowl, I'm sure of it. Big, plump body, ringed neck, funny red things around the eyes…"

"You mean a pheasant?"

Narcissa blinked. "A what?"

"Pheasant," said Andromeda. "P-H-E-A-S-A-N-T."

"Oh." Narcissa frowned down at her parchment. "Well, yes, that would explain why Kettleburn gave me a T on this essay."