"When she tries to sneakily learn his secrets in order to get his gift and Malfoy winds trapped under some mistletoe, things quickly get out of hand." –Kittenshift17, summary to "Wrapped in Red"

As Hermione dangled upside-down in midair, struggling helplessly against the gleaming red bonds that had wrapped themselves around her body, she heard the creak of an opening door and an all-too-familiar footfall on the stone floor. "Well, well," came a drawling voice. "Looks like somebody's bitten off more than she could chew."

"Malfoy!" Hermione gasped. "Please, it's not… I can explain, I…"

"No need, Granger," said Draco coldly. "That sprig of mistletoe in your hand does all the explaining necessary. You and your friends have feared my family powers since I used the Malfoy winds to blow Potter off his broom in second year; now that I've acquired a personal gift of eomancy as well, of course you felt obliged to take drastic measures. So, having learned from Flitwick that all blood mages have secret weaknesses and vulnerabilities, you tried to sneak a look at my medical records to see if you couldn't find out how to detach those powers from my magical soul and imprison them beneath a herb of magical bane. All very natural, I'm sure – but you might at least have done me the credit of assuming that I don't just leave my secrets lying about unguarded. Or did you actually expect your Mudblood book-learning to prevail against one who can touch the very heartstrings of magic itself?"

Hermione shot him a hate-filled glare that seemed only to gratify him further. "So no," he said, "I don't mind so much for myself – but I do wonder what the Headmaster will say. Or, for that matter, what Madam Pomfrey will say, when she hears about a student prying into her confidential archives to inflict grievous magical harm on another. I suppose I'd better go fetch them; you can just… ah… hang around here till they arrive."


"Letting the owl in, Harry takes the letter and the owl sores off." –Dragons-Twilight1992, "King of Magic"

Dear Mr Potter: Our apologies for sending you a pox-ridden owl with this missive, but it was necessary in order to verify the results of our recent investigation into your account. You should find that you have instinctively removed the sores from its facial area in the act of taking this letter off its leg; if so, this confirms our belief that the lock on your Messiah Core, laid in your infancy by Albus Dumbledore for his own (doubtless sinister) reasons, has been successfully removed. You now have the power to heal the sick, raise the dead, set captives free, and proclaim good tidings to the poor; since you will doubtless desire counsel on the use of these powers, and since none of your intimates can be trusted, we welcome your making an appointment with us at your earliest convenience. Yours sincerely, the Gringotts Bank Board of Directors.

P.S.: Incidentally, if you discuss this matter with your friend Mr Weasley, he may tell you that Messiah Cores naturally unlock themselves on one's sixteenth birthday, and that we of Gringotts have a long history of deceiving future Messiahs on this subject, so as to gain their fealty and forestall their denunciation of our own usurious activities. We wish to emphasise that this is entirely untrue, and that the House of Weasley is a gaggle of loathsome, scheming, utterly unscrupulous sycophants, especially the girl. Thank you.


"But then again, the prospect of dyeing scares me, and so I simply must live." –meiscool2, "ReBorn"

Frank Bryce's lifeless body fell to the floor; Nagini shuddered faintly as the sliver of soul entered into her, and Voldemort settled back into place with a sigh. At last, the sixth Horcrux, so long delayed, had come into being; at last, he was bound firmly to the present life, forever secure against the doom of eternal fibre coloration that awaited him in the next.

He shivered as he remembered Mrs Cole's words, so long before: Do you know what happens, Tom, to little boys who kill other people's pets for fun? They get taken away to a great big yarn factory underground, where the devils force them to mordant the wool with their bare hands. He hadn't even known what mordanting was, at the time, but the general idea had been all too clear, and had scarred him on the subject for life; later on, when Professor Hughes had dedicated a Herbology lesson to the properties of indigo, he had fled screaming from the greenhouse, and had been found later cringing under the Great Hall's Slytherin table, whimpering, "Sig vats… royal purple… Carthage… no! no!" (Of course, everyone who had seen this had died shortly thereafter, but that had only consoled him a little bit.)

Not to worry, my precious, he told himself now, reaching out an ethereal hand to stroke Nagini's head. The imps won't be getting any dyeing out of you now.


"Her wand lit up and she started to read the tittles of the books." –BlackRose207, "Memories"

"Lordy, you look bushed," was Ron's greeting as Hermione staggered down to the breakfast nook the next morning.

Hermione groaned. "I was up till four in the morning, reading by wand-light," she said. "But I did confirm my hypothesis: the text of the Crombie Tomes is meaningless, and what you have to do is read the tittles over the lowercase I's and J's. They form recurring patterns in a simple substitution cipher, with each page representing a letter or some other orthographic symbol; each Tome, taken as a whole, describes one of the Seven Rituals of Eternity, including the necessary materials and mental intentions. The one we're looking for, the Rite of Unification, is in…"

"Wait a moment," said Harry, jumping up from the table. "Let me just get a quill and a piece of parchment, so I can write down what we'll need." He hurried from the nook, and there was a few minutes' sound of rustling and searching from the next room; then he returned, seated himself again at the table, and poised his quill over the parchment. "All right, Hermione, fire away; what…"

But Hermione was lying sprawled out upon the table, with Ron gingerly lifting her hair out of his oatmeal as she snored into the sugar bowl. Harry regarded this tableau for a moment or two, and then nodded and put the quill aside. "All right, fair enough," he said. "I suppose the joining of the Hallows can wait a few hours, anyway."