"I thought we agreed that Malfoy was the air." –ponyrellabellasara, "Victorious at Hogwarts"
"Well, yes, we did say that," said Susan Bones slowly, "but I was thinking about it afterwards, and I really think it would be more sensible if that role went to Padma. After all, she's the Ravenclaw in our study group – and, you know, Ravenclaw, eagles, air… it only seems logical."
"Actually, Sue," said Padma, with a sudden gleam of eager pedantry in her eye, "if we're going to go by Houses, it really ought to be you who's the air. Because air, in the mediæval theory, was the element of moist warmth, corresponding, among the four humours, to the blood – and Hufflepuff has always been the House for sanguine temperaments, Heaven knows. They say the Sorting Hat actually uses that as one of its baseline referents."
Susan frowned, considering. "So what would that make you, then?" she said.
"I'd be the earth," said Padma. "That's the equivalent of black bile or melancholy – the thing that gives all us Ravenclaws our brooding, restless minds, you know. And Draco would be water, for the phlegmatic Slytherin temper, and Harry would be fire to represent Gryffindor choler. That's what I call a rounded, well-thought-out presentation on classical alchemy." And she leaned back with a satisfied smile.
Susan glanced expectantly at her other partners. "Well, boys?" she said. "What do you think?"
Harry shrugged. "Sounds fine to me," he said. "Just so long as I know where I stand, that's all."
"Draco?"
The blond Slytherin smirked. "Me as the water to put out Potter's fire?" he said. "Sounds like all my dreams coming true at once."
Susan pursed her lips with well-bred distaste, but said only, "Right. That's how it'll be, then. Now let's talk about our costumes…"
"She followed a Point Me spell don a block or two to an old oak tree, but he was nowhere to be seen." –AllISeeAreStars, "Colors"
"Well, you're useless," Hermione said caustically to the grey-haired fellow of Oxford. "I'm trying to find Professor Snape, not acorns."
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady," the don retorted, puffing at his pipe in an ineffably insolent fashion. "When one casts a Point Me spell, one takes what one can get. I assure you, I didn't ask to come out of your wand and start poking around the local greenery for this greasy little Potions teacher of yours."
Hermione let out an outraged little gasp, and drew herself up haughtily. "Well!" she exclaimed. "All right, if you're going to be that way about it, then go on and transvect yourself back to Magdalen; I wouldn't dream of detaining you." She raised her wand. "Em Tniop!"
A faint whooshing sound, and Hermione was alone on the cobbles, scowling at the spot where her companion had just stood. "Remote and ineffectual don," she declaimed loftily, folding her arms across her chest, "that dares attack my Severus! …No," she added after a moment, with a frown. "No, that doesn't really work, does it?"
"As I kissed her goodbye, I said, 'all beauty must die[,]' / And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth" –EverlyDream, "They Call Me the Wild Rose"*
"Ready, 'Lady Vadrózsa'?" said Draco.
Hermione took a deep breath. "As ready as I'll ever be."
"Good." Draco leant forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Remember, now: Tota Pulchritudo Moritor."
Hermione shuddered. "Honestly," she said, "of all the horrible passwords…"
"Never mind that," said Draco. "Just repeat it."
"Tota… Pulchritudo… Moritor."
"Excellent." Draco reached into his robes and withdrew a small pouch filled with goose feathers. "Here's the down – and, remember, I'm just lending that, so I'll expect you to bring it back when you return."
Hermione smiled up at him. "When I return," she repeated, her faint emphasis on the when making it clear that she understood her beau's real meaning. "Yes, I will. I promise."
Draco nodded. Not trusting himself to speak further, he turned and picked up the rose; Hermione opened her mouth, and he laid it gently astraddle her lower molars. She shut her eyes, bit down, and scrunched up her face in concentration; Draco stepped back, raised his wand, and counted down: three… two… one…
He permitted himself one last look upon her face, and spoke the spell.
"Dear Arabella Fig, We are so happy that you are taking Harry in!" –Phoenix Tears, "What Happened There"
"I just want to thank you again, ma'am," said Harry. "It really was too kind of you, to come and let me live with you in this beautiful kitchen."
"Oh, don't mention it, dearie," said Arabella airily. "It would be silly of me, of all people, to ignore what the Bible says about caring for orphans – and, anyway, I do need a partner if I'm going to do this show properly."
Harry glanced up at the clock. "Speaking of which, isn't it about time we started filming?"
Arabella glanced up, too. "Oh, my goodness, yes, it is," she said. "All right, Harry, follow me."
The two of them hopped out onto the countertop; the cameras started rolling, and Arabella launched into the intro. "Hi, kids, and welcome to Fruit Tales! I'm Arabella Fig…"
"And I'm Harry Persimmon! And we're here to answer your questions!"
*An attempted quotation from "Where the Wild Roses Grow", lyrics by Nick Cave.
