"Dudley found a book by the Dali Lama in a bookstore in a train station somewhere and it grew from there." –daniel-gudman, "Three Can Keep a Secret"
It was unfortunate, to start off with, that the latest GoreBots novel should have caught Dudley's eye while his class was waiting for their connection at Bloxwich. Not precisely evitable – as an avid follower of that franchise, he would surely have discovered it sooner or later – but unfortunate, all the same.
It was likewise unfortunate that Harry happened to notice the author's name on the cover, and to recognise it as the pen name of Salvador Dalí's painting Nirvana (a Bhutanese lama with purple skin and three noses; oil on canvas, 1943). It was even more unfortunate that he should have blurted out this fact in his Uncle Vernon's presence, thus inadvertently informing the latter that (a) wizard paintings could think, talk, and dictate genre novels, and (b) one of the 20th Century's most illustrious yet disturbed painters was a wizard. Naturally, despite Harry's protestations that none of the Dalís in Muggle collections were alive, it wasn't long before Vernon had convinced himself that all the problems of the modern world stemmed from Surrealist paintings flooding the book market with their subversive, degenerate ideals.
And it was most sublimely unfortunate that, a few months later, the controversial novel Let Time Flow Away was published by an author who boasted of his residence in midtown Manhattan – only a few blocks, as Vernon quickly confirmed, from that Museum of Modern Art where hung The Persistence of Memory. His worst fears thus confirmed, Vernon saw no choice but to take extreme measures, in the form of a matchbook, a bottle of lighter fluid, and a seat reservation on the next plane leaving for Madrid.
One can hardly blame him. One can't even say the world is all that poorer for his having reduced The Great Masturbator and part of The Enigma of Hitler to ash before the Queen Sophia Museum's security caught up with him. But one can still call it unfortunate.
"Metal grills, waist-high, separate the third-class areas from the second- and first-class areas, but Hermione wouldn't put it past Ginny to have distracted a steward long enough to be able to hop one of those gates…" –Speechwriter, "Unsinkable"
"It's not just a matter of distracting the steward, though, Ginny," said Fred. "Those things must be searing hot right now; just listen to those burgers sizzle."
"Forget listening," said Ron wistfully. "Just smell them…"
"I know all that," said Ginny impatiently. "But I think I'm good enough with the Iron-Skin Charm to be able to vault them without getting seriously burned. Anyway, I have to try, don't I? If Harry's really in imminent danger, I have to warn him now; I can't just sit around and wait until those clowns finish preparing the passengers' dinner. For all we know, they may be in cahoots with You-Know-Who, and mean to just keep cooking until it's already too late."
As none of her brothers cared to refute this, Ginny wasted no more time. Withdrawing a Dungbomb from her robes, she lobbed it toward the far wall of the atrium that separated the Ganymede's third-class deck from the stairwell leading to its second; then, as three of the stewards dropped their spatulas and rushed over to investigate, she darted out from behind the sausage crate where she had been crouching, and, after a quick "Asbestodermis!", leapt over the nearest of the stainless-steel grills that gated the passageway. General chaos ensued, but, between her native nimbleness and her already-drawn wand, she managed to evade the stewards who lunged for her, and dashed up the stairs toward her imperiled beau.
"She's got spunk, anyway," George murmured. "Hope it sees her through."
Ron nodded, but his attention was elsewhere. "You're sure we can't nick one of the onion patties?" he said plaintively. "They have so many, they'd never miss it…"
"Hermione would have her ossicles as a [M]uggle-born." –hermoine snape, "The Lioness & Her Cub"
"Are you sure you're a pure-blood, Miss Assunta?" Ezekiel Negentien purred. "Because you look an awful lot like that Mudblood friend of Harry Potter's…"
"So everyone tells me," said Hermione, willing her voice not to tremble. "But no, my family's been magical as far back as anyone's; we haven't even had a Squib since the 13th Century. If you don't believe me, ask me something about our cultural traditions; however obscure it may be, I'm sure I'll be able to answer."
Negentien seemed to consider this for a moment; then he shook his head. "No, that's not necessary," he said. "There's a far surer test we can make – and one, as it happens, for which I have the materials right here."
He reached into the drawer of his desk, and withdrew a sheet of radiographic film about one foot wide by two feet long; then he rose, moved so that Hermione (whose heart was swiftly sinking as she realised what her foe was up to) was standing in perfect right profile with respect to him, and held the film about an inch from Hermione's left ear while pointing his wand at her right. "Freniubar Auri!" he cried, and the film abruptly changed from white to mostly black; Negentien drew it towards himself, and studied it for a few moments with evident satisfaction. "Just as I thought," he said, and held it out. "Examine this, would you, my dear?"
Hermione dutifully glanced at the radiograph, though she already knew what she would see: a perfect X-ray of her inner ear, with drum, bony labyrinth, and membranous labyrinth all complete – and, in the middle of the eardrum, the unmistakable silhouettes of three tiny bones. Three bones that every pure-blood witch and wizard in England had had extracted at birth, since the Reverberari spell achieved the same effect so much more deftly; three bones, therefore, that marked her, for all her lore, as unmistakably Muggle-born.
"Pure-blood, are you?" Negentien hissed. "Then how is it, Miss Granger, that you still have your auditory ossicles?"
"The 422 Quidditch World Cup had begun." –Cassie08, "Harry Potter and the Arcane Twins"
"Three-to-one odds in favour of the Western Empire?" said Giorgios Galekos. "That's a bit inflated, don't you think? They barely pulled out their last match against the Vandals, and now they're facing a Hun team that's been unstoppable all season."
"Ah, yes," said Paidia Askotes, "but you must bear in mind how unexpectedly weak the Huns' schedule has been. In particular, if the Eastern Empire's lead Seeker hadn't happened to fall ill just before their match, it's doubtful that the Huns would be playing for the Cup today at all. As it is, West-Rome is probably the first truly formidable opponent they've faced all season, and the general consensus among bookmakers is that even their brutal Chasing game is unlikely to compensate for their weakness in the Seeker's position."
"Is that so?" said Galekos, stroking his russet beard. "Well, no-one ever made a fortune by following the general consensus. Three solidi on the Huns; I say 422 is their year."
In this, as it happened, he was a tad premature – but, as he truly noted after the match, it was only money.
Author's note: Notes, actually. First, those of you who subscribe to my account may recall that I vowed at Christmas not to post on this site again until PM alerts and the bottoms of Favorites lists went back online, and may be wondering about my inconsistency. It isn't that I no longer care; I've just concluded that my duty to console those oppressed by tyrants – and I can't be the only person here whose governor or other local authority currently fits that description – overrules any boycott I may be attempting. (Anyway, given how many people have already left this site for AO3, a boycott is probably superfluous; a better approach, surely, would be to persuade the companies who advertise here to threaten to stop bidding for space on the site unless the management gets its act together. If any of you want to join me on that project, you're welcome.)
Second, thrawnca, if you're wondering why none of your Minuet suggestions appeared in this chapter, it's because I figured that, since you've given me three excellent ones for this fandom over the last few months, I might as well wait till you've found a fourth, and then dedicate a whole chapter just to tipping the Sorting Head to you. Godspeed. (And, in the meantime, I can promise that the next chapter of "Minuets by Guitar Villain" will definitely include one of your finds.)
And third, while we're all waiting for chapter 52 to be ready, here's a little game to see how well you all have been paying attention these past 51 chapters. The following questions concern various allusions, subtleties, and inside jokes incorporated into previous Minuets, ranging in difficulty from "I'll be amazed if anyone get this" to "I'll be a little embarrassed for anyone who doesn't"; if you think you can answer any of them, drop me a PM. (The correct answers will be appended to the next chapter, along with the scores of all the contenders; the first-place finisher will have the right to request a story from me in any fandom I'm familiar with.)
I: Name the literary character in whose person both Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape have, in different Minuets, found themselves acting.
II: Identify four Minuets in which Monty Python's Flying Circus is referenced, and explain the references.
III: Name the character who, if a certain reference were extended, might appropriately deliver the line, "It's no use! Everybody gets good enemies, except me!"
IV: What actors' birthdays determined the dates of the second and third "news stories" in chapter 38, and why? (The dates of the other two, of course, are determined by events described in those stories.)
V. What unique quality connects the four Minuets in chapter 9?
VI. Why is Athena Aludrac's best friend named Leona?
VII. Why Op. 119, particularly?
VIII. Where have we met Anastasia Stone before?
IX. Who is the Master Jarpory?
