"Yep, one dead twin, and the trio became a quad." –Dizi 85, author's note to "A New Imprint"
"I'm sorry about your sister, Parvati," Hannah Abbott said, as the two co-eds strolled through the lushly verdant campus of Hogwarts University. "I hope the funeral was nice, at least."
Parvati Patil smiled softly. "It was, thanks," she said. "So what did I miss while I was away?"
"Oh, nothing much," said Hannah. "Except that those three weirdoes from your dormitory – you know, Potter, Granger, and Weasley? Apparently they protested once too often about the new policy changes, and President Umbridge gave them 24 hours to get off campus."
"Really?" said Parvati. "And did they go? I thought they… oh, no, wait, we cut through here to get to Dippet Field, don't we?" She shook her head, and laughed. "I've been away too long, definitely. So, anyway, I thought Potter and the others were committed to not leaving HU until Dumbledore's policies were formally reinstated; did they stick to that, or did they cave and bolt when Umbridge came down on them?"
"Looks like the latter," said Hannah. "Anyway, nobody's seen or heard from them since dinnertime that evening. Of course, some of their supporters, like Lovegood, say they didn't leave at all, but rather performed some mystic rite to make themselves physically part of the campus itself – but then, that's Lovegood, right?"
Parvati nodded thoughtfully. "Well, that's a shame," she said. "It was rather nice, having someone on campus who actually believed in something; I'm sure things will be much duller around here without…"
Then she paused, and blinked around at the open space that the two of them had just entered. "Say, Hannah," she said slowly, "is this quad new? I could have sworn there was just a parking lot between Ravenclaw Hall and the chapel."
"She was knelling at the entrance of the reptile house, as if waiting for the snake." –IZZFIZZ6, "Prologue"
As the new-hatched basilisk lay curled up in its bufine foster mother's display case, it heard an iron bell tolling sombrely from the nearby entrance. Its eyes popped open, and a thrill ran through its body; like all Dark creatures, especially of so tender an age, it was irresistibly attracted to all the noises of death.
It shattered the glass with one quick thrust of its head, and slithered down the wall and out of the room. It was after hours, so no stray zoo-goers happened to meet its gaze and their demise; as for its fellow exhibits, they instinctively knew better than to glance its way. So it made its way unimpeded to the door of the reptile house; sure enough, there was a girl standing in the shadows out front, ringing an iron hand-bell and keening an ancient dirge.
The basilisk slithered anxiously forward, eager to get close enough to kill her with its gaze; as it approached her, though, she lowered her bell and turned her face toward it, and a shaft of moonlight revealed the clouded, sightless eyes in her pale face. The basilisk reared back in instinctive alarm, but it was too late; quick as lightning, the girl drew her wand and sliced it in half with a single wordless spell.
When the two halves of its body had finished squirming, the girl knelt down and carefully levitated them into a little bag, wrinkling her nose as she did so. She didn't much enjoy killing magical baby creatures, but she didn't have much choice; at that time, she was the only congenitally blind witch in Britain, which made her the necessary go-to girl when the DRCMC needed someone to go knelling for basilisks.
"[T]he only possible culprit could be [w]hoever is impersonating Mood . . ." –Magpie2005, "The Kingdom of Darkness Rises"
"No, no," said Charity Burbage wearily. "Stop the music, Gudrun." She stepped on stage, and took aside the shortest of the masked and cloaked young dancers representing the Seven Key Elements of Narrative Literature. "Miss Brocklehurst, sweetie, I know this is a difficult tempo, but it's vitally important that you master it. The duet of Setting and Theme is the emotional high point of the masque; if you and Mr Moon aren't absolutely on point, the whole performance will fall flat. Remember, first four beats, then three: one-two-three-four-one-two-three, one-two-three-four-one-two-three." She smiled reassuringly. "You'll get it, I know you will. Do you want to try it with the metronome again?"
Mandy Brocklehurst sighed behind her mask, and nodded; Burbage patted her shoulder, and went backstage to fetch the article in question – only to start with surprise when she saw Albus Dumbledore standing amid the shadows of the scenery. "Oh!" she said. "Hello, Headmaster. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so, Charity," said Dumbledore gravely. "I need to have a few words with the person currently impersonating Mood on your stage."
Charity blinked. "Miss Perks, you mean?"
"No, that's the trouble," said Dumbledore. "Sally-Anne Perks was found unconscious on the edge of the Forbidden Forest about ten minutes ago. Severus suspects a liberal administration of the Draught of Living Death; he also suspects – and I am inclined to agree with him – that whoever drugged and impersonated her is also responsible for Mr. Potter's curious absence from this afternoon's rehearsal of the Alchemist's Pageant. And so, if I may…?"
Burbage, stunned, nodded mutely, and Dumbledore swept past her and out onto the stage. As he went, the figure of Characterization slipped backstage and lowered her mask, revealing the elegantly vivacious face of Morag MacDougal. "I heard," she said, and grimaced. "I wonder if the Headmaster's regretting deciding to make all the seventh years perform allegorical representations of scholarly pursuits at the end-of-term feast. Sure and it's led to some mad escapades this past year, hasn't it?"
Burbage agreed that it had – though just how much so, neither she nor Morag realised until some moments later, when they heard Dumbledore's breathless exclamation, "Ariana?"
"Sirius moved his rook and promptly removed one of James' nights." –MakeWolfStarGayAgain, "Take Me On"
"Checkmate," he said with satisfaction. "So, Prongs: what were you doing on the night of 23 June 1977?"
James didn't even bother to search his memory, as he knew it wouldn't turn up anything. "Padfoot, have mercy!" he groaned. "If you keep this up, I'll lose every memory I have of my nocturnal conquests at Hogwarts, and I'll go in to Lily on our wedding night as innocent of technique as a newborn baby!"
"Well, yes, that is sort of the point," said Sirius. "If you couldn't be bothered to save yourself for marriage, the least I can do for Lily is to use my family's ancient gift of Gageure de Mémoire to make it as though you did. It isn't just wizards who appreciate virginity in their spouses, you know, Prongs."
"Well… can't I at least keep one night?" James pleaded. "That moonlight rendezvous with the Hufflepuff girl beneath the Astronomy Tower, or…"
"That's up to you, Korchnoi," Sirius retorted, spinning the board around and setting up the black men. "Try the Giuoco Piano again; you nearly managed a draw with that last time."
