"There were literally hoards of women that hounded them (it's actually quite terrifying, creepy even, I don't know how anyone finds this acceptable behaviour)." –Esa-chan, "The 5th Wheel"

Grunting, Ron and Harry shoved a heavy soapstone statue of Bartholomew the Bulky up against the bolted steel door of the hideout, partly muffling the noise of the strident female voices outside. "Right," said Ron, brushing off his hands against his robes. "Between that and the spells Hermione put on the door, that should hold them long enough for us to come up with a plan. I hope you appreciate this, Malfoy; I did warn Harry, when you begged to join our little gang, that something like this was bound to happen."

Hermione shook her head. "I still don't understand it, Draco," she said. "Where did your father find so many women willing to hound you and Harry and Ron down so fiercely, just on his own say-so? It isn't as though he's some sort of international sex symbol…"

"Oh, they're from his hoard," said Draco.

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?"

"His hoard," said Draco. "Every adult male pure-blood keeps a collection of brainwashed Muggle women in his private treasure chamber, next to the gold and jewels and whatnot. Probably some of Dad's friends will be sending theirs after us before too long, too, so it's kind of important that we…"

"Wait… wait a moment," said Hermione. "Do you mean to tell me that the culture you grew up in deems it acceptable to keep human beings as curios? That's… that's absolutely terrifying." She thought for a moment, and then qualified this. "No, it's worse than terrifying. It's creepy."


"'Mate, are you sure he wasn't just malting or something?' Harry asked, attempting to sound as unbiased as possible." –secretfanficlover, "Jump"

"Of course I'm sure!" Ron snapped. "What would Pig want to malt barley for?"

"To make beer, I suppose," said Harry. "Your family's owls have been known to do that sort of thing; remember when we caught Hermes working that moonshine still?"

"That's different," said Ron. "Hermes is big enough to handle it; with Pig's body mass, he knows better than to be messing with strong drink." He shook his head. "No, there's some other, more sinister reason why he's been stealing barley from the kitchens – something the twins put him up to, I'll bet you anything. They said something about turning the Slytherins into kangaroos for ANZAC Day; is there a potion involving barleycorns that can do that?"

Harry was about to shake his head in regret at his friend's paranoia, when suddenly a vague memory of Snape lecturing on the use of hordein in transfiguration philtres nibbled at the back of his mind. "You know, there just may be," he said slowly. "I'll ask Hermione."


"The enigma of Narcissa Malloy was something I feared I would never understand." –HelenPotter91, "Secrets We Keep"

Sirius paused on his way through the hall, and smiled wryly at the brown-haired witch standing before the tapestry with an air of anxious scrutiny. "Pondering my family's marital history again, Hermione?" he said.

Hermione sighed. "I'm afraid I won't ever understand about your youngest cousin, Sirius," she said. "Bellatrix Slughorn makes sense, Andromeda Grindelwald is perfectly reasonable… but Narcissa Malloy? Why on Earth would Narcissa defy your mother and get herself disinherited just to move to New Jersey and marry a Muggle longshoreman she'd never met?"

Sirius chuckled. "Well, the family does have a theory about that," he said. "They say that Narcissa's heart was stolen by Lucius Malfoy on her first day at Hogwarts, and she desperately wanted to be his wife – but of course Lucius, like the rest of his family, was committed to the Rites of Mapreg and despised all women. So when she saw this Malloy bloke advertising for a mail-order bride, she thought, well, at least she could almost be Mrs Malfoy."

Hermione crinkled her forehead. "Now, really, Sirius," she said. "That's just silly."


"He loved how sweat he tasted, he loved the way their seamen tasted together." –PawaPendragon, "Ron/Draco Drabbles"

Draco sighed in epicurean ecstasy. "Weasley, I do believe this is the best fricassee of midshipman I've ever eaten," he declared. "The subtle blend of flavours from the Scottish sailor you brought down in Clyde and the Englishman I bagged in Portsmouth makes for such a uniquely delectable culinary experience – and I simply love the way you managed to preserve the saltiness of the skin, so that not only sea-spray, but sweat, I taste."

"Well, I aim to please," said Ron. –"Jenkins, put that down!" he added sharply, as the Malfoy family owl hopped up to the side of the serving platter and snatched a bit of English mariner's shoulder.

"Please you certainly do," said Draco. "I only wish my family lived as near the sea as yours did; it's the only life for a fellow, seeing the waves crash outside, smelling the salt air, and reveling every evening in the surpassing gustatory delight of fried British seamen."

There was a faint pop!, and Dobby materialised on the table, holding a decanter of dark red wine. "Port?" he enquired, holding it out.

Draco stopped chewing abruptly, and gazed with distaste into the middle distance. "What a terrible joke!"
The house-elf's eyes welled with tears. "But it's Dobby's only line!"

"No, it isn't," said Ron. "You and Winky had a whole Minuet to yourselves, back in chapter 24. –Jenkins! No!"