Author's note: Well, the chapter number divides evenly by 13 again, so it should be time for a full chapter of thrawnca's submissions - except that, upon looking over my list of those, I've decided that there are really only three that I intend to use here (though the conceits behind two others will, I think, appear in the next chapters of various other Minuets series). So, instead, I'll be doling them out one by one over the course of the next three chapters, identifying which each one is as I go along; in the case of this chapter, it's the first one. (Also, regarding the third: could somebody check the referenced story there, and tell me whether the reference to "Digimon Alley" near the end is, in fact, a mistake? I'm honestly not sure, and of course I don't want to use it if it turns out to be some sort of deliberate joke.)

"Parvati sighed again as she looked past the latest antiques of the Weasley twins to the entrance of the Great Hall." –Elelith, "The Rigel Black Chronicles"

"What's she mooning about?" Fred remarked.

George shrugged. "Probably wondering what's keeping Padma," he said. "I know if I had a sister in Ravenclaw, and she didn't show up promptly for the big Hogwarts antiques fair, I'd be a little concerned myself."

"Fair enough," Fred conceded. "And especially when they know that we got this terrific shipment of authentic Toungoo-era potion braziers in from Burma this morning: what could keep any healthy young she-eagle from rushing down to snag one of these beauties while supplies last?"

"True, very true," said George. "But then Padma Patil's always been a little incalculable. Ask Ron about the Yule Ball sometime…"

"Bound by Fate and Destiny, [t]hrough pain and suffering, two different Wizards from two different walks of life shall become friends and lead a group of savories." –Thefounder23, summary to "Bound by Fate and Destiny"

"You two have recovered, then?" said an aged salami anxiously. "The red-hots from the Danishes' bombardment caused you no lasting injury?"

Harry Potter and Jax Adonna exchanged glances. "Lasting?" said Harry slowly. "No, not lasting."

"Then you can lead our uprising against the sweets!" a hard-boiled egg exclaimed. "And you will, won't you? You have tasted for yourselves the brutality with which they have afflicted our kind; can it be that you won't now aid us in our struggle?"

"Of course they will," said a cheddar cheese, sharply. "How could they do otherwise, when destiny has so plainly bound them together for just that purpose?"

"Not just Destiny," Jax interjected. "Fate and Destiny."

The cheese shot him a quizzical look. "What's the difference?"

"Well, you know," said Jax, "Fate wears the Helm of Nabu and is in love with Inza Cramer, while Destiny is an old blind guy chained to a book."

Harry rolled his eyes, and reminded himself that Jax came from a different walk of life than he did. Why Destiny (or Fate) thought that he needed a lifelong haunter of comic-book conventions to help him liberate the Nosh Pit's savouries… but doubtless it had its reasons.

"As he flew around, 'Moaning' Myrtle couldn't help but fall in love with her old bo again." –ineligiblebachelor88, "Harry Potter and the Hogwarts Class Reunion"

Ron, shifting in his seat in the Quidditch stands, caught a sidelong glance of the girl ghost who had emerged from her toilet to watch the game with him, and grinned at the rapture on her diaphanous face. "Yeah, he's pretty good, isn't he?" he said.

Myrtle turned to him, and stared vacantly. "Who?"

Ron blinked. "Well, Harry, of course," he said. "Wasn't that who you were watching?"

"Oh." A light-bulb went on, and Myrtle tittered awkwardly. "Oh, I see. No, I wasn't… well, yes, I suppose I was in a way, but not really. I mean, it wasn't so much him I was looking at; it was the Garuda."

"The Garuda?" Ron repeated. "You mean his broom?"

"My broom," said Myrtle dreamily. "It used to be, you know. Professor Paradine bought it for me on a trip to India – a beautiful, shining shaft of the finest bo wood; I dreamed about nothing else for months afterward. He said he'd give me private lessons, and maybe I'd make the Hufflepuff team in third year – but then… well, you know what happened. And I hadn't thought about it for decades, but then when I heard that Harry's Firebolt had gotten damaged and some student's old bo had been pulled out of storage as an emergency replacement, of course I just had to come and see and lose my heart all…" She broke off abruptly, and glared at Ron's screwed-up countenance. "What? You think that's funny?"

"No, not that," Ron managed hoarsely. "I'm just wondering what Malfoy's going to say when he loses, and then finds out that Harry beat him with a girl's broom."

"Hungry flames tore through flesh with wild abandon, sending the massive man careening back out of the cupboard with a yawl of agony and into the startled arms of his wife." –Noyoki, "Weapons of Dark and Light"*

"What is it, darling?" said Petunia anxiously. "What happened?"

Vernon shook his head, and mopped his brow with his sleeve. "Haven't an earthly," he said. "I was just looking around inside that cupboard, to see if there wasn't anything else in there the freaks might want, when out of nowhere this bright-green hunk of meat on the top shelf started spraying flames right and left."

"Ah." Petunia's eyes widened, and she nodded. "Dragon's liver, probably."

"Wouldn't be a bit surprised," said Vernon. "So I just snatched this thing up and ran for it. Hope it's what old Bumblebore was looking for."

"Well, let's see," came a sprightly voice, and Dumbledore strode forward and examined the sailboat-in-a-bottle in Vernon's hands, taking care not to touch it himself. "Yes," he said after a moment, with a satisfied nod. "A classic Yawl of Agony, complete with blood-dipped jibsails and venom-coated mizzenmast – and, of course, the standard enchantment on the bottle to shield it against any wizard's touch. This is certainly what Voldemort has been using to cast incapacitating bouts of neuralgia on Harry and his friends; once we have destroyed it, they will be ready to defy him once more – and the wizarding world will owe you a great debt of gratitude, Mr Dursley."

"Just so long as they don't send thank-you notes," Vernon muttered. "Last thing we need in Little Whinging is another plague of owls."

*Crossover with X-Men.