"[H]e walked up towards the podium, his dark robes bellowing behind him for a dramatic effect." –Rowling Writer, "Not So Different"*

"Where did Malfoy get those?" said Theodore Nott, wrinkling his nose as the bellow of an enraged moose reverberated from the vicinity of the new Head Boy's backside.

"Oh, they're something new that Madam Malkin came out with this year," said Daphne Greengrass. "For twenty Galleons extra, she'll make you a full set of school robes that make a particular animal noise as you walk. I thought about buying the Trumpeter Swan ensemble myself, but I decided, no; as a seventh year, I must set an example of fiscal prudence for the younger students."

"You mean you must have enough pocket money to buy up half of Honeydukes come October."

"Well, that's almost the same thing…"

"Fudge banged his gravel but it seemed to have no effect." –Ordinarily Prudent, "More than Equal"

"Well, of course it had no effect!" Molly exclaimed. "It's gravel, for pity's sake! You can't impregnate a bag of gravel!"

"Well, the Minister apparently believed he could," said Arthur. "I gather the Malfoys' habit of being conceived as slugs convinced him that anything found in a garden can be used to produce an heir. So he tried it with what he described as 'the cutest little sack of landscaping material you ever did see', and it turned out about the way you'd expect: still no next generation of Fudges, and he's still walking a little oddly a month after the event."

"Well, I hope he learned his lesson, anyway," said Molly.

"Don't we all," said Arthur. "Though I'm told that Runcorn spotted him in Diagon Alley the other day, looking speculatively at Madam Mulchweed's peat display…"

"Molly laughed, putting her fingers to her mouth and making a vulture gesture." –MaliceAndBone, "I'm a Good Student"

"Oh, that one?" said Ginny, giggling in her own turn. "Yes, all right, Mum. I'd be glad to." She went over to the bookshelf and fetched her old copy of Travels with Trolls from first year; returning to her mother's bedside, she opened it to Chapter 17 and began to read the story about the troll who fell asleep with a badger's carcase still lying half-chewed in his mouth, and woke up to find a vulture tearing away enthusiastically at his tongue.

Molly didn't thank her daughter in words, of course; after her recent bout of withwarty fever, the Healer had commanded her to give her throat, as well as her eyes, as complete a rest as possible for at least three days. But the smile with which she leaned back onto her pillow and drifted off to sleep made her sentiments quite clear, and Ginny glowed with inward satisfaction as she shut the book again and tiptoed from the room.

And to think, she reflected, that I one considered getting rid of my Lockhart books when I found out what a fraud he was. Could I have made Mum that happy reading Mandeville to her? I think not.

"But to make sour of that I have to leave the [B]urrow for the rest of the summer or even the rest of my life." –Kina-san, "The Forgotten Legacy"

"You do?" said Hermione, staring down at the bottle of firewhiskey on the table. "Why?"

"Well, you know," said Harry, "it's one of the loftiest and most difficult preparations in bartending, requiring tremendous spiritual advancement and purity of soul to mix properly. Unless I go and spend twenty years with the Monks of the Jade Snifter in far-off Bhutan, I can't hope to…"

Hermione stared at him. "Harry," she said, "a firewhiskey sour is one of the simplest mixed drinks there is. You take some cracked ice, the juice of half a lemon, half a teaspoon of powdered sugar, and two ounces of Ogden's; you shake it all together, strain it into a glass, and throw a cherry on top for decoration. I've seen Tom at the Leaky Cauldron do it without looking."

Harry blinked. "That's it?" he said. "No tantric meditations over the orange peel?"

"There is no orange peel."

"No three-month fast to get in touch with the harmonies of the universe, so that the spirits will direct you to the best source of bitters?"

"None of those, either."

Harry's jaw went slack for a moment; then he narrowed his eyes, and pursed his lips into a scowl. "Boy, when I get hold of Fred and George…"

*This one was thrawnca's find for this chapter.