"Lily Evans had been able to hear the music for as long as she could remember; it was just ironic that the one time she ignored it would be the one time it thoroughly screwed her up." The sorta-Moana!AU so let that influence your reading of it if you wish *bows magnanimously*

It's as Hermione is putting on lipstick – lips puckered as she leans over their shared dresser to look at her face in the vanity mirror – that Ron realises he has no idea when she stopped wearing ruby red, and started wearing brown. [sorta angst, sorta idk-how-to-angst. Romione]

"I don't understand," Pomona is saying, hands all twisted in the apron she refuses to go anywhere without, "I've tried everything!" She reaches the end of the room. "Next thing you know, humans are gonna be immune to sirens and then where will be? Desolate and destitute!"

"Very well then. You don't want my advice. Go ahead and sell your soul to the witch for a bushel of tomatoes." Rose's eyes widened and she looked back at the stall just in time to see the attendant's face twist into a wicked smile before she, and her enchanted tomatoes, vanished.

All the furniture bar the side board has been knocked over, and the carpet is covered in an array of shit, from silly string to empty bottles of apple juice. He can see scorch marks up the wall and stuffing tossed all around, and is that–? How in Merlin's name did they get jelly stuck to the ceiling!

Like all good things, it begins with an accusation of murder. "Murder?" Surely she hasn't heard that right… "Yup!" The man sounds oddly cheerful for someone discussing murder. "My best friend is a vile betrayer and he killed Dr. Black!"

Blaise looked at him over the rim of his cup worriedly. "It's not fair to you, mate." "Doesn't matter," Draco told him flippantly. "She needs me."

It all started with an entirely innocuous and not-at-all-suspicious box. Mind you, the box had holes punched into the top and was meowing slightly, but that's not the point.

It wasn't until she joined the Order and met Fleur, that Tonks ever took to wondering what would happen should she take the famed Polyjuice potion. That question led, quite obviously, to her wondering about the effect on someone who was to take a Polyjuice potion with her hair in it. (minor WolfStar - implied)

Simon's face took on a fond smile. "Knock 'em dead, kiddo." Katie faced the stage and steeled her shoulders, already feeling the character take over. "I always do."

Thrown back, and across, and THROUGH. Hermione had no clue of what awaited her, moving forward. She could only clutch her notebook and hope, against all hope, that she would survive this. Because going by the trouble she had already gone through, it seemed that the Essence of Time was a well sought after commodity.

George's earliest memory of Fred is a little blurry. His twin is standing in front of him in their shared cot, looking disdainfully down at him as if to say, 'it's not as if it's hard'. His nappy clung to his cute little baby butt like designer Gucci, and his baby-jumpsuit hung splendidly from his frame. George, meanwhile, was covered in snot and mushy banana from lunch time.

It was deathly quiet in the poky hospital room. The family stood watch over the frail figure in the bed, holding a bedside wake for what was sure to be his final hours. Oliver Wood had lived a good life.

Summer was at an end. Finally. Time to catch some Bad Guys.

She had just been hit by a car. It had gone right through her. "So, I'm dead then?" "Kid, you're dead. Just not gone." Who knew death would involve landing in the world of your favourite book? At least she still had Jamie...