These drabbles are not part of the "Meetings with Remarkable Muggles" series. All are precisely 100 words long, not counting titles.
1. This drabble was a birthday present to McTabby, who named her kitten Imperio. Like all the other drabbles here, it is exactly 100 words long (plus title)
Shroedinger's Stray Kitten
Cats who live among wizards quickly learn not to play with wands, no matter how temptingly the wands might twitch. But the house elves had adopted little Imperio only a few days before the Final Battle of the Great War took place in Hogwart's vast kitchens. As everyone but the kitten expected, it came down to a duel between two wizards. The red-eyed one faced the green-eyed one, both fallen to the floor in exhaustion, both with wands still drawn, when with a playful pounce, the overlooked kitten deflected the wand that emitted the spell that otherwise would have killed
2. Sharp Tongue posed this challenge as part of McTabby's drabblethon:
SS/LM, with the text "Since, if we loved like beasts, the thing is done, And I'll not hide it, though our heaven be hell."
Beasts, the thing is done
The first spectres from the Battle of Hogsmeade sat in the ghostly pub. Lucius Malfoy sipped delicately, revealing no regret that he would never taste wine again, nor joy that the wineglass would never empty. Severus Snape scowled over his flavorless port.
"So. You betrayed us," Malfoy said.
"After you seduced me into joining that nasty gang," Snape replied.
"What a tasteless mess this all became," sighed Malfoy.
"If only we'd never taken up with each other back at Hogwarts. All this -- " Snape gestured at the ruined town, "because you enjoyed playing with snakes a little too much."
3. This drabble responded to a scenario produced by Leogryffin's frightening plot-generation device:
Losing by a hair
Draco looked unusually puzzled as Professor Snape contradicted the Restricted Section's tome.
Snape's wand tapped the wriggling illustration: "Real men don't use lube. You aren't gay if you don't enjoy taking it up the arse at first. Anyhow, I don't want you. You're to marry Pansy. Now I have to, ah, do something with a potion in my laboratory. I've only six minutes to spare." Snape walked off; Draco, heartbroken, thought his backside swayed more enticingly than ever.
The real Professor Snape writhed, magically hogtied, in a potion-lab closet. What an inopportune way to discover that Parkinson truly was Slytherin.
4. This was part of the "first sentence" meme -- it's a drabble inspired by Ellen Fremedon's first line, which is also the first line of the drabble.
Gone but not forgotten
For every absent face in the Great Hall, two strangers looked up. Luckily, Parkinson found room at the Hufflepuff table. She'd lost count of how often some Slytherin had hissed "turncoat" at her, at their table. Most were gone now, of course, but still ... So here she sat among the muggle-born and the half-human. Dumbledore's absent smile and sharp eye turned toward her, too, as he looked across the room. She tried to look grateful. She ought to look grateful.
"Could be worse, miss," her neighbor -- a goblin, of all things -- said. He patted her shoulder. "We're not dead yet."
5. mulberry_fields requested a drabble on the topic of "Headmistress Luna Lovegood" and so this is for her, at 100 words plus title:
In the rainy summer of 2039, Headmaster Snape's war wounds finally killed him; shortly, the faculty of Hogwarts gathered so the Sorting Hat might select a new Head. The Hat always picked from among Hogwarts's most senior professors, though tradition demanded that the selection begin with the junior-most faculty. So when the Hat bellowed IT'S HER! as soon as it landed on the first candidate, everyone was stunned.
Or almost everyone. "Well," Luna Lovegood told them, "you know, when I was hired for the Arithmancy position, the Quibbler predicted that I'd end up Headmistress. I think the library should subscribe."
6. This was written for McTabby's 2005 Drabblethon, with a prompt from la_fono: Hermione/Minerva, post Hogwarts, with Hermione taking the lead.
Having survived several wars, Minerva McGonagall felt nothing could frighten her now. Or so she would have claimed before love surprised her, late in life. Now she found herself standing up to dance, wearing a Muggle wedding dress, in front of every living soul she knew, knees trembling.
But there was her surprising beloved, unexpectedly dashing in the Muggle wedding suit, taking her by the waist as the waltz began. "Remember how we practiced it," said her former pupil, her war hero, her lawfully wedded spouse, "and just let me lead. Everything's going to be fine."
And so it was.