"Tomorrow a private train, courtesy of the Minster, would take her to London at night." –AshtonTheSlut, "Vampires, Magic, and Bears! OH MY!"

Athena chewed nervously at her fingernail as the small train rattled through the darkened streets of Croydon Borough. She was grateful to Canon Boswell, of course, for arranging all this, yet she couldn't quite silence the voice of doubt in her mind; could he really rid her of the vampiric taint that had marked her family for six hundred years? Surely, it would take more than good intentions and a clerical collar to achieve that – and then, according to her friend Leona, the fellow wasn't even a real priest to begin with.

With an effort, she wrenched her mind out of this slough of despond, and focussed her attention on the landscape outside. There was Wandle Park, just in front of her; the train should be stopping right about… yes, there it went.

She picked up her valise, thanked the conductor, and disembarked; then, with the superhuman swiftness that she hoped not to have when the sun rose, she ran down Rectory Grove and through the Old Town, till she saw the great mediæval edifice rising before her. The Canon was standing on the steps, a booklet of exorcisms in his hand; as she ran up, he gave her a weary yet genuine smile.

"Well, Miss Aludrac," he said, "welcome to Croydon Minster."

"A sliver gown, a brilliant smile, her engagement ring proudly displaying our colours…" –kumikoblue, "A Wedding"

The Wedding March thundered through the church, and Severus raised his eyes, hardly daring to hope that it was really happening. But, yes, there she was: on the arm of her dentist father, her radiant happiness visible even through her veil, Hermione Granger came down the aisle – slowly, to be sure, but then he knew that she could only take the smallest steps without having a thousand tiny shards of glass dig painfully into her flesh.

Not for the first time, he shook his head in wonder. Not merely that he had won the heart of such a woman; that he had accepted as at least vaguely explicable in some degree. But who would have thought, knowing the first thing about Hermione Granger, that she would have actually wanted to get married in such a symbol of feminine masochism as his mother's sliver gown?

He let out a resigned sigh. Clearly, inexplicability was of the very essence of womanhood.

"Stupid twins! I am not a hopless-cause hero!" –wingsrookie, "101 Ways to Say Thank You"

Fred Weasley rose from his seat, and silence fell over the Gryffindor common room. "Your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "As some of you may know, today is the three hundredth anniversary of the death of Xerxes Younghusband, the great Roundhead headmaster under whose tenure Hogwarts briefly became a model of Puritan austerity and discipline. On such an occasion, it seems only right that we should recognise and salute the great man's spiritual goddaughter: the last of the modern Puritans, the greatest magical stick-in-the-mud in twelve generations, and, I am pleased to say, a very close friend of my own – Miss Hermione Granger."

Hermione jerked her head upward. "What?" she demanded.

"I concur!" said George, leaping to his own feet. "Miss Granger's success in purging Hogwarts of any form of revelry or pleasure is without parallel in modern times; should old X.Y. be present with us today, it cannot be doubted that he would embrace her as a witch after his own heart. Or perhaps not quite embrace her, since that might be construed as sinful enthusiasm, but…"

"George, don't be an ass!" Hermione snapped. "You know perfectly well that it's nothing to do with Puritanism; you saw me dancing at the Yule Ball with the best of them. But when you plot to make the whole of Slytherin House dance naked on the lawn in midwinter, then I as a prefect have to report that to Professor McGonagall!"

"Oh, don't be so modest, Hermione," Fred chuckled. "We all know it's the great dream of your heart to close every record hop in Britain, and you shouldn't be ashamed to own it. As a great Muggle author said, when we have discarded the fancy that Puritanism was rational, it will be its glory that it was fanatical – and you're the most glorious fanatic we've ever met."

"Fred," said Hermione plaintively. "George, please… it's not… really, I don't…"

She looked around at the rest of her Housemates for support, but it was plain that their sympathy lay with the twins. With a little sob, she leaped up and ran for her dormitory, with Fred's voice echoing behind her: "To Miss Hermione Granger! Three cheers for the Hopless-Cause Hero!"

"A few hours later, Draco Malfoy walked back into my room. His face was covered in tear tracts and he collapsed next to me on my bed." –Destiny's Horse, "Breathe Me Back to Life"

"You wouldn't believe the day I've had, Granger," he muttered.

I smiled. "I don't know about that," I said. "Let me guess: you tried to distribute our latest tract among the Fluxters of Gilliam Close, and they, being narrow-mindedly unimpressed with the idea that house-elf tears would be as potent as phoenix tears if it weren't for millennia of magical oppression, threw a handful of copies back in your face so hard that they fused with your skin. Yes?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "It's happened to you, too, then?"

"Once or twice," I said, and took my wand from the bedside table. "Well, let's see what we can do about it. Hold still."