Author's note: Only three Minuets this time, I'm afraid; given the length of the first one's title, trying to squeeze four in would require two of their titles to consist of a single orthographic symbol – and, with "I" already taken, the odds of that being possible in the foreseeable future seemed bleak. I'll put five in the next chapter, to make up for it.

"Even the [M]uggles Homer and Shakespeare knew of what great importance women who bestowed this name would be of. Hermione." –in transit, "Friendly Fire"

"'Small blame is it that Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans should for such a woman long time suffer hardships; marvellously like is she to the immortal goddesses to look upon' … 'the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul'…" The sonorous passages rolled triumphantly off Peter Winslow's tongue as he settled back in his armchair with a satisfied sigh. One could argue with Homer alone, and one could argue with Shakespeare alone, but when the two of them concurred on something, one could only submit. That Helen of Troy was a woman of unique and glorious moment could be regarded as proven; that his own daughter, now that he had persuaded her to bestow upon her only child the same name as Helen had bestowed upon hers, would prove to play an equally glorious and momentous role, followed as an inevitable consequence.

He knew, of course, that not everyone shared this latter view of his. His own wife, for some misbegotten reason, had flatly rejected the idea that a woman's destiny was shaped by the name she gave her eldest child, and had insisted on naming their own daughter Anne – whereupon, of course, he had been forced to quietly poison her, lest she convert him to a subversive ideology that would eventually bring about his downfall, as Anne Hyde Stuart had done to her own husband. (It was possible, of course, that Destiny would have referred the name Anne to the saint rather than to the queen – but, as nothing seemed to be known about the mother of St. Anne, there was no guarantee that that would have been any better. Anyway, he didn't believe in taking chances with such things.)

Now, though, all was well. Little Hermione Granger was formally and irrevocably christened, and her mother was set on the path that would cause her name to ring down the ages. To be sure, it was hard on young Edward to be stuck with the role of Menelaus – but, after all, one couldn't make an omelet without breaking some eggs.

"Sirius woke to James shouting in his are, and quickly pushed the boy off the edge of his bed." –MopCat, "Forgotten Wishes"

"Attention, House of Black!" James announced. "I, James Potter, being in possession of the second guest bedroom of No. 12, Grimmauld Place, unilaterally declare the full 100 square metres of Sirius Black's bedroom to be annexed thereto. At one stroke, I have doubled my personal territory, and set myself upon a program of conquest that cannot but lead to my absolute suzerainty over the whole of London, and thence of the world. If any of my hosts wish to preemptively yield to my manifest destiny, I will meet them in the breakfast nook at eight o'clock to discuss terms of… awwk!"

As he tumbled to the floor in a flailing heap of arms, legs, and blankets, Sirius hoisted himself up on his elbow and gazed down at him with amused if still-bleary eyes. "Okay, Prongs, two new rules," he said. "First, no imperial expansionism before sun-up. Second, we Blacks were experts in the land-seizing business centuries before anybody'd heard of the Potters, so, unless you want to be reduced to cringing serfdom, you lay off my are."

"'Shut up[,] James, he's still talking,' a round toe-headed boy said quietly, trying to listen…" –thetingirl, "Courting"

To almost anyone else, James would have retorted that one could hear Sirius talk any time, and a report on the Herbological composition of Amortentia was hardly the most fascinating thing he'd ever said – certainly not more interesting than James's impression of Professor Schwarz reading aloud from the Mahabharata. But he checked himself; there was something about this particular classmate that always made him wary of offering provocation. After all, when a kid had an enormous big toe where his head ought to be, there had to be something macabre about his background and life story; who knew what he might be capable of if sufficiently irked?

"Yeah, all right," he murmured. "Sorry, Velez."