This week's quiz was chosen by noybate.
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Match the quotes to the series while avoiding the red herrings:
The "Man of Property Series" by josanpq
Man Of Property Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Sanctuary Part 1, Part 2 Part 3,
Realities and Adaptations Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4,
Homecoming Part 1, Part 2
"The Coachwhip Series" by Lara aka Scorpio Grudge
The Coachwhip Series at FFN
The "Still Here" Series by Kalina
Still Here, Survivors and Homecoming
The "Phoenix" Series by grangerous
Phoenix Song (or, Hermione Granger and the H-B P) and Phoenix Tears (or, Hermione Granger and the DH)
Marry a Choice by averygoodun
Marry a Choice and She Married Her Choice
The Fire and the Rose by Abby & Domina
The Fire and the Rose and The Fire and the Rose Part 2
At Any Moment by ozratbag2
At Any Moment and At Any Moment II and Remembrance
A Matter of Honor by McAmy
A Matter of Honor Table of Contents for Book 1, Book 2 and Book 3
The "Ravenous" Series by A. Vulgarweed aka vulgarweed
Ravenous, Lionheart, Serpentine and Stormcrows
About a Potions Master Series by pigwidgeon37
About A Potions Master, About A Potions Master - Meet The Parents, About A Potions Master - In the Family Way and About A Potions Master - Xenion
The "Master of Enchantment" Series by subversa
Master of Enchantment, Bast: Operation Kitty, Meet the Parents, Meet the Boys, Meet the Beetles, Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These, A Hallowe'en Tail and Mr Alister Comes Home: A Master of Enchantment Christmas Story
The Travelogue Series by Anna
Roman Holiday, Jewel of the Nile and Last Tango in Paris
1. From underneath the clothes that were carefully folded, a sleek, black head emerged. It tested the air with its sensitive tongue, then emerged further, coming over the lip of the case. For a moment, it hung there, testing the air, then began to lower itself to the floor.
Black gave way to dark brown, and 130 centimeters later, it was on the floor and headed for the bed. It easily lifted its whip-like body up to the level of the mattress, slipping under the covers, and continued until it was completely concealed.
Slowly, it slipped along Hermione's bare skin, venturing up and over her leg repeatedly until it draped completely over it. It stilled when Hermione shifted suddenly; if she rolled to her side, it would be crushed. Yet, with a simple incoherent mumble, she stilled, and the snake continued its journey.
Across the lace of her panties it moved, its tongue flickering rapidly with keen interest. It paused at her bellybutton, its nose under her satin camisole, but retreated slightly. Free of the camisole, it continued upward until it was at her neck. Pulse steady and strong, so warm, it would have been simple enough to sleep there, but not yet.
Across her throat, up to her ear, and there, with its tongue testing the delicate flesh of her lobe, it waited.
"Did you enjoy hiding in my underwear?" Hermione said suddenly, no longer asleep.
A slight shift, and he was there, breathing seductively in her ear, his lips poised to begin nibbling. "I enjoy everything in your underwear." He nibbled then, one long-fingered hand exploring the exposed flesh of her midrift.
"My parents are right down the hall."
"Then don't scream."
2. Hermione slumped dejectedly in one of Dumbledore's big squashy armchairs, watching herself pace the room.
Their trip up from the dungeons had been an awkward affair. Fortunately that part of the school was rarely thronged with students, but the few they had seen had given them quizzical looks. Eventually, Snape had come to an abrupt halt, nearly causing Hermione to cannon into him. She hadn't quite got the rhythm of the longer stride, and was feeling a little as if she was suddenly being expected to walk on stilts.
"For heaven's sake, girl," had come the vicious whisper, the voice still sounding odd to her ears. "Don't droop along behind like that. Hurry up. And walk as if you mean it. You're supposed to be a master of this school."
She hadn't felt like pointing out that he had shoved his way in front, as usual. Swallowing the resentment, telling herself that Dumbledore would sort it out, she had tried to straighten herself up, and walk more like Snape.
They had started off again. Snape was obviously trying to persuade her, shorter, legs to match his accustomed pace. The effect had been to give her a rather unflattering waddle, she thought. She had concentrated for a couple more paces and then given up.
She had waited for a couple of curious Slytherins to pass, and then hissed "Professor!"
He had paused, and turned to glare at her. Somehow, coming from her own eyes, it had not been as bad.
"Maybe I should go in front?" she had suggested diffidently. "As I'm supposed to be a master of this school."
The answering look had been pure poison, but he had gestured for her to precede him.
3. I am an idiot. I threw the last contrivance of my pathetic life in the fire, then satisfyingly threw this journal across the room. I dented the brass edges and the leather cover looks more scraped, but that could have been when I stood on it and tried to grind it into the stonework.
It could be, but I’m not sure. If I piss myself off again I may find out the answer.
I thought Longbottom was the bane of my existence, but I was lying. She is. She is just so infuriatingly bright – it’s scary really. She makes me want to scream, shout, applaud and murder her, all in the one breath.
I hate her, understand her, dare I say – like her and given half a chance I’d cheerfully fuck her too.
I still can’t believe I’m writing this down. I’m not just pathetic. I’m a pathetic old pervert with delusions of grandeur and I don’t care.
There! I’ve written it down. Are you satisfied now?
You aren’t, are you? You won’t be, dare I say it – happy, until I root out and write down every particle of my pathetic non-existence.
I’m a puppet, controlled, cajoled and led astray by two master puppeteers. I’m not even entirely sure which one is good and which is evil anymore. I’m hedging in the belief that that they are the polar opposites of each other. They are my angel and my devil and I haven’t a clue, which is which.
4. To say that the Snapes were an old family would have been an understatement like ‘the universe is big’. In a way, it was true, but it didn’t even begin to describe reality. The Snape pedigree was so long that it lost itself in the mists of pre-Arthurian, pre-Roman and also pre-Celtic history. The family tree was loaded with famous names that could be found in tomes of wizarding history and science—no matter which field. Although a certain talent for potion-making seemed to run in the Snapes’ blood.
They had always been powerful, men and women alike, although they hadn’t always occupied positions of power. There had been times when a Snape didn’t know how to buy food for his children. This, of course, had never prevented any Snape from carrying their mostly raven-black heads high, so that everybody could see their trademark noses.
Had it been possible to translate their family history into a geometrical form, it would have closely resembled a sinus curve. Ups and downs, gently swelling over the borders of centuries, telling of light and dark times, of grief and joy, of errors and wise choices. Tracing this curve, one might notice that in times of economic hardship the family tree had always richly blossomed. During the periods of power and prosperity, the births became few. At the very top of the tree, there was now one single blossom, called Severus.
His voice pulled her back into her body, into the sharp awareness of pain and panic. Harry. The prophecy. She struggled to rise, squinting her eyes against the bright light. A cool hand on her forehead pushed her gently, but firmly, back into the bed. A bed? Where am I?
“Miss Granger.” She knew that voice: as cool as the hand on her forehead, deep, and deeply reassuring. “You are at Hogwarts, in the Hospital Wing, to be precise. I would ask you to lie still.”
“Wh-where’s Harry?” she gasped, panic pumping though her veins.
“Despite having dragged five of his fellow students on an idiotic and ill-conceived rescue attempt, neither Harry Potter nor any student other than yourself has been grievously injured. You, however, must lie still.”
Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the lighted ward. Her Potions master loomed over her bed, his dark hair hanging forward across his face.
“I understand from Mr Potter that you were cursed by Antonin Dolohov while Dolohov himself was suffering from a Silencio Hex. Is this the case?”
With the first rush of adrenaline leaking away, speaking was more difficult than Hermione had anticipated. “Yes, sir,” sounded more like “Yessss . . .”
“Neither Potter nor Longbottom were able to tell me which curse Dolohov used.” Snape’s tone implied that such ignorance was unforgivable. He quirked one interrogative eyebrow at her and waited for a response.
“I don’t know either,” she managed. Snape looked singularly unimpressed. “I’m sorry, sir . . .”
6. McGonagall hadn't been in her chambers. No doubt she was conspiring with Dumbledore to produce some exquisitely frilly public embarrassment. Even more disgruntled, the black Snape-bird returned to the sky to practice his aerial maneuvers. As he passed the far side of the tower some three hundred feet up, he saw a dim light in a narrow high window that was rarely lit, and decided to practice a bit of landing. When he came to a bumpy stop on the broad windowsill, he couldn't quite rein in his unusual curiosity.
Too late it hit him--the prefect's bathroom. And there was that seventh-year Gryffindor know-it-all, Granger the Head Girl herself, standing before the mirror in a sweeping red robe, looking almost as surly as he felt. So the wondrous day hasn't been good to her either, Snape thought. What a shock.
He got a shock for real when she suddenly shrugged off the robe. Merlin! he thought, taking in the sudden new view, those creamy roundnesses. Who knew?
Sense or sensibility tried nobly to kick in. You shouldn't be doing this, he told himself.
Doing what? said his evil side, mentally tucking away his new notes on everything Miss Granger concealed under those robes, allowing himself to wonder what it would be like to run his fingers down that groove in her back, gather that perky full breast up in his palm, to take a bite of that perfect plump buttock.
Get out of here, said his rapidly weakening better half. Time to really practice flying.
But it was too late.
7. Hermione stayed up half the night perfecting the questionnaire. The questionnaire itself was made up of the mundane first through third date questions: a simple way of gathering some basic information. The more important and revealing part of the survey was the charm woven throughout the questions. It was an old, if esoteric, spell that measured people's personality compatibility. Used by yentas and other matchmakers, it provided simple signs of compatibility, changeable to the magus' preference. Hermione had chosen to charm each questionnaire to turn her potential mate's name one of five colors.
If the ink stayed red, it meant the person would be utterly destructive to her well being and soul. Indigo was slightly better, indicating a corrosive influence that could be overcome, but only with difficulty. Cerulean blue was neutral, neither harmful nor helpful, but most likely not conducive to a satisfying relationship. Green and gold were the two positive colors, with gold indicating the highest potential for life long happiness and fulfillment.
By the time she finished charming the last parchment, Hermione could barely keep her eyes open. Laying the final survey face down on the small stack, she crept into bed, not bothering to change into her nightclothes. Her last thought, before fading off into the land of Nod, was hoping she had cast the spell correctly.
8. Hermione stormed back to where Tonks was laughing and said, in a lowered voice, "Please do NOT embarrass me, Tonks. That was silly school girl stuff. We’re all grown up, now."
She had a moment of impatience, waiting for Tonks to promise to behave. Then Tonks's eyes grew wide, in comical alarm, and Hermione felt the thrill run down her spine as a soft, sinister voice said, "I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear it."
Turning quickly, Hermione found Severus Snape standing right behind her. His trademark sneer was firmly in place, and his black, heavily lidded eyes bore an expression of benign boredom. Her hungry gaze consumed the silky black hair, now threaded with silver, his pale skin, the hawkish nose, and his unrelieved black attire.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she said, "G-good evening, Professor Snape."
Snape inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving her face, and he said, "Miss Granger."
"Wotcher, Severus?" Tonks said, giving Snape a lopsided grin.
Still watching Hermione's face, Snape said, "Hello, Tonks."
Hermione found herself speechless, and immobilized by the strength of his steady regard. She heard Tonks babbling on about how Crookshanks had escaped his carrier, and asking after Snape's plans for the summer holiday, and still his black eyes bored into her own soft brown ones, and she was unable to think, unable to speak, unable to move, so mesmerized was she by him.
Tonks was winding down to an embarrassed silence, and Hermione was trying desperately to break her gaze away from Snape, when a very cheerful, "So, you found them Severus! Welcome, ladies!" startled her into looking away from him, up the path, to Remus Lupin.
9. Hermione couldn’t believe how well her summer was turning out.
What had first promised to be an ordinary family vacation had been abruptly derailed when Mum broke her ankle gardening. No sightseeing for her this year, she’d announced gloomily, and Hermione had steeled herself, disappointed, for Quiet Holidays at Home.
But then Giulia had called, inviting her to visit, glamorous Cousin Giulia with her flat in the Piazza del Spagna and her zippy little red moped with the racing stripe and her scholarship to the Film Design Institute. Please, please, PLEASE, Hermione had begged, and listed, in writing, the first million or so reasons why Rome was at the top of her Must-See List.
Her trump card, the angle that finally convinced her parents to let her go, was the summer research project she was doing for Muggle Studies, on the Italian sorcerer Palestrina. Think of the libraries, she’d rhapsodized. The cathedrals. The living, breathing history!
In the end, they said yes. Of course. Mostly because they trusted her to be sensible.
Well, screw being sensible.
10. The boundary lines between the properties to either side were hedges composed of hawthorn mixed with some damson, yew with holly: the third, narrower, farthest hedge was a mixture of elder, hazel, sycamore and rose. Most of the hedges were a good 15 feet high, some dating from the early 1700's, and in dire need of a good pruning. Their density also acted as a wind barrier, a practical decision made by whichever owner had orchestrated the initial planting.
A Muggle owner.
Because, of course, no wizard would sell him property, even if he had been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. And that he hadn’t been bothered to pick it up had only added to their mistrust of him.
Severus Snape carefully walked over the property whose purchase he was considering. He needed a place to live, now that he had officially left Hogwarts. And thanks to Albus Dumbledore’s uneasy conscience, he had more than enough gold in his Gringotts vault to live the rest of his life, such as it would be, in a certain ease and comfort. Other than an extremely decent donation to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and specific gifts, Severus Snape had been Albus Dumbledore’s sole heir. Much to the displeasure of some few, who thought there were far better and more deserving recipients for the contents of Dumbledore’s library and vault.