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Match the quotes to the story titles:
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Contraceptus by ariadne1 written for droxy_fangirls (Click on link below the description for chapters 1-3)
Understanding by karelia written for anniecherie
A Member of the Family by bambu345 written for between2snakes
New Beginnings by madeleone written for morethanmolly (also on Ashwinder)
Never Presume by periwinkle27 written for love4mugglegirl
Snape is the Best Medicine by blueartemis07 written for care_of_mia (Also on OWL)
Daddy by talesofsnape for bambu_love
A Curious Noise by swerley written for ohshug
The Vagaries of Fate by scatteredlogic written for sgwlurve
Treats by dreamy_dragon73 written for cult_of_blonds (Hermione/Severus/Lucius)
1. Minerva’s voice pulled her out of her reverie and back to the present. “I know that right now you are hurting, but perhaps this break-up is the impetus you need to make a fresh start,” Minerva said, patting Hermione solicitously. “They do say all things happen for a reason.”
Hermione sighed as she stared out the window of the headmistress’ office. “Maybe you’re right, Minerva. But this is one hell of a way for fate to teach me a lesson.”
“Tell me the truth, dear. What is it you’ve always wanted to do? What is that secret dream that you’ve always kept hidden in the back of your mind? Old dreams never die, my dear, they are just filed away. When the time is right, they can be pulled out and put to use.”
Hermione pondered the question for a while, she'd never wanted to do the things a normal little girl did, not a nurse or a secretary or a teacher. She'd wanted to be a scientist or an astronaut or an explorer. She'd spent so many hours lost in the pages of a book. Suddenly, a smile broke through. “I love books. I’ve always wanted to write. When I was a little girl, I used to make up stories all the time and dreamed that some day I’d be a writer.”
2. “Puppy!” Hugo enunciated as only a five-year old could. “We have a puppy.”
“Not a puppy, silly. A dog.” Rose had badgered her father for months about getting a dog, especially after her best friend, Alexis Thomas, had received a puppy for her birthday. Unhappily for Rose and Hugo, Ron’s position had been implacable. “He’s hurt, of course, but when he’s all better, he’ll sleep in my room, and—”
“I want him to sleep with me,” Hugo said, and then to trump his sister, he declared, “He can sleep on my bed.”
Hermione concentrated while casting antiseptic, Episkey, and suturing spells, but she raised her voice as the children drew near. “He won’t be sleeping on anyone’s bed; and until he’s had a bath—” black eyes shifted from watching the approach of the children to her face “—the professor, here, won’t be allowed in the house.”
“Perfesser? Is that his name, Mummy?” the little boy asked, his curly red hair tousled about his brow, his sleepy eyes blinking to clear the last of his nap from his consciousness.
“Pro-fess-or,” Rose corrected. “Say it properly, Hugo.”
Hermione hooked the tip of her holly wand (one Ron had bought after Rose’s birth, when the wand of her childhood no longer seemed to work as well) and knotted the last suture closing the dog’s wound. She then accepted the emergency kit from Rose, and quickly located and removed two vials from the basket she kept in her still room. “I don’t know, Hugo,” she answered her son’s question. “He might not stay with us once he’s healed, but if he does, the choice of name should be up to him, don’t you think?”
Rose snorted. “How can we ask him? He’s a dog; he can’t talk.” The black head rose from Hermione’s newly soiled skirt, and he made a sound unlike any dog Hermione had ever heard. He scoffed.
3. The doors of the hospital wing were thrown aside as if by a hurricane and Severus Snape billowed his way to his daughter's bedside.
"Daddy! Someone put slippy stuff at the top of the stairs and I skidded and I put my arm out when I fell and now it hurts."
Severus swept the ebony-haired girl in her lilac robes into his arms, his eyes narrowing as he mouthed the word, "Peeves?" at his wife over their daughter's shoulder.
"The Baron is already looking for him," Hermione whispered back before continuing in her normal voice. "Her right arm has multiple fractures. I've tried to explain to her that she's too young for Skele-Gro, but she wouldn't let Poppy do anything. She insists that Daddy will make it better."
"And so he shall," Severus purred, setting the girl back on the bed. "Where does it hurt?"
Severina sniffed loudly and used the index finger of her left hand to point to a spot slightly below her right elbow. "Here."
Severus bent his head and tenderly kissed the spot she had indicated.
"And here," added his daughter, pointing further down.
Again Severus added a caress, carefully straightening the broken arm by touch as he did so.
The girl didn't so much as flinch. "And here." Severina pulled up her skirts to show two grazed knees, which Severus dutifully kissed.
4. Headmaster Snape was starting to get worried. No one had seen Miss Granger for 3 days. The elves said that the Head Missy was not feeling well, but did not need the infirmary.
"Well, Fred, there is nothing else for it. I am going to have to go see for myself what is going on," the headmaster said to his cat. He strode out of his office, cat on his head (he couldn't convince the irritating creature that his shoulder would be a better perch) toward the Head Girl's quarters.
On his way there he ran into Draco Malfoy, who was holding his very own kitten, and cooing at it.
"Draco, for Merlin's sake, stop cooing at the cat. You look ridiculous!" exclaimed Snape as he strode by.
Draco looked at him then back at his cat. "Ignore him Speck! He says I look ridiculous, but I'm just talking to you. He's wearing Fred!"
The headmaster finally arrived at Miss Granger's rooms and spoke to the portrait of Isolde that guarded her door. "Would you please tell Miss Granger that I am here, and to please open the door?"
Isolde went inside to speak to Hermione.
Shortly thereafter, Hermione opened her door. She was pale, there were dark circles under puffy eyes, her hair was--oh, Merlin--her hair was flat. Was she dying?
5. The day was filled with—was it love, perhaps?—presenting a truly deep blue sky in stark contrast to the sandy and lime and ballast shades of red the rocks brought forth.
Suddenly, dread overcame him as he remembered the last encounter near the Great Pyramid.
“Professor! How nice to see you. How are you?”
“That is none of your concern.” He sneered and turned to leave to spend the remainder of the day with his usual miserable self.
He looked around and spotted her speaking to Draco. Passing the Potters with a curt nod, he tried not to hurry in too obvious a fashion. The band started playing a rumba, and he was slowed down by couples heading for the dance floor, crossing his path.
“Miss Granger… Draco.”
“Severus! How are you?” Draco looked genuinely pleased to see him.
“Professor Snape.” Her smile hid nothing. She was apprehensive.
“I’m fine, Draco, thank you.” He turned to her and took a deep breath. “Perhaps a dance?”
Now her smile was dazzling. “I’d love to.”
6. “You… you did what?”
“My shoe,” Hermione sniffled loudly. “I hit him with it.”
“Oh…” The corner of Molly’s mouth twitched. “Oh, my.”
“Don’t laugh, please.”
“Of course not.” But her mouth twitched again, and she couldn’t help chuckling. “Your shoe…” She chuckled again. “Oh, I’m not laughing at you, no, of course not. But really, between the two of you, do you think you could find a less painful way to say ‘I love you’? If you tried?”
Hermione was stunned. “Love? Me?”
At her look, Molly’s laughter deepened. “Of course! Whatever else did you think we were talking about?”
7. They were standing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and Professor Snape was supposed to be working on Order business before he had to rush back to Hogwarts. He only had a limited time to do it in and, truth be told, he could actually use her help. But to admit that would make him seem like someone other than the Greasy Git image he cultivated. He never, ever acted nicely to Potter and his friends, though he secretly admired Hermione’s intellect and quick thinking. He couldn’t afford to be anything other than the nasty Potions Master Potter believed him to be if he was to survive as a spy. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was also in the kitchen, and Snape could tell that he hadn’t fooled the old coot one bit, based on the twinkle in his eye. For the thousandth time, Snape hoped the Headmaster would choke on his lemon sherbet but, as with all other wishes in Snape’s life, he was not to get what he wanted.
“Severus, I really think you should accept Miss Granger’s offer,” Dumbledore said.
Snape growled back, “I haven’t time to explain this to her.”
“I think you’ll find she doesn’t require a lot of explanation if all she is doing is chopping roots,” Dumbledore replied.
Ah well, he had only protested for the form of it anyway. He could afford to grudgingly accept without appearing too nice.
“Well, Headmaster, if you insist upon it, I suppose I can tolerate Miss Granger in a small dose, although I would prefer to work alone.”
“Ah, Severus, I do insist.”
8. 'Happy birthday, dear.'
'Mhmm.' Feeling warm lips on her cheek, Hermione sleepily blinked her eyes open to find her smiling husband sitting on the bed, wearing nothing but his dressing gown. A few kisses later, she was awake enough to notice the tray floating next to their bed. A vase containing a single, dark red rose sat on it, together with a piece of chocolate cake on a plate and a mug of steaming café au lait, which, since their honeymoon in France, had become her favourite morning beverage. Despite the enticing smell that wafted from the mug, she decided that breakfast could wait and put her arms around her husband's neck. 'So are you going to surprise me?' she asked suggestively.
'Didn't you mention something about wanting to see the Peter Doig at the Tate?'
'You'd spend your day watching, how did you call it — pointless heaps of colour because painters ran out of ideas once the Muggle world discovered photography?' Hermione teased, slowly stroking her thumb over the nape of his neck.
Severus cast her a long-suffering look. 'This one at least paints something you can recognise, and since it makes you happy.'
Hermione had known for a while that he was neither as uninterested nor as ignorant of contemporary Muggle art as he pretended to be, but knew better than to tell him that. Instead she smiled. 'The things you do for me. Any more plans?'
'A light lunch, and in the afternoon, I've made arrangements for you to see M. Beaupied's newest shoe collection.'
9. "Lachesis, wake up! You're being invoked."
Her brown eyes cracked open. "What?"
"You're being invoked," Clotho repeated and prodded her sister's shoulder.
Lachesis sat up on her chaise lounge, her hair matted on one side and a pillow wrinkle on her cheek.
"Can't you see that I'm taking a nap?" she snarled. "And mortals don't believe in us anymore; we don't have to answer if they don't believe in us."
"But they're witches," Clotho insisted.
Lachesis rubbed her cheek and yawned. "So? Witches don't believe in us anymore, either."
"One of them does." Clotho sounded unbearably smug. "And she's Greek."
"Greek?" Lachesis echoed. She peered into the scrying bowl that Clotho held out to her. She could see the watery reflections of three witches, heads crowded together over a similar scrying bowl. "Stop shaking it. Put it down on the table."
Clotho placed the bowl on a nearby low table, and Lachesis leaned over the bowl again.
"She's not Greek," Lachesis protested, then frowned. "Is her hair pink?"
"She's Greek on her father's side," Clotho said, her tone still smug. "One fourth Greek to be precise, and that's enough to invoke us. It's in the rules."
10. Transfiguration Apprentice Hermione Granger paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, a puzzled frown creasing her face. A quick glance around revealed no source for the unusual noise. Not that she truly expected it to this time if it hadn't been revealed to her up to this point.
Apparently, Minerva couldn't hear it. Odd that. One would think a woman who was a cat in her other form would have excellent hearing. Unless she was deliberately ignoring it. Hermione narrowed her eyes at her. A peek at Severus Snape on her other side, glowering at his breakfast, quelled the query she almost considered voicing. Shrugging inwardly, she returned to her eggs, determined to put the oddity out of her mind.
Well into her sixth month of her two year apprenticeship, Hermione had enough to concern herself with. So what if this weird noise was completely out of the ordinary? Or that she'd been hearing it now for several days here in the Great Hall? It wasn't hurting anything, was it? Of course not! So, stop obsessing over it, she reprimanded herself, as if that could bloody well work.
As her eyes made another fruitless scan of the room, her gaze fell on Snape just as the sound occurred again.
...and the potions master froze. He heard it, too, she thought, finally relieved that at least someone else could hear it. But why wasn't he searching out it's source as she had been?
Unless it was coming from him.