Want to give Hermione a run for her money in the know-it-all field? Simply play the quiz by commenting on this post with your answers at any time over the weekend. All comments with answers will be screened until the answer sheet is posted on Monday morning EDT. On Monday, all quizzlings with the correct answers will receive a pretty banner to prove their quiz prowess. Ready? Set? Play!
Match the quotes to the story titles without choosing the red herring titles:
Living Legacy by sshg316
Cloak of Courage by wendynat
Second Hand Wand by irishredlass
Vain Wisdom All and False Philosophy by battle_of_lissa (WIP)
Spellcaster by SGCbearcub
This Time by subversa
A Walking Shadow by ariadne1
Shattered by Adriana
Bottle (Severus) by justjeanette WIP
An Irresistible Force by psyfic
Hermione's List by moonglow
Limited Exposure by sunnythirty3 (WIP)
1. He moved towards the doors into the Great Hall, eyeing up the girls in the most revealing costumes as he went by. A Polynesian girl in grass skirt and coconut bra gave him a saucy wink before turning and walking away from him, and he was following her when a naval officer from the Napoleonic era bumped into an Arabian genie, causing her to drop the lipstick she held. The officer apologised, and the genie bent to pick up her lipstick …and the harem pants she wore revealed the edge of a gryphon tattoo.
Saucy Polynesian girls were wiped from his mind as he advanced on the girl with the gryphon tattoo; he'd jinx the naval bloke, if necessary, to get her away from him.
The genie held up her compact as he paused at her shoulder and said, 'It's a nice colour, but you don't need it.' Severus started—whose voice was that? It didn't sound like him.
The genie looked up at him, her lips forming an "o" of surprise.
He smiled down at her, noting the intricate tracings of garnet filigree through her golden sunburst mask, and the waist-length silky black hair falling down her back. 'It might not be safe,' he said.
'Why?' she asked, and though he strained to identify her voice, he could not.
'Because your lips are already far too kissable,' he said, lowering his voice so that only she could hear him.
2. “Damn it, Hermione! Of all times to decide to slack off on the research ….” He ran his hands through his long red hair before he moved to kneel in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. “Did you feel a sharp pain in your neck, near the top of your spine?”
“Yes. Now would you please tell me what is going on?”
“Bloody hell, Hermione, you don’t even know what you did, do you?” Bill began to laugh; it was not a pleasant sound. “You married him!”
Hermione felt her jaw go slack, and she stared at him blankly, unable to form more than a single word. “Married?”
“It’s as simple as looking at the incantation,” Bill explained. “The first word is the part of the spell that causes conception between the two participants. The second means “binding” or “couple,” for Merlin’s sake! You sealed the binding with a kiss. For all intents and purposes, it’s a marriage and is considered such by the Ministry.”
After several tense moments, Hermione said, “I just assumed it had to do with binding the pregnancy to me ….” She paused and then shook her head. “Even if you’re right, it doesn’t change anything. I’m still pregnant and on my own. It changes nothing.” Except I’d be a grieving widow, instead of a grieving friend.
“You don’t believe me?” Bill asked. “Fine. I’ll prove it. This pain you felt in your neck—did it leave a mark?”
Hermione stared at him; dear gods, she had married Severus Snape. “Yes. I suppose now you want to see it, right?” she asked irritably.
Bill’s entire body seemed to freeze, as though he had been petrified. “The mark—it’s still there?”
3. She did not think it important to note, but during her slow examination of Snape’s bare upper body, the idea of attempting to catch a glimpse of his Dark Mark never once crossed her mind. Hermione’s psyche, however, was not infantile enough to deny its existence under Snape’s stern black robes. Every day in his presence since had she joined the Order, the idea of him bearing the Dark Lord’s tattoo seemed no more out of the ordinary then the presence of cruelty in his voice.
Instead, her attention became ensnared by a tattoo of a different sort.
Hermione’s eyes swiveled rapidly as she tried to visually take in this captivating enigma. The familiar fuzziness behind her eyebrows returned as the confusion of two very distinct emotions flooded her senses. Her stomach felt greasy with disgust as she eyed the blotchy streaks of dried blood. Yet, at the same time, she could not help but marvel at the sight of the taut muscles of his slender back. A back which seemed to serve as a perfect canvas for the deep ebony ink work covering it.
Her breath caught in her chest as she eyed the massively large, knotted design that spread from the nape of his neck to the protruding bones of his shoulders. The twisting chains continued down the entire expanse of his back and sides of his ribcage, ending above the waistband of his trousers. She had never seen a Celtic illustration so rich in detail. Endless knots connected with thin chains at the top of his spine, gradually expanded into heavy spikes at his lower back. His whole back was colored in at various links to give the illusion of depth, serving to highlight some chains more then others. Hermione’s damp hands began to twitch as the sudden urge to slide her fingers across the massive tattoo burst into her mind.
Her distracted reverie ended at the sound of a hiss.
4. He groaned. She was killing him, finally succeeding where Voldemort had failed, he thought with black humour. He looked up at her, and then ran his eyes slowly and appreciatively down her body to where her curls met his. And stopped. What on earth...? His eyes widened and shot back up to her puzzled face.
"Is that a bruise?" he tormented himself with the thought he had been too rough earlier. He twisted across the bed to grab his wand, dislodging her in the process.
"Lumos!" a soft glow lit the bed as he raised his wand. He sat up and held her hip still in one firm hand so he could look closer. She squirmed slightly and he tightened his grip.
"Stay still." He looked closer and then shot her a startled look. "It's a tattoo!"
"Like it?" she smiled coyly, as his finger traced the design gently.
"Very appropriate, Miss Granger. Mystic Ink?"
"How did..?" she peered up at him under her lashes, trying to ignore the hypnotic swirl of his finger on her hip. She flushed with fresh arousal and licked her lips, watching his eyes darken.
"You're not the only one to visit Madam Ollivander..." he bent down to kiss her hip, the muscles of back stretching over his spine. She lifted up onto her elbows and gasped - and not just through what he was doing with his tongue.
"You've got one tooooo..." she fell back with a moan. He looked up and grinned at her. Her breath caught at he way it lit up his face.
5. She looked at him for a moment, then repaired the mantle with a flick of her wand.
When he did not respond, she took a step closer, hooking a finger behind one of the buttons on her shirt. “Severus,” she said more firmly.
He stood, unmoving.
“Severus,” she yelled.
He flinched. Her voice echoed in the house which suddenly loomed, vast and empty, around them.
“Look at me.”
He shook his head.
“Look at me,” her voice blistered with command.
Out of the corner of his eye, through his hair, he risked one glance.
With one finger, she undid two of her buttons and pulled her shirt to expose the mark on her chest.
The ring of seven black pearl-sized dots was filling, from the center outward, with a small black roiling cloud.
His eyes glittered - empty, save for a terrible, patient hunger.
6. "Think about it, Dr. Granger," Snape purred. "If there was such a thing as a potion that could weaken the soul, then a spell that could shatter it..."
"Voldemort could be defeated," Hermione finished in disbelief.
"Precisely. Right now, our biggest stumbling block has been that he's been using his physical body like an Imperius curse. He controls the body, but he doesn't fully inhabit it. Killing his body is pointless, his soul, such as it is, would only escape until a new body could be found. But if his soul is shattered, it would be the end of him."
Harry leaned forward in his chair. "But do you think Voldemort has figured this out? Is that why he's so interested in Hermione's research?"
"That and the fact that she's a Sentient. What Dr. Granger so pointedly forgot to mention is the fact that a Sentient can bring those who have suffered a fatal injury from Dark Magic back from the brink of death. Contrary to popular belief, the Killing Curse isn't the only Dark Magic that kills. Perhaps Voldemort thinks that he would have occasion to make use of your Sentient Kiss?"
Snape continued. "I take it you still have the Sentient Mark? You haven't wasted it on some undeserving dunderhead, have you?"
"No, it's here." She stood up and pulled her wild hair away from the nape of her neck. There, poised in splendid technicolor, was the tattoo of a Phoenix. The amazing thing about it was that it seemed to move, as if it were a living creature.
"Oh my," muttered Harry. "We have a lot to talk about, Hermione!"
As if on cue, Fawkes flew from Dumbledore's shoulder to his perch, and stretching his wings, he let out a single, beautiful note.
7. Hermione had just completed her third transformation in front of the wall-length blackboard-cum-mirror when Severus Snape stormed into the classroom, stopping dead in his tracks. His eyes focused in on the grey wolf, whose eyes were staring back at him through the mirror it faced, shifting down to the left front flank where, in black relief, there appeared a tattoo of the same symbol tattooed to his own left pectoral muscle… the mark identifying him as a Potions master.
His black eyes flickered to Minerva’s, back to the wolf, and back again to Minerva as realization dawned on his stunned features.
The Transfiguration mistress allowed a slight nod of her head to acknowledge what he already surmised. Hermione Granger had managed to become an Animagus, and she wore his mark. What could this mean?
As quickly as he had entered, Severus Snape turned on his heel and was gone, leaving in his wake the swirling of his black robes.
8. Skimming his fingers over her hip, he traced the outline of her tattoo. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about this. What is the significance of the design? I’ve seen it somewhere, but I can’t remember the details.” He nearly missed the subtle alteration in muscle tone as she shifted a little.
“It’s a commonly used symbol. I’m sure if you thought about it you could divine the meaning.”
Snape snorted softly. “Divination has never been my forte.”
At last, an opening. “Divination?”
Swiftly closed. “Divination. Fortune-telling. Tarot cards. That sort of rubbish.”
“Well, perhaps it will remain a mystery then. Now, I believe you were about to show me how much you’ve learned.”
His hands returned to their self-appointed task of cataloguing every inch of her skin as his lips claimed her mouth with hot, impatient desire.
Slowly, as the fires continued to build within, Snape eased between her parted thighs and rediscovered nirvana. This time, they moved in a rhythm of peace and harmony, allowing the sensations to envelop their every nerve ending until with a gasp, Grace Henman called out in exultation.
“Oh, yes! Severusss!”
9. Her magic strummed the lines of the tattoos as fingers strummed a harp, and the tone admitted was a note that instinct - the very instinct she had never possessed - told her was the sum of the very vibrations of their lives, intertwined. There was power in that, and she watched, morbidly fascinated, as she reached deep into the well of her power and broke the dam holding it back.
Never had she trusted herself enough to do this. She had always felt the power like a wild beast, barely leashed and never broken to her will. Now, she rode it willingly as it surged forth and spiralled through her. She made no attempt to control it, allowing it to flow unimpeded through her body. The note rising from the tattoos filled her and she was barely aware of her own voice rising in a high, keening wail that merged with the note and pushed it outward.
Instinct and something more, the skills she had been honing with her studies into the language of spells, told her how to alter the pitch of her voice every time the note faltered. Without allowing herself to wonder what would happen if she failed, she rolled the note over and under, an undulating wave of sound that harried and nipped at her magic, driving it upward and outward, chasing itself down unseen paths that opened up to her even as a single conduit of power emerged to swallow the note and drink it down.
Her magic faltered and she reached blindly for more. Her keening wail became a shrill note of demand and she ripped the magic around her from separate moorings and braided it into a single living torrent of magic that flowed at her command. Faint lines of yellow, orange, and lurid purple were wrapped around moderately large strands of blue and a single burning river of emerald green. For all its strength, the green did not resist. It flowed into her hands with eager strength and she used it to tame the others. Then she screamed as she threaded a single line of blue through her tattoo and the rest followed.
10. “Surely you have not been so foolish as to proclaim your undying love of Mr. Weasley upon your derriere?” he asked in a tone calculated to cause her to react. He didn’t think she loved the ruddy, freckled git—who could?—but he did intend to provoke a response.
Her reaction was all that he could have asked for. “No, I would never be so foolish as to proclaim some sort of undying love for Ronald. He has never satisfied me on any level other than platonic friendship…and I should know. I stupidly dated him for three weeks, well over a year ago.”
She said it in a cool, calm way; her very tone declared loudly that she had something embarrassing decorating her rear end. That, and the way she was attempting to subtly edge around the bed towards where her clothes—and wand—were. He watched her silently as she moved around the bed almost to the other side. As he predicted, when she reached the point near where her garments were, she turned and lunged for them…but she was caught short due to the spell’s radius-rules. Her discarded garments were just beyond the twenty-foot-range. Taking advantage of the fact that she now faced away from him, Severus lunged across the bed, snagged her panties at the waistband, and allowed the laws of physics to do the rest.
Her panties came down easily, displaying a well-formed rump. The size was just right; the pair of buttocks were nicely balanced in size, luscious in their curvature, the writing eerily familiar… The WRITING?
Your Dungeon or Mine?
His writing! His writing on Hermione the-know-it-all Grangers buttocks. That message, in his writing on Miss Granger’s arse!