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 using the red herring titles:
The Price of Madness
One Night in Azkaban
Let it Snow!
The Plushie Problem
Overcome With Feeling
1. Raising furious eyes from his trapped hand to Trelawney’s face, the stream of vitriol he prepared to drench her with abruptly cut off before it even began. Strangely speechless, Severus gazed at the seer’s amazingly altered countenance with growing alarm.
Trelawney’s normally limp posture had gone ramrod stiff. Feeling his fingertips growing numb, Severus glanced down to where Sybill held his hands in a grip so hard that her knuckles had gone white with tension. Another glance at her face did nothing to ease Severus’ alarm. The woman’s jaw was rigid and the expression on her face was so grotesque that Severus wondered if she was having some sort of attack. Trelawney’s half-lidded eyes showed only white; the irises had rolled up under the lids, which added to the witch’s shocking appearance. Aghast, Severus was just opening his mouth to shout for Poppy when Sybill spoke.
The voice itself was eerie. It was deep and held a note of authority which Severus had never heard in the babbling witch’s voice before. It commanded the attention of all who heard it and Severus was no exception to its call. The message was short and clearly spoken in that clipped, booming voice. Even more surprising was the fact that its message seemed directed straight at him.
“The Serpent King struggles in a Gordian Knot no Alexander can untangle. He shall know neither peace nor pleasure ‘til he coils with the bright griffin which pursues him.”
That said, Trelawney abruptly released his hands as her body went limp.
2. “Who pissed in your shepherd’s pie?” Turpin inquired politely.
“Richard Turpin, I warn you that I am in no mood for your cheek,” growled Severus.
“Then you should've never accepted me as your familiar, you bloody sod. You know fucking well what I am. It’s about time you quit fucking complaining about it, Syphilis, and if you turn me into a blasted toad again, I swear I’ll make you pay.” Though Turpin’s words were harsh, his tone was surprisingly gentle; it was his usual manner of speech.
“I’m sorry, you git,” Severus replied in an equally soft tone. “I know you can’t help it; the truth is you do very well for one of your kind. You are far more intelligent than most, and more eloquent as well. I’ve had a tough day, Dick; I did not intend to take it out on you.” Drink in hand, Severus collapsed onto his sofa in an elegant sprawl.
“I suppose I’ll forgive you...I am rather fond of you…you half-cut wanker. Don’t you know better than get pissed alone?” Turpin groused as he scrambled up onto the sofa and into the tipsy man’s lap. “Give us a nip then, that’s a good lad.”
Severus obligingly tipped his glass and let his familiar drink right out of it. He chuckled when the firewhisky made his furry mate sneeze. “That’s the problem with you, Turpin…you can’t hold your liquor.”
A half hour later they were both quite pissed and singing some of the more raunchy drinking songs known to wizard kind. Severus had a rather pleasant, if a bit slurred, baritone while Turpin sounded badly off key and rather squeaky. Neither man nor beast seemed to mind that in the least as they sung far into the night.
3. “Well, you’re lucky this time, you stupid twat. You’re lucky Severus got up here before any of the rest of them.”
Suddenly, Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears. Strong as she was, it was just all too much. To be suddenly awakened by a Death Eater in her room and then to have reason to fear being raped and killed by that Death Eater was bad enough. To then have this swotty little Malfoy shouting at her like she’d ruined his day was the last straw. Draco saw the tears in her eyes. Crossing to her, he knelt before where she sat on the bed. Taking both her arms in a firm grip, he gave her a rough shake.
“No time for that, Granger. No time for tears, or questions, or explanations. We have to get you out of here and we have to do it fast. They’ve already set fire to the garage downstairs.”
“You’re going to help me?” Hermione asked, her disbelief apparent on her face.
“Yes, we’ll get you out, if we can. I know you have no reason to trust us, but you’ve no choice in the matter.”
Nodding her head, she said, “I’m sorry, I thought…I thought--” Unable to voice her fear, she waved a hand towards where Severus’ trousers were still obviously tented.
Addressing the lamp near her bed, Severus said grumpily, “Just like a Gryffindor whore…blaming a man for a reaction he can’t control.”
This was too much for Draco. With a soft chuckle, he climbed to his feet. “How do you want to do this, Severus?”
“Invisible knapsack,” Severus said lovingly to a small spider crawling across the ceiling.
“You or me?” Draco asked.
“Me. It will be easier,” Severus replied, still seeming to address the distant spider. “They expect me to act oddly. I’m mad as a hatter, after all,” Severus said dryly.
4. Returning to Hogwarts for her seventh year, Hermione Granger was a woman prepared for battle…and not a battle against the Death Eaters. No, her present mission was far more important. During her sixth year Hermione had not had one date and she had grown sick to death of being all the boys’ friend but nobody’s girlfriend. Their attitude made her furious. Her best friends, Harry and Ron, were the worst. Ron was interested only in Quidditch, chess, and chocolate frogs. Harry, Hermione had decided, must be completely gay. When she had tried to *comfort* him after his godfather’s death last spring, Harry had behaved like a complete prat. He was so selfish! Certainly Hermione knew that he was grieving and all, but didn’t he realize that she had feelings and needs too? Besides, death was supposed to make people all horny and stuff. There was no other explanation: Harry was gay.
But the childish attitudes of her friends were only part of the problem. Hermione had spent quite a lot of time during her sixth year deciphering exactly why a reasonably attractive and super-intelligent witch such as herself simply could not get a date. For a while she had thought she had been cursed, but that research hadn’t panned out. Knowing that it simply couldn’t be any fault of her own…I mean… honestly…she was quite the catch…the problem had to be something else. At last she figured it out! There wasn’t anything at all wrong with her! It was the American exchange-students!
The American exchange-students got all the attention; indeed, Severus Snape himself had scarcely been able to keep his eyes off one such student the year before. Priding herself on her scientific objectiveness, Hermione simply didn’t see what was so bloody special about Towanda Williams. Certainly she had huge breasts, but wouldn’t someone as singularly brilliant as Severus Snape prefer a witch he could spend hours indulging in intellectual discourse with rather than one with good tits?
5. Without the freedom to raise her arms, even her wandless magic was rendered useless.
“Hazel, do you yield?” he said softly to her unmoving form.
“That isn’t what you used to call me, you ungrateful wretch,” she hissed.
Severus’ eyebrows rose in surprise. He had not expected her to recognize him after all these years. Would that make this easier, or harder? “Mother, will you please yield. I mean you no harm.”
“What must I do if I yield? What do you want of me?”
“At the moment, I only want you to listen to me. No hexes, no curses, no fleeing. Stay and talk with me, Mother. No harm will come to you.” Severus kept his voice calm and steady. He neither pleaded nor begged knowing she would trust neither.
“If that is all you demand of me, then I will yield.” she said, her voice dry and creaking.
Releasing the spell which bound her, Severus helped her to sit up and then sat on the floor beside her. He had expected her to be hungry, but he hadn’t known it would be this bad. From the pockets of his robes he removed a small loaf of bread and a flask of juice and handed them to her. At first refusing the offering, Hazel Snape glared at her son distrustfully.
“I told you I mean you no harm and I meant it. I’m here to talk to you…to help you if I can…not to drug you.”
6. Severus was torn between his present state of frustration and a relief he did not want to acknowledge at having any companion in his misery. He settled for muttering, “Well, that took you long enough,” in a tone vastly different from his usual mockery. Had anyone of his acquaintance heard him, they'd likely faint from shock.
The unicorn tried its best to whinny around the branch gripped in its teeth, smaller stems and leaves dragging in the animal's wake. The branch was laden with apples, and Severus found his unsuccessful garment-creating efforts had left him famished. Apples wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horned-horse in the mouth. He ate the first three cores and all. He then ate three more, tossing the cores to the unicorn, who crunched them delightedly as if Snape-spit-covered apple cores were his chosen form of ambrosia.
Sated for the time being, Severus stripped the remaining eight apples from the bedraggled branch, set them in a pile, and considered how to carry them. He sighed, stood, and regarded the apples intensely. Raising a hand, he intoned gravely, “Wingardium Leviosion Subsequorine.” For once, the correct--if a bit ridiculous--effect he strove for was achieved. The apples obediently rose into the air and floated around to stop directly behind him. They would follow there until he released them. Severus strode once around the clearing to assure the spell had not gone amiss.
They made an interesting parade. Tall, naked wizard, a string of eight floating apples, and a prancing, nickering unicorn. “If Albus could see this he’d laugh himself into a hernia,” Severus muttered morosely. Halting the parade, he turned his eyes to the unicorn. “As I seem to be stuck with you, I suppose I ought to call you something.”
The unicorn gazed at him expectantly.
“What elegant appellation could possibly do justice to your graceful form, your evanescent eyes, your incessant snickering? I fear it’s a Herculean task. Yet--wait! Perhaps it isn’t hopeless. I shall name you…Bob,” he finished with a smirk, arching
his brow as if daring the unicorn to argue.
Other than a toss of the head and a gleeful snort, Bob did not deign to reply.
7. It never ceased to confound her, this trysting place. Indeed it was true that parts of the lake’s shoreline drew such high traffic from young lovers--desperate to find a moment’s privacy--that the lakeshore rivaled the Astronomy Tower as a wizarding “lovers’ lane.” Such was the lakeshore near to the castle. Only a fool would travel at night to the far side of the lake where the shore nestled betwixt arms of the Forbidden Forest. Only a fool…
Sighing to herself, Hermione acknowledged that she must be three kinds of fool to continue this dangerous affair. The dangers of the forest were second only to peril of the affair itself. Every single time Hermione returned to Hogwarts from such an encounter, she swore she would never go back, never face such humiliation again, never again allow herself to be so used. Then the week would creep itself toward the following Wednesday--their set meeting day--and, as the day approached, Hermione’s resolve would crumble in the face of her raw need for release.
Despite knowing in her heart that what they did was wrong, even Hermione had to admit that she needed release as much as he did. Yes, it was wrong! It was cheep and tawdry; an animalistic rutting between two people who could scarcely speak civilly to each other in the reality of day. The whole situation drove her to distraction even as it kept her sane.
Sanity was a relative term, Hermione had decided. If her friends knew exactly how she spent her Wednesday evenings, they would certainly call her mad. Yet what could be called sane in this war-ravaged world?
8. Hermione was nearly finished with her final potions class of her final year. Almost free…Almost free…she repeated to herself, proud that she had managed to get through this last week without getting one of Professor Snape’s ridiculous detentions. It hadn’t been easy. He had heaped detentions on her for the past month and all for a variety of bizarre reasons. One day he gave her detention for staring at him, the next because she wouldn’t meet his eye. It was inexplicable! Not that the detentions themselves had been all that bad. He hadn’t made her scrub cauldrons or clean out the potions cabinet. What he had done was to make her grade first and second year essays while he sat at his desk staring at her. He never said a word--and she could not decipher his guarded expression--he just stared blankly at her the entire time. It was driving her barking mad—which was probably his intent—though she was sure he would never guess why she found it so maddening. He certainly would never suspect that after each of these odd detentions Hermione had to go to her room and change her soaked knickers. Why did he have to be so dark…and brooding…and intriguing. She bit back a sigh. At least a third of her torturous detentions had been for sighing in class.
Ten minutes to go and she was nearly free! Unfortunately, that was when something so unexpected happened that for a moment she could only gape in shock. Harry—not Draco, not Crabbe or Goyle, but Harry–-threw a Filibuster firework into her cauldron, which exploded in a spectacular fashion.
“Granger!” bellowed Snape, in a tone that almost sounded triumphant. “I should have known that our resident know-it-all of the past seven years could not make it through one blasted week without attempting to destroy my classroom,” he hissed. “Detention after class, Miss Granger.”
Hermione spent the last five minutes of class glaring in disbelief at Harry, who refused to meet her eyes. Hermione was almost positive she heard him sniggering at her. Oh! When she got out of detention she was going to hex his balls off! Well…after she changed her knickers. She didn’t bother to bite back her sigh at that thought.
9. It was horrible. It was ghastly. It was inhumane.
Sitting in a slightly shabby chair before the fire in his private quarters, Severus sat with his head in his hands, rocking slightly, as he contemplated the utter horror that he had just witnessed. It hardly seemed fair. For the first time ever, he had finally started to be somewhat comfortable with his life. Oh, he still had baggage from his old life; there was no doubt about that. Two wars in which he was a spy all topped off with the trial for the murder of his closest friend will leave a person with a few issues to settle. Until today, Severus had thought he was doing rather well.
If anyone had suggested six months ago that he would ever be back at Hogwarts teaching, he’d have laughed in their face. Either that, or burst into tears. No, he would never have allowed himself such a human reaction, at least, not back then. However, he would have thought the idea laughable in the extreme. No school would re-hire a teacher who had killed off his Headmaster. It simply wasn’t done. One month-long trial later, and here he was, back at Hogwarts. Though his name had been cleared, the Ministry had not been pleased. They had released Snape under the condition that he return to Hogwarts, where other wizards and witches could keep an eye on him. Severus rather imagined that they meant this as some sort of punishment. Instead, it was a much desired outcome. During his chaotic life, Hogwarts had long been the one stable influence, as well as the only place Severus had ever truly called home. Happy to comply with the Ministry’s wishes, Severus had returned to Hogwarts and was once again the terror of the first years. For the first time in his life, Severus had felt content. Well, he’d felt content until the tragedy that had accosted him one bright, spring afternoon--an afternoon where he had accidentally looked into a mirror for the first time in twenty years.
10. “Do you think he’s in there?” Ron Weasley asked curiously as he approached the desk and stared into Severus’ eyes. “I mean, can he hear us…see us?”
“Oh, no,” Hermione replied in a matter of fact fashion. “He’s all fabric and stuffing at the moment. I doubt that he’s aware of us at all.”
No! Don’t listen to the Muggle-born bane of my teaching career! For heaven’s sake, Miss Granger, I don’t need a brain to be aware; it’s fucking magic! Now, one of you idiots go and get me some help!”
“He’s not aware?” Malfoy said, lifting his head from his desk. “Well, that’s all right then! All you have to do is get him set to rights and he’ll never know what happened.”
“Why are you acting so helpful?” Ron said distrustfully.
“Don’t be daft. Snape saw me throw that paper at Granger. If he knows what happened, then he’ll be bloody furious.”
“He’ll be more than furious at me,” Hermione said shakily. “He’ll get me expelled.”
“Then it’s in all of our best interests to get this fixed before anyone finds out about it,” Draco said firmly.
Believe me, Mr. Malfoy, if I ever get out of this mess, you can count on me to wring your pureblooded little neck!
Addressing the rest of the class, Harry said, “Can we trust you all to stay silent? You heard what Hermione said; Snape will never know.”
“But, Harry,” whined Neville, “what will we say when the teachers ask where Snape is?”