Just to get you in the proper mood, check out this fabulous poster by camillo1978! Wouldn't you LOVE to be a part of this feature-length Daydream Charm?!?!
Artwork by camillo1978
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 EST. 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 fallling for the red herring titles:
Everybody Comes to Snape's by elise_wanderer
(Based on Casablanca)
Handbook for the Recently Deceased by clairvoyant WIP
(Based on Beetlejuice)
Snape's On A Plane! by poe_momm
(Inspired by Snakes on a Plane and Pulp Fiction)
Babbity Git by pokeystar
(Based on Father Goose)
Planes and Trains and Automobiles by tudorpot
(Based on Planes and Trains and Automobiles)
A Matter of Decorum by SnarkHunt aka kerravonsen
(Based on My Fair Lady)
Severus Snape, Family Man? by junewilliams7
(Based on Family Man)
Beyond 84 Charing Cross Road by devsgma and darnedchild
(Based on 84 Charing Cross Road)
Memento Amori by Olethros
(Based on Memento)
Harvey by scatteredlogic
(Based on Harvey)
The Last Word by Kalina Lea
(Based on You've Got Mail)
Seven Brides for Seven Snapes by dickgloucester
(Based on Seven Brides for Seven Brothers)
1. Her arms, as it turned out, were not open. They were firmly crossed over her regrettably fully-clothed chest. Neither were they in bed. Nor did they look conspicuously good tempered, considering that the hand at the end of one of them was gripping a wand that was spitting red sparks and seriously endangering Hermione's rampant, Gorgon-like hair.
He couldn't quite help a glance at the undisturbed bed.
“Oh, so you thought I'd be there all dollied up and smiling, did you?”
Severus had an uncomfortable flashback to some of the prime tellings-off he'd had to endure from authoritative females over the years. Any moment now – yes, the hands were on the hips.
“You thought I'd have 'got over it' by now?”
“Well, I haven't! And I probably won't. You got me here under false pretences, Severus Snape. You ... you liar!”
“But me no buts! I'm here now, and I'll play my role and do my bit for your business – but I'll expect to be paid and well paid for my work, since that's what you got me here for, and there won't be any collateral benefits, so you can just forget about sharing this bed with me!” She turned her back on him.
“Hermione –” This really wasn't going at all well.
2. “A brandy might salvage this fucked up day,” he mused. “A drink with medicinal benefits to numb my brain and warm my body.”
Roar. The quiet of the Shrieking Shack was shattered by the sound of a fire bursting to life in the empty grate. Trickle. Then the sound of liquid pouring into a glass. Snape's eyes shot open upon hearing the unexpected noise. Given the day's weird occurrences, he didn't think twice about these gifts suddenly popping into existence. If only I had known I would benefit from such largess, I would have asked for a loose woman.
He grabbed the snifter and swirled the translucent, reddish brown liquid before plunging his monumental nose into the tulip-shaped glass, inhaling the rising fumes of the intense, fruity liquor. He quaffed that brandy as if he were downing the antidote to a quick-acting poison. He stared at the fire, mesmerized by the crackling, undulating, red-orange flames and the bursts of colourful sparks that accompanied the occasional, fiery pop.
“This has to be the strangest day of my life.” He sighed and sipped the dregs of the liquor, savouring the rich flavour as it slid down his thoroughly intact throat. His eyelids drooped as he succumbed to the bone-weary exhaustion he had staved off for the last year or more. “I just wish I had some plausible explanation for all this,” he pondered.
Thud. His eyes snapped to attention as the sound of silence was disturbed yet again. This time, the noise came from a book dropping from quite some distance onto the side table next to Snape's chair. He grabbed the book and shot a cursory glance at the title before tossing it back on the table. His face dropped to his hands in despair; he would have smothered himself with his own hands if he thought it would do him any good.
“Oh, fuck. Once again fate buggers me. I am dead, and it seems the afterlife is just as miserable as my life was.”
The discarded text, Handbook for the Recently Deceased, sat innocently on the side table, but it mocked him nevertheless.
3. To: pm .uk
From: sparky .uk
Subject: Missing you!
Date: December 9, 2003
Hi! Just wanted to let you know how much I'm missing you. I promise I'll *show* you how much once you get home! Plan on having dinner at my place, OK?
Hope to hear from you soon! :o)
It was two days later that I got a reply. I had to read it twice, and even then it didn't make sense.
To: sparky .uk
From: pm .uk
Date: December 11, 2003
Subject: RE: Missing You!
It is bad enough that I am being forced to use this insufferable Muggle machine. I certainly should not be subjected to nauseating messages that are clearly meant for someone else. Whoever you are – and the mental image of anyone who would go by the revolting name of 'Sparky' is indeed unpleasant – allow me to decline your dinner invitation and express my fervent wish that neither it nor the accompanying insinuations be repeated.
And what, pray tell, is this :o)
I read the message twice, and then I double-checked the address and realized my mistake. I had simply typed the address, rather than pulling Peter up in my address book, and I had left out his middle initial. His address was pjm .uk and I had written to pm .uk, whoever that might be. I didn't know and didn't want to know, but after fuming for a few minutes, I decided to write back, just to give the ill-mannered person a piece of my mind.
4. Sighing, Hermione followed her father into the church.
There were no other young children in the family — hence Hermione's assignment as flower girl — and she spent the next half hour being shuffled from group to group and being posed like a mannequin for photos with the newlyweds and various members of the wedding party.
During that time, Hermione decided that while the bride was stupid, the groom was worse. First, he had the audacity to pat her on the head as if she were a dog. Next, he puffed his chest out and announced proudly that he worked for Hornby and all she had to do was say the word and he'd send her the entire Flower Fairies line. As if she played with dolls anymore! She rolled her eyes and coolly informed him that she'd asked for a chemistry set for her Christmas gift, and she had no need of such babyish things as Flower Fairies.
If she'd been older, Hermione would have recognised the groom for what he truly was: a nervous young man trying to make a good impression on his new wife's extended family. However, at seven, all she could see was another adult who patronised her. At the first sign her presence was no longer required, she escaped outside.
"Hello! she called out. "Where did you go? Um, Mr Rabbit? Oh, I don't even know what to call you!"
At that, the rabbit popped into view near a copse of trees shading the church.
"Mr Rabbit." His hearty laugh boomed across the yard. "That's not my name."
Hermione ran to him. "Then what is your name?"
A mischievous gleam sparked in his eyes, and he bent low to look into her face. "What name do you like?"
Before she could answer, a flicker of regret passed over his face and the spark in his eyes faded. He held up a hand to stop her from answering.
"No, never mind," he said. "I couldn't stay with you. I'd soon be forced out of where you're going." He tapped her nose softly with a fuzzy finger. "No choosing of names for you, Missy.
5. "Don't tell me you actually like teaching."
Of course I won't tell you that, Lucius. I can hardly believe it myself. When he had first begun teaching, it had been out of necessity. Over the years, as servant of two masters, with so many additional tasks and secrets, it had been hard enough to merely prevent the dunderheads from killing themselves. But now that both his masters were gone, exploding cauldrons were much less stressful because he had nothing else to worry about. No insane psychopaths ready to kill him at a whim, no need to edge his every word with ambiguity, no ungrateful heroes to train. That didn't prevent most of his students from being dolts, but at least in the higher years, he didn't have to put up with dolts any more.
"The exceptional students make it almost worthwhile," Snape said. To watch the brightest ones catch fire, to come to understand his passion for potions... Lucius had no idea what that was like, and he never would. "And if all else fails, there is enough foolishness in those hormonal idiots to keep one entertained for a lifetime."
Lucius smiled. "What hormonal foolishness entertained you recently?"
Snape's lips quirked. "Would you believe that the golden trio, the heroes of the Wizarding world, had a tiff over a hair charm?" Snape described the incident. "The most amusing thing was that neither Miss Granger nor Potter had any idea what she had done."
Lucius laughed. "She declared before the whole world that Potter was her lover, and she didn't know?"
Snape smirked. "What renders it more piquant is that I am certain that Potter isn't her paramour. That honour undoubtedly belongs to the Weasley brat."
Lucius raised his eyebrows. "How could she- ah. Mu-Muggle-born."
Snape was certain that Lucius had been about to say "Mudblood". It wasn't necessarily a sign that Lucius had changed his attitude about purity; more likely that he was trying to break the habit because it was unwise to use that word in the current political climate. Snape nodded. "Indeed. She may be bright, but she is ignorant."
A gleam appeared in Lucius's eyes and a sly smile graced his lips. "If you like teaching so much, prove it: teach her pure-blood manners. I wager you can't do it."
"The child is studying for her NEWTs," Snape said. "She would hardly wish to spend her precious time learning manners."
"I could make it worth your while," Lucius said.
"I don't want your money, Lucius," Snape said with distaste.
"I was thinking of something less... material," Lucius said.
Snape raised one eyebrow.
6. Severus woke up in bed with kittens – no, cats – big cats, about ten pounds each, resting on his chest. He opened his eyes and saw...
Two infants?! Whose were they, and how did they get in his flat within the Alexandria compound? He sat up, his arms gripping the children to his chest. Now what?
The creatures made squeaking sounds.
"They're complaining about you moving, sweetheart," a teasing voice called to him.
He turned abruptly to face the voice. "Miss Granger?!"
"Why, Severus, you haven't called me Miss Granger since that day we met at the Ministry Floo office, on my twenty-fourth birthday." She beamed down at him. "You were my best birthday present ever, I've always said. You remember that day, don't you?" She waited patiently for him to answer, as she continued to smile.
He shook his head, then paused. Ministry Floo office? He'd only been there once, over... fifteen years before, when he had needed to set up a Floo connection for the library. He had succeeded a week later, only after he had threatened to send the troll to "clean" the Floo office.
"You wanted to come visit me in Alexandria," he recalled, a dumbfounded look on his face as he tried to remember the event.
"Yes!" She grinned. "You'd been speaking with the clerk, who told you the Floo supervisor wasn't in. So you went with me to my office, where the Floo supervisor was waiting for me, and you talked with her. It was her last day at work before she left on holiday. She was so impressed to see the great Severus Snape in person that she granted you the connection on the spot, and then you and I went out to dinner."
"Fish and chips?" he asked.
"No, you silly goose." She laughed. "That was your first choice, as you'd been missing it in Egypt. But I said I'd never had Egyptian food before, so you took me to a place in Islington's restaurant row. You opened the door for me and let me walk in first. You helped me remove my cloak and hung it up neatly. Then you pulled out my chair for me and helped me to sit. You asked me what kind of foods I prefer so you could order a wide selection of Egyptian delicacies for us, and we talked for hours. It was the first time I'd ever been with a man who knew how to treat a woman with respect, and from that night on, I could only see Ron as a boy who treated me as his sister. I take that back – he never called Ginny 'mental,' only me." She had a wistful look on her face.
7. She caught a faint whiff of burnt parchment. She brushed away the final traces of ash from the front of her robes, and then stopped herself because they were invisible upon the black fabric anyway.
As she lifted her hands away, she noticed a solitary scrap of something the size of a postage stamp stuck against her wrist. She lifted it off between finger and thumb and watched it enlarge to reveal a Polaroid photograph. She read September 15, 1998 written across the back in smudged black Sharpie. She flipped the photo over.
The Polaroid shook in her trembling hands, but she did not drop it. She looked for a long time, and the edges of the photo began to bend under her clenching fingers. Hermione relaxed her grip with a growl of frustration and, after a moment of consideration, tucked the photo into a pocket of her robes.
She turned and left the room, searching among the many hallways and corridors in the rest of the building for the exit. It took her over an hour.
She opened a corrugated metal door and at last felt sunlight pouring in upon her face. She squinted against the light. The sensation didn’t feel compatible with the darkness of the abandoned mill she had left behind.
She stumbled down the riverbank and splashed through the shallow, filthy water before climbing out the other side.
She walked through a small gate in the fence separating the town from the fields and grassland, letting the latch click shut behind her. She kept walking and did not look back.
The sun was beginning to rise when she saw another person.
He was walking up the road the other way. As she drew nearer, a strong wind kicked up and the grasses of the fields around them bent and swayed like dancers.
The man wore the plain, faded clothes of a farmer. He froze upon seeing her and then broke into a sprint. He took her hands in his and as she gazed up at his wide eyes and concerned face, she let herself wonder for the briefest second when she had met him. His dark eyes looked familiar.
“Hello,” she said. “My name is Hermione Granger. I graduated from Hogwarts Academy in 1998. Could you tell me what day it is?”
8. December 21, 1999
Please pardon my delay in responding to your letter dated the 15th of this month; your list is extensive, and I wished to familiarize myself with the requested titles before beginning my reply.
Most of the books you seek have been out of print for decades, if not considerably longer in several cases. A large handful appear to be the product of rather obscure authors and specialized publishing houses, leading me to believe there were a limited number of copies in circulation.
I assure you, Mister Sopohorous, that the staff of Marks and Sons – both current and past – take our reputation for customer satisfaction seriously and that every effort will be made to procure a copy of each title on your list with as little delay as possible.
Marks and Sons
Post Script – Enclosed is an invoice for two of the books from your list. The delivery owl should arrive this afternoon. If the conditions of the books are satisfactory, your account will be debited this evening.
9. Severus got to his feet cautiously, wanting to avoid upsetting his stomach again. He was also keen to evade touching the disgusting-looking moss. He could feel it, wet and clinging to the hem of his dingy grey nightshirt. Idiots. They hadn't even let him change into proper clothes. At least he had slippers on his feet from a timely visit to the loo. He stared at the supply box. It appeared to be locked tighter than a Gringotts vault.
Potter's crack support team was performing as expected. He feared it was too much to hope that the blasted box contained a change of clothing, let alone food or water. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Severus looked up and realised he had over-estimated Potter's logistical skills.
He was standing on a low atoll, composed entirely of moss-covered rock, perhaps nine hundred metres across at its widest point. It was, for the most part, long and narrow. And completely bereft of shelter, fresh water, or edible vegetation. He stared out at the placid sea with bemused resignation. Well, he was fucked now. He nearly laughed out loud. And that made his life different how?
The shell. He could use it to pry the box open. Surely, Potter or Zabini had packed his wand. He would reactivate the Portkey—as much as he hated them, he was beginning to loathe the slimy moss more—and encode it to transport him to New Zealand. He would live out his remaining days in drunken obscurity.
As if summoned, the shell floated up to hover before his face, and morphed into a scroll of parchment. It unrolled itself and script appeared on its surface.
Severus curled his lip in disdain, but did so.
The medical coma had clearly dulled his normally sharp sense of surroundings, because he had to windmill his arms backwards to keep his footing. He was standing on the western edge of the atoll, facing the sheer cliff wall of a much larger island.
10. Snape’s lips twitched. “It never truly went away,” he answered easily, but his right hand went instinctively to the left sleeve of his dinner jacket.
“Mine remains, as well,” Lucius admitted. “Barely visible but still there. I had hoped . . . ”
Snape nodded. “There’s something else,” he said almost reluctantly.
Lucius raised an eyebrow in question.
Snape sat in his chair again and fixed his gaze on the silver inkwell. “There has been another prophecy,” he said at last.
The blood drained from Malfoy’s face, but he kept his voice even. “Has there indeed?”
“It seems to be typically vague and open to interpretation,” Snape acknowledged, “but it merits attention.”
“Does Mr. Potter have another round to go?” Lucius asked, attempting a sarcastic tone.
“I’m not certain,” Snape replied. “I think not, though the wording is, at best, imprecise.”
“Why? What did it say?”
“I didn’t hear it directly this time,” Snape admitted, “and my sources are several degrees removed from the original. However, I believe the opinion of those who are studying it is that it points to a new champion.”