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 picking the red herring titles:
Crying for the Grave by Envinyatar
A Hero's Worth by lady_rhian —
It Should Be Me by ks51689
Angel of Music by celisnebula —
Side Effects by Aurette
Collateral by arsenicjade —
The P-Word by paisleysnail —
Arguments by chivalric55 —
Mistakes by pearle9240 —
Bricks and Mortar by hannah_1888 —
Who By Fire? by KazVL
The Janus Thickey Ward by sophierom —
1. She walked into the waiting room and saw crowds of people practically heaped on top of each other. She could barely hear the gibbering in her head over the noise. She looked around for a seat, there didn't seem to be many, and she almost took up a post along the wall until she spied a small island of black back in the corner, surrounded by empty chairs. Her heart was immediately full of an irrational relief and she darted toward the island like it was paradise. She stomped toes and banged knees with an idiotic grin on her face as she closed in on her personal sanctuary and threw herself into the chair next to him.
"Professor Snape! How marvelous to see you! And looking so well! I was ever so happy to hear you were released in full health! Did you get the book I sent? I thought about visiting you-I was so concerned-but Minerva assured me that you wanted to recover in privacy and, well, I wanted to put your needs ahead of my own. For once. So to speak. I thought the book might help you while away the hours a bit during your convalescence. I just took a guess at what you might be interested in. I enjoyed that book immensely and I thought it was particularly apt. If it was completely off the mark I understand, I really have no idea what your interests are, after all. I was hoping the thought might count, at least."
Hermione finally gained control of her hysteria and shut up. Her lips snapped together with an audible click of her teeth. Professor Snape looked like she had just run up to him and started stripping off her clothes. Which when she thought about it, she would much rather do than simply get the stupid shot and get it over and done with.
"Miss Granger, may I ask what the hell has gotten into you?" he finally hissed.
She grimaced and told him.
"Needles, sir. It's a phobia. I'm sorry.
2. It was one thing to wear a night shirt in the privacy of their quarters, it was quite another to be sitting in an examining room on the sixth floor of St Mungo’s dressed in a skimpy hospital gown with a gap in the back that left little to the imagination as to what his arse looked like.
The door opened on silent hinges, admitting a stern-faced nurse carrying a tray covered with what appeared to be multiple instruments of torture.
“What are those for?” Severus gestured to the tray. He pulled at the back of gown, a gust of cold air freezing bits that should not be frozen. No matter how many times he pulled the gown together, the back kept opening. He was convinced they had charmed the gown to act that way. Can’t have the patients becoming too comfortable, can we?
The woman placed the tray on the counter top next to the examining table and turned to leave.
Severus felt utterly exposed. The gown gaped in the back and only reached his knees in the front. “What are you planning to do with those…things? And where is my wife?”
The woman marked something on her chart before turning to the angry man. “Those aren’t for you. Your wife is fine. She is in examining room…” she consulted her clip board, “…eight. Healer Smythe will be in shortly.”
Another gust of cold air swept through the room as Nurse Skrewt, as he had already named her, left. Severus sighed, tugging absent-mindedly at the back of his gown. He looked longingly at his robes hanging on a hook next to the door. He was doing this for Hermione. If he didn’t love her half as much as he did…
3. “What?” she screamed, eyes blazing.
“Now, Hermione, calm down…” Arthur started.
“No.” She shoved past him and walked down the bustling hall in St. Mungo’s. She passed mediwitches and wizards, Healers and visitors. There was a fierce look of determination spread across her features. Her wild mane swung out behind her, flying in tandem with her steps. Her anger radiated; her presence noticed by all. It would have been even if she were not a celebrated war hero.
She has no idea how deeply she feels for him, Arthur thought sadly. Please, God, do not let her kill my son.
4. The following day, as the time steadily approached one o’clock, Severus entered what appeared to be a dilapidated, old department store and found himself in the reception area of St Mungo’s. He swallowed a grimace at the brightness and cloyingly sterile stench that permeated the air.
‘I’m here to see Healer Glossop about Rubeus Hagrid.’
The receptionist looked up, and Severus immediately noted recognition in the widening of her eyes, but the girl asked for his name, regardless.
‘Unfortunately, there was no room to fit Mr Hagrid into the Magical Bugs and Diseases ward, so he is up on the fifth floor, in room 562.’
Severus nodded and made for the lift to transport him up to the fifth floor, whereupon he skirted the hospital shop and tearoom to find a corridor of mostly vacant rooms. Just as he was reaching room 562, a rather short and stubby man appeared around the door, dressed in the requisite lime-green Healer robes.
‘Mr Snape, I presume? Welcome! I’m Healer Glossop, but you may call me Ted.’
‘Severus,’ muttered Snape as he shook the proffered hand.
The little Healer directed them away from Hagrid’s door and into an office opposite. He clapped his hands together and looked around the room brightly. ‘You may use this room whenever you like. Now, before we do anything, you’ll have to change your robes.’
Snape fixed the man with an unblinking stare. ‘I beg your pardon?’
5. Oh, the life I lead! St. Mungo’s has always been my residence of choice. I love this place, its quietness, oddity, cleanness.
And its slight insanity.
Really, if you had to be here longer than necessary, you’d go mad. And who says I’m not? Everything around you is white, sterile. No one says anything to you, not the mediwitches, not the other patients. It’s the sound of the silence that you cannot bear; it’s too heavy to be burdened with. After some time, you crumble under non-existent sounds, disposed of your strengths, stripped of your shields.
From time to time, silence is all you can hear. People with absent-minded looks about them and hollow eyes are clad in white strolling around, but never once do they move their lips or look at you.
At least not where I am.
My bed and room are quite comfortable. Fortunately I don’t have to share my private quarters with anyone. I’d take a knife and ram it straight into my heart if dear Ginny were here with me, singing her lullabies and asking me who I am, or Draco, having lost his mind after too many Cruciatus curses.
6. A few weeks after he had first noticed his odd symptoms, now suppressed with one of the strongest impotency potions known to wizardkind, Severus found himself preparing to leave his home on yet another unexpected and inconvenient outing, this time to St Mungo’s itself.
Though the short note sent by one of the Healers (signature too messy to read) had not been specific, it almost exuded a general impression of chaos and disorder which only served to add to Severus’ feeling of unease about the whole situation. Though he had managed to brew all the potions asked for, he knew that unless St Mungo’s planned to knock out the entire magical population of Britain at once, they could not possibly need more for at least another few months.
Eager to assure himself that he was supplying a well-known hospital, not a drug lord’s den, Severus was actually not as annoyed as he usually would be at the ‘invitation’ to deliver the goods himself this time. It did not really matter that the reason given for this change in their arrangement – lack of able-bodied hospital personnel – seemed absolutely ludicrous in light of the fact that St Mungo’s had more employees than the two largest Ministry departments combined.
Shrinking his rather large box of potions so that it would fit easily in the palm of his hand, Severus Flooed to St Mungo’s with the clear intention of doing some quiet snooping to find out what the problem was. However, on arriving at the waiting room, the scene that confronted him was one of total chaos.
It now seemed completely believable that St Mungo’s had absolutely not one spare pair of hands to pick up a delivery of potions.
7. Moving his way to the side counter, Severus quickly poured a cup of tea from the dispenser and found a seat towards the back of the room. Well-practiced at blocking out inane noise, he settled into the blue plastic seat and pulled out a medical journal, leisurely turning the pages as he sipped the delicious tea.
“Oh, hello, Professor Snape!”
It was that high-pitched, chipper voice once more. Rousing him from his deep concentration, Severus nearly spilled his tea everywhere.
“Is it your aim to have me burn myself?” he asked angrily as he steadied his cup and shot her a glare. Throwing him an apologetic look, Hermione pulled up a seat next to him.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just noticed you over here by yourself, and I thought I’d say hi…again,” she finished, looking slightly unnerved. ‘Finally,’ Severus thought to himself, noting the look.
“And it didn’t occur to you that I might be alone by choice?” Severus inquired, wearing one of his patented sneers.
“Well, yes,” Hermione responded, her boldness returning. “But, I saw the journal you were reading, and I was hoping you might discuss an article in there. You know, the one about the uses of dragon blood?”
Seeing that he couldn’t simply scare her away, he attempted a simple brush-off.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten that far yet, Miss Granger,” he said casually, opening the journal once more and beginning to read in hopes that she would just leave.
“Oh, well, I’ll wait,” Hermione replied. Lowering the periodical to steal a glance at the girl, Severus realized that she would not leave until he engaged her in conversation. This had to be her revenge for years of his criticism and brushoffs. With a sigh, he placed the journal to the side, threw her an annoyed look, and gave in.
8. When she wakes this time, Snape is staring down at her, his features impassive. Hermione blinks herself into true consciousness and notices Draco behind him, an orchid plant in hand. She says, "Professor. Malfoy."
The sound of her own voice hurts her head. "I don't suppose you have a Tylenol?"
She would ask for a potion, but most no longer work. Only hands-on magical healing works, and even there the Healers have had to try a multitude of techniques before garnering the desired results. It is why the ribs and the other injuries took so long to repair. The damage to her magic is interfering not only with her ability to actually perform it, but with its effects upon her person.
Snape narrows his eyes. "Muggle analgesics? Yes, I suppose I can see where that would make a certain amount of sense."
He speaks at a regular decibel and the pain is enough to cause Hermione to retch. She has the presence of mind to do it over the side of the bed where he is not standing, but only just.
Harry comes away from where he has been standing by the door, watching. He vanishes the mess wordlessly and says, rather softly, "Noise can sometimes be, er, problematic."
Snape looks less than impressed by Harry's summation of recent events, but he doesn't yell or make any noise above a soft snarl, so Hermione relaxes a tiny bit. He asks, "What have they tried?"
Harry says, "Er, well--"
Hermione would laugh if she wasn't afraid of how much it would hurt. "They had me on a series of ground-murtlap based potions, then a cocktail combination with elements of billywig stings, four different magic suppressants, each from the Collinian school of brewing, and a concentrate of willow bark."
She looks at him. "I ask before I swallow. And you are the one who taught us to deduce these things."
"It does not take for most."
"I must be the one that makes it all worth while," she says, and manages a sharp, tight little smile.
9. "I. Am. NOT. Dead!"
"Yes, you are." Matter-of-factly, the shadow that hadn’t been there only a few moments ago bent down even lower. "Or at least as good as dead."
"And that’s supposed to mean what precisely?" Presumptuous, as he had been in classes. Actually, the thought that he would never ever make a nervous wreck out of one of his students concerned him quite a bit.
"Figure it out yourself."
Snappish little witch, he thought. "As I am not dead, it is only logical to conclude that I am in a coma."
"The Healers would have got you out of it with a quick flick of the wand."
"Me?" Wow, so much arrogance in such a small word. "Definitely not. My barriers are too strong, my Occlumency shields would prevent even the best mind Healers from intervening with my…"
Now that stunned him into silence. Could he have been so stupid as to fall into a coma without considering first the fact that there might not be a way back out? That his barriers might prove to be even too strong for him? Well, Nagini's attack had come to him as a shock and a surprise; maybe he simply didn't have had a chance to make some precautions. "I… guess…" he started, but the shadow’s voice (since when shadows have so incredibly bushy hair? he wondered) cut him short.
"Alright, you aren’t dead. You are in St. Mungo’s, tied to a hospital bed, and Harry and I are performing a Shaman ritual to break inside your greasy head – just to save you. How humiliating, don't you think so? Do you really prefer that theory to the possibility of being peacefully dead and lying in a nice, quiet grave?"
10. Snape didn't need to see the frizzy hair to recognize her.
"But Healer Babcock," Hermione Granger said, "why is this ward kept in such a —"
She noticed him then, and their eyes locked.
Babcock sighed. "Kept in such a what, Trainee Granger?"
"Er, such a terrible state," Granger said, gulping and turning back to her instructor.
"You disapprove of the lodgings, Trainee? Do you suppose Mr, Mr, oh what is his —" The healer waved her wand, pursing her lips as eight smoky letters appeared above the patient's bed. " — Lockhart, do you suppose Mr. Lockhart here cares much about appearances, Trainee?"
Lockhart sneezed as the smoke dissipated.
"I am referring more to the sanitary —"
"Do you suppose," Babcock continued, heading toward the door and waving at the others to follow, "that St. Mungo's has the galleons to spend on aesthetics after all that we've been through with the war?"
Granger's lips quivered, and Snape waited for the words to spill out. How dare you, she would say. How dare you talk to me about the costs of war!
But she remained silent, her mouth tightening into a frown.