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:
Five Times by Unholy Spectacle
On the Clear Understanding That This Kind of Thing Can Happen by Deeble
Playing the Game by indigo_night
A Suite In Brighton by septentrion1970
Runs with Scissors by Gatta
Behind the Dungeon Door by pyjamapants
Bathroom... Tower... Eternity. by bulletimescully
Calling Card by bambu345
Fair Fight by Deslea
She Never Stops Talking by michmak
How To Seduce A Slytherin In Ten Easy Steps by bound_by_passion aka darkheartwalsh
Two For the Money by irenacandy
1. His reaction was intense. He spun in a swirl of black, his wand up and pointed at her faster than she could blink. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she walked calmly towards him, never breaking eye contact.
He lowered his wand, but didn’t look away.
She came to stand beside him, finally breaking his gaze to look out over the starlit grounds.
He sighed, tucking his wand away and leaning back against the rail. “What do you want, Professor Granger?”
Was that a tremor she detected? Surely not…
Well, it’s now or never, she thought, turning to face him again.
2. "Professor Snape." The girl took a deep breath, clearly warming up to some tiresome, rehearsed speech. "May I come in?"
She nodded, as if expecting this. "Very well. I'll just get to…" She swallowed, and her voice wavered. "The point."
He eyed her. "If you are so capable. Years of having you in my classroom have left me quite uncertain."
She nodded again. Her eyes searched the wall behind him before meeting his. Whatever it was Granger wanted, it scared her. Considering she and her friends had helped defeat the Dark Lord, this was moderately interesting.
"Contrary to what you may believe, I do have things to accomplish, Miss Granger. You have another thirty seconds to get to the point."
Hermione swallowed, bobbed her head yet again, and squared her shoulders, clearly bracing herself. "Professor Snape," she cleared her throat and locked eyes with him. " I would like to sleep with you."
Her voice only cracked a little, at the very end. He stared at her, faintly wondering if the snake's venom had gone to his brain, after all. "What was that?" Surely he couldn't have heard correctly. Yet, from her terrified expression, Snape knew that he had. His eyes took her in clinically even as his mind reeled. Her skin was flushed and she was clenching her right hand – her wand hand – as if she expected him to curse her.
Snape wondered if perhaps he wouldn't, at that. But then again, hexing Potter's Golden Girl would probably put a crimp in his reintroduction to polite society.
3. "Never mind," she said hastily. "The only important thing is that Great-Uncle Henry got away with it. They didn't have any children, he left everything to his wife when he expired in the arms of a drunken harlot, and when Great-Aunt Gladys died last week she left me the lot."
"Congratulations," he muttered. "I fail to see what this has to do with me, Miss Granger. If you want investment advice, I suggest you talk to Professor Vector. I'm sure there are Arithmancy algorithms that cover all eventualities."
"Read the end of the last paragraph, Sir."
He lowered his eyes to the document again, and read aloud, "... full possession of the principle on her thirtieth birthday, or upon the date of her marriage."
"She was a very conservative woman," Hermione said, sounding slightly bitter about her great aunt's fiscal reservations, "especially after Great-Uncle Henry's peccadilloes."
"Apparently so. Well?"
"You've been a teacher here for about fifteen years, right? My father's second cousin is a teacher too. He teaches math in a Muggle boarding school and he says that the pay is lousy, the staff are a bunch of back stabbers, and the students are bloody-minded idiots."
Snape refolded the document carefully, wishing that his head would stop throbbing, and handed it back to her. "Granted, I see the similarity, but as much as I may sympathize with your father's second cousin, I fail to see your point, Miss Granger."
She leaned forward, a calculating smile on her seventeen-year old lips.
"Professor Snape, how would you like to marry me for my money?"
4. “Professor Granger, was there something you wanted?” He did not keep the terseness out of his voice. He didn’t even try.
Surprisingly, she did not react. Her only response was to walk over to his desk where he currently stood separating various rolls of parchment into piles for marking. His wand automatically sorted them by subject and year with each graceful flick of the wrist.
“Thank you, yes, there is actually.” He watched as her slender fingers reached out to touch the piles of scrolls almost absently. She didn’t seem in any hurry to enlarge on her comment.
“Well?” he snapped after a long pause. “Perhaps you might tell me so that I can get on with-”
“I want something only you can give me.” She stepped closer to him and looked him square in the face. He found the action slightly unnerving.
“Excuse me?” He had suddenly lost the thread of the conversation, and he could smell violets again, which wasn’t exactly helping.
“You asked me what I wanted,” she prompted with a soft smile. “Look, Severus, like you I was never one for beating about the bush, to use a Muggle expression. I know what I want, and I go after it. I’ve never been any different. Perhaps that was why the Sorting Hat placed me in Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw.” Her smile was amused. “I have had the last five years to think carefully about what I want from life, and now that I have decided I thought it only reasonable to give you fair warning.”
Fair warning? Only something he could give her? He thought of the almost possessive way Granger had looked over the lab, and his desk.
He carefully composed his features not to reveal his surprise. “Don’t tell me,” he drawled, “you want my...job.”
She blinked at him. And then she burst out laughing. Severus hated being laughed at. It reminded him of his appalling youth. He could feel the tips of his ears going red, and his temper rising to match. He drew himself up to full height and glared down at her, his arms folding like a barricade across his chest, drawing his voluminous robes with them.
“Oh dear me,” she chuckled, wiping at one eye. “That was terribly clumsy of me. I must be more nervous than I thought. No, Severus, I don’t want your job.” Her tone was almost scolding. “I want you.”
5. Her stalwart defense of him, even when she defended him against himself, almost made him smile. Her hair bristled when she was angry or outraged, making her look like an angry lioness defending her cub. The irony was, he was the cub – and she was incensed on his behalf more so than he ever was.
‘How can they say things like that to you?’ she had demanded, her face flushed angrily even as her eyes sparkled with tears. ‘You’re a hero!’
‘I’m a bastard, Hermione,’ he’d replied. ‘I don’t know why you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to understand that.’
She had merely shaken her head at him, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to her. ‘You are not a bastard – you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met. And you’re brilliant. They’re all idiots, the lot of them. And you should know better than to believe them!’
He never agreed with her on that, but he had learned long ago not to argue her point. If she wanted to think he was misunderstood, that was fine by him. In his mind, the only one who misunderstood him was she. Where he was concerned, her vision was definitely myopic.
Over time, she convinced him that she did, indeed, love him. She must, the way she let him touch her; hold her; spend himself inside her. When this – whatever it was between them – first started, he had been sure he was one of her pet causes, like SPEW. She had presented herself at his classroom a few months after the final battle, announced her plans to become his apprentice, and – despite his vociferous protests – had never really left.
6. Hermione’s voice continued as she reached his desk, breaking into his momentary reverie. Severus watched her stroke the weathered teak surface with her slender, well-manicured fingers. It was an affectionate, caressing gesture.
“June 13, 2011. I had a personal epiphany; that regardless of my success and the modicum of maturity I’ve gained over this past decade, there has been one constant guiding force in my life. Since I was eleven years old, that constant has been you. I carried your directives with me even after I left Hogwarts. I’d like to thank you.”
The brunette witch placed the small wooden box upon the corner of Severus’ care-worn and ink-stained desk, a contrast with the silvering of the aged teak. Turning around, Hermione met his glare with unruffled ease. “I appreciate your giving me a few minutes of your time today. I know you’re busy. I’ve followed your recent research and read your published articles. It’s been heartening to know that your career has flourished. Oddly enough, you inspired my choice of careers, as well. I create personalized wards for confidential clients. This box, my gift to you, is an example of my work. I’ll see myself out now.”
Hermione crossed to the door of his chambers, trailing her exotic fragrance behind her, then turned to face him one last time. Her heart was in her throat, and she ruthlessly squashed her nerves, determined to have her say. This was, after all, the sole reason she’d come to England. “Oh, yes. One final significant date in my curriculum vitae. Yesterday, August 30, 2011. I realized that the greatest irony of my life, Severus, is that the other constant in my life is the fact that I still love you. As an adult. I know it’s neither requited nor are my feelings anything but repellant to you. I’ve suffered a broken heart more than once. At least I know the remedy. Time and distance. I wish you well, Professor. I hope you find some joy.”
The door closed silently behind her. She was gone… but would not be forgotten.
7. "Actually, it's a gift for you, in case someone manages to slip you a love potion. I do hope you've had the sense not to eat or smell anything those awful women have brought you."
"Finally, a gift I might possibly be able to use. However, Miss Granger, has it occurred to you that having survived twenty years with Voldemort, I can probably also manage a few besotted witches on my own?"
She snorts. "Well, if you gave me a choice between fighting Voldemort and fighting those old harridans, I'd have to stop and think it over."
He spares her a small sound of amusement.
"However," she goes on, "I can't be too critical without being hypocritical in the process. I myself am here to declare my intentions."
"Do go on," he says with more than a trace of irony.
"When you're well, Professor Snape, I intend to commence my oh-so-polite pursuit." Then, perhaps fearing she had not been quite clear enough, she adds, "Of you."
He gives a bark of amusement. "Oh, Merlin, not you too. I suppose I should thank you for being upfront about it, at least. And for having the decency to wait, unlike the other harridans."
"I thought it fitting. When you taught me as a girl," she says, as though that were decades ago and not a year, "you may have been quite mean but you also fought fair." He cocks an eyebrow at her, and she hastens to explain, "You never stabbed us in the back. You hit us between the eyes and we had it coming."
"I can't tell you, coming fresh out of a war, how refreshing it is to hear that you equate your courtship of me with battle," he says dryly.
8. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror appraisingly. Okay, she wasn’t model skinny, but she definitely had nice boobs. Perky and just large enough to be a decent handful. Plus the push-up bra beneath her dress was most certainly the best twenty quid she’d ever spent. Wizarding lingerie had nothing on the Muggle kind, and she’d done the Mae West test to prove it – yes, the pencil had stood up all on its own with very little bother.
Her legs, however, were a bit of a different story. Not particularly flabby, just oddly coloured. She was eternally grateful for tights. And besides, if she kept the lights off, perhaps he wouldn’t notice. She hoped he wouldn’t.
The clock on the wall said eight-thirty. Fashionably late.
She smoothed down the royal blue material and strutted out the door, her six-inch heels clattering noisily as she began to descend the stairs.
9. On the evening of October 3, 1997, a fortnight after her eighteenth birthday, Miss Hermione Granger, seventh-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, shot Professor Severus Snape with a crossbow, as he was leaving the school grounds on an assignment from the Hogwarts Headmaster Emeritus, Albus Dumbledore. This lapse surprised the Hogwarts community considerably, for Miss Granger had always (well, almost always) been the most correct and well behaved of young ladies. Which just goes to show that even correct and well behaved young ladies have their limits.
The whole thing began six years earlier, in the autumn of 1991, when Miss Granger managed to set both herself and Professor Snape afire. (This demonstrates that even at the tender age of twelve, Hermione Granger showed promise of things to come.) The fire in Snape's case was literal, and resulted from a misunderstanding on Miss Granger's part as to what he was or was not doing to Harry Potter's broomstick during a Quidditch match against Slytherin House. In Miss Granger's case, the effect was more figurative. She was overcome with remorse when she learned that Snape had not been hexing Harry's broomstick, but trying to counterspell the hexes of one Professor Quirrell, who was letting out his head (unfurnished) to Lord Voldemort at the time, and being a correct and well behaved young lady she marched straight down to Snape's office to apologize. It is not clear what happened next. Hermione allowed as how something about the way his dark hair fell over his collar when he was bending over a parchment inspired her to kiss him on the cheek. Since Hermione was new to this sort of thing, the kiss landed somewhere in the vicinity of his right ear, and got her a stinging lecture on proper student-faculty decorum and a threat of detention that she received so docilely that Snape had second thoughts and packed her off with an admonition to behave herself in future and not go setting fire to any more of her instructors.
10. "Merlin's arse, Granger. Mope any harder and they'll make you head of Hufflepuff," Draco said before taking a swig of his own beer.
"Oh, shut up, Draco."
"Really, haven't you managed to get a leg over yet?"
"I've been trying," she said through gritted teeth.
"Sending him longing looks while you're camped out in the library reviewing next year's book selection doesn't count. Neither does sprawling out on the settee in the teacher's lounge, even if you're wearing that purple top that makes your tits look nice."
She fought off the urge to punch him. After all, it was hardly right to hit a man for complimenting your tits simply because he was the wrong man. And it wasn't as if the purple top hadn't been a strategic purchase. The wrong strategic purchase, apparently.
"I'm beginning to think he's not interested," Hermione grumbled into her empty glass. The tiny echo was nearly soothing. Soothing and apparently a source of echolocation for galleon-thirsty landlords. A new pint appeared next to its empty friend.
Draco took another swig, almost as if he'd invented his own drinking game in which he drank every time he talked, which... really wasn't a bad idea now that she thought of it.
"Oh, he's interested," Draco said.
Hermione snorted. "And why on earth should I believe you?"
"The man glances at you like a terrified first year."
"Probably afraid I'm up to something."
"Well, you are."