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:
I F***ing Do! by The Hissing Harpies (Or click on the Hissing Harpies tag for access to all 28 parts.)
A Change is Going to Come by livvy6
Confluence of Truths by Liasis
Heaven Beside You by emichka84
Improbable Felicity by subversa
Harbinger by bambu345
Dark Veela by kittyperry WIP
One Picture by MsTree aka silvermstree
Living Legacy by sshg316
Love Him in My Absence by anogete
Meeting Eileen by snapefan520
Spin the Past by somigliana
1. The woman’s voice was familiar, but his mind was foggy. He could not remember. All he knew, his entire world, was the pain. It was like fire, consuming and devouring him.
Cool, slender fingers touched his brow, and she clucked her tongue.
“Oh, dear. You’re burning up.”
Her soothing touch and gentle tone were calming, and he unconsciously turned his face toward her hand.
“That’s right. Everything is fine. Now, open your mouth a bit and … yes, like that.”
He trusted her. He did not know why; he only knew that he did. His lips parted, and his mouth was filled with a bitter liquid, but he could not swallow. He panicked, his eyes opening with terror as he choked on the foul substance, causing waves of pain to wash over him.
The tender touch returned, this time massaging his throat as she helped him to swallow.
“I’m so sorry, Severus. This would be easier with a spell, I know. There. That’s better. Yes?”
Yes. It was better. The fire was receding, fading until it was only a warm ember rather than a raging inferno.
His body and mind relaxed, and he found himself drifting back into the darkness.
Then, he heard her. She was humming. He knew that song. He knew her. It had been so long since he had seen her—much too long. He slipped back into unconsciousness, soothed by the sound of the familiar lullaby.
2. Dropping her cloak on a house-elf, Eileen Snape swept up to the over-awed looking Muggles who were sitting on the staircase clutching glasses of elf-made wine.
"You’ll be the Grangers, then."
"That’s right," said Jocasta.
"Your daughter sounds like a chuffing good thing for my son. But don’t think I’ll stand by and let those poncy, sodding Malfoys walk all over me the way they have you.”
“They haven’t!” Martin retorted.
“This case of Galleon dysentery was your idea?”
“Severus will do what I say,” declared Eileen.
Martin’s face lit up with amusement.
“You haven’t met Hermione, have you?”
3. Her hair was wispy-white, but the heavy brows and ebony eyes were unmistakable.
The years had weathered the woman; despite being in her early sixties, she looked infinitely older. Her skin was not pallid, but had the fragile, age-cracked appearance of antique bone china.
The Daily Prophet was clutched in spidery, age-spotted hands.
“I’m sorry. I was hoping that Severus Snape still owned this house,” she said, sounding relieved and regretful all at once.
“He does,” Hermione said with an apprehensive smile. “He’s not here at the moment, but he’ll be back soon. Please come in, Mrs. Snape.”
In contrast to her son, Eileen’s posture was stooped and weary, as though the weight of a lifetime of hardship pressed them forward.
She stepped into the living-room and stopped dead in her tracks. Her dark eyes scanned the bleak room, taking in the details as if she’d never it before.
She shook her head slightly, as though realising that she’d been drawn into the shadows of the past. “I apologise – it has been many years …”
Hermione nodded and gestured to the sagging sofa and worn armchair. “Please, sit, Mrs. Snape. Would you like some tea while we wait?”
4. Eileen looked over at him while she mended some of the second-hand robes they had obtained in Diagon Alley the day before. “Money’s a bit dear right now, Sev,” she said, her hands stilled in her lap. “Still and all, it’s not everyday my son goes off to Hogwarts. I’ll see what I can do. Mind, it may not get done before you leave next week.”
“But you could send it to me, right?” the boy asked. “I mean, there is ways of getting letters, isn’t there?”
She nodded. “You remember the owls we saw yesterday?”
“The ones in the bird shop?”
“That’s Eeylops,” she said, smiling in remembrance. “They sell owls to carry messages back and forth for wizards and witches.”
“Bet they’re really dear, aren’t they?” Severus asked, already knowing the answer before his mother could voice it.
“A bit more than we could pay right now,” Eileen said. “There’s also the owl post office for those like us who can’t afford their own owl. And Hogwarts has school owls for the students to use.”
Severus’ face lit up. “So I can write to you? And you can answer my letters?”
Eileen looked up in alarm. “Yes, that’s true. But your dad wouldn’t like it much.” She looked up from the robe she was hemming. “Keep them short,” she said. “I have a Squib friend who would probably be willing to receive your letters for me and send mine to Hogwarts. I’ll ask her.”
5. ‘Hello?’ a voice called.
Hermione brought her wand up and froze in place, listening. The voice had come from inside the house, but she could see no one. Stealthily she crept forward, past the sitting area with the sofa, coffee table, and armchairs, and the room opened up slightly to the right. Keeping close to the wall, Hermione peeked around the corner of the ell-shaped room into a book-lined alcove holding two additional armchairs at the end, with the opposite wall containing the portrait of a heavy-browed woman beside the open doorway to the kitchen beyond.
‘Who are you?’
Hermione flinched, and her heart leapt into her throat, racing with alarm. The voice had come from almost right beside her. Her wand at the ready, she made a slow circle, but the room was empty; she was the only one present.
‘For Merlin’s sake, girl, can you not look at me when I speak to you?’
The portrait – the woman in the portrait was talking to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hermione said with some asperity, sheathing her wand, ‘but I didn’t realise you were the one speaking.’ She turned her full attention now to the painting. The woman had lustrous black hair, coiled into a bun at the back of her head, and large, dark eyes above her thin-lipped, unsmiling mouth.
‘Well?’ the portrait demanded unpleasantly.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Snape,’ Hermione said as politely as she could, wondering why Severus had neglected to mention the presence of his mother. ‘My name is Hermione.’
‘Is that supposed to mean something to me?’ Eileen Snape demanded waspishly. ‘What are you doing in my house? Where is my son?’
‘I am your son’s wife,’ Hermione told the scowling portrait. ‘This is my house, now. Your son has been in prison, but he will be here in a few days.’
6. "Prince, Eileen," called out a melodic voice which Hermione immediately realized belonged to Dumbledore. He stood in front of the mass of new students, a scroll in his thin hands. He must have been Deputy Headmaster during Dippet's time and so performed the same duties as McGonagall had when she was in that position. The Great Hall was lit up for the feast, the houses clearly defined into their long tables, ghosts soaring among the clouds below the ceiling, candles hovering above the shining plates and silverware. No one in the crowd seemed very familiar, although she did discover the presence of a timid, oversized half-giant sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table on a large stool.
Eileen shyly walked through the crowd and sat down, Dumbledore placing the Sorting Hat on her head and waiting for its judgment. Hermione could hear the old hat's words as though it was on her own head even though she was standing against the wall near the Slytherin table. Perhaps it was because she was seeing things as Eileen had, for it was her memory.
"You have a brilliant mind, a very rare sort of mind. You are slightly proud, but kind. There is an undercurrent of aspiration to you, and I can feel that you will be working hard to prove yourself here. And the best place for that is… Ravenclaw!" The houses all politely clapped as she, shaking, found her seat.
The Great Hall disappeared and the walls were replaced by gigantic dusty bookshelves. She stood with Snape beside several study tables, and saw both Eileen and Myrtle sitting at one in front of them. They were taking notes from their second year Herbology textbook when a tall boy walked past the table, through Hermione's left shoulder, and towards the back of the library. Eileen looked up and watched him as she continued to write out a few more lines, and Hermione wondered what it was that made him catch her eye. The boy looked around the library to make sure no one was watching him before he darted under the rope and into the Restricted Section. Eileen put down her quill and stood up.
"What's the matter?" asked Myrtle, tearing her eyes from her work.
"I'm going to use the restroom," she said, waiting for her friend to return to her book before quietly walking through the maze of tall bookcases. She pretended to be interested in a lower shelf so that she could peek past the roped-off area, but was unable to see the boy. She decided to find out what he was doing, and so darted underneath the cord as he had. She was silently walking down the aisles, intent on finding him, when she froze at the feeling of a wand pressed against the middle of her back.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, pushing her shoulder so she stood against a bookcase and faced him. He towered above her, and even though her shock was evident she also blushed at his proximity and handsomeness.
"You s-shouldn't be here. You don't have a n-note," she stuttered, flattening herself against the wooden shelves.
7. Just then, a loud bang came from downstairs. Hermione rushed towards the door, but it blasted open in her face with such force that both she and Harry were thrown back. An elderly witch with pinched, sour features stormed in, wand at ready. She halted as she saw Snape lying on the bed and hissed in outrage. Whirling around to face Harry and Hermione, she ground out, ‘What have you done with my son?’
Harry seemed so flabbergasted by her words that his hand froze halfway to his own wand. Hermione was surprised as well, but she managed to keep her composure. Very slowly she stood up, keeping her hands in sight.
‘Eileen Snape, I presume?’ she asked quietly. The woman met her eyes and nodded tersely.
‘You presume correctly. I asked you a question, girl! What is my son doing here and what have you done to him?’
‘Please, lower your wand, Mrs Snape, and I will explain everything.’
The woman considered her for a moment and lowered her wand somewhat.
8. However, when he finally thought that life was done with him, when he finally thought he could be free in death, he was once again prevented from accepting the happiness, the light he had always desired. Because as he lay dying alone in the Shrieking Shack, he saw a vision of his mother. His mother, not as she had seemed in his childhood and early youth, but as she should have been, her face blooming with love and happiness, her hair long and luscious, her figure ripe and unbearably beautiful.
‘Mother, is that you, Mother?’ asked Severus, bemused. He had thought he’d see Lily in death or the old twinkling goat, Dumbledore. In his worst nightmares he had thought he’d see the accusing eyes of Potter and all the others he had been forced to kill under the Dark Lord’s orders. Sometimes he had even dreamt he saw Charity Burbage, pleading with him to save her. But he’d never thought he’d see his mother, looking sensual and alive.
‘Dear heart, it is me,’ said Eileen Prince.
‘But you look so different,’ stated Severus stupidly. And then, seeming to recover himself, he looked round at what appeared to be billowing clouds and mist and demanded, ‘What’s going on? Where am I?’
9. Pulled back into the present by the not so subtle clearing of his throat, I heard him say, “If you don't mind, there is something I would like for you to do before we work on the house.” His voice had gotten much softer and more hesitant. After two years of really getting to know him, I realised he was anxious about what he needed to ask me.
“Yes?” I gave him a curious look, wondering what could possibly make him so nervous.
“I-I would like you to meet my mother.”
I'm sure my mouth was open so wide that a bludger could have gone through it. “Your mother? I thought that your mother... Well, I had assumed that...”
“My mother's portrait, that is,” he quickly added. Thank goodness he had interrupted me before I put my foot in my mouth.
“Of course, Severus.” I smiled at him, trying desperately to hide the nervousness that I was actually feeling. His mother! Honestly, I was quite terrified to meet her as visions of a stern woman with a temper that rivaled his crept into my thoughts.
I slowly followed him up the rickety steps into the larger of the two bedrooms. This room was even more dust-covered than the downstairs, the air stale. A large bed that looked like it had not been slept on in years sat in the center of the room, and I had a feeling that this had been his parents' room. Slowly following him to a large portrait hung near the wardrobe, I gasped as the woman in the frame smiled at me.
“You must be Hermione.” Her eyes twinkled slightly as she spoke to me in a much kinder voice than I was expecting.
“Yes,” I answered her nervously. Despite living in the wizarding world for a little over ten years, I still was uncomfortable talking with portraits.
Severus touched my shoulder and then walked slowly towards the bedroom door. “I will start dinner and give you a few moments to talk.”
10. An elderly woman was in the narrow hospital bed, but her eyes slowly opened when she heard the commotion of people entering. She looked at Snape and smiled softly, before turning her gaze to Hermione. Hermione shifted uncomfortably under the dark eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but she didn’t believe they had ever met.
Snape pulled Hermione forward and grabbed her shoulders, leading her closer to the bed. She could see the woman’s eyes watching Snape’s hands on her shoulders. Finally, the woman looked at Hermione’s face, and she smiled warmly, the edges her of eyes crinkling up in happiness. “Hello, my dear.”
Hermione opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She finally forced a soft hello out, and then turned to look at Snape over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit confused. I don’t know who this is.”
His long fingers gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “This is Eileen, my mother. Mother, this is Hermione Granger.”
If Snape’s hands had not been on her shoulders, Hermione would have toppled over backward and fainted. The last person she had expected was to see his mother. She assumed his mother had passed away years ago. Never in her wildest dreams did she think Snape’s mother had been in a Muggle hospital for who knew how many years.
“I, umm… Forgive me, but I’m just a bit surprised by all of this,” Hermione said to the woman in the hospital bed. Snape slowly released his hold on her shoulders and stepped over to the other side of the bed to take his mother’s hand.
“Surprised? Severus told me that you were the one who finished the potion.”
Hermione looked at Snape and everything fell into place. His mother had been in the coma for quite some time, and he had been working on the cure for nearly as long. The blue algae idea worked and created a potion that could revive coma patients. Not only had it worked, but Snape had told his mother she was responsible. “Well, I just made a suggestion,” Hermione said, still watching Snape. She looked down to his mother again and gave the other woman a smile. “I’m very happy it worked.”
Eileen’s tired eyes twinkled as she returned Hermione’s smile. “From the way my son has been talking, he admires you very much, Hermione.”