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:
From the Corner by coffeeonthepatio
Que Sera, Sera by cybrokat
Sage by lady_rhian
Recapitulation by mundungus42
Stepfather Snape by SamusAran
Through Silence by dickgloucester
The Lost Chamber by pyjamapants
Picture Perfect by death_ofme
Lost Time by firefly124
Nineteen years later by mauvemagique
Advanced Contemporary Potion Making by lariopefic
Durus Amor by celisnebula
1. "What herbs have a negative reaction to moonstone?"
Rose was clearly not listening. She was mechanically going through the motions of preparing the Aging Potion. Crushing up the moonstone, shredding some valerian leaves, all the while giving sideways glances to the blond Slytherin.
Gosh, he looks just like Draco, thought Hermione. Who wasn't a bad looking guy when she was in school, just a pompous arse. But from what she saw so far, his son hadn't inherited those Malfoy traits.
Hermione looked on in silent horror as her daughter, still peering out at Malfoy, grabbed some lavender instead of poppy and sprinkled it in her potion. Instantly the calm bubbling turned sinister and a foul green smoke poured over the sides of the cauldron.
In a blink, Snape was at her side, vanishing the potion. "Idiot girl! Pay. More. Attention! The reactions with moonstone were discussed in this class not more than five minutes past if you could cease your pathetic daydreaming long enough to listen and save the rest of us from yourself. You shall receive a zero for the day. Now sit there and be silent. Learn from the capable student next to you instead of trying to poison him."
With a swish, he returned to the front of the class as Rose's cheeks flared red. Hermione knew that look in her husband and if class didn't let out soon, her daughter would do something to earn herself detention.
Thankfully, the potions were soon completed. "Take two vials," Snape told the class. "Swallow one yourself, and stopper the other for a grade. Rest assured, the only one who would have killed herself is Weasley. The rest of you just may look like Professor McGonagall for the rest of the day."
2. She heard the trudge of trainers up the stairs, and the elf Disapparated. Rose and Hugo shuffled into the conference room, looking as if they were headed for detention rather than tea with their mum.
Hermione finished stacking the parchments she was sending to Bill and moved them to the bookshelf. She turned around to find Hugo rifling through her papers. “Hugo! You learned not to look through my research when you were seven.”
Hugo grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, you're researching something with runes, yeah, Mum?”
Rose rolled her eyes and slumped into one of the chairs, crossing her arms and settling into her usual, sullen, 'my Mum and brother are so abnormal' posture.
Mosey, bless her, picked that moment to deliver tea, scones, and biscuits. The kids were silent as Hermione served. She hoped that Hugo would drop the subject in favour of stuffing his face as usual. But, of course, she wasn't so lucky.
After polishing off two biscuits in under a minute, Hugo asked, “You didn't say so in the hallway, but your research has to do with Malfoy, doesn't it?”
Any response would be damning. Hugo could read her too well. “Yes, it does. There are runes carved in the area where the encounter happened.”
Fortunately, Hugo took the theoretical route. “How does that even work, Mum? All we've covered so far is four different alphabets and proper sentence construction in Latin.”
“There are several different theories on how the runes propagate magic, but no one theory has really been able to adequately explain things. Some scholars believe that because the individuals creating the rune carvings had more raw, primal magic when they carved the runes, some of their raw magic bled into the carving,” she explained.
Hugo stared at her with the dreamy expression that meant his brain was working overtime to digest new information. Rose's eyes were glazed over.
3. “Hugo, stop! You’re going to get us in trouble!”
“No, I’m not,” he tossed over his shoulder as he sprinted up the next staircase. “Go ahead—tell me what rule I’m breaking.”
Rose put on a burst of speed, determined to catch him up. She didn’t answer until she was standing next to him on the seventh floor landing, trying desperately not to gasp for breath. “There may not … be any … specific rules … against it, but … every time … you try … one of Uncle … George’s ideas … somehow … we end up … in trouble.”
Hugo, infuriatingly not out of breath at all after the dash up here from the Great Hall, gave an unrepentant shrug. “You don’t have to come with me.”
Rose crossed her arms and glared at him. “You know I do. We have to stick together.”
Besides, Mum would have my head if I knew you were off causing trouble and just left you to it.
He grinned. “Well, come on then!”
With a resigned sigh, she followed him down the corridor until he stopped in front of an absurd tapestry of a wizard surrounded by trolls in what looked like ballet costumes. Across from it was a very charred section of wall. Rose bit her lip. She’d never known her Uncle Fred, obviously, but it felt weird to come here.
Hugo dug about in his pockets and pulled out a handful of candies, a pair of what had to be Enhancing Earmuffs, and a Rainbow Hathead Cap. He set them down on the floor in front of the tapestry.
“Uncle George says—”
“—that this is a better place to remember Uncle Fred than the graveyard.” Rose sighed. “I know. But … you can’t just leave those there. What if some little firstie comes along and picks them up? They’ll be crying to Madam Pomfrey, and you know we’ll be the first ones dragged in front of the Headmistress!”
4. Hugo checked the fire under his cauldron again. He didn't want to mess up on his very first day.
He still wasn't sure about Snape. Was he as mean as everyone said? Or were Rose and Al right about him being decent?
"Another Weasley," said a voice behind him, sounding as if its owner had just found something disgusting on the bottom of his shoe.
Flinching, Hugo dropped too many fly legs into the potion, which sputtered and turned solid.
"I see you take after your father," Snape sneered, and walked away.
Right, Hugo decided. Nasty git it is, then.
5. "I can't believe you turned him down! Do you know how hard it was for him to ask?"
Rose shrugged. "It's complicated, Hugo. You just wouldn't understand." She let out a soft sigh as Hugo made the 'I'm going to explode' face. "Look, I do love him, but it wouldn't work. Being his wife would require too many strings." She shifted on the sofa. "Could you imagine how well the scenario would go over when I couldn't attend one of the numerous dinner parties his parents throw simply because I was stuck in a dusty library doing research?"
"Is a Malfoy."
Hugo let out a snort. "Yes, I do know that quite well," he stated dryly. "As if that weren't the original attraction."
Rose let out a soft laugh. "True; remember how red Da's face got the first time Scorpius kissed me on the train platform?" She gave him a sad smile. "He could never see past Scorpius's surname — didn't matter that it was a quirk of genetics that caused him to be a Malfoy."
"At least Mum never held his last name against him — and I'm sure... given time, she could've made Da see reason. You know how he was; bluster and blow up but eventually he'd cool down."
"Only, she never got the chance," Rose said softly.
"Even so, I can't believe you told him no."
"What would you have me do? Be like Mum? Marry him and give everything up? No. I can't. I won't." Rose slumped back against the cushions. "I know Mum loves us — loved Da, but you know she wasn't happy, still isn't happy. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to give up all of my dreams simply because I love Scorpius, and by marrying him, I'd have to."
6. Of the three persons sitting in the empty common room, only Snape seemed to be comfortable. Hermione sat awkwardly across from him, and Rose fidgeted beside her, biting back a hundred questions.
“What are your best subjects?”
Rose looked to her mother questioningly, before answering. “Arithmancy and Charms.”
“Any you find difficult?”
He ‘tsked’ disappointedly, but seemed still to like her very much.
“Your mother was very good at Potions.”
This was news to Rose. She looked askance at her mother. “She was?”
Snape looked disturbed for the first time.
“Your achievements are something you keep from your children?”
7. By the time she managed to return to the kitchen, neither Severus nor Rose was in evidence. Hermione swept the room with her eyes, but saw no cluster of heads that might have indicated that he was surrounded again, nor any sign of Snape himself. She sighed. More than likely, he'd gone. It wasn't as if she'd made him feel particularly welcome. Well, what did he expect? she thought angrily as she made her way back into the thick of the gathering. It's a party. I have guests. I can't handhold him every minute.
It was hard to focus on the conversations going on around her, and Hermione drifted through most of the rest of the evening feeling oddly like a guest in her own house, a spectator, the friend of a friend.
Around half ten, when things had begun to thin out a bit, she noticed that Hugo had secreted himself away somewhere. She was sympathetic, of course. The boy was eleven—dress robes and awkward conversations with adults who only wanted to exclaim over his growth were hardly his preference—but she expected him to be here tonight, not hidden away in a book, no matter how much she wished she could join him. Quickly, she slipped upstairs and knocked on the door to his room. A few murmured words would bring him back down among his cousins, and he'd be there to see the rest of the guests off.
"Come in," Hugo said.
Hermione opened the door, expecting to find him on his bed, propped up with pillows, his good robes in disarray.
Instead, she was astounded to see him seated at his desk beside Severus Snape, a cauldron bubbling away in front of them.
"Hello," she said. It was all she could think of to say.
"Hello," Severus said.
"Mum!" Hugo said, "look—Mr Snape and I made Forgetfulness Potion!"
8. "Rosie?" she entered her daughter's room where her eldest sat, practising reading. "Come on, sweetheart, we will go to grandma and grandpa."
"Why?" the girl frowned and pushed her auburn hair behind her ear impatiently. "Is it because of daddy's snores?"
She shook her head and smled weakly. "No. We'll just stay there for a while."
Are you getting a div - div-...?"
Hermione crouched on the floor next to her daughter and hugged her instinctively. She held the girl to her chest, and it hurt to hold back from crying. She knew it was her own fault. She was the one who left. But it still hurt.
"Mummy?" Rose asked and pushed away. "Don't tell Hugo. He won't understand yet."
She couldn't help the bit of laughter that escaped her throat - strangled though it was. No, Hugo was too much of a Weasley to understand it yet. Head through the wall, that was her baby. Rose was much more sensible. Rose was older than her five and a half. Hermione was a little worried about her little one. A bit bullied already. A mini-Hermione. With Ronald's straight hair and his freckles.
"I won't tell Hugo. We'll just go visit the grandparents, okay?" she kissed her daughter and picked her up.
9. Rose Weasley was mad. She was mad with her mum, her Muggle world, their Muggle means of transportation, mad at her dad for leaving her alone in the world, mad at Grandpapa Arthur for his interest in a world that took his son away, and the rest of the family for understanding whatever it was they understood. She would never understand why they wouldn't avenge him. Uncle Harry had avenged his parents' deaths, even after all those years. She decided she would, too, even if it took her longer.
Maybe I should run away to join that group Dad and Uncle Harry talked about, the one that wanted a Muggle-free world for witches and wizards. No, it's not the same as joining the Death Eaters. They're in Azkaban; Dad and Uncle Harry made sure of that. They got rid of Voldemort together. Oh, Mum helped; so did many others, Uncle Neville, too.
She grimaced at the thought of Uncle Neville, no, Professor Longbottom. What does he think he's doing having all that tea with Mum? Are they in love? Has she forgotten Dad already? Al doesn't think so; he thinks they are just friends who've loads to catch up on. Oh! What would he know about love anyway; he's just a boy, and eleven on top of that!
Her dad always said, "Rosie's got Mummy's brain," and she had barely understood what all the fuss was about love.
Rose's eyes welled up at remembering her dad's pride in her sharpness, her brilliance. She decided to make sure her dad wasn't forgotten. She would find a way.
She had seen James picking on Albus earlier, so she thought of cheering him up,
"Al! Albus, come on up here, I have chocolate frogs!" she called out to her cousin from across the common room.
10. She didn't bother to blink back her tears as Hugo ran across the platform and embraced her tightly. His rib-crushing hug was the same as Ron's, and she smiled up at her son.
"You cut your hair," she said, reaching up to finger the short mop of curls on top of her son's head.
"Yeah, it was too hot when it was long," he said, fingering the back of his neck where his ponytail had hung since he was fourteen.
"It looks wonderful," said Hermione, grinning. "You look wonderful. It's so good to see you!"
"You look exactly the same," said Hugo. "I mean, wonderful." He glanced over his shoulder. "Vic's just getting the luggage."
"I brought the car, but if you'd rather Apparate--"
"No, the car's fine," said Hugo, shoving his hands in his pockets. He glanced over his shoulder back at the train. "We saw Dad."
Her smile faded at the seriousness of his tone. "How was he?"
"He's been getting worse for years. There's nothing to be done other than make him comfortable, which he is, as far as we can tell."
"How often do you go to see him?"
Hermione's heart swelled at the hurt and accusation in the question. "Every morning, rain or shine. Rosie comes a few times a week. We talk about you to him all the time."
"Why didn't you tell me how bad it was?"