Based on a Book or Play Quiz
Originally posted by morethansirius at Based on a Book or Play Quiz
An author can find inspiration in all sorts of things. The stories on this week's quiz were all inspired by a book or play. Have you read all these works which moved our SSHG authors to write?
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:
Through the Foe Glass and What Severus Found There by mundungus42
(Based on Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll)
Lolita Page 197 by death-ofme
(Based on Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov)
Third Star to the Right by gelsey
(Based on Peter and Wendy by J.M. Barrie)
The Long Way Down by Alley_B aka leakywitch
(Based on A Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood)
Too Wise To Woo by apythia
(Based on Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare)
A Terrible Temptation by Friendlyquark aka barriequark
(Based on Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand)
The Apothecary's Assistant - or - Witch Austen's Revenge by subtilior
(Based on Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen)
Two Teas and Bribery by verseblack
(Based on Persuasion by Jane Austen)
No More Than Reason by iamstarmom
(Based on Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare)
On Earth as in Heaven by duniazade
(Based on Philemon and Baucis from Ovid)
His Draught of Delicate Poison by subvers
(Based on The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer)
Pride and Potions by Slipperballoon
(Based on Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen)
1. Snape unfurled the parchment with a flick of his wrist. "It has come to my attention that your previous placements have been marred by a series of unfortunate incidents. I think it prudent that we go over the rules of this household, so that there are no regrettable misunderstandings."
Hermione had a feeling that she would be the only one regretting any misunderstandings.
Snape's eyes glanced over the parchment as he spoke. "I will tolerate no kicking, spitting, cussing, and especially crying. You will refrain from hurling any objects at, near, or around my person."
Hermione winced; she really wasn't proud of some of her past behaviours. She absently scratched her arm as she listened to the litany of trespasses that Snape was unwilling to tolerate.
"You will not damage any of my personal property... Miss Granger, is there something wrong with your arm?"
Hermione shook her head and began to scratch her other arm.
"Is the scratching a nervous condition, then? Because those can be inherited." Snape studied Hermione with more than a hint of concern on his face.
"No, sir. It's the robes. The fabric irritates my skin."
Snape set down the parchment and walked around the table to where Hermione sat. He reached for her wrist and pushed up the sleeve of her robes to inspect the red blotches on her arm, some of which had become raised welts after her careless scratching. His hands were surprisingly gentle on her skin, and warm. For some inexplicable reason, she had always presumed his skin would be cold, like a reptile's.
2. Molly uttered another small scream, then quieted at the firm pressure from Arthur’s hand.
“Isn’t this rather sudden, Harry? The last time we saw you and Ginny, she was dividing her attention between Seamus and Draco and you were courting Skye Snape.” Arthur’s tone was firm, though no less kind.
“No, sir, I don’t believe our loving one another is sudden - I just think our realising it is.” Harry paused for a moment. “Ginny knew her mind before I did, Mr. Weasley; she’s been trying to let me know how she feels for years. When I was dense about it, she got angry with me - and we’ve been going around each other in circles ever since.” Harry risked a glance at Molly, who was watching him with a mixture of understanding and dismay. “This law has a way of clearing up the unimportant issues in a hurry.”
Molly spoke quietly. “It’s true, Arthur. About Ginny, I mean. She’s loved him since she was a wee thing - she explained it to me when I fussed at her for changing boyfriends so often. ‘I’m just killing time ’til Harry gets a clue, Mum,’ she told me.” Her voice faded and she pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her dressing gown, dabbing at her eyes.
Arthur slid his hand up Molly’s arm to her shoulder, where he began to rub comforting circles on her back. His eyes, however, never left Harry’s face.
3. Severus stood shakily on legs almost too weakened to support him. Six weeks of immobility had taken its toll. He watched Potter bounding about like a puppy, all excitement and energy and he felt bitter envy stirring in his heart. Enough already, his inner self muttered to him. You’ve been in the boy’s shoes; you know his life isn’t paradisiacal. It was time to get over it all and to get on with killing Voldemort. The boy was so excited he was already heading out the door and Severus halted his progress with some annoyance.
“Mr. Potter.” His voice was neutral rather than sneering; it was the best he could do at the moment.
“Professor?” The young man edged up to him as though he expected Severus to revert to type at any moment. Honestly, the boy’s wariness was enough to calm him down and make him behave more civilly. After all, he wouldn’t be able to connect to Potter’s mind well enough to hand over those memories if the boy didn’t relax.
“I need to give you my memories of the last six weeks, remember?” Potter blushed and Severus stamped down on a sarcastic comment that was trying to get out of him. A deep breath and he pulled the censored version of events from his mind and prepared them to be handed over to the wide-eyed Potter.
4. The darkness outside the magical windows in their ersatz conference room indicated that the sun had set long ago, but the staff of Hogwarts was no closer to an agreement than they’d been at the start of the day. Despite some small concessions on Hermione’s part, she had held fast to her vision of a twenty-first century magical education that combined the best of Muggle and wizard instructional methodology and subject matter.
Most of the participants, however, had given up the day as a bad job. Getting ready to leave for supper, the staff was gathered around Draco’s computer. Pomona Sprout clapped her hands in delight when she tapped her wand on the tiny owl on the screen and a soothing voice chirruped, “You’ve got owls!”
All but Sirius Black were ignoring the heated conversation in progress between the object of his desire and Severus Snape. He watched the two of them raptly, switching expressions from blissful adoration for Hermione to distasteful indignation for Severus.
Hermione’s hair had come loose from its magical moorings to explode about her head like some operatic version of Medusa. Her expression was wild with frustration and her usual upright posture slumped with exhaustion.
5. When he awoke, he was in nearly complete darkness, which would have been a relief had his body not chosen that moment to protest his earlier generosity with the whisky. He staggered to the commode and was noisily ill. When he could heave no more, he rinsed the sourness from his mouth with tap water, pointedly avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. He stared at his hands. They had already begun trembling.
He drained the dregs of all the liquor bottles scattered on the floor, but it wasn’t enough. His head hurt too much to get to sleep and his stomach was painfully empty. As much as his stomach turned over at the thought, eating something would probably help. Besides, he needed another drink. He pulled his robes up and stumbled down the stairs.
In the sitting room, he lit the sconces with a wave of his wand and blinked in surprise. The room had been completely torn apart. His books had been thrown from their shelves and the pages torn from their spines. The upholstery had been slashed, the legs broken off the chairs, and all of his ink poured on the carpet. His lamp had been smashed, and his father’s chess set had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor.
Wormtail.
6. The next morning, the strangers were gone, but the blanket was carefully folded and on top of it was a yellow flower.
As soon as the news got out, the villagers trickled in, at first on minor pretexts. The mayor came to see if they were paid up with taxes, the barber to ask if they were in good health, the peddler to know if they needed something for next month when he'd go to the big town. Then, quite unashamedly, to stare at the big screen. They had heard about such, but even the mayor had only an old rounded TV set, even if it was a colour one. They were quite welcomed by the old couple, who always had some wine and dried fruits to offer, but it was remarked that Kostis always went out of the room to fetch new wine, and nobody could tell exactly where he went to. Though everyone wanted to look at the wonderful images, there were never more than five or six persons in the little hut at the same time, and if someone new arrived, one of the assistants was sure to get up and excuse himself.
Only Father Dimitrios never came in.
Under the pretext of curiosity, much touching of the screen was done. It felt like an absolutely ordinary, if magnificent, screen. But Panayotis the Thief had tried, as a joke, to pull it from the wall and, pull as hard as he could, it wouldn't move by a hair's breadth.
7. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“It’s your game, just my rules.”
I squeezed my eyes shut; this frankness irritated me and was also what I couldn’t stomach.
“I will get you out-“
“Of course.”
She leaned back, breasts pushed up into the air. I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to play the vixen, that I would not revel in her coquettish manners. It didn’t matter. She’d been conditioned to play the whore too well.
“I know you go to them, even when they don’t call for you. Stop. You already have my attention, little good it does you.”
8. "What in the hell is going on tonight?" Snape growled. He didn't even look at her; he was talking to the man who had caught her. "Pan flying about willy-nilly, girls falling out of the sky." He looked at her then, sneering slightly. "Onto my ship."
His ship. Huh.
What the hell is going on? she wondered in direct echo of his words.
"I don't rightly know, Captain," the man replied. For the first time, Hermione noted his accent, a Scottish brogue, and she took a closer look at him. And blinked, and looked again. If Minerva McGonagall had been a man, she would have been looking straight at him. Thin, with the same features and expression.
And then the thought came: Captain? Really?
"What are we going to do with our falling star, Captain?" the male-Minerva asked, looking at her now as well.
"I don't know, Mr. Smee," Snape said with a sigh. "What should I do with you, falling star?"
With a start, Hermione realized he was speaking to her. "Um. Professor. I don't know."
Snape barked a laugh. "Professor! I think that fall addled her brains a mite."
It was only then that she realized that Severus Snape did not recognize her, not even one little bit.
9. "Why?!" she snarled. "Snape, I'm going out of my fucking mind here in Longbourn - Mr. Collins and Fordyce's Sermons in alternation will do that to a person. I need to leave!"
"You need to play the role of Mary Bennet," he said, "who remains in her room for half the day."
"Exactly!!!"
"And during that half of the day, you shall scout for me in that crystal, and keep me informed of plot developments - by pigeon, perhaps."
"I can be of more bloody help than a pigeon!"
"Hermione ..."
It was something in the quality of his voice - some resonance - that caught her attention. Snape stroked the cat, and looked serious. "If we were both spies, I would say that you have by far the better placement, strategically -" he bowed - "not just socially."
Hermione choked back a lump in her throat. "You're saying that I need to stay at home and mind the sewing, while you go out and do things."
Snape bared his teeth. "No. I'm saying that you need to stay in Meryton, and that you need to keep Lydia from getting knocked up by the boot boy, to ensure Mr. Collins makes his two proposals in the correct order, and to use that crystal in order to banish any non-native characters to Timbuktu.
10. He gathered himself, seemly calmed by the application of chocolate. “Honestly, no one wants me at the celebration.” He raised a long finger when she opened her mouth to protest. “If you've come all the way to talk to me, at least show me the courtesy of allowing me to speak.” Hermione closed her mouth, nodded, then took another sip of tea.
Snape began to pace the book lined room. “My presence would simply cast a pall over the festivities. Many people are still angry over the entire businesses of,” here he hesitated over the words, “over the circumstances leading to the demise of the former Headmaster.” He collected himself back to sarcasm. “Others feel guilty over their treatment of the 'poor, tormented spy who sacrificed so much for the cause,' while still others think I got away with playing both ends against the middle for my own benefit.” He took on a look of false piety. “It really would be most unkind to show up on a day of joy only to stir up all those ugly emotions.”
“How like you to fret over the feelings of others.” Hermione said dryly.
Snape sat down at the table, folded his glasses and put them in a pocket, and opened another chocolate frog. “Honestly, I have no wish to sit in alone in a corner, listening to drunken toasts.” He raised his shoulders in a self-depreciating shrug. “I fear the ghosts of cranky, retired professors are ill-equipped to procure witty dinner companions with which to mock self-congratulatory speeches.”
“A date?” Hermione gaped. “You're refusing to come because you think you can't get a date?”
An author can find inspiration in all sorts of things. The stories on this week's quiz were all inspired by a book or play. Have you read all these works which moved our SSHG authors to write?
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:
Through the Foe Glass and What Severus Found There by mundungus42
(Based on Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll)
Lolita Page 197 by death-ofme
(Based on Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov)
Third Star to the Right by gelsey
(Based on Peter and Wendy by J.M. Barrie)
The Long Way Down by Alley_B aka leakywitch
(Based on A Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood)
Too Wise To Woo by apythia
(Based on Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare)
A Terrible Temptation by Friendlyquark aka barriequark
(Based on Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand)
The Apothecary's Assistant - or - Witch Austen's Revenge by subtilior
(Based on Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen)
Two Teas and Bribery by verseblack
(Based on Persuasion by Jane Austen)
No More Than Reason by iamstarmom
(Based on Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare)
On Earth as in Heaven by duniazade
(Based on Philemon and Baucis from Ovid)
His Draught of Delicate Poison by subvers
(Based on The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer)
Pride and Potions by Slipperballoon
(Based on Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen)
1. Snape unfurled the parchment with a flick of his wrist. "It has come to my attention that your previous placements have been marred by a series of unfortunate incidents. I think it prudent that we go over the rules of this household, so that there are no regrettable misunderstandings."
Hermione had a feeling that she would be the only one regretting any misunderstandings.
Snape's eyes glanced over the parchment as he spoke. "I will tolerate no kicking, spitting, cussing, and especially crying. You will refrain from hurling any objects at, near, or around my person."
Hermione winced; she really wasn't proud of some of her past behaviours. She absently scratched her arm as she listened to the litany of trespasses that Snape was unwilling to tolerate.
"You will not damage any of my personal property... Miss Granger, is there something wrong with your arm?"
Hermione shook her head and began to scratch her other arm.
"Is the scratching a nervous condition, then? Because those can be inherited." Snape studied Hermione with more than a hint of concern on his face.
"No, sir. It's the robes. The fabric irritates my skin."
Snape set down the parchment and walked around the table to where Hermione sat. He reached for her wrist and pushed up the sleeve of her robes to inspect the red blotches on her arm, some of which had become raised welts after her careless scratching. His hands were surprisingly gentle on her skin, and warm. For some inexplicable reason, she had always presumed his skin would be cold, like a reptile's.
2. Molly uttered another small scream, then quieted at the firm pressure from Arthur’s hand.
“Isn’t this rather sudden, Harry? The last time we saw you and Ginny, she was dividing her attention between Seamus and Draco and you were courting Skye Snape.” Arthur’s tone was firm, though no less kind.
“No, sir, I don’t believe our loving one another is sudden - I just think our realising it is.” Harry paused for a moment. “Ginny knew her mind before I did, Mr. Weasley; she’s been trying to let me know how she feels for years. When I was dense about it, she got angry with me - and we’ve been going around each other in circles ever since.” Harry risked a glance at Molly, who was watching him with a mixture of understanding and dismay. “This law has a way of clearing up the unimportant issues in a hurry.”
Molly spoke quietly. “It’s true, Arthur. About Ginny, I mean. She’s loved him since she was a wee thing - she explained it to me when I fussed at her for changing boyfriends so often. ‘I’m just killing time ’til Harry gets a clue, Mum,’ she told me.” Her voice faded and she pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her dressing gown, dabbing at her eyes.
Arthur slid his hand up Molly’s arm to her shoulder, where he began to rub comforting circles on her back. His eyes, however, never left Harry’s face.
3. Severus stood shakily on legs almost too weakened to support him. Six weeks of immobility had taken its toll. He watched Potter bounding about like a puppy, all excitement and energy and he felt bitter envy stirring in his heart. Enough already, his inner self muttered to him. You’ve been in the boy’s shoes; you know his life isn’t paradisiacal. It was time to get over it all and to get on with killing Voldemort. The boy was so excited he was already heading out the door and Severus halted his progress with some annoyance.
“Mr. Potter.” His voice was neutral rather than sneering; it was the best he could do at the moment.
“Professor?” The young man edged up to him as though he expected Severus to revert to type at any moment. Honestly, the boy’s wariness was enough to calm him down and make him behave more civilly. After all, he wouldn’t be able to connect to Potter’s mind well enough to hand over those memories if the boy didn’t relax.
“I need to give you my memories of the last six weeks, remember?” Potter blushed and Severus stamped down on a sarcastic comment that was trying to get out of him. A deep breath and he pulled the censored version of events from his mind and prepared them to be handed over to the wide-eyed Potter.
4. The darkness outside the magical windows in their ersatz conference room indicated that the sun had set long ago, but the staff of Hogwarts was no closer to an agreement than they’d been at the start of the day. Despite some small concessions on Hermione’s part, she had held fast to her vision of a twenty-first century magical education that combined the best of Muggle and wizard instructional methodology and subject matter.
Most of the participants, however, had given up the day as a bad job. Getting ready to leave for supper, the staff was gathered around Draco’s computer. Pomona Sprout clapped her hands in delight when she tapped her wand on the tiny owl on the screen and a soothing voice chirruped, “You’ve got owls!”
All but Sirius Black were ignoring the heated conversation in progress between the object of his desire and Severus Snape. He watched the two of them raptly, switching expressions from blissful adoration for Hermione to distasteful indignation for Severus.
Hermione’s hair had come loose from its magical moorings to explode about her head like some operatic version of Medusa. Her expression was wild with frustration and her usual upright posture slumped with exhaustion.
5. When he awoke, he was in nearly complete darkness, which would have been a relief had his body not chosen that moment to protest his earlier generosity with the whisky. He staggered to the commode and was noisily ill. When he could heave no more, he rinsed the sourness from his mouth with tap water, pointedly avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. He stared at his hands. They had already begun trembling.
He drained the dregs of all the liquor bottles scattered on the floor, but it wasn’t enough. His head hurt too much to get to sleep and his stomach was painfully empty. As much as his stomach turned over at the thought, eating something would probably help. Besides, he needed another drink. He pulled his robes up and stumbled down the stairs.
In the sitting room, he lit the sconces with a wave of his wand and blinked in surprise. The room had been completely torn apart. His books had been thrown from their shelves and the pages torn from their spines. The upholstery had been slashed, the legs broken off the chairs, and all of his ink poured on the carpet. His lamp had been smashed, and his father’s chess set had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor.
Wormtail.
6. The next morning, the strangers were gone, but the blanket was carefully folded and on top of it was a yellow flower.
As soon as the news got out, the villagers trickled in, at first on minor pretexts. The mayor came to see if they were paid up with taxes, the barber to ask if they were in good health, the peddler to know if they needed something for next month when he'd go to the big town. Then, quite unashamedly, to stare at the big screen. They had heard about such, but even the mayor had only an old rounded TV set, even if it was a colour one. They were quite welcomed by the old couple, who always had some wine and dried fruits to offer, but it was remarked that Kostis always went out of the room to fetch new wine, and nobody could tell exactly where he went to. Though everyone wanted to look at the wonderful images, there were never more than five or six persons in the little hut at the same time, and if someone new arrived, one of the assistants was sure to get up and excuse himself.
Only Father Dimitrios never came in.
Under the pretext of curiosity, much touching of the screen was done. It felt like an absolutely ordinary, if magnificent, screen. But Panayotis the Thief had tried, as a joke, to pull it from the wall and, pull as hard as he could, it wouldn't move by a hair's breadth.
7. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“It’s your game, just my rules.”
I squeezed my eyes shut; this frankness irritated me and was also what I couldn’t stomach.
“I will get you out-“
“Of course.”
She leaned back, breasts pushed up into the air. I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to play the vixen, that I would not revel in her coquettish manners. It didn’t matter. She’d been conditioned to play the whore too well.
“I know you go to them, even when they don’t call for you. Stop. You already have my attention, little good it does you.”
8. "What in the hell is going on tonight?" Snape growled. He didn't even look at her; he was talking to the man who had caught her. "Pan flying about willy-nilly, girls falling out of the sky." He looked at her then, sneering slightly. "Onto my ship."
His ship. Huh.
What the hell is going on? she wondered in direct echo of his words.
"I don't rightly know, Captain," the man replied. For the first time, Hermione noted his accent, a Scottish brogue, and she took a closer look at him. And blinked, and looked again. If Minerva McGonagall had been a man, she would have been looking straight at him. Thin, with the same features and expression.
And then the thought came: Captain? Really?
"What are we going to do with our falling star, Captain?" the male-Minerva asked, looking at her now as well.
"I don't know, Mr. Smee," Snape said with a sigh. "What should I do with you, falling star?"
With a start, Hermione realized he was speaking to her. "Um. Professor. I don't know."
Snape barked a laugh. "Professor! I think that fall addled her brains a mite."
It was only then that she realized that Severus Snape did not recognize her, not even one little bit.
9. "Why?!" she snarled. "Snape, I'm going out of my fucking mind here in Longbourn - Mr. Collins and Fordyce's Sermons in alternation will do that to a person. I need to leave!"
"You need to play the role of Mary Bennet," he said, "who remains in her room for half the day."
"Exactly!!!"
"And during that half of the day, you shall scout for me in that crystal, and keep me informed of plot developments - by pigeon, perhaps."
"I can be of more bloody help than a pigeon!"
"Hermione ..."
It was something in the quality of his voice - some resonance - that caught her attention. Snape stroked the cat, and looked serious. "If we were both spies, I would say that you have by far the better placement, strategically -" he bowed - "not just socially."
Hermione choked back a lump in her throat. "You're saying that I need to stay at home and mind the sewing, while you go out and do things."
Snape bared his teeth. "No. I'm saying that you need to stay in Meryton, and that you need to keep Lydia from getting knocked up by the boot boy, to ensure Mr. Collins makes his two proposals in the correct order, and to use that crystal in order to banish any non-native characters to Timbuktu.
10. He gathered himself, seemly calmed by the application of chocolate. “Honestly, no one wants me at the celebration.” He raised a long finger when she opened her mouth to protest. “If you've come all the way to talk to me, at least show me the courtesy of allowing me to speak.” Hermione closed her mouth, nodded, then took another sip of tea.
Snape began to pace the book lined room. “My presence would simply cast a pall over the festivities. Many people are still angry over the entire businesses of,” here he hesitated over the words, “over the circumstances leading to the demise of the former Headmaster.” He collected himself back to sarcasm. “Others feel guilty over their treatment of the 'poor, tormented spy who sacrificed so much for the cause,' while still others think I got away with playing both ends against the middle for my own benefit.” He took on a look of false piety. “It really would be most unkind to show up on a day of joy only to stir up all those ugly emotions.”
“How like you to fret over the feelings of others.” Hermione said dryly.
Snape sat down at the table, folded his glasses and put them in a pocket, and opened another chocolate frog. “Honestly, I have no wish to sit in alone in a corner, listening to drunken toasts.” He raised his shoulders in a self-depreciating shrug. “I fear the ghosts of cranky, retired professors are ill-equipped to procure witty dinner companions with which to mock self-congratulatory speeches.”
“A date?” Hermione gaped. “You're refusing to come because you think you can't get a date?”