Living like a muggle part II
Admit it ... at one time or another as you've been reading fanfiction, you've wished you could just Accio yourself a snack or conjure up a glass of wine. Magic ... it's the basis for the HP world, but sometimes authors like to explore placing the magical in a non-magical world. This week's quiz focuses on stories where Hermione and/or Severus are living as Muggles. Why they would want to do that, I have no idea -- I'd certainly like to be able to wave wand and have the laundry be done ...
This quiz is brought to you by the letter “M” and bluestocking79
Match the story to the quote:
Trail of the Black Star by mundungus42
The New Man by bethbethbeth
The Interview by florahart
Full Circle by sunnythirty3
Rondo Veneziano by Abby
Love Me Like Muggles Do by Thalassa (HG/LM)
The French Connection by bluestocking79
Dark Santiago by lariopefic
Meeting Frederick by keladry-lupin
Lost in the Dark by EnchantedFey (abandoned)
Renissance by Stormyskize
Toby Snape and the Wholly Holy Hideout by hayseed-42
1. Hermione delved into the remaining bag she had yet to empty. It contained the few personal effects that had been in her pockets on the day she was picked up in the alleyway. She found her watch, a few old hair bands, a ragged handkerchief, and a coin. Tossing everything carelessly onto the top of the desk, she sat there looking at the paltry remains of her previous life. Suddenly, she picked up the coin. This was not just any coin, it was a wizarding Galleon, the one Snape had given her just before he left.
She stared at the Galleon in wonder. Its existence meant her years at Hogwarts were real memories, not fantasies. Harry and Ron were real people, not products of her imagination. Hermione was overjoyed to find confirmation of her sanity, but at the same time the coin reinforced her loss. There was little to be gained by knowing she was a witch, if she couldn’t be a witch. She knew that her only hope lay in the dark, sardonic wizard who had given her the Galleon. Questions she couldn’t answer bedevilled her. Was the War over? Who had won? Did Severus Snape survive? Did he remember?
2. “I know Muggles don’t use parchment and quills, so if you’ve paper and pen I will get started on my list,” Severin said.
“I’ve better,” said Hermione with a gleam in her eye. “Come with me.”
Hermione led Severin through the parlour and opened the door of what he had assumed was a closet.
“This was my dad’s study,” Hermione explained. “At least that’s what we called it, but it was more of a family room. Dad would do the books for his and Mum’s practice. Mum would read or knit; she taught me to knit right here in this room. Mostly, I would read or occasionally watch the telly.
“By the time I’d started fifth year at Hogwarts, Dad had put a computer in. He loved all the newest gadgets.”
Hermione led Severin to the desk where the computer sat. She turned on the monitor and booted up the computer.
“I’ve heard of computers,” Severin said, “but I've never actually seen one in operation.”
“I’m surprised you’ve even heard the word ‘computer.’”
“Why would that surprise you? I'm a reasonably intelligent, well-read wizard; or at least I was until a few years ago.”
3. Jane gave a small smile and then shrugged. "Of course, doctor. I'm just a bit nervous is all. It's been four years since-." She stopped and turned her head toward the window that she knew was there, though she had never seen it. "It's been a long time since I've been anywhere else… at least that I can remember," she said, with a heavy sigh.
"It's to be expected that you are sad and nervous, Jane. You are still trying to deal with your memory loss, but you won't be alone in this, my dear." Dr. Winet moved from her desk and settled onto the chair next to Jane's. "I will still continue to see you regularly, and we've found you a nice boarding house that will feel comfortable and is close by my offices."
Jane nodded her agreement and forced her fingers to settle back down on her leg, "Yes, of course doctor. I just-," she stopped a moment and then took a deep breath. "What about the dreams, doctor? What if they come back? It's just so confusing when they do, and they haven't in so long, but what if they do?" She pushed the words out fast and then dropped her head into her hands.
"Jane, dear." Dr. Winet's warm hand settled on her arm. "Now dear, breathe, it's all right. We are going to continue your medicines, Jane, and we're going to continue to meet every week just as we have. The only difference is that you are going to move out of here. You know how hard we've worked to find the right medicines for you, and you've done so well now that we have. The dreams and the voices only come back when you don't take your medicine, you know that."
Jane took a shuddering breath and sat back up, "I just don't want to hear the voices anymore. I don't want to see," she stopped forcing herself to calm down and stop the tears that were threatening to fall. She hated when she got like this. The flashes of odd colored lights and screams that filled her mind and heart took away all reason, leaving her with a sense of utter desolation.
4. He looked down at her hand. When he looked up again, there was a very small, but surprisingly open smile on his face. "I was wondering if you'd be free to go out dancing tomorrow night."
All at once, the image of Professor McGonagall teaching her young charges to dance before the Yule Ball flashed in Hermione's mind. Had Professor Snape done the same thing with his Slytherins? And why in the world was she still obsessing about Severus Snape?
"It depends," Hermione said with a smile. "How good a dancer are you?"
Evan laughed, ducking his head a little as he did so. "I haven't the faintest idea, to be honest."
"Oh, I didn't mean . . . ."
"No, that's all right," he said, serious once again. "I understand that Helen's shared the story of my . . . of the accident and the memory loss and all."
Hands wrapped around her half-empty glass, Hermione just nodded in response.
"I thought so, but I wanted to be sure, because I can't guarantee there won't be other moments like this, when you ask a perfectly reasonable question, and I find myself unable to answer." He took another drink of his lager. "To be truthful, I suspect I'll turn out to be a terrible dancer. I get the sense I was always a little too self-conscious to do it well, even . . . before."
5. And now, horrible Granger was fussing at him again.
“What?” he asked irritably.
“I was just wondering if you’re really allowed to just randomly drill holes in the wall like that,” she said. “After all, isn’t this place Grade Two Listed? You could get into quite a lot of trouble, you know.”
Honestly, would anyone miss her if he hexed her to death?
Her aunt, maybe.
“If you read the ordinances, Granger, you will see that authorized repairs are fine. The banner anchor came out of the mortar; I’m merely replacing a preexisting bracket.” He started tapping at the stones, searching for one that wouldn’t take him hours to drill into. “Besides, the C of E has special dispensation for active church buildings. You think the vicar would let me deface her church walls otherwise?”
Aha, got her with that one.
Her mouth snapped shut and her cheeks turned red. Didn’t know that little bit of random trivia, did she?
6. “Are you having difficulty?” he asks quietly.
“It’s strange,” she replies, her voice dropped in answer to his. “Sometimes I feel better than I have in years, and other times nearly incapacitated. And I cannot stop thinking of magic. I’ve grown used to doing things the Muggle way. But today everything felt like a burden.”
He knows what she means. Simply ordering dinner in a restaurant, rather than summoning it up the stairs, sometimes seems a study in inefficiency.
“Have you eaten?”
“Will you duplicate your food for me?” she says, the hint of a smile around her mouth, “Or shall I order as the Muggles do?”
“It is too early, and the patrons far too sober, for last night’s tricks,” he says, and he watches her as she approaches the counter. Her gait is wandering, and he thinks that once she has eaten, he’d like to get her someplace secluded and give her another go round with his wand.
7. In short, she became, for this week only, the perfect Muggle. Trying to recapture memories of childhood visits here, to this place that she had once thought magical; magical, before she discovered the true meaning of the word and its consequences.
Before the war, before the rise and fall of Voldemort. Before she became, Hermione Granger, brilliant and powerful witch, companion of Harry Potter, co-saviour of the wizarding world; a celebrity merely by virtue of having survived.
In the way of wars, survival hadn't been granted to everyone; not to Ron Weasley or Albus Dumbledore, for example.
But it had been to her. And to Harry Potter. And to him.
Severus Snape, like Hermione Granger, had continued to live, despite the Dark Lord's best efforts otherwise. And for some unknown reason he was here, in Venice in the middle of a hot and smelly August.
"Here" being specifically, the Museum of Naval History.
8. "It's the chief's special recipe," she informed him. "They were saving the bottle for whomever brought in Puquio. I had no idea. I'd only ever heard of this stuff, let alone had a bottle to myself. Although, I suppose you're entitled to at least half since you were the clever enough to get him attacked by a dragon on my patrol."
"You didn't just happen upon us during your morning stroll, then?"
"In exchange for carte blanche to study whatever and wherever we please, we take turns dealing with the dragons in the area and any trouble they cause with the Muggle tourists. None of us mind terribly, especially with an expert like Tino to show us the ropes. Part-time dragon chasing was what led to my discovery of the quipu cache in the cliff face, after all. Still, it's much nicer since I re-created the Stayaway Solution. Before, we had to patrol in pairs, which meant we had to do twice the number of shifts. Of course, we're also to keep an eye out for the rangers' and CHUMPs' most wanted poachers and smugglers, though I'm the first of our camp to ever collect on it." She raised the bottle with a smile.
"And what, pray, exactly is the chief's special recipe?"
"150-proof homemade rum. They say he adds essence of uchu to distract the drinker from the taste."
9. Of course: he’s living under an assumed identity. She should have guessed.
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you, Mister… ?”
“Prince,” Snape grudgingly admits. “Patrick Prince.”
Hermione almost laughs at the irony of him naming himself after the legendary vanquisher of snakes. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Prince.”
“You’re damned right it won’t because I have no intention of ever meeting you again.”
“Sir, please.” Hermione grips his arm harder, willing him to understand. “I only want to talk. Just lunch, and then you’ll never have to see me again. I won’t tell anybody about you, I promise. I… I understand. About not wanting to be found, I mean.”
Snape stares at her for a very long moment, and she shivers at the intensity of that searing dark gaze, focused only on her. Though she does not feel the intrusion of Legilimency, he nonetheless seems to see enough in her face to convince him of her sincerity. He yanks his arm away from her and self-consciously neatens his coat.
10. She opened her eyes. Surely he could hear the thing running in the kitchen. She nodded toward it, and he disappeared around the wall. She got up to follow, arriving in the kitchen just in time to watch him reach for the handle. "No!"
He spun. "What?"
"You can't open a front-loading washer halfway in the middle of a cycle! The water will pour out!"
"Of course," he agreed. He didn't reach again, and she walked closer.
"This is insane," she said. "How can you not know that? It's basic physics: liquids spread to fit any shape, and flow down toward the pull of gravity."
"I merely wasn't thinking," Saunders said.
"I don't think that's it," she said, reaching quickly to tug at the end of the sheet thrown over his shoulder. As she's half-expected, it was stuck down as firmly as if it were sewn, though as there were neither needle nor thread in the bath, it certainly wasn't that. "I think you've an uncommon amount of information, and also amazing gaps in your knowledge, and that possibly this is why you've odd requirements."
He said nothing, clapping a hand belatedly to the tugged sheet-tail as though to keep it from falling and returning to the living room.
This quiz is brought to you by the letter “M” and bluestocking79
Match the story to the quote:
Trail of the Black Star by mundungus42
The New Man by bethbethbeth
The Interview by florahart
Full Circle by sunnythirty3
Rondo Veneziano by Abby
Love Me Like Muggles Do by Thalassa (HG/LM)
The French Connection by bluestocking79
Dark Santiago by lariopefic
Meeting Frederick by keladry-lupin
Lost in the Dark by EnchantedFey (abandoned)
Renissance by Stormyskize
Toby Snape and the Wholly Holy Hideout by hayseed-42
1. Hermione delved into the remaining bag she had yet to empty. It contained the few personal effects that had been in her pockets on the day she was picked up in the alleyway. She found her watch, a few old hair bands, a ragged handkerchief, and a coin. Tossing everything carelessly onto the top of the desk, she sat there looking at the paltry remains of her previous life. Suddenly, she picked up the coin. This was not just any coin, it was a wizarding Galleon, the one Snape had given her just before he left.
She stared at the Galleon in wonder. Its existence meant her years at Hogwarts were real memories, not fantasies. Harry and Ron were real people, not products of her imagination. Hermione was overjoyed to find confirmation of her sanity, but at the same time the coin reinforced her loss. There was little to be gained by knowing she was a witch, if she couldn’t be a witch. She knew that her only hope lay in the dark, sardonic wizard who had given her the Galleon. Questions she couldn’t answer bedevilled her. Was the War over? Who had won? Did Severus Snape survive? Did he remember?
2. “I know Muggles don’t use parchment and quills, so if you’ve paper and pen I will get started on my list,” Severin said.
“I’ve better,” said Hermione with a gleam in her eye. “Come with me.”
Hermione led Severin through the parlour and opened the door of what he had assumed was a closet.
“This was my dad’s study,” Hermione explained. “At least that’s what we called it, but it was more of a family room. Dad would do the books for his and Mum’s practice. Mum would read or knit; she taught me to knit right here in this room. Mostly, I would read or occasionally watch the telly.
“By the time I’d started fifth year at Hogwarts, Dad had put a computer in. He loved all the newest gadgets.”
Hermione led Severin to the desk where the computer sat. She turned on the monitor and booted up the computer.
“I’ve heard of computers,” Severin said, “but I've never actually seen one in operation.”
“I’m surprised you’ve even heard the word ‘computer.’”
“Why would that surprise you? I'm a reasonably intelligent, well-read wizard; or at least I was until a few years ago.”
3. Jane gave a small smile and then shrugged. "Of course, doctor. I'm just a bit nervous is all. It's been four years since-." She stopped and turned her head toward the window that she knew was there, though she had never seen it. "It's been a long time since I've been anywhere else… at least that I can remember," she said, with a heavy sigh.
"It's to be expected that you are sad and nervous, Jane. You are still trying to deal with your memory loss, but you won't be alone in this, my dear." Dr. Winet moved from her desk and settled onto the chair next to Jane's. "I will still continue to see you regularly, and we've found you a nice boarding house that will feel comfortable and is close by my offices."
Jane nodded her agreement and forced her fingers to settle back down on her leg, "Yes, of course doctor. I just-," she stopped a moment and then took a deep breath. "What about the dreams, doctor? What if they come back? It's just so confusing when they do, and they haven't in so long, but what if they do?" She pushed the words out fast and then dropped her head into her hands.
"Jane, dear." Dr. Winet's warm hand settled on her arm. "Now dear, breathe, it's all right. We are going to continue your medicines, Jane, and we're going to continue to meet every week just as we have. The only difference is that you are going to move out of here. You know how hard we've worked to find the right medicines for you, and you've done so well now that we have. The dreams and the voices only come back when you don't take your medicine, you know that."
Jane took a shuddering breath and sat back up, "I just don't want to hear the voices anymore. I don't want to see," she stopped forcing herself to calm down and stop the tears that were threatening to fall. She hated when she got like this. The flashes of odd colored lights and screams that filled her mind and heart took away all reason, leaving her with a sense of utter desolation.
4. He looked down at her hand. When he looked up again, there was a very small, but surprisingly open smile on his face. "I was wondering if you'd be free to go out dancing tomorrow night."
All at once, the image of Professor McGonagall teaching her young charges to dance before the Yule Ball flashed in Hermione's mind. Had Professor Snape done the same thing with his Slytherins? And why in the world was she still obsessing about Severus Snape?
"It depends," Hermione said with a smile. "How good a dancer are you?"
Evan laughed, ducking his head a little as he did so. "I haven't the faintest idea, to be honest."
"Oh, I didn't mean . . . ."
"No, that's all right," he said, serious once again. "I understand that Helen's shared the story of my . . . of the accident and the memory loss and all."
Hands wrapped around her half-empty glass, Hermione just nodded in response.
"I thought so, but I wanted to be sure, because I can't guarantee there won't be other moments like this, when you ask a perfectly reasonable question, and I find myself unable to answer." He took another drink of his lager. "To be truthful, I suspect I'll turn out to be a terrible dancer. I get the sense I was always a little too self-conscious to do it well, even . . . before."
5. And now, horrible Granger was fussing at him again.
“What?” he asked irritably.
“I was just wondering if you’re really allowed to just randomly drill holes in the wall like that,” she said. “After all, isn’t this place Grade Two Listed? You could get into quite a lot of trouble, you know.”
Honestly, would anyone miss her if he hexed her to death?
Her aunt, maybe.
“If you read the ordinances, Granger, you will see that authorized repairs are fine. The banner anchor came out of the mortar; I’m merely replacing a preexisting bracket.” He started tapping at the stones, searching for one that wouldn’t take him hours to drill into. “Besides, the C of E has special dispensation for active church buildings. You think the vicar would let me deface her church walls otherwise?”
Aha, got her with that one.
Her mouth snapped shut and her cheeks turned red. Didn’t know that little bit of random trivia, did she?
6. “Are you having difficulty?” he asks quietly.
“It’s strange,” she replies, her voice dropped in answer to his. “Sometimes I feel better than I have in years, and other times nearly incapacitated. And I cannot stop thinking of magic. I’ve grown used to doing things the Muggle way. But today everything felt like a burden.”
He knows what she means. Simply ordering dinner in a restaurant, rather than summoning it up the stairs, sometimes seems a study in inefficiency.
“Have you eaten?”
“Will you duplicate your food for me?” she says, the hint of a smile around her mouth, “Or shall I order as the Muggles do?”
“It is too early, and the patrons far too sober, for last night’s tricks,” he says, and he watches her as she approaches the counter. Her gait is wandering, and he thinks that once she has eaten, he’d like to get her someplace secluded and give her another go round with his wand.
7. In short, she became, for this week only, the perfect Muggle. Trying to recapture memories of childhood visits here, to this place that she had once thought magical; magical, before she discovered the true meaning of the word and its consequences.
Before the war, before the rise and fall of Voldemort. Before she became, Hermione Granger, brilliant and powerful witch, companion of Harry Potter, co-saviour of the wizarding world; a celebrity merely by virtue of having survived.
In the way of wars, survival hadn't been granted to everyone; not to Ron Weasley or Albus Dumbledore, for example.
But it had been to her. And to Harry Potter. And to him.
Severus Snape, like Hermione Granger, had continued to live, despite the Dark Lord's best efforts otherwise. And for some unknown reason he was here, in Venice in the middle of a hot and smelly August.
"Here" being specifically, the Museum of Naval History.
8. "It's the chief's special recipe," she informed him. "They were saving the bottle for whomever brought in Puquio. I had no idea. I'd only ever heard of this stuff, let alone had a bottle to myself. Although, I suppose you're entitled to at least half since you were the clever enough to get him attacked by a dragon on my patrol."
"You didn't just happen upon us during your morning stroll, then?"
"In exchange for carte blanche to study whatever and wherever we please, we take turns dealing with the dragons in the area and any trouble they cause with the Muggle tourists. None of us mind terribly, especially with an expert like Tino to show us the ropes. Part-time dragon chasing was what led to my discovery of the quipu cache in the cliff face, after all. Still, it's much nicer since I re-created the Stayaway Solution. Before, we had to patrol in pairs, which meant we had to do twice the number of shifts. Of course, we're also to keep an eye out for the rangers' and CHUMPs' most wanted poachers and smugglers, though I'm the first of our camp to ever collect on it." She raised the bottle with a smile.
"And what, pray, exactly is the chief's special recipe?"
"150-proof homemade rum. They say he adds essence of uchu to distract the drinker from the taste."
9. Of course: he’s living under an assumed identity. She should have guessed.
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you, Mister… ?”
“Prince,” Snape grudgingly admits. “Patrick Prince.”
Hermione almost laughs at the irony of him naming himself after the legendary vanquisher of snakes. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Prince.”
“You’re damned right it won’t because I have no intention of ever meeting you again.”
“Sir, please.” Hermione grips his arm harder, willing him to understand. “I only want to talk. Just lunch, and then you’ll never have to see me again. I won’t tell anybody about you, I promise. I… I understand. About not wanting to be found, I mean.”
Snape stares at her for a very long moment, and she shivers at the intensity of that searing dark gaze, focused only on her. Though she does not feel the intrusion of Legilimency, he nonetheless seems to see enough in her face to convince him of her sincerity. He yanks his arm away from her and self-consciously neatens his coat.
10. She opened her eyes. Surely he could hear the thing running in the kitchen. She nodded toward it, and he disappeared around the wall. She got up to follow, arriving in the kitchen just in time to watch him reach for the handle. "No!"
He spun. "What?"
"You can't open a front-loading washer halfway in the middle of a cycle! The water will pour out!"
"Of course," he agreed. He didn't reach again, and she walked closer.
"This is insane," she said. "How can you not know that? It's basic physics: liquids spread to fit any shape, and flow down toward the pull of gravity."
"I merely wasn't thinking," Saunders said.
"I don't think that's it," she said, reaching quickly to tug at the end of the sheet thrown over his shoulder. As she's half-expected, it was stuck down as firmly as if it were sewn, though as there were neither needle nor thread in the bath, it certainly wasn't that. "I think you've an uncommon amount of information, and also amazing gaps in your knowledge, and that possibly this is why you've odd requirements."
He said nothing, clapping a hand belatedly to the tugged sheet-tail as though to keep it from falling and returning to the living room.