New authors in 2010 Quiz
One of the wonderful things about the great ‘ship SS/HG is that it just keeps on growing! The Quiz today focuses on new authors who first joined us in 2010*. Welcome aboard ladies. Ahoy Snape!
*Okay late 2009 posting authors and 2010 but we are just going to call it the New in 2010 Quiz.
Match the quote to the story:
Apology: Ms. Hermione Granger by silencosempra (WIP)
Of Fickle Fates and Fateful Fungi by Windwings
Post Tenebras, Lux by Loten
Secret Steps by Nadagio (WIP)
Hermione’s Happy Housewarming Party by linlawless
Faith of the Fallen by BulletimeScully (WIP)
Spellbreaker by teddyradiator
The Quiet Life of Severus Snape by LilyPetals (WIP)
Not Knowing What To Do by shairi11
Heaven or Hell by silvermstree (WIP)
The Black Woolen Blanket by KittyPerry
The Debt by Angelicanight
1. So after a moment of reflection, Snape thought, to hell with it, and decided to Act On An Impulse. For the first time in his life.
He surveyed the scene before him. Whichever way he looked at it, he would be forced to bend. So to be prepared, he gave it a few test runs, experimenting by bending his knees ever so slightly. He winced as they cracked. He didn't think his age was particularly conducive to the strenuous lifting of heavy objects. He was just not the strapping young lad he once used to be. In a parallel universe of course. In this one, his mind reminded him, he had been quite a scrawny, underfed kid.
He just hoped the momentary adrenalin rush would take his attention away from his creaking bones and collapsing back when he finally did manage to lift Hermione.
As Hermione sighed again, he thought, there was no point delaying it any further. So, without further ado, he subtly shifted so that he was positioned directly in front of her. Then, he turned his head to look at her standing behind him, and with his knees slightly bent, patted his back.
Hermione just stared at him in complete confusion, 'Severus, what are you doing?'
Snape sighed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. His bones were already protesting at the abuse. He gave Hermione a look, knowing she would understand and then, for good measure said, 'Come on then, get on.'
2. The last bit of the swiftly shortening distance between Hermione and her dear destination was covered with otherworldly speed, and soon she was catching her breath, resting the palm of her hand on a rough and surprisingly warm bark of a young oak, her weather-whipped hair wild about her face. She loved getting there the Muggle way, loved the exhilaration the workout brought and the delicious distension felt in her limbs. Over the last few months, not only the circles, but this place, the whole repeated ritual had become her own personal resort.
Hermione smiled at the familiar cushionettes of small alpine flowers scattered here and there and couldn't contain a happy laugh while she surveyed the place for one last time before her life would change.
Her laugh died on her lips as soon as she saw a dark figure approaching the grove from the other side of the hill. The man, and there was no mistaking his smooth gait with a faint suggestion of a limp, courtesy of the Cruciatus Curse, glided along the edge of the glen where the hill went abruptly upwards. He was dressed in his immutable black, though its casual variant not generally associated with him, and was walking straight towards Hermione's secret treasure leisurely, if 'leisurely' was even a word to describe one Severus Snape, former Death Eater and most hated Professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, recently turned hero, and quite the national celebrity.
3. Luck seemed to be with her. Merely three days into her house hunting efforts found her coming across the most perfect little cottage on the edge of Hogsmeade. Her Order of Merlin, Second Class gave her enough money to make a down payment on a relatively small mortgage. The monthly pension from the Ministry would ensure that if she lived carefully, she would never have to work again. Flung towards the end that lay away from Hogwarts, not too far from the Forbidden Forest, it was a simple, two up, two down construction. But for Hermione, it was ideal; a large and simple kitchen that led to a disorganised but rambling back garden, and a sitting-room that opened on to the tiny patch of grass and a honeysuckle hedge that bordered the lane, seemed ideally suited to her needs. Upstairs, there was a large bedroom with wide sash windows that looked out onto the back garden and a fairly modern bathroom that gave her a view of the Forbidden Forest. The second bedroom faced the front, and that, Hermione decided, would be her study.
Ron had not understood her need for privacy and time alone. Nor could he understand the sorrow she felt at the death of Professor Snape.
4. Are you finished?" Severus asked.
"Not quite," she answered, "but I'm sure you probably didn't write to me just so I could come ring a peal over your head."
"Quite," he said with a small smirk, "although it does feel like old times again."
Minerva laughed. "I really have missed our various conversations over the years," she said.
"Is that what you called them?"
She smiled. "Well, I will admit they got rather acrimonious at times."
"I actually wrote to ask you about the Potions Honours project for Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy. Of course, they used a Muggle method in the end, but it did involve the use of magical beasts…"
5. Glancing at her watch, Hermione realized she'd better hurry if she wanted to be ready by the time people started arriving. She had done her hair and some light makeup earlier, so now she hurried upstairs and changed into her new dress. She had seen it in the window at a Muggle shop and had simply had to have it. It was a deep, dark, midnight blue, and it skimmed over her curves, making her look, in her own considered opinion, just a little bit like a 1940s pinup girl.
She was just smoothing a stray tendril back into place when the doorbell rang. Her heart leaping with excitement, she hurried to answer the door.
6. I might as well have hoped for the moon. I might as well have hoped that one day I'd wake up and be someone other than Severus Tobias Snape, the most hated man in Wizarding Britain. And now I had to return to that life. Thank you so much, gods, for answered prayers.
I rose, wiping my nose with the back of my sleeve, despising myself for being the sniveling coward that had earned me the nickname the Marauders had so gleefully saddled me with. I took a deep breath, and my countenance must have given Lily what she was looking for in me. She smiled for the last time.
"Sev, I will always be a part of you. Never doubt that. And I will always care for you, and watch over you, as a friend would. As Harry's friends watched over him. But Sev, you don't have to be the same man you were. You have a choice now. Your Masters are both dead. You are meant for something greater than this, and you will have to return to the world of the living to accomplish it."
7. In hindsight, I see my purblind struggle: the small, futile thrash of maddened beast, the first pierce of invisible ancient arrow. Had I recognized the signs, I surely would not have succumbed to subsequent woundings; but I had no cause then to suspect my armour’s weakness. I felt no longing for feminine company; I welcomed no attentions from her or any other woman. Likewise she, in her youthful innocence, surely intended no felling blow. Why her, such unlikely enchantress? Why me? Was I bound by pure physicality - simply my accidental proximity to this child-woman that propelled me to respond in natural fashion? If Miss Lavender Brown’s squealing squitter had been foisted upon me, would I have come equally under her spell (I shudder to think)? Or had some timed toggle deep within signalled me to awake - slowly, myopically - and perceive her existence? Was ours an improbable, irreproducible collision of time and space, a charmed quirk of quarks, a strange spark of charge and spin? Or had the stars, in their infinite jest, set her spell o'er my birth? She seems to me so singular; yet I know her to be quite ordinary. I have watched, for twenty years, Cupid’s stricken fools stumble daily through my dungeon; perhaps I am no different, after all. I can beg only humble ignorance before love’s silken web, woven from far deeper magic than I have ever conjured or understood.
8. "You missed all the foolish, Gryffindor tears," she assured him. "It's quite safe now."
"Don't be absurd."
Smiling, she stood and walked over to him, reaching up to tangle a hand in his hair and pull his head down for a kiss. "Thank you, Severus."
"What on earth for?"
"If you hadn't found them, I wouldn't have this chance." Knowing that he still sometimes grew uncomfortable when he was thanked for anything, she didn't give him a chance to respond, kissing him again before saying lightly, "Now go and torture some third years. Have fun; just remember, no bloodshed."
He snorted. "If I managed to restrain myself from murdering your entire class, including you I might add, I'm sure I can survive this bunch. I'll see you later."
Smiling as she watched him leave, Hermione considered leaving the door to his office ajar; sometimes it was possible to hear his classes, and she liked listening to him in full teaching mode. Deciding against it, she settled at the desk instead and began writing a reply.
9. She gave a short, barking laugh, shaking her head in amazement at his stubbornness. "I don't know... how about at least… at least consider helping him! I know he hasn't been the best person to me in the last few years, Severus... that he deserves to have the shit beat out of him and more, but this is so much bigger than personal grudges. Can’t you see?"
He stood from the couch, throwing his glass into the fire with a sharp crash that was followed by a green burst of flame. “Yes, dammit, I see! How the hell could I not?!” He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
She stood, blocking the path of his enraged pacing. “No, it doesn’t,” she said, holding up her hands, trying to placate him, “and I know that of all people I should be the one to say let him suffer… to say let him go it alone. But how can I? How can I condemn the entirety of our world to darkness because he has wronged me… us… in the past?”
10. 'You really should find the dunderhead who gave it to you, Granger. Though how you could have been duped into ingesting a mind-altering potion is beyond my comprehension. It shows a lack of diligence and poor judgement. I would have expected better from an experienced Hogwarts professor.'
'How many times do I have to tell you, Severus? I am not under the influence of any potion?'
'Don't be ridiculous. You have just taken the antidote. I presume you are no longer plagued with feelings of, what did you call it? "Deepest admiration"?' Snape's irritation caused his brow to furrow in a way which had always caused Hermione's pulse to race a little faster.
'My feelings are not artificial. The so-called antidote you just made me take was pointless. Nothing has changed.'
Snape scrutinised her closely for the signs of potion-induced changes which he knew should be visible; but her eyes appeared clear and focused as they pierced his own with a fierceness which he had to admit was incongruous to the effects of a drug. The dungeons were dark, and the potion powerful, he reasoned; her continuing protestation could only mean a failure of the antidote.
*Okay late 2009 posting authors and 2010 but we are just going to call it the New in 2010 Quiz.
Match the quote to the story:
Apology: Ms. Hermione Granger by silencosempra (WIP)
Of Fickle Fates and Fateful Fungi by Windwings
Post Tenebras, Lux by Loten
Secret Steps by Nadagio (WIP)
Hermione’s Happy Housewarming Party by linlawless
Faith of the Fallen by BulletimeScully (WIP)
Spellbreaker by teddyradiator
The Quiet Life of Severus Snape by LilyPetals (WIP)
Not Knowing What To Do by shairi11
Heaven or Hell by silvermstree (WIP)
The Black Woolen Blanket by KittyPerry
The Debt by Angelicanight
1. So after a moment of reflection, Snape thought, to hell with it, and decided to Act On An Impulse. For the first time in his life.
He surveyed the scene before him. Whichever way he looked at it, he would be forced to bend. So to be prepared, he gave it a few test runs, experimenting by bending his knees ever so slightly. He winced as they cracked. He didn't think his age was particularly conducive to the strenuous lifting of heavy objects. He was just not the strapping young lad he once used to be. In a parallel universe of course. In this one, his mind reminded him, he had been quite a scrawny, underfed kid.
He just hoped the momentary adrenalin rush would take his attention away from his creaking bones and collapsing back when he finally did manage to lift Hermione.
As Hermione sighed again, he thought, there was no point delaying it any further. So, without further ado, he subtly shifted so that he was positioned directly in front of her. Then, he turned his head to look at her standing behind him, and with his knees slightly bent, patted his back.
Hermione just stared at him in complete confusion, 'Severus, what are you doing?'
Snape sighed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. His bones were already protesting at the abuse. He gave Hermione a look, knowing she would understand and then, for good measure said, 'Come on then, get on.'
2. The last bit of the swiftly shortening distance between Hermione and her dear destination was covered with otherworldly speed, and soon she was catching her breath, resting the palm of her hand on a rough and surprisingly warm bark of a young oak, her weather-whipped hair wild about her face. She loved getting there the Muggle way, loved the exhilaration the workout brought and the delicious distension felt in her limbs. Over the last few months, not only the circles, but this place, the whole repeated ritual had become her own personal resort.
Hermione smiled at the familiar cushionettes of small alpine flowers scattered here and there and couldn't contain a happy laugh while she surveyed the place for one last time before her life would change.
Her laugh died on her lips as soon as she saw a dark figure approaching the grove from the other side of the hill. The man, and there was no mistaking his smooth gait with a faint suggestion of a limp, courtesy of the Cruciatus Curse, glided along the edge of the glen where the hill went abruptly upwards. He was dressed in his immutable black, though its casual variant not generally associated with him, and was walking straight towards Hermione's secret treasure leisurely, if 'leisurely' was even a word to describe one Severus Snape, former Death Eater and most hated Professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, recently turned hero, and quite the national celebrity.
3. Luck seemed to be with her. Merely three days into her house hunting efforts found her coming across the most perfect little cottage on the edge of Hogsmeade. Her Order of Merlin, Second Class gave her enough money to make a down payment on a relatively small mortgage. The monthly pension from the Ministry would ensure that if she lived carefully, she would never have to work again. Flung towards the end that lay away from Hogwarts, not too far from the Forbidden Forest, it was a simple, two up, two down construction. But for Hermione, it was ideal; a large and simple kitchen that led to a disorganised but rambling back garden, and a sitting-room that opened on to the tiny patch of grass and a honeysuckle hedge that bordered the lane, seemed ideally suited to her needs. Upstairs, there was a large bedroom with wide sash windows that looked out onto the back garden and a fairly modern bathroom that gave her a view of the Forbidden Forest. The second bedroom faced the front, and that, Hermione decided, would be her study.
Ron had not understood her need for privacy and time alone. Nor could he understand the sorrow she felt at the death of Professor Snape.
4. Are you finished?" Severus asked.
"Not quite," she answered, "but I'm sure you probably didn't write to me just so I could come ring a peal over your head."
"Quite," he said with a small smirk, "although it does feel like old times again."
Minerva laughed. "I really have missed our various conversations over the years," she said.
"Is that what you called them?"
She smiled. "Well, I will admit they got rather acrimonious at times."
"I actually wrote to ask you about the Potions Honours project for Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy. Of course, they used a Muggle method in the end, but it did involve the use of magical beasts…"
5. Glancing at her watch, Hermione realized she'd better hurry if she wanted to be ready by the time people started arriving. She had done her hair and some light makeup earlier, so now she hurried upstairs and changed into her new dress. She had seen it in the window at a Muggle shop and had simply had to have it. It was a deep, dark, midnight blue, and it skimmed over her curves, making her look, in her own considered opinion, just a little bit like a 1940s pinup girl.
She was just smoothing a stray tendril back into place when the doorbell rang. Her heart leaping with excitement, she hurried to answer the door.
6. I might as well have hoped for the moon. I might as well have hoped that one day I'd wake up and be someone other than Severus Tobias Snape, the most hated man in Wizarding Britain. And now I had to return to that life. Thank you so much, gods, for answered prayers.
I rose, wiping my nose with the back of my sleeve, despising myself for being the sniveling coward that had earned me the nickname the Marauders had so gleefully saddled me with. I took a deep breath, and my countenance must have given Lily what she was looking for in me. She smiled for the last time.
"Sev, I will always be a part of you. Never doubt that. And I will always care for you, and watch over you, as a friend would. As Harry's friends watched over him. But Sev, you don't have to be the same man you were. You have a choice now. Your Masters are both dead. You are meant for something greater than this, and you will have to return to the world of the living to accomplish it."
7. In hindsight, I see my purblind struggle: the small, futile thrash of maddened beast, the first pierce of invisible ancient arrow. Had I recognized the signs, I surely would not have succumbed to subsequent woundings; but I had no cause then to suspect my armour’s weakness. I felt no longing for feminine company; I welcomed no attentions from her or any other woman. Likewise she, in her youthful innocence, surely intended no felling blow. Why her, such unlikely enchantress? Why me? Was I bound by pure physicality - simply my accidental proximity to this child-woman that propelled me to respond in natural fashion? If Miss Lavender Brown’s squealing squitter had been foisted upon me, would I have come equally under her spell (I shudder to think)? Or had some timed toggle deep within signalled me to awake - slowly, myopically - and perceive her existence? Was ours an improbable, irreproducible collision of time and space, a charmed quirk of quarks, a strange spark of charge and spin? Or had the stars, in their infinite jest, set her spell o'er my birth? She seems to me so singular; yet I know her to be quite ordinary. I have watched, for twenty years, Cupid’s stricken fools stumble daily through my dungeon; perhaps I am no different, after all. I can beg only humble ignorance before love’s silken web, woven from far deeper magic than I have ever conjured or understood.
8. "You missed all the foolish, Gryffindor tears," she assured him. "It's quite safe now."
"Don't be absurd."
Smiling, she stood and walked over to him, reaching up to tangle a hand in his hair and pull his head down for a kiss. "Thank you, Severus."
"What on earth for?"
"If you hadn't found them, I wouldn't have this chance." Knowing that he still sometimes grew uncomfortable when he was thanked for anything, she didn't give him a chance to respond, kissing him again before saying lightly, "Now go and torture some third years. Have fun; just remember, no bloodshed."
He snorted. "If I managed to restrain myself from murdering your entire class, including you I might add, I'm sure I can survive this bunch. I'll see you later."
Smiling as she watched him leave, Hermione considered leaving the door to his office ajar; sometimes it was possible to hear his classes, and she liked listening to him in full teaching mode. Deciding against it, she settled at the desk instead and began writing a reply.
9. She gave a short, barking laugh, shaking her head in amazement at his stubbornness. "I don't know... how about at least… at least consider helping him! I know he hasn't been the best person to me in the last few years, Severus... that he deserves to have the shit beat out of him and more, but this is so much bigger than personal grudges. Can’t you see?"
He stood from the couch, throwing his glass into the fire with a sharp crash that was followed by a green burst of flame. “Yes, dammit, I see! How the hell could I not?!” He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
She stood, blocking the path of his enraged pacing. “No, it doesn’t,” she said, holding up her hands, trying to placate him, “and I know that of all people I should be the one to say let him suffer… to say let him go it alone. But how can I? How can I condemn the entirety of our world to darkness because he has wronged me… us… in the past?”
10. 'You really should find the dunderhead who gave it to you, Granger. Though how you could have been duped into ingesting a mind-altering potion is beyond my comprehension. It shows a lack of diligence and poor judgement. I would have expected better from an experienced Hogwarts professor.'
'How many times do I have to tell you, Severus? I am not under the influence of any potion?'
'Don't be ridiculous. You have just taken the antidote. I presume you are no longer plagued with feelings of, what did you call it? "Deepest admiration"?' Snape's irritation caused his brow to furrow in a way which had always caused Hermione's pulse to race a little faster.
'My feelings are not artificial. The so-called antidote you just made me take was pointless. Nothing has changed.'
Snape scrutinised her closely for the signs of potion-induced changes which he knew should be visible; but her eyes appeared clear and focused as they pierced his own with a fierceness which he had to admit was incongruous to the effects of a drug. The dungeons were dark, and the potion powerful, he reasoned; her continuing protestation could only mean a failure of the antidote.