Epics!
This week's SSHG quiz is all about Epics! You remember those fabulously long stories that kept you up at night for weeks or months on end. They make quite a daunting reading list. However, since we here at the SSHG Quiz have Slytherin tendencies, we will tell you there is a trick to winning this quiz. The best advice we can give you is to quote the King of Hearts to the White Rabbit.
"Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop."
Happy reading and Good luck!
This week's quiz was chosen by klschmidt1309 who apparently loves a good long read!
Would you like to choose next week's quiz? 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 EST. On Monday, all quizzlings with the correct answers will be entered into the winner's drawing and one lucky fangirl will win the right to choose next Friday's quiz. Ready? Set? Play!
Match the quotes to the story titles while avoiding the red herring titles:
For Someone Special by ladyofthemasque (162 chapters plus an epilogue, 606,432 words)
Where Your Treasure Is by zeegrindylows (62 chapters, 363,624 words)
For the Potions Master's Amusement by snape_submiss (87 chapters, 310,169 words)
A Change is Going to Come by livvy6 (74 chapters, 294,009 words)
Phantom of Hogwarts by Good_Witch aka pern_dragon (84 chapters, 682,248 words)
Before the Dawn by snarkyroxy (50 chapters, 325,512 words)
Care of Magical Creatures by miamadwyn (67 chapters, 294,252 words)
Looking for Magic by hypnobarb1 WIP (115 chapters, 785,769 words)
The Problem with Purity by Silver Birch akasilverbirchwood (69 chapters, 644,008 words)
Objects of Desire by Azrael aka azraelgeffen (59 chapters, 454,337 words)
The Twenty by Leyna Rountree (25 chapters, 307,163 words)
The Summoning by bambu345 WIP (44 chapters, 324,328 words)
1. Severus, September 12, 1997
Newt level potions was definitely Severus Snape's favorite class to teach. No more self-destructive Neville Longbottoms, no more mediocre Pansy Parkinsons, just Hogwarts' best and brightest with a genuine interest in potions. Or at least a very good reason to be in the class and take it seriously.
Sitting at his desk at the front of the Potions classroom, Professor Snape looked up from grading the Second Year's essays on the uses of lavender in relaxation and anti-stress potions. His quill paused over the pot of red ink (Scroll and Quill's special blend, number 8, favored because it stayed blood red even when dry) as he did his customary critical scan of the classroom to ensure all was well. At least with the advanced students, he did not usually find it necessary to stalk and hover in order to prevent errors in measuring or choice of ingredients, let alone practical jokes and horseplay of the kind that resulted in cauldrons exploding and injuries to students. Six years of previous instruction and witnessing the results of brewing errors had at long last instilled a sense of safety into their flat little heads.
The aspect Severus most appreciated about this class was the opportunity to make the students think.Their assignment should keep them busy thinking for the next two hours.
2. The corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were silent and cold as Hermione Granger stopped to examine a portrait she had never seen before. After nearly seven years at the school, and many more explorations of its infinite corridors than most of her classmates, she never ceased to be surprised how little she knew of the place.
After three months as Head Girl, her nightly patrols were still leading her to parts of the school she had never seen before. Only a few nights ago, she has discovered a small room with a floor-to-ceiling window of stained glass which would humble the most beautiful Muggle cathedrals. She had stared at the window for a good hour, making out the shapes and lines in the semi-darkness. The window depicted the creation of the school, and the subsequent breaking of the friendship between Salazar Slytherin and the three other founders.
The intricate detail of the window was astounding, even at night, and she resolved to come back the next day to see the window in all its glory, backlit by the afternoon sun. She was dismayed to find, upon looking for the room during lunch the next day, not only the room but the entire corridor seemed to have vanished. The statue of Marcus the Merciful, who had previously marked the way to the room, was scowling out at her from a solid wall of stone.
3. When Lucius found him and said that the Dark Lord had summoned him to the Shrieking Shack, Severus knew it was his last chance. He kept looking wildly around for Potter as he ran. Surely, surely after all this time, after everything he had done, after even killing Dumbledore, he couldn't fail now.
But Potter was nowhere to be found, and Severus felt a sudden sickening fear that the boy had already been killed. He had to keep looking. He needed more time. But it was too late, and there was no more time. He had to face the Dark Lord, and probably to die. By now, Voldemort had probably realized that the Elder Wand was not working as it ought, and he would have drawn his conclusions. Severus clenched his teeth. He could only hope that Voldemort had mistakenly identified him as the wand's true master, and not Draco.
Although he had fulfilled Narcissa's terms for his Unbreakable Vow, it seemed that all of Severus' years spent under the tutelage of the unmistakably Gryffindor headmaster had altered him. No longer could he simply worm his way out of it and leave Draco to die, slimy and unworthy as the boy was. Lucius and Narcissa had been kind to him, in their way, the closest he had come to having real friends outside of the Hogwarts staff. And they were frantic about Draco: even as he delivered the Dark Lord's message, Lucius' eyes had been scanning wildly for any sign of his son.
4. The soft, irritating buzz of insects carried on the evening breeze through the partially open third story window, a frenzied counterpoint to the quiet contemplation of the witch lying atop her friend’s bed. Long-lashed eyelids lay closed, hiding the distress of her unhappy thoughts about the sorrowful day. A tear sought escape from beneath the prison of honeyed lashes, and succeeded, blazing a fresh trail down her lightly tanned cheek, a path previously ignored by the floods of tears from hours earlier.
Hermione Granger was intensely relieved to be safe in the welcoming warmth of the Burrrow.
The day, which had begun as a homecoming, had turned into a terrible reawakening to the danger which confronted the magical world. It had been a crucible she’d lived in for the past six years. Catalytic Death Eater attacks on Muggleborn witches and wizards had recently begun after a quiescent twelve months. The day’s targets were simply the most recent. The Grangers, parents and daughter, had been exceedingly fortunate. They’d been returning home from their annual summer vacation - this year to Scandinavia - to arrive mere moments after the local fire brigade. They’d watched in benumbed horror as their home burnt, noxiously and furiously, to its brick foundation. The Muggle fire department -- thanked for their efforts with hastily Obliviated memories - hadn’t managed to contain the magically generated blaze. Ministry of Magic Aurors had arrived at the Granger residence shortly after the Dark Mark had been reported floating ominously in the morning sky. The contrast of the bilious green against the clear blue had been particularly lurid, and noticeable, in the quiet, residential neighborhood of Aylesbury.
Nothing had survived.
5. September, 1981
Hermione sat at the bar listening to the music. The silver globe overhead spun like a glittering diamond, casting fantastic shapes and colors that made the young witch feel it had been silly to take that hit of Charlie earlier. The lights from the disco ball alone could have given her the same giddy effect.
What’s the name of the game?
Does it mean anything to you?
Hermione closed her eyes and let herself be swayed by the music. Next to her, Deidre, her roommate, began to shake her.
“Hermione! Are you okay?” she shouted as she laughed.
Hermione turned dilated eyes onto her friend. “Sure! What’s going on?”
Deidre grinned. “I want you to meet Charles and Timothy. Would you fancy a dance with Charles?” she asked sweetly as she cuddled onto what seemed to be Timothy’s arm.
Hermione shrugged. “Why not?”
She allowed the blond-haired man to lead her on to the floor. The disco floor was just like that dance floor in Saturday Night Fever. Deidre and Hermione had seen it when they started hanging out together three years ago. Hermione wrapped her arms around Charles’ broad shoulders as she swung her hips to the beat of the music.
6. Andrew Stebbins was having a very exciting day. He worked in the Auror Department for the Ministry of Magic, but he was not a field agent; no, he was in charge of all correspondence that came into the department. He had been doing his job for nigh on thirty years, and the quiet and studious man acknowledged that he did it well.
He didn't mind confessing that before he had assumed the position, the place had been in shambles. Aurors might be brilliant at capturing evil-doers, but they couldn't file paperwork to save their lives; it was as if they hadn't heard of the alphabet or file cabinets. Within ten weeks of his being on the job, the horrendous backlog was put to rights. All memos, pardons, praise, complaints, Howlers (which he knew how to deactivate while preserving the words themselves), requests, logs, reports, advisements, copies of motions-and all other types of correspondence-were properly filed.
He had done away with the daft system that separated each piece of parchment into one category and had instead tinkered with the storage cabinets until they accepted multiple categories for the same material, allowing it to be called up under any appropriate heading. It had been he, too, who had put the simple Space Charm on the parchments so that they were all flat and uniformly shaped and sized when filed, but originally shaped and sized outside of the cabinet.
7. Lucius Malfoy had always been one to err on the side of caution in most every enterprise that he undertook to do. The trick of successfully being Lucius Malfoy was to make sure that no one realized that he chose always to err on the side of caution. His choice of wife had been a prime example. He had wanted, rather desperately, to have a son who would look remarkably like himself, so he chose Narcissa over her sister Bellatrix because she looked so much more like him. He had been this way for almost his entire life, with a few notable exceptions, including the one that directly led him to his current quandary. He had thoroughly believed that the Dark Lord would win eventually and if he didn’t, well, he was Lucius Malfoy and he had money, and money was supposed to speak volumes in the Ministry. Not it would seem, when he had been unmasked, sent to Azkaban and escaped only to have the damned Dark Lord defeated in battle by an adolescent boy. So in retrospect, no, that had not been one of his best choices.
He did not regret joining the Dark Lord. Being a Death Eater had afforded him pleasures that the common society would never have allowed, not to mention the sheer accumulation of power that had placed him in a league of his own. He was never supposed to found himself in his current predicament. Not that that was helping him now. What he did regret was that he hadn’t had a back up plan in case it all went tits up, which it had done so spectacularly. Snape had told him, warned him even, but he hadn’t listened. Severus Snape had done the right thing; a double agent, so that no matter who had won, Snape had come up smelling like the proverbial rose.
It was too late for that particular regret.
8. The basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place was dark in the way only a windowless, underground room in the dark of night can be: absolutely. The silence was total, as well, save for her own breathing, but Hermione scarcely counted that. It might be quiet now, but she was sure she had heard a sound-that it had woken her from her sleep-and she had come downstairs to investigate. The boys were at the Burrow, the Order were out and about their business, and on this night only Hermione and Arabella Figg occupied the Black house, its rooms chilly even in August. Tomorrow, Hermione would journey on to Ottery St Catchpole; tomorrow, Arabella Figg would return to Little Whinging. But for tonight, they were two women alone in the great old house, and Hermione was quite sure she had heard a noise in the cellar.
Standing in the doorway, Hermione held her breath and listened. It might be nothing more than Crookshanks chasing a mouse or Kreacher lurking beneath his dresser in the boiler room-but Hermione did not care to leave it to chance. The war was on, this summer after her sixth year at school; Lord Voldemort’s Death Eaters were abroad, even in daylight, wreaking havoc-they would certainly not hesitate to invade the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix if they could manage it.
But she heard nothing, save the pounding of her heart in her ears.
9. She flung the door to the Potions classroom open with a bang, her robe billowing around her. "Professor!"
Snape raised his face from the papers on his desk. If he was startled at her sudden entrance, he certainly wasn’t showing it. "Ten points from Gryffindor," he drawled, then lazily lifted his wand. "And term hasn’t even started yet."
She felt something - a force - hit her square in the chest and her heels dragging across the floor. He was ejecting her from the room!
"Expelliarmus!" she gasped. His wand flew through the air, and she had to lunge to catch it. She stood up, feeling quite smug.
Until she saw the expression on his face. Those narrowed black eyes and thin lips were frozen, expressionless, but those eyes burned. Oh, my.
She gulped. She had disarmed a teacher!
She scurried forward, placed his wand on his desk and backed quickly away. Cleared her throat. Tried to appear calm. "There. Now that I have your attention-"
"Quite." His voice was barely more than a whisper, but even so, his tone was acid.
Hermione glanced nervously at the door. She waved her wand quickly so that it closed a lot more quietly than it had opened. Another flick of the wand and it was locked for good measure.
She looked at him, determined. "I need your help, Professor!"
10. Oh, no. Oh, no no no…
The girl, her clothing torn at shoulder and knee, her mass of light brown curls matted with leaves and dirt and yes, a little blood from an injury on her forehead, was brought into the circle of laughing Death Eaters with the stiff-legged gait of someone trying to resist Imperio with all her might. Severus hid his shock and dismay behind his usual pinched expression. No, dismay was an insipid word. Despair. Now there was an apt word for it. Hard on its heels came rage, though not quite strongly enough to drown the foolish feeling entirely.
You stupid girl! How could someone as blazingly smart as you allow yourself to be caught!
"Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop."
Happy reading and Good luck!
This week's quiz was chosen by klschmidt1309 who apparently loves a good long read!
Would you like to choose next week's quiz? 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 EST. On Monday, all quizzlings with the correct answers will be entered into the winner's drawing and one lucky fangirl will win the right to choose next Friday's quiz. Ready? Set? Play!
Match the quotes to the story titles while avoiding the red herring titles:
For Someone Special by ladyofthemasque (162 chapters plus an epilogue, 606,432 words)
Where Your Treasure Is by zeegrindylows (62 chapters, 363,624 words)
For the Potions Master's Amusement by snape_submiss (87 chapters, 310,169 words)
A Change is Going to Come by livvy6 (74 chapters, 294,009 words)
Phantom of Hogwarts by Good_Witch aka pern_dragon (84 chapters, 682,248 words)
Before the Dawn by snarkyroxy (50 chapters, 325,512 words)
Care of Magical Creatures by miamadwyn (67 chapters, 294,252 words)
Looking for Magic by hypnobarb1 WIP (115 chapters, 785,769 words)
The Problem with Purity by Silver Birch akasilverbirchwood (69 chapters, 644,008 words)
Objects of Desire by Azrael aka azraelgeffen (59 chapters, 454,337 words)
The Twenty by Leyna Rountree (25 chapters, 307,163 words)
The Summoning by bambu345 WIP (44 chapters, 324,328 words)
1. Severus, September 12, 1997
Newt level potions was definitely Severus Snape's favorite class to teach. No more self-destructive Neville Longbottoms, no more mediocre Pansy Parkinsons, just Hogwarts' best and brightest with a genuine interest in potions. Or at least a very good reason to be in the class and take it seriously.
Sitting at his desk at the front of the Potions classroom, Professor Snape looked up from grading the Second Year's essays on the uses of lavender in relaxation and anti-stress potions. His quill paused over the pot of red ink (Scroll and Quill's special blend, number 8, favored because it stayed blood red even when dry) as he did his customary critical scan of the classroom to ensure all was well. At least with the advanced students, he did not usually find it necessary to stalk and hover in order to prevent errors in measuring or choice of ingredients, let alone practical jokes and horseplay of the kind that resulted in cauldrons exploding and injuries to students. Six years of previous instruction and witnessing the results of brewing errors had at long last instilled a sense of safety into their flat little heads.
The aspect Severus most appreciated about this class was the opportunity to make the students think.Their assignment should keep them busy thinking for the next two hours.
2. The corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were silent and cold as Hermione Granger stopped to examine a portrait she had never seen before. After nearly seven years at the school, and many more explorations of its infinite corridors than most of her classmates, she never ceased to be surprised how little she knew of the place.
After three months as Head Girl, her nightly patrols were still leading her to parts of the school she had never seen before. Only a few nights ago, she has discovered a small room with a floor-to-ceiling window of stained glass which would humble the most beautiful Muggle cathedrals. She had stared at the window for a good hour, making out the shapes and lines in the semi-darkness. The window depicted the creation of the school, and the subsequent breaking of the friendship between Salazar Slytherin and the three other founders.
The intricate detail of the window was astounding, even at night, and she resolved to come back the next day to see the window in all its glory, backlit by the afternoon sun. She was dismayed to find, upon looking for the room during lunch the next day, not only the room but the entire corridor seemed to have vanished. The statue of Marcus the Merciful, who had previously marked the way to the room, was scowling out at her from a solid wall of stone.
3. When Lucius found him and said that the Dark Lord had summoned him to the Shrieking Shack, Severus knew it was his last chance. He kept looking wildly around for Potter as he ran. Surely, surely after all this time, after everything he had done, after even killing Dumbledore, he couldn't fail now.
But Potter was nowhere to be found, and Severus felt a sudden sickening fear that the boy had already been killed. He had to keep looking. He needed more time. But it was too late, and there was no more time. He had to face the Dark Lord, and probably to die. By now, Voldemort had probably realized that the Elder Wand was not working as it ought, and he would have drawn his conclusions. Severus clenched his teeth. He could only hope that Voldemort had mistakenly identified him as the wand's true master, and not Draco.
Although he had fulfilled Narcissa's terms for his Unbreakable Vow, it seemed that all of Severus' years spent under the tutelage of the unmistakably Gryffindor headmaster had altered him. No longer could he simply worm his way out of it and leave Draco to die, slimy and unworthy as the boy was. Lucius and Narcissa had been kind to him, in their way, the closest he had come to having real friends outside of the Hogwarts staff. And they were frantic about Draco: even as he delivered the Dark Lord's message, Lucius' eyes had been scanning wildly for any sign of his son.
4. The soft, irritating buzz of insects carried on the evening breeze through the partially open third story window, a frenzied counterpoint to the quiet contemplation of the witch lying atop her friend’s bed. Long-lashed eyelids lay closed, hiding the distress of her unhappy thoughts about the sorrowful day. A tear sought escape from beneath the prison of honeyed lashes, and succeeded, blazing a fresh trail down her lightly tanned cheek, a path previously ignored by the floods of tears from hours earlier.
Hermione Granger was intensely relieved to be safe in the welcoming warmth of the Burrrow.
The day, which had begun as a homecoming, had turned into a terrible reawakening to the danger which confronted the magical world. It had been a crucible she’d lived in for the past six years. Catalytic Death Eater attacks on Muggleborn witches and wizards had recently begun after a quiescent twelve months. The day’s targets were simply the most recent. The Grangers, parents and daughter, had been exceedingly fortunate. They’d been returning home from their annual summer vacation - this year to Scandinavia - to arrive mere moments after the local fire brigade. They’d watched in benumbed horror as their home burnt, noxiously and furiously, to its brick foundation. The Muggle fire department -- thanked for their efforts with hastily Obliviated memories - hadn’t managed to contain the magically generated blaze. Ministry of Magic Aurors had arrived at the Granger residence shortly after the Dark Mark had been reported floating ominously in the morning sky. The contrast of the bilious green against the clear blue had been particularly lurid, and noticeable, in the quiet, residential neighborhood of Aylesbury.
Nothing had survived.
5. September, 1981
Hermione sat at the bar listening to the music. The silver globe overhead spun like a glittering diamond, casting fantastic shapes and colors that made the young witch feel it had been silly to take that hit of Charlie earlier. The lights from the disco ball alone could have given her the same giddy effect.
What’s the name of the game?
Does it mean anything to you?
Hermione closed her eyes and let herself be swayed by the music. Next to her, Deidre, her roommate, began to shake her.
“Hermione! Are you okay?” she shouted as she laughed.
Hermione turned dilated eyes onto her friend. “Sure! What’s going on?”
Deidre grinned. “I want you to meet Charles and Timothy. Would you fancy a dance with Charles?” she asked sweetly as she cuddled onto what seemed to be Timothy’s arm.
Hermione shrugged. “Why not?”
She allowed the blond-haired man to lead her on to the floor. The disco floor was just like that dance floor in Saturday Night Fever. Deidre and Hermione had seen it when they started hanging out together three years ago. Hermione wrapped her arms around Charles’ broad shoulders as she swung her hips to the beat of the music.
6. Andrew Stebbins was having a very exciting day. He worked in the Auror Department for the Ministry of Magic, but he was not a field agent; no, he was in charge of all correspondence that came into the department. He had been doing his job for nigh on thirty years, and the quiet and studious man acknowledged that he did it well.
He didn't mind confessing that before he had assumed the position, the place had been in shambles. Aurors might be brilliant at capturing evil-doers, but they couldn't file paperwork to save their lives; it was as if they hadn't heard of the alphabet or file cabinets. Within ten weeks of his being on the job, the horrendous backlog was put to rights. All memos, pardons, praise, complaints, Howlers (which he knew how to deactivate while preserving the words themselves), requests, logs, reports, advisements, copies of motions-and all other types of correspondence-were properly filed.
He had done away with the daft system that separated each piece of parchment into one category and had instead tinkered with the storage cabinets until they accepted multiple categories for the same material, allowing it to be called up under any appropriate heading. It had been he, too, who had put the simple Space Charm on the parchments so that they were all flat and uniformly shaped and sized when filed, but originally shaped and sized outside of the cabinet.
7. Lucius Malfoy had always been one to err on the side of caution in most every enterprise that he undertook to do. The trick of successfully being Lucius Malfoy was to make sure that no one realized that he chose always to err on the side of caution. His choice of wife had been a prime example. He had wanted, rather desperately, to have a son who would look remarkably like himself, so he chose Narcissa over her sister Bellatrix because she looked so much more like him. He had been this way for almost his entire life, with a few notable exceptions, including the one that directly led him to his current quandary. He had thoroughly believed that the Dark Lord would win eventually and if he didn’t, well, he was Lucius Malfoy and he had money, and money was supposed to speak volumes in the Ministry. Not it would seem, when he had been unmasked, sent to Azkaban and escaped only to have the damned Dark Lord defeated in battle by an adolescent boy. So in retrospect, no, that had not been one of his best choices.
He did not regret joining the Dark Lord. Being a Death Eater had afforded him pleasures that the common society would never have allowed, not to mention the sheer accumulation of power that had placed him in a league of his own. He was never supposed to found himself in his current predicament. Not that that was helping him now. What he did regret was that he hadn’t had a back up plan in case it all went tits up, which it had done so spectacularly. Snape had told him, warned him even, but he hadn’t listened. Severus Snape had done the right thing; a double agent, so that no matter who had won, Snape had come up smelling like the proverbial rose.
It was too late for that particular regret.
8. The basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place was dark in the way only a windowless, underground room in the dark of night can be: absolutely. The silence was total, as well, save for her own breathing, but Hermione scarcely counted that. It might be quiet now, but she was sure she had heard a sound-that it had woken her from her sleep-and she had come downstairs to investigate. The boys were at the Burrow, the Order were out and about their business, and on this night only Hermione and Arabella Figg occupied the Black house, its rooms chilly even in August. Tomorrow, Hermione would journey on to Ottery St Catchpole; tomorrow, Arabella Figg would return to Little Whinging. But for tonight, they were two women alone in the great old house, and Hermione was quite sure she had heard a noise in the cellar.
Standing in the doorway, Hermione held her breath and listened. It might be nothing more than Crookshanks chasing a mouse or Kreacher lurking beneath his dresser in the boiler room-but Hermione did not care to leave it to chance. The war was on, this summer after her sixth year at school; Lord Voldemort’s Death Eaters were abroad, even in daylight, wreaking havoc-they would certainly not hesitate to invade the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix if they could manage it.
But she heard nothing, save the pounding of her heart in her ears.
9. She flung the door to the Potions classroom open with a bang, her robe billowing around her. "Professor!"
Snape raised his face from the papers on his desk. If he was startled at her sudden entrance, he certainly wasn’t showing it. "Ten points from Gryffindor," he drawled, then lazily lifted his wand. "And term hasn’t even started yet."
She felt something - a force - hit her square in the chest and her heels dragging across the floor. He was ejecting her from the room!
"Expelliarmus!" she gasped. His wand flew through the air, and she had to lunge to catch it. She stood up, feeling quite smug.
Until she saw the expression on his face. Those narrowed black eyes and thin lips were frozen, expressionless, but those eyes burned. Oh, my.
She gulped. She had disarmed a teacher!
She scurried forward, placed his wand on his desk and backed quickly away. Cleared her throat. Tried to appear calm. "There. Now that I have your attention-"
"Quite." His voice was barely more than a whisper, but even so, his tone was acid.
Hermione glanced nervously at the door. She waved her wand quickly so that it closed a lot more quietly than it had opened. Another flick of the wand and it was locked for good measure.
She looked at him, determined. "I need your help, Professor!"
10. Oh, no. Oh, no no no…
The girl, her clothing torn at shoulder and knee, her mass of light brown curls matted with leaves and dirt and yes, a little blood from an injury on her forehead, was brought into the circle of laughing Death Eaters with the stiff-legged gait of someone trying to resist Imperio with all her might. Severus hid his shock and dismay behind his usual pinched expression. No, dismay was an insipid word. Despair. Now there was an apt word for it. Hard on its heels came rage, though not quite strongly enough to drown the foolish feeling entirely.
You stupid girl! How could someone as blazingly smart as you allow yourself to be caught!