The SSHG Exchange Summer 2006
The SSHG Exchange Summer 2006
This is the second in our sshg_exchange series of quizzes.
It was July 1, 2006. The first day of a grand month for SSHG. It was filled with 53 SSHG fics and 14 SSHG works of art. Hot fun in the summertime! The sshg_exchange was born and it was a beautiful bouncing baby. Here are some of the marvelous entries in its baby album.
Match the quote to the story title:
Like Father Like Son by vanityfair00
The Plight of the Prince by closetravenclaw
To Live Is To Be Slowly Born by Rilla aka rillalicious
Divination or What Can Be Found at the Bottom of a Cuppa by clannadlvr
And So It Comes To This by odogoddess
All Because of a Spider by siriusly_lupine
The Plushie Problem by plaidpooka
From What I've Tasted of Desire by lady_rhian
The Best Gifts by lisamartin
The High Cost of Casual Wishes by droxy
An Interpretation of Maladies by azraelgeffen
Morning Has Broken by bambu345
1. "Do as you please. You Gryffindors always feel you are above everyone else."
"And you Slytherins always mistrust people."
"You've given me no cause to trust y--"
"What? You didn't even have loo rolls when I first came! I sent you those and blankets and books an--"
"So you admit you give me these things in order to gain my trust?"
She glared now. "No! I give you those things because it's the decent thing to do!"
"Ah, yes, Gryffindor nobility," he derided. "I choke on it."
"So I take it you actually prefer to be in this freezing cell with nothing to do, barely anything to eat, not even anything to wipe your arse with when--"
"I did not ask you!" His voice was a wheeze now, the cold of Azkaban having worked on his lungs over the years.
He visibly calmed himself. "I would not ask. I will not."
2. Snape had paused within an arm’s length of my disguised-self and had drawn a deep breath. He’d done the same thing that morning at Pennyweight’s. It was as if he had been scenting the air… or me.
If these incidents weren’t enough to spur my unwonted interference, two things further engaged my sympathies: his physical deterioration had shown all the classic symptoms of withdrawal, (which were now written in red ink on the parchment to my left), and the expression in his eyes had been haunted.
Folding my arms, I laid my head upon my crossed wrists. The evidence, circumstantial and direct, all pointed to one conclusion. Snape was going to die, and die painfully if someone didn’t help him.
Tears stung my tired eyes.
3. ”Why are you here?”
”I could ask you the same thing,” he says.
”I asked first.” She clenches her teeth as she says it. He has always put her on edge.
”And you'll answer first as well,” he says, taking a step closer. He towers over her, looking down his crooked nose to stare at her with a hard look. Hermione gulps. She takes a deep breath and nods. There is no purpose in arguing, yet.
”I had a message that my mother is ill,” she answers. “I need to find her.” She tries to push past him out of the corner, but he raises his hand and stops her, catching her by the shoulder.
”I don't believe you,” he says soft and dangerous. “I can't have you running back to your friend, Potter, with my whereabouts.” He reaches for his wand.
Panic threatens to take over her. She is nearly trembling. “Please, I need to see my mum,” she pleads. “Kill me later.”
4. The sounds of her tears hitting the glass panel of their wedding portrait echoed across the numbness of her mind. Her heart broke again and again as she watched the man in the photo brushing aside her veil, offering the first kiss between husband and wife.
Hermione Snape flung the frame, crashing it against the wall, in a fit of hurt and anguish. The glass shards sliced the magical picture in half on impact, separating the couple who tried in vain to reunite across the shredded paper boundary.
She felt like a foolish idiot. How was it possible that she did not see the escalating signals of his infidelity? It was, ‘oh, so easy’ to gloss over the facts, she thought ruthlessly, but her anger did not displace her sorrow, for she based her denial of the facts on trust, faith, and love for a man who apparently no longer felt the same.
Hermione began packing her things with unholy fervor and wand waving, including the evidence that forced the awful epiphany that Severus had indeed found comfort from other women.
5. A sudden snicker alerted Severus to a possible problem. Looking up sharply, Severus was just in time to see Malfoy lob a balled parchment at Granger’s head as she was casting. Startled, Granger’s wand hand raised as she cast; and she pointed her wand straight at Snape.
“Uccello Inabile al Volo!” Hermione said.
A strange, numb feeling came over Severus. Slumped in Minerva’s chair as if he’d suddenly gone boneless, he tried to make sense of the words that had flown out of Miss Granger’s startled mouth. They were not any incantation that he had ever heard. What the hell had the blasted girl hit him with? He opened his mouth to speak, only to find that his mouth wouldn’t open. With every ounce of his will, he tried to move, but he didn’t manage a twitch. What was wrong with him? At least he could still see, and what he saw in front of him was a class full of gobsmacked students. Even Malfoy had gone pale. That wasn’t a good sign.
There’s no sense in my getting upset over it. Accidents happen in class all the time. Soon, one of the dazed imbeciles will go fetch Albus and he’ll get it sorted.
“Hermione,” said an aghast Harry Potter, “what did you do?”
6. "Don't. Touch him." At the intrusive sound of the voice both Bill and Kingsley turned their heads. Severus closed his eyes and let the back of his skull hit the crumbling wall behind him. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy. Nothing in his life seemed to come without a price. Not even death.
"Hermione, what are you doing here?" Bill asked.
"Lower your wand," she said. The reply was terse, her voice strained and unsteady, and Severus wondered exactly what had brought her to this place.
The wizarding world had not run smoothly since Harry Potter dispatched of Voldemort. Even as a fugitive, Severus knew this.
"Hermione, go home," Kingsley said, the low vibration of his voice hanging on the air. "I only intend to collect one prisoner tonight. Put your wand away and go home."
"No."
"You don't belong here, girl. Go home," said Kingsley.
"I am no child, Auror Shacklebolt."
"Hermione ? "
"Don't, Bill. Lower. Your. Wand."
7. He’d been gloomily, yet safely, enslaved at Azkaban (Dementor-free since the new Post-War Ministry had decided that the creatures were too reminiscent of Voldemort and had removed them) when his court appointed legal representative had approached his cell door with a trembling lip and shaking hands.
Not that he blamed the poor fellow. He was Severus Snape; hook-nosed, greasy, Dark Marked, and not to mention the killer of the most beloved Wizard of their time. In truth, it gave him some comfort that, though his wand had been broken, he still had the power to instill fear, no matter how magically impotent he may have been rendered by his peers.
Peers. Now there was a sneer-worthy thought.
Such a sneer was so powerful that the wretched sod at his cell door had trembled even more, so afraid to impart the knowledge that he had gained to his client in fear that Snape would be angry.
Angry?
That wasn’t exactly the word to describe the disposition of someone who had just been told that his future, which he at least had known would be at Azkaban and therefore a product of his own awful actions, was no longer in his control.
No. It had been taken over by a sycophant-a do-gooder-a-a-Gryffindor.
8. Professor Snape flicked his wand at the board at the head of the classroom and a list of ingredients and the brewing instructions appeared.
Even with his back still facing the seventh year Advanced Potions class, he knew that not one single student moved so much as a muscle...not even Miss Hermione I-Know-It-All-And-Can't-Wait-To-Tell-You-All-About-It Granger, the most eager of the lot.
"I suggest you start now!" Snape bellowed and the flurry of movement was instantaneous.
Snape disappeared through the door to his office to avoid having to actually look at any of the students just yet.
He hated this class.
Well, he hated all of his classes, but this one especially. And not just because Golden Boy Wonder was in it...or even because Longbottom managed to scrounge up enough intelligence to make it into this class only to blow up another twenty cauldrons. No, he hated this class for the simple fact that he had to be within ten feet of Miss Granger - and that was something that he had been so ardently trying to avoid since the end of last year.
9. Casting her eyes over the table in front of her, the food looked very good, and far more appetising than her usual meals taken hurriedly from the tea lady’s trolley. It looked plentiful too and too much for just one person.
“What were you reading?” she asked, gesturing towards the book that he had tried to slip out of sight. As soon as she mentioned it, she noticed that his hand unconsciously strayed to the corner of cover that was poking out from beneath the pillows.
“Nothing that you would find interesting, Miss Granger,” he replied, acknowledging her name for the first time. She didn’t know why, but she found it reassuring that he actually remembered who she was. Then again, she figured that they had been through a lot.
“Oh I don’t know,” she said with some attempt at being jovial, “I’ve always enjoyed a good read.”
“If you must know, and I seem to recall that you must know everything, I am attempting to plan my class schedule for the coming school term. It is the least I can do whilst imprisoned in this ridiculous place.”
“I would hardly call it a prison,” Hermione laughed, “I…” but then she looked at his face and found no humour there.
“You obviously haven’t tried to leave,” he said crisply.
10. Yes, a well deserved holiday.
Just as she bent over the counter to look at her new rug, she heard the tell-tale *crack* of someone Apparating in.
"You must be joking," a deep voice intoned.
Ahh, yes. She knew that voice.
"Severus." She hopped off the counter and walked over to greet the potions master who was standing in her sitting room.
"Please tell me that there are wards ..."
"Yes, there are," she chuckled. "Very elaborate ones, at that. But they let certain people in." A smile twitched at her mouth, wanting to be released.
"And I am a safe person?" he asked in a low tone.
Hermione bit her lip. Damn the man, arriving here in his black and white resplendent glory. The long eyelashes that framed those piercing eyes were cast low, gazing at her petite form. He was so much taller than she was, not that that made a difference. He was imposing and his frame was powerful. And he, the sanctimonious bastard, knew it.
"Yes, you are," she summoned words.