Hermione Granger, Know-it-all Quiz
Looks like Professor Snape was right when he declared Hermione Granger an insufferable know-it-all. There have been quizzes on Professor Granger, Headmistress Granger, Potions Mistress Granger, Healer Granger and Librarian/Bookshop Owner Granger. It seems the girl can do anything she puts her mind to. Pick a career, any career, and our girl will excel at it. On this week's quiz our inventive SSHG authors find even more ways to keep our heroine busy!
This week's quiz was chosen by itchyfoot who loves watching Severus squirm when he loses a bet.
Would you like to pick the theme for the next quiz? Play the quiz at any time over the weekend by commenting with your answers. Just comment before the answer sheet goes up on Monday morning, Eastern Standard Time. If you have the correct answers, your name will be entered in our weekly drawing. The winner gets an all expense paid tour of the SSHG Quiz vault and the right to choose the next quiz!
Match the quote to the story title without chomping on either of our featured red herring titles:
Scarborough Arithmancy by lillithj (SS/HG/LM)
In Charm's Way by annietalbot
The Fine Art of Fine Print by mundungus42
The Beginner's Guide to Breeding Peacocks by shiv5468 (SS/HG/LM)
Hidden Treasures by dreamy_dragon73
Conspiracy Theory by ubiquirk
Paradox by clare009
What Goes Around, Comes Around by ttny1111
Standard Operating Procedure by eeyore9990
The Petulant Poetess by chivalric55
Nineteen Years Later by juno_magic
Snape, A History by Kailin
1. She avoids the deluge by a precisely calculated few inches, six months as the Ministry of Magic’s Keeper of Records having honed her reflexes more than years of skirmishes with Death Eaters ever did. Amazing the amount of motivation multiple paper cuts on one’s face can bring to bear.
With a sigh, she gathers the parchments off the floor and glances through them: the Hodgekins filed a permit to add a magical extension onto their popular ‘Muggle food’ restaurant in Diagon Alley, Celus Wally reported selling five mooncalves to Maggie Pruce, Bea Dooley requested funding to develop a primer school to prepare students for Hogwarts when their parents cannot home school, Thurner Dackery lodged a complaint that his neighbor Edward Puce keeps attacking his begonias with a Wilting Spell, …
If she read all of this, she’d be what Sherlock Holmes warned Watson about: someone with a mind too full of meaningless facts to do any crucial thinking. A huff of laughter escapes her at the thought that she’s quoting a fictional character to herself as a source of wisdom, but mooncalves and magically large buildings? Her world now is far stranger than anything ‘fictional’ in Holmes’s.
Although this bit’s a mite dull.
2. Immediately, Hermione thought of ways to get the story published and stumbled over an old issue of Witch Weekly, the only magazine that at least now and then printed something else but recipes and interviews with important members of the Ministry. Therefore - a most logical step from her point of view - she set off to persuade the editor into printing that story as well.
He did. Grumbling and moaning, but he did. And he hired Hermione Granger so she could find him more potentially worthy stuff, as she got round quite a bit and his readers would really enjoy the newest tips and tricks on how to cook polenta.
Grumbling, Hermione had accepted, keeping in mind that, if she gave Stewart - the editor - enough recipes he would print another of her stories as well.
She brought him the desired recipes; she found him interview partners. He loved her; she hated him. Because, the more stories she received (triggered by the word the old Italian lady had spread that the bushy-haired witch managed to get things published), the less open David Stewart was for them. Rarely, he would print a story Hermione recommended. Mostly, he dumped them. Always, it was a fight, and usually, Hermione lost it.
She hated to lose. And yes, she absolutely despised the man. But Witch Weekly was the only magazine out there. Hermione’s authors had no other hope but her. It was either get printed there or get printed nowhere, and therefore, she stayed with Stewart.
3. "Both of you seem to have taken an interest in Miss Granger." This was Barnabas' gruff voice. "While we don't discourage that interest, we are worried that her work here could go awry with an improper sort of inducement." He held up his hand to forestall the young Weasley's bluster. "We are also aware that Miss Granger could become very powerful with the proper sort of inducement. That isn't to say she's not a powerful witch in her own right, but her magic's out of whack. Her work's suffering."
"We are happy that she has found you. Both of you," Felicity remarked. "She's been lonely since the end of the war."
"Harry's death left both of us somewhat raw, and Hermione's just now started to come out of her mourning," Ron added.
"While this is all very interesting." Severus had decided to join the conversation. "I fail to see what this has to do with us. As Malfoy has pointed out, Miss Granger is an adult."
"She is indeed. However, Felicity and I have decided to retire. We have purchased a cottage on a lovely, sunny island surrounded by blue water. We wish to pass this facility and its association with the Department of Mysteries to Hermione and her chosen partners."
"The Ministry would never let you associate this program with a Death Eater." Severus waved his hand dismissively.
4. It was true that the purpose of the cruise was only partially to bring themselves up to date on magical flora and fauna of the Caribbean. The programming would provide a tax write-off as a business expense. But the real reason for the mid-winter Caribbean cruise was to get them out of the lab and into the sun for four days, recovering from the bouts of influenza that had felled them in quick succession the prior month. They’d been testing their own broad-spectrum antiviral potions on themselves at the time; clearly, they needed to reconsider their approach.
Weeks later, they were still dragging themselves around the house they shared. When the Wizarding Waves brochure had appeared with their daily post, Hermione had lost no time in consulting their accountant (Ron’s distant cousin was a very useful contact to have), cancelling their appointments for the last week in February, and registering them for the cruise.
Only then had she informed her business partner of the decision. His initial reaction-fury at her high-handedness-had evaporated as she showed him the programming schedule. Perhaps they could learn something and make new business contacts. And, he allowed, she was still rather pale. Actually, he’d said that she looked like the underside of a fish. He was one to talk.
5. Hitching up his pants even further and taking a healthy bite of his stale scone, the old wizard had a look of defiance on his face as he chewed through the dry mouthful. "I may have had to put up with 1042, but I'll fight to the end against 1328."
All in all, 1042 had been a wake-up call for many wizards. When the new Minister of Magic had been sworn in, they didn't take much notice. Sure, it was the first female MOM to be elected since Bertilda the Bossy in 1234, but Hermione Granger was nothing like ol' Bert -- or so they thought. The former war hero who fought alongside the Great Harry Potter to defeat What's-His-Name (as he was now called), campaigned on slogans of hearth and home, family and friends, prosperity and a return to good old fashioned Wizarding values. She was easily elected and began her administration with some flair, and then shortly after taking office, she showed her true colors.
It snuck up on them of course. At first, she passed some fine pieces of legislation. She got rid of an antiquated Marriage Law, improved the educational system for younger students, and put together a team to identify and contact Muggle born witches and wizards. The creation of this particular team was met with some resistance in "certain circles," but it was her contention, that bringing those students into the fold earlier would help them assimilate to their new lifestyle - and she was right.
Looking back over the course of her administration, one could clearly see that this huge win was actually the beginning of the end.
6. So, taking my complete innocence in Bertie’s demise as read...,” continued Lucius. “Dear old Bertie seems to have resorted to magical means to improve his stock. Highly illegal, of course, but effective, and it would be a shame if all that experimentation were to go to waste because of an overly-officious Ministry. Such methods are deplorable, of course they are, but is it right that the birds should suffer for their master’s sins?”
“And what does this have to do with me?”
“An old acquaintance of yours is involved in the investigation. Hermione Granger. A woman who is deplorably honest and above bribery and coercion.”
“Which is inconvenient.”
“Which is indeed inconvenient.” Lucius adjusted his cuffs thoughtfully, his long hair falling round his face to hide his expression. “She’s leading the investigation actually, and whilst she might not look on my application to purchase the birds with any degree of sympathy, but if you were to suggest that you could find a good home for them...”
Severus tipped his head to one side. “You expect me to lie to her?”
“Perish the thought.” Lucius looked up again, with his usual half-smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t ask you to strain your conscience. I thought that, if I were to have a chance to present my arguments in person, I might be able to appeal to her softer side.”
Severus snorted. “You really do think you’re irresistibly charming in the face of all the evidence, don’t you?”
7. Awkwardly, he turned his head to see his companion.
Next to his bed sat a woman on a wooden stool. She was dressed in black robes, with the most perplexing headdress of a tight-fitting white cowl and a length of black fabric falling over her shoulders and down her back. She did not look like the keeper, jailer or torturer he had expected. He stared. No witch he had ever seen dressed like that.
Then it struck him. Of course - she was no witch. She was a Muggle. A Muggle nun!
A Muggle nun in a hospital wing. A nurse?
He exhaled, and some measure of tension drained away. Blinking again, the spy in him took over, as he analysed her features surreptitiously, trying to learn as much about her as possible. She was around thirty-five years old. She looked older, but her complexion was still too fine to put her beyond her fortieth birthday. A broad, heart-shaped face with strong brown eyebrows and a stubborn chin. Clear brown eyes. A nose that must have been horribly broken once, and which had healed crooked, giving her features a strangely wistful slant. And a wide, sensual, beautiful mouth.
“Careful, Professor. You had a car accident - you were seriously injured,” she cautioned him. “It will take a while for you to heal.”
“It was a lorry,” he corrected hoarsely. “And it wasn’t an accident.”
“You are very, very lucky to alive,” the nun agreed.
Belatedly, the form of address she had employed registered with him and chased away the last cobwebs of Muggle drugs obscuring his faculties. He shot up in bed and promptly groaned deep in his throat when broken bones and torn muscles protested the sudden movement.
“You -” he croaked. “You are dead.”
She nodded. “I am,” she agreed. Her voice had changed, calmed and softened. “And yet I am still here.” A spark lit up in the depths of her brown eyes. An expression once annoyingly familiar, now an almost forgotten grace.
8. Harry nodded. “I think they tried to talk to all the people who looked as if they had a hand in Voldemort’s downfall. I even recall seeing somebody interviewing Filch, of all people. Why do you ask?”
“I just don’t understand why someone hasn’t written an accurate history of the war. Wouldn’t you think someone would want to read it? There’s that old maxim about ‘those who don’t heed history are doomed to repeat it’ and all. We were part of history, for heaven’s sake. Doesn’t it matter? It’s an absolute insult to Albus Dumbledore’s memory if we allow this to go on, Harry!”
“True.” Harry leaned back in his chair and studied Hermione thoughtfully. “Why don’t you write it?”
“What?” Stunned, she sat bolt upright in her chair. “You’re joking, right?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Am I? You’re right in that someone should take it upon themselves to write an accurate account of the war. It should be someone who was intimately involved in it so that the truth can be known. You don’t want a revisionist historian trying to make Voldemort look like a victim because of his horrific childhood or something.”
“But Harry, I’ve never - I mean, I’ve written papers for work, but - ”
“You interview the people involved and summarize their stories and string them all together. How hard can that be?”
Hermione was looking as dazed as if she’d been hit in the head by a large object. “Me… write a book…?”
“Why not? You love to read. Seems to me that the two are connected somehow.”
“Harry,” she began, laughing nervously, “that’s - that’s -”
“That’s what? Possible?”
She stared at him wonderingly.
9. "Before you say something you might regret," she said with more than a hint of steel in her tone, "I urge you to think about your position. I already know that your little project can't be funded by the Department of Mysteries, and as I understand it, Ronald has very generously given you a way to continue collecting data that could be instrumental in securing funding next cycle. This means that your work will be financed by the Educational Fund, over which I, as Hogwarts Headmistress, have discretionary control. I can, of course, divert those funds at any time if I feel you are not producing results beneficial to the school. I trust I have made myself clear?"
Hermione stared wordlessly at the witch who was now sitting in Ron's chair and helping herself to his biscuits. The face she recalled being so kindly now radiated the tenacity of a bulldog, an impression reinforced by the set of her jaw, as well as the bit of spittle that appeared at the corner of her mouth when she noticed the marzipan fancies.
As sole patent holder of the Magispectrometer, Hermione knew that she could tell Molly and Ron where they could bally well stick their Educational Fund, call Draco Malfoy, a fellow Unspeakable, for a bit of venture capital, and revolutionize whatever field she chose while becoming absurdly wealthy in the process while paying only a pittance to the Ministry for use of technology developed under its auspices. But in that moment, Hermione felt the stirrings of the long-dormant outrage that had led her to found S.P.E.W. and to chase down and destroy every last scrap of Voldemort's soul.
Ron, with his chessman's eye, had seen the opportunity that Molly's ambitions had opened and was depending on her sense of justice to do what needed to be done. After twenty years of being cloistered in her well-funded laboratory in the Department of Mysteries, who was she to refuse a friend's call to arms?
"I understand you perfectly," said Hermione, making her voice tiny.
10. Hermione twitched the curtains to the side, glancing up and down the quiet street before she tapped the tiny Magic Mouth hidden in her ear to activate it and give the hourly all-clear report. The confirmation coming back in her other ear via an adapted version of Extendable Ears comforted her slightly, let her know she wasn't as alone as she was beginning to feel.
"How I had the misfortune to end up with youas my wife, I'll never know." The caustic tones of her housemate set Hermione's teeth on edge and she whirled, pasting a bright smile on her face as she walked over and seated herself beside him, curling her body against his.
"Ah, but just think how much worse it could have been, darling," she said, deliberately trailing the backs of her fingers over his pale cheek in as close an approximation of wifely adoration as her acting skills would allow. "You could be living in wedded bliss with Harry" She allowed that thought to sink in before she leaned forward, pursing her lips next to his ear. "Or Ron." She laughed, the sound low and husky, when she felt him shudder in distaste. Backing away, she murmured, "Feel free to request a replacement whenever you tire of me, dear."
"Surely there are other female Aurors who could-"
"Nope. None. Or, rather, none that Kingsley is willing to place with you. He seems to think they'd end up on the Janus Thickey Ward if left alone with you for any length of time. I wonder why that is?"
He crossed his arms, glaring at her for a long moment.
This week's quiz was chosen by itchyfoot who loves watching Severus squirm when he loses a bet.
Would you like to pick the theme for the next quiz? Play the quiz at any time over the weekend by commenting with your answers. Just comment before the answer sheet goes up on Monday morning, Eastern Standard Time. If you have the correct answers, your name will be entered in our weekly drawing. The winner gets an all expense paid tour of the SSHG Quiz vault and the right to choose the next quiz!
Match the quote to the story title without chomping on either of our featured red herring titles:
Scarborough Arithmancy by lillithj (SS/HG/LM)
In Charm's Way by annietalbot
The Fine Art of Fine Print by mundungus42
The Beginner's Guide to Breeding Peacocks by shiv5468 (SS/HG/LM)
Hidden Treasures by dreamy_dragon73
Conspiracy Theory by ubiquirk
Paradox by clare009
What Goes Around, Comes Around by ttny1111
Standard Operating Procedure by eeyore9990
The Petulant Poetess by chivalric55
Nineteen Years Later by juno_magic
Snape, A History by Kailin
1. She avoids the deluge by a precisely calculated few inches, six months as the Ministry of Magic’s Keeper of Records having honed her reflexes more than years of skirmishes with Death Eaters ever did. Amazing the amount of motivation multiple paper cuts on one’s face can bring to bear.
With a sigh, she gathers the parchments off the floor and glances through them: the Hodgekins filed a permit to add a magical extension onto their popular ‘Muggle food’ restaurant in Diagon Alley, Celus Wally reported selling five mooncalves to Maggie Pruce, Bea Dooley requested funding to develop a primer school to prepare students for Hogwarts when their parents cannot home school, Thurner Dackery lodged a complaint that his neighbor Edward Puce keeps attacking his begonias with a Wilting Spell, …
If she read all of this, she’d be what Sherlock Holmes warned Watson about: someone with a mind too full of meaningless facts to do any crucial thinking. A huff of laughter escapes her at the thought that she’s quoting a fictional character to herself as a source of wisdom, but mooncalves and magically large buildings? Her world now is far stranger than anything ‘fictional’ in Holmes’s.
Although this bit’s a mite dull.
2. Immediately, Hermione thought of ways to get the story published and stumbled over an old issue of Witch Weekly, the only magazine that at least now and then printed something else but recipes and interviews with important members of the Ministry. Therefore - a most logical step from her point of view - she set off to persuade the editor into printing that story as well.
He did. Grumbling and moaning, but he did. And he hired Hermione Granger so she could find him more potentially worthy stuff, as she got round quite a bit and his readers would really enjoy the newest tips and tricks on how to cook polenta.
Grumbling, Hermione had accepted, keeping in mind that, if she gave Stewart - the editor - enough recipes he would print another of her stories as well.
She brought him the desired recipes; she found him interview partners. He loved her; she hated him. Because, the more stories she received (triggered by the word the old Italian lady had spread that the bushy-haired witch managed to get things published), the less open David Stewart was for them. Rarely, he would print a story Hermione recommended. Mostly, he dumped them. Always, it was a fight, and usually, Hermione lost it.
She hated to lose. And yes, she absolutely despised the man. But Witch Weekly was the only magazine out there. Hermione’s authors had no other hope but her. It was either get printed there or get printed nowhere, and therefore, she stayed with Stewart.
3. "Both of you seem to have taken an interest in Miss Granger." This was Barnabas' gruff voice. "While we don't discourage that interest, we are worried that her work here could go awry with an improper sort of inducement." He held up his hand to forestall the young Weasley's bluster. "We are also aware that Miss Granger could become very powerful with the proper sort of inducement. That isn't to say she's not a powerful witch in her own right, but her magic's out of whack. Her work's suffering."
"We are happy that she has found you. Both of you," Felicity remarked. "She's been lonely since the end of the war."
"Harry's death left both of us somewhat raw, and Hermione's just now started to come out of her mourning," Ron added.
"While this is all very interesting." Severus had decided to join the conversation. "I fail to see what this has to do with us. As Malfoy has pointed out, Miss Granger is an adult."
"She is indeed. However, Felicity and I have decided to retire. We have purchased a cottage on a lovely, sunny island surrounded by blue water. We wish to pass this facility and its association with the Department of Mysteries to Hermione and her chosen partners."
"The Ministry would never let you associate this program with a Death Eater." Severus waved his hand dismissively.
4. It was true that the purpose of the cruise was only partially to bring themselves up to date on magical flora and fauna of the Caribbean. The programming would provide a tax write-off as a business expense. But the real reason for the mid-winter Caribbean cruise was to get them out of the lab and into the sun for four days, recovering from the bouts of influenza that had felled them in quick succession the prior month. They’d been testing their own broad-spectrum antiviral potions on themselves at the time; clearly, they needed to reconsider their approach.
Weeks later, they were still dragging themselves around the house they shared. When the Wizarding Waves brochure had appeared with their daily post, Hermione had lost no time in consulting their accountant (Ron’s distant cousin was a very useful contact to have), cancelling their appointments for the last week in February, and registering them for the cruise.
Only then had she informed her business partner of the decision. His initial reaction-fury at her high-handedness-had evaporated as she showed him the programming schedule. Perhaps they could learn something and make new business contacts. And, he allowed, she was still rather pale. Actually, he’d said that she looked like the underside of a fish. He was one to talk.
5. Hitching up his pants even further and taking a healthy bite of his stale scone, the old wizard had a look of defiance on his face as he chewed through the dry mouthful. "I may have had to put up with 1042, but I'll fight to the end against 1328."
All in all, 1042 had been a wake-up call for many wizards. When the new Minister of Magic had been sworn in, they didn't take much notice. Sure, it was the first female MOM to be elected since Bertilda the Bossy in 1234, but Hermione Granger was nothing like ol' Bert -- or so they thought. The former war hero who fought alongside the Great Harry Potter to defeat What's-His-Name (as he was now called), campaigned on slogans of hearth and home, family and friends, prosperity and a return to good old fashioned Wizarding values. She was easily elected and began her administration with some flair, and then shortly after taking office, she showed her true colors.
It snuck up on them of course. At first, she passed some fine pieces of legislation. She got rid of an antiquated Marriage Law, improved the educational system for younger students, and put together a team to identify and contact Muggle born witches and wizards. The creation of this particular team was met with some resistance in "certain circles," but it was her contention, that bringing those students into the fold earlier would help them assimilate to their new lifestyle - and she was right.
Looking back over the course of her administration, one could clearly see that this huge win was actually the beginning of the end.
6. So, taking my complete innocence in Bertie’s demise as read...,” continued Lucius. “Dear old Bertie seems to have resorted to magical means to improve his stock. Highly illegal, of course, but effective, and it would be a shame if all that experimentation were to go to waste because of an overly-officious Ministry. Such methods are deplorable, of course they are, but is it right that the birds should suffer for their master’s sins?”
“And what does this have to do with me?”
“An old acquaintance of yours is involved in the investigation. Hermione Granger. A woman who is deplorably honest and above bribery and coercion.”
“Which is inconvenient.”
“Which is indeed inconvenient.” Lucius adjusted his cuffs thoughtfully, his long hair falling round his face to hide his expression. “She’s leading the investigation actually, and whilst she might not look on my application to purchase the birds with any degree of sympathy, but if you were to suggest that you could find a good home for them...”
Severus tipped his head to one side. “You expect me to lie to her?”
“Perish the thought.” Lucius looked up again, with his usual half-smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t ask you to strain your conscience. I thought that, if I were to have a chance to present my arguments in person, I might be able to appeal to her softer side.”
Severus snorted. “You really do think you’re irresistibly charming in the face of all the evidence, don’t you?”
7. Awkwardly, he turned his head to see his companion.
Next to his bed sat a woman on a wooden stool. She was dressed in black robes, with the most perplexing headdress of a tight-fitting white cowl and a length of black fabric falling over her shoulders and down her back. She did not look like the keeper, jailer or torturer he had expected. He stared. No witch he had ever seen dressed like that.
Then it struck him. Of course - she was no witch. She was a Muggle. A Muggle nun!
A Muggle nun in a hospital wing. A nurse?
He exhaled, and some measure of tension drained away. Blinking again, the spy in him took over, as he analysed her features surreptitiously, trying to learn as much about her as possible. She was around thirty-five years old. She looked older, but her complexion was still too fine to put her beyond her fortieth birthday. A broad, heart-shaped face with strong brown eyebrows and a stubborn chin. Clear brown eyes. A nose that must have been horribly broken once, and which had healed crooked, giving her features a strangely wistful slant. And a wide, sensual, beautiful mouth.
“Careful, Professor. You had a car accident - you were seriously injured,” she cautioned him. “It will take a while for you to heal.”
“It was a lorry,” he corrected hoarsely. “And it wasn’t an accident.”
“You are very, very lucky to alive,” the nun agreed.
Belatedly, the form of address she had employed registered with him and chased away the last cobwebs of Muggle drugs obscuring his faculties. He shot up in bed and promptly groaned deep in his throat when broken bones and torn muscles protested the sudden movement.
“You -” he croaked. “You are dead.”
She nodded. “I am,” she agreed. Her voice had changed, calmed and softened. “And yet I am still here.” A spark lit up in the depths of her brown eyes. An expression once annoyingly familiar, now an almost forgotten grace.
8. Harry nodded. “I think they tried to talk to all the people who looked as if they had a hand in Voldemort’s downfall. I even recall seeing somebody interviewing Filch, of all people. Why do you ask?”
“I just don’t understand why someone hasn’t written an accurate history of the war. Wouldn’t you think someone would want to read it? There’s that old maxim about ‘those who don’t heed history are doomed to repeat it’ and all. We were part of history, for heaven’s sake. Doesn’t it matter? It’s an absolute insult to Albus Dumbledore’s memory if we allow this to go on, Harry!”
“True.” Harry leaned back in his chair and studied Hermione thoughtfully. “Why don’t you write it?”
“What?” Stunned, she sat bolt upright in her chair. “You’re joking, right?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Am I? You’re right in that someone should take it upon themselves to write an accurate account of the war. It should be someone who was intimately involved in it so that the truth can be known. You don’t want a revisionist historian trying to make Voldemort look like a victim because of his horrific childhood or something.”
“But Harry, I’ve never - I mean, I’ve written papers for work, but - ”
“You interview the people involved and summarize their stories and string them all together. How hard can that be?”
Hermione was looking as dazed as if she’d been hit in the head by a large object. “Me… write a book…?”
“Why not? You love to read. Seems to me that the two are connected somehow.”
“Harry,” she began, laughing nervously, “that’s - that’s -”
“That’s what? Possible?”
She stared at him wonderingly.
9. "Before you say something you might regret," she said with more than a hint of steel in her tone, "I urge you to think about your position. I already know that your little project can't be funded by the Department of Mysteries, and as I understand it, Ronald has very generously given you a way to continue collecting data that could be instrumental in securing funding next cycle. This means that your work will be financed by the Educational Fund, over which I, as Hogwarts Headmistress, have discretionary control. I can, of course, divert those funds at any time if I feel you are not producing results beneficial to the school. I trust I have made myself clear?"
Hermione stared wordlessly at the witch who was now sitting in Ron's chair and helping herself to his biscuits. The face she recalled being so kindly now radiated the tenacity of a bulldog, an impression reinforced by the set of her jaw, as well as the bit of spittle that appeared at the corner of her mouth when she noticed the marzipan fancies.
As sole patent holder of the Magispectrometer, Hermione knew that she could tell Molly and Ron where they could bally well stick their Educational Fund, call Draco Malfoy, a fellow Unspeakable, for a bit of venture capital, and revolutionize whatever field she chose while becoming absurdly wealthy in the process while paying only a pittance to the Ministry for use of technology developed under its auspices. But in that moment, Hermione felt the stirrings of the long-dormant outrage that had led her to found S.P.E.W. and to chase down and destroy every last scrap of Voldemort's soul.
Ron, with his chessman's eye, had seen the opportunity that Molly's ambitions had opened and was depending on her sense of justice to do what needed to be done. After twenty years of being cloistered in her well-funded laboratory in the Department of Mysteries, who was she to refuse a friend's call to arms?
"I understand you perfectly," said Hermione, making her voice tiny.
10. Hermione twitched the curtains to the side, glancing up and down the quiet street before she tapped the tiny Magic Mouth hidden in her ear to activate it and give the hourly all-clear report. The confirmation coming back in her other ear via an adapted version of Extendable Ears comforted her slightly, let her know she wasn't as alone as she was beginning to feel.
"How I had the misfortune to end up with youas my wife, I'll never know." The caustic tones of her housemate set Hermione's teeth on edge and she whirled, pasting a bright smile on her face as she walked over and seated herself beside him, curling her body against his.
"Ah, but just think how much worse it could have been, darling," she said, deliberately trailing the backs of her fingers over his pale cheek in as close an approximation of wifely adoration as her acting skills would allow. "You could be living in wedded bliss with Harry" She allowed that thought to sink in before she leaned forward, pursing her lips next to his ear. "Or Ron." She laughed, the sound low and husky, when she felt him shudder in distaste. Backing away, she murmured, "Feel free to request a replacement whenever you tire of me, dear."
"Surely there are other female Aurors who could-"
"Nope. None. Or, rather, none that Kingsley is willing to place with you. He seems to think they'd end up on the Janus Thickey Ward if left alone with you for any length of time. I wonder why that is?"
He crossed his arms, glaring at her for a long moment.