Prolific Author Series: Richardgloucester answers
Are you Dicky's biggest fangirl? Here's the answer sheet to check your score.
EDIT: This week's winner is kribu! Join us Friday to see what quiz theme she selects!
1. Takeover Bid: A Tale of the Marriage Law
2. A Fresh Start
3. Through Silence
4. A is for
5. Lady Ellhorn WIP
6. Seven Brides for Seven Snapes
7. A Taxing Affair
8. Now You See Them
9. A Mote of You
10. One Perfect Valentine
1. She turned and gave him a very thorough once-over.
"You're not repellent. In fact, I'd say you've improved remarkably. It's this whole bloody situation that's repellent!"
She took another gulp.
"Merlin's golden bollocks! I don't want to be married! I have a career! I've even persuaded my boss at Gringotts to get me posted abroad, even though he doesn't want to. Look…" she fished in the bag perched on the counter-top and produced some Muggle air tickets, "…Peru - two weeks' time."
Snape drew a similar set of tickets from an inside pocket.
"Australia, tomorrow," he said.
She smiled wryly.
"Well, that's two lives thoroughly hijacked by this fuckwitted, crapulent bloody law." Snape had had no idea that she was so foul-mouthed; he was rather impressed - it must come from associating with goblins. "And have you read the small print, husband mine?"
Takeover Bid: A Tale of the Marriage Law
2. "Oh, yes," she continued. "The very apogee of male perfection as measured on the Scale: perfect physically, also kind, understanding, considerate, and willing to wear a badly-knitted jumper - everything a girl could want. That's what Neville has become. He doesn't know it yet, either, and that's what makes him doubly irresistible. Poor thing, he thinks he's hiding out there in the vegetable gardens, but just look!"
She gestured out of the window. Snape leaned past her, scenting her fragrance again, and saw faces peering from numerous windows in the castle walls. Creevey's lens glinted in some bushes. Apparently Miss Granger was in the right of it; he was a little disappointed that she should share the same tastes as all the other girls at Hogwarts - he had thought her more discriminating - but remembering her appearance when he had chanced upon her, he realised that she was just as mesmerised as the rest. He glanced once more at the unlikely object of all that passion, not really seeing it himself, but feeling a vague discontent, all the same. He was startled when she asked, a propos of nothing, "How's your fresh start coming, sir?"
"Just fine," he snapped.
Her face fell at the rebuff.
"I'll leave you to your… activities, Miss Granger," he said, making to leave. He stopped. "Out of interest, where would I fit on your famous Scale?" Even in his own ears, it was a pathetic attempt to sound nonchalant.
"You, sir?" She studied him. "You are completely off the Scale, Professor Snape," she said enigmatically.
A Fresh Start
3. "Well, I think it sounds a creepy place," replied Rose. "And you've got cobwebs in your hair and dust on your cheek, Mummy. It doesn't look nice."
Hermione wondered from whom her daughter had inherited a concern for appearance.
"But you look full of life, even if you do need a bath," added Ron. "Leave her alone, Rosie. She likes grubbing around investigating stuff no one else knows about."
By three, Hermione was back in the shop. She still couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, but again, there was nothing to disturb her Auror-tuned sense for danger, so she let it pass until she had leisure to investigate. At five, she paused for another rest. Many rooms on her plan had notes scrawled upon them, but a good half were still virgin territory. Her eyes grew heavy, and she leaned back in Mr Flourish's chair to rest for a minute. She was startled to see what time it was when she woke up, but her cup of tea was still hot, so she couldn't have been asleep that long. She'd probably just misread the clock before. It was unlike her to do so, but hardly surprising, given the distractions. She packed up for the day. She needed to be fresh for the morning.
Through Silence
4. Her foot collided with a heavy shoebox protruding from under the bottom shelf. Crouching, she opened it and found hundreds of bezoars. Hundreds, just gathering dust when they could have been in home first-aid kits. That selfish old pack-rat.
She picked up a handful and let them rattle through her fingers.
A sneering voice came back to her: “A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat...”
Not a word Snape had ever spoken had faded from her mind.
He was the one. Perhaps he would want this Aladdin's cave. If she could find him.
A is for
5. She crouched by the sofa and looked at his sleeping face. In repose, the cantankerous expression was smoothed away and he looked much younger, despite the one or two threads of silver that she now noticed in his dark hair. She traced an eyebrow and the bridge of that prominent nose with a gentle finger, and he stirred.
"I found that reference you were looking for," she said.
"Girly swot," he mumbled, reaching out to pull her onto the sofa with him, where he spooned his body against her back. His hand found its way inside her dressing gown and splayed across her ribs, warming her skin through the thin fabric of the pyjamas. She squirmed deliciously, making the wretched book dig into both of them simultaneously. Hermione fumbled behind her to remove the object, but the mood was broken and Snape was more or less awake. He opened half an eye and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Ten o'clock. Only an hour until they were due at the Burrow.
"Coffee," he groaned, pushing Hermione unceremoniously off the sofa.
"Oh, but Severus…" she complained, trying on what she hoped was a provocative pout.
"It was your blasted idea to oscillate between here and the Weasleys' all holiday. If you're going to make me be sociable, then you can accept the consequences. I won't let you or anyone make me late for an appointment - even if it is with doom."
"I suppose you're right."
"I know I'm right. And so, in fact, were you," he said a little less grumpily. "It was sound reasoning that you shouldn't lock yourself away here with me. I don't want anyone thinking I've Imperio'd and enslaved you."
"Of course not, master. Would my master like his coffee before or after I wash his back?" she offered, impishly.
Lady Ellhorn WIP
6. “...was really hot!” said a slightly breathy voice. “I mean, you wouldn't expect it of a man his age, but Circe's tits - I came like an exploding cauldron!”
“Which one was it?! Show me!” insisted another voice.
Severus moved carefully so that he could observe while giving the appearance of inspecting the range of Melodic Mixtures (“IDEAL FOR RELUCTANT POTIONEERS!”), and saw that there was a small group of young women deeply absorbed in the descriptions on the 'Muggle Film Stars' range of Patented Daydreams.
“But my mum likes him,” protested another of the girls, flicking her long, black hair over her shoulder in a gesture Severus thought he recognised. “Honestly, Lavender - he's over sixty. You must be joking!”
“Oh, no I'm not,” Miss Brown replied. “Well, that settles what I'm getting you for your birthday - you have no choice. He's the man for you. For me. For all of us. I wonder if they do another one with him in it?”
Severus backed silently away and made his way round through the displays until he could observe from another angle. Ah, not just Miss Brown, who had grown into her early promise of being a bombshell, but also Miss Chang, she of the flicky hair and lustrous almond eyes, petite but trim and fit-looking from her Quidditch career, and also the Patil twins, possessed of flawless skin and, he noted with interest, a shared penchant for push-up bras, if he wasn't much mistaken. All in all, a feast for the eyes of any bachelor.
He picked up a box of Warbling Wind Chimes (“GUARANTEED TO REPEL MALIGN SPIRITS!”) and let it jangle.
The girls looked up. Severus' lip twitched to see Miss Chang whip the incriminating box behind her back as all four faces flushed in an ingrained response to being caught by a teacher.
“Ladies,” he said, bowing ever so slightly. It was a trick he'd learned from Lucius. It pretended respect while reinforcing superiority. Very useful. He looked them over appreciatively, enjoying the deepening blushes.
Seven Brides for Seven Snapes
7. She showered, did her best to make her hair presentable, shook some of the wrinkles from her clothes, and returned to the office to wait… Strike that. To work. That was it. To work. Not to settle into one of the big armchairs by the fire with a lapful of folders which presented absolutely no distraction whatsoever from the vigil she kept.
Hermione wasn't used to feeling like this. Men had been an occasional pastime over the past ten years, but none of them had ever managed to turn her attention away from what was actually important. She even caught herself wishing she kept some make-up in her desk. She was sure to be looking hag-ridden… Damn! She was behaving like a… like a girl! Just because the man she'd fancied in secret since the day she started this job and he walked into her office and left her gaping like an imbecile had finally, finally spoken to her like a human being. Ridiculous behaviour. And why in Circe's name wasn't he here yet?
As if on cue, Snape burst through the Floo. But instead of responding to her greeting, he made a beeline for Arthur's best scotch and downed a good two fingers before he even looked at her.
"You'd better pour me one of those, too," said Hermione, swallowing her disappointment. "It looks as though I'm going to need it."
She was deprived of the electric moment when their fingers brushed as he handed her the glass by the simple fact that they didn't. And where can a girl find a romantic cliché these days when she needs one? thought Hermione. She settled for watching his grim expression relax almost imperceptibly as he sank into the other armchair and held his glass to his forehead above closed eyes.
"So?" she prompted. "Are you going to tell me, or am I going to get sloshed just for the hell of it?"
A Taxing Affair
8. They were leaning back-to-back, supporting each other. Hermione's head was tilted sleepily against his shoulder. Her hair tickled his nose as he turned to speak to her.
"Why did you come back for me?"
"I'm surprised you want to know. It was foolish and rash. That's all."
"And here we are, stuck together forever in an empty room. There is nothing else to do but talk, so you might as well tell me."
"What happened to 'Shut up, Miss Granger'?"
Snape growled and hunched his shoulder to make her uncomfortable. She sighed.
"Because I couldn't bear to see you left alone."
Now You See Them
9. “What are you doing, Miss Granger?” His disgruntlement precedes him like an invisible footman.
“Making the punch.”
She dips a teaspoon, tastes, and wrinkles her nose.
“It's still not right. Here, Prof- er, Mr Snape - can you make out what it says here? Molly's handwriting is appalling!”
He squints at the parchment then bends to sniff the cauldron.
“Blackberry cordial. Ugh. Tell me what I am doing at Potter's wedding, Miss Granger.”
She laughs and wards her work.
“I'm on no account to let George anywhere near it,” she explains. “Come along now, and pretend to be sociable.”
A Mote of You
10. "Is there something wrong, Professor Granger?" he enquired politely.
Hermione sought frantically to avoid blurting out the epiphany she had just experienced.
"Um - no," she managed, stuffing in a mouthful of cabbage to give herself time. "You look well," she continued, as he helped himself to the roast pork and crackling. "Did you have a good holiday?" It was inane, but it would have to do.
"Yes, thank you. A little light research and plenty of fresh air and exercise. Scotland is a fine place in the summer."
Hermione poked at the buttered parsnips on her plate. "I thought you looked tanned," she said.
"Are you well?" he enquired again. "You do not seem to be eating much."
She pulled a face.
"It's all very well being back at Hogwarts," she said wryly, "but I went up three sizes last year. I spent the summer starving myself, and I'm still not back where I want to be. It's a good thing these robes conceal a multitude of sins."
He frowned, looking back at his own plate.
Stupid, stupid! Hermione chastised herself. Don't talk about dieting and clothes. Find something less girly.
One Perfect Valentine
EDIT: This week's winner is kribu! Join us Friday to see what quiz theme she selects!
1. Takeover Bid: A Tale of the Marriage Law
2. A Fresh Start
3. Through Silence
4. A is for
5. Lady Ellhorn WIP
6. Seven Brides for Seven Snapes
7. A Taxing Affair
8. Now You See Them
9. A Mote of You
10. One Perfect Valentine
1. She turned and gave him a very thorough once-over.
"You're not repellent. In fact, I'd say you've improved remarkably. It's this whole bloody situation that's repellent!"
She took another gulp.
"Merlin's golden bollocks! I don't want to be married! I have a career! I've even persuaded my boss at Gringotts to get me posted abroad, even though he doesn't want to. Look…" she fished in the bag perched on the counter-top and produced some Muggle air tickets, "…Peru - two weeks' time."
Snape drew a similar set of tickets from an inside pocket.
"Australia, tomorrow," he said.
She smiled wryly.
"Well, that's two lives thoroughly hijacked by this fuckwitted, crapulent bloody law." Snape had had no idea that she was so foul-mouthed; he was rather impressed - it must come from associating with goblins. "And have you read the small print, husband mine?"
Takeover Bid: A Tale of the Marriage Law
2. "Oh, yes," she continued. "The very apogee of male perfection as measured on the Scale: perfect physically, also kind, understanding, considerate, and willing to wear a badly-knitted jumper - everything a girl could want. That's what Neville has become. He doesn't know it yet, either, and that's what makes him doubly irresistible. Poor thing, he thinks he's hiding out there in the vegetable gardens, but just look!"
She gestured out of the window. Snape leaned past her, scenting her fragrance again, and saw faces peering from numerous windows in the castle walls. Creevey's lens glinted in some bushes. Apparently Miss Granger was in the right of it; he was a little disappointed that she should share the same tastes as all the other girls at Hogwarts - he had thought her more discriminating - but remembering her appearance when he had chanced upon her, he realised that she was just as mesmerised as the rest. He glanced once more at the unlikely object of all that passion, not really seeing it himself, but feeling a vague discontent, all the same. He was startled when she asked, a propos of nothing, "How's your fresh start coming, sir?"
"Just fine," he snapped.
Her face fell at the rebuff.
"I'll leave you to your… activities, Miss Granger," he said, making to leave. He stopped. "Out of interest, where would I fit on your famous Scale?" Even in his own ears, it was a pathetic attempt to sound nonchalant.
"You, sir?" She studied him. "You are completely off the Scale, Professor Snape," she said enigmatically.
A Fresh Start
3. "Well, I think it sounds a creepy place," replied Rose. "And you've got cobwebs in your hair and dust on your cheek, Mummy. It doesn't look nice."
Hermione wondered from whom her daughter had inherited a concern for appearance.
"But you look full of life, even if you do need a bath," added Ron. "Leave her alone, Rosie. She likes grubbing around investigating stuff no one else knows about."
By three, Hermione was back in the shop. She still couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, but again, there was nothing to disturb her Auror-tuned sense for danger, so she let it pass until she had leisure to investigate. At five, she paused for another rest. Many rooms on her plan had notes scrawled upon them, but a good half were still virgin territory. Her eyes grew heavy, and she leaned back in Mr Flourish's chair to rest for a minute. She was startled to see what time it was when she woke up, but her cup of tea was still hot, so she couldn't have been asleep that long. She'd probably just misread the clock before. It was unlike her to do so, but hardly surprising, given the distractions. She packed up for the day. She needed to be fresh for the morning.
Through Silence
4. Her foot collided with a heavy shoebox protruding from under the bottom shelf. Crouching, she opened it and found hundreds of bezoars. Hundreds, just gathering dust when they could have been in home first-aid kits. That selfish old pack-rat.
She picked up a handful and let them rattle through her fingers.
A sneering voice came back to her: “A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat...”
Not a word Snape had ever spoken had faded from her mind.
He was the one. Perhaps he would want this Aladdin's cave. If she could find him.
A is for
5. She crouched by the sofa and looked at his sleeping face. In repose, the cantankerous expression was smoothed away and he looked much younger, despite the one or two threads of silver that she now noticed in his dark hair. She traced an eyebrow and the bridge of that prominent nose with a gentle finger, and he stirred.
"I found that reference you were looking for," she said.
"Girly swot," he mumbled, reaching out to pull her onto the sofa with him, where he spooned his body against her back. His hand found its way inside her dressing gown and splayed across her ribs, warming her skin through the thin fabric of the pyjamas. She squirmed deliciously, making the wretched book dig into both of them simultaneously. Hermione fumbled behind her to remove the object, but the mood was broken and Snape was more or less awake. He opened half an eye and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Ten o'clock. Only an hour until they were due at the Burrow.
"Coffee," he groaned, pushing Hermione unceremoniously off the sofa.
"Oh, but Severus…" she complained, trying on what she hoped was a provocative pout.
"It was your blasted idea to oscillate between here and the Weasleys' all holiday. If you're going to make me be sociable, then you can accept the consequences. I won't let you or anyone make me late for an appointment - even if it is with doom."
"I suppose you're right."
"I know I'm right. And so, in fact, were you," he said a little less grumpily. "It was sound reasoning that you shouldn't lock yourself away here with me. I don't want anyone thinking I've Imperio'd and enslaved you."
"Of course not, master. Would my master like his coffee before or after I wash his back?" she offered, impishly.
Lady Ellhorn WIP
6. “...was really hot!” said a slightly breathy voice. “I mean, you wouldn't expect it of a man his age, but Circe's tits - I came like an exploding cauldron!”
“Which one was it?! Show me!” insisted another voice.
Severus moved carefully so that he could observe while giving the appearance of inspecting the range of Melodic Mixtures (“IDEAL FOR RELUCTANT POTIONEERS!”), and saw that there was a small group of young women deeply absorbed in the descriptions on the 'Muggle Film Stars' range of Patented Daydreams.
“But my mum likes him,” protested another of the girls, flicking her long, black hair over her shoulder in a gesture Severus thought he recognised. “Honestly, Lavender - he's over sixty. You must be joking!”
“Oh, no I'm not,” Miss Brown replied. “Well, that settles what I'm getting you for your birthday - you have no choice. He's the man for you. For me. For all of us. I wonder if they do another one with him in it?”
Severus backed silently away and made his way round through the displays until he could observe from another angle. Ah, not just Miss Brown, who had grown into her early promise of being a bombshell, but also Miss Chang, she of the flicky hair and lustrous almond eyes, petite but trim and fit-looking from her Quidditch career, and also the Patil twins, possessed of flawless skin and, he noted with interest, a shared penchant for push-up bras, if he wasn't much mistaken. All in all, a feast for the eyes of any bachelor.
He picked up a box of Warbling Wind Chimes (“GUARANTEED TO REPEL MALIGN SPIRITS!”) and let it jangle.
The girls looked up. Severus' lip twitched to see Miss Chang whip the incriminating box behind her back as all four faces flushed in an ingrained response to being caught by a teacher.
“Ladies,” he said, bowing ever so slightly. It was a trick he'd learned from Lucius. It pretended respect while reinforcing superiority. Very useful. He looked them over appreciatively, enjoying the deepening blushes.
Seven Brides for Seven Snapes
7. She showered, did her best to make her hair presentable, shook some of the wrinkles from her clothes, and returned to the office to wait… Strike that. To work. That was it. To work. Not to settle into one of the big armchairs by the fire with a lapful of folders which presented absolutely no distraction whatsoever from the vigil she kept.
Hermione wasn't used to feeling like this. Men had been an occasional pastime over the past ten years, but none of them had ever managed to turn her attention away from what was actually important. She even caught herself wishing she kept some make-up in her desk. She was sure to be looking hag-ridden… Damn! She was behaving like a… like a girl! Just because the man she'd fancied in secret since the day she started this job and he walked into her office and left her gaping like an imbecile had finally, finally spoken to her like a human being. Ridiculous behaviour. And why in Circe's name wasn't he here yet?
As if on cue, Snape burst through the Floo. But instead of responding to her greeting, he made a beeline for Arthur's best scotch and downed a good two fingers before he even looked at her.
"You'd better pour me one of those, too," said Hermione, swallowing her disappointment. "It looks as though I'm going to need it."
She was deprived of the electric moment when their fingers brushed as he handed her the glass by the simple fact that they didn't. And where can a girl find a romantic cliché these days when she needs one? thought Hermione. She settled for watching his grim expression relax almost imperceptibly as he sank into the other armchair and held his glass to his forehead above closed eyes.
"So?" she prompted. "Are you going to tell me, or am I going to get sloshed just for the hell of it?"
A Taxing Affair
8. They were leaning back-to-back, supporting each other. Hermione's head was tilted sleepily against his shoulder. Her hair tickled his nose as he turned to speak to her.
"Why did you come back for me?"
"I'm surprised you want to know. It was foolish and rash. That's all."
"And here we are, stuck together forever in an empty room. There is nothing else to do but talk, so you might as well tell me."
"What happened to 'Shut up, Miss Granger'?"
Snape growled and hunched his shoulder to make her uncomfortable. She sighed.
"Because I couldn't bear to see you left alone."
Now You See Them
9. “What are you doing, Miss Granger?” His disgruntlement precedes him like an invisible footman.
“Making the punch.”
She dips a teaspoon, tastes, and wrinkles her nose.
“It's still not right. Here, Prof- er, Mr Snape - can you make out what it says here? Molly's handwriting is appalling!”
He squints at the parchment then bends to sniff the cauldron.
“Blackberry cordial. Ugh. Tell me what I am doing at Potter's wedding, Miss Granger.”
She laughs and wards her work.
“I'm on no account to let George anywhere near it,” she explains. “Come along now, and pretend to be sociable.”
A Mote of You
10. "Is there something wrong, Professor Granger?" he enquired politely.
Hermione sought frantically to avoid blurting out the epiphany she had just experienced.
"Um - no," she managed, stuffing in a mouthful of cabbage to give herself time. "You look well," she continued, as he helped himself to the roast pork and crackling. "Did you have a good holiday?" It was inane, but it would have to do.
"Yes, thank you. A little light research and plenty of fresh air and exercise. Scotland is a fine place in the summer."
Hermione poked at the buttered parsnips on her plate. "I thought you looked tanned," she said.
"Are you well?" he enquired again. "You do not seem to be eating much."
She pulled a face.
"It's all very well being back at Hogwarts," she said wryly, "but I went up three sizes last year. I spent the summer starving myself, and I'm still not back where I want to be. It's a good thing these robes conceal a multitude of sins."
He frowned, looking back at his own plate.
Stupid, stupid! Hermione chastised herself. Don't talk about dieting and clothes. Find something less girly.
One Perfect Valentine