Widow Weasley Quiz
Occasionally Hermione will follow JKR’s opinions and marry her Weasley. Thank goodness for fanfic authors who quickly kill off said ginger husband. This week the quiz focuses on Hermione moving on from her widowhood.
Match the story to the quote:
Magic of the Mind by talesofsnape
Becoming by snarkypants (sadly abandoned)
Sentimental Education by pigwidgeon37
Never too Late by scatteredlogic
The Witches of Gilford by pyjamapants
Example of Widowhood by sc010f
The Quality of Mercy by christinex1001
The Burdens of Being Functional by silburygirl
Nineteen Years Later by Mauvemagique
Houdini’s Tables by vanityfair00
Sage by lady-rhian
The Thestral’s Egg by absolute-tash
1. "Oh, do you know each other?" The Giggler had returned from the loo. Except now she wasn't giggling. She was irked that her war hero lunch date was flirting with the woman at the table next to theirs, a frumpy woman at that.
"She was one of my students," Severus explained with a condescending smile. Hermione sniffed at the description. They had slightly more history than that. The woman who saved my life was a much better fit.
The giggler giggled her obnoxious giggle and Hermione took great pleasure in watching Snape wince. He tried to hide it, but she noticed.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," the blonde witch cooed. "I bet Severus was a fabulous teacher."
"Hardly," she muttered under her breath.
"I was the best," Snape said. "Miss Granger here though was one of my more annoying students," he continued. And one of the brightest but he usually found that those two went hand in hand, except in the case of Potter. He had just been obnoxious.
Hermione slapped down a few galleons for her lunch. "It's Mrs. Weasley, and I should be going," she said. If he thought she was annoying, she hoped that his new association with his blind date continued a long, long time.
2. With a scant fifteen seconds until this week's dunderheads kicked off the meeting, Hermione popped into place in her usual seat. Severus grinned smugly that she'd not managed to outwit the charm's pull, but that grin quickly slid from his face as he took in Hermione's blotchy eyes, tear-streaked face, and rumpled black robes. Before he could ask her whatever was the matter, the discussion began. Fearing that he would, as usual, fail to find the proper words, Severus simply laid his hand upon hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. For a moment, this seemed to lift her spirits; the corner of her mouth betrayed the slightest upwards twitch.
The meeting began with its usual inane discourse, and Severus noted that Hermione seemed to have recovered somewhat from her upset. He observed her acutely throughout the meeting. Every once in a while, she seemed to struggle with her emotions, barely managing to contain them. Given how distraught she seemed to be, Severus thought she really was holding it together rather well. It wasn't until Eustace Abbott began talking about the Widow Coursely that Hermione's composure began to falter and the light of comprehension began to dawn in Severus's mind.
3. Severus eyed the skimpy silver-grey satin slip which was all she wore with a raised eyebrow. "You seem to have misplaced your clothes as well, and your hair's damp. Are you drunk?"
Hermione blinked owlishly up at him. "Might be?"
"Why?" he asked, schooling himself to keep his distance so long as she was in this unpredictable mood.
"Because I got fed up of waiting for someone to share the bottle with." Suddenly, as if this calamity was his fault, she focused all her attention on him. "Why are you avoiding me?"
"I needed to pay a visit to the library during morning break. That led to my spending my lunch hour marking, in order to be free to pursue some personal matters earlier this evening. I'm here now, am I not?" Severus asked.
"Only so you can tell me how insufferable I am," Hermione insisted. "Pip says you acted like you hated her as soon as you saw her. Only you couldn't hate her, so you must hate me."
Severus sighed. "We got off on the wrong foot. I act like I hate everyb-" His jaw dropped mid-word, and he stared at the family portrait that looked down at him from the wall. "That's not Weasley."
"What's not Weasley?" Hermione demanded, squinting at the photograph which had been taken shortly after her son had been born. "It's my Weasleys."
Severus's head flicked between the photograph and the woman in front of him several times before he scanned the whole room, finding several more photographs of the same smiling redhead. "B-but that's Charlie Weasley!"
4. Did a Transfiguration hurt? She couldn’t imagine that it did, or else Professor McGonagall wouldn’t have had her students blithely turning mice into snuffboxes and whatnot. Still, that realization wasn’t enough to make Hermione feel any better about what she planned to do.
No help for it, though. She raised her wand toward Crookshanks, who let out a startled hiss, just before his yellow eyes turned orange and his ginger fur transformed into the mottled brown and tan of a large eagle owl. Although not native to England, the species seemed to be preferred by the Owlery at Gringotts, no doubt because of its size and strength. After all, a smaller owl like Pigwidgeon or even beautiful, lost Hedwig would have had difficulty carrying heavy bags of Galleons to Ministry pensioners.
Crookshanks swiveled his head at her, flapping wings that seemed to take up most of Hermione’s small front yard. She stepped backward, trying to avoid getting caught up in the downdraft.
“Listen, you silly cat -- I mean, owl -- well, anyhow,” she continued, not wanting to look her Transfigured pet in the eyes, “it’s not permanent. I just need you to fly over to Ottery St. Catchpole and come back. Ten minutes.” At least this time, she added mentally. If her plan worked, Crookshanks would have to fly much farther than that.
Her words seemed to calm the owl/cat somewhat; Crookshanks ruffled his feathers but then settled down, allowing Hermione to approach him. She fastened a leather collar with a gleaming dark stone that hung from its center front to his neck, then said, “Just to the village and back. Do a good flyover, and come straight home.”
5. The walk to the Halifax estate is invigorating. Actually it's frigid. But it clears my head. It would have been quicker to apparate but more conspicuous, especially at two in the morning. I approach the massive brick house. Of course, it is warded, but my years as a spy have served me well. It takes awhile - nearly an hour. But by three, I have wriggled through and found an open window.
Luckily, Halifax seems to run a one-man operation and there are no guards on duty. I make my way down the hall. The only sound is a loud, persistent snoring. Again, luck seems to be on my side.
I look around quickly and locate his study. It is a veritable treasure trove of magical oddities. A dragon hide chair. A stuffed Phoenix. A shield of basilisk scales. But no egg. Unfortunately for me, he isn't foolish enough to keep it in plain view. I run my hands over the wall paneling and am struck by a faint breeze. There it is. A hidden panel. Just as I begin to pry it open, I hear footfalls. My blood freezes in my veins.
I spin around to a wand leveled at my face.
"Mr. Snape. I hadn't expected to see you quite so soon."
6. The Healer, who'd taken the chair opposite hers, couldn't afford to lose time though. 'Mrs Weasley,' she said, transferring her tea cup into her left hand and holding the right out for Hermione to shake, 'I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. Senior Healer Ada Wormcobbler. I'm in charge of your husband.'
Hermione shook the proffered hand, leaned back and took a sip of tea. The bubble was beginning to dissolve. 'They told me it was a broom accident.'
'Yes, that was the information his sister and brother-in-law gave us, too.'
The two women's eyes met. 'You don't seem to be overawed by having to treat Ronald Weasley, who was brought in by Harry Potter,' Hermione said smiling.
Healer Wormcobbler returned the smile. 'No. I tend to concentrate on the body, not the name. The awe might come later.' She shoved a few magazines off the coffee table and put down her teacup. 'Hermione - may I call you Hermione?'
Trying to repress a growing sense of dread, Hermione nodded.
'Hermione, you are an experienced law enforcer, so I trust you're able to keep your calm in a crisis. First, I want you to understand what happened to your husband. He hit a tree, head first, and he was flying at about forty miles per hour, to judge from the, erm, damage. I also want you to know that there was nothing Mr Potter or his wife could've done - they did, in fact, the only sensible thing, which was not to touch him and call us in immediately.'
'Forty miles,' Hermione said slowly, 'that must have…' She swallowed. 'There can't have been much left of, of anything.' Bile was rising in her throat, and she washed it down with a gulp of tea.
7. Hermione took a deep breath to call out to Snape, to demand he show himself, and stopped, the words fading away as she caught the long ago scents of dusty parchment and worn leather, of lemon oil and beeswax. She took another breath and grinned. There was even the faint tang of unwashed socks that had seeped into the library after centuries of student use.
She turned, and looking for Snape was forgotten once again as lush silk swirled around her legs. Surprised, Hermione looked down to find herself dressed in sapphire blue dress robes. She'd last been wearing flannel pyjamas.
Chains of tiny runes stitched in gold along the hem and neckline gleamed as she moved, and those small flashes of light sparked her memory. She'd been in Diagon Alley to buy school supplies, and she'd stopped to admire the robes in Madam Malkin's window.
"They'd look nice on you, Mum. They're your colour, too," Rose said. "And isn't the embroidery gorgeous? You should try them on."
"Not at that price. They're far too expensive, and the dress robes I have are still serviceable." Hermione shook her head.
8. “Severus, we’re leaving in ten minutes!” Hermione called, scurrying to pull her dress up. Pierre’s birthday gala was being thrown at the Edén Hotel in downtown wizarding Paris. It was new, it was posh, it was trendy.
All Hermione knew was that Pierre was having the Rossi Hotel’s limoncello flown in from Italy.
Severus had just returned from yet another trip. She needed limoncello desperately.
Sometimes she really adored her boss.
“You’re the one taking all the time to get ready, darling,” Severus said sardonically.
Hermione walked out of her bedroom - they were at her flat - and twirled for him. He nodded, approving. “You look lovely. Let’s go before the dress comes off.”
“It’s coming off?” Hermione asked playfully as he took her arm.
“In either ten seconds or three hours. Take your pick.”
Hermione sighed. “We’re already late.”
“I’m a patient man,” he said and Apparated them to the hotel.
9. Unable to restrain her curiosity, Hermione stepped forward and onto a twig. The loud crack resounded through the graveyard, and the figure straightened up and looked towards her. Black hair surrounded a white face that seemed to glow in the dim light. Hermione brought her hand to her mouth and gasped.
"Professor Snape!" Suddenly, the world seemed to spin and go dark. The next thing she knew, she was on the ground leaning against the unsightly statue of Ron. At her side knelt the ghost Severus Snape.
"Not 'Professor Snape', Mrs. Weasley," growled the ghost.
"Wha...?" Hermione waved her hand in the general direction of the apparition. "Ghosts. I've been in this damned graveyard too long."
"Why would you assume I am a ghost?" inquired the shade. "I assure you, Mrs. Weasley, I am as real and as solid as you and that eyesore against which you are leaning. Surely it would take more than a serpent and a weasel to lay me low?"
"Wea - weasel?"
"Your departed beloved."
"Oh, gods. You're the groundskeeper? Ron told me you had a job, but I wasn't expecting..." she trailed off.
10. The next morning, Severus found her curled up on the window, her head tilted awkwardly as though she had fallen asleep with her face pressed against the pane. The rain had let up hardly an hour before, but the light cast across her face was weakened by the clouds. He let her sleep for another few minutes, watching with a distant fascination as her breath fogged the glass, remembering the half-filled suitcase in her bedroom and wondering if she had really meant to make a run for it. After Celeste had joined Rose in bed, he had slipped into her room and closed the lid, stowing it under the bed so that the others wouldn't see. They had enough to worry about, without having to be concerned about Hermione; that would be his job.
He straightened the bedclothes, remembering the first time he had found himself in Hermione's room. She had been sharing it with three other people at the time, and it smelt of old socks and spilt alcohol, but her corner had been immaculately tidied and sprayed with air freshener, so that it was bearable. He recalled how she had curled up on Padma Patil's bed so that he could sit on hers, and feeling pleasure spread through him as he noticed that they were reading the same book. Suddenly the next chapter hadn't been nearly as important as uncovering her thoughts.
Match the story to the quote:
Magic of the Mind by talesofsnape
Becoming by snarkypants (sadly abandoned)
Sentimental Education by pigwidgeon37
Never too Late by scatteredlogic
The Witches of Gilford by pyjamapants
Example of Widowhood by sc010f
The Quality of Mercy by christinex1001
The Burdens of Being Functional by silburygirl
Nineteen Years Later by Mauvemagique
Houdini’s Tables by vanityfair00
Sage by lady-rhian
The Thestral’s Egg by absolute-tash
1. "Oh, do you know each other?" The Giggler had returned from the loo. Except now she wasn't giggling. She was irked that her war hero lunch date was flirting with the woman at the table next to theirs, a frumpy woman at that.
"She was one of my students," Severus explained with a condescending smile. Hermione sniffed at the description. They had slightly more history than that. The woman who saved my life was a much better fit.
The giggler giggled her obnoxious giggle and Hermione took great pleasure in watching Snape wince. He tried to hide it, but she noticed.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," the blonde witch cooed. "I bet Severus was a fabulous teacher."
"Hardly," she muttered under her breath.
"I was the best," Snape said. "Miss Granger here though was one of my more annoying students," he continued. And one of the brightest but he usually found that those two went hand in hand, except in the case of Potter. He had just been obnoxious.
Hermione slapped down a few galleons for her lunch. "It's Mrs. Weasley, and I should be going," she said. If he thought she was annoying, she hoped that his new association with his blind date continued a long, long time.
2. With a scant fifteen seconds until this week's dunderheads kicked off the meeting, Hermione popped into place in her usual seat. Severus grinned smugly that she'd not managed to outwit the charm's pull, but that grin quickly slid from his face as he took in Hermione's blotchy eyes, tear-streaked face, and rumpled black robes. Before he could ask her whatever was the matter, the discussion began. Fearing that he would, as usual, fail to find the proper words, Severus simply laid his hand upon hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. For a moment, this seemed to lift her spirits; the corner of her mouth betrayed the slightest upwards twitch.
The meeting began with its usual inane discourse, and Severus noted that Hermione seemed to have recovered somewhat from her upset. He observed her acutely throughout the meeting. Every once in a while, she seemed to struggle with her emotions, barely managing to contain them. Given how distraught she seemed to be, Severus thought she really was holding it together rather well. It wasn't until Eustace Abbott began talking about the Widow Coursely that Hermione's composure began to falter and the light of comprehension began to dawn in Severus's mind.
3. Severus eyed the skimpy silver-grey satin slip which was all she wore with a raised eyebrow. "You seem to have misplaced your clothes as well, and your hair's damp. Are you drunk?"
Hermione blinked owlishly up at him. "Might be?"
"Why?" he asked, schooling himself to keep his distance so long as she was in this unpredictable mood.
"Because I got fed up of waiting for someone to share the bottle with." Suddenly, as if this calamity was his fault, she focused all her attention on him. "Why are you avoiding me?"
"I needed to pay a visit to the library during morning break. That led to my spending my lunch hour marking, in order to be free to pursue some personal matters earlier this evening. I'm here now, am I not?" Severus asked.
"Only so you can tell me how insufferable I am," Hermione insisted. "Pip says you acted like you hated her as soon as you saw her. Only you couldn't hate her, so you must hate me."
Severus sighed. "We got off on the wrong foot. I act like I hate everyb-" His jaw dropped mid-word, and he stared at the family portrait that looked down at him from the wall. "That's not Weasley."
"What's not Weasley?" Hermione demanded, squinting at the photograph which had been taken shortly after her son had been born. "It's my Weasleys."
Severus's head flicked between the photograph and the woman in front of him several times before he scanned the whole room, finding several more photographs of the same smiling redhead. "B-but that's Charlie Weasley!"
4. Did a Transfiguration hurt? She couldn’t imagine that it did, or else Professor McGonagall wouldn’t have had her students blithely turning mice into snuffboxes and whatnot. Still, that realization wasn’t enough to make Hermione feel any better about what she planned to do.
No help for it, though. She raised her wand toward Crookshanks, who let out a startled hiss, just before his yellow eyes turned orange and his ginger fur transformed into the mottled brown and tan of a large eagle owl. Although not native to England, the species seemed to be preferred by the Owlery at Gringotts, no doubt because of its size and strength. After all, a smaller owl like Pigwidgeon or even beautiful, lost Hedwig would have had difficulty carrying heavy bags of Galleons to Ministry pensioners.
Crookshanks swiveled his head at her, flapping wings that seemed to take up most of Hermione’s small front yard. She stepped backward, trying to avoid getting caught up in the downdraft.
“Listen, you silly cat -- I mean, owl -- well, anyhow,” she continued, not wanting to look her Transfigured pet in the eyes, “it’s not permanent. I just need you to fly over to Ottery St. Catchpole and come back. Ten minutes.” At least this time, she added mentally. If her plan worked, Crookshanks would have to fly much farther than that.
Her words seemed to calm the owl/cat somewhat; Crookshanks ruffled his feathers but then settled down, allowing Hermione to approach him. She fastened a leather collar with a gleaming dark stone that hung from its center front to his neck, then said, “Just to the village and back. Do a good flyover, and come straight home.”
5. The walk to the Halifax estate is invigorating. Actually it's frigid. But it clears my head. It would have been quicker to apparate but more conspicuous, especially at two in the morning. I approach the massive brick house. Of course, it is warded, but my years as a spy have served me well. It takes awhile - nearly an hour. But by three, I have wriggled through and found an open window.
Luckily, Halifax seems to run a one-man operation and there are no guards on duty. I make my way down the hall. The only sound is a loud, persistent snoring. Again, luck seems to be on my side.
I look around quickly and locate his study. It is a veritable treasure trove of magical oddities. A dragon hide chair. A stuffed Phoenix. A shield of basilisk scales. But no egg. Unfortunately for me, he isn't foolish enough to keep it in plain view. I run my hands over the wall paneling and am struck by a faint breeze. There it is. A hidden panel. Just as I begin to pry it open, I hear footfalls. My blood freezes in my veins.
I spin around to a wand leveled at my face.
"Mr. Snape. I hadn't expected to see you quite so soon."
6. The Healer, who'd taken the chair opposite hers, couldn't afford to lose time though. 'Mrs Weasley,' she said, transferring her tea cup into her left hand and holding the right out for Hermione to shake, 'I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. Senior Healer Ada Wormcobbler. I'm in charge of your husband.'
Hermione shook the proffered hand, leaned back and took a sip of tea. The bubble was beginning to dissolve. 'They told me it was a broom accident.'
'Yes, that was the information his sister and brother-in-law gave us, too.'
The two women's eyes met. 'You don't seem to be overawed by having to treat Ronald Weasley, who was brought in by Harry Potter,' Hermione said smiling.
Healer Wormcobbler returned the smile. 'No. I tend to concentrate on the body, not the name. The awe might come later.' She shoved a few magazines off the coffee table and put down her teacup. 'Hermione - may I call you Hermione?'
Trying to repress a growing sense of dread, Hermione nodded.
'Hermione, you are an experienced law enforcer, so I trust you're able to keep your calm in a crisis. First, I want you to understand what happened to your husband. He hit a tree, head first, and he was flying at about forty miles per hour, to judge from the, erm, damage. I also want you to know that there was nothing Mr Potter or his wife could've done - they did, in fact, the only sensible thing, which was not to touch him and call us in immediately.'
'Forty miles,' Hermione said slowly, 'that must have…' She swallowed. 'There can't have been much left of, of anything.' Bile was rising in her throat, and she washed it down with a gulp of tea.
7. Hermione took a deep breath to call out to Snape, to demand he show himself, and stopped, the words fading away as she caught the long ago scents of dusty parchment and worn leather, of lemon oil and beeswax. She took another breath and grinned. There was even the faint tang of unwashed socks that had seeped into the library after centuries of student use.
She turned, and looking for Snape was forgotten once again as lush silk swirled around her legs. Surprised, Hermione looked down to find herself dressed in sapphire blue dress robes. She'd last been wearing flannel pyjamas.
Chains of tiny runes stitched in gold along the hem and neckline gleamed as she moved, and those small flashes of light sparked her memory. She'd been in Diagon Alley to buy school supplies, and she'd stopped to admire the robes in Madam Malkin's window.
"They'd look nice on you, Mum. They're your colour, too," Rose said. "And isn't the embroidery gorgeous? You should try them on."
"Not at that price. They're far too expensive, and the dress robes I have are still serviceable." Hermione shook her head.
8. “Severus, we’re leaving in ten minutes!” Hermione called, scurrying to pull her dress up. Pierre’s birthday gala was being thrown at the Edén Hotel in downtown wizarding Paris. It was new, it was posh, it was trendy.
All Hermione knew was that Pierre was having the Rossi Hotel’s limoncello flown in from Italy.
Severus had just returned from yet another trip. She needed limoncello desperately.
Sometimes she really adored her boss.
“You’re the one taking all the time to get ready, darling,” Severus said sardonically.
Hermione walked out of her bedroom - they were at her flat - and twirled for him. He nodded, approving. “You look lovely. Let’s go before the dress comes off.”
“It’s coming off?” Hermione asked playfully as he took her arm.
“In either ten seconds or three hours. Take your pick.”
Hermione sighed. “We’re already late.”
“I’m a patient man,” he said and Apparated them to the hotel.
9. Unable to restrain her curiosity, Hermione stepped forward and onto a twig. The loud crack resounded through the graveyard, and the figure straightened up and looked towards her. Black hair surrounded a white face that seemed to glow in the dim light. Hermione brought her hand to her mouth and gasped.
"Professor Snape!" Suddenly, the world seemed to spin and go dark. The next thing she knew, she was on the ground leaning against the unsightly statue of Ron. At her side knelt the ghost Severus Snape.
"Not 'Professor Snape', Mrs. Weasley," growled the ghost.
"Wha...?" Hermione waved her hand in the general direction of the apparition. "Ghosts. I've been in this damned graveyard too long."
"Why would you assume I am a ghost?" inquired the shade. "I assure you, Mrs. Weasley, I am as real and as solid as you and that eyesore against which you are leaning. Surely it would take more than a serpent and a weasel to lay me low?"
"Wea - weasel?"
"Your departed beloved."
"Oh, gods. You're the groundskeeper? Ron told me you had a job, but I wasn't expecting..." she trailed off.
10. The next morning, Severus found her curled up on the window, her head tilted awkwardly as though she had fallen asleep with her face pressed against the pane. The rain had let up hardly an hour before, but the light cast across her face was weakened by the clouds. He let her sleep for another few minutes, watching with a distant fascination as her breath fogged the glass, remembering the half-filled suitcase in her bedroom and wondering if she had really meant to make a run for it. After Celeste had joined Rose in bed, he had slipped into her room and closed the lid, stowing it under the bed so that the others wouldn't see. They had enough to worry about, without having to be concerned about Hermione; that would be his job.
He straightened the bedclothes, remembering the first time he had found himself in Hermione's room. She had been sharing it with three other people at the time, and it smelt of old socks and spilt alcohol, but her corner had been immaculately tidied and sprayed with air freshener, so that it was bearable. He recalled how she had curled up on Padma Patil's bed so that he could sit on hers, and feeling pleasure spread through him as he noticed that they were reading the same book. Suddenly the next chapter hadn't been nearly as important as uncovering her thoughts.