Words: 4996 without ANs, Short Story Submission Category
Summary: SSHG, AU, The Great Work was done by Nicholas Flamel on purpose, but sometimes fate works its own magic for its own ends.
A/N: Submission for #scratchthatniche2021, I know some of you want updates on the longer fics, but my soul is weary and my work schedule crap. As always, I have not abandoned anything, but creativity must have positive feelings in which to grow, and I am not one to write in a rut and channel my woes into my work.
Prompts: 1) Lapis Occultus, 4)Pinky Promise 8) Gaze
Rare Pairing: Arthur Weasley/Narcissa Black
The Magnum Opus
Life is the childhood of our immortality.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
As Harry looked into the Mirror of Erised, he wished it was true.
There in the mirror, he saw himself placing the Philosopher's Stone inside Hermione's mirror-self— away from him, somewhere no one would think to look for it.
Hermione would know what to do with it, not him.
She was the brains, not him.
"What do you see?" Quirrell hissed.
"Me winning the Quidditch cup," Harry said, turning around.
"LIAR!"
Quirrell's hands went around Harry's throat, and Harry clamped his fingers onto the raging professor's head even as Quirrell began to scream as his skin burned away—
They staggered.
They tumbled.
Quirrell was on fire.
They fell into the mirror as Quirrell's body exploded in a burst of ash and flames, and the Mirror of Erised shattered completely.
Everything suddenly went black.
Hermione awoke as she felt a strange movement against her head. She pushed her hair back away from her face and felt a movement against her fingers.
Jolting up in fright, she went straight for the mirror and stared.
At first, all she saw were the glowing red-orange eyes that seemed like a fire opal that captured real fire— and then she saw the snakes writhing on top of her head.
Her lip quivered as her face wrinkled, she trembled, grabbed her cloak, wrapped it around her head, and fled out the door, down the stairs, and away.
Hermione sniffled as she hid in the Astronomy Tower, trying to wedge herself as tightly as possible into the crevice she had chosen.
Her head-snakes hissed in disapproval, not liking the feel of being crammed into a small space, but that just made her even more determined to shove herself deeper in.
"You had better have a very good reason for being up here after hours, Miss Granger," the familiar drawl broke the sounds of her whimpering.
Hermione stiffened. "Professor, I can explain—"
"Do tell."
"I woke up wrong!"
"There are many ways to wake up, I've been told."
"No—!" Hermione tried to inch away, but there was nowhere to go. "Something happened to me while I slept."
"Pranks are notorious in Gryffindor Tower."
"I don't think this is a prank—" she whispered, "sir."
"And what could be so horrible that sends one of the oh so brave Gryffindor sniffling to the Astronomy Tower after curfew?"
"I think I'm more than justified," Hermione said with a sniff. "Sir."
"I'll be the judge of that, Miss Granger. Come out of there."
"I don't think—"
"Five points from Gryffindor for disobeying a direct order. Now come out of there at once."
"No, sir, please!"
Snape pointed his wand at the crevice, snapping the words to enlarge the crevice and pull her out by force.
"Nooooo!" Hermione cried, closing her eyes tight as she flung her arm over her face.
Snape jolted his head back as countless serpent mouths struck out at his face, barely missing it, fangs bared, venom dripping—
Hermione trembled in fright, her eyes so tightly closed that she shuddered in her effort not to look him in the face. She heard something that sounded a lot like, "Sodding Typhon's man-tits!" as scuffling indicated Snape's rapid backpedalling.
Hermione rocked herself back and forth, keeping her eyes closed and covered with her arm. "Now, do you believe me?" Hermione shivered.
Snape's breathing seemed to slowly even out.
"I believe you, Miss Granger."
Hermione lay in the infirmary with her head buried into a pillow trying to figure out how she had gone wrong to wake up with snakes for hair. She could hear Harry being fussed over somewhere else in the infirmary.
She heard quite a lot of things—
Quirrell had been host to the spirit of You-Know-Who.
Harry had destroyed his body due to some kind of protection on him due to his parents' sacrifice.
She was hearing sounds with a strange repetitive whisper, almost as if someone was whispering to her from multiple places at once.
She snuggled into the pillow with her arms, clutching the pillow tightly over her face as if trying to smother herself.
They were obviously far more concerned about Harry Potter than Hermione Granger— even when she had ruddy snakes for hair.
Hermione heard faint rustling sounds nearby and quickly made sure her eyes were closed and covered.
"Albus! No!" she heard Professor McGonagall shout.
"Miss Granger, I am going to have to ensure the safety of my school—"
"Sir?" Hermione questioned.
Hermione felt rather than saw the swath of black of fabric passing across her covered vision. The calming scent of herbs and sandalwood filled her nose.
"I will not stand idly by and let you blind a child, Albus," she heard Snape's voice hiss furiously. "There is no greater good in this."
"Severus, surely you can see the grave danger that she poses to everyone in this school!"
"She's behind me covering her eyes even as you accuse her of being a danger to the school? Neville Longbottom is a danger to this school. Seamus Finnigan is a danger to this school. They don't even need a petrifying gaze to make this so. Miss Granger at least had the wherewithal to cover her face, even when I tried to pull her out of her hiding place. She's continued to protect us from her gaze even now. You cannot convince me that she is a greater danger once she has a proper covering to hide her gaze."
Never had she heard Snape defend anyone before, and to have him defend her now made her swiftly re-evaluate her opinion of him.
Something lightly touched her face, and she reached up to touch it.
Something smooth— in Snape's hand, hidden behind him as stood in front of her.
He must mean it for her. Surely?
Her fingers tugged on it, and she took it in her hands. It was heavy, and she could feel the magic in it, thrumming. She held it in her lap and cracked open her eyes to see a smooth river stone with letters hidden in runes. She could see the magic outlining the true letters.
P. O. R. T. U. S.
It was a Portkey.
"I order you to get out of my way, Severus!"
"I will not, Headmaster."
"On your VOW, Severus, I order you to get out of my way!"
She heard Snape snarl in fury as the warmth of his presence left a sudden vacancy in front of her. She felt the magic stirring in the air even before she heard some sort of spell being cast.
"Portus!" she whispered, clutching the stone tightly in her hand.
The ruins of the bed and cabinet lay scattered about in a great many smoking pieces, but Hermione Granger was gone.
Hermione staggered as she arrived at a building that seemed like the Parthenon— only it couldn't be. The stones were shiny and obviously new. There were a vast array of colours—varying shades of blue, gold, red, and more. The reliefs stood out in blazing detail all around her.
"So beautiful," she whispered in awe, feeling the pulse of incredibly ancient magic beneath her feet.
"Come inside, child," she heard a voice. Female. Authoritative but— not unkind. "I have brought you here in safety."
Hermione found that her feet were bare, and all she was wearing was a white slip-like gown. She walked in, self-conscious, keeping her eyes cast down save to look around every so often and take in the vast columns, friezes, and tympanum.
"Fear not your gaze here of all places, child of magic," the voice echoed, guiding her along. "Take in what you see as it was meant to be seen."
Hermione hesitated at first, but seeing no one, she looked around more freely, feeling a bit dizzy as her eyes flitted from sculpture to sculpture. Yet nothing prepared her for the sight of the golden statue of Athena, her great shield at her feet, spear at her shoulder, and hand outstretched as it held Nike, Victory. Near the shield coiled the form of a serpent, Erichthonius. Her breastplate was emblazoned with the head of Medusa, and her helmet showed both the sphynx and gryphons at the side.
"Athena…" Hermione whispered, immediately falling to her knees and bowing her head in respect. She was tiny in comparison to the goddess' statue, and she felt as minuscule as an ant.
"Do you know the story of Medusa, child?" the voice seemed to come from everywhere as well as in her head.
"Only in myth— the story has changed much throughout time. Medusa was the mortal sister of the Gorgons, known to be the most beautiful. Poseidon found her and wanted her, and he did not accept no for an answer. He forced himself on her in your temple, and you punished her by turning her hair into snakes for desecrating your sacred place."
"You know your mythology."
"I read a lot."
The voice chuckled. "Some of that story is true, child, but like most stories told, the winner often tells a different story. Medusa was raped upon my sacred place, but the reason she was transformed was not about punishment. She cried out to me to help her avenge herself upon any who would defile a woman against her will. She called to me for justice, and I gave her the tools with which to enact it. She did so for quite some time before one who would be a hero slew her as a task from King Polydectes of Seriphus. Her story was ultimately tragic, for her gaze never fell upon the one who had wronged her. Defiled her."
"Do you know why I have brought you here, Hermione?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't."
"You have been given the gift of immortality, child, but here in this place you may still learn and grow. Here in the seat of wisdom, war, and craft— you were given the gift of the gaze of justice. I would have you hone it as the gift it was meant to be, not as it was once short-lived."
"I'd be able to learn here?" Hermione felt a sudden thrill of excitement. "From you?"
"The olde magicks have waited a long time for a student, Hermione," Athena's voice explained. "Why limit yourself to modern magic when you can learn the root of it from the very source itself? Why limit your form when you can have the limitless vastness of imagination?"
Hermione's face brightened, her head-snakes bobbing their heads excitedly. "I would very much like to learn from you."
"Then you shall learn, child of the Philosopher's Stone. You will learn much and then some."
A white-green mist seemed to fall off the statue of Athena and surround Hermione, swirling before seeming to disappear inside of her even as her threadbare slip transformed into the ancient Greek doric chiton.
A ghost-like form stepped out of Athena's statue, the pleasing scent of petrichor following in Her wake. "When you leave my temple, you will be a child no longer and the Philosopher's Stone will be firmly in your blood and soul. Your vengeance shall be my vengeance. Your justice, my justice."
She placed a hand on her head, fingers weaving gently through her snakes. "You need not be alone again, my owlet. Never again."
Severus was sure he was going mad.
Utterly mad.
He kept seeing a figure at strange moments when he'd be going somewhere alone. The figure, always just far enough away to make identification difficult, shook its head as if to deny him entry.
Not liking being told what to do, he pressed on.
And ended up getting bushwacked by Potter's merry gang of wankers.
If he went the opposite way, he travelled unmolested by the notorious "pranksters."
It couldn't be Lily. She'd been very clear that she wanted nothing to do with him.
But the figure had their hood up over their head— something most students didn't do unless hiding from the elements.
It wasn't a Slytherin because they would have gloated to him about it—
Hufflepuffs were about as mysterious as a drunken dog at an all you can eat taco buffet.
Ravenclaw— no, not really.
So, who could it be? They obviously weren't trying to get him in trouble. If anything, they were keeping him out of trouble's sights— trouble that started with Potter and ended with his inevitable humiliation.
As if he didn't have enough of that from when Lily washed her hands of him—
And that he was attacked by a bloody werewolf only to have Dumbledore swear him to secrecy about what happened or else.
Now, Potter's little gang was even more adamant than ever about hounding him thanks to Dumbledore turning a blind eye "to protect" Lupin's secret—a secret that put every single student's life at risk at Hogwarts, not just his. The fact Black knew exactly how to immobilise the Whomping Willow hinted strongly that they were deliberately setting the werewolf free to roam the grounds.
How they protected themselves, however, remained an ever-infuriating mystery.
Yet, Potter's band of groupies were seemingly even more frustrated each time he dodged their nasty little traps. They were always strangely able to find him whenever he was alone as if they somehow knew exactly where he could be found at all times.
Despite the change in how many times he was being victimised, not that he didn't appreciate the difference, he felt a bit paranoid that something worse was lurking on the sidelines waiting to make it all the worse for him. He started to think that maybe that very same figure that was saving him from one thing wasn't actually helping him but waiting to take him on even worse than Potter.
With every bone in his body telling him that his plan was not solid, that he was going to make things even worse, that that particular moment was a horrible time to channel some kind of obnoxious Gryffindor bravery instead of a more pragmatic Slytherin attitude, he stormed up to the hooded figure and—
"Who the fuck are you?"
Not his most eloquent conversation starter, that was for sure. The figure made no sound but turned its head toward him. All he could see was the thinned lips of a feminine mouth and tanned skin.
"Is this how you would greet someone who might be a friend or foe?" she answered him. "Do you always greet the unknown with bared teeth and self-fulfilling prophecy?"
Severus stood, stunned, if anything because of the strange and utter calm the questions seemed to spring from. There was no offence or ire. There was no righteous indignation— something, anything to indicate he'd hit a nerve or on some emotion.
"I am μικρή γλαύξ, the Owlet of Glaux," she said after his silence. "I am the learner, the student of Athena, the Magnum Opus, the victim of well-meaning selfishness, the almost blinded, the saved of desperation, the Head of a Hundred Hisses, the Lapis Occultus, the Protectress—and I am also Hermione. You may pick whichever name suits you best."
Severus blinked, fighting himself between cooling anger and laughing in the face of how ludicrous it sounded. He let out a scoffing laugh. "Do you truly think yourself to be some sort of royalty?"
"Hardly," she replied, her head tilted slightly under the hood. "I am but a student of the forgotten, neglected antiquity."
"Even if it were true," Snape said, his eyes narrowing. "Why here? Why now?"
"Why not?" she answered. "Does it displease you that they are not torturing you every day, every moment your back is turned? Every second you think you are alone?"
"Are you mad?" Severus spat. "Who wants to be tortured?"
"Then, why are you so hostile?" Her head was tilted in question despite the hood, and for a moment he could have sworn he saw her hair move before she used one hand to tuck the curl back behind her ear.
Severus tried to say something, but his mouth just worked without a sound. "I have no real friends," he spat at last. "No one here cares enough to guard my back. Even the Headmaster prefers to coddle and protect his chosen and forget about the rest."
"I could be your friend if you really wanted one."
He scoffed. "Just like that? Psht."
"Just," she said calmly. "Like that. That is what true friendship is right? To give someone a chance to know who you really are? Be there when they run the gauntlet of emotions? Be a comforting shoulder or the fire under your arse— to motivate, to listen, to forgive when all the above fail— to respect that no one is perfect but accept you as you are. Is that not— what a friend is?"
She let out a long breath and smiled, extending her hand to him. "I am Hermione. Will you be my friend?"
Severus stood unmoving, paralysed and confused. A part of him screamed that it was a trap. A part of him longed for what he never thought could be his. Lily, after all, could not accept him, and she was— had been— his friend. Surely if Lily could not accept him, no stranger with honeyed words could ever possibly mean to truly befriend him.
Yet, he remembered the man with the red eyes who spoke with honeyed words and promises but never once extended a hand in friendship and only spoke of power and promise, devotion and duty to magic—
The man had promised a better future, but it had hinged on magic, not upon Severus himself.
Not anyone's value as a person.
He'd spoken of power, stroked the ego, knew what words would be irresistible, but deep inside Severus wanted something the Dark Lord could not, did not offer: trust.
"How do I know that I can trust you?" he asked.
Her lips twitched into a smile as she extended her hand differently, this time with her pinky extended.
A childhood's innocent promise.
Innocent.
Naive.
"You don't," she said, "but that is also what friendship is. Taking a chance and being glad when your worries are proven wrong."
Severus paused, but he could no more stop himself than he could stop breathing. He curled his pinky around hers, feeling the warmth of skin against skin and magic against magic. It shivered down his arm and down his spine.
"I'm Severus," he whispered, "and I would be your friend— Hermione."
The rest of the year went by smoothly, and Severus felt some of the knots in his neck release with an almost audible pop. Hermione met him while he studied, and he always made sure to walk out to the tree— the tree he once studied with Lily under— so he could be alone.
When he was alone, Hermione would show up like a shadow, reading one of many books she carried. They would always be written in what he could only describe as "squiggle-pics".
It looked like nothing from the modern world.
"It's ancient Greek," Hermione had said. "Muggles call the alphabet Linear B but the language itself, I suppose, is Mycenaean Greek."
He had let that thought slowly penetrate his mind. "You're reading ancient Greek?"
"Today, yes," she'd replied as she leaned up against the tree and him.
He probably wouldn't tell her, but the warmth of her against his side was something far more poignant than anything the Dark Lord could have whispered into his ear. No tantalising lure of apprenticeship could ever feel as painfully pleasurable as—
Friendship.
Lily had long ago stopped touching him in any way, even well before their painful falling out. They had never had childhood promises. They had never linked their fingers together in the naive notion of forever—
Not once.
But Hermione's small, almost insignificant gesture—
He never saw her full face; it was always covered by her hood, but he appreciated her smile, the smallest twitch of lips meaning more than another's entire expression. He never asked her to take off the hood, feeling that there was a reason. Perhaps, she believed herself unattractive. Maybe, she had a sun allergy—
As curious as he was, he never wanted to make her believe that even mattered to him when she gave him so much of her time and somehow managed to do it right under the overlong nose of the so-called "great" Albus Dumbledore.
How he was never sure.
If she was from one of the other houses, he had no idea.
She didn't wear anything that indicated a Hogwarts affiliation. If anything, she wore a draped garment like one would see on an ancient Greek statue. She called it the chiton and peplos, but the words didn't really help him any better. Her cloak, she called the himation, but she said it took on the form best suited to fit in.
Clothes that altered themselves to one's individual needs? The seamstresses and tailors in Diagon Alley would positively die for the spells that allowed that kind of personalisation.
Regardless of what she wore, Severus found he really didn't care. He had come to enjoy her company and the fact they could go minutes to hours saying nothing at all and just being together as they paged through books.
Potter and his fellow reprobates, however, seemed to be even more frustrated now that they could not manage to find him alone. They leered at him every time they passed him the halls— halls filled with other people, thankfully— swearing they would find him.
Every time they did, though, Severus was always surrounded by countless witnesses, much to their growing ire.
Months passed, and it was soon hard for him not to be able to imagine what it would be like without Hermione there to share his life with—in silence, peace, study, and intellectual debate. He taught her all the tricks he had learned while studying potions and as she taught him ancient Greek and how to read some formulae he knew hadn't seen the light of scholarly study since the sixth century or perhaps before—
"Do you mind if I present this potion before the Board of Masteries?" he had asked. "It might get me an offer of an apprenticeship. A scholarship even."
"And where would you say you obtained such ancient, buried knowledge?" Hermione had asked.
Severus was silent a moment. He looked at her where her hood shaded her eyes. "Athena's gift of wisdom."
Hermione's lip twitched into a smile. "I think She would be happy to allow it."
Severus walked out of the Hall of Masteries three years later as the youngest Potions Master Wizarding Britain had ever seen in less time than anyone had known.
Apprenticed to the famous Nicolas Flamel, Snape emerged as a prodigy. Nicolas Flamel personally pinned the laurels on Severus' collar as he set him free as his own master. When interviewed on what had inspired him to become a potions master at such a young age, Severus said ambition had driven him to apply but inspiration had kept him encouraged and motivated him to do his best. When asked what had kept him inspired, however, all he would say was "Athena blessed my path, but her Owlet set mine straight."
He elaborated no further, letting those who attempted to follow in his footsteps say their own prayers to the Goddess of Wisdom.
But when he walked straight out in the bright spring sun, the flower petals drifting to land in his black hair as the wind stirred up around him, he didn't stop walking until he got to Kensington Gardens.
A figure stood on the shore of a fountain pond surrounded by the beginnings of aquatic plants starting to grow and spread across the warming water. The royal park normally had many visitors, but in this hidden section, magicals came to enjoy a bit of the green without having to dress the part. There was no one there but her.
There was no one else he wanted to be with to share his accomplishment.
"Hermione," he said, smiling as she turned to face him, her hood covering her head as it aways did.
"Severus," she said, a smile on her lips.
He came up to her, his new mastery robes billowing behind him. "I've done it."
"I knew you could," she said. She allowed him to take her hands in his.
"You've always believed in me," he said, pressing his lips to her knuckles.
"You were always someone to believe in," she replied, her smile warm.
"They loved my mastery potion, but they had had no idea I had a Magnum Opus," Severus whispered. "My true inspiration."
She tilted her head. "There is something more important than a cure for Lycanthropy?"
"You," he said as he pulled out a flask that gleamed a golden green. He pulled out a small red and orange stone that caught the light and seemed to glow. With a silent, wandless spell, the stone turned to dust and he funnelled it into the flask and shook it. With a knowing smile, he drank it and for a moment his eyes seemed to glow orange-red.
"Marry me," he said, pulling a ring out from his robes as he vanished the flask. He reached for her hood to pull it back.
She shook her head violently, stopping him. "No, you can't—"
"Trust me," he said. "As I once trusted you."
Her lips were tight in a grimace as he pulled her hood back to expose her full face. Her eyes were closed tightly as her head asps looked around very confused as they looked for someplace to hide only managing to tangle with each other in a very distressed Celtic knotwork failure.
"Look at me, Hermione."
She shook her head, a tear flowing down her cheek.
He wiped it with his thumb and pressed a kiss to her mouth.
Her eyes opened with shock, and he smiled at her—
And kept smiling.
Alive.
Breathing.
Whole.
She stared at him in wonder.
"My Magnum Opus was to able to look you in the face now and forever, Hermione. Will you have me?"
Hermione sobbed as she captured him in a choking embrace, burying her face into his neck as her snakes decided using his hair was better than nothing and dove into it. "Yes! By all the gods, yes!"
"Nothing could make me happier," he said when she finished sniffling into his hair and neck. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her soundly, joyously.
Hermione looked fishy.
Severus' eyebrows knit together.
She pulled out a rolled-up paper from her robes and handed it to him "Happy Second Graduation!" she squeaked.
Severus unrolled the paper and looked at it, his eyebrows knitting as they attempted to merge together into a unibrow.
End of the Wizarding War
Mysterious Clandestine Meeting Place Found with Stone Attendees
The war came to an abrupt end when Aurors stumbled across a meeting place quite by accident while answering a complaint of noise by residents in Knockturn Alley. The backroom of the Red Sun Brewery that was filled with people according to the owner, told the authorities he was paid quite well to lock up and leave them the place for the night. When Aurors arrived to find the owner's wife screaming hysterically, they found the entire place filled with people in dark robes, some with masks and some not, but all were turned to granite statues.
While the names of those found at the Brewery are being kept secret for now until the Aurors can sort out what may have happened, rumour has said that notorious purebloods from the Lestrange and Black family have been involved.
The wife of the tavern owner was heard babbling, "He didn't have a nose! Just slits on his face. Like some kind of animal!"
Notice!
The wedding reception for Arthur Weasley and Narcissa Black has been moved to the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
Severus brushed her chin with his fingers, lifting her head up to look at him. "You did this for me?"
Hermione nodded silently.
He spun her around and dipped her, his mouth covering hers as he pulled her up into an embrace.
"You are a marvellous, glorious creature, Hermione," he said warmly, "and I am so very glad you chose to save me from myself."
Hermione beamed up at him, the dance of fire and sun in her eyes. "You saved me first by trusting me."
Severus' smile was radiant as he engulfed her in an embrace, quickly pulling her hood over her head as he heard footsteps approaching. He caught her looking at the ring he had placed on her finger.
The owl wrapped around her finger as the serpent wove between and around.
"I love you," she said to him, the sun captured in her eyes.
"I love you." He linked his pinky with hers in the gesture that had started it all. "Always."
A radiant blast of magic blew out from their combined cores as the garden became radiant and lush with growth. The scent of petrichor filled the air as a little owl leapt off a branch and flew across the reflective pond up, up, up to the very heights of Olympus.
High up on Mount Olympus, Athena smiled, content.
Fin.