Title: Artificium Magum
Author: Calliopeia17
Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SSHG fic.
Rating: Will eventually be RPairing: Snape/Hermione
Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want
to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure
it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously
non-canon ones, and some violence.
Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.
Chapter 1: Litre Alley
A tiny bell rang lightly as Hermione pushed open the door to the bookshop, then suddenly combusted into a giant ball of flame that engulfed her body. She yelped and leapt back outside before realizing that the flames had only tingled slightly, and were more likely than not just another one of Medea's new security devices.
She stood of the doorstep of Alexandrine Books for a moment before the door suddenly swung open and the head of one Medea Libris poked out.
"Sorry about that, Granger; come on in. I've turned it off."
"New security system?" Hermione asked testily, brushing at her clothes and scanning for flakes of ash or charred bits.
"It is indeed," Medea said, tossing her thick hair. "It's just a magical scan; it checks for any unpurchased merchandise—and scorches you a bit if you're shoplifting. Perfectly harmless, really."
Hermione shook her head and tried to slow her still-pounding heart. "You're going to scare all your honest customers away with that thing!"
Medea frowned. "Think it's a bit much? I've been tweaking the charms all day, trying to make it a bit of a tough warning without being frightening." She gestured at her scorched eyebrows. "It's been a bit of an adventure."
"I can imagine," Hermione responded wryly.
"So Granger, how've you been and how can I help you? You're what, a seventh year now?" Hermione nodded. "Merlin, but it's been a long time."
Medea, who'd been a seventh-year Ravenclaw in Hermione's first year at Hogwarts, was by now an old friend. They'd met that year when Hermione was searching out rare books for information on the Philosopher's Stone; Medea's father had, at the time, run Alexandrine Books—named after the ancient library in Egypt that had burnt down thousands of years ago, the lost repository of classic treasures, Medea had once told her proudly—and Medea had been more than glad to help a bright young first-year with some extra-credit research. When Medea took over the bookstore after finishing Hogwarts, Hermione had made it a tradition to visit the shop whenever she was in Diagon Alley.
"Mum and Dad gave me some extra money for an early birthday gift," Hermione explained. "I suppose I'm just looking for a place to spend it. And of course I wanted to stop in and see you."
Medea grinned. "Well, I'll see what I can do about the first part, anyway. Obviously, you've already seen me. Any idea what you're looking for?"
"No," Hermione said, "I don't know what I want. I've piles of reading for NEWTs already, and some of it looks really interesting—there's a text on Potions Theory that I've already started, and it's brilliant. It always drives me mad in class when I can't figure out why something works, and Potions was always the worst of the lot."
Medea grinned at that. "Snape's always been a fan of those cookbook sorts of manuals, hasn't he? Doesn't assign theory until NEWT courses—he always said he didn't want to deal with "those dunderheads" experimenting with his supplies because of some half-baked idea they dug up from a theory text."
"Same old Snape," Hermione laughed. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts text looks brilliant too."
"Any news on who's teaching the class?" Medea asked, but Hermione shook her head. The cursed position had continued to do its work—last year's professor had ended up dead at the hands of Death Eaters after accepting bribes to kill Harry Potter then backing out with some unexpected moral strength. No one, as far as Hermione had heard, was willing to take the job.
"Well, I suppose—" Medea broke off suddenly to the sound of a strangled yelp from the doorway. "Coming!" she shouted. "Be back in minute," she said to Hermione, then darted off in the direction of an elderly gentleman standing in the doorway batting at the flames that threatened his expensive-looking robes.
Hermione watched as Medea waved her wand rather erratically in the direction of the flames, which finally extinguished in a puff of greenish smoke. The wizard harrumphed.
"What sort of foolishness is this? Setting fires in bookstores, young lady—" he shook his head.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. It's just a slight…erm…malfunction in our new security system. I hope you weren't injured at all?"
"No, but you really ought to be more careful…"
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. In fact, I'll dismantle it right now." Hermione watched with surprise as Medea executed what looked to be rather tricky wandwork—there didn't seem to be any obvious trigger. By the time Medea had deactivated the Flame Charm and sent the old man on his way with an out-of-print Transfigurations text, Hermione was practically consumed by curiosity.
"Medea, where did you get that spell anyway?" she finally asked. "It doesn't seem very reliable."
Medea blushed. "Well," she began, "I didn't actually buy it—I put it together myself."
Hermione was astounded—and, though she wasn't sure she wanted to admit to herself, not a small bit jealous. "Is that legal?" she finally asked.
"Yes," Medea answered. "Well, spell development's legal, anyway. As long as no one gets hurt, no major destruction, that sort of thing."
Hermione couldn't help but feel that rush of excitement that always came when there was something new to be discovered. "How do you learn how to do it?" she asked.
Medea looked around sheepishly. "You'd better come to the back room for a minute."
"But—" Hermione began, running through all the things Medea would possibly have to discuss out of public eye, and coming up with none that were entirely legal. Medea grabbed her arm and tugged, cutting Hermione off. She pulled the younger girl into the back room, among dusty stacks of ancient books, shut the door and cast a quick Silencing Charm.
"I thought you said this was legal!" Hermione accused.
"The spells I did were legal," Medea said. "Everything's legal…just a bit dangerous."
Hermione narrowed her eyes and tried to look menacing, though she had a strong feeling she was only managing to look ridiculous. "Medea. Please tell me what in the world you're talking about?"
"Well, you know how Dad lives for hunting down rare books. That's the whole purpose of the shop, really; he needs some way to pay all his travel bills."
Hermione grinned at that; it was a more than accurate characterization of Homer Libris. But that didn't explain Medea's illegal—or dangerous, anyway—spell experiments.
"Dad was in Egypt this June, and he brought back this book," Medea continued, "that was an entire collection of Magical Theory—and it's old, too; Dad said that the man who sold it to him claimed it was saved from the fire when the Alexandrine library burned. Of course, you can never trust those street peddlers in Egypt. But, at any rate, I've been looking through it."
Hermione felt a rush of excitement. "Can I see it?"
Medea reached across a huge pile of books to her desk, and from beneath a sheaf of papers pulled a giant leather-bound tome. Hermione could barely read the gold lettering emblazoned on the front. Artificium Magum. Magical Theory.
"Here," she said, holding the book out to Hermione. "Take a look."
Hermione took the volume from Medea's hands and pulled open the heavy cover. She ran her fingers gently, respectfully over the delicate script, which looked to be painfully hard to read. She flipped to the next page, to see a moving sketch performing what appeared to be the disembowelment of a rabbit. Hermione quickly turned the page again. It was too much to take in at one time, she knew at once; every page, as she glanced over it, was so cramped with information—information Hermione was certain would be very useful on her NEWTS—that she was immediately enthralled. Here was an entire chapter devoted to different methods of Transfiguration, divided into sections based on the witch or wizard's thought process—some claimed it was better to concentrate on color and textures before changing the actual shape of the object; others argued that the reverse process made for longer-lasting spells. There was even—Hermione noted with considerable glee—a goodly section on magical children of Muggles and how magic could be inherited or spontaneously occur in the child of two Muggle parents.
It was incredible. Hermione didn't even want to let go of the book, much less give it back to Medea. It was everything she'd ever dreamed—an entire, localized collection of the whys of magic.
Medea was looking at Hermione with a small smile on her face. "Do you want it, Granger?"
Hermione briefly considered some sort of haggling, then immediately dismissed the idea. "Yes," she breathed, then looked quizzically at Medea. "But don't you?"
"Want it?" Medea asked. "I've read through it, Granger, but to be honest it's more complicated than it looks. You saw what a mess I made of the Flame Charm. It's interesting, but a bit too interesting for me. I'll sell it to you if you want it."
"Oh, yes," Hermione answered eagerly. She paused. A book like that, as rare as Medea had described, a remnant of the Alexandrine library—it wouldn't come cheap. "How much…" she asked hesitantly.
"I'll give it to you for forty Galleons," Medea said.
Hermione was flabbergasted. "That little?" she couldn't help but ask. "I thought you said this book was rare?"
"Dad got it for cheap in Egypt, Granger, and I can't prove its age or origin. It's informative, I'll give you that, but it's got more pointless information than the average customer would ever want to know. I can't read it, I can't sell it—so it's yours if you want it."
Forty Galleons was, of course, expensive for a book, but Hermione was more than willing to pay the extra gold for a tome as thick as that one—and she had the distinct feeling that Medea was giving her a good deal. "I'll take it," Hermione said, and handed Medea the gold—the thirty Galleons her Mum and Dad had given her for her birthday, and ten more from her own long-hoarded pocket money.
Medea wrapped the huge book into a thick parcel and handed it to Hermione. "Take care of it, Granger. And happy birthday."
Hermione grinned. "Thanks, Medea."
"Anytime," the older girl replied.
As Hermione exited the shop, she couldn't help but noticed the scorch marks darkening the doorframe. The bell jingled as she exited, but this time, thank Merlin, there was no fire.
Tucking the parcel under her arm, Hermione wandered into the crowd, lazily making her way towards Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, where she'd arranged to meet Harry and the Weasleys at quarter to three. Hermione glanced at her wristwatch, which displayed the date, time, and Hermione's location in neatly scripted letters. It was only just after two, so she decided to pick up a few more school supplies before taking a her ice cream break.
Slug and Jigger's Apothecary was just across the alley, and, as Hermione glanced quickly over her shopping list, she saw several potion ingredients that she needed to add to her stores. New on the list this year were yew berries, oil of myrrh, crane feathers, mistletoe, what appeared to be a vast selection of different types of crushed beetles, powdered dragon scales (extremely pricey ones), glumbumble fluid, and small fragments of bezoars, plus, of course, a restock of all the ingredients in the sixth-year potions kit. Hermione smiled tentatively at Mr. Slug's grim expression as he scooped glittering piles of powered scarabs into small glass tubes for her. He glowered back.
Hermione was just handing a large handful of Sickles over the counter when she heard a low, familiar, and very angry voice.
"This dragon's blood is clearly substandard, Mr. Jigger." It was, Hermione realized with a slightly sick feeling in her stomach, Professor Snape.
He was standing at the far end of the counter, hook nose, black robes, greasy hair, and all, and snapping angrily at the cowering form of Jigger, who looked absolutely terrified. He stammered apologies as Professor Snape stood glaring.
Hermione, dreading the idea of a confrontation with her Professor, slipped quickly out of the apothecary, but she couldn't help but hear Snape's increasingly rising words.
"…to do when a Temporary Translation Potion lasts half the time it's supposed to—people could have been injured! And how dare you even suggest that my brewing was fault?"
Hermione supposed that the last, at least, was true—Snape did not make mistakes when brewing a potion. Still, he could at least be more polite, she mused as she shut the Apothecary door behind her. She rolled her eyes at her own dissembling. Who was she fooling? She hated the man; it was as simple as that. At least he was intelligent, which was more than could be said for most of his House (Crabbe and Goyle came to mind), but a more miserable excuse for a human being could never be found. "Insufferable know-it-all" indeed.
Shaking her head, Hermione wandered back towards the ice cream parlor. In a large table in the corner she could see a splash of red hair, and a grin spread on her face. It was time to start another year.