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 R

Pairing: 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.

A/N: Thanks again to beautifulrain for the beta work.

It would never stop being eerie, Hermione reflected, to actually be able to see the thestrals pulling the carriages up towards Hogwarts. They were a constant reminder of everything that had changed, and, in Hermione's mind, a mark of the growing darkness.

For once, it wasn't pouring rain as the upper-year students made their way into the Great Hall, for which Hermione was very grateful—and besides, it made the ceiling look even more spectacular than usual, plastered with stars and every constellation visible. She looked around the vast room, hung with the insignia of the four Houses, Hogwarts's crest proudly displayed above the Head Table.

Most of the teachers were already seated, with the exception of Professor McGonagall, who would be leading in the new first-years any minute. Hermione scanned the staff table for new faces, doing a double-take when at first glance she saw no unfamiliar faces. Surely the new Defense teacher would be there—but then she realized that, though the faces were familiar, there was a face there that hadn't been at the teacher's table before.

Nymphadora Tonks, looking very nervous but with her face so calm that Hermione wondered if she was keeping a morph in place, was sitting at Dumbledore's left side. Snape, from further down the table, was glaring at Tonks with such vitriol that Hermione was amazed she was able to keep from shaking.

The sound of the great doors opening drew Hermione from her thoughts. The first-years trailed inside, looking in awe at the ceiling, at the crowded tables. They looked far too small—Hermione thought back to her own first year, to Harry at that age, already facing down Voldemort—and she couldn't even begin to compare who she'd been with these tiny newcomers.

They proceeded to the front of the Hall, where the Sorting Hat already perched on a stool.

It's another year at Hogwarts,
With new young folk to learn and grow,
So here I am, I as I've always been,
To tell you where to go.

Come forward, each of you,
And I will tell you what I see;
All you do is put me on—
I'll say where you should be.

It may be you're for Gryffindor,
Where courage lives in heart;
There, chivalry, strength, and bravery
Become your greatest part.

Perhaps you are a Ravenclaw,
The brightest of our lot,
Intelligence and drive to learn
Push Ravenclaws to the top.

Or else a gentle Hufflepuff,
Where loyalty's the thing
To hold most dear, and friendly caring
To our school they bring.

It might yet be in Slytherin
Where you will belong,
Where ambition, wit, and cunning
Are what make you strong.

I once again as well, however,
Must lay a warning out:
More than ever, division threatens us,
We are weak from inside and out.

Hogwarts must come together,
Disregarding House and past—
If you do not, the school will fall,
So cleave together fast.

Come forward; I will Sort you,
But know House is not all—
Meet your friends, but find others, too,
Or witness Hogwarts's fall.

There was a moment of dead silence in the Great Hall, before Dumbledore brought his hands together and a few scattered claps spread throughout the room. Hermione clapped a few times quickly, but stopped as she noticed Harry's white face.

"It didn't do that last year," he muttered to her and Ron as they leaned in towards him. "I'd hoped—" He broke off.

Hermione, who usually hated being blunt and was generally more than willing to tiptoe around an issue, couldn't help but speak. "It suggests that the threat of division is different than what it warned about fifth year. And, Harry, Malfoy's dead. The Slytherins have to have a different leader now."

"They were all gathered around Nott on the Hogwarts Express," Ron pointed out, and Harry nodded.

"Quiet now; Dumbledore's talking," Hermione said quickly, as the Headmaster stood. He too looked old; there was a tiredness in his eyes that had appeared at Voldemort's return and since only increased, but the twinkle was still there as well.

"Welcome," he began, "students new and old, to another year at Hogwarts School. The Sorting Hat has already given you the warning that I intended to speak now—but it can only bear repeating, now especially. Hogwarts stands at the center of a war that threatens to consume the world around us. Some of you, especially those of you who have just joined us, may have parents who believe that you should be kept from knowing about the battle against Lord Voldemort. But while I endeavor to keep each one of you safe from that battle, I am ultimately an educator, and I will not leave you in ignorance. The Wizarding world is at war, and even Hogwarts has seen causalities."

The Slytherins, at the prompting of Nott, bowed their heads at this, and Hermione saw Harry's face go still.

Dumbledore continued. "That said, and reminding you once again that you are safe here at Hogwarts, it is my pleasure to announce a new member of the Hogwarts faculty, Professor Nymphadora Tonks, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were the first on their feet, leading the applause, which spread quickly along the Head Table and through the students. Tonks was blushing now, and even Snape gave a half-hearted clap, though he was still glowering.

When the room finally quieted, Dumbledore went on. "Mr. Filch would like me to remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is, as its name implies, forbidden to all students, on pain of detention and/or dismemberment. All other non-permitted locations and contraband objects may be found on a list in Mr. Filch's office. Finally, I ask once more that safety be foremost on all of your minds this year. We live in dangerous times. Do not stray from the Hogwarts grounds unless accompanied by a staff member, and if you see or hear of something that worries you, inform a Professor immediately.

"That said, I wish all of you a wonderful year, full of all the wonderful learning, friendship, growth, and socks that Hogwarts can offer."

"Socks?" Ron mouthed at Harry and Hermione, and both of them grinned as applause spread through the Great Hall once more.

"Well, for all the warnings, he's still himself," Harry said wryly.

Professor McGonagall was swiftly walking towards them, carrying a pile of parchment. "Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, here are the Prefect lists, the faculty roster, and the year's passwords. The parchments are enchanted to change when the passwords do, so you should be able to access any House's common room, and any Professor's private office—and only in an emergency, mind you; if there's any talk of abusing this privilege you'll be stripped of your badge. You know I'm proud as can be to see two Gryffindors in these positions—I would hate to see either of you lose them. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied.

"Of course, Professor McGonagall," Hermione added, feeling awkward at just echoing Harry but not feeling as though she should remain silent, either.

"Very good," McGonagall said. "The first Prefect's meeting will be held as soon as the Prefects have lead their Houses to the dormitories. The two of you, on the other hand, come straight to Professor Dumbledore's office. The Heads of House want to speak with the two of you alone."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione replied, taking the pieces of parchment from McGonagall and passing one to Harry.

Half an hour later, the two of them were standing at the great gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office.

"Cauldron Cakes," Harry read from the parchment, and the gargoyle moved aside. Harry looked at Hermione a bit nervously, but with a hint of mischief in his faint smile. "Ladies first," he said.

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione couldn't help but mutter back, keeping her voice low, "it's not as if you're being sent off to be executed."

Harry grinned. "Well, then you won't mind going first."

"Fine," Hermione huffed, trying to convince herself that Harry was just being immature and the slight fluttering in her stomach was the result of too many peppermint humbugs at the Sorting Feast. Pushing Harry aside, she stepped onto the wooden stairs, which slowly began to rise.

She stepped off at the top, Harry right behind her, and into Dumbledore's large antechamber, where McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape were already occupying a mismatched collection of chairs, and several more sat empty, apparently for the other Prefects when they arrived. Dumbledore gestured to the empty seats.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, please take a seat." They did so hesitantly, and then turned to face the staff. "This meeting will serve to give the two of you instructions in your duties for the year. You've been given considerable responsibility, and I trust that you will live up to it. You have access to each House's common room—" Snape snorted at this, and McGonagall shot an angry glare in his direction. "—which," Dumbledore continued, as though he hadn't heard, "is a great power which I trust neither of you will misuse. It is only to be applied in the event of an emergency, and any light or trivial use will be met with severe sanctions against you.

"It is your duty to lead the student body, first and foremost by setting a good example. You would not be here if you had not already done so—" At this, Snape snorted again. "—but I expect both high marks and responsible behavior to continue. You also have the ability to take House points from other students for misbehavior, and to assign detentions with Mr. Filch if necessary. You both have full access to the restricted section of the library.

"Now, I must go outside to invite the other Prefects inside. Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor Snape, if you would be so kind as to provide directions to the entrances to your House's respective common rooms while I do so?"

He stood and left the room, and Flitwick and Sprout were quick to provide directions to the portrait entrances to Ravenclaw Tower and the Hufflepuff cellar rooms. Snape, on the other hand, pulled them aside roughly.

"The two of you may be Gryffindors, and it's enough of an insult to be forced to give the Common Room location to you, but Potter and Granger, really," he sneered, "it's rather spectacular that you could become Head Boy and Girl after murdering one of my students, isn't it, but then Dumbledore always did have a soft spot for his beloved Golden Trio."

Harry's face went white, and Hermione could feel her own going red. She was speechless with rage, and hated the feeling—why, oh why couldn't she manage to come up with a retort?

"And as bad as it may be to see a Muggleborn know-it-all Head Girl," Snape continued, ignoring Hermione's spluttering, "it's worse to see Potter here and know that he's only there because his father was. Proud of Dumbledore's nepotism, Potter?"

"That's not true," Hermione finally managed, glaring at Snape even though she was fairly certain she looked like an idiot with her face crimson—she could feel it burning. "Harry's Head Boy because people follow him—because they respect him. Which is more that I can say for some people," she snapped out, amazed at her own disrespect.

"Are you suggesting that I don't deserve my position, Miss Granger?" Snape's voice was low, oily, and quite dangerous.

"I wouldn't presume to say anything of the sort, Professor," Hermione responded airily.

"Good." He rolled his eyes, as if dismissing anything else Hermione might have to say, then spun and walked off, just as Dumbledore made his way back into the room, followed by the Prefects.

The speech he made to the Prefects as a whole was remarkably similar to that which he had told Harry and Hermione, with the exception of some dull instructions on handing out timetables the next morning at breakfast. By the time the others were shuffling out to their common rooms, Hermione was having trouble holding back yawns.

As she was leaving though, the seventh-year Slytherin prefect, Daphne Greengrass, came up to Hermione and pulled her aside.

"I'm breaking every single rule of House conduct, Granger, but tell Potter to watch out for Nott."

"What do you mean?" Hermione exclaimed. "Is he working with You-Know-Who?" At Daphne's slightly disgusted expression, Hermione realized that she'd just disregarded every rule of subtlety the Slytherins held dear. "Sorry," she whispered faintly. "I didn't mean that."

Daphne relaxed a bit. "Just tell him to watch out, Granger. Nott's an idiot, and he doesn't know half of what he's getting himself into, but he's clever, all the same, and he'll attack from behind in a heartbeat."

"Thanks, Greengrass," Hermione managed as the other girl walked away, ignoring Hermione as surely as if she'd never spoken. What in Merlin's name was that all about? Watch out for Nott? Surely the new Slytherin wasn't as dangerous as Draco had been, with a powerful father behind him and aid from the Ministry.

When Hermione, Harry, and Ron made their way back into the Gryffindor Common Room, they made a few brief hellos, then made their way into a corner by the fire. Hermione passed on what Greengrass had said, and the boys listened carefully for a minute.

"I don't know, Harry," Ron said finally. "I mean, it might mean something, but it might just be Slytherin politics, or whatever they have going on, or a trick, or…or something."

"Thank you, Ron, for that brilliant assessment," Hermione said wryly, and Harry smiled slightly.

"We'll just have to wait and see. I know Nott could be a problem—but, like the Sorting Hat said, we ought to work together, too," he pointed out.

"I don't know, Harry. It seemed like what Daphne was doing was in the spirit of cooperation. But who knows," Hermione said.

Harry yawned. "We can sleep on it, and talk about it tomorrow. I'm going up to bed. 'Night, you two."

"Goodnight," Hermione replied as Harry picked himself up and headed up the boys' stairs. "I should go sleep as well," she said to no one in particular, but Ron seemed to take the comment as being directed at him.

"Well, goodnight then, Hermione." With a funny look on his face, and a slight red tint to his ears, he put a hand on her arm. "Sleep well." Then he yanked his hand back as though he'd been burned, and bolted up the stairs.

Hermione stared after him in astonishment. What had that been about? Surely he wasn't proclaiming some romantic interest in her—now, after seven years? She sighed. Books were so much easier than boys—they just said what they meant, and were done with it.

The next morning at breakfast, Ron wouldn't meet Hermione's eyes, and when she caught him shooting furtive glances at her, he blushed bright red. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Harry, Ron, we ought to pass out the timetables now," she said, hoping to distract them.

"Have you looked at ours yet?" Harry asked.

"No, why?" Ron replied around a mouthful of food.

"NEWT Potions, first thing this morning," Harry said grimly.

Hermione made a face. "Lovely. A wonderful way to brighten up a morning, don't you think? You should have heard him last night, Ron; he was positively unbearable. He as good as said we killed Draco Malfoy, and he said Harry's only Head Boy because his father was—"

"He said WHAT?" Ron exploded, and Harry motioned for him to hush.

"It's not that big of a deal, Ron," he said hurriedly.

"Yes it is," Hermione felt she had to add. "But we won't talk about if you don't want to. Just so long as you know what he said wasn't true."

Harry nodded absentmindedly, and Hermione wondered if he actually believed her. None of them spoke of Snape again until they arrived in his dungeons later that morning.

The dungeon smelled faintly of mildew and smoke and some blend of unknown substances, and the chill damp in the air was a sensation Hermione could never fail to associate with Snape's vicious temper and verbal attacks. The room was slowly filling; NEWT-level classes included students from all four Houses—and Snape's NEWT-level potions only had the very best of each. Nearly every student there was a Prefect—Hermione, Harry, and Ron were the only Gryffindors. Nearly every Ravenclaw seventh-year was there, though, and two Hufflepuffs, and a few Slytherins, whose numbers included Greengrass and Nott, but not, to Hermione's great appreciation, Crabbe, Goyle, or Millicent Bulstrode.

All the students were paired together, but there were an odd number, and Hermione was more than willing to work alone. She was setting up her equipment and ingredients around her cauldron when Snape stalked in, robes billowing behind him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you have, some of you against my better judgment, elected to take a second year of NEWT-level potions. None of you would be here if he or she did not possess at least some bare ability, but some," he glared at Harry as he said this, "are here more on the Headmaster's recommendation than on their own merit. You already know that I do not grade lightly; in this class, I expect the highest quality work imaginable, and nothing but work that meets my own brewing standards will come away from here with an Outstanding grade.

"Potions are a delicate and subtle art, and I expect only the highest from you. On the board you will see instructions for an Imperishability Potion, instructions that were part of the required summer reading. As an opening exercise, I want each pair of you to brew this potion—correctly—and turn in a sample to me by the end of class. You may begin."

He strode over to the large desk at the fore of the room and sat down, scanning the room idly. "Granger, where's your partner?" he asked.

"There are an odd number of students, sir," she explained tentatively, feeling slightly nervous at being put on the spot.

"And you attempt to show off by working alone rather than joining another pair," he sneered at her. "Admirable."

Hermione felt a twist in her stomach at the accusation. Had she been showing off? Still, she reminded herself, she shouldn't let him get to her. "I will be glad to join another group if you would like, Professor," she said coldly.

"No, no," he replied lazily, "we shall allow the talent Head Girl her chance to shine. Continue."

Fuming inwardly, Hermione did so, scanning the instructions on the board quickly. And then, frowning, she did so again. She remembered reading the instructions for the Imperishability Potion, and these were not them. The instructions written on the board in Snape's angular scrawl—and labeled Imperishability Potion—were for a fairly simple healing potion that had been in the supplementary reading from the previous year. Her hand shot up.

"Professor Snape, these instructions are—"

"Silence, Miss Granger," he snapped, "you're interrupting the other students. Make the Imperishability Potion and be silent! I've no interest in seeing your pitiful attempts to show off."

Shocked, Hermione obeyed, tightened her lips, and set about attempting to brew the Imperishability Potion, sans instructions. She wondered if it was a test, or if Snape had actually made a mistake, but whatever the case, she'd brew the bloody potion he'd asked for.

A few people looked at her strangely when she tossed a scoop of beetle eyes into her cauldron, and a few more people eyed her sideways when the smoke pouring from her cauldron began to glow a garish purple, but Hermione ignored them, and set about making the potion.

Hermione had to admit it wasn't perfect. She knew she was smart, and at the top of her class, but not even the smartest witch could remember every amount of every ingredient in the exact order, of a potion she'd only read the instructions for once.

The Imperishability Potion, she also realized halfway through the class period, was significantly more complicated than the healing potion Snape for which Snape had given the instructions, as well, and she was now severely feeling the lack of a brewing partner. By the end of the period, Hermione had almost finished her potion, and the rest of the class was lounging by their cauldrons, each full of a successfully made Healing Draughts.

Snape stood up. "If you could all bottle samples of your potions please?" he said, sounding bored.

Hermione raised her hand tentatively, ignoring the rest of the class, who were staring at her as though she had lost her mind.

"What, Granger?" Snape snapped, sounding as though he'd rather be doing anything else than answering her question.

"Sir, I haven't finished my potion yet. May I stay after class for a few minutes?"

The class had, by this time, gone from staring to open-jawed amazement.

Snape stalked over to her and looked in her cauldron. "What, may I ask, is this, Miss Granger?"

"Partially completed Imperishability Potion, sir," she answered faintly. He was looming over her—actually looming; Hermione had always thought that was a figure of speech. It made her stomach churn.

Snape squinted at the purple syrup bubbling in Hermione's cauldron. A strange expression crossed his face, and Hermione wondered if she had finally managed to impress him. All of sudden, his face broke into a sneer, and Hermione felt her heart sink. "You may finish this, Miss Granger, in detention this evening. Nine o'clock, here in my classroom." He pulled out his wand and cast a Stasis Charm on the unfinished potion, freezing a large bubble halfway through popping. He spun away from her.

"A lovely start-of-term for this year's Head Girl, don't you think?" he said to no one in particular. "The rest of you bottle a sample of your potions, and leave them on my desk. Class dismissed." Without another word, and leaving the class open-mouthed, he strode out the classroom, robes billowing behind him.

Enjoyed? Please review!

Notes to reviewers:

Dafina: Thanks again! It's lovely to have a faithful reader!

Magic and sparkle: Thanks for reviewing! I like the word dunderhead too- when JKR comes up with such wonderful words, it's to our benefit that we use them!

Caeria: Thanks, and nice to hear from you. I certainly hope that I'll manage to finish it; I'm really writing this for novel-length experience, and it would very much defeat the purpose if I didn't actually end it. Hope you like it enough to keep reading!