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 SS+HG 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: Sorry again for the delay! Hope you enjoy this chapter.
By the time she got to the dungeons, it was ten minutes past eight. Hermione threw open the door to the Potions classroom, and practically ran through it, hoping against hope that Snape would be late again.
It was not to be.
"Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Miss Granger," Snape drawled as she hurried inside. "And dare I ask where you were?"
"I was…detained." Hermione said evenly. "By a small study group of friends."
"I see," he replied. "I hope this will not become a regular occurrence?"
"Unlikely," Hermione answered, trying to mask any physical display of her annoyance. "What was it, precisely, that you wanted me to do?"
Snape sighed audibly. "I believe I told you what sort of potion I needed? I'm sure that, true to form, you have already read all of the textbooks I required for this class—you should already know the basics of experimental Potion-making. I need you to modify an already existing Potion to function in Aether."
"I do have some ideas, Sir, but—" she broke off.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked.
"I don't understand how one would test potions of this sort," Hermione admitted. She had been dwelling on this since reading up on translation symbols in the Artificium Magum—several ideas had immediately sprung to mind about how to modify the potion, but she had no idea how to guarantee its function, much less its safety.
Snape looked surprised for a moment. "An interesting question," he finally answered, "and a complicated one to answer. Because there are two independent functions to the Potion we want to create—it both translates languages, and renders one at least partially shielded from Aether—it must be tested in two separate stages." It was odd, Hermione reflected as she listened to him lecture. He was almost never this patient when he was teaching an entire class, nor this in-depth. "Miss Granger," he continued, "potions testing is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. This potion will necessarily be tested on a mouse or rat for safety and for effectiveness in deflecting Aether before either you or I ingest it. We will then use ourselves to test its translation powers."
Hermione nodded. "That makes sense, sir. And I assure you that I am perfectly capable of carrying out tests," she added a bit waspishly.
"I was questioning your willingness, not your ability," Snape replied mildly. "I have papers to grade, so I shall be in my office. I have altered the wards on my stores to open for you—you have free access to them. Please use your good judgment in employing them."
"Yes, sir. Thank you," Hermione said, and turned to the cauldrons stacked along the wall. As she set one up on her usual worktable, and started the fire underneath it, Snape came back out of his office for a moment.
"Oh, and Miss Granger?" he said. "Do try not to cause any explosions." He shut the door, a bit too loudly behind him, leaving Hermione at first annoyed at the rude comment, then, when she thought about it for a moment, flabbergasted. That insult was considerably sub par for Snape. He must be losing his touch, she decided with a somewhat grim smile as she set to work.
The beginning was easy enough—Hermione set out brewing the usual base for a Temporary Translation Potion, a fairly simple blend of common ingredients that would ideally counteract and counterbalance the toxins in the dragon's blood and ink that would go into the potion later. Then, however, came the hard part. In order to be able to add the St. John's Wort, to help with the Aether protection, something had to counteract the herb's tendency to cause unnatural cheerfulness, which could be extremely dangerous.
Poppy oil, then, had to be added in the slightest of amounts. It shouldn't have any magical properties aside from being a depressant, and was used commonly enough to counter cheer-inducing ingredients. Still, it had to be added in perfect balance- even a drop too much could destroy the potion. Hermione prided herself on keeping her hands perfectly steady as she added it. The potion, she had decided, would be stirred with a rowan branch, which would ideally also invoke protection from Aether—and the fact that the cauldron was iron wouldn't hurt either.
Hermione completely lost track of time as she brewed, taking careful notes as she added each new ingredient, noting the color and appearance of the potion at each stage, and jotting down the intended effects of each ingredient. It was with no little pride that she looked down at the almost-finished brew. Theoretically, at any rate, it was perfect—it followed the instructions in the Theoretical Potions book exactly. Perhaps finally she could even earn some recognition from Snape, make him see that a Gryffindor and a Muggleborn could be worth something after all, make him see that she could be useful, that book smarts actually did come in handy.
She didn't even notice that Snape had left his office and was silently watching her as she added the three drops of dragon's blood, the last ingredient, and then stirred it methodically, seven times widdershins, with the rowan rod.
"An interesting idea, Miss Granger," Snape said as she withdrew the branch and sat it aside. Hermione stifled a shriek of surprise, but couldn't help jumping. Trying to soothe her pounding heart, she glared in his direction.
"Rowan has the property of protection against evil magic," she said.
"That hasn't been proven to be anything more than Muggle folklore," Snape challenged.
"The effects have been well-documented, if not proven," Hermione argued. "According to Experiments in Modern Potions, Rowan has a singularly powerful effect against djinni—"
"Djinni?" Snape echoed his voice all of a sudden dangerous. "How did you know I'm conversing with djinni? I didn't tell you that." He loomed forward suddenly, and Hermione backed up against the wall, her heart pounding.
Could she bluff? It was worth a try—"Well, if I didn't know before, you just told me…"
"You didn't guess that on your own, Granger," he snarled, moving closer. "Have you been spying? You little—"
"Tonks told me," Hermione blurted. "It wasn't meant to be important; she just mentioned it in passing."
Snape stopped dead. "Tonks. I might have guessed." His lip curled. "I hope you had more sense than she did, and have told no one else of this."
"I haven't said anything, sir," Hermione replied.
"I can't believe," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, "that imbecilic Gryffindor—telling students Dumbledore's plans—no common sense. I'd rather have the bloody werewolf back than that scatterbrained little fool."
She was shocked by his rudeness—it was utterly unprofessional for a teacher to insult a coworker in front of a student—but what bothered Hermione more was that he seemed to be irrationally upset over nothing. "Sir," she began, "it wasn't anything really important that she told me."
"I'll be the judge of that," he snapped. "now bottle the bloody potion and get back to your dormitory. It's past midnight."
"Yes, sir," Hermione agreed, reckoning that it would be much wiser not to argue with Snape when he was in this sort of mood.
"Will tomorrow at the same time do?" he asked, a hint of a snarl still lingering in his voice.
"Yes, sir," Hermione repeated as she carefully labeled and dated the potion and handed it to Snape.
"Oh, and Miss Granger?" he added as she opened the door. "Do not think that your success or failure in this venture will mean anything to me whatsoever. You are a Gryffindor, a Mudblood, and a child without an ounce of practical intelligence that hasn't come out of a textbook. One does not feel pride in a tool, and that is all you are—to Professor Dumbledore and to me."
Hermione recoiled as though she had been slapped. A tool? She couldn't think of a retort, so she simply fled the dungeons, almost running back to Gryffindor Tower and holding back tears. How had he known that recognition was exactly what she wanted? Was he just well-versed in crushing egos? She refused to cry as she climbed into bed, though. The opinion of someone as nasty as that meant nothing she told herself, and the few tears that soaked into her pillow were likewise meaningless. She fell asleep still fighting back tears, but by morning they had receded, and Hermione felt ready to face the world—and Snape—again.
When Hermione slid into her seat beside Harry in Herbology the next morning, he shot her a concerned look, but said nothing until Professor Sprout had set them to work planting mistletoe—a difficult task, as mistletoe was a parasitic plant that grew into the wood of living tree branches, and so had to be carefully introduced.
"You were out really late last night, Hermione. What does Snape want with you?" Harry finally asked, making a tiny slice in the wood of the oak saplings they were using to grow the mistletoe. A tiny bubble of sap slowly leaked out.
Hermione looked at him consideringly. Snape had not wanted her to say too much about his plans—still, it could hardly hurt to tell a bit. "I'm helping him brew potions for the Order. I'm not really supposed to say much more than that."
"Why you, though? I mean, I know you're a brilliant student, but wouldn't he prefer a Slytherin?" Harry asked.
"He said Professor Dumbledore made him choose me," Hermione admitted. It sounded rather ignominious, put like that, she reflected, as though he cared less for her intellect than for Dumbledore's orders.
Harry was silent for a moment. "I don't like that he's using it as an excuse to bully you," he said finally.
"Harry," Hermione protested, "he's not bullying me…not really, I mean, he's just his usual self…sometimes he's even not so nasty…" She trailed off. Even she had to admit that her arguments sounded rather weak. "I can handle it, Harry," she said finally.
"Handle what?" Ron piped in from the other side of the table, where he was working with Neville.
"Handle Snape," Hermione replied, not wanting to explain further. She just felt tired, all of a sudden, as though Harry's comment had drained her energy. Snape was perplexing; he confused her and she didn't want to think about him. Which, of course, made the fact that Potions class was next after lunch a most depressing prospect.
Hermione didn't particularly want to look Snape in the eye, not after she'd practically fled the dungeon in tears the night before, so she slunk into class behind Ron and Harry, hoping to avoid his glare.
It was a doomed endeavor from the beginning. His eyes trailed her from the moment she walked into the room, following her to her desk. He finally spoke. "Miss Granger," he said coldly, "would eight o'clock this evening be an amenable time to test your potion?" Somehow he managed to make even the politest of requests not a question at all, Hermione reflected.
"That's fine, sir," she replied.
"Very well." Snape turned to address the rest of the students. "You were expected to read before class the instructions for a Petrification Potion. You will brew this potion today, without instructions. Miss Granger, while I'm certain you are more than capable of brewing the potion by yourself, and could easily recited the entire textbook page back to me from memory, I would ask that you join Potter and Weasley for this exercise. It should take you more than a single class period to brew the potion by yourself, and I have no desire to see you in my classroom after hours any more than is already necessary." He said the last bit with an almost delighted sneer, and Hermione felt her face color—she tried to hide the blush; she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that his unsubtle attempt to embarrass her in front of the rest of class had succeeded.
She moved her satchel and potions kit over to Ron and Harry's table without another word, though Ron muttered, "Just ignore the git," in a low voice. She shot him a grateful smile back, and Harry put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"You may begin," Snape added, as the class had not yet moved from the frozen silence his attack on Hermione had left them in.
A low chatter started, and soon the echoey room was loud enough that the three of them could speak without being easily overheard. "Do you know the recipe, Hermione?" Ron asked, then shook his head. "Why do I even bother asking? Of course you do."
Hermione grinned at that, feeling her spirits brighten a little, and replied, "Of course I know it. The question is, do you?"
"I read it, but I'm not sure I can repeat it from memory," Harry admitted.
"It's not as if we were expecting this, mate," Ron said bracingly. "Nobody expects you to know everything."
"It's not a problem, you two," Hermione said with a smug smile. Usually she hated helping the boys with work that they'd put off until the last minute, or hadn't done outright, but today she just wanted to prove to Snape that she could put together a good potion. "I know how to make it. Can one of you start dicing the slugs?"
She bustled around the cauldron, measuring out the potion's base quickly and efficiently, then began helping Ron and Harry prepare the active ingredients. They worked more or less in silence, but Hermione felt an odd prickle between her shoulder blades, a disconcerting sense that someone was watching her. It was probably just Snape, being boorish as usual, she decided, and refused to give him the satisfaction of turning around.
She tossed in a tiny pinch of silver shavings. "Ron, Harry, watch that very, very carefully, and the instant it turns purple, tell me so that I can put the daffodil sap in. It's really, really reactive right now, so don't let it splash on you."
If the potion had been brewed right—and Hermione was quite certain it was—it would take about three minutes to turn purple; plenty of time to get the sap to the right consistency. Hermione was mixing the smelly, sticky liquid with a small mortar and pestle as Ron and Harry glanced periodically into the cauldron. Suddenly from the other side of the room, there was a clunk of something being dropped to the floor—Harry and Ron turned to look. Hermione glanced over; it was just one of the Hufflepuffs who had dropped a glass vial. She looked back at the cauldron and was treated to the surprising sight of a small plant levitating itself through the air above the boiling liquid, and dropping itself in.
The world seemed to go still for a moment, and for a bare instant, the only thing Hermione could think was that this wasn't supposed to have happened. Then all of her thoughts came back in a rush—something had ruined the potion—wait; what was it?—a dried plant—it was a spring of thyme. A split second later Hermione remembered what happened when thyme and any reactive-stage potion came into contact. A second after that she was screaming.
"Harry, get out of the way!" He spun; looked at her, puzzled. Snape, his face a still picture of realization and fear, swooped towards them, faster than she had ever seen him move before. An instant later the cauldron exploded, spewing corrosive potion across the room. Hermione threw herself into Harry, knocking him out of the way as gouts of steaming purple shot towards them. Snape in turn leaped towards her, his heavy cloak as it spun out catching the brunt of the splash, the fabric melting away, but a bare second later Hermione felt her right leg begin to burn and realized that Snape hadn't managed to block all the potion. A scream tore its way out of her throat as twisting pain knifed through her leg, and her vision blurred almost red.
Through some vague part of her mind that was able to concentrate on something other than the pain Hermione heard Snape snarl something at Harry, who rolled quickly out from underneath Hermione, and then a low incantation. A waterspout shot from Snape's wand, soaking her but washing away the majority of the potion. Her leg still burned—the pain was choking up her throat so that she could barely breathe, but the worst of the agony had abated.
Snape knelt over her, his beetle-black eyes more piercing and intense than she had ever seen them. "Miss Granger," he said hurriedly, "I need you to tell me what was in the potion."
She could barely think around the fiery ache, but managed to get out the words, "Reactive-stage potion" around sobbing breaths.
"Yes, Miss Granger, but what went into the potion to make it explode?"
"Thyme," she managed, shaking and rocking forward slightly, trying to make the pain ease up.
He let out a curse that Hermione had never even imagined hearing out of the mouth of a Hogwarts official and tore back her robes to where the potion had splashed. Hermione couldn't help but gasp; from her ankle to halfway up her thigh her stockings had completely burnt away and the skin was crimson and puckered and blistered as if it was boiling—as she watched in horror, she actually saw a bubble rise to the surface. The pain suddenly intensified threefold, and she strangled another scream.
Snape cursed again, then muttered another incantation Hermione couldn't hear. A beaker of a watery-looking blue liquid shot into his hand; he uncorked it and poured it liberally on the boiling skin, which cooled almost instantly as her leg steamed slightly. Hermione let out a gasp of relief, which quickly turned into one of surprise as Snape scooped her up into his arms as if she were weightless and began striding towards the door.
"Class dismissed; get out of this room NOW," he snarled behind him as he carried Hermione from the room.
"What—" she managed faintly.
"I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing. You can't walk." Snape replied briefly.
"Oh…." The world was beginning to look rather fuzzy around the edges again.
"Miss Granger, please do not pass out," he said a bit testily.
"Why?"
He looked directly into her eyes. She had never been this close to him—to any teacher—before, never been able to feel how fast someone's heart was beating or hear the rasp of breath in someone's throat or smell the faint aromas that hung on someone's clothing. Snape smelled of mint and mildew. "Because if you pass out, you will be much heavier, and I will probably drop you," he replied, jolting Hermione from her reverie.
"Right," she murmured, and drifted into silence, fighting the blurred edges of her vision and feeling as though she'd won a victory when the fuzziness receded a little bit. It seemed like no matter how fuzzy the rest of the world was, his eyes were always sharp, and she felt him kick open the door to the Hospital Wing and heard Madam Pomfrey's voice from thousands and thousands of miles away and his low rumble in response and felt the cool sheets under her and vaguely recognized him collapsing into a chair nearby…his eyes were still glittering….
She couldn't remember anything after that.
Notes to Reviewers:
Futbolchick: Thanks so much! Tackling a teacher-student relationship is always a challenge; I appreciate the encouragement!
Fiona McKinnon: Well, here's some more; hope you approve! You'll find out more about what happened to Draco soon; he may even appear in flashback form for a bit.
Dafina: Thank you, thank you, thank you! Your sweet reviews always make my day. I agree, the fic is about PG-13 right now, but I intend for it to get up to R eventually. And thanks again:-D
Duchessofpower: I'll see if I can't write you a copy! -g-
Brittany Malfoy: Thanks! Keep reading!
Magic and sparkle: Thanks very much! Hope you like this next bit!
Jessica Deal: Thanks you very much! I love writing the Artificium Magum- it went through a lot of phases, some of which were even more incomprehensible than it is now- it's so much fin to play with! Keep reading, and I'm glad you liked my McGonagall!