Title: Magna Opetieri
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I don't own this site, and I certainly don't think I do… Usually.
Distribution: This site, my new Yahoo group Crash Positions, and anywhere else? Just ask.
Summary: Every action can have some unexpected consequences.
A/N: Yes, I do know that I haven't updated anything in forever, so why am I starting a new story now? Well, 1. the new chapters of everything else have been waiting on my computer, which is packed in a box in the garage. 2. I really have to get this idea out of my head. Also, if anyone would like for me to do a one-shot of the meeting mentioned in this chapter, or a short fic that goes from the end of the trio's Sixth Year to the beginning of this story, just let me know. Oh, and Bonham's Circle comes from Mungo Bonham, who founded St. Mungo's, according to J.K. Rowling's site. And excuse the bad Latin, please, I borrowed a friend's textbook and used the dictionary in the back, because I'm taking French (and am pretty good at it, too). Of course, he was too lazy to just translate for me. Homework is so not that important! So… Review if you like it! Review if you don't like it! Just please please review!
Chapter One
Candles and Herbs
"Do you have it?" Hermione asked worriedly.
"Yes!" Ron answered impatiently. "Would you stop asking me that? It's a bloody book!"
The brown-haired witch didn't even bother to scold him about his swearing, deciding to latch onto a more important topic.
"It is not just a "bloody book" as you so charmingly put it. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? We have no way of knowing what it'll choose to show us!" she snapped at him, but her frantic glare encompassed both of her companions.
"Hermione," Harry asked. He didn't like the sound of that last bit at all. "Exactly how dangerous can this thing get?"
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, a motion that didn't go unnoticed by either of her friends.
"Well, I'm not quite sure," she admitted. "But I had to take it from him or else who knows what could've happened!" she added loudly, talking over Harry's and Ron's exclamations.
"You wouldn't have ended up stealing from the ruddy Minister of Magic, for one," Ron said, half admiringly, half shocked. "I never thought you would be the first of us to break the law as an adult. Always thought it'd be Harry, here. 'Course, Harry's more likely to get caught, aren't you, mate?"
Harry shot him an amused glare before saying, "It is a book we're talking about."
Ron snickered, but Hermione was having none of it. If anything, a reminder of her misconduct in the Ministry only served to put her more on edge, although Harry hadn't thought such a thing was possible.
His bushy-haired friend had been acting strangely ever since she stopped by his room after her meeting with the Minister. She'd been pale and shaking slightly, causing him to think she was sick, at first. When he'd asked her to lie down while he got Ron, she had simply handed him the book. No, "handed" wasn't exactly the right word; "shoved at his chest" seemed to fit better. Then, in a high-pitched voice he had rarely heard before, she had told him to find Ron and meet her in the basement of Number 6.
"Number 6?" he'd asked, not quite believing what he'd heard.
"Yes, Harry, Number bloody 6!" she had shrieked, sounding slightly hysterical.
He'd stared at her for a moment, trying to think of the last time Hermione had cursed. There wasn't any, until now. He noted with some surprise that her eyes were suspiciously red and puffy, as if she'd been crying. But why would she have been crying? If anything had happened, he would know.
That knowledge did nothing to help the already respectably sized knot that was forming in his stomach. With a short nod, Harry had ran to get Ron, not wanting to think about the fact that they would be meeting in the basement of Number 6, Bonham's Circle, Godric's Hollow- his parents' former house.
Together, he and Ron had made their way across the village with the book hidden under Ron's cloak, not daring to use a wand to light the dark path, a sure way to call attention when all the rest of the town had been asleep for hours. When they had reached the long-deserted house, Hermione had been waiting for them at the front door. The three of them had walked inside, searching for the basement entrance they new was there while Hermione ignored questions about the bag she was carrying and continuously asked Ron about the book.
"Stop it," she told them sharply. "We don't have time for this."
Both of them looked at her, identical expressions on their faces.
"Maybe you should tell us what it is we're doing here, then," Ron said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Hermione opened her mouth, and Harry could immediately tell that her answer would be the start to yet another argument between the two of them. His eyes narrowed; ever since the end of the last school year, he hadn't exactly shown a lot of patience to the denial-entrenched almost-couple's incessant arguments.
"I want some answers, too," he said, cutting her off.
She sighed wearily and Harry let out a deep breath. Beside him, he heard Ron do the same; both of them had subconsciously been expecting her to start yelling at them, or even burst out in tears, since she was acting so strangely.
"Lupin is de-dead," she told them without preamble; to her, it was something of a miracle that her voice had only cracked once.
Ron blanched, making his already pale skin contrast brightly with his hair, and his eyes widened.
"What?" he asked; the redhead's voice shook even more then Hermione's had.
She didn't answer; her eyes were locked on Harry.
The bespectacled wizard didn't say anything. His eyes didn't widen and his skin didn't pale more then it was already. The only change visible was his eyes. Normally the bright green of them was so pronounced that they almost seemed to glow, although part of that was just a reflection of the light. Now it seemed like a small part of him had died, and the glow dimmed just a little bit more. One more death after so many.
"How?" he asked quietly. There wasn't a quaver in his voice. Not even a hint of one. Just that same undercurrent of determination that had been present since Dumbledore's death; that little thread of steel that was carefully hidden after Sirius died; the slightly bitter tinge that appeared after Cedric was killed.
It struck Ron and Hermione at that moment how much he had changed, and just how much they, themselves, had changed along with him. There were no more bright voices and innocent, hopeful eyes. Only this- pain and resignation. There was no going back now, but they had all knew that when they came to this picturesque little village.
"Greyback," she replied, her voice shrill and bitter. "He wanted to "thank" Lupin for the night D- for the night of the Death Eater attack."
Harry's jaw clenched tightly. Ron, on the other hand, had a worried look in his eyes.
"What about Tonks?" he asked apprehensively.
An even more pained expression appeared on Hermione's face.
"She's at St. Mungo's right now. In the-," she broke off for a moment before firmly finishing her sentence. "In the Emergency Care Ward. At last count Scrimgeour told me there were 6 Healers and a number of trainees working on her."
Harry visibly sagged against the dining room's faded wall; a few pieces of peeling paint landed on his shoulders and in his hair, but he made no move to brush them away.
"When did you find out?" he asked her.
"This morning, at the Ministry. Scrimgeour came to me first. He seemed to think I would be the one to tell him what we are doing out here, since I am the only "reasonably stable" person here, to quote him. That pompous ass even had the nerve to cast Remus and Tonks up as an example of what happens to "people who associate with Harry Potter"."
Ron finally regained some color as he flushed angrily, reflexively reaching for his wand, even though the only thing he could have cursed was the rats scurrying under the moldy floorboards.
"Don't." Hermione automatically warned him.
"He's right, isn't he?" Harry asked. "You should have listened to him and gotten yourself a nice, safe job at the Ministry."
Hermione and Ron both glared at him.
"No, he is not right." Hermione said furiously. Her words sounded more like a hiss, since she was whispering, yet her voice was so high. "And I told him as much when I hexed him."
Ron gaped at her. Harry gaped at her. Hermione was pretty sure the house itself was staring at her, its door wide open in place of a mouth.
"Shut your mouths," she said peevishly. "I couldn't let him say something like that about us, could I? Besides, it was the only way for me to get the book."
"Hermione, both of those things happen to be very illegal!" Ron exclaimed. "Knowing the Ministry, they're going to send more Aurors after you then they are You-Know-…" The other two fixed him with a pointed look. "All right, V-Voldemort."
Hermione gave him a small smile, made rather disturbing by her otherwise frantically nervous demeanor, and said confidently, "Oh, I don't think he's going to want anyone to know about what happened at that meeting."
Harry and Ron looked at her curiously, but the brunette didn't elaborate.
"Besides," she continued, "Lupin left the book to you, Harry. It was the only thing that survived the fire Greyback set in his cottage. That was Scrimgeour's reason for asking me there- to get the book to you. Provided, of course, that he could first learn what was in it."
Harry snorted mirthlessly. The joking, yet vaguely worried mood from before had evaporated.
"Why is this book so important?" he asked.
For the first time that night, Hermione hesitated. Her rather manic determination was momentarily replaced by uncertainty.
"I think it's the Magna Opetieri," she whispered.
A breeze swept through the broken windows of the house, yet Harry knew that wasn't the reason for his shiver. Ron's reaction was a lot more prominent. His grip on the book immediately tightened, even as he held it as far away from the rest of his body as his long arms would allow.
"How in the bloody hell did Lupin get his hands on this thing?" he breathed incredulously.
"I have no idea." Hermione told him. "And don't swear, Ron," she added as an afterthought.
Harry looked from one to another, trying to remember if he'd heard the name before and simply couldn't think of it. After a second or two, he decided he hadn't; a title like that was a bit hard to forget.
"What is it?" he asked.
"It's a legend, Harry. Like that Hole-y Pail thing Dad told me the Muggles used to chase after and you'd have to be pretty pissed to chase after a pail. If anyone had told me this thing was real, I'd have said they were mental." Ron said.
Hermione nodded, obviously deciding it was safer not to mention the Hole-y Pail comment.
"This book can solve all our problems," she said seriously. "I did all the research I could on reported occurrences involving it, that's why I was so late. Of course, most of them were complete rubbish, but some of the things I read- They were amazing. The reports say that the book would remain blank until you say what you want, and then writing will appear in it- spells to achieve your goals, or a ritual. Most of the credible accounts actually describe something making them subconsciously word their wishes a certain way." The teenager's voice was beginning to resume a tone closer to normal, but she was speaking rapidly, the way she always would whenever she found something interesting, usually in a book. "Some of the rumors about it are quite… unusual. Quite a few of the scholars who'd written on the subject, mostly from the reign of Constantinople's Justinian the First, thought there were a few from the tail end of Edward the Sixth's reign here in England, believed that the book only ever could be used during times of "great trouble". And then, of course, there were all of those silly superstitions about it from those medieval quacks who thought their opinion was law, really I-,"
"So the book can think?" Harry asked dubiously, cutting her off before she could launch into a full-on lecture.
She shot him an irritated glance at being interrupted and said, "No, it can't think the way you're, well, thinking of the word. From what I've gathered, it's merely an enchantment of some sort- one that allows the book to use its knowledge to supplement the reader's and create a way to reach a certain specific goal. I suppose the other part of the enchantment would involve some sort of way for the book to cause the reader to subconsciously focus on the exact goal so it won't cost too much power to carry out the task. Whoever created it must have been astoundingly powerful."
They were silent for a few moments, absorbing the information. At last, Ron said, "What are you planning to do with this?"
Ron seemed to feel the same way Harry did, as if he already knew the answer but needed to hear someone else say it, anyway.
"Well, I guess I don't want to do anything with it," Hermione said slowly. "If anyone should use this, I think it should be you, Harry."
"Me?" Harry thought it was doubtful that he had enough power to make the book work, to say the least.
"Of course," Needless to say, Hermione was quickly returning to her former state of nervous impatience.
"Hermione," Ron pointed out, "Wouldn't it take a whole load of power to cast one of the spells?"
She looked at him with a pleased expression, pushing back a curl of brown hair that had fallen into her eyes.
"Exactly, which is why you and I are going to be helping," she informed them.
"We are?" Ron asked at the same time as Harry said, "You are?"
"Yes," was the witch's answer as she rolled her eyes to the heavens, or more accurately, the crumbling ceiling of the Potter's former dining room. "Now, hurry up, we have to find the basement or someone is sure to see us casting."
Harry and Ron traded worried looks before following her out of the room.
The trio worked in silence for a short while, splitting up in order to cover more rooms, when Ron's shout suddenly rang out from the pantry.
"I found the door!" he told them triumphantly.
Harry and Hermione quickly left their rooms, the small bedroom off of the parlor and the ruined study, respectively, to find him. The redhead was standing in the middle of the dust-covered pantry holding open a wobbly looking door and grinning at them smugly.
"Told you I'd find it first," he said.
Harry shot him a good-natured glare and Hermione pretended not to hear that particular comment. The three of them walked down the narrow stairs, Ron in the lead, with Hermione and Harry right behind him. Harry noticed Ron's shudder when there was a spider web hanging over the stairs in front of him, but he also saw how the red-haired wizard resolutely brushed it aside and kept going; one more thing his friends put up with for him. Hermione stumbled slightly on the crumbling steps and Harry reached out to steady her. Ron, too, turned around to make sure she was alright, but instead his eyes caught on something else.
"What's in that bag of yours?" he asked.
Hermione shrugged dismissively. "Nothing much; some candles and herbs; a few potions. Just a few things to boost the spell."
Ron nodded and they walked down to the basement.
Number 6, Bonham's Circle had the only basement in the village, Muggle or otherwise, that wasn't filled to the brim with years' worth of accumulated clutter. It was large, and at one time had been a large "Boys Only" space for the Marauders, and there were still posters of famous Quidditch players tacked up around the room and a wall filled with nothing but Chocolate Frog cards; on the far right corner of the ceiling, someone had placed a now-faded picture of a good-looking witch, who was wearing a rather ridiculous looking pout and not much else. The small windows had been blown outwards, just like those in the rest of the house, and over the years, rain, snow, and the occasional bout of hail had washed into the grimy room. The result was the smell that now filled the air- like something rotten, and the bits of mold Harry could see speckled along the walls and broken chairs. The dark-haired teen felt his stomach clench painfully when he spotted the tattered pieces of a Gryffindor pennant lying on the ground.
The three of them were quiet as they set up. Ron handed Harry the book, the Magna Opetieri, with utmost care, and Harry held it in his arms lightly, almost afraid to touch it, but even more afraid to lose it. Hermione emptied the contents of her small sack and arrayed them neatly; seven candles were lit and placed in a tolerably sized circle; a small vial was set at the north point of the circle and the southeast and southwest points. Ague root, snapdragon, and a sprig of holly were placed in a bowl and burned for protection; dried plantain leaves a small, spiny thistles were scattered around the circle for healing and strength; Winter's Bark for success joined the fire in the bowl; the purifying yucca root was placed on top of the candles at the three potion vial-marked points; yew for rebirth also went there; finally, there were the aloe leaves, still fresh, which were burned on all seven candles in the hopes of luck.
Harry recognized most of the plants and their magical properties not from Herbology, where Professor Sprout had focused on the more… exotic plants, but from Potions, Divination, and even Care of Magical Creatures. He could tell Ron had noticed the herbs, also, but neither of them commented. A strange mood had encased the group. It was equal parts solemn and excited. All of them knew just how dangerous their attempt would be. Still no one spoke. Hermione motioned first to Harry and then to the circle's North Point, then she pointed from Ron to the East Point. Taking the hint, both boys sat down in their respective spots. Less then a second later, Hermione followed suit.
Outside, the world reflected their silence. Muggles lay asleep in their beds; some with the hall light on for the first time in years, somehow knowing that the imagined monsters of their childhoods were to become far too real; some kept the closet door firmly shut, telling themselves that they normally forgot to close it, and the issue hardly mattered anyway, but if they were honest, they would admit a fear of the darkness that was beginning to touch their homes. In the Wizarding homes there were those who tried to delude themselves, also, but most of them new what it was that made them cast warding spell after warding spell on their houses, lock every door extra tight, and wake up in the middle of the night to immediately check on their sleeping children. They knew why they had carefully devised countless emergency plans and had accounts with Brio Canteni's 24-Hour Premium Travel Service for Witches and Wizards. Because even if some of them hated to admit it, witches and wizards, boys and girls, men and women across England were afraid. And they were all afraid of one person. Tom Riddle.
Back in the basement, the trio had joined hands, despite Ron and Hermione's blushes when their skin touched. The two of them looked at Harry expectantly; their angled spots in the circle gave them ideal positions for doing so. The Boy Who Lived, not really a boy any longer, hesitated slightly with his hand hovering less then an inch above the book's cover. His lips pressed together in a line and he opened the book decisively.
The second he had done so, a feeling of detachment spread over him. Half a moment later it had spread to his friends, too, almost as if he were their conduit to the book. He couldn't feel anything at all, and he was surprised at how nice that was. There was no lingering pain from Sirius's and Dumbledore's deaths, or fresh hurt from Remus's. He was just floating there, staring at the page of the book with a mildly bemused expression.
Then it ended. Harry, Ron, and Hermione could feel and see each and every one of the memories that had brought them to this place. They flowed through each other, melting into one another, as if the trio wasn't made of three people, but one. All of them saw and felt each other's emotions that first day on the Hogwarts Express. Harry and Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley tell Ron for the first time not to say Voldemort's name. Ron and Harry saw Hermione looking through Hogwarts, A History with a decidedly manic air. Hermione and Ron saw Aunt Petunia sharply explaining what an orphan was to a four-year-old Harry. On and on the memories went. Their eyes glazed over or rolled up in their heads. At last they reached the end of it.
For a brief time, all of their minds went completely blank. There was nothing to see, hear, think, or do. Then the void was filled by words. Words that hadn't been their before, some that they hadn't ever heard of, and yet they knew the meaning to them. And for the smallest of moments, they could remember the last time the words were spoken out loud.
"Quondam in a saeculorum illic est a valde nefas."
Once in a lifetime there is a great wrong.
"Malum ut challenges bonus; bonus ut challenges malum."
Evil that challenges good; good that challenges evil.
" Proeliator es cado vel porro absentis. Illud relictus have haud via pugno."
Warriors are fallen or long gone. Those left behind have no way to fight.
"Proeliator ut exsisto have haud proeliator ex pro."
The champions to be have no champions from before.
"Ut vox pondera nos dedi nostrum ago, monumentum, quod penitus plurimus votum in litania ut quantum bonus nostri populus. "
To right the balance we offer our lives, memories, and inner most desires in supplication to the greater good of our people.
"Nos quaeso opes ut terminus is. Nos quaeso vox adficio change."
We ask for the means to end this. We ask for the power to affect change.
Some books are better off not read. Some spells are better off not cast. As Ron's eyes rolled up into his head and he sagged from exhaustion, prevented from falling only by the steel grips of his friends, Harry had decided that this spell was one of them. When he felt his own mind begin to slip into unconsciousness, he wasn't as sure. As his eyes closed and he thought he saw a slight glow coming from Hermione, he realized that he might never know.
Hermione felt her strength from her. The spell was calling for so much power. They didn't even know what it did, yet Ron and Harry had already given it all of their energy. She wondered if it would be worth it to just stop the spell and save their strength, but knew she wouldn't. Time seemed to slow as she got weaker. The witch didn't even realize how easily she could suddenly see in the basement that had previously been lit by nothing more then wands and moonlight.
She dimly noted that the spell had ended and her powers weren't being pulled to feed it anymore. A split second later, she fell forward, tired and asleep. The circle broke and Harry and Ron both did the same.
One more time, I'm going to beg- PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! Say it with me: I will review this chapter. Keep in mind that I've got soccer practice, three friends with birthdays this week which means three lockers to decorate and presents to buy, a trip to the movies to see The Fog on Friday with a bunch of friends, yearbook committee, SCA, cheerleading, riding lessons every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, four parties and two school dances (one is at another school) to go to next (well, now this week) because of Halloween, and a whole lot of people to call back and stuff to unpack. So I'm going to update whatever story gets the most reviews first. Sorry about the business (the me version, not the money kind) but I have like no time this year! And no sleep, either. So... yeah. I've just ranted for a good hundred words at least, so review to make me less... rant-y, k?