Artificer

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, but I play in his world. If you recognise it, it's Rowling's.

A/N: I was going to hold off on the new chapter till tomorrow, but since people have been nice enough to follow and favourite, you get it early :D. That said, it's been a long time since I've done any large amount of writing, so I imagine typos and similar will be popping up here and there until I get into a comfortable proof-reading schedule. So apologies in advance for that.

This chapter jumps around a lot. Be warned.

Chapter 2

Smiling inwardly, I find a suitable stone, and levitate it over to me. As the first chime rings, I begin the transfiguration that makes for the first step in my plan.

Petrified.

I sat with her, hands wrapped around her stone-like fist. She couldn't feel me, couldn't hear me, she was…

Not dead. Almost dead, but not…not dead. She had known what was making the attacks, and still she went and risked facing it. It knew she knew. It must have.

Inwardly I swore. I didn't know what was doing this, what was attacking people, but I would stop it. Somehow, I would end this.

I wanted to tell her it would be alright, that I would get whoever did this to her, but she wouldn't hear the words.

I wanted to squeeze her hand in support, to let her know I was there for her, but her hand was unyielding.

If she could hear, if she could feel, would I tell her?

I never had many friends, and now I had almost lost one of them.

But I couldn't say I had almost lost the most important one.

I swore. Somehow I would make things right. Somehow I would find out who did this. Somehow I would make sure they would never be able to do this again.

Pain. Searing pain.

A corner of my mind, unsubdued by the pain in my arm and venom in my blood was howling in victory. A stone's throw from death, but in the end I did it.

In a moment where time stretches out, the phoenix was there. In a delirium of pain I said something, and it flew down and rested its head on my arm.

I did it. Hermione will be proud.

Tom's apparition was gloating, I replied without care. The chamber was open, and Ron was on the other side of the entrance. The monster was dead and the school safe, and sooner or later the teachers would be here to save Ginny. Maybe Dumbledore could come back now?

The world around me was hazy, but refused to go black and silent. Slow and painful deaths are annoyingly...slow.

"Get away bird. Get away from him! I said get away-"

Tom's irritatingly handsome voice was too loud. I'd won. I got vengeance, can't I finally rest? I raise my head enough to see tom jab a wand at Fawkes, and some something about healing powers.

Healing powers.

Slowly, slowly the world came back into focus. It seems my fight wasn't over yet.

I glance over at the fang that was moments away from claiming my life. Would Tom, no, would Voldemort be as irritated by someone's monologue while slowly dying of basilisk venom?

Voldemort, Tom raised my wand as Fawkes flew by, dropping something onto my lap.

Tom Riddle's diary. Voldemort's Diary. Voldemort.

Of course.

The fang tore through it with ease. The diary had controlled Ginny. Voldemort had controlled Ginny. They had ordered the basilisk to attack students. They had ordered the basilisk to attack Hermione.

Time sped back up as the diary and Riddle both screamed.

The fight was over. I won.

My heart ached seeing her.

"You solved it, you solved it!"

I wanted to tell her why I did it, I wanted to tell her what I was thinking what I was feeling. I wanted to tell her why I fought, why I solved it, why I fought and won. When she stopped hugging me, I moved to tell her something, anything, but now a Hufflepuff was in front of me, apologising, and Ron was hugging Hermione.

The moment passed.

The countryside blurred past as I looked out of the window of the Hogwarts express. I wonder, is now is a good time to tell him?

"Sorry Ron, but I'm not taking divination next year. Instead I'll be taking runes and arithmancy, real subjects. Sorry."

When I had talked to professor McGonagall this morning, she was as close to ecstatic as I had ever seen her. It turns out she doesn't believe in divination; though whether in the subject itself, or the ability to teach it she didn't specify.

When she asked me what caused my change of heart, I told her that I didn't think I'd survive school if I didn't start paying attention and doing the work. Both of us sobered up quickly after that.

"Ron mate? You know how I keep almost dying? Well, I've decided that instead of sleeping through lessons and avoiding homework, I'm going to start learning magic properly. So I'm not going to have as much time to hang out, or play chess anymore. Sorry."

At times like this, I regret never really having friends. I know I sound insensitive, but I don't know any other ways to tell him.

I'm not sure it matters.

I was never able to tell Hermione about the chamber. As time went on, the words I rehearsed in my mind sounded like I really didn't care if Ginny was down there, that I was only there to avenge my best friend.

I'm not good at these things.

As the train pulls into the station, Hermione gives me her phone number. I doubt I'll be allowed to use the phone, but it's a nice thing to have. As she turns to leave, I look at Ron and guilt wells up in my chest. I'll just tell him next year.

"Sorry."

The sixth chime sounded as I finished the first transfiguration. If this had been a standard classroom transfiguration, I could have just used a charm and it would have been finished in a matter of seconds, but it isn't. Instead of turning the rubble into a raccoon, it is now…a flat rock.

I imagine the crowd are distinctly nonplussed at my creation.

I take a quick breather as the charm on my glasses confirms my success. Classroom transfiguration at our current level is quick and easy to learn, but this is a whole different matter. In our first ever lesson, we were given a matchstick to turn into a needle. No wand motions, no incantations, just the application of intent, visualisation and power.

A surprisingly valuable lesson, even if it took three years for me to figure out its significance.

Most transfigurations wear off. The charm breaks down after a time, and your raccoon will revert into rubble. That isn't the case with this, NEWT level, free transfiguration. The charms we're taught take the place of intent and power, allowing younger students to actually achieve something; which is why this took me all of five minutes.

My glasses show the magic has faded and the transfiguration held. Perfect.

Academically, the next bit is easy. I've spent over a week memorising the patterns, the meanings of the patterns, and the individual runes that make them up. This is also one of the reasons I have a silencing charm up.

I really don't want to hear people's reactions to this.

Hogwarts has the single greatest Ancient Runes course available practically anywhere, but which most people don't see as much of a distinction as it is 'just a language class'. Of course, wizards are rarely able to see the wood for the trees.

Looking up at the teacher's seats, I'm surprised the runes professor isn't here. The other faces seem to be split between horror and curiosity, which is what I expected. After all, Ancient runes is required for a few different appentiships out of Hogwarts, in subjects like cursebreaking.

Or in this case, Enchanting, The practise of etching runes into a material, priming them, tying charms to them and charging them, all to make a magical artefact. It's a very lucrative business to go into, since there are very few master enchanters available.

There would be more if it were less of a volatile practise, as mistakes tend to lead to things exploding.

Looking down at my flat rock, now an inch thick tablet exactly two feet long and four feet wide, I slowly transfigure the surface to etch the runes in place. Did you know that the Romans sometimes enchanted ballistae to throw bolts far faster than any amount or torsion could manage?

The fear coming from the teaching stands is almost tangible. The thirteenth chime sounds and I refocus.

It's not very often I get to spend any time in privet drive alone, but I always try to make the most of it. Take Dudley's games console for example. For all he likes the shoot 'em up's and action games, he also has a nice collection of virtually untouched RPGs; despite his parent's abhorrence of anything even linked to magic.

So of course I give one a go.

Ever since I pulled Godric's sword out of the hat, I've wondered about magical artefacts. Who makes them? Could I? Killing another goblin with a fiery sword and evading an attack thanks to a magical cape my mind goes into overdrive.

Diagon alley was a nice place, if a busy one. Easy access to ice cream and books, not to mention money for the both of them made this one the best summers I'd ever experienced.

The only cloud in the bright blue sky of my life was the Hogsmead permission slip.

When I first got it, I was excited about visiting a Wizarding village and seeing how people with magic live as a community. A small part of my mind hoped I could talk to random people and get quests, but that part of my mind was quickly silenced by the bit governed by hormones.

I thought of the time I could spend there with Hermione.

I didn't have a good childhood by anyone's standards, but I knew enough to guess what I had been feeling recently. That part of my mind knew that I'd justified killing a thousand year old basilisk for her, and the ghost? Shade? Whatever it was, that was gone too. My mind said I did it for her.

Maybe part of me wanted to save Ron's sister too.

Ron.

He's going to want to go to Hogsmead too. And I don't have a signed form. Hopefully one of the teachers in the castle will give me permission; they know what my guardians are like.

Asking Hermione to go to Hogsmead with me should be perfect.

The twenty-first chime sounds shortly after I finish the first side of the tablet.

As I watch the glow of magic slowly drain from the tablet leaving my runes in place, part of me feels sorry for this crowd. The other champions must have been far more exiting than this, and even then they would have the egg by now. Instead they're watching a fourteen year old slowly carve patterns into a rock.

Serves them right for watching a blood sport I suppose.

I wonder if there are any enchanters or cursebreakers in the crowd right now. If any of them have good enough eyesight to see what I've done, they're probably debating whether the wards keeping everyone safe from the dragon will be able to hold the blast in; this design as it stands is a recipe for disaster. Thankfully the prototypes worked perfectly.

Smiling, I recast the silencing charm as I turn over the tablet. No need to risk being distracted while I work, is there? After all, you're not supposed to carve two completely different runic patterns onto opposite sides of a stone tablet. Some might call it dangerous.

Runes for strength, lightening and heat are far from the most volatile runes in the world.

As I start the next round of engraving, my mind wanders again at the twenty-seventh chime.

If I ever want to avoid a date with somebody, I'll arrange to have a serial killer out for my blood. Since I didn't want to avoid it, it's just plain annoying.

Sirius Black.

Professor McGonagall at least looked sorry seeing my downturned face, and I suppose she had good reason to deny my request – the right hand of Voldemort isn't the kind of man you want to be at risk from - or known to be at risk from anyway.

The twins being kind enough to give me a map of Hogwarts has led to me, map and cloak in hand, steadily making my way down a dark passage to Hogsmead, with no-one any the wiser. I was almost surprised at their generosity; I haven't been on great terms with Ron ever since I forgot to tell him about divination and ended up going to runes alone. For some reason Hermione isn't in my runes class, even though she's taking the lesson. Annoying, but I suppose the learning is the important part; her timetable is confusing enough as it is.

I'm glad I have a route to Hogsmead, but it's a long walk there and back and Hermione will probably be angry at me putting myself in danger, but it's not like there is anything to do in the castle while she's in the village.

With Ron.

I'm sure things work out between me and him; after all he was my first friend. I just need to avoid getting caught taking risks by Black before Black is caught himself.

Hermione went in the wrong direction after class today, but when I went to follow she was gone. Then I saw her coming out of the runes classroom…I'm sure it's nothing.

A Firebolt!

I had wondered who would send me it, and after I came down from my high (It's a bloody Firebolt!) Hermione's suspicion makes a lot of sense. Not that I'm able to say so before Mount Ron blows up.

Midwinter's a horrible time to be flying anyway; I can do without it for a few weeks at least.

But what am I supposed to say now? If I agree with Ron, Hermione will be hurt and it'll be first year all over again. If I support Hermione, Ron will get even angrier and I'd risk that friendship as well. Ron might not be quite as important to me, but I still only have two close friends, I can't risk either of them.

It's bad enough that Hermione is looking tired almost constantly and still disappearing at the oddest times, but she also seems driven to save Buckbeak. My idea was to free it into the forest with the rest of the hippogriffs, but she's worried Hagrid will be blamed for that as well. I suppose after he went to Azkaban last year, he isn't going to be in a hurry to risk going back.

Not it that's where those Dementors really live. Foul things.

I hope Ron and Hermione work this out. Their normal bickering is bad enough as it is.

I return to my studies: A beginner's guide to enchanting.

The thirty-fifth chime sounds as I catch my breath once again.

Half an hour of watching as a boy carves a rock! The less educated in the crowd are probably getting pretty angry at the lack of blood and fire.

The next step is no more exiting; drawing my focus together, I start rolling the slab into a tube and sealing the end. Part of me wonders how many people have figured it out yet.

I know there's something off with her timetable but my mind just won't focus!

Arithmancy let us out early, so I decided I would go chase down Ron for a game of chess while she headed off to the library. And yet in one of the classrooms on the way to the common room, there she is. With Ron.

I consider going in, asking how she can be here and the library at the same time by my mind…I find myself in the common room. I may as well get some reading done till Hermione gets out of her runes class.

…what?

The Thirty-ninth chime sounds.

Rune carving is a lot like transfiguration in a way. Anyone can grab a wand or chisel and carve them, but it takes a certain focus and familiarity to get them to do anything. I begin murmuring the chant which primes the runes, turning them from a simple design in the rock into meaningful magical conduits. This is the point where a rune that means both 'Flame' and 'Light' Settles down to do one thing and one thing only. It doesn't take long, but when I'm done I have beads of sweat dripping down my neck, as if I have a dragon breathing down my neck.

It doesn't matter that I literally do.

The previously unfinished pattern glows softly to my eye, as the runic clusters spiral around and around the tube. For a fourth year to get this far is an accomplishment, but anyone with a working knowledge of runes in the crowd would know that what I am holding at the moment is at best a dud. Good thing it's still not ready.

I peer over the top of my glasses towards the judge's table. Dumbledore if no-one else is going to be worried after my next move.

The problem with runes is that, once primed, they take on a life of their own. Living things and magical objects generate a resisting force against anything that tries to change them. Oddly enough, an entire branch of magic was created to counteract this. While in a thousand years the name hasn't changed, the meaning has.

Dark magic.

The origin of the name is confusing at best. It was in the search for 'Mage sight' that I found what I think is the most reasonable explanation. Supposedly, by virtue of how dark magic utilises the ambient magic or the magic of its target in order to create its effect, any magic detection causes dark magic to show up as a 'dark spot'.

It sounds far more convincing than the more general 'Dark magic is evil' explanation.

Literally designed to overcome the resistance to magical change, dark magic is the only thing that works to manipulate an enchanted object once it's created. Thankfully a millennium of…creative use has created a spell for every occasion.

"extorqueo"

A torture cure, designed to twist a limb repeatedly till someone's forearm or similar protrusion resembles nothing more than a twisted mass of flesh. Used on an inanimate object, it's capable of twisting something in a perfectly uniform manner almost indefinitely, and can only be reversed with the spell's specific counter-curse.

I count thirteen turns, by which point the tube is almost seven feet long with a two inch wide hole in the middle.

The runes held, having been primed before using the curse. I dispel the charm on my glasses having confirmed everything is in working order. I quickly glance around at the sea of faces before the final step begins; with a slow melodious chant, I begin charging my creation.