Hey everybody! How's tricks? Nothing to say right now, so let's get down to the story.

Disclaimer:

*CracktheSkye walks towards a rope bridge over a ravine, when all of a sudden, an old man appears!*

Old Man: Stop! Who approaches the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, 'ere the other side he see.

CracktheSkye: Ask me the questions, bridgekeeper, I am not afraid.

Old Man: What…is your name?

CracktheSkye: CracktheSkye, the Learned.

Old Man: What…is your quest?

CracktheSkye: To publish my next chapter!

Old Man: What…is the name of the owner of the Harry Potter franchise and all related titles, products, and copyrights?

CracktheSkye: J.K. Rowling. Not me.

Old Man: Right, off you go then.

CracktheSkye: Oh, thank you. Thank you very much.

Adversity has the same effect on a man that severe training has on the pugilist: it reduces him to his fighting weight.
Josh Billlings

Book One, Chapter Six: Exerceo et Ensis

-Nice, France-

Hermione Granger knelt on the stone of her tutor's workroom, her brown eyes examining the arcane chalk markings on the floor in front of her. A mix of Greek, Norse, and Hebrew runes filled the spaces between the lines, in a pattern complex enough to make Ron's head burst. In the center of the circle sat a chunk of dully glinting metal.

The Gryffindor took a deep breath, then channeled magic into the circle. In response, the chalk markings began to glow a soft blue.

Step one, comprehend the materials.

The glow spread to the lump of metal, and knowledge flooded through Hermione's senses.

Primary elements: Ninety-two percent copper, eight percent tin. Surface coated in copper carbonate layer. Conclusion: historical oxidized bronze.

Her brow furrowed, the bushy-haired girl continued to direct her magic into the ritual.

Step two, deconstruct the subject.

The soft blue glow became harsh, and lightning began to arc along the circle and into the lump of bronze. The metal became invisible beneath its own glow. Sweat beaded on the Gryffindor's forehead

Step three…Reconstitute!

There was a final flash of light, and then nothing. Hermione opened her eyes cautiously, anxious to see if she had been successful.

She was, and she couldn't help but let a grin a mile wide make its way onto her face.

Instead of a lump of dull metal, a gleaming statue sat in the center of the circle, a woman clothed in ordinary Wizarding robes holding her wand aloft.

"Well done, my young apprentice."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Nicholas Flamel spoke up from his seat against the wall. For all his six-hundred-and-change years of living, the legendary alchemist had all the maturity of Ron Weasley on his first ride on the Express. At the same time, though, he was a better teacher than any of the Hogwarts staff. Unsurprising, really, considering that he had lived so long.

The ancient man picked up the small statue, inspecting it with a keen eye.

"Your fine detail has greatly improved since the last test. Well done. However…"

With a quickness that would be the envy of many a swordsman, Flamel hurled the statue to the floor. It struck, and then shattered into fragments.

"You sacrificed the material's strength for precision. In order to properly transmute this, you must both accurately reproduce the visualized image and exceed all manufacturing processes. Otherwise, you may as well transmute a few Knuts and pay the nearest smith to make you a statue of the same quality."

Flamel touched a finger to the ground, and the circle arced with alchemical energy once again, as the bronze fragments coalesced into a single lump of metal.

"Try again."

And so it went for the next two hours, as it had for the past week. Hermione would transmute the statue, and Flamel would smash it. Far from being frustrated, though, the Gryffindor found it exciting. She was attempting to outdo the discerning eye of the greatest alchemist who had ever lived. It was a sobering thought, though, that soon Flamel and his wife would no longer be in this world.

Was that why Flamel had taken her as a student?

"Is there something on your mind, my young apprentice?"

Hermione started, realizing she had been staring into space for the past few minutes.

"It's nothing."

The alchemist gave her a flat stare.

"I have been alive for hundreds of years, Hermione. Don't try and fib to me."

The brunette bowed her head, shamefaced. "I was… I was just thinking about what Professor Dumbledore told Harry. That you…that you only have enough Elixir to set your affairs in order, and then you'll…"

She stopped, interrupted by chuckles from her mentor. "What?"

Flamel grinned at her. "Yes, Albus did spread the word that my stone was destroyed, didn't he?"

Even as Hermione's eyes widened when she realized what he was implying, Flamel stepped over to the fireplace that was now just smoldering embers. A single finger touched the mantle, and the alchemical lightning flared against the stone, transmuting a single block into a small stone door. Flamel opened it, reaching inside to retrieve a glimmering, ruby-like stone. With a childish grin, Flamel handed it to her.

"The Philosopher's Stone," she breathed, awe in her voice.

It looked like a ruby, but holding it in her hand, she felt as if she was holding something…more. Without moving, the stone seemed to have a pulse to it, a heat that had nothing to do with its proximity to the fire. Something in her was telling her that this stone was special.

Flamel held out his hand, and the bushy-haired girl reluctantly returned the stone to its creator. He replaced it in its small hiding spot, then transmuted it into the original stone block.

"Albus and I agreed that it would be best if Voldemort thought the Stone destroyed; if he knew either I or the stone was still extant, he would bend all his efforts to take the stone and use it, or to capture me and force me to create one for him. So, my wife and I faked our deaths - again, I might add - and moved here. Once that parasitic existence has been removed from this world, we will make our reappearance. Now, one more time, transmute the bronze."

The Gryffindor nodded, returning her attention to the circle in the middle of the Flamel atelier. Her eyes narrowed, deep in thought. No matter how much she focused, the statue didn't seem to match the specifications she wanted to impose. What was she doing wrong? Was it that she didn't hold a clear enough picture? She didn't think so. It wasn't the magical energy she was channeling, either. Hermione had a very definite sense of how much magic it took to transmute the bronze.

In Hermione's defense, this lesson was the first time she had no prior image to transmute against. Flamel had told her to transmute an image from her own mind, or from a memory. She was not aware of the fact that transmuting without a baseline wasn't a skill most alchemists learned for years, let alone progress as far as she already had. And Flamel didn't plan on telling her, either. If she was aware of just how extraordinary her progress was, she would most likely lose focus. Apparently, the only limits on Hermione Granger's ability to progress were those she set for herself.

The brunette had yet to channel her magic again, instead paused in thought, her eyes staring into the distance. What would Harry do in this situation?

A chuckle escaped her at the thought. He'd probably brute force his way through the problem with sheer willpower and determination. That was his modus operandi, after all.

Wait.

Willpower.

Hermione furrowed her brow, and concentrated on Harry's expression when he chased a Snitch. Total focus and absolute determination. She forced her magic into the circle, willing the transmutation to happen.

There was a crackle of lightning, and when the light faded, it revealed her best transmutation yet. A bearded wizard, wrapped in a hooded robe that draped off him, obscuring his features. Held in front of him was a long staff that extended well above his head.

Flamel's eyebrows rose. He scooped up the statue, his sharp eye roving over it, inspecting it for flaws. This time, though, he didn't try and smash it. Instead, he placed it on the nearby table, and shifted his gaze to the Gryffindor.

"Well done, Hermione. We're done for today. Go and get yourself cleaned up, Perenelle will have supper on the table soon.

The Gryffindor nodded, clambering to her feet and leaving her mentor alone in the workshop. His eyes found the statue again, and a contemplative expression stole across his face.

"I definitely picked an interesting student."

-Longbottom Manor, England-

Neville stepped into the room with a very slight amount of trepidation. You couldn't blame him, either. The Longbottom Battle Chamber was an imposing room set within the labyrinth of passages beneath the manor, and located a significant distance from the house itself. It was nearly three stories in height, and carved out of solid marble. It had been created by Theodosius Longbottom more than 700 years ago, to train his children in the family battle arts. The walls had been reinforced with layer upon layer of protective and regenerative charms and barriers. Theodosius had, according to an account written by his grandchild, told his children that he would not declare their training complete until they managed to damage one of the walls to the point where it would not self-repair.

Ever since then, the indication of a Longbottom's battle mastery was determined by how badly they could dent or gouge the far wall of the chamber. Under each mark was the name of the Longbottom who had made it.

Neville stopped for a moment to stare at the star-cratered mark on the right side of the wall. Engraved under it was his father's name.

"I come to ask for the Longbottom arts of war, as is my right as heir to the house."

The room filled with a low humming sound, and a translucent figure appeared in front of him. Tall and dark-haired, the man looked like he could have taken on Hagrid in a fist fight. He stared at Neville impassively, his dark eyes appraising the Gryffindor.

"I am Theodosius Longbottom, twelfth head of House Longbottom. Who are you?"

Neville stood straight, refusing to look away from this man's stare. If he wanted to help his friend, he didn't have time to flinch away.

"I am Neville Longbottom, son of Frank Longbottom, twenty-first head of House Longbottom."

The image of his ancestor met Neville's stare for exactly three heartbeats, before he directed his gaze to Neville's hands. His eyebrows rose.

"Very well."

In the next instant, a bolt of red light seared out from one of the walls, aimed directly at Neville. The Gryffindor yelped, and instinctively threw his hands up in front of him. There was a flare of ruddy light, and a peculiar spanging sound. Neville reopened his eyes in time to see the stunner disappear back into one of the walls. His eyes flicked down to his arms, and the translucent shield of light that hovered a scant few inches away.

"What was that!?"

Theodosius' face remained stoic, although there just might have been a glint of approval in his eyes.

"That was a stunner strong enough to fell an elephant. You did well in deflecting it."

"Wha-?"

"You came to me bearing our family's greatest accomplishment, and you did not expect to test you?"

Neville glanced down at his hands again, or, more accurately, the rings on either middle finger. Wrought of a silvery metal that glinted in the light, and bearing his families crest, they were inscribed with minute runes, smaller even than a grain of sand.

"The Longbottom Barrier Rings. The culmination of our family's study of spells of protection. If you carry those into combat, it will take a mighty foe indeed to defeat you."

Neville allowed himself a hesitant smile, but it vanished at Theodosius's next words.

"So I must train you to defeat even the greatest of foes."

There was a grinding noise, and the floor around Neville grew and shifted into low walls, columns, and blocks, all formed of single slabs of marble. Along the walls, red circles glowed ominously.

"Lesson One. The best way to block an attack is to not be there when it hits. Those red circles will fire standard stunners at you. You may move as you wish, and use these obstacles for protection, but you may not use the rings. Try to stay conscious."

A heartbeat later, a score of stunners flew at Neville from every angle, prompting the Gryffindor to dive behind a marble wall, then frantically throw himself backwards as two spells shot from the ceiling, sinking into the ground without a trace. Seeing two more red bolts coming from the direction unprotected by the wall, Neville stood, intending to switch to the other side of the marble obstacle – and yelped as yet another stunner missed his ear by less than an inch.

Neville sprinted towards a pair of walls that intersected, these taller than he was, and crouched in the corner, bracing his back against the marble. The next flight of stunners all came from the same direction, and they all met the same translucent rust-colored barrier. The relieved smile on Neville's face didn't last long, though, as a seemingly endless stream of red bolts followed in their wake.

The shield lasted three seconds longer, then collapsed under the onslaught of stunners. The Gryffindor's last thought before impact wasn't a litany of invective, nor was it confusion. The sole thought running through his head was:

This is going to be a long summer holiday.

Then three stunners hit him in the chest, and he dropped like a sack of bricks.

-The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole-

Ron grumbled under his breath as he lifted yet another box down from the shelf and handed it to Fred, who handed it to their father, who levitated it down to the stairs, where George relayed the box down to the kitchen. Molly Weasley had decided, in her infinite and inimitable wisdom, to have the family clean out one of the closets in preparation for their trip to visit Egypt with Bill.

How the two had anything to do with each other was beyond the Weasley men's ability to comprehend. Ron might have asked Ginny, but she had vanished into her room the moment the word "cleaning" had left her mother's mouth. The only male to get out of the whole mess was Percy, who was interning at the Ministry with the Office for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts.

After Percy had shared his intention to work for the Ministry earlier that year, his father had promptly handed him an internship application form. Needless to say, Percy had gotten accepted rather quickly, and he was proving a godsend for not only Arthur's division, but for the whole Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Very few wizards seemed to wield the arcane power of the signature and the triplicate form as well as Percy Weasley, and in the few weeks that he had been an intern, the entire Department's paperwork backlog had been reduced by three whole months. (Percy had been told by a very pleased Amelia Bones that if he wanted it, a position as Junior Secretary for Law Enforcement would be waiting for him the next year). Regardless, Percy had told his mother that morning that he had a pile of paperwork waiting for him at the office, and vanished out the door with a cheery good day to his brothers, who all did their best to kill him with their glares.

And Ron knew for a fact that it was his day off, too, the blighter.

"Come on then, Ronniekins. Toss us another."

The youngest Weasley male glared at his brother, then stood on his toes to get the last box from the top shelf. It was long and thin, with stenciled lettering on one side:

Property of H. Weasley

Expecting the box to be light, Ron gave a quick pull at it, only to lose his balance when it proved quite a bit heavier than he'd thought. His hands scrabbled for support on the shelf, but only found the edges of the box. With a strangled yell, he toppled, the box following him in a rather comedic fall into his brother's waiting…body.

CRASH!

"OW!" yelled Fred, falling backwards onto the wood floor, the box narrowly missing his head.

"You alright in there, boys?"

"'m fine – geroff, Ron!"

"Sorry, sorry…" The youngest Weasley male pushed himself up off of his older brother, before a glint of light caught his eye. Something dully reflective was visible inside the box that had caused the whole problem.

Ron reached over and pried the lid off the rest of the way. He and Fred peered in.

"Merlin's beard," exclaimed their father, looking over their shoulder, "It's Uncle Horatio's rifle!"

"His what?"

"A rifle. It's a Muggle weapon, one that fires little metal pieces using a small explosion. Fascinating thing, but just as deadly as the Killing Curse if used right. This one's called a Lee-Enfield, according to your Great-Uncle."

Ron and Fred both looked at him quizzically. Noticing, the elder Weasley flicked his wand, conjuring a few chairs.

"My Uncle, your Great-Uncle, Horatio Weasley, who died before you and George were born, Fred, fell in love with a Muggle girl back before Grindelwald came to power, during a time when the blood purists were on the rise again. He was treated so badly that he quit the Auror Corps and signed up with the Muggle Army. When Grindelwald started his war of conquest, your uncle was fighting against him on the Continent."

Ron and Fred's eyes widened. Clan Weasley was massive, which meant for dozens and dozens of stories, but this was one they had never heard before.

"Uncle Horatio was particularly skilled with runes and enchantments. If you look closely at the rifle, you'll see he carved dozens of runes into it. This one," Mr. Weasley fingered a cluster of carvings on the grip, "let him feed his own magic into the rifle when he shot. According to him, he could shoot farther and more accurately with his normal bullets, or even cast spells at incredibly long distances."

"How far?" interrupted Ron, not taking his eyes off of the rifle.

Mr. Weasley thought for a moment. "I think he said he once hit a Muggle tank with a Blasting Curse more than a mile away."

"Wicked." Fred breathed, even as Ron's eyes remained affixed to the rifle.

"Hey, Dad?" began the sixth Weasley child. "Can I borrow that for a while?"

His father shrugged, handing Ron the rifle. "Sure. None of us have ever been able to get it to work. Not sure why. Uncle Horatio would just laugh and say none of us were suited for it."

Ron nodded absently, putting the rifle back in its box, ignoring the twinge of disappointment he felt doing so.

"Just a couple rules," his father met his eyes. "Don't point it at the house or at anyone, and don't let your mother see you with it."

All three males laughed.

"Put that up in your room, Ron, and let's get back to work. Your mother will have our scalps if we don't finish this closet before lunch."

-Forest of Ottery St. Catchpole-

Luna stood at the edge of the stone circle, her mentor a few feet to the side. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she focused inward.

Do you truly wish to attempt the summoning already Luna? I would not blame you if you decided instead to wait.

Her tutor's voice filtered through her mind, drawing a small smile from the slight Ravenclaw.

"Thank you, Maia, but I already told you – I need to be as strong as possible as soon as possible. Harry has already faced Voldemort on his own twice in as many years. I don't plan on letting it happen again."

A hint of steel had crept into Luna's voice. The figure next to her gave an amused huff.

It always come back to that one, doesn't it?

"He gave me his friendship and his trust, when everyone else shunned and mocked me. I…there is nothing that I would not do to repay that gift."

Very well then. Whenever you're ready.

There was a glimmer of light, and a single silvery-white hair from her mentor settled in the center of the stone circle.

Luna stepped forward, left hand gripping a small stone knife. She hesitated for a moment, then, with a quick swipe of the edge, sliced open her right index finger. Holding it out over the circle, she began chanting, hair blowing in a nonexistent breeze, and eyes closed."

"Stone and blood to the origin. The bones of the land and the master of the covenant form the cornerstone. The Matriarch is the mentor and sovereign Maia.

The wind issues from the great peaks. The six rivers of the distant paradise flood the world, covering mortal hubris.

Grow. Grow. Grow. Grow. Grow.

Five plantings in a single season.

But thresh once ripe."

The stone circle began to glow, illuminating Luna's face from below. Her eyes snapped open, glowing a kaleidoscopic array of colors.

"Hearken!

You shall stand by my side, my power and yours sealed as one.

Here is my binding word. I am the one who shall embody all that is anointed as sacred in the empty world. I am the one who will lay bare all that is unjust below the sky.

You, descendant of my great mentor, clad in the purity of the cold stars, abide by my plea, and set foot in the impure world, O watchful guardian!"

The light built to an almost blinding intensity, Luna's hair blowing wildly behind her.

Luna watched as the light within the circle began to swirl upward, tightening around the center, forming itself into a shape. First legs, then a body, then the neck and head, swirling upward until the shape was even taller than her mentor.

Abruptly, the light collapsed around the figure, and the wind died. The clearing grew quiet, save for Luna's slightly heavier breathing.

The figure raised its head.

I am Markab. Upon your summoning, I have come forth. I ask of you, are you my charge?

Luna stood just a little straighter in response to the voice, despite the sudden rush of tiredness from using so much magic. "I am."

Then the seal is completed.

Luna felt a rush of magic up her arms, and looked down in time to see white light etching elaborate patterns onto her skin; delicate traceries with patterns that seemed to shift before her eyes. Sometimes they looked like runes, then she blinked and they looked like vines wrapped around bones. The same tingling spread throughout her body, covering every inch of skin with the twisting patterns, except for her left hand. That remained blank, even as the intricate tattoos of light pulsed softly on her skin.

Then the summoned being noticed her mentor, and huffed in surprise. Mother!

Luna's mentor smiled – as much as her species could smile, and nodded her head in greeting. It's been a while, Markab.

Markab's eyes flicked back over to Luna. You've taken her as a student, then?

"Yes. Can I depend on you and your brothers to protect her?

He tossed his head. Of course!

Then I leave her in your care when she leaves the protection of the Wild Places.

Markab nodded in acknowledgement, then returned his attention to Luna, who had simply been staring at him in barely disguised wonder. He lowered his head in a bow.

I am at your command, Little Princess.

Luna blushed a little, and nodded in return. The glowing tattoos faded away, followed shortly by Markab himself bursting into a thousand glimmering motes of light that faded into nothing.

The blonde Ravenclaw blinked. "Where did he-?"

I am still here, Little Princess. If you have need of me, I will take form again.

Maia's eyes glinted in what was probably amusement. Go home, Luna. It's getting late and – oh dear.

Luna's legs had chosen that moment to stop supporting her, and she folded to the ground, exhausted.

I had been wondering when that would happen.

The slight girl tried to pick herself up, but stopped at her mentor's next words.

Peace, Luna. I will ensure that you return home. Rest. There will be time enough for more lessons tomorrow.

The Ravenclaw nodded tiredly, allowing her mentor to lift her onto her back with magic.

"Mmm…Night...Maia…"

Good night, little one.

Well. I'm a horrible writer. Took me this long to get a chapter out. Plus, I'll be shipping out to college within the month (mine starts later than average). Hopefully, Baroness-chan won't kill me with the manuscripts of the stories for lack of output before then. It didn't help that Thalia was running around adopting plot bunnies that she found out in the woods, either. So, I'm very sorry. I know this chapter is subpar, and doesn't even feature Harry, but…I did need to introduce the characters. Next chapter will have a visit to Egypt almost definitely, a newspaper article, a prison break (I seem to be developing a pattern in my stories, no?), and possibly a snippet of Harry training, and maybe even Aunt Marge.

On the chapter: Yes, the alchemy is what you think it is. Not the Philosopher's Stone though. Bonus points to anyone who can pick up on where the statue Hermione created is from! And yes, yes, yes, Luna's summoning ritual was borrowed from the Nasuverse. Don't own it, either. Any guesses as to what her mentor and guardian are?

Reviews are to an author what morphine is to human beings: the more we get, the happier we get.

CracktheSkye, out!