Chapter Three: Consecration and Blessing

Thank you all for the great comments and encouragement! I am thrilled to pieces you all seem to be enjoying this fic.

Some housekeeping things: Please give three cheers for Stgulik, the beta/editor extraordinaire, who makes sure my sentences are legible, and who makes me laugh and think and inspired and everything that an author needs and wants.

Also, please be reminded that this is a fantasy Beltane Ritual. Some parts of the actual Pagan ritual are included in the story, and some parts are the product of my imagination. I apologise to any of my Pagan friends - I mean no disrespect with the changes and augmentations made herein.

Distractions are inevitable, but you can't allow them to detract from the plan. As with all magic, intent and focus are the keys to a successful ritual. Whether drawing the circle, the fire or the moon, if you let your concentration slip for one moment, not only will disaster be imminent, but you'll have a bloody great mess on your hands.

~Chapter Three: Consecration and Blessing - The Witchhiker's Guide to Beltane

~o0o~

Come join the dance, that doth entrance, and tread the circle round.

For 'tis our delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. ~Beltane Ritual

"Alright, class, you have about ten minutes to finish up. I require a small vial of your completed potion, then you'll need to clean up. I do not expect to see unused sludge floating around anyone's cauldron after you leave, or there will be detention with Professor Snape. Not an experience anyone should wish to repeat, eh, Mr. Walters?"

"No, Professor Granger," the young man muttered, eyes focused on his cauldron.

Hermione smiled inwardly. Jaime Walters, a bright and handsome little fifth-year Slytherin, had a way with the young witches and a penchant for thinking himself above the rules. He reminded Hermione absurdly of Draco Malfoy, who was currently living in France with a Quidditch star named Martin.

After repeat offences of finding Jaime's potions leavings congealing in a supposedly-cleaned cauldron, Hermione sought out Snape and asked her illustrious predecessor his advice. "Ah, makes me long for the good old days," he'd drawled, giving her his patented Snape sneer. "I am, of course, being facetious." He gave her an imperious look of calculation. "Send him to me, Granger. I'll make sure your cauldrons are squeaky clean from now on."

Hermione never asked, and Jaime Walters never confided the nature of his detention. However, he returned to her class the following day looking decidedly green around the gills, and Hermione could have eaten out of his cauldron ever since.

Once the Hogwarts tomtoms had spread the word that crossing Professor Granger earned detention with their dreaded DADA teacher, Hermione rarely had any problems. She sent Snape a nice bottle of firewhisky for Christmas as a thank-you for his assistance.

As the students filed out of her last class of the day, Hermione allowed herself yet again to brood over the enigma that was Severus Snape. To be fair, she also gave herself equal time in questioning her attraction to him. During her sixth year, when he was their DADA professor, she'd sort of fancied him. A bit.

Well, he was different from any man, wizard or Muggle, she had ever known. And he had exhibited an aura of aloof, controlled menace that admittedly troubled and intrigued her. And there were times when he would cut his black eyes over her that made her wonder what would it be like to ...

But those were the idle fantasies of a seventeen-year-old girl for her dark, mysterious professor. In other words, hardly potential boyfriend fodder. And Harry had hated him so much during that time...it was difficult to define her own feelings for a man who was so vehemently despised by her best friends. She wasn't chummy enough with her own roommates to even broach the subject. Somewhat unsurprisingly, the Slytherin girls found him dead fancy-able.

More than once she'd overheard them speculating about him, their eyes darting over his passing figure with cool, open regard. They discussed everything from the size of his manhood to his sexual proclivities, like he was a bit of a catch. She had certainly never thought of him that way, but then again, he had treated her, Ron and Harry like Blast-ended Skrewt spurt for the better part of seven years.

The horrors of the war had turned everything she'd ever thought about him on a sixpence, and the messy aftermath had only served to confuse her even more. It had taken years of absence from Hogwarts to enable her to sort out her feelings, and they changed yet again when she returned to take up his old Potions position. Imagine her surprise to find not the witheringly unpleasant Professor of her school years, but a quiet, solemn man, vilified by the press, but by and large respected and liked by his colleagues.

Yes, he could still cut the tongue out of a dunderhead at twenty paces, and he could be irascible and ill tempered and occasionally unkempt and hungover, but he wasn't a monster. He could be very funny, and when in the proper mood, almost courtly. He had stopped being an enigma; he was just a man, if a wizard like Severus Snape could ever qualify as just a man. Their frequent conversations had been enjoyable and stimulating, and Hermione longed to spend more time with him. He was the only man who'd ever gave her an intellectual run for her money, but he also seemed to see her more than just a brain box. Sometimes, like the night the students returned to Hogwarts, they actually had moments of fun, as if he might possibly like her.

But he was a man whose heart belonged to another. After the war, Harry had confided that their professor had been in love with his mum, and still carried an undying love for her. It was the deciding factor of his duty to protect Harry and the defining moment of his trial after the war. Snape's love for Lily Evans Potter had transcended Tom Riddle's reign of terror, his death and rebirth, and even Lily's murder. According to Harry's testimony, Severus Snape loved Lily, and always would.

Sometimes, Hermione hated Lily Evans, and felt awful about it. She had no right to. Lily was, by all accounts, beautiful and kind and accomplished. Men fell out of the sky to declare their love for her. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had adored her. Even old Professor Slughorn used to wax lyrical over her in a way usually reserved for who could provide him with the best seats at the World Quidditch Cup or his favourite sugared pineapple in bulk. Everyone was in agreement: Lily was perfect - the bitch.

So Hermione had reconciled herself. If Snape was incapable of finding another witch worthy of his love, she could at least become his friend. Then something had happened. Well, a series of somethings had happened.

First, Ron had started his twice-yearly let's-get-married-and-have-lots-of-sex-and-babies campaign, even though he was screwing his way through every witch with a Season Ticket to the Chudley Cannons. That had worn on her nerves to the point where she cringed if she saw his old owl Pig fluttering her way.

Then she heard a little tidbit from her students that, following the Jaime Walter's incident, Snape had informed their shared students that should they disrupt Professor Granger's classes and be so foolish as to earn a detention from her, they would answer personally to him. Professor Snape, it seemed, was quite protective of Professor Granger. But Hermione couldn't decide if it was because he cared, or because he was gloating over the fact she couldn't maintain her own discipline.

Then, last Halloween, she had been sitting at the Feast, feeling rather alone and sorry for herself. Moodily, her eyes had drifted over to opposite end of the Head table, when Snape was sitting, equally alone. When she cast a moping glance over at him, he was looking at her with eyes that were large and liquid and ... and...

Smoldering. He was looking at her. Sloe-eyed. Burning with a man's fire. For a woman. Oh, Merlin's knobblies. On the receiving end of that intense, fiery glare, Hermione felt her entire body flush hot, glazed in the kiln of that incendiary stare. It was possessive and bold and not a little untamed, and no one, no one, had ever looked at her with such heavy, heated...

Then Snape realised she was staring back. He blinked, calmly rose to his feet and stalked away. She had sat there, breathing hard, trying to assimilate what had just happened. Snape had scorched her to cinders with one look.

She had scuttled back to her quarters that night as soon as she could make her excuses. She dashed into her bedroom, warding the door within an inch of its life, and barely had time to find her vibrator. In her hastily-sketched fantasy, instead of racing away, he had held her gaze and approached her. Without a word, he had taken her hand and they had raced to her classroom, where he had laid her down on the desk she had sat at when he taught Potions and rogered her into insensibility, consuming her in the beautiful blaze of those dark, overpowering eyes.

She came with his name on her parched lips. Again and again. She could barely look at him throughout November without blushing. And it wasn't enough that she had spent Halloween diddling her hair purple over him... she'd spent the rest of the year, including the Christmas holiday, doing it as well. It became her go-to fantasy, and she got herself off on it more than any she'd ever spun before. And each time afterward, when her pounding heartbeat finally slowed down to normal, she would look around her sterile little Hogwarts bedroom, and fight the urge to cry.

He might cast the occasional ocular Incendio her way, but his heart belonged to another. Always.

How was she supposed to compete with a dead woman?

A knock on her door jarred her out of her morose thoughts. "Enter!" she called. Minerva poked her head into the classroom. Hermione stood. "Hello, Professor McGonagall. Please come in."

"Thank you, my dear," the headmistress said with a smile, and followed Hermione into the small room off the Potions classroom that doubled as her study. "How are your classes going this first week back?"

"Well enough, Headmistress. You know how it is," Hermione answered, setting her kettle to boil. "And what brings you down to the dungeons on this lovely afternoon?"

Blithely, Minerva replied, "Oh, just seeing how you're coming along with preparations for the upcoming festivities." She nodded approvingly at the copy of The Witchhiker's Guide to Beltane, sitting on the corner of Hermione's desk. Lying beside the book was a bit of parchment with her notes. From where both women sat, they were easily readable: Let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence, within you. And before the rite is ended, if it is appropriate, become one with your working partner, physically as well as spiritually. Hermione had circled the last sentence several times.

With a blush as red as the ink used to encircle the quote, she hastily laid her third-year class' Potions quiz on top of the parchment. Minerva looked up and smiled at Hermione. "I see you've gotten stuck in on the material. I was hoping we could perform the Consecration and Blessing ceremony this evening. That way, you can start rehearsals in the Room of Requirement. It's all ready, you know."

Hermione eyed the tower of papers guiltily. "Actually, I attempted to talk to Professor Snape this morning before breakfast. I had hoped we could agree on a time for the C&B Ceremony for this evening, but..." She grimaced. "Let's just say he threatened to turn my schedule and notes into a pile of ash."

Minerva's eyes grew wide, then she laughed. "Och, you don't mean you tried to get anything coherent out of Severus before he had his morning coffee? I'm surprised he didn't turn you into ash."

Hermione smiled ruefully. "Well, I'm not so naive as to think he didn't consider it." She winked. "But I was always pretty good at dodging hexes. And his aim is awful without caffeine."

The two witches laughed together, then Minerva grew pensive. "I had hoped after the war that life would be kinder to Severus." Her eyes grew shuttered. "He certainly didn't receive much in the way of kindness before. We all treated him so abominably, Hermione. You weren't here. You have no idea what that boy went through." She shook her head, her eyes dark with remorse. "He deserves better than this, Hermione. He deserves to be appreciated."

"I appreciate him," Hermione answered softly, her eyes locked on the stack of parchment. She ventured a look at her mentor. "I just want to help."

Minerva brightened. "Of course you do, child! That's why you and he are perfect as our High Priest and Priestess! You'll be brilliant, I know you will. And as you said, we're there to educate the rest of the country. Think of it as a giant classroom, and you and Severus will be giving the lecture of your lives!"

"I think that's the problem, Minerva," Hermione answered. She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. "He's so worried that his presence will be disruptive." She took a deep breath, and spoke her true thoughts. "I have to question the fairness of coercing him to do something that could set him up for humiliation."

The headmistress pursed her lips. "Hermione, no one wants that to happen, least of all me. But I keep thinking of the positive outcome this can be, if performed correctly. You and I both know that Severus is a very powerful, charismatic wizard. I think with the proper motivation, he could simply steal the show!"

Hermione couldn't help but smile. "I agree, he is very... charismatic," she said, thinking of the man who had blistered her from across a crowded room with a single look. "But his heart isn't exactly in it. I think that will come across as someone who really doesn't want to be part of the rituals, and that will compromise the integrity of the entire ceremony."

Minerva regarded her with something approaching guile. "You're right, of course, Hermione. He can dig his heels in with the best of them. But he's not above the right kind of motivation, now is he?"

Hermione felt her face grow warm. "Well, I..."

"Inspire him, girl! Make him remember what life is worth living for!"

"Minerva!" Hermione felt as if someone had dumped a cauldron full of Freezing Draught over her head. "I...I, well, I don't deny I find him intriguing, but-"

"Hermione, honestly! If I were forty years younger, you'd have competition, I'll promise you! Severus Snape is a wizard worth fighting for, and a witch like yourself needs a cause to fight for. Make him your cause."

Hermione closed her eyes. "It's complicated, Professor."

"Why?"

She looked away. "You know why. Everyone does."

"Humour me. I've apparently forgotten."

Hermione sighed. "Lily Potter."

To Hermione's surprise, the headmistress laughed. "You don't believe all that nonsense about Lily and Severus, do you? Dear, I was there. Childhood sweethearts do not an eternal flame make, Hermione. That's the hopeless romantic in you talking."

"But Harry told me about the memories-"

"Have you ever asked Severus about them?"

Mortified, Hermione cried, "No! And please don't say anything to him, Minerva!"

The headmistress stood and continued briskly, "Alright, I won't. Get a schedule pinned down with Severus today. No excuses. And for Circe's sweet sucking sake, talk to him! You two are going to be spending time alone in the Room of Requirement, rehearsing your parts. Get to know one another. That's an order." She locked her gimlet eye on Hermione. "Now, I'll hear no more of this nonsense. Tell him I have commanded you both to be in my office this evening at eight o'clock for the Consecration and Blessing. Understood?"

Resigned, Hermione meekly nodded. "Yes, Headmistress."

"Good. I'll see you then."

Minerva made her way back toward the Great Hall. She thought of Severus and Hermione; two fiercely intelligent, powerfully magical, totally clueless people. It would take a blind person not to see they were made for one another, but after all, love was blind, as they said.

Lily Potter. Gods, what silliness Severus had wrought with those memories. Minerva sighed inwardly. True, the girl had hurt him, but he'd been a complete arse...and at fifteen, who has any common sense anyway?

Wizards, she thought. Trust them to do something absolutely stupid when they think they're going to die. And equally stupid of Hermione to think Severus wasn't interested in her.

Minerva had seen the looks he'd given Hermione when he thought no one was watching. The boy was half in love with her already; all he needed was a little encouragement. Hogwarts' headmistress straightened the front of her tartan robe and headed for the stairs, a gleam in her eye. As Filius was fond of saying, Ignorance was forgivable. Stupidity was not.

It was up to her to make sure those two didn't do something stupid, like miss this opportunity to fall in love.

Severus could tell by the knock on his door that it was Hermione, and he straightened up from the essay he was murdering and released the lock with a careless wave of his hand. She ducked in with wave of greeting. "Mind if I come in?"

He nodded, and looked pointedly at the parchment before him. "If you've come to save this tragedy in three acts, otherwise known as Miss Remelak's essay on the Unforgivables, you're too late, Granger."

"That riveting, huh?" she smiled as she approached him, and Severus forced his eyes away from her lovely form back to the parchment at hand. She leaned over, giving him a panoramic view down her Muggle jumper to her enticing cleavage, and wrinkled her nose. "Ouch. It looks like the victim of a Sectumsempra."

"Very amusing, Professor. Have you come to kibitz or did you actually have a reason for interrupting my free hour?"

He lowered his head back to the parchment, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her resolutely plant her hands on her hips. Something in her stance had a worrying finality to it, and he thought he might have been a tad too terse. He dropped his quill, and rocked back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. "My apologies, Professor Granger. Hermione. I'm not having a very good day."

Her honey-colored eyes grew warm with concern. "I'm sorry to hear that, Severus. Is there anything I can do to help?"

He favoured her with a rueful glance. "Can you convince Minerva to pull me off this High Priest nonsense? That would be lovely for a start."

She pulled up a nearby chair and propped her elbows upon his desk. "Fat chance. She's just been to my room to do the pep talk. I'm afraid you and I are the starting two. We're to meet in her study tonight at eight for the C&B, like it or not."

He sighed harshly. "I don't want to do this. I don't want to have to face Wizarding Britain as their 'High Priest', just to be pelted with Merlin knows what during the purification ceremony."

Hermione's face was suffused with sympathy. "Severus, that isn't going to happen! You're the perfect wizard for this."

"The perfect wizard to make a complete arse out of himself, you mean."

"That's most certainly not what I mean and you know it," she shot back, her silky brows rushing together. "Look, Snape, are you ashamed to be seen with me?"

Severus blinked, and stared at Hermione in puzzled silence. "Wha...why would I...," He pursed his lips. "Granger, why would I be ashamed to be seen with you?"

She gave him a haughty look. "Well, you just keep moaning on how you don't want to be the High Priest and dread the entire thing and how awful it's going to be, and I just can't help but wonder if you'd rather have another High Priestess with you."

He frowned at her, wondering if this was some clumsy Gryffindor attempt to back-foot him with reverse psychological rubbish. "Don't be daft, Granger," he said, uneasily, feeling back-footed anyway. "You sound positively narcissistic. I don't want to do it because the Wizarding public would love to see me looking like a right zoom, trying to ingratiate myself back into society."

Hermione slumped slightly, as if relieved. Then she shook her head. "Severus, how on earth would you look a zoom? As the High Priest, you're in charge of the bloody ceremony... you will be splendid! And why do you really care? If Wizarding Britain is so moronic that they only thing they choose to believe about you is what Rita Skeeter has written, they don't deserve your regard."

"That's easy to say when you're not in danger of losing it," he said, and hated the puling, whining sentiment of it. She was right, of course. "It's not that I want their regard, truly. But Merlin, I'm so tired of their contempt. I'm not like your friends Potter and Weasley. I don't relish the fame and attention."

"That's not fair. They don't relish the attention. Well, maybe Ron does, but that's beside the point!" she protested. "You're doing the very thing you loathe the public to do." She straightened. "You chose to believe the worst because it fits your presumptions. Harry hates the attention and the spotlight, and just wants to live a quiet, normal life with Ginny and the boys. I'm not stringing Ron Weasley along by dating him, then refusing to marry him. Ron and I haven't dated since I first moved to France to teach at Beauxbatons, and we never will. I don't want him. And you, Professor, you," she shook her head. "You just want to be thought of as the wizard you are, not the villain Rita's book has painted you."

She leaned down, and to Severus' surprise, she lifted the edge of his dark hair and tucked it gently behind his ear. "We are going to be part of something beautiful, and special. Who knows? It may change our lives forever. In any case, we're making history again, and this time we're calling the shots. Let's prove the naysayers wrong." He looked up at her impish smile. "C'mon, Severus. What could be more fun than making Rita Skeeter look like a muppet while getting relaxed and legless, hmm?"

She patted his shoulder, and headed for the door. "I'm going to be at Minerva's study at eight o'clock to be consecrated and blessed as the High Priestess of the Hogwarts Coven. I really, really hope you'll be my High Priest." She turned back to him with a grin. "I dare you."

With that, she was gone, leaving behind the lightest mist of her perfume and the ghost of her smile, which floated, Cheshire cat-like, in his memory. Well that, and the subtle emphasis she'd placed on the word 'him'. I don't want him.

Then who did she want?

Hermione tried to hide her relief and pleasure as she turned the corner and saw Severus, his scowl firmly in place, waiting for her at the foot of the stairs leading to the Headmistress' office.

"Professor Snape," she said solemnly.

"Professor Granger," he replied, his voice sonorous and resigned.

"Shall we proceed?" she said, nodding toward the stairs.

"If we must," he answered with a ragged sigh. He indicated for her to go first, and as she walked past him, he placed a hand on her shoulder. When she looked up into his troubled eyes, her heart ached. He looked so defeated. "Don't make me regret this," he said quietly.

"You won't. I promise." She nodded her head firmly, wishing her conviction was as strong as her bravado.

"Hermione, Severus, you're here. Excellent!" Minerva ushered them in, smiling. "You're just in time for refreshments. Now, have you met Magister Cornelius Honeyclutch?"

Hermione saw an elderly wizard bounding toward Severus with the energy and enthusiasm of a golden retriever. He must have been at least one hundred years old, and had the merry eyes of a particularly kind Father Christmas. "Oh, Severus and I are old friends," the elderly wizard said, his voice sounding warm and grandfatherly. "That is, I feel like I know him from our correspondences. How nice to finally meet you, Professor."

To Hermione's surprise, Severus gave the older wizard a smile as they shook hands. "The pleasure is mine, Magister. I didn't realise you'd be here for the Consecration."

"I'm performin' it, my friend! I don't miss any Beltane service if I can help it! Witnessin' the Consecration and Blessin' of a High Priest and Priestess is one of the greatest privileges...and a jolly nice perk of being an expert in the field of ritualism." He winked at Severus, then turned his attention to Hermione. In spite of his advanced age and portly stature, he took her hand with a gallant bow.

"My dear Miss Granger! I've read of your great deeds and thrilled to tales of your bravery and cleverness. And now I bow to your loveliness." He looked up from his bow with unabashed adoration. "To be in the presence of such a powerful and beautiful witch takes my breath away! How do you keep from kneelin' at her feet each time she passes, friend Severus?"

Terrified of what Severus might actually say in response, Hermione hastily replied, "Magister Honeyclutch, it's such a pleasure to meet you at last! I'm planning on attending your lectures while you're here. I've watched several of your MAT talks on the WWW."

Minerva and Severus both looked confused. "It's a series of lectures," Hermione explained. "Magical, Academic, Tradition. Speakers from all over the world give them online. I've seen loads of them." She turned to the old wizard, who was clearly delighted. "I'd love to sit down and have a nice chat with you on your correlations between Ritualism and Arithmancy."

"Oh, I'm sure you would," Severus drawled under his breath.

Hermione gave him what she hoped was 'play nice' look, then turned back to the Magister with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. That's Professor Snape's way of letting me know I'm talking too much."

Magister Honeyclutch chortled. "Nonsense, my dear. We'll find a bit of time this week and have a lovely chat." He patted her hand and looked around. "Now, before we begin, does anyone have any questions?"

"Yes," Severus replied, sourly. "How can I get out of this?"

"Severus!"

"It's alright, Minerva," Honeyclutch said, his eyes full of concern. He stepped up to Severus. He was much shorter than the younger wizard, and had to peer up into Severus' downcast face. His voice was both sweet and sad, like a wistful little tune. "My friend, in my lifetime I have officiated at approximately five hundred and thirty four Beltane rituals. I have been the High Priest at two hundred and twelve.

"I tell you this to assure you of my knowledge and experience of the significance of both the ritual and the role. And I'll tell you for free, my dear friend," he said, his smile as caring and compassionate as his soft hazel eyes. "You are the perfect embodiment of the High Priest. A wizard who has seen both the light and the dark, and has given his all to protect those he loves. It is enough to try," he added, as Severus tried to interrupt. "It was enough that you tried.

"And I can state with a full and light heart, my friend Severus: I'd rather have you presidin' over this ritual as its High Priest than any other wizard in the world."

Magister Honeyclutch drew himself up to his full height, and in a voice full of power and dignity, he pronounced, "You are everything Beltane stands for, Severus Snape."

The moments seemed to spin out into a small eternity while the four of them stood in the Headmistress' study. Then Severus turned to Hermione and held out his hand.

"Kneel with me, Hermione. Let's do this before I come to my senses."

Hermione could think of only one thing that could get her on her knees faster for Severus Snape. She took his hand, and together they knelt before Minerva. She drew a rune in the air, and Magister Honeyclutch placed his hands on Severus and Hermione's bowed heads.

His voice rolled over them as he intoned, "I conjure thee, o gods of the ancients. Make within these your servants a meeting place of love and joy and truth for you to abide with us. Take as your countenances and acolytes this Severus and this Hermione. They will be our models of your love, our beacons of your joy, our teachers of your truth, our shields and protectors against all wickedness and evil.

"What is consecrated today in the names of Cernunnos and Aradia cannot be defiled. So mote it be."

A blast of shock rocked Hermione back on her heels. It felt as if Magister Honeyclutch had thrown a bucket of icy water in her face. She gasped, a deep, alarmed breath that left her heart pounding. Adrenaline flooded her body so quickly her skin ached with it, and she felt Severus' hand clamp down on hers painfully.

"What in Merlin's name..." she choked, and opened her eyes. She was no longer in the Headmistress' office; she was standing by a still lake; the huge, bloated moon overhead was a smooth disk of beaten silver, shining on the mirror-like surface. There was a man standing on the other side of the lake. He was pale and beautiful, wearing a crown of deer antlers and verdent green leaves, and he beckoned to her. He opened his mouth to speak, and she instinctively knew his voice would be the most beautiful sound she had ever heard...

"Hermione."

Minerva's voice was calm, but it still jolted Hermione back into the room. She was tingling all over; strong magic was flowing over her skin, giving off little sparks of colour all over her body. She turned to Severus and her words died in her throat, even as she heard Minerva and Honeyclutch's cries of surprise.

Severus' dark hair gleamed blue-black; his skin had the softest flush. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing deeply, slowly, peacefully. But that wasn't what made them gasp.

He was glowing. A corona of light softly shimmered around him, bathing him in a pearly radiance that was so beautiful Hermione felt tears fill her eyes. Then, to her disappointment, the light faded, and the room felt stark and cold in its absence.

Slowly he opened his eyes and stared at Hermione blankly. "What happened?" he demanded, helping Hermione to her feet. Minerva and the Magister were smiling. "How long were we gone?"

Magister Honeyclutch took their hands. There was reverence and humility in his voice. "You and Hermione didn't go anywhere. What you saw was the god and goddess visitin' you. Minerva and I administered the Consecration; only the god and the goddess can bestow their Blessin'. It doesn't always happen, but by Merlin it did just now! You have literally been touched by the god Cernunnos. Do you not feel it, Severus? Do you not see?"

Severus looked from one to the other. Hermione had never seen him look so unsure of anything. "Are you alright, Severus?" she asked softly.

To her surprise, he relaxed. "I'm... I'm well, thank you, Hermione." He nodded to Minerva, then shook the Magister's hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to the kitchens. I'm suddenly ravenous."

He made to leave, then halted, and turned back to Hermione. "Tomorrow night, we will begin rehearsals." He spun around, and was gone. The swift tread of his footsteps on the stairs faded, and Hermione turned to Minerva, who looked at gobsmacked as she felt. The Magister, on the other hand, looked not one whit surprised.

It was only later that Hermione realised that Severus had commanded her to show up for a rehearsal he had all but refused to attend not an hour before. It also occurred to her that she ought to feel a bit irritated about it, but she just couldn't make herself.

It was much later in the evening when Hermione realised that, between kneeling in Minerva's office and Severus informing her about the rehearsal, she had no clear memory of what had actually transpired. Even stranger still, she didn't really care.