Chapter Five: Dowsing

Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments! You make me so happy. Next, a little Coven love...

The Coven is a strong, binding community, whose role is multi-faceted...mentorship, support, protection, education. Never forget that the power of the Coven is greater than the sum of its members. It truly encompasses the many moods and agendas of the goddess, as any wizard who's stuck in a Coven full of randy witches can attest. Not that I'm complaining, mind.

~ Chapter Five: The Role of the Coven...The Witchhiker's Guide to Beltane

~o0o~

"Whenever you have need of anything, then shall ye assemble in some secret place ...

There shall ye assemble, ye who are fain to learn all wizardry, yet have not won its deepest secrets; to these will I teach things that are yet unknown." ~Beltane Ritual

"What I want to kn-know," hiccoughed Rolanda Hooch, "is what is the significance of men being of 'service to the goddess'? I mean, 'Service to the Goddess' is the realm of the Divine ...hic...Feminine! Or, erm, something like that," she finished with a belch.

"Heavens, Rolly, how much of that wine have you drunk?" Pomona Sprout asked, sounding every bit as squiffy as her colleague.

Madam Hooch fixed her with a look of studied determination, the likes of which are only found on the faces of the very intelligent or the highly pissed. "Less than you, old thing," she slurred.

"I think it's the heat," giggled Hermione, taking another sip of the heady, golden elf-made wine. "Perhaps the steam makes the alcohol go to your head."

There were murmurs of consideration all around. All of the female staff members were sitting around in what appeared to be Knappogue Castle's famous magical underground hot springs, up to their bosoms in bubbly hot water that smelled sharp and metallic, like copper and iron. In Ireland, the springs gushed up from an artesian system deep within the castle, almost at boiling point, then cooled to a bearable temperature in the naturally-formed pools dotted around the wellspring.

Hundreds of miles away, on the fourth floor of Hogwarts, they could have been easily forgiven for thinking Minerva had Portkeyed them all to Knappogue while they were busy getting pissed. It was worth being there to see the Transfiguration and Charms work alone. Hermione knew herself to be a dab hand at both, but she honestly had no idea how Filius and Minerva had done it.

It was inspiring stuff, which, of course, was why she'd felt compelled to launch into a blazingly deep discussion of the male and female roles in Pagan ritualism, while the rest of the party was merely content to enjoy the heat and the booze.

"I believe you're missing the point, Madam Hooch. It's the role of men to be men in their inherent sacredness, and women to be women in their inherent divinity."

Septima, Rolanda, Poppy, Pomona and Sybill all looked at her blankly, but Hermione was enough into her cups to blunder on. She'd never allowed Harry and Ron's oblivious incomprehension of her theories to stop her when she was on a roll...she saw no reason to be deterred now.

"I'll be the first to admit that I think men are afraid to face the stigmatised image of the god and embrace their own sacredness. It is this failing that needs addressing with this ritual," she said, emphasising her words with her sloshing wine glass.

The five witches continued to stare at Hermione as if they'd been Petrified, until Rolly Hooch said, "My dear, just how long has it been since you last got laid?"

The room erupted with laughter. "Why, that's just... I mean I.... for Merlin's sake, ladies!" Hermione sputtered, but even as her indignant embarrassment shocked her almost sober, she began to laugh. "What a horrid bunch of old crones you are!"

Minerva, who had been lying on the massage table while one of Knappogue's borrowed masseuses pummeled her into submission, pushed herself into a sitting position. "Thank you, Mathers. I've arranged some refreshments down the hall, if you're hungry." The masseuse bowed and took her leave. The headmistress moved to sit beside the pool.

"Ladies, stop teasing Hermione," she chided. "She's not been around you long enough to understand your questionable sense of humour. It's times like these when I'm not sure I have, either."

There were a few contrite murmurs, and Hermione waved them away, announcing, "Thank you, Headmistress!" with exaggerated dignity. She added, "And if you lot think you can live vicariously through me, you'll be sadly mistaken! Honestly, you're worse than Severus." At the series of raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "Up until the beginning of term, he was still under the misapprehension I was Hogwarts' resident femme fatale."

"We all were, and I for one think you should be," Rolanda insisted, as the laughter died down. "A young witch your age has no business thinking about all that serious rubbish. You should be out working your way through all those eligible British wizards. Why, when I was your age..."

"Oh Rolly, please," Pomona said in a pained voice. "No one wants to hear about your exploits. It's not for nothing that Quidditch players used to wear scarves that read, 'Save a broom, Ride a Hooch'."

Hermione and the others guffawed, as Madame Hooch, who looked far from embarrassed, actually took a bow. As they quieted, Hermione sighed tiredly. "You're probably right. I've been kidding myself. Even after Severus..." she stopped herself, but sadly not in time. Her heart fell to her abdomen with a thud, and the witches zeroed in on her blunder like sharks to blood in the water.

"Now, this is more like it!" Pomona Sprout declared gleefully, as she refilled Hermione's glass. "What's Severus doing that's not helping? Come on," she cajoled with a smile. "Tell Aunty Pomona your troubles."

"There's nothing to tell, actually. Which is sort of the problem. Oh, sod it; I'm too drunk," Hermione said, giving in. She was not, in fact, that drunk. Her almost-declaration of her sexual frustration had gone a long way toward sobering her up. But as she looked around the room of women, she saw the one thing she'd never really had: female friends.

Most of her school life she'd hung around with the boys, and after that, she'd been too caught up in schoolwork and the occasional date. Oh, she'd had roommates, but they had always treated her like a gooseberry because she didn't sit around practicing makeup charms in her spare time. Molly and Ginny Weasley almost didn't count as well; they were too motherly and close to Harry. She didn't feel comfortable confiding in them about her love life, especially not with Ron ducking in every six months to pop the question.

Looking around at the gaggle of witches marinating in the hot water with her, Hermione realised they were exactly what she needed. They were her coven, her confidents. They might even be prepared to offer intelligent solutions and suggestions. And if not, at least they'd commiserate and get drunk with her.

"I think I've fallen for Severus," she said. The words fell from her mouth before she could stop them. Now that it was out in the open, not festering away in her heart, she felt both horrified and relieved.

"And what's wrong with that?" Poppy Pomfrey asked, with a motherly smile.

"Because he's not interested in catching me." Her eyes filled with alcohol-flavoured tears, and she wailed, "I'm doomed to live the rest of my life loving a man who can't love me back, aren't I?"

There was a general splash as the woman moved closer to comfort her. "Why on earth wouldn't he love you back, dear?" Poppy said, putting her arm around Hermione. "He should count himself lucky to have the affections of a witch like you."

The others nodded in agreement. Hermione shook her head sadly. "I would love to try and prove that to him, but he'll never be able to care for me."

Minerva looked concerned, but sounded unsympathetic. "Now, what you on about? We were having a lovely time getting pleasantly pissed, and you've only gone and spoiled the mood over nothing!"

Hermione sighed miserably, "I'm sorry, Headmistress, really I am. But it isn't exactly nothing..."

"Didn't I tell you to speak to Severus?"

"I couldn't..."

"Speak about what?" Pomona demanded, then a look of understanding appeared on her face. She threw up her large hands, splashing her colleagues. "You're not going on about that Lily Evans nonsense, are you?"

To Hermione's astonishment, the words were met with a chorus of sighs, curses and oaths.

"Merlin's bollocks, not that again."

"I thought all that crap was over."

"Honestly, I think he plays the sympathy card too often."

"So sick of hearing that pish."

"Wait, wait," Hermione interrupted, holding up her hands for silence. "What are you all talking about? Lily Evans Potter was the love of Severus' life. I know all about it." The ensuing silence told her that apparently, she did not. "What?" she said, when the blank stares became too much to withstand. Inside her heart was this impish little brat, calling for hope. "If you all know something I don't, I really, really wish you'd spit it out."

"I don't know," Minerva said, looking at the others with a sly gleam in her eye. "It doesn't seem right, talking about Severus behind his back like this."

Hermione floundered in the pool, trying to scramble onto her feet, "Oh, please! In approximately one hour I've got to meet him in the RoR so we can perform the Purification Rite. He's going to be starkers, and I have to bathe him. Give me something to hope for while I'm washing his todger."

Poppy pounded Hooch on the back to help her stop choking, and there was a plopping sound as Sybil's wine glass fell from her fingers into the pool. Rolling her eyes, Minerva cried, "Circe's girdle! It's not like you've never seen one, much less heard about it!" She cleared the mess and eased into the water, hissing as her skin made contact with the heat. "All right! When you put it thus, I suppose it's considered a necessity."

Hermione waited for her to settle in, and with a sudden jolt to her wine-soaked brain, she was reminded that Minerva was completely naked, that they all were completely naked, and she hadn't thought a thing about it in hours. Perhaps this dancing skyclad around the fire business wouldn't be so bad if she got a little tight beforehand.

Minerva paused, and took a drink. "Nice wine." she remarked, licking her lips approvingly. "Now, I'm telling you what I know, and you girls can corroborate as well as you can.

"Yes, Severus carried a torch for Lily Evans all through school. They'd met before Hogwarts, you see. He'd had a terrible home life, poor lad. When he first came to Hogwarts, he was like a little wee animal, neglected and feral."

"He was a right mess. Desperate to fit in somewhere, but angry and scared uncomfortable in his own skin. And yet, he was tender-hearted all the same," Pomona added with a nod.

Minerva gazed into the distance, her eyes clouding with the memory. "They both had tempers, and Lily pushed him hard...because she could. She was a lovely girl, but vain, and proud. She used to drag him around like a rag doll that first year, until she got in with the Gryffindor crowd. By then, she was popular, you see, and it went to her head. She forgot the golden rule; you might make new friends, but you don't stop caring about your old friends."

"Well, of course he cultivated relationships in Slytherin. He had to in order to survive, but he chose unwisely. He didn't realise just how unwisely until later, of course," Hooch chimed in.

"But those Marauders of Minerva's decided he was a handy target. They bullied him, no doubt. Severus was a scrapper, though; gave as good as he got. The fights those boys got into...over her!" Madame Pomfrey declared, with a shake of her head. "Blazing rows. And most of the time, Lily would just sit back and let it happen."

She looked at Hermione sadly. "If you asked me, she's the one that got those Marauders to gang up on him. She was a teen aged girl, and having all those boys fighting over fed her ego in a terrible way. Then she took up with James, and Severus reacted pretty much the way one would have expected. He lashed out, calling her that awful name, and you know the rest. He became a Death Eater, and I truly believe it was because he just wanted to belong to something, to someone who saw him as a person of value."

"Don't we all, though? I've said it before, and I'll say it again: we should have paid better attention to the situation. Hogwarts has a lot to answer for in that regard," Pomona declared. "We should have protected our Slytherins more from the lure of You-Know-Who. We should have known Horace wouldn't fight his corner, at least," she added with vehemence, and Hermione felt a greater kinship at Hogwarts' Herbology Professor. There was a general murmur of agreement, and not a few looks of remorse were shared around the room.

"So, sad," Sybil Trelawney cut in, with a sniff. "When I think of what one misheard prophecy can do. All of this set in motion because he..." Her face crumpled, and Minerva gave Hermione another reproachful look, as if she were to blame.

"Don't you see, Hermione? Lily's death nearly destroyed Severus, but it became his salvation as well."

Hermione's heart felt as if it would break in two and spill into the pool. "I know. I heard what he told Professor Dumbledore: 'Always'." Her eyes filled. "That's why it hurts, knowing I can't compete with her memory."

Minerva flicked water in her face, hard. "I'm not finished, so kindly postpone your descent into the deep abyss of love for a few more minutes, for Merlin's sake! What I'm trying to say, Hermione, is that Lily was no saint, and neither does Severus think so. Now, I've had it from the horse's mouth. When Severus was recuperating in St. Mungo's after the war, he said, no matter how he tried, he just couldn't make himself think of Lily anymore as the love of his life. He tried, and all he could feel was the friendship they'd had as children.

"It hurt to lose a part of him he'd carried around for so long, but it also freed him. He'd done all Albus had demanded of him; he'd kept Harry safe. He helped defeat You-Know-Who...sorry, force of habit...Tom Riddle. Now that his pledge had been fulfilled, he could let her go. She could return to a proper place in his heart. And that's what happened."

Minerva reached out, and gently wiped Hermione's face, and it was then she realised that tears were streaming down her cheeks into the water. As gently as Hermione had ever heard the Scotswoman speak, she added, "Now, I think the world of Severus. After all he went through, that terrible year when he almost died without a friend to call his own..."

She sighed. "He's thin-skinned as a four-year-old girl, and he's as touchy as a vain old batchelor twice his age, but most of all, he's scared. But I've caught him looking at you, and I'll tell you this: if a wizard looked at me that way, I wouldn't be sitting here gossiping with a bunch of old hags and feeling sorry for myself. I'd be getting to that Room of Requirement, and soaping up his willy!"

"MINERVA!" Shouts of raucous laughter echoed off the walls.

"But what are they doing in there?" she whispered.

Filch shrugged. "What they do every time they get together. They gossip, and get drunk and talk about sex," he added with a leering wink. Rita's skin crawled.

The door opened, and an Amazon of a woman in a long white robe exited the room and headed toward the alcove where Rita and Filch were hiding. "Who's that?" Rita whispered, as the tall woman disappeared down the hall.

Filch made a strange face. "One of them masseuses they seconded from Knappogue Castle. Strange bunch. Keep to themselves, mostly."

"Ooh," Rita answered, her mind whirling. "Maybe I can have a little chat..."

"Don't bother."

She shot him a hard look. "Why not?"

Grumpily, he answered, "She's from one of them funny Druidic orders, in't she? She don't speak at all, to anyone. Vow of silence, the headmistress calls it."

Rita scoffed. "For the right amount of Galleons, I could make a mute talk. Besides, she can write, can't she?"

"You'll get nothing. I've tried," he shot back morosely. "They're not interested in money; come to think on it, not much they seem to be interested in." He waved in the direction of the masseuse dismissively. "Look, I've proven to you that I know where things are happenin'. I said I'd get you past the wards, and I did. I said the witches would be in there, and they are." His smile had all the warmth of a crocodile's. "Proof of me worth, ye might say."

Rita eyed him coolly. He was right; he'd been able to get her into Hogwarts with no problem, and given her a listing of activities the staff would be engaging in during the Spring holidays while school wasn't in session. Tonight, he'd led her to where all the Hogwarts female staff were meeting. She'd heard plenty to go on, but nothing titillating enough to appease her agenda.

"Alright, but I need more. What are Granger and Snape doing now?" she demanded.

Filch took out a parchment and consulted it."Well, according to the schedule, Professor Granger and Professor Snape are doing summat in the Room of Requirement, but that's not for another few hours. Professor Granger will probably stay here until it's time to meet with Snape."

Rita read the listings quickly. S. Snape/H. Granger: RoR, Monday, 9:23pm. Purification Rite. "Can you get me in there?"

Filch looked at her keenly. "Aye. You'll have to wait in my quarters, then be at the room no later than nine fifteen. Be on time. Professor Granger is a one for punctuality."

Rita scuttled down the hall, and Filch pretended to leave as well. As she walked away, he took out a small bit of parchment, and opened it, studying it carefully. A smirk of pleasure crossed his weathered face, and he rolled up the parchment and started off in the opposite direction.

Just as he passed by a door, the large woman in white appeared in the doorway. "Wotcher, Sadie," he said.

Sadie Mathers nodded, then in a gruff, Dublin accent, replied, "The witches are all pissed as newts, but having a good laugh. Seem like a right nice bunch."

"Everything else ok?"

Sadie smiled. "Yep. It's nice here. I miss Ireland, though."

Filch grunted. "Me mam was from Killarney. I have an excellent bottle of poteen if you'd like to stop by, off-duty like."

Her large eyes widened. "Real Wizarding poteen? I might take you up on that, boyo. After that Skeeter bint leaves, o' course."

Argus smiled. "O' course. Shall we say ten o'clock?"

At six forty-five, Severus entered the Room of Requirement. He looked around, shaking his head in wonder. He had always known it was one of the most magical places in the castle, but it had clearly outdone itself tonight.

He was in the middle of a misty forest, surrounded by moss-covered trees, their dying leaves a multi-coloured carpet at his feet. He could smell dampness in the air, wet leaves, woodsmoke. He headed down a path in which the dirt had been packed for aeons, listening to the soft sloughing of distant pines, evening birdsong, the croaking of a toad, calling his lady love.

He arrived at a clearing and uttered an oath under his breath. In the middle of the clearing, rising a foot off the forest floor stood a large bier of pale, pinkish-grey granite. Upon the bier was the largest bathtub he had ever seen, made of the same polished stone.

Huge white candles the size of a man's thigh stood at the four corners of the bier, and the entire clearing was suffused with a gauzy, rosy light. Steam rose from the tub, smelling of magical herbs. The air itself was infused with magic. It slid against his skin, causing the hairs on his arm to rise.

He opened his hold-all and produced a parchment listing his instructions for the ritual, a skin of mead and a pewter goblet. He gave the contents of the skin a cautious sniff; the liquid smelled incredibly sweet. Sip the drink and sit quietly; make yourself a vessel ready to receive the inspiration of the higher realms, the instructions read, in Hermione's purposeful handwriting. Severus obediently took a sip, then inhaled sharply with a cough. It was very sweet, and as potent as brandy.

It ran down the inside of his body like molten gold, and caressed everything it hit on the way with warmth. Then it his bloodstream like firewhisky. Merlin's nads, that was wonderful! He decided to become an even better vessel for the higher realms by taking another drink.

The next portion of the instructions read: You must become a mead cup ready to be filled, not with the brew of everyday life, but with the clear, bright liquid of illumination. You are a perfect vessel for divine inspiration.

He pondered this for a moment. "Well, that's all a bit woolly, innit?" he mused aloud. He pondered his goblet another moment. "Perhaps all that's needed is to fill myself with more of this clear, bright liquid of illunima, illimunin..." He stopped and ran his tongue over his teeth. "Illumination," he managed, enunciating each syllable with tightly precise diction. "Well, now," he said, saluting the Room with his mead, "I can certainly see the merits to becoming a perfect vessel."

Absently raising his cup, because the instructions told him he must. He read aloud, "So drink the good wine to the Old Gods, and dance and make love in their praise, Till Elphames' fair land shall receive us in peace at the end of our days!" He quaffed the rest of the mead, licking his lips with a contented sigh. He felt bloody fantastic. "This calls for a celebration. More mead, I think."

He uncorked the skin, and tipped it into the goblet, but no matter how it was shaken and tilted and squeezed, the skin had provided all the mead it was willing to give. Severus' head dropped to his chest, and he sighed in resignation. So much for divine inspiration.

He looked around and sighed. Some of his divine illumination faded, leaving room for defensive insecurity to bleed into his thoughts. He glanced furtively about, feeling exposed and foolish and wondering how he had managed to place himself in such a potentially humiliating and insufferable position with Granger. Any moment now she would appear, take one look at him swimming around in that huge tub and most likely burst out laughing. He was supposed to feel adulated and anointed; he just felt like a forty-eight year old man preparing for his sponge bath at St. Mungo's.

The Purification Rite was a sacred ceremony, according to the Witchhiker's Guide. The High Priestess showed her worship of Cernunnos by cleansing him in the sacred forest pool, anointing him with oil, and preparing him for their marriage at Beltane. Cernunnos, tall and beautiful, horned and crowned with nature's glory, the wild, fierce god of the elements.

Severus looked down at his ropy, skinny body, his knobbly knees, his general unattractiveness, and made a decidedly human sound of defeat. Out loud he intoned, "By night he's the wild wind's rider, the Lord of the Shades. By day he's the King of the Woodland, the dweller in green forest glades." He groaned. "And by the time this sodding ritual is done, he's going to be the laughingstock of Wizarding England, bar none."

With a sigh he felt down to his long, bony toes, he removed his robe and boots and approached the marble steps leading up into the tub. You could refuse, you know. You don't have to do this. There's no Dumbledore, guilting you into doing it, no Tom Riddle Crucio-ing you into it. Just tell Minerva you're not going to base yourself anymore for someone else's idea of the Greater Good of Wizardkind. He backed down, and reached for his robe. Let someone else play the part of the stooge this time. I've had enough.

As his fingers touched his robe he was overcome by a sudden violent shiver. It started at his head, like an icy cold finger racing down his spine, and he shuddered. His vision blurred, then doubled, and for a moment he felt faint. He grasped the edge of the tub for balance, but it felt wrong, as if it was too low, or he was too tall. His heart was pounding, and for an awful moment he wondered if he was having a heart attack. He felt unnaturally strange; his feet felt too far away, his body not his own.

Then deep, calming warmth stole into him, and he closed his eyes. A dream, or a vision, or something filled his mind, like a gentle hand stroking his hair, his face, his chest. It was innocent, and magical, and it washed all his worry and care and fear away, replacing it with peace. The dizziness passed, and his head felt incredibly clear.

He opened his eyes, and saw a small snake coiled on the marble bier. It was a beautiful little thing, with scales of Slytherin green kissed by silver and gold, giving it the painted look of cloisonné. Since his last encounter with a snake, Severus had been understandably wary of any reptiles, but something about this one struck him more friend than foe.

"Hello," Severus said softly, and the little fellow uncoiled and slithered up his arm, encircling it like a band. Its slender head rested atop his shoulder, and it gazed into his eyes with the unnerving calm of a familiar, as if it did this every day. Its tongue darted out, scenting the air, nearly flickering against Severus' nose.

There was a sound, and he turned to see a lovely doe entering the clearing. Her graceful head was held high, her expression was serene and placid. In this dreamy, half-awake state, he dimly understood that this was his Patronus in corporeal form. He hadn't cast a Patronus since the night he had sent it to help Potter find the Sword of Gryffindor.

All his life, he had associated his Patronus with Lily; but now, face to face with it in the flesh, all he could see was himself in the animal; the boy, standing at the crossroads of his life, before he had made his choices and burned his bridges. Within this doe, he saw only potential...the chance to do things differently this time around. With that thought came another, more grounding one: Lily is no longer my Patronus. I am.

He held out his hand, and the doe came to him without a trace of fear. He felt the soft suede of her muzzle as she brushed against his hand. The unquestioning trust in her soft brown eyes filled him with peace. The doe kept walking toward him, but instead of moving to allow her to pass, Severus stood still. The moment her moist nose touched his chest, she dissolved, and entered his body as if he were a door.

The little snake unwound itself from his arm, and it, too, slipped into his chest. Severus sagged, and leaned against the bier, his head on his arms. He didn't know how long he'd been there, but gradually his head cleared of his vision. He stood up, and looked around the clearing, blinking away the cobwebs. "That mead must have more of a kick than I thought," he muttered. He felt slightly confused, but wasn't sure why.

Oh, yes. He'd planned to leave. Why? He felt a slow smile spread across his face. He felt great! Staying here was a grand idea. Granger would be here soon. She would understand. He quickly undressed and headed for the tub.

Leaning over the water, he was assaulted with a mixture of scents and sensations. The aromas overwhelmed his senses, and he laughed shakily. It felt a little like getting high. He gingerly lowered himself into the water, gasping as he sank into its depths. The water was almost too hot to endure; he made an undignified noise as he gradually eased his more delicate bits into the scalding water. As his body gradually acclimated itself, he relaxed once more. Now that he was growing used to it, the marvelously hedonistic feeling of freedom and peace returned.

He drifted off, and in his half dreaming, half awake state, Hermione returned to his thoughts, with her earnest eyes and crazy penchant for lost causes. He wondered exactly what he wanted from her, what he felt for her. Admiration, affection, aggravation. Well, wasn't he just trawling through the A's this evening?

She was a gutsy witch; he'd give her that. She'd faced him absolutely starkers, standing there as proud as Hecate, and accepted his tributes. As he'd taken every liberty he could get away with, it suddenly occurred to him that, far from being disgusted by a man twice her age pawing her, she had enjoyed it. Kneeling at her feet, he had been so entranced by the scent of her arousal it had been all he could do not to drag her down on the floor with him and show her just how much he enjoyed cunnilingus. Her skin had been like silk, and her breasts! Just the thought of those warm, soft mounds cupped in his hands had been prime wank fodder ever since. He only had to conjure the image of those rock-hard nipples aimed at his chest and he was off like the Hogwarts Express.

Thankfully, he'd somehow stumbled through the ceremony without making a complete berk of himself, until they kissed. Nimue's naughty knickers, she had the softest lips. Severus allowed himself a moment of fond remembrance. That had been a great kiss, quite possibly the best of his life. He really ought to kiss her again. She might even let him. Perhaps tonight.

He thought he might have fallen in love with her. He closed his eyes and let the feeling wash over him, filling him with emotion, a joy that was wonderful and terrible too, because it was bigger than he was...it was bigger than he had wanted to be in a long time. It was the sort of feeling that made him want to hold her with one hand and draw his wand against the world with the other.

There was the sound of a twig popping, and Severus sat up, splashing water, his heart thudding in his chest. He peered into the misty, steam-laden clearing, squinting as Hermione walked into his field of vision.