The morning fell on Hermione like a hammer to a knife as it was beaten into shape, the night before underlying her sore state the anvil by which she was flattened. Her head resounded with blurry recollections. Instead of Dolohov's muscled chest a pillow cushioned her cheek; instead of hard earth she was on her bed. Leadened arms pushed her upward and then she held her aching head.

Hermione distinctly recalled Antonin refusing her wine last night, so why was she fuzzy and hurting and stiff? The scant light through thick curtains scissored through her eyeballs and straight to her brain. And the air around her hummed unpleasantly across tangled, over-sensitive nerves.

She rubbed her palms against her eyes in an effort to soothe the sharp stab, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. A too-loud POP! signaled the entrance of Topsy, her long ears waving from her apparition. "A potion for Missy." Long, knobby fingers held the vial aloft. "Master instructed Topsy to deliver a pain potion, said Missy would need it first thing."

Hermione tossed back the liquid, grimacing at the taste on the back of her tongue and handing it back. "Thank you, Topsy. I definitely did."

The elf beamed. "Breakfast is ready whenever Missy is. Master says to take your time."

"How kind." Topsy did not seem to catch the sarcasm, but Hermione actually was grateful as she stood shakily from her bed and crept toward the toilet for morning ablutions. She was dressed in soft, nearly white robes that morning. The color was almost pearlescent, shining pink as it hit the right angle, and fell just above her feet, modest and lovely with a comfortable empire waist.

Antonin rose from his seat when she appeared, taking her hands and planting a kiss on her brow as usual. "Good morning, kitten. I see the pain potion was well-received."

"Good morning." She slid into her chair with a practiced smoothness and plucked at fruit offered to her. "It was, thank you. I confess I woke feeling somewhat… well, hungover, I suppose. The ritual last night, what was it? I'm hazy on the details, but I can't recall encountering it before."

His quicksilver eyes gleamed at her in the morning light. "You wouldn't have, I imagine. It is old, as old as the land and built upon it over the generations." When she did not respond, still gazing curiously at him, Antonin continued. "In the beginning it was a ritual of God and Goddess, the Green Man and the Lady. This land where my grandfather made his home is the land the first Samhain fires were built. These are the lands of Tlachtga, a goddess older than Samhain itself. As stories merge and change over the years, so too did hers, and it twined and echoed in Macha of the Morrigna." A faint chime echoed as his slick fingertip traced the edge of his water goblet. "Some think she may have been one of them, others that she came before, or after." He shrugged. "Whether she is a part of them or not doesn't matter; this was the land where she gave birth and died, where she grieved and was grieved. The hill itself is beyond the trees, but there is power surrounding. And no muggles to taint this part."

Hermione swallowed through the clumsy muscles of her throat. "Is not the Green Man usually invoked for Beltane?"

"He is, yes, but his death for the land may be invoked for Samhain." Antonin brushed knuckles over her cheek. "His sacrifice for the good of the land and the seed that sleeps through winter."

Hermione's stomach churned, but she was quickly cross-referencing what she knew of the Morrigan, Macha, and Celtic lore. Ulster. Macha was somehow associated with Ulster, and she frowned, a map of Ireland reflected as though floating just beneath the surface of clear water drawing up in her mind.

"My grandfather and father both drew upon the power in this land, and upon those laid to rest here. My grandfather's family had long drawn on their line during such rituals, so he combined those of this land with our paternal magics."

"Does your family have a grimoire?" Raised as a muggle Protestant, Hermione did not know nearly as much of Celtic mythos, though she had gobbled down all she could find once she'd found out Merlin was a real wizard. The Morrigan featured there, but not this Tlachtga. She would need to read further.

Antonin's fingertips skittered over the soft back of her hand. "We have our family texts, yes. Perhaps I will let you see them someday."

"I would appreciate that," she murmured, the bones of her hand trembling beneath the paper-thin flesh between them and his fingers, fingers that had gripped them til they creaked within his grasp. They remembered, as did other parts of her body, and they all seemed to hum at his proximity.

When Hermione was excused from breakfast she went to the library and dallied among Dolohov's tomes of Celtic lore, but she was preoccupied with flashes from the evening before. His skin had been hot and luminous as it yielded to her nails, the steamy hiss of his breath raised gooseflesh on the meat where shoulder joined throat. His eye had washed darkly with lust when he stroked a palm through the blood she had drawn, shining ruby streaked across his moonlight. He had given the blood to the ground and it had quenched a thirst Hermione hadn't known she carried within. Like she was the earth and she was drinking it up.

Even now her core clenched. It was neither hunger nor lust, but a part of both the same. It was above, beneath, behind, before, a deep, tiny pulse that echoed the power of the night before. Behind clenched lids it was a spur of light. She imagined that the night before she had seen milky silver and tawny gold shining out of them and chasing shadow-edged patterns on the scant canopy over their heads. It had danced and played like ghosts, like pool light reflected onto the walls of the eerie gymnasium she'd snuck into once.

Then it had blinded her even as it radiated from her and she'd have to shut her eyes from its glare, scoring Antonin again as pleasure flooded every corner of her body with its keen essence.

Dull clattering tugged her from reverie and Hermione startled at the world around her, gazing in either direction for the interruption only to realize it had been the spine of the book fallen from her hands to stutter against the floor. Had it been so visceral a memory?

Apparently it had.

Hermione gathered the book from the worn wood and soothed its ruffled pages. She would bury herself curled in her favorite chair, favorite pillow assisting her in propping up the hardcover, favorite little blanket strewn across her shoulders. How strange the world had become, she found herself musing.

"There you are." Wry voice as creaking as a fire woke her from the hypnotic trance of reading and Hermione's neck spasmed at the force with which her head snapped up.

"You're early."

The Potions Master's thin lips quirked. "Am I?" Black eyes darted to the clock and back to meet her own. "It seems you are correct for once, Miss Granger. Now stand."

Hermione peered behind him as she got to her feet, but Antonin was not in sight. "Does he know you're here?"

"Of course, he knows, Granger; no one could enter this home without his knowledge." Wand motions over her body revealed the usual spattering of light, though for once there were no sickly greens or pulsing scarlets. Snape considered the results, brows furrowed. "This is… unexpected. I had thought there would be more after last night."

Hermione hadn't noticed the lack, but thinking back to her bath could not recall any bruises or cuts or marks upon her person. Her body was hale for once. "I think the ritual might have healed me."

Obsidian cut to meet her amber. "Ritual? What ritual?"

"I don't know exactly; he said it had something to do with the origins of Samhain's bonfires and the Morrigan. He drew power from the land and his ancestors." The lights had whirled away like streams of smoke through the beams of the library and she shifted awkwardly at his continued scrutiny.

"You're sure?"

Hermione nodded, fingers plucking at the material of her robes. "It was- there was so much power and I have no idea what he did with it. I can feel some of it still, but last night, I was drunk off it. I swear we were glowing like the sun and the moon, and I wish I had siphoned some then so I could do something- anything. I need to do something, professor, because I am going mad here, I know it. I will snap. Or I'll take Lucius bloody Malfoy's offer of allyship."

"Lucius offered an alliance with you?" Snape swept to the settee. "Curious to extend that now." He stroked the stubble over one pallid cheek. "We don't have much time." A nod to himself. "You should take it."

"I should?" Her brows threatened to tangle with her curls.

"Lucius has the power of money, magic, and lineage. He is once more rising in the Dark Lord's esteem, and his home is one of the most secure in all of the Wizarding world." She scoffed. "With a word he could lock out any but those with Malfoy blood in their veins; none have ever managed to pass those particular wards."

"I haven't had the best reception there," Hermione drawled. "If you'll recall."

"You were never his ally before, were you?"

"I suppose I wasn't. Though the last time I wasn't exactly his enemy either." Her voice curdled as memory of icy water chilled her insides.

"No." He worked his jaw, the line between his brows deepening. "Being under the Dark Lord's… thumb… as Lucius and his family have been would try even the best of men, and Lucius has never been that. His cruelty has only sharpened over the years."

"Am I supposed to pity him?"

Snape huffed a laugh that seemed at himself as much as her words. "Not at all." He sighed, chest rising to impossible fullness, then rose. "Sleep on it, Miss Granger. I will see you soon, I'm sure."

Hermione watched the dramatic swish of black robes as Severus Snape strode toward the drawing room. She followed to the library's door, hovering long enough to hear him call his destination to the fireplace. Returning to her book, Hermione curled back up and tapped out a thoughtful rhythm on the spine.

Silver flashed like lightning over her thoughts.

A/Notes: I was gonna write about some of the lore mentioned here and the research I bury myself in, but today is one Hell of a day. And I feel this is not the worst it will get here in the US of A. Wherever you are, whatever your country is facing, stay safe.