Good day, readers. This chapter took a lot of effort and research. Hopefully, it paid off in a good read for you. As always, reader reviews are like a drug for writers. Offer yours!
DN
"Why has their wedding been delayed?" Luna asked Harry with uncharacteristic concern.
Hermione's face, already carved with worry, became even more so. Luna knew every rumor and tale in the school and the Magical world in general. If she didn't know, who would? She looked at Ron, who also looked worried, but it was far more likely that he was worried about Hufflepuff beating Slytherin in the last Quidditch match of the year. Even with far fewer older students in Slytherin House this year, they were still a formidable opponent. Hufflepuff had been playing a solid game all year long and still had nearly all of their older players. They outweighed their opponents considerably, something rarely seen for any team facing Slytherin, long known for big, thuggish Beaters and ruthless Chasers.
"I think I'm having a stroke," Ron said to Harry before he had a chance to answer Luna. "I can't possibly cheer for Slytherin, ever, but if Hufflepuff wins, they have the Quidditch cup instead of us. This is AGONY." His agitation was palpable as Madam Hooch's opening whistle began the match. Hermione gave up trying to discuss anything with Harry and Ron and turned instead to Ginny. She was as enthralled as the others, muttering some nonsense about Porskoff ploys and Sloth-Grip rolls. Hermione gave up completely and vowed to try to enjoy her last Quidditch match at Hogwarts. She would circle back again on the subject later.
The match lasted most of the afternoon, to her dismay. To her surprise, Gryffindor House was taking the victory by Hufflepuff in stride, despite this meaning they took second place. Perhaps a long afternoon outside in the warm sun and the impending end of the school year was enough to keep spirits high. Even she had to admit it was an excellent game, well-played on both sides.
"I expect I'll see a lot of these folks at training camp come fall," Ginny said on the walk back up. "Zacharias Smith and Heidi MacAvoy made the farm team for the Chudley Cannons with me."
"What about Summerby?" Harry asked, knowing it was a loaded question.
Ginny snorted derisively. "She could barely get into the Falmouth Falcons, and they're at the bottom of the league. Vaisey will be there, too. Urquhart will be playing for the Holyhead Harpies. That's about right for her, being a Harpy."
Harry took Ginny's hand and smiled at her. "I'm just glad their camp is near Felbridge. We'll get to see each other more than if I was at Cloakreth."
She smiled back. "Not to mention you'd be a miserable Potioneer." That earned her a grimace and an eye roll, in good fun. They both then turned self-consciously to Hermione and Ron. "You guys will still see us, too, right?" Ginny hoped her tone was bright and reassuring, not the actual panic that had just crept in, thinking again about not seeing her friends as much in the future.
Hermione smiled confidently. "Of course we will. We'll be able to Apparate whenever we want, once we graduate. I may be able to get some weekends off from St. Mungo's."
Ron looked slightly stricken. "But for galloping Gorgons, plan ahead, guys. I don't want any of you blokes dropping in on me unannounced. A guy needs his privacy, ya know. And don't show up too early! I'll want my weekends for sleeping. Auror training is pretty much from sun up to sun down every day."
Hermione was running out of time. Soon they'd reach the castle and everyone would be running off to wash up for dinner or head to the library. Well, probably not the library, even for her. But still. "Harry," she started. "Luna said that Professor Snape and Dr. Hunter's wedding was put off, and it's got me worried. Do you know anything about it? Has he said anything to you?"
Harry shrugged dismissively. "He did mention that, but he was rather casual about it. He didn't seem to want to talk about it and you know how he gets if you needle him on anything, so I didn't ask why. He just said some of her friends were coming and would be doing some kind of sweat thing and that they'd get married in June, after graduation."
Hermione's reaction was nothing like casual. She stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth hanging open. "Sweat thing? You mean a sweat lodge? Whoa…"
Harry turned and looked at her quizzically and was relieved that the others did the same, apparently no more informed as to what this implied than he was. "What's the big deal? I didn't know what he meant, so I just let it go. He seemed peaved by the delay, but you can't blame a guy who's waited his entire life to be irritated that his marriage got set back a few more weeks."
"It sounds like her friends are coming to set up a sweat lodge. Who's going through it, her or him? Or both?" she asked with some urgency.
Harry looked uncertain. "It sounded like her, but, like I said, I didn't press him on the issue. He doesn't even want anyone to be present at the wedding other than me, just because he needs a witness and I am his only family, technically. I try to respect his privacy, you know." Ginny snorted.
"Just like at the Halloween Ball when you guys were shoving me out of the way to take a gander. And after the duel."
"That was different," Harry insisted. "I was worried for his safety," he said loftily.
"He seems to be a wizard who can handle himself," Ginny noted.
"Not always," Harry retorted. Ginny nodded in agreement, unable to argue that point.
"Anyway, Harry," Hermione said, trying to bring the conversation back to the matter at hand. "So, her friends are coming, they are going to set up a sweat lodge, but we have no idea who will be using it, nor for what reason?"
Harry shook his head. "What would you use one for anyway?"
"Native Americans use them for a lot of reasons. They help with purification, spiritual growth, those kinds of things. It's not part of a wedding ceremony, though. It's different from that, so I'm wondering who needs it. They've both been through a lot."
"How does it work?" Ginny asked. "Will they build a fire in one of the rooms in the castle, maybe the Room of Requirement? Make it like a sauna?"
"Not likely," Hermione replied. "They will want to build it on the grounds, because it has to be oriented correctly, to the sun or water or some other notable natural place. They'll find a bunch of stones, or bring their own. They have to be special stones. The wrong kind explode. They'll build a fire using particular wood, to heat the stones. They'll also build a tent with wooden beams and covered in cotton, wool, or animal hides. Then they put some of the stones inside to heat it up. The lead witch or wizard sits with the person until they either complete the process or overheat. Someone else stands by to help with cooling if they need it. I bet they'll build it by the lake, for the cold water. Most people can't do it all in one sitting without coming out to cool off."
Everyone just stared, waiting for her lecture to continue. "I did some reading after I found out she was Native American and not just from the US. The Hogwarts library got a bunch on new books this year on New World Magic, right Ron?" Ron looked blankly back at her as she exhaled in frustration. "You probably shelved all of them, Ron. Didn't you even read their titles?" Ron began to protest, but Hermione held up a hand. "Really guys, you need to do more reading. I bet not one of you picks up a book once you leave here, honestly."
That night, Harry contemplated what Hermione had asked. Snape really didn't seem to want to talk about it. He only told him because he would then need him to stay a couple of extra days after graduation to be his witness. But this sweat lodge? Snape hadn't mentioned it, so Harry assumed he wouldn't be involved in any way. It would take place next weekend, if it was to happen the same weekend as the previous wedding date. Even if he didn't say anything to anyone else about it, a fire on the grounds, a tent getting built, not to mention a contingent of Dr. Hunter's friends, would be impossible not to notice.
The intervening week would be slow torture. N.E.W.T. exams were over, the sun was out, the Quidditch season complete, and some kind of exotic and unknown event lay a week away. Spending the days indoors in lectures and labs would test his patience thoroughly. End of term exams lay ahead, but with N.E.W.T.s behind him, they didn't intimidate him this year as they had before. Yet as he lay in his familiar four-poster, the sounds of Ron and Seamus snoring as his usual soundscape, the fresh sheets provided by the House Elves, the blanket stitched in gold and crimson having been used for who knew how many previous years. Next fall, a new crop of first years would take their place in this room, in his bed, as had happened for generations before them. Harry tried to do the math to estimate if his father, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had been in this very room before him. Arithmancy hadn't been his best subject (none of them had been except Defense Against the Dark Arts), and the effort tired his brain before he could convince himself that they probably had or hadn't. He would be moving on soon. Surely with all that had happened him thus far, he'd be ready for it. Sleep finally overtook him as he gave thanks for being able to freely Apparate once they graduated.
Severus Snape lay awake far into the night, staring at the ceiling. Hania and the contingent of Morgan's friends from across the pond would arrive tomorrow afternoon. The House Elves had everything at the ready, rooms prepared (and well-heated), New World food procured. How the House Elves managed to obtain squash, beans, and maize in the Scottish Highlands on such short order, he'd leave to their Magic, which he hoped included how to cook the foods properly. The students had been well-pleased when the food budget increased, but still he looked forward to their reaction to the flatbreads made with blue maize, venison, hot chili pepper, and other New World flavors.
He had accompanied Morgan to the forest to identify the trees they would be most likely to want to use, as well as locating an outcropping that would be most likely to yield the best rocks. She had touched them and declared them "strong and proper" in some way. To him, they were rocks of ordinary granite, but apparently to her they spoke of Magic. Her selection of trees made more sense to him. They'd selected a stand of oaks and some nearby cedars and requested permission from the centaurs to take one of each. At first the centaurs objected, but once Morgan explained what their purpose was, they consented on the condition that they helped select the trees. Snape knew these ancient oaks well, including many of their offspring scattered about the forest. Some of the acorns he'd planted himself as a student, Slughorn guiding him to propagate only the strongest specimens. Those little saplings were becoming proud strong towers. Time had gone by, he reminded himself. A lot of time. He hoped the Magic of those trees, of the forest and the earth, would be sufficient for this new purpose.
He would host a welcoming dinner for them, introduce the staff, as well as introduce them to the students, despite his own dislike of high-profile ceremony. Despite Morgan's insistence that the delay was due to her needing to heal, he harbored doubts (amplified by the demon) that her friends disapproved of him. Perhaps they had read the worst in the The Daily Prophet. Worse, he had to listen as the demon speculated about her ulterior motives, his own penchant for speaking in anger, and the possibility of special friends among the men who might be among the visitors. He could only barely tolerate this delay to his marriage, even by the two more weeks until the students departed. If this is what was required, however, so be it.
After a light breakfast the following morning, they would scout out the right location, somewhere along the lakeside, she predicted. The lodge would take shape next, the cedar branches bent and connected for the frame, blankets and pelts stretched over that. Oak logs would be set afire, the stones collected and piled on the logs. Songs would be sung, incantations made, wands waved. Roles would be defined. Hania would lead, but a companion would be chosen for Morgan, someone other than him. Someone who knew about this Magic.
His unease grew, facing this unknown Magic. He couldn't feel what Morgan felt in the stones, had no idea just what forces would be drawn upon for the assembly and use of the sweat lodge. He had asked her about it, but her explanations were insufficient, as so many words about Magic unwitnessed were. Words could only take him so far. What would she experience? Would he know if she were in danger?
It will be just like in the alley in Hogsmeade, the demon whispered. You'll be useless to her. You know nothing of this Magic. You can't desert me, either. I'll win you in the end, Severus, not her. She's so close, but you already know how this ends. Give yourself to me now, I'll make it easy for you. Later, I will have no mercy, no restraint.
"You'll have nothing of me," Snape replied. The demon only scoffed and curled up in a shadowy corner, biding its time.
Hunter lay awake, her mind abuzz. Tomorrow, she would see her friends again for the first time in nearly a year. Letters had been but a poor substitute for a real visit. Looking back, it was easy for her to see how far into the darkness she had fallen, that she had chosen to stay in London even after Severus made clear that he would not be joining her. Now she knew why, but at the time, she was heartbroken. Rather than travel home, she had instead chosen to wallow in her misery, alone in the inn as the holidays passed. She reminded herself with a shudder that she could easily have had company, then a second shudder of the result if Parse Winder had won her over in her emotionally vulnerable state.
That things would turn around this way had been impossible to imagine at that time. She had found imagining even a better future difficult, had found making plans for her future like swimming in molasses.
Tomorrow would be among the most crucial in her life. Severus would be there, as would her friends. She pictured the last times they'd been together, as she had told them the news that she was leaving, as she hurriedly packed her things. "Where?" "Keep in touch!" "Let us know when we can come visit." "When will you be back?" "Don't forget your mantas." They'd brought her so many gifts, pottery vessels, jewelry, crystals, herbs. She'd neglected them, withdrawn herself from their blessings. Tomorrow, they would return to her. She would welcome them with the feast she'd planned, already longing for the food and flavors she'd missed. Perhaps if they arrived early enough, she'd ask Mansi to put her hair up in the squash blossom style.
She wondered what she would feel like after the sweat. For so many months, she'd been in darkness, sadness, heaviness. A year and a half. How would it feel to be in balance again? She had forgotten the feeling and yearned for it. Sleep finally found her, her dreams filled with visions of fire, stone, and water.
The day finally dawned on the day for the sweat lodge, sunny and warm, but not yet worth calling hot. The first rays of sun glinted off the Black Lake.
All of the students, barred from the grounds behind the castle and down to the lake by an Age Line set to 25, instead clustered at every available window and door, each angling to see the event, despite few having even a notion of what to expect in terms of spectacle or purpose. Ever since their shocking performance at the post-exams Spring Ball, anything having to do with the Headmaster and the Potions Mistress was a big draw. Omnioculars, usually reserved for Quidditch matches, had been snatched from trunks and dressers and were passed excitedly from one student to the next as the Hogwarts rumor mill switched into high gear.
Hunter was already worried and irritated. Severus still had the daemon, despite his repeated insistence that he would drive it out himself and that he would do so before their wedding. She had hoped he would have expelled it, as she now needed to request a sweat for its expulsion from Hania. She was not in doubt of Hania's reaction, though she highly valued his good opinion and judgement. Her friends' reactions were more concerning. Severus seemed profoundly uncomfortable meeting all of these new people at once. He'd had retained his customary chilly affect, saying little beyond the words necessary for their introduction and his presiding at dinner the night before. Despite her warm greeting, it was clear her friends had taken notice of his standoffishness. Even without her Sight, she would have been able to surmise their cautiousness about him.
She'd spent the night in the guest wing with her friends. In the morning, as they helped her with her hair, they had peppered her with questions. Even Elizabeth Wardwell, one of her best friends, was less than supportive. It didn't take Divination to understand what she was getting at when she expressed her concern that "It's all happened so fast," and "Are you sure about him?" She might have been rather perturbed by these expressions of doubt, both in him and in her, but she couldn't blame her. They have been friends since Lizzie joined the staff at Sedona 10 years ago; she knew she had her best interests at heart. She had stopped writing, worrying them. Severus was doing little to win over her friends, despite knowing they had, no doubt, read the stories about him in back issues of The Daily Prophet. She had been reassuring to Lizzie, Mansi, and the others, but their glances to one another told her that her words rang hollow to them.
For his part, Severus had agreed to the sweat lodge with great reluctance. The effort it took to then convince him to wear something other than his usual woolen frock coat and trousers was absurd.
Hunter paced the hall outside his chambers, trying to keep her voice quiet so as not to attract any undue attention. "You'll just overheat before you have a chance to experience what it provides. Cooling charms defeat the purpose." She didn't bother to hide the irritation in her voice. "You simply must, Hania and Lapu will never let you enter unless you are dressed properly. It wouldn't be safe, for one, but it also wouldn't be respectful." She had hoped by dragging respect into the discussion she might overcome his insistence that he had a greater capacity to withstand heat than other, ordinary wizards. He seemed determined to resist every possible step on this journey. His reception to her guests had been so formal and stiff, they had been offended. His introductions of them to the staff and students had been humorless and dull and the meal far from celebratory, as she'd hoped for. At least the food was familiar and delicious. She had forgotten how much she missed it until she was eating and tasting the warm flavors and textures. The ache to be gathered around a fire outside an adobe home, eating with friends under the stars. And the singing. Memories had clouded her eyes for a moment, but she quickly cleared them lest anyone think she was sad in any way about her current circumstance.
Snape for his part paced angrily, muttering under his breath. At last he agreed to wear the lightweight cotton tunic shirt and trousers, but insisted they be full length and black. It was a reasonable compromise, one she readily accepted. Her hand was raised to give a knock to see what the delay was when he threw open the door, swept out, then shut the door with a bang followed by a series of sealing charms. She jumped back in surprise, then attempted not to stare at him. As they strode along the dim, cool corridor, her hand on his arm felt different, with fewer layers between them. She cast a few furtive glances, noting silently that she'd never even seen his neck or wrists, never mind his ankles or feet, now shod in the black soft-soled leather ankle boots appropriate for the ceremony. Only his face usually framed by his dark hair and his hands protruding from the long tightly-buttoned sleeves of his shirt and jacket.
"Don't fear New World Magic, Severus. This is a…" She never had the chance to finish her reassuring remarks about how cleansing and transformative the experience was.
"I do not fear your Magic!" he bellowed, jerking away from her as they strode up from the dungeons. Remembering the sensitive ears all around, he lowered his voice. Displeasure at her words still shook his voice, even in a hoarse whisper. "That is absurd. I am fully prepared to endure what I must, for you." Clearly, he was going into the experience in something other than an open and receptive frame of mind. Attempting to hex or jinx someone into an open and receptive frame of mind wasn't known to be very effective. She placed her hand back on his arm, offered a terse apology for implying his fearfulness, and gave him a few moments to collect himself. He took a few breaths, closing his eyes, then placed his hand over hers. It appeared as though he were contemplating an apology to her, but his jaw remained firmly set, his countenance grim.
Now they set out silently down the grounds, painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes glued on them.
The stones were resting in the fire, which burned brightly. Heat radiated from the fire, with no winds today to dissipate it. A tall wizard, the one called Lapu, dressed in cotton robes covered in geometric patterns and spirals and a large silver disk on his necklace carefully moved the stones one by one into the lodge which faced the lake and the still-rising sun. The lodge was covered in blankets and deer skins. A second wizard, Chowilawu, stood by a large pottery vessel filled with water, a matching cup in his hand. Hania waited by the door, gesturing for Hunter to begin first. He greeted her warmly, with a broad smile. Her friends all came to give her well-wishes, as well, before she approached the sweat lodge.
"You'll need to wait," Hania said to Snape, placing a restraining hand on his chest. "Each person must go as an individual, but she will be well cared-for. You may remain outside. She will probably come out a few times. Chowi will offer her water. You may speak to her then." Lapu, tall and intimidating, took a couple of steps closer, as well.
Snape regarded the group of them warily. "I'll be fine, Severus. Hania, Chowi, and Lapu are experts in this. I know you don't know any of them, but you must trust that I do." How well she knew them was part of what was making him so uncomfortable. She reached up for him, but he was painfully aware of the multitude of viewers. He bent to give her a small peck, then leaned into her ear. "When you finish, when we are inside again, I'll do better than this." She smiled and squeezed his hand, drawing what connection she could from the depth of his eyes. He had no idea what lay ahead, but she did. There would be nothing like that tonight, and possibly not for several more. This would be draining and take some time to recover from. At last she turned away from him and greeted Hania.
Lapu drew forth a charred bundle of fragrant sage and lavender, then handed it to Hania. Hania raised the smoldering, smoking bundle and bowed to the four compass directions, praying in Hopi as he did so.
Snape had no notion of what the words meant, but Morgan closed her eyes and folded her hands, her breathing slowed. The scent of the herbs filled his nose, bringing to mind her perfume.
Once the words had ceased, Hania pulled aside the blanket stitched with fire and a raven rising to the sun, and Hunter began.
It was dark and hot inside, but not as hot as she'd imagined. The only light was from the glowing stones in the center. She took her place opposite Hania and drank in the scent of cedar and sacred herbs, sage and sweetgrass. Her nose opened with the humid steam as Lapu poured water over the stones, hissing the release.
"Breathe in the heat, let it fill you from the inside."
Hunter inhaled deeply, feeling the heat seep in. She hadn't been this warm even with a charm since she'd left the desert and had forgotten how much she missed the soothing warmth, loosening her muscles, relaxing her bones. She breathed in again. This small tent transported her home, as though she were really there. Her skin began to glisten in the heat as Hania began an ancient incantation, short, and repeated. She joined the chant as Lapu kept the rhythm with his drum.
She began to immerse herself in the chant and the drum, releasing any resistance, forgetting what lay outside the tent, her whole consciousness slowly giving way to the words, the rhythm. Her eyes closed, her mind open, she could feel the presence of her ancestors all around her, even from the other side of the world. They joined her in chanting. Her father and mother, her aunt and grandmother, great aunts, uncles, grandfathers, wrinkled faces seared from lives in the sun, carved with wisdom, experience, knowledge.
"Teach me more," she said. Silently or out loud, she wasn't truly certain. They gathered closer, pressing in on her, some becoming their younger selves, the selves that she had never seen, from before she even existed. Their being merged with her own, and she saw. Uncle knew of a sacred place ringed with cornflower. She mapped out the directions, so she could go there when she returned. Grandmother showed her how to cast the clay pots she should use to make the cornmeal flour and reminded her that she had one in her possession that would be perfect for her wedding. Someone insulted her, and her aunts rushed to defend her, surrounding her. Her mind ached with missing them, but softened again with the assurance that they were still with her, anywhere, anytime she might call upon them. "We are still here with you," they whispered. "Within you. Within your possessions, within your soul. Always." Her own tears joined the sweat pouring down her face.
She opened her eyes once more. Lapu stepped out and returned with more hot stones and more water for steam. She felt a brief chill of air coming in from the door and realized her whole body was drenched, not only her face. She stood, stretched, then resumed her position on the ground, feeling its energy course through her.
"Do you need to cool, Kasa?" Hania asked, but she shook her head.
"I've missed the heat. I'm ready to continue."
Now Hania began a different chant, this one calling into the future. Lapu struck a different rhythm and she joined once more. Closing her eyes, breathing in the mist, she sunk back once more into a sea of visions. Were these truths, the future, or possibilities? She wasn't sure. Images of children, some in uniforms, some in desert clothes, surrounding her. Black faces, brown faces, white faces. Were they her own or students? Her hands, old and wrinkled. Places from around the world, the secrets of their minerals and crystals revealed. The stars turning in the night skies, the moon waxing and waning endlessly, plants growing and dying, trees rising, falling, rotting, giving life to seeds and saplings. Cycles, seasons, days and nights swirled around her until she felt dizzy.
She eventually realized that the chanting had stopped. She was lying on the ground in the tent. She felt the power of the earth through her cheek. She places her hands upon it and felt a surge. Hania and Lapu reached down and helped her up once more and escorted her out.
The day felt crisp and clean, new. Her ancestors were beside her, even on the other side of the world. The future lay ahead, with some part of her in it.
Severus, his back to the others, facing out across the water, turned, hearing her exit, his aura blue ringed with yellow. He was concerned for her, which made her heart glow. She drank the water Chowilawu offered, its taste sharp and restorative. Severus joined her, gesturing impatiently for another glass for her. Chowi provided it with an understanding smile for her and a glare for him. Severus returned his glare and took her hand. "Are you alright, Morgan?" he asked, trying to strike a balance that avoided any trace of patronization, but still expressed his hope for her well-being.
"I'm fine, Waquini." She smiled as she downed the second large cup of water. "It's amazing, I've seen so much, I'll tell you all about it later. It will be so good for you. Now I need to go back in."
"You aren't done?" He looked with concern at her sweat-soaked clothing. How much did it take?
She looked back at the tent with longing. "No, not yet. Hania and Lapu will know when I am ready. I'm going back in." She felt his displeasure with not knowing how the sweat lodge experience played out. Perhaps his concern was not only for her, but also for himself. Perhaps he should have been first, to expel the daemon, then simply wait for her with the comfort of knowing how it worked and also being free from the daemon. What was it saying to him? "This is a good thing, a necessary process, just like Madam Pomfrey. Please don't worry about me, Severus."
"I will not worry for you, if you will not worry for me when it is my time," he replied. He nodded skeptically and watched her turn and enter the tent once more, Lapu bringing two more glowing rocks.
Mansi, Lizzie and the others observed her fiance from a distance. He returned to his previous position, looking out across the waters, hands clasped behind him, away from the others. Lizzie mused over her friend's strange choice for her second husband, so different from Phillipus. She had never met anyone like him before, so reserved and stony in his silence, only broken for necessary words. It seemed Morgan did most of the talking for the two of them. He barely even touched Morgan the entire evening before and done a poor job hiding his surprise when she joined the dinner with her hair in the traditional style of a woman before marriage. He'd not touched her at all this morning except for the perfunctory kiss just now. Morgan said he'd made an extraordinary new potion, a scorpion venom antidote, that had saved her life, but he would need to have more going for him than potions skill to make a good husband to her. Morgan Hunter mixed with all the best potioneers in the world, many of whom were unmarried wizards and nearly all of whom would have to be more attractive and more sociable that this one. Lovers, wives, husbands, and family were generally a bit more animated when a loved one underwent the sweat lodge. He just stood there, looking out across the dark waters, hardly moving. She would have thought him a statue except for a slight freeze that moved his hair and tunic somewhat.
Once you surrender to me, Severus, you won't need to worry about Morgan Hunter being lonely. She will be nicely restored and ready to make the best of her life. Have you noticed how Lapu and Chowi look at her? Clearly she knows them well. Both so handsome. Lapu is tall, strong, Chowi muscular and kind. They are her people, they speak her language, know her history, know her Magic. You have none of this. She is too well-bred to show her interest openly, but what witch wouldn't notice their muscles under those thin shirts, Lapu's clinging with sweat? The young witches certainly have. Did you hear their words of appreciation as they walked down the grounds this morning? The wizards might be using those Omnioculars to view the sweat lodge and the fire, but the witches have a different view. Perhaps Lapu and Chowilawu have come to win her heart once you break it. A witch like her won't be alone long, especially with such wizards nearby. How many more do you suppose she knows in Sedona?
Snape bit back his temptation to speak out loud, to taunt the daemon. In his silence, the daemon gloated. You've been thinking the same. Just let her go now, and honorably. She will know it is for the best. She probably is having second thoughts about her impulsive proposal, looking for a way to withdraw honorably. Give that to her.
Now within the dark confines of the tent, Hunter again felt the intensity of the heat and the flow of water within her, driving from her stomach outwards, coursing through every cell in her body, taking with it all that the cells were releasing, and more. Hania began a new chant, one she'd never heard before, something about cleansing, atonement, false hope. She joined in and before long, the new words were familiar, rhythmic, comforting. The drumbeat kept the pace and her vision grew dimmer.
She was in a dark room at the back of an adobe house, alone, curled and hurting, tense, pulled together in a ball, her face to the wall. As much as she tried to pull herself in, she tried to shut out what was around her. She was pulling tighter and tighter, getting smaller and smaller, her limbs fading into her body as she squeezed, until finally she was only her consciousness, with no body at all. She floated now, wherever she wanted to go, instantly. She rose, to the top of the mesa, looking out across the canyon as the sun set. The stars emerged as the moon rose. Her heart would have lept, had she had one; there was Philipus, painting. She went to him, merged with him. He was thinking of her, loving her, pouring himself into his work, every brushstroke an act of love, every star a kiss. Now she felt his mind shift. "Morgan," he thought. "You are here, but you shouldn't be." Hunter felt the sting of tears. "I'll always be with you, but now it is time for you to live again. My love has no limits, nor should yours. Love is not like a body, limited in time and space. It is Magic itself. The more you give, the more you have. Give your love, Powaqa. There will always be enough…Your future is long, Morgan. Let the past bring you to it. Don't let it hold you prisoner."
Her tears flowed unabashedly. She felt his hand on her shoulder as her body took shape once again, his energy flowing into her like a blessing. "My love always be with you, and yours with me. Go and live your life. Let your love flow, for few things hurt so much to hold in as love. Loving will heal you, and will heal your love."
With that, she fell from his consciousness and watched as he went to the edge of the canyon. She watched in fear, but instead of falling, he rose, his white skin shining, until he became a star in the constellation Chuhukon.
Hunter found herself once more in the sweat lodge, Hania there, looking satisfied.
"I am ready," she said. He nodded, and rose with her to exit the tent.
She emerged, her body covered in sweat, but feeling cleaner, lighter, newer than she ever had. Chowi had water, which she drank thirstily as Severus gestured for more. She drank a second glass, feeling the cleansing waters restore her. Now she needed to rest. The celebration would come later, after dark, after Severus was done.
She whispered, "It's your turn, now. Go and be well, my love."