Chapter 46 - "And I'm here, to remind you."

"Modfather,

Do not draw suspicion to yourself. Accompany your host to France as planned. Do what you must to appease the wishes of TMR.

The Order cannot be seen to know too much this early on in the game. Otherwise, you and Aunt Bessie risk having your cover exposed and we shall lose valuable intel when the war begins in earnest.

It may be beneficial for us in the long run to take this step backwards so that in the future we can step forwards.

Good luck, The Phoenix."

Circe flinched as the note in her hands disintegrated into flames. She stood on the deck of the ferry that was to take her to Normandy, watching the steady rise and fall of the grey ocean. Portsmouth behind her, Cherbourg before her. She clung to the railing as the boat bobbed up and down, watching as Dumbledore's owl flew off into the grey sky, back towards the land. She felt sick, and not just from the motion of the waves…

Severus was right, Dumbledore also thinks that I need to find a way to infiltrate Azkaban. Even if it is counterproductive to The Order's goals. Circe thought as she gripped tighter around the white rails, a bubble of nausea pooling in the pit of her stomach. She tried her hardest not to look under her fluttering sleeve at the faint hint of black ink now burnt into her wrist. The tattoo that marked her, that would mark her forever now, still sent a lurch of panic through her guts each time she looked at it. It looks like I need to find a way to do this.

Circe hadn't even had time to meet with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix before she'd been shipped off to France. Her heart longed to see Remus again, or Tonks, or anyone who would reaffirm to her who it was she fought for and what belonging to a group of people with love and light in their hearts felt like. It was rather ironic to Circe that she had met with her family of Death Eaters, but not with those whom she truly served yet. She was truly submerged into her role of spy now.

And what a baptism of fire this will be.

Severus had stood on the harbour at Portsmouth, diligently waiting for her ship to sail out of his sights before he turned and left. Circe had watched him standing there, a rigid, unmoving, black smudge, until the boat's roaring engines had carried her far away. Yet he had stayed there, on the harbour wall, until he was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. And only then had Circe allowed herself to cry. She did not have to see the worry in his eyes for her to know that he was deeply concerned. It was written into the hunch of his shoulders, embossed into the lines of distress on his had talked and talked for hours on end when they had eventually been set free of Pettigrew Manor about what Circe was going to do next. Any short-lived elation the two of them had felt from having survived their first audience with the Dark Lord was gone by the time the morning light came to Spinner's End. But no matter what way they looked at it, the truth stayed the same: Circe had to find a way to break half a dozen or so Death Eaters from Azkaban, or risk losing the ear and the trust of Voldemort forever.

And somehow, the thought of Odette waiting for her on the other side of the English Channel unsettled her even more so than thoughts of her seemingly impossible task.

Reunions between old lovers were difficult and awkward enough, without throwing into the mix Severus, Rabastan, the Dark Lord, and their mutual plan of escape... Circe felt that there would soon be much said between them that they could not have said to each other at Pettigrew Manor and she shifted uncomfortably as she dwelt on that coming confrontation.

Maybe I'm just overthinking this. Odette seemed content enough with her life when she spoke to me and Sev at Pettigrew Manor…. But why do I get the feeling I'm not getting the long and short of what really happened to her?

Odette Lestrange was indeed waiting for her at the Cherbourg ferry terminal, wearing a floor-length black dress and a wide brimmed hat that hid her face in darkness. Circe felt like she had left the presence of one shadow back in England, and entered another one on the shores of France. From Severus to Odette. Present to past.

"Bonsoir, ma chérie." Odette greeted her coolly. The only colour on her whole body was the pop of red lipstick on her mouth and she curled the corner of her lip ever so slightly into a small smile as Circe approached. "I wondered why you would take a boat to Normandy when a portkey or apparating is faster. But then I remembered… are you still ill when you apparate long distances?"

"Yep. Unfortunately." Circe said apologetically.

"But you are looking a little green now." she said, taking Circe by the arm. "I wonder if seasickness is preferable to apparation sickness after all."

Odette led her outside and Circe did a double take as she spied, waiting in the taxi rank, a carriage. She looked around at the muggles passing by them and watched as none seemed to register the four uniform black pegasus horses waiting in front of the ornately decorated box before them. It was a carriage straight out of a Versailles period-drama: large round wheels, delicate golden embellishments and the Lestrange crest of arms painted on the doors. Odette extended an arm to Circe and she walked towards the door. The carriage swung open for her at her command, revealing a plush, baby-blue coloured interior. Circe climbed inside and took a seat, watching the muggles pass by outside of the window, oblivious to them.

"A concealment charm?" she asked as Odette took her seat opposite her.

"You miss nothing, ma cherie." Odette said with a teasing grin. She knocked twice on the carriage's roof and called out, seemingly to the driverless horses. "Back to the Chateau, if you please."

The carriage rumbled into life and Circe held tight on to whatever she could as the horses picked up speed. Odette laughed aloud as Circe squealed, her eyes widening when the pegasus horses took off into the sky, dragging the carriage behind them and leaving the ferry terminal on the ground as it rapidly receded from the window's sight.

"You remember I told you of my family's ancestral home, Circe?" Odette leaned over and touched a hand to Circe's knee, distracting her attention from fretting over the dizzying height they had climbed to.

"Uhh Le Chateau of the… butterflies?" Circe asked, straining her memory.

"Le Chateau des Papillons." Odette nodded. "I never in my wildest dreams thought that you and I would set foot in there together." she said wistfully.

Circe looked back at her as an indeterminable look passed over her face. Odette's light, bright eyes shone from beneath the brim of her black hat and Circe thought she saw the ghost of the girl she'd once known touch her face. Now the two of them were alone, away from the other members of the conclave, away from the very presence of the Dark Lord himself, Odette felt less strange to her. Not the hardened dagger of a woman, but the gentle and kind and understanding girl of her youth.

"Are your father and mother-"

"Both departed now. The Chateau is mine…. And the boy's home, of course."

"Your sons." Circe blinked, still not able to quite believe Odette was a mother.

"Gabriel and Raphael."

"Both named after Archangels?"

"Indeed, for they were the lights of my life when I thought I had nothing but darkness." Odette said, her voice laced with sadness.

Circe watched her, puzzling over who exactly the woman in front of her was. Before in Pettigrew manor she had seemed to talk about her hasty marriage to Rabastan Lestrange with a cold efficiency, almost as if she were proud of it. Circe knew that the young Beauxbattons girl would never have taken pride in bowing to the wishes of her pure-blood family to marry a stranger and pop out a few decent wizards. She wanted freedom from that narrow way of thinking, she wanted a life beyond bloodlines and babies. Yet the woman Circe had met at Pettigrew Manor, amongst the other Death Eaters, was a stranger to her. Could it be that Odette too wore a mask of duplicity?

"How old are they both now?" Circe asked. "Your sons."

"Eleven in the winter. I was just a few weeks shy of nineteen when I had them both. Rabastan had already been arrested by then, awaiting trial. And my Father…" she scoffed. "My father was searching the length and breadth of France, looking for the Dark Lord. He met with some difficult Aurors in Provence and never came home."

"All that… All that happened when I was back home. Wondering what happened to you..." Circe muttered, her chest aching with sorrow for her old love. "I thought that you didn't want to speak to me, and that's why you never wrote back…"

"My father hid your letters from me. He said our daleance was something I didn't need reminding of. But he didn't know did he, ma cherie. He didn't know the words of youthful, naive promise we spoke to one another. How we told each other that we would be holding one another until the day we died…" Odette leaned forwards again, her pert mouth parted ever so slightly as she gazed at Circe. The whole mood of the carriage shifted in an instant, the walls of formality brought crumbling down in a moment "But the love that we gave one another, that we made between us, it wasn't enough. They were the empty promises of two people not much better than children themselves. Still… I was rather shocked how quickly I was forgotten."

Odette locked eyes with Circe and she gasped quietly, feeling like she'd just been dealt a gut-punch. Her words sent a spike of pain through Circe's heart.

"I didn't forget about you. I swear…" Circe uttered back, a little shaken.

"Well, I am happy that at least one of us seems to have found a true love-match." Odette continued bitterly, her expression turning sour as she ignored Circe's protests. She could feel the anger bubbling just below her poised exterior. But was she truly angry at Circe? Or at the world that had forced them to separate and her into her marriage? "At least one of us managed to carve out some kind of happiness for ourselves. I wish nothing but the best for you and Monsieur Snape. Severus could very well be a masculine incarnation of me, do you not think so? Dark haired, tall, slim, a known associate of the Dark Lord… Older though. He must be eight years your senior."

Circe almost rose to a retort. Rabastan Lestrange was, by her calculations, at least fifteen years older than Odette. But she bit her tongue, knowing that Odette probably wanted to get this all off her chest, having had it sat there for many years like a bad phlegm. Plus, marrying Rabastan hadn't really been her choice... Odette's voice had turned high and strained, taking on the cadence of someone who was fishing for anything that might land a blow on the other person. Any way for Circe to feel a little bit of the pain she herself had experienced in the past eleven years, even if it meant being malicious or lashing out at anything that might cause a rise.

"Do you hate me?" Circe asked, a quiver in her lip. "Do you hate that I left you to that?" A tear ran down her cheek and Odette looked up from the shadows of her hat.

"Oh Circe, ma cherie. No... " Odette sighed, leaning back into the seat of the carriage. Her expression changed again as she realised just how needlessly bitter she had been. How she had turned her resentment and venom on to someone who was not at fault. "I do not hate you. You are not to blame for what happened. What could you have done, after all?"

But Odette's words had sunk their claws into Circe's mind.

Anything. I could have done anything rather than just moving on and forgetting. Circe thought And now here you are, years later, a reminder of the mess I left when I was sent away.

The carriage came to a sudden thudding halt as it touched down. Odette moved to exit first and pushed open the doors, offering a hand of apology to Circe to help her down the carriage steps. Circe took it with a sad smile, feeling still a little scalded by Odette's explosion of emotion. But as her feet touched the coarse gravel and her eyes journeyed upwards, her thoughts were distracted by the magnificent stately home she now stood before. It was a beautiful, uniformly white, turreted masterpiece of architecture, looking like it had been plucked straight from the screen of an old Disney film. Circe marvelled at the round medieval towers that touched the sky, a delicate, rippling flag poised on top of each one, and she tried to count all of the large glass windows she could see uniformly set into facade but lost count. She turned around, hearing the bubbling of a huge fountain behind her and again was taken aback by the wonderfully lifelike carvings of mermaids and seahorses set into the bright, glistening water. The grounds were expansive, stretching on for miles in every direction she looked in. There was wild and untamed woodland, and intricately manicured gardens and Circe wished she had the time and the freedom to go fully exploring.

Odette gestured to the front door, leading Circe up a sweeping stone balustrade and throwing open the double doors. The entrance hall was light and bright and similarly magnificent. The floor a criss-cross of ebony black and milky white marble. A modest smattering of greek statues and antique ornaments dotted about.

"Gabriel! Raphael!" Odette called out, up the long staircase, past the pictures of Lestranges and Guillaumes of old. "We have a guest."

A rumble of footsteps in the roof above heralded the arrival of Odette's children, and after a moment of noise and youthful voices, the faces of two dark-haired, exuberant boys appeared at the top of the steps.

"Maman!" they both cried out as Odette spread her arms wide. They ran to her and she enveloped them in a warm hug. "Oh, my boys! Mes anges…"

Odette grabbed both of them by the crown of their dark heads, turning them around to face Circe.

"Boys, this is Circe Smith. She is an old, dear friend of mine… and she is here to help bring your father home."

Circe smiled weakly at the two boys, taking in their features and watching their shy faces take her in also. They both had Odette's startlingly light blue eyes, shining opals beneath gently waved dark, dark hair. They were not identical. Gabriel had more of a darker, tanned complexion and a long, straight nose. He stood slightly taller than his brother, but his back was straight and his shoulders beginning to broaden. Whereas Raphael was pale, like Odette, and had softer, more rounded features, cherubian cheeks, and gently sloping shoulders. They both smiled weakly at Circe and Gabriel strode forwards to offer a hand out to her. She took it and Gabriel shook firmly.

"Bonjour madame." he said politely. Raphael soon followed in his brother's wake, shaking her hand too and offering his greeting.

"Bonjour." Circe replied in her limited French.

"Mademoiselle." Odette corrected. "Not une madame." Circe looked up to Odette, noting the pointed way she had highlighted her unmarried status to the children. Perhaps Odette was not as forgiving as she had implied...

Circe cleared her throat awkwardly and fidgeted with her hands. "I'm afraid my French isn't very good."

"It is no bother. Gabriel and Raphael have been raised bilingual, haven't you mes anges?"

"Yes." Raphael said with an enthusiastic nod.

"Did you see him? The Dark Lord?" Gabriel asked suddenly, looking from Circe to his mother. Raphael gasped ever so slightly and Circe noted that Gabriel seemed to be the more forward of the two. A heavy silence followed and Circe cast a furtive glance to Odette. Clearly the boys were also aware of the family's allegiances and exactly where their mother had been these past few days.

"I did." Circe replied.

"And what did he say of our father?"

"That he should be home in time to see the both of you off for your first term at Hommehoughair." Odette replied brightly. It was an optimistic fib, but one that had both of the boys gasping excitedly.

"Hommehoughair?" Circe asked.

"The magical wizarding school for boys in France." Odette explained. "Madame Maxime would turn them away at the door of Beauxbattons!" she laughed demurely.

"Of course. You're both ten going on eleven. This'll be your first year."

"And we can finally have friends outside of just one another." Gabriel said, giving his brother a punch on the arm.

"That is fine by me." Raphael sighed. "Perhaps then I won't be so covered in bruises…"

"They have been home-schooled until now." Odette explained. "As per their father's wishes."

"Do you play Quidditch, Mademoiselle?" Gabriel asked, eager eyed. "I want to be on the team at Hommehoughair. Raph is a good Keeper but I need another Beater to practise my swings with…"

"Ohh, pour l'amour de Dieu! Already, Gabriel? She is barely in our front door!" Odette said with an exasperated sigh. "They are both quite keen flyers, Circe. I may have told them both about your skills on a broom. What was it that you were called back in Hogwarts?"

"Circe Beater, the Hufflepuff-Eater..." she mumbled. The boys both laughed. "Are you able to play Quidditch here?" she asked, trying to move swiftly on from her rather embarrassing old-nickname.

"Of course, our grounds are quite expansive so the boys can fly freely without the danger of being seen."

"Will you play with us, Mademoiselle?" Gabriel asked eagerly. Raphael too seemed to brighten at this possibility.

"I'd love to." Circe said, eliciting a broad grin from them both. "But do we have time…?" she asked, looking up into Odette's face.

"There are some things I need to see to before we… get down to business." Odette replied, raising a knowing brow at her. "As long as you do not mind, Circe…"

"Not at all. Do you have a spare broom?" Circe replied, desperate for a small respite or distraction from the rather stressful day she had endured.

"Yes! It's my old Nimbostratus 700, but it should be fine." Raphael chimed in. Gabriel grabbed her by the hand and dragged her through the entrance hall eagerly.

"Boys, make sure you both change out of your day clothes before you start playing…" Odette called after them.

"Oui, Maman…" they both replied in unison. Circe looked back to Odette one last time, before she was dragged fully from her sight, watching her chuckle ever so slightly as she finally removed her large hat from her head.

After a long afternoon of playing Quidditch in the warm Normandy sun, Circe was feeling wonderfully exhausted. She tried brushing off the mud that had somehow gotten on her trousers and in her hair, but she emerged back into the cool interior of the Chateau des Papillons looking a little wild. Gabriel and Raphael were very good flyers indeed and they almost ran rings around Circe, who was a little out of practise. Gabriel was fast and had the very essence of speed, but Raphael was strong and had a throw that had almost sent Circe tumbling off her broom when she'd caught his quaffle pass. The two boys went bounding off up the stairs to change out of their Quidditch gear and prepare for dinner, and Circe had been left wondering what to do with herself.

A small house-elf had shown her to her rooms and when Circe was left alone to freshen up in the seventeenth-century styled bedroom, she saw that the elf had already unpacked and neatly put away her things for her in the huge oak wardrobe. Still, she was brought crashing back down to reality as she saw the few items and knick-knacks that the house-elf had not known what to do with left on top of the bed: a few maps and books about Azkaban that she had been able to lay her hands on in the short time she'd had before leaving Britain, Minerva's amber brooch which she'd brought along as a good-luck talisman, and the small bundle of Barty Crouch Senior's hair.

She pushed past the items laid out on the bed and went on into the bathroom, where she washed and cleaned herself thoroughly. Whilst in the bath, her eyes lingered on the Dark Mark, still sore to the touch and tinged a little pink on the skin of her wrist. She ran a thumb over the skull, losing herself in the morbidity of the image and trying to retrace the many steps that had led her to find herself here: in Le Chateau de Papillons, on a covert mission for the Dark Lord, marked irreversibly as one of his own... She emerged a short while later, wrapping her hair up in a crisp white towel and rummaging about in the wardrobe for a change of clothes. She needed to go shopping soon for some more "pureblood appropriate" attire as Eileen Prince's dress was the only item she had that seemed to fit the grandeur of the Chateau. Still, she slipped it on again and felt oddly comforted by the pervasive smell of damp that still clung to it. It reminded her of Spinner's End, of Severus… She walked back over to the bed, picking up the brooch from the covers, remembering that Severus had linked the piece of jewelry to her Cantuscope, left behind in Cokeworth, in Severus's living room.

He told me… no matter how far away the brooch is from the Cantuscope, if I whisper something to it, the Cantuscope will play it.

The ache of separation pulled at Circe's heart and she found her eyes moistening with tears as she pictured Severus sitting in his floral armchair, in the living room of Spinner's End, all by himself. She missed him dearly, wishing that he was there with her to guide her through this impossible task and calm her worried heart as he had done when the two of them had been together in Cokeworth. How they had tried to make the best of a bad situation with laughter and love and songs. She thought of what Severus had told her before, about his mother playing Elton John and filling the rather dismal house with her music. She smiled and cupped the brooch close to her as a song came to mind.

"I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues." she whispered to the amber.

She waited, staring at the brooch in her hands, for something that might signal that it had worked and Severus was hearing the song she had chosen. The same song that was playing in her own mind now:

"And I guess that's why they call it the blues

Time on my hands should be time spent with you

Laughing like children, living like lovers

Rolling like thunder under the covers

And I guess that's why they call it the blues."

There was nothing from the brooch that hinted it had worked, and so she sighed to herself and placed it back upon the bed. She finished dressing and drying her hair and reluctantly grabbed the small bundle of hair, placing it in a concealed pocket in her skirts. She gathered her courage and left her room in search of Odette. In the end it was her nose that led her through the many empty rooms of the Chateau. Circe thought she could smell something rancid in the air, a smell that reminded her of sulphur, and she followed it all the way to the Library, where she found Odette hunched over a softly bubbling cauldron. With her one hand she held a book on advanced potions making and with the other she magically stirred the pot with the point of her wand.

God, perhaps Odette is right. I do have a type… She was always rather adept at potions as well. Just like someone else I know… Circe thought rather damningly to herself.

"Is that the polyjuice potion?" Circe asked. Odette looked up from her studies and nodded. She placed the book down on the tabletop and motioned Circe inside.

"Apologies for not being present to show you to your room. Did Sandrine find you?"

"The house-elf? Yes, she did."

"Ah good. I have asked her to bring us something easy to eat in here. I think we will have a long night ahead of us." Odette stated calmly.

"Us?" Circe asked, hovering over the potion. "You've fulfilled your end of the arrangement. The potion has been made."

Odette scoffed. "You don't truly believe you'll be able to get yourself inside Azkaban and liberate half a dozen Death Eaters all by yourself, do you?"

"You have your children, Odette. If it all goes wrong…. I wouldn't want you to-"

"To suffer?" she interrupted coldly. "Ma cherie, I have suffered enough already. You are forgetting that one of our targets will be Gabriel and Raphael's father. If my family is ever to be united again then I want a hand in making it so."

"But… but I assumed that you didn't really... Care for Rabastan."

"There were no feelings of love between us when we wed. It was a marriage of convenience that I was forced in to, like I told you. But he is the father of mes anges… And I would like, for once, to have an active role in whatever fate I am dealt."

Circe could not deny her that, not after everything she had told her. Whatever the circumstances that had led her to it, this was Odette's life and this was her cross to bear. All she wanted a say in the forces that would come to govern her.

So… perhaps she's not really loyal to Voldemort at all. Perhaps she isn't one of them! Circe thought as a mix of elation and trepidation cycled through her. No doubt the Lestranges indoctrinated her into His ranks when she was still just a teenage bride. But maybe the Dark Lord is just a means to an end for Odette. A way to play the shitty hand she's been dealt for her own advantage.

At that moment, Sandrine entered the Library carrying a tray of freshly baked breads, cheeses and cured meats as well as a big bottle of red wine for the two of them. The house-elf placed their supper down on the desk and left once Odette had thanked her.

Or perhaps Odette has been paired with me to test me. To trick me and out me as a spy. To try and weed out who I am truly loyal to by pulling on my heartstrings. Circe thought grimly. She could be a trap.

As Odette poured them both a glass of merlot each, she invited Circe to tell her what intel she already knew of Azkaban.

"Back in the pre-Roman days, they used to call it the Isle of the Dead. A dark place for the damned and the mad where the clans would send their insane to fester on their own, putting the sea between them and those they would rather forget. They say that the wizard Merlin stated that to truly be a great soothsayer, one had to suffer the "wound to the body", and the "wound to the mind". Merlin spent time amongst the mad on that Island before he himself returned, a powerful mystic. His protege Nimue, who later became The Lady of the Lake, gave her left eye up without a second thought, but she spent the best part of ten years on the Isle of the Dead, utterly lost. But only once she had lost her mind, and fought for it back, could she truly return to him to complete her training.

Many years later the Ministry procured it for their own purposes and built the foundations of what would become Azkaban on that accursed island. But they say they found the bones of a thousand mad and deformed, from grown men to children, in the caves embedded into the rock faces and strewn about the pebble shores. And they built the bones straight into the walls of the prison. They say that's what first caused the Dementors to spawn there. All that ancient and concentrated sadness, embedded into the very roots of the place."

"So it is close then. To the shore. If it was able to be reached by the pre-Roman people."

"It is. Many people are inclined to believe that it's in the midst of the ocean or out in the dregs of the Hebrides. But no. The sea gives its protection, sure enough, and it sits on top of the waves at the mercy of the winds and the tides. But it can't be more than five miles off the south coast. The last gobbet of gritty phlegm at the end of the longest spit in the world, Chesil Beach."

"Chesil Beach in Dorset?" Odette asked, pausing in the midst of munching a slice of cheese. "Circe, I can see Dorset from the cliffs here some days. Why would you journey all the way out here to Normandy when Azkaban sits off the coast of Weymouth?"

"Because, Odette…" Circe said, picking up a map that showed the English southern coast and the north of France. She lay it out flat on the desk before her, pushing aside her dinner plate with a rattle. "Chesil Beach is here." she continued, pointing to a spot on the country's underbelly. "Azkaban is here." Again Odette followed the trace of Circe's finger as it travelled a mere few centimeters, coming to rest at an unmarked, unremarkable little misshapen circle just off the coast "And Azkaban is guarded and watched rather closely from the English coast by wizards and witches, searchlights, alarm systems, the full works… all under the Ministry's employ, with lots of people working round the clock whose sole job it is to look out for anyone trying to cause trouble or help someone escape. But now look at where you are. Where we are right now."

Circe's finger travelled southwards some distance, in a straight line and it almost perfectly hit Cherbourg. "From what I've been able to tell, Azkaban are incredibly invested in stopping a possible escape from happening from the English side of the Island, but as far as precautions or security on the French side… there's nothing."

"Because they clearly aren't expecting it!"

"They have armoured and protected their English front, but left their back totally exposed to a Norman invasion!"

Circe laughed and Odette beamed from ear to ear.

"It'll be 1066 all over again, ma cherie!" She giggled

"So that is why you suggested coming here. To launch an attack not from the English side but from the Norman side." Odette nodded slowly, understanding Circe's point. "And here I was thinking you came to France just for little old me."

Odette smirked at Circe, causing her to splutter out her gulp of wine. There was a brief and laden pause, during which the two women gazed at one another. Something of their old familiarity passed between them and Circe once more thought she glimpsed the eighteen year old girl whose heart she had intimately known in Paris.

"I always wanted to come back." Circe said slowly. "I even started a few letters to you when Maxime told me you worked for the French Ministry."

"But you did not send them, ma cherie." Odette stated matter of factly.

"No. No I didn't…"

Perhaps Odette is right about me. Circe thought to herself. I spent years trying to leave behind the wizarding world. Trying to hide my magic away when I lived in Edinburgh. But being part of both worlds, magic and muggle, is hard. A foot in each door but not wholly belonging to either. I suppose it makes cutting and running when you've made a mess of one life easier. I went from wizard to muggle after Hogwarts ended and Odette and I were separated, and when the muggle life ground me down I dropped that all in a flash and ran back to the wizarding world once more. I seem to just bounce from one world to the other once I've made a right mess of my life where I am… And how long will it be before I make a mess of things for myself now and have to cut and run again? All of this spying, the war, the Dark Lord… this is shaping up to be my biggest cock-up yet...

"Alors, we have dragged up enough old ghosts today." Odette said with a dismissive wave. "Fate has brought us back together once more. Who knows what may have happened at this Chateau if you had not had Monsieur Snape in your life…"

Circe felt a little warm as she kept her eyes firmly on the map in front of her. Odette's gaze ran its way up and down her body and she felt every inch of it touch her. Odette did not move or place an exploratory hand on top of hers like someone probing about for a reciprocation of old feelings might have done. She stood still and silent, demurely waiting for her reply, holding on to her pride with every part of her. It pained Circe to realise that she might have been the last person Odette had shown her true emotions to and that she perhaps yearned for that version of her old self before her hurt and her suffering… who she had been with Circe. She eventually broke and met Odette's crystal clear blue eyes with a look of sad apology, a look that made Odette's face fall with disappointment.

"You love him don't you, ma cherie." Odette muttered dejectedly, but still managing to hold on to her elegance and pride.

Circe nodded, unable to find the right words that truly conveyed the depths of her emotions for Severus.

"Then I shall take joy from that. I just hope… that I do not fade from your sights again once you leave this place."

"You never did."

Odette sighed, sipping her merlot and approaching the map once again. Circe once again marvelled at how gracefully she bore her sadness and how quickly she swallowed it down.

"So tell me. Once we have landed on the French-facing side of the island? Then what?" Odette asked.

"Well… that's where my bright ideas stop." Circe mumbled. "But if I were to disguise myself as Barty, using your potion, I would hope that the Dementors wouldn't attack me on site. He was once the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, after all."

"Perhaps that is why Barty Crouch Junior wanted you to have his hair. He must have realized his father was known amongst the Dementors. They respected him, and didn't see him as a threat. Because he was, at one time, their commander."

"Maybe. That's a big jump though. What if they don't, and I just get my soul sucked out of my eyeballs like Barty Crouch Junior did?" Circe shivered as the memory played before her eyes.

"How did Sirius Black ever do it, ehh?" Odette asked wistfully.

Circe kicked herself, thinking she should have tried to write to Sirius before her hasty departure from Britain asking for a few tips.

"Even then, Black was only one man acting alone. We need to spring loose a good few more than that."

"We shall find a way, ma cherie." Odette said calmly.

She walked over to one of the many bookshelves lining the walls of the Library and pulled a few hardback books from the shelves. She cast them unceremoniously down onto the floor and Circe watched with a confused frown as Odette revealed a hidden, ornate, gold box, embedded into a small hole in the shelf. Odette took the box from its hiding place and set it down on the desk, next to the cauldron. It was long and thin, embossed with the Lestrange crest on its surface. Odette lifted the heavy lid reverently and motioned Circe to look at what lay within. Circe did so, peering into the box and seeing a plush velvet interior where three wands sat nestled within.

"Rodolphus, Rabastan and Bellatrix left these within my care when the Ministry Aurors were close to capturing them. They said they didn't want the Ministry to have them, just in case the Wizengamot analysed the last spells they'd used as it would have incriminated thm further... I haven't seen them for over twelve years..." Odette said wistfully, picking up one made of a dark cherry wood, tiger's eye gems embedded into its hilt. "Perhaps we are wanting to be too subtle with our plan of escape, ma cherie."

"What do you mean?" Circe asked.

"Well, maybe we need to think more along the lines of "smash and grab" rather than "sneaking and stealing"."

Circe eventually crawled into her bed at around four or five in the morning. The dawn sunlight was just beginning to creep its way through the shuttered windows of her room when her and Odette had hashed out something resembling a plan of action for their prison break. It had been a long night of research, reading, drinking, arguing and planning. But at least now they had something solid. A faint glimmer of hope that, if all went to plan, they just might be able to pull this off…

Circe sighed as she slipped out of her dress, into a decidedly more comfortable t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. Feeling more like herself in those garments than she had done all evening. She was just ducking into the cool linen sheets of her bed when she heard a loud rattle and a squawk from behind her window's shutters. She rose from her bed, bleary eyed and exhausted to investigate the noise, flinching slightly as the harsh sunlight of the early morning stung her eyes and the flap of wings fluttered about her face.

The familiar screech of an owl rang in her ears.

"Ziggy?!" she asked, as her brown tawny settled on the window ledge. The bird blinked his large orange eyes and dropped a small envelope into her hand. He shivered and sent a shower of water droplets smattering off him and looked at Circe with what she knew was his sour, annoyed expression.

"You haven't come all the way across the Channel, have you?" she asked him. He screeched again in reply and spread his wings agitatedly. Circe pointed out the window. "There's an owlery down at the bottom of the rose garden. Go and have a rest."

Ziggy swivelled his head around and took off without a backwards glance at her. Circe looked to the small note in her hands, instantly recognising Severus's small, compact handwriting and tore it open.

"Thank you VERY MUCH for giving me the fright of my life earlier.

Cantuscope blared into life and almost sent me carening off my armchair. Tea spilt everywhere.

But the sentiment of your song choice was not missed.

"I simply love you More than I love life itself."

And then perhaps when you return home victorious we can commence the "Rolling like thunder under the covers". "

Circe smiled, wiping away a small tear from her eye as her chest ached for Severus. She laughed aloud again as she imagined the shock he must have had when the Cantuscope had begun playing. Falling off the arm of the chair with a small little stifled yelp as his tea went arching into the sky. It tickled at a funny bone in her and soon she was shaking with laughter. She settled in under the covers again, cradling the note to her heart and slipped into an exhausted sleep, her thoughts dwelling on trying to picture Severus's face on the pillow beside her.