AN: I wrote this chapter during the finale of the Euros when we sort of almost won against Italy... Can you tell?! If I never hear Three Lions again, it'll be ten years too soon!

Chapter 78 - "Nothing Compares 2 U"

"It's been seven hours and fifteen days

Since you took your love away…"

"Ugh… Shut it, Sinéad…" Circe groaned, rolling over in her bed and grabbing at her guts. She woke up with a knot in her stomach. She always woke up with a knot in her stomach these days. Every morning, when she'd emerge from her uneasy dreams and slowly remember her lonely reality, the knot of anxiety would kick back into place. She went to bed with that anxious symptom, and she awoke with it. After a moment of re-adjusting to the discomfort, she withdrew her hands from her belly and reached for her glasses.

It was six-thirty already. The schoolday called. And her Cantuscope was making sure she had a rather rude awakening.

"He's been gone for thirteen days actually…" she grumbled, picking up a roll of socks and chucking it at the machine. Her charge hit the display with a dull thud, but still the Cantuscope played defiantly on. Circe knew this wasn't one of Severus's selections; if he sent her a song, through the magical connection of the brooch she had bestowed him with, it was normally in the evenings, when he knew she would be in bed. Plus, Severus seemed to be spacing his song-messages apart every three or four days, giving Circe some kind of semi-consistency in the hellish few weeks of worry she'd had. Severus's last song had come through the Cantuscope two days ago.

Severus was alive two days ago.

He wasn't due to tell her he was alive until at least tomorrow night.

She reluctantly sat up in bed and banished the covers from off of her. The chill of the cold November morning woke her up quickly and she hurried to the bathroom whilst it was still vacant.

"If you're going to torment me with stupidly poignant songs… I'd prefer the Prince version. Thank you very much." She called back to the Cantuscope as she gripped onto the sink, waiting for her anxious stomach to relax a little.

The machine clicked and whirred, and then the tune started anew. This time with a decidedly much more eighties, synthy, building introduction:

" It's been seven hours and thirteen days

Since you took your love away…"

Circe glanced up at her face in the mirror. These days it didn't matter if she slept two hours or twelve; she still looked exhausted. She began washing her face, counting the lines around her eyes and the dark circles nested underneath them, wondering if they had been so bad before Severus left. Surely she hadn't had such a "resting miserable face" before that cold, crisp night on the rickety wooden bridge. She knew that part of the reason she always appeared so tired was her nighty vigil at the threshold of the bridge. There she would wait until just gone midnight, hoping Severus would emerge from out of the darkness and bleed back into her life, the reverse of how he had bled into the inky night when he'd left her. She'd had thirteen consecutive nights of disappointment. Thirteen times already she'd trudged back up to Hogwarts from the threshold of the bridge, alone. She closed her eyes as a wave of worry overtook her.

Calm down. It's only been two weeks, give or take. He's only been gone two weeks. she thought to herself. Did you really expect him to be back already?

She hadn't really expected Severus to return so soon, but nevertheless, hearing the midnight bell sound out and no Severus emerge over the wooden bridge was a nightly torment she had come to dread.

You were in Normandy longer, Circe. She chided herself as she began the arduous task of brushing her hair out. Severus managed to hold it together while you were in France. I bet he wasn't a bag of worry and nervous, pining energy.

But nevertheless, as she told herself off, she mentally added up the days that she had been at the Chateau Des Papillons, the longest time her and Severus had ever spent apart:

Three weeks. So, you can't fall apart just yet!

But Circe's stomach still churned at the thought of spending another eight nights waiting by the wooden bridge.

"How did you do it, Sev?" Circe asked her pallid and exhausted reflection. "How did you wait by the sidelines whilst I did the brave, dangerous things? Because this is torturous…"

She was hasty and clumsy with her makeup, not having much of a care if people saw how tired and anxious she was. Minerva knew better than to ask about her eye-bags and most of the students were polite enough not to say anything. There had been a few rude Slytherins that had made some snickering comments in the Halls about Circe "letting herself go", but she didn't care. A few hundred deducted house points had meant that the students eventually got the message: not to fuck with her, especially when she was in a bad mood.

As she finished dressing for the day, she decided on donning a few extra layers. It had been threatening to snow for quite some time now and the Prophet were dead set on Hogwarts finally getting their first smattering this weekend. She tied her boots and pulled on her gloves, rifling through a bottom drawer of her wardrobe for a hat. No hats really suited Circe. She had a slightly large head, and nothing standard sized ever seemed to fit her. Hats of all varieties always seemed to make her face look round or her curls stick out strangely. But she eventually settled on an old bobble hat with the Philadelphia Eagles logo on the front that she'd brought back from America. It would do, she supposed. Even if it did make her look about twelve…

As Circe despaired at the addition of her new head accessory, she opened the drawer to her vanity chest and took a small vial of potion out of it. She'd gone to Slughorn a few days into Severus's departure to ask him to teach her how to make Calming Draft, fobbing him off by explaining she had a few anxious students who were fretting over their Christmas mock exams. But in truth, it was for her. It seemed like no matter how she tried to distract herself, she always felt that twisting worry in her guts now she had sent Severus into possible danger. She suddenly had a newfound respect for those "war widows" and anyone else who had to wait at the window whilst their loved ones were away; Waiting hurt. Waiting was painful. Waiting was its own kind of bravery.

She unstoppered the vial and inhaled deeply from the potion, eternally grateful that she had this to help her. The Calming Draft worked on aromatics, rather than digestion, as she'd learnt that day in Severus's bath. Only when she breathed it in deep did she feel herself relax. She took another deep breath, the heavy scent of lavender assaulting her nostrils, and she could feel the anxious knot in her stomach relax as the Calming Draft melted into her body. It didn't completely eradicate all of the worry, but it made her feel halfway normal. Normal enough to not spend every waking moment mentally running in circles and fretting over Severus and Odette. She pocketed the vial, just in case she needed it later...

She forced herself to eat something at breakfast, under the watchful eye of Minerva. The Headmaster was currently away, journeying to "places of interest" as he'd explained briefly to Circe. She suspected Albus had gone to eye up the caves in Dorset that Odette had located before her departure to Europe, but it would have been nice if he'd told her that… It almost seemed like Dumbledore was feeling Severus's absence too, but chose to deal with it by travelling and escaping Hogwarts as often as he could. So Mcgonagall, as the acting Head, sat a the center of the staff table, with Circe placed at her right hand. In the prime place for Minerva to keep a watchful, caring eye on her..

She'd skipped meals too often for it not to have gone unnoticed by her friend. McGonagall had a knack for knowing things she hadn't been told and it seemed the old which instinctively knew when Circe needed reminding to eat. It annoyed Circe initially to become essentially another student under McGonagall's care, when she herself was responsible for the welfare of all of the Ravenclaw children. However she wasn't so proud that she didn't know when to accept a helping hand when she needed one.

"So, are your team ready to face off against the lions?" Minerva asked jovially once Circe had finished her toast.

"Lions? Kittens is more like it, judging from the miserable performance they gave against Slytherin." Circe replied, mustering a small smile.

After her second coffee, and the potion fully beginning to take effect, she could normally feel her "I'm coping" mask slipping into place by then. By 8 o'clock she was feeling like she could just about tackle a teaching day, but today… today was Quidditch day. Today might be a day when she didn't have to pretend so hard that she was doing fine.

"That… unfortunate loss to the Slytherin team… was just a false start. I have all the confidence in the world that Mr Weasley will-"

"Let every quaffle past him again?!" Circe interrupted swiftly.

"Debut nerves." McGonagall said with a dismissive wave. "We can still win the Quidditch league if we win all of our other matches."

"If. I reckon my girl Cho will have something to say about that, Min." Circe finished with a wink.

Minerva chuckled, glad to see her roommate in relatively high spirits.

"I wonder what delightful chant the students have concocted for us this time?" Minerva asked with a sarcastic roll of her eyes.

Circe blushed a little, slightly embarrassed that her lasting legacy at Hogwarts thus far had been the rather inventive chants the students came up with each match. All of which were set to muggle tunes they otherwise wouldn't have known without Circe. The kids still gave a few hearty singalongs to Sweet Caroline, but a number of new favourites had begun emerging that Circe was particularly tickled by:

"She will, she will clock you!"

Sung especially for Ginny Weasley to the tune of 'We Will Rock You', when she pelted an enemy of their broom with a quaffle hit.

"Remember you're a badger!

Remember you're a badger!"

The team song for the Hufflepuffs, cribbed from The Wombles theme tune.

And Circe's current personal favourite:

"Cho, go break them apart.

I hear that Potter cried.

Cause he lost the snitch and fell off his broom

When you grabbed his behind!"

Elton eat your heart out! She thought with a cracking smile, as she and Minerva rose from the breakfast table. She'd never listen to 'Don't Go Breaking my Heart' the same way again.

The students were already abuzz as the two women made their way down to the Quidditch pitch. Circe could see Harry and Ginny doing their last rounds of warm up activities in the sky as she drew nearer. She could already hear the gathered crowd gently humming in the stalls and she couldn't help but feel a stir of excitement inside. Yet, a wave of guilt overtook her then; Was it bad of her to be excited? To be enjoying herself when Severus might be risking everything in that exact moment. It seemed wrong for her to be enjoying herself, doing what she pleased and seeing whoever she wanted when Severus had set his life on the line to make her happy.

She only realised she'd stopped dead in the path when Mcgonagall turned around to face her with a concerned and puzzled look. Minerva's own face softened into a look of compassion, and she approached Circe slowly, her hands clasped neatly in front of her and her eyes swimming with empathy.

"Severus… would not wish for you to be miserable." Minerva said slowly.

Circe felt a lump rise in her throat. Minerva really knew how to cut to the quick of the issue at hand.

"I miss him so much, Min." she uttered, the lump in her throat refusing to budge. "And I know that I'm behaving pathetically ...like I can't bloody function without him around…"

"It is not weakness for you to show concern over the ones you love when they are in dangerous territory."

"But this is all my fault… Severus left because of me! He left to go and find Odette because I-"

"Severus left of his own volition. He made his own choices as a grown man."

"And would a grown woman be behaving like this?!" CIirce shot back. She hung her head low and stood quiet for several seconds. "I really didn't think I was that...dependent on him. I wanted him to be the center of my world for so long that when he became just that… I took him for granted. I can't believe I ever had the nerve to feel lonely or isolated or unloved before he left. Everything I ever worried about before now feels trivial compared to this. And I feel like such a co-dependent catastrophe saying all that out loud. It's pathetic isn't it. That a grown, adult woman like me feels like-"

"Like a part of your soul has gone away with them?" Minerva asked quietly. "And nothing can compare to the feeling of completeness you felt with them beside you?"

Circe nodded as she fought to fight down the bitter tears rising in her eyes.

"I'm afraid that is the curse of love in a time of war, Circe." Minerva added, taking her arm firmly in hers and leading her on into the stalls. "But in the end, what you are feeling now makes Severus's absence all the more worthwhile. He is gone to serve the side that loves, to help the very people who care if he comes home or not. I don't believe anyone has ever cared for Severus to those depths before, and he knows it. And if it was possible for him to love you more than he already does, then I think he'd downright burst if he saw how much you were missing him!"

Circe let out a small laugh. "But surely you were never like this. You and Elphinstone-"

"Never had to endure the War in the same way other lovers did. And aye, I have always been a private person when it comes to my emotions. But still waters run deep, as the saying goes. And I recall each time Elphinstone was called away on Ministry business... or had to accompany an Auror's raid… or be on-hand for an arrest… I wouldn't sleep a wink until he came back through our front door."

"But how did you cope with it? The worry? That feeling like… like you have eels inside you." Circe asked, remembering in a flash that story of what happened in the cave. That twisting, grotesque, eel-filled corpse… She thought it was a rather accurate description for how she felt without the Calming Draft to mellow her.

"I used to walk around our little garden, when sleep evaded me. I remember once, when Elphinstone was caught up at the Ministry for hours after a mission, sorting through paperwork and warrants, he said. But he was gone for hours. And when he eventually came home, I'd trodden a veritable trench into the grass!"

"Ha!" Circe laughed aloud as they started ascending the many steps up to the Staff spectator towers. But the smile faltered on her face as she realised that there would have been one evening of pacing and worrying for Minerva when Elphinistone didn't come home…

"Caring does not make you weak, Circe." Minerva said gently. "It makes you human. Remember that. But what is even braver is carrying on. That makes you a lioness."

Circe felt her eyes welling up once more as Minerva tightened her grip on her arm. She gave her a pat on the shoulder and stopped to turn to her. She pulled her into a tight embrace as Circe scrunched her eyes tight, burying her face in Mcgonagall's shoulder as she waited for the thick lump in her throat to go away. She drew apart from her with a weak smile.

"Look at you, trying to make me a "lioness" again." she muttered jovially. "I'm an Eagle, Min! Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor! We have talons, not claws!"

"It won't matter what you've got! The lions are headed for victory today, my girl!"

"Lions can't fly, Minerva. Never have done, never will."

"Bold words, Professor Smith, for an upstart pigeon such as yourself…"

"An upstart pigeon?!" Circe exclaimed, feeling her heart grow a little lighter at the commencement of their friendly banter. "Oh you'll regret that, Mcgonagall, when Potter's knocked off his broom again by my Cho."

They finally emerged at the top of the tower, both of them a little out of breath. The wind swept through Circe's hair and she covered her eyes from the harsh, bright sunlight from the overcast Scottish sky. It didn't quite look like it was going to rain, but nevertheless, Circe was glad that she had her mother's coat around her shoulders. She glanced around the stands and saw that they were almost at full capacity, with students excitedly chattering and jostling for a good view of the pitch. On the other side of the stadium, Circe could just about make out the sea of green uniforms that were the Slytherins. Draco was not hard to pick out amongst them; a hovering silvery-blonde head in a sea of ebony and emerald… and he seemed to be holding a sign.

"Min, what's Draco got there…?" Circe asked, tugging on her friend's arm and squinting into the huddle of Slytherins.

"My eyesight is no better than yours, Circe." Mcgonagall sighed. "But I can take a guess at what it might say…"

Almost on cue, the Slytherins began a rousing rendition of their latest chant:

"Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in

Weasley is our King!"

"Oh, well that's charming…" Circe grumbled, scanning the pitch and finding Ron already on his broom, hovering by the goal hoops, as pale as a sheet. She could have guessed it had been penned by pureblood Slytherins, because it wasn't set to any tune she recognised.

"Weasley was born in a bin

He always lets the Quaffle in

Weasley will make sure we win

Weasley is our King!"

"Oh now really, Horace!" Minerva exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips and facing the de-facto Head of Slytherin House with a look of scorn. "Surely you cannot permit your students to-"

"Well Minerva, I do recall similar chants of a rather personal nature existing about other students." Slughorn interrupted her defensively.

"Yes, but not ones that attack their financial status or their family..."

"Ahh come on, I've heard much worse down the stands of muggle football matches." Rolanda Hooch chimed in just as she was performing the last adjustments to her flying goggles. "It'll help Weasley build up a thick skin!"

Mcgonagall spluttered in outrage, her thin lips pressing together into a hard line as the chant carried on, unchecked by the other Staff members. Hooch took off into the air and positioned herself at the center of the ring, ready to commence the match. Circe took Minerva's arm and led her gently to a vacant seat as the players flew into starting positions. The chant seemed to be growing in volume as more and more students learnt the melody and joined in on the taunting. Circe's heart began sinking…

"This isn't right. Look at Ron, he's practically shaking." Circe muttered, casting a sympathetic eye out to the Gryffindor Keeper. SHe could see Weasley's pale hands gripping so tightly onto his broom that he was making the handle shake beneath him. In fact, if Ron had been one of her players, she might have called him off the pitch… He looked almost ready to faint with nerves.

"Well, you heard Horace. We cannot interfere. Weasley will just have to learn to block it out." Minerva said sadly. "And this is a good thing for you and your pigeons, isn't it… Why would you want to put a stop to the chant?"

CIrce was quiet for a moment, before looking Minerva dead in the eye. "Because I don't want to win by use of fear and intimidation tactics. That's a dirty win…" she said levelly, her eyes clouding over with a fierce determination.

"So what are you going to do? What can you do?" Minerva whispered back.

"I'm gonna get creative... "

Circe jumped up from her seat just as Rolanda blew the match whistle. The flyers sprung into action and began their frantic whizzing around, but Circe was not watching the match. Instead, she raced down through the stalls of the Staff tower, barrelling past the likes of Slughorn and Sprout and Trelawney. Mcgonagall watched her disappear back down the long tower of stairs with a confused and curious expression on her face.

Circe was almost taking the stairs two at a time. She forced herself to slow down and take them cautiously when she almost tripped over and narrowly avoided falling down the rest of the stairs by gripping on to the wooden banister tighty. Normally a few quick and easy scores were bagged in the first few moments of play, but she prayed that she didn't miss any crucial moments of the match as she descended step after step. She tried to listen out for a thunderous roar or a telltale chant that might indicate a goal, but she struggled to hear anything over her pounding heart and the loud thuds of her own footfalls. Nevertheless, her thoughts were coming thick and fast as she reached the bottom of the tower. Circe gasped and froze in place as she heard a rather loud "Ooooh!", but she quickly forced herself to start moving again. She dared not pause any longer to catch her breath, instead she went barreling on to the Gryffindor stands as fast as her legs could carry her. When she emerged at the top of the student's stands, she was wheezing and sweaty and a number of Gryffindors tore their eyes away from the match to stare at her in confusion.

"Professor…" Lavender Brown said with an airy breath. "What are you doing h-"

"Anyone scored yet?" Circe asked through a few deep drags of air. She pushed past a few crimson and gold adorned students to stare up at the flyers and assess the match. She could still hear 'Weasley is our King' on the air and her eyes darted back to Ron, who looked like he might be sick at any moment...

"Um, no… But Ron almost fumbled a Quaffle and dropped it through his own hoop." Dean Thomas said, with an air of disappointment to his voice. A general grumble of agreement rippled through the other Gryffindors.

Ah, so that was the "Ooh!" earlier… she realised.

"Dean… you're a West Ham man, aren't you!" Circe said, grabbing the young man's arm and looking him in the eye.

"Um, yes…"

"What do they sing at Boleyn Ground..? Chants..? Something that might drown out "Weasley is our bloody King"."

"Oh, bloody hell. Nothing I can repeat in front of you, Professor." Dean responded with a sheepish laugh.

"Well, come on! Think! Think of something you can sing to help Ron out!"

"Hang on, Dean…" Lee Jordan said, pushing through the crowd towards where Circe was accosting the young Gryffindor. "What's that song that all the muggles have been singing for the UEFA Euros? It's been driving my Dad mental, he can't get the radio in his flying car to play anything different."

"Oh, God, you mean 'Three Lions'?" Dean muttered.

"Hang on, that sounds promising!" Circe exclaimed enthusiastically. "Lions, Gryffindors, et cetera et cetera...!"

"Ugh, Hermione, can't you just jinx a few of the Ravenclaw's brooms?" Seamus Finnegan asked, huffing and folding his arms across his body. Hermione turned to face Circe with a bright-red face of embarrassment.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Seamus! I've never done that!" she squealed.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that…" Circe grumbled. "How does it go, this 'Three Lions' song?"

"Um... " Dean coughed nervously, looking around the stands at his other fellow Gryffindors and silently pleading with them for a bit of support. "Like… well… It's coming home. It's coming. Football's coming home."

"Oh that song!" Colin Creevey piped up from the midst of a group of rather taller lads. He joined Dean's chant with rather more enthusiasm than the other boy. "IT'S COMING HOME. IT'S COMING…"

"FOOTBALL'S COMING HOME!" shouted Dennis, his younger brother, also joining the song with vigor.

"That's it?" Circe stated with a smile.

"That's the chorus. There's more, but-"

"That's enough. It's nice and easy and catchy." Circe said in a hurry. "So now what do we sing instead of "it's coming home"?"

The little group of Gryffindors were quiet for a moment as they stood exchanging slightly embarrassed looks with one another.

Dennis Creevey looked up from his shoes with a radiant smile. "Weasley's our King. He's our King!"

"No, Dennis… We want to think of something to block that out." Seamus said irritably.

"No, wait… It still works!" Hermione exclaimed. "But just… flip the meaning of the song on its head. That would infuriate the Slytherins even more if we used their own song against them."

"So what did you say Dennis?" Circe asked the younger Creevey, with a growing grin creeping across her own face. "Weasley's our King. He's our King… He'll save anything!"

Dean gave a small scoff from where he stood, but he too took up the chant, adding a deeper, louder voice to the mix. "Weasley's our King. He's our King. He'll save anything."

Lee joined in the next time round: "Weasley's our King. He's our King. Don't let the Quaffle in!"

Circe's face bloomed into a radiant smile as she stepped back and let the chant grow.

"Weasley's our King!

He's our King!

He'll save anything!

Weasley's our King!

Weasley's our King!

He's our King!

Don't let the Quaffle in!

Weasley's our King!

Weasley's our King!

The lion's sing!

Weasley is our King!"

Soon the whole Quidditch pitch was flooded with the knock-off 'Three Lions' chant. It was loud and raucous. Bouncing off the wooden walls, reverberating in her skull until her ears rang with the sheer volume behind the chant. It was so loud that a few of the players glanced up from their brooms to look around the stadium.

"PLAY ON!" Rolanda shouted after tooting on her whistle with a sharp blow.

The players swooped away in a multitude of different directions, their focus back into the game, but Circe gave one final glance at Ron and she could see his smiling face from one-hundred yards up in the air. He gave a small pump of his fist to the air and the crowd roared in support of him. Circe, feeling like her work was now done, slipped quietly away back through the sea of crimson and gold scarfs, and silently returned to the Staff tower.

When she took her seat back at Minerva's side, she was still smiling from ear to ear.

"Well, that certainly was… creative!" Minerva exclaimed with a raise of her thin brow at her.

"You're welcome!" she called back, still struggling to hear anything other than the new, rousing rendition of 'Weasley is our King'.

"Well, there's one thing that I never realised the Lions and the Eagles share…" Minerva said with a playful tittler.

"What's that?"

"We both fight fair." the old witch said, a twinkle to her eye. She took Circe's hand in her own and clasped it gratefully. "Thank you."

"Don't get too sentimental, Minerva!" Circe teased, squeezing her hand back. "The Eagles are still going to come swooping out the sky and seize the Lions in their claws!"

A bell sounded out from the pitch.

"Ten points to Gryffindor!" hollered Rolanda.

"What!?" screamed Circe.

The stands erupted into a wave of shouts and screams. The Gryffindors furiously waved their flags and scarves in the air as Ginny did a victory lap of the pitch. .

"Merlin's hairy arse!" Circe shouted up to the azure figures in the sky. "Come on, Ravenclaw! Look alive!"

The game commenced again with a Quaffle pass between a few of the Ravenclaw Chasers. They swooped down the pitch and chucked the ball at the hoop. CIrce gasped; it was a hasty, reactionary move to the Gryffindor goal, but nevertheless she held her breath as the ball sailed through the air…. And was effortlessly blocked by Ron.

"Weasley's our King!

Weasley's our King!

He's our King!

He'll save anything!"

The chant began again, renewed in volume and energy by Ron's skillful block...and almost in the blink of an eye, the Quaffle was back in the hands of Gryffindor Chaser, Katie Bell…. And another bell sounded out over the student's voices.

"Another ten points to Gryffindor!"

"Oh for fu-!"

"Circe!" Minerva exclaimed, before a rather loud profanity escaped her mouth.


"Ahh cheer up, Circe!" Hagrid's deep voice rumbled at her. He squeezed himself back into the staff table and passed her a butterbeer in his meaty hands. Circe took it with a grumble of disdain.

"Hagrid, we lost thirty to two-hundred and fifty…" she muttered. "Surely I'm allowed to be a bit miserable after that loss."

"Well… maybe just a bit." Hagrid replied, burying his face in his beer.

"I can't believe it… We got our arse handed to us by Segreant Potter and the Horny Hearts Club Band…"

Mcgonagall tittered at her from across the table, covering her mouth demurely. "Oh, I know you said you're a fair fighter, but you're still a sore loser Circe Smith!"

Circe stuck her tongue out childishly at Minerva and blew a long raspberry. She'd needed a trip down to the Three Broomsticks after that miserable loss and quite a number of her colleagues had tried cheering her up with a consolidatory round of beer. She'd had so many butterbeers by now, her teeth were beginning to feel fuzzy from all of the sugar in the drink… and her head was starting to feel similarly hazy.

"To think… if I hadn't taught the Gryffindors that bloody song-"

"Mister Malfoy would have succeeded in his intimidating of Mister Weasley. Which is something neither of us wanted to happen." Minerva cut in quickly.

"Nasty little so 'un so…" Hagrid grumbled, spilling a good glug of beer down his beard.

"Ugh, why do you have to be right?" Circe mumbled, draining her pint in one. "Damn me and my bleeding heart. Someone else always used to tell me that my "bleeding heart" got me into trouble..."

Minerva stared at Circe for a moment, watching as the faint flicker of sadness passed over her eyes. She reached out and touched Circe's hand, bringing her sharply back to the Hogsmeade pub and greeting her with a warm smile. Whatever faraway thoughts she'd been lost in evaporated in a second. Circe mustered a small smile in return and nodded her head at Mcgonagall.

I'm okay. Promise...

She was determined not to have every little thing remind her of Severus, just for one afternoon. But she sometimes would find herself slipping away into the past, triggered by a particular smell... the biting scent of the forest floor, or the acrid stench of something burning... or a particular turn of phrase, like the "bleeding heart" statement that came tumbling out of her mouth, and then suddenly Severus was all she could think about. It was almost like that tender stage after a breakup, when any little thing could invoke a wealth of memories and send her into a stream of lonely, falling tears.

Stop it. Come on, think of what Minerva said. Carrying on is brave. She thought to herself. And you actually sort of managed to forget about all this when you were occupied with the match, having a bit of fun.

The pub door swung open, and from out of the cold drifted in an increasingly familiar song:

"Weasley's our King!

Weasley's our King!

He's our King!

He'll save anything!"

Minerva wheeled around to face the group of Seventh Year lads that had wandered into the pub with sharp stare. They immediately halted in their tracks and the chant stopped.

"It is Saturday, gentlemen." Mcgonagall stated firmly. "And no underage wizards are permitted in here unless it is the Sabbath day."

"Sabbath? Wot's she on about, Circe?" asked Hagrid in a hoarse whisper.

"Sunday, Hagrid." she whispered back. "Kids are only allowed in here on Sunday, aren't they."

"Oh right… yeah."

"Might I suggest you try Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop?" Mcgonagall asked pointedly.

The Hogwarts boys shuffled sheepishly back out the door of the pub and the door slammed shut again. Minerva turned back to the table of her colleagues, shaking her head as the last gusts of cold air dispersed in the warmth of the tavern.

"Well, at least that chant of yours is useful to us Professors, Circe." Minerva said playfully.

"What do you mean, Min?"

"Now we'll be able to hear a gaggle of Gryffindors approaching from a hundred paces away!"

Circe snorted and Hagrid too broke into a booming laugh.

Circe cast an eye to the window of the pub. The sky was turning from a bright white to a deep slate colour and she frowned.

"God it felt cold when they opened the door." she said, thinking aloud. "Do you think we're about to get the first snow of the year?"

"Oh I can confirm it, my dear!" Sibyl Trelawney said, leaning over to them from a neighboring table, brandishing her rather large glass of firewhiskey at Circe. "I beheld it in one of my visions! We are due for twelve inches this afternoon!"

Circe bit her bottom lip and fought back a giggle. She caught herself searching for Severus to exchange a knowing glance with and her heart dropped as she realised he wasn't here.

"I see. Nothing to do with the weather warning that was published in the Daily Prophet this morning, Sibyl?" Minervas asked flatly.

"Oh, was it? Well… Of course the Weather Wizard at the newspaper headquarters may have been granted the same visions as I…" Trelawney mumbled weakly.

This woman… A great Seer… Circe thought to herself, trying very hard to suppress a scoff.

"Mmm Hmm." Mcgonagall said sceptically, voicing all of Circe's thoughts in that simple utterance.

"'as it started yet?" Asked Hagrid. "If so, I'll 'ave to get back and tuck in the Pot-bellied Pumpkins before it gets too cold."

"Not yet, but it was looking pretty ropey by the end of the match." Circe replied.

"And the sky looks practically fit to burst!" Mcgonagall exclaimed.

"Oh hang on…" Circe muttered, glancing up to the window again and sure enough, there now were a few delicate, dancing snowflakes falling against the glass. "Twelve inches, did you say, Minerva?" She asked nervously.

"Oh, I better get back up to the castle quick-smart." Mcgonagall said, rising from the table and hastily throwing her outer cloak back on over her shoulders. "I'll tell the House Elves to get the fires going and brew up a good few dozen rounds of hot chocolate. We are going to have quite a large number of cold and wet students coming back through our doors soon."

"You go back up now." Circe said family to Minerva, standing up and down in her coat too. "I'll do a few sweeps ofHogsmeade and tell any straggling students to get back up to the castle as quick as they can."

"Good idea. I'd hate for anyone to get stuck in a drift. The path up to the castle can be quite treacherous in the snow."

"So we better get our arses in gear before any of us get stranded down here in the village." Circe finished, pulling on her gloves and shoving her bobble hat over her curls.

The staff gathered in the Three Broomsticks burst into action, downing their drinks and rushing off about their duties. Without the Headmaster around, they were all equally responsible, all equally in charge without Dumbledore at the helm. But still the machine worked, everyone knew what was needed of them, like a cog in a steadily ticking clock. Circe approached the door and flung it open, gasping as a wall of white greeted her.

Christ, this came on quick. She thought before stepping out into the growing blizzard.

"Kids, forget sweets. Back up to Hogwarts now!" Circe ordered, approaching a group of Hufflepuffs standing outside Honeydukes. They shuffled away without protest and Circe charged into the sweet shop, on the lookout for any more students. There were one or two perusing the chocolate frogs and jars of exploding bonbons, and she approached them all in turn, tapping them on the shoulder and telling them to make their way back up to the castle as calmly and quickly as they could.

By the time she'd made her way back out to the Hogsmeade High Street, the village was already dusted with a light covering of snow. Circe tugged her hat down lower and plunged back into the heavily falling flakes. She'd managed to do a whistlestop tour of most of Hogsmeade's frequented locations: the corner shop, the Post Office, Zonko's. She even found Harry, Ron and Hermione loitering outside the Tea Shop. Circe just about had time to grit her teeth and shake Harry's and Ron's hands in congratulations of a match well won before she ushered them up the path to Hogwarts. Another Gryffindor, Leanne Anderson, was loitering by Honeydukes when Circe passed it again, claiming she'd come to Hogsmeade with Katie Bell, and now she couldn't find her. Circe told her to start walking up to Hogwarts herself, and she'd send Katie to catch up with her when she found her. Once Leanne turned to leave, Circe sighed to herself and reluctantly started another sweep of the village, hoping she'd manage to find all the students before she herself got snowed out of Hogwarts.

Eventually, however, Circe found herself poking her head round the door of the Hog's Head. That dingy little place on the edge of town where so much ancient history had happened… No one was there, of course. No one ever went in the Hog's Head these days. But before she could leave and continue her student search, she was accosted by a loud and gruff voice.

"There's one of yours round the back!"

Circe glanced around the pub's interior again, but couldn't see where the voice had come from.

"Uhh… Hello?" She called out into the gloom.

"Did you hear me? I said there is a student hanging round the back of my bins!" The voice called out again. This time Circe could place it and she wandered over to the bar gingerly. The voice had definitely come from behind the bar...

"Aberforth." She stated plainly, watching as a grey and wizened old man stood up straight, wiping a dirty glass in his hands. Circe could instantly see the family resemblance; he had the same rounded cheeks and sky blue eyes as his brother Albus, but his hair was more grey than the Headmaster's snowy white, and he smelt rather strongly of goat…

"Hmmph. My reputation precedes me…" He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Oriri…"

"Ex cinere." Circe added confidently.

"Had to make sure. Although most people who know me by name these days are working for my brother. Shouldn't surprise me really…" Aberforth sighed disdainfully. "What does he want me to do for him this time?"

"Dumbledore's travelling at the moment. He's not here…" she grumbled with a roll of her eyes.

"I guessed that, seen as he'd sent someone else to pass his orders on. Although he normally sends me a packet of Dolly Mixture before his messenger arrives..."

"Sorry. I'm… I'm not here on Order business." Circe said hurriedly. "I was trying to get all the students rounded up and back to Hogwarts before the blizzard really sets in."

"Ahh…" Aberforth sighed. "I had a couple of them in here trying to sneak a cheeky pint, cause you lot were sitting in the Broomsticks. You needn't chew my head off, I know that old Scottish witch will try, 'cause I only ever serve them the non-alcoholic butterbeer. But they still leave here thinking they're drunk as a gnome on the summer solstice."

Circe laughed, but her giggles soon died in her throat as she noticed that there was not a touch of warmth in the old man's eyes.

She cleared her throat and put her hands in her pockets. "Who is it? Round the back of the bins, I mean."

"I don't know the name of the kids! That's your lots job, isn't it?!" Aberforth said irritably. "But he's been there a while. Shifty looking bugger, he is. Bright blonde hair."

"Draco? What's he doing sulking around the back alley?"

"How should I know? But Petronella down the Post Office says he's been going in there every single day, asking if his orders's arrived yet. Getting on her nerves, acting all stuck up and moody when she told him it hadn't come yet."

An order? What's Draco order? Circe thought as an uncomfortable chill passed through her. Is he on to some other assassination method now he can't make them Vanishing Cabinet Work? Ordered some other grim thing from Borgin and Burke's?

"That way?" Circe asked, pointing at another door at the opposite end of the bar

"That's it." Replied Aberforth. "Watch the goat on your way out. He's tied up out the back at the moment for eating my underwear."

"Why were your…? Never mind."

Circe strode through the pub and pushed open the back door with a hard shove. A flurry of snow hit her in the face and a goat's bray filled her ears.

"Draco?" She called out into the snow, as a dark brown goat tied up to a pole scampered away from her. She listened closely, hearing muttered words on the wind. Circe crunched over the snow, peering around the large bins with curiosity, trying to find where the faint incantation was coming from. And finally, when she rounded a corner and stepped over the goats chain, she saw Draco. He had his wand pointed just under another person's chin, and he was standing so still, concentrating so deeply, that the snow was settling on his shoulders.

"Draco, what are you d-"

But Circe stopped as she heard the words of the incantation as she drew closer.

"Audie teo cogam… Quod imperio vobis faciam…"

"Draco!" She exclaimed, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him away from the Gryffindor Chaser, Katie Bell. "Was that the imperius curse?!"

"Get off me!" Draco grunted, pushing her back. "Can't you see I'm busy, Professor?"

"What are you doing?! The tracing charm... You've used an unforgivable curse…"

"Don't you know anything about what's happening outside these walls?" asked Draco with a sneer. "Or is Dumbledore keeping you busy, chasing after every pointless little thing he does? THe Dark Lord has people installed in the Ministry now who can wave all that stuff away, for the right kind of people, that is…"

Circe paused for a moment, feeling her heart sink inside her. She'd been sadly right: the Ministry was falling farther every day.

"But… What are you doing? You could have been seen by anyone!"

"Well I wasn't, was I. I know you're one of His… You were at my initiation, weren't you." Draco stated matter-of-factly. "My Mother told me about you and Professor Snape being His spies."

"Draco! Shut up…" Circe said nervously, casting an uneasy eye around for Aberforth. She didn't know how receptive he'd be to her explanations of her and Severus's double agent status, and she certainly didn't want Draco overhearing that either.

"What… What the hell have you done to Katie?"

"She's going to carry out a very special task for me. Off you go, Miss Bell."

Circe watched, utterly gobsmacked as Katy compliantly shuffled off through the snow, a slightly glazed but intensely uncomfortable look in her eyes. Like the real her was screaming in fright just below the calm, quiet surface. A small brown paper parcel nested just under her arm as she marched off into the blizzard.

"What have you given her?" Asked Circe, turning to Draco with a harsh look in her eyes. "Is it for… For Dumbledore?"

"Mind your own business, snake-chaser." Draco spat.

Circe wheeled back from him, a rage overtaking her. The audacity. The mere thought that one of her students would dare to speak to her like that.

"What did you say to me…?!"

"My aunt told me that the only reason you're on His side it's because you're following Professor Snape wherever he leads you." He sneered. "What happened this time? Did he get bored of you? DIdn't feel like taking you along for this latest mission? Well I don't need his help, or yours. I can fulfil the task The Dark Lord has given me without the interference of Severus the Snake or his obedient, lovesick little paramour."

"How dare you… You insolent, little…"

"What are you going to do? Deduct house points from me?" Draco asked bitterly. "I think I've rather outgrown that, don't you Professor?"

A flash of something vulnerable and scared passed over Draco's eyes in that moment. And Circe suddenly realised that a boy was standing in front of her, not a man. A child soldier, not a Death Eater.

He's lashing out. She thought, a part of her anger diminishing at the realisation. He's scared.

CIrce glanced down at Draco's hand, still clutching his wand, and saw that he was shaking rather violently. She swallowed hard, her rage dissolving like a berocca in a glass of water, and in its place there was a heartwrenching sense of compassion. He's not just scared, he's terrified.

"Draco, what the Dark Lord has asked you to do… You don't have to do it alone."

"Shut up! Just… shut up! I was chosen. It was my special task."

"Just...tell me whatever you've planned with Katie and the parcel and we'll-"

"No! There is no "we" in this. It's my father who is still in Azkaban. It's my family that needs redeeming. You already have enough of His favour…"

A scream sounded out over the tops of Hogsmeade's houses. Circe froze and waited for a beat, listening out for anything else that might follow. But the falling snow was coming in thick and fast, a blanket smothering the quieter noises in the distance. Nevertheless, the silence unnerved Circe and she felt the chilling rush of adrenaline in her veins.

"Draco… what was in that parcel?" she asked again. But when she turned around to face him, the young man was gone.

"Fuck." she muttered to herself, before turning on her heels and running headlong into the blizzard, towards the scream.

As Circe ran through the snow, the blinding flakes stung at her eyes and pecked at her cheeks. But her ears were astutely tuned to the noise. She heard more screaming. More terrified shouting as she trudged up the walking path to Hogwarts.

And there was this ungodly, ethereal screeching… Like a thousand nails being raked down a chalkboard.

"KATIE! KATIE!" another young voice cried out. Circe could hear the sheer panic in her shouts and she drew her wand in preparation. The snowfall was thick and limited her vision down to a ten foot radius around her. But she followed the noises, trusting her ears to lead her true. Her heart was pumping. Her thighs were aching as she dragged her legs through the amassing snow as quickly as she could.

But when she arrived on the scene, she stumbled upon almost nothing.

The first people she saw were Harry, Ron and Hermione, all standing together in a sort of dumbstruck awe. They didn't even look at her until she was almost next to them.

"Weasley, Granger, Potter… what happened?" she asked.

But none of them answered her. Instead, they all looked onwards at another much larger and bulkier figure, huddled over a small pile of clothes on the snowy ground.

"Is that…? Hagrid!" she called out, charging forwards to join the half-giant at his side. "What happened? I heard-"

"Stay back!" Hagrid shouted back to her, raising his large palm forcefully and Circe halted immediately.

"I told her! I told her not to take that up to school!" wailed Leanne Anderson, watching the scene with the same abject horror that Hary, Ron and Hermione were. "She wouldn't listen! I asked her what it was and she wouldn't tell me! So I tried to grab it off her and then…then..."

Leanne lapsed back into hysterical sobs.

Hagrid picked up the bundle of clothes from off the floor and Circe realised with growing horror that it was, in fact, Katie Bell. He cradled the young girl in his arms, carrying her as if she were a ragdoll. She looked as dead and floppy as a rag doll too... Dread filled Circe.

"Is she…?"

"No. But she's been cursed. By that." Hagrid said, inclining his head to a half-torn, brown paper parcel now lying on the floor, near to where Katie had been. And nestled within the softly fluttering brown paper, Circe could just about see a beautiful, ornate opal necklace.

"You better get her up to Poppy as fast as you can, Hagrid." Circe muttered.

The giant nodded and turned his face to the blizzard, marching on to the castle with Katie in his arms.

"You lot should carry on up to the castle as quick as you can too." she added, turning to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Leanne. "Go find Professor Mcgonagall. Tell her what you saw here."

"And what about the necklace, Professor?" asked Hermione curiously.

"I'll deal with it."

Circe stood perfectly still as she watched the children trudge up the snowy path in absolute shocked silence. Only when she was sure they were well out of earshot did she turn back to the opal necklace on the ground and cast a quick levitation charm. The necklace glided up into the air, the snow falling around it as it hovered in the space in front of her. Even though it was a beautiful piece of jewelery, Circe could feel the dark magic radiating off it, twisting at the edges of it.

"Well, Draco... it was an interesting idea, but I don't think it would have gone with many of the Headmaster's outfits…" Circe whispered dryly. Her words swallowed by the raging blizzard around her.