AN: Apoligies for the late upload. I went back to my dear old Edinburgh for a long overdue holiday. AND I'm off to Devon tomorrow! Busy bee me. But writing will still take place, I'll try and upload again soon x
Chapter 79 - "If I got the old you, and you got the old me."
There weren't many other evenings that Circe had experienced that were longer and duller than Slughorn's first "soiree". There had been no students present for this night's gathering, and Circe had debated attending the "staff only" party, given the firm 'no' some of the other Professors had given Horace, but Circe needed to win points with Slughorn, so she'd dragged Minerva along too… And she regretted it deeply. Circe fought to keep her eyes open as Horace went through slide after slide of his 1978 trip to Benidorm. She'd finished her first bottle of wine around about the same time Slughorn had been talking them through the names of each of the waiters at his favourite paella restaurant…
Circe glanced at her watch. It was coming up to midnight. Filius was snoozing against her shoulder, Pomona was too busy fawning over Slughorn's dirigible plum pot plant, Rolanda had made her excuses some time ago, and Minerva was at least a bottle ahead of Circe. She tentatively reached for her handbag, delving into its depths for a spare vial of Calming Draft to sniff; Her nerves were getting more frayed now the sun had set, and not even the alcohol sitting in her stomach could mask the knot now returning with avengence.
Severus had been gone for almost five weeks now.
Circe shifted awkwardly in her seat as she popped open the cork. She felt Filius snort with the sudden jerk of her arm, but he settled back down into a peaceful slumber as Horace went on to the next slide.
"And this bar did a charming little dessert called a banana split…"
Circe finished her deep inhale of Calming Draft, letting the lavendery cocktail of ingredients return her equilibrium. The knot in her stomach relaxed a little, but it was still there. She grimaced, noticing how the Calming Drafts seemed to be having less and less of an effect on her the more she used them. She knew she was developing a tolerance for it, but she couldn't bring herself to completely abandon what had been her emotional crutch these past few weeks of worry. She tried to push away the thought of what might happen on the day the Calming Drafts had no effect on her.
"And this restaurant did my very favorite drink, called a "Tequila Sunrise"." Slughorn droned.
She tried to stop herself from scoffing out loud at Slughorn's benign prattle and she was mercifully distracted by one of Filius's grumbling snores. Fillius snorted on her shoulder and Circe gently tilted his head off her as she reached to top up her glass of wine. She slipped the Calming Draft back into her handbag, but not before she felt Minerva's eyes on her.
"How many have ye had, me girl?" slurred Mcgonagall as Circe picked up another bottle from the coffee table in front of them. Slughorn talked on, oblivious to their disinterest or their whispered conversations.
"Not as many as you!" Circe whispered back.
"Aye but yer not Scottish, ye cannae sink 'em like I can."
"I will bet you two galleons right now if you can tell me what the waiter was called in Casa Amor." Circe said, pointing at Slughorn's display with a challenging smile.
Mcgonagall paused, squinting hard at the picture of a donkey currently on Horace's display, as if somehow it might give her the answer.
"...Juan?"
"Craig. Pay up, Min."
"Dammit." Minerva grumbled, diving into her green skirts and pulling out two thick coins.
Circe laughed as she pocketed her bet. She sat back in her chair and rubbed at her tired eyes. Alcohol had seemed like such a good idea, firstly to make Slughorn's evening more bearable and secondly to plug the gap in her chest left there by Severus's growing absence. But now, she was starting to get a bit of the beer fear, and a palpable anxiety was still squirming in her chest despite the effects of the Calming Draft. The first time Severus had failed to send her a song through the Cantuscope on his usual schedule, Minerva had found her manically speaking to the Cantuscope and fiddling with the buttons on the machine's front at four in the morning, crying her eyes out. Luckily, he had sent his "I'm alive" message by the mid-afternoon the following day. But his songs were now being spaced farther and farther apart. Four days, five days, six days at a time would go by and Circe could only speculate as to the reason why.
The last song Severus had played for her was an agonising eight days ago.
So Circe had needed every drop of wine Slughorn had on offer.
As Circe poured herself another glass, her vision swayed and she almost spilt the wine everywhere, but Minerva pushed her own empty glass towards her with a low but pained groan as Slughorn began talking them through the latest picture on his reel: a beach picture of the old, pot-bellied man in a pair of red speedos... She grimaced and topped up Mcgonagall too.
Circe strongly suspected she'd be crawling into the Hospital Wing for a hangover potion for herself and Minerva tomorrow. Perhaps Poppy would be more inclined to give it to her as she'd helped her hugely with her treatment of young Katie Bell. After the poor girl's cursing, Circe had brought the opal necklace straight to the school Nurse as Circe knew that curse treatments were rather like poison antidotes; It was better to have the thing that bit you to hand to help craft the cure. And Pomfrey had been rather pleased when Circe had brought her the cursed necklace. Miss Bell would survive her cursing, and because of the swift actions of Hagrid and Circe, she would do the rest of her recovering in St Mungo's and be back on her feet in a few months.
Still, she hadn't appreciated the near coronary Mister Malfoy had caused her… Circe had not seen much of Draco since the snowy afternoon down in Hogsmeade. He kept himself to himself, eating scantly in the Great Hall, sneaking off back to the Slytherin dungeons as soon as Circe clocked him from the Staff table. Sometimes when she found herself unable to sleep, Circe would go walking up and down Hogwarts's halls to dispel some of her anxious energy, and more than once she had seen Draco wandering about after dark too, holding his telescope and behaving rather shiftily. Circe could only hope that the experience with the necklace and the sobering reality of using an unforgivable curse that had almost got someone killed had made Draco return to the Vanishing Cabinet. But poor Draco was starting to look as exhausted and drawn as she was. Each week that passed was another bitter disappointment, another letter that he had to send home to Narcissa telling her that he couldn't figure out the Cabinet. Another week his father had to spend in Azkaban. Another restless night Circe had to watch him disappear into the Room of Hidden Things whilst she watched from the shadows.
Nevertheless, she tried reminding herself that one of Severus's parting requests to her had been to watch over Draco. To fulfil his end of the Unbreakable Vow he had made with Narcissa whilst he was away. But Severus had known Draco for his whole life, he was his Head of House, he was a personal friend of his Mother and Father. Circe was no one to him. Why would he listen to her? If Draco tried to do something stupid again out of a growing sense of desperation, like the necklace, then she doubted there would be little she could do to talk Draco away from the edge. He'd made it perfectly clear down in Hogsmeade that he neither appreciated or respected her advice, nor her offers of support.
Severus hadn't just left her alone, he'd left her with a scared, vulnerable, and increasingly desperate loose cannon to mind.
People were starting to cotton on to Draco's actions too. Mcgonagall had informed her of the outright accusation Potter had made against Malfoy as he was giving his testimony to her after Katie's cursing. Currently, Minerva had been forced to end her investigations once it became clear that the only lines of inquiry she had were hearsay and unfounded claims. She couldn't question Draco, not without any direct evidence linking him to the crime. And Circe strongly suspected that Mcgonagall would have experienced a lot of "Ministry interferement" if she'd tried to pull Malfoy up for the accusations laid at his feet. Still, if Circe had been in Draco's favours, she would have counseled the boy to start behaving much more cautiously, to think before he acted out recklessly, and to realise that he was being watched by others. Others who were less sympathetic and understanding to his situation than Circe was...
If Dumbledore had spent more than half a day at a time at the castle, Circe might have asked him for his advice. But alas, each time the Headmaster came back from his "travels", no sooner had Circe heard of his return and made her way up to his office, that she found Albus had already left again. Still, the school ticked by in relative peace for the time being. Nevertheless, she found herself growing increasingly resentful of Dumbledore as she felt like he had abandoned her to her loneliness. She'd lost count of the number of letters she'd sent Dumbledore, all of them going without a reply or so much of an acknowledgement of receipt. Recently, too, Circe had only bad news to write to the Headmaster; each new conclave she was summoned to by Narcissa, another ally was welcomed into the ranks of the Dark Lord. His army was swelling, and the various ceremonies of fealty the Dark Lord ordered each time a new disciple was indoctrinated were taking up a lot of her time.
"Oh, I do apologise. I seem to have included a few pictures from one of my student soiree's in here!" Horace exclaimed suddenly as a new picture flashed up on the screen.
Circe snapped her head back to the display and almost dropped her wine glass from her hands. It wasn't another picture of a Benidorm beach, it wasn't another picture of a well-tanned waiter holding Slughorn's cocktail, it wasn't another picture of Horace in his swimming trunks... It was a picture of the Slug Club. A picture very similar to one Circe had seen before; It looked like the photo that had been taken just moments before the picture of Lily and Severus that Slughorn had on display. None of them were looking at the camera, and they all looked in mid-conversation, but they all stood in the same positions Circe had seen them in before.
"Oh goodness me! Look at the baby faces there!" Minerva chuckled, suddenly becoming very interested in Slughorn's pictures. "When did you say these were from, Horace? '78?"
"Yes, this was the last gathering of the year me and my little club had. I must have taken these snaps and then brought the same camera along to Spain with me. All on the same film, you see.."
"Oh Merlin, is that… Severus?" asked Pomona, looking up from the dirigible plum plant and pointing excitedly at the skulky figure in the back.
Circe wasn't shocked to see him, she'd seen this picture before. She'd spied the teenage Severus in that photograph many years ago. But her heart gave a strong pang of pining when her eyes locked on the face of her beloved. Her eyes welled up with tears until the picture projected before her began to blur.
"Gosh, look at how young he looks." Sprout said with a sigh. "Oh and Lily too. And look, Filius, there's Barnabas Cuffe. He was one of yours wasn't he?" Pomona said, elbowing Flitwick in the ribs and waking him up sharply. "Ambrosius Flume, he was my child. Lovely Hufflepuff. Runs Honeydukes now."
"Dirk Cresswell.."
"Eldred Worple…"
"Dahlia Falkirk…" Mcgonagall, Flitwick and Sprout pointed to each of the faces in turn, sounding off their names with smiles of nostalgic recollection on their faces.
"Do you have anymore, Horace? Of this little gathering?" Minerva asked wistfully.
"Well, let me see…" Slughorn muttered, tapping his wand on the projector and flicking the display onto the next picture in the reel.
Up next popped the picture Circe was familiar with. The one she'd found in the Library of them all smiling, looking at the camera and laughing.
"Ohh!" Mcgonagall, Flitwick and Sprout cooed in unison.
"Go to the next one!" Filius piped up.
Slughorn obliged and tapped his wand on the projector again.
The pictures cycled through various scenes of that long ago party. Circe watched on silently as the older Professors appraised the myriad of faces that passed before her. Each time Horace tapped the projector a new set of faces would appear, youthful, smiling and beautiful. Eyes sparkling. Preserved in eternity. Circe became lost in each of their faces. Wondering what made them smile in that moment. Who they had been before they had been frozen forever in that second.
A duo of dark-haired and pale-faced boys appeared in one picture, and Circe once again felt her stomach drop.
"Oh there's Severus again!" Sprout exclaimed. Circe looked up from her wine glass, as painful as it was, and saw teenage Severus looking rather sour-faced and miserable, clutching a glass of champagne and standing beside another austere-looking young man. Circe noticed the rather baggy-looking suit Severus was wearing and she was reminded of the tale Severus had told her, in the Library, before he left. The story of how Lily's father had leant him his tuxedo. She knew how awkward and ostracised he'd felt that night and her heart ached for him. She could see it on his young face. The sallow and bitter scowl on his features as he eyed up the cameraman. It was the image of someone who really didn't want to be photographed. But nevertheless, Circe couldn't help but feel a small flutter in her stomach from that adolescent, moody, smouldering face. The old Severus… The young Severus, had yet to mature into his striking features, like the arrow-sharp nose that Circe had come to adore, and there may not have been many that would have deemed him a "looker'' with his lanky black hair and his sallow skin, but Circe nevertheless felt a deep ache realising she'd never known that young face. She'd never known Severus when he was that young man.
I should have been there. I could have helped you. Circe thought miserably to herself, wishing once again that Severus and her had known one another in their teenage years. Goddammit, why did I have to be six years younger than you?
"But who's the other boy next to him?" Filius asked.
"That was Regulus Black." Mcgonagall said in a low voice.
Circe gasped.
Her eyes left Severus and travelled to the boy beside him. He was tall for his age, taller than Severus who had been in the year above him. Circe couldn't help but notice how perfect and chiseled his cheekbones were. The almost triangular shape to his face finishing in a sharp and prominent chin. He was an echo of Sirius, not exactly the same but the stamp of Black was written all over his features. He had the same carelessly tousled, dark, rich hair his brother had, even his eyes had a touch of that wolfish quality to them. But when Sirius had appeared wild and untameable, Regulus had the air of nobility.
"That… that's Regulus?" Circe asked, finally finding her voice.
That's the pureblood boy, having a crisis of morality, whose diary I've been reading? She thought. He's a child. He's so young. God, he's the same age as Harry there.
The Dark Lord's gatherings had been keeping her busy these days, but Circe was suddenly very aware that she needed to try and get another entry translated asap.
"That is." Slughorn replied with a sage nod. "Interesting boy. Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team. You know his brother was the notorious, murderous criminal Sirius Black?" he asked scandalously.
"I… I did know that, yes…" Circe muttered.
"Oh, Regulus was nothing like him. Quite the upstanding chap. Always polite. Respectful. A credit to his parents." Horace continued.
Circe had to stop herself from scoffing. The wine made her flush as she swallowed down her retort. You never knew him, Slug. Not like I know him. That "obedient" second son was nothin like you think. He tried as hard as Sirius did to bring down Voldemort.
Mcgonagall glanced over to Circe and saw her silently seething. As the only other Order member present at the gathering, she assumed that Circe's sour look was in response to Slughorn's ignorant comments on Sirius. She too wanted to step in and defend her former student, emboldened by the wine she'd drunk.
"You never met Regulus's parents, Horace." Minerva grumbled. "I had the displeasure of having several run-ins with Walburga Black, and it was quite clear that she had her favourite amongst her two sons. And it wasn't the son who was the only Gryffindor in the family for three-hundred years..."
"I never needed to meet Walburga, Minerva." Horace replied. "Regulus never created trouble here like Sirius did with his little band of friends. It was a shame that Lily fell-in with them all too."
"James and Remus were a fine bunch of lads! Lily couldn't have dreamt of having better friends." Mcgonagall retorted.
"I don't think Severus would have agreed with you, Minerva." Flitwick muttered. "I think we all remember how those boys treated him. We were all part of the Hogwarts furniture back then too! Apart from spring chicken Circe, of course."
"I have a bit of an idea of what went on between Severus and the Marauders…" Circe grumbled miserably, catching Minerva's eye as they shared a knowing glance. No one else in the room even had an inkling of what Severus meant to Circe, and she found herself wondering if they would ever come to know him and her as a couple. Or perhaps the War would take one of them or the other first, before the secret of "them" could be told…It was a sobering thought. One that made the alcohol in her stomach churn.
The projector clicked on to the next photograph and Regulus and Severus vanished from sight, almost as if the memory of their teenage selves fled at the mention of The Marauders. But in their stead, there was now an image of the ever-lovely, ever-beautiful Lily Potter. An auburn, golden angel. She held what looked like a fish bowl in her hands and she grinned at the camera with a sunny, radiant smile.
"Oh Lily…" sighed Minerva.
"Oh! Francis!" Slughorn exclaimed.
"What?" asked Sprout with a confused chuckle.
"The goldfish in the bowl! That's Francis…" Slughorn exclaimed, pointing at the tiny, swimming creature in the glass bowl. "It was such a thoughtful gift.. The afternoon of this very party, I discovered a bowl on my desk, just a few inches of clear water in it. Floating on the surface was a flower petal... from a lily. And as I watched, it sank... Just before it reached the bottom, it transformed into a wee fish! Beautiful magic, wondrous to behold. I loved that fish with all of my heart."
"Yeah, that sounds like a very "Lily" present…" Circe mumbled bitterly, taking another large glug of wine. "I once got my Primary school teacher a keyboard tie…"
A series of rather loud raps came on the door of Slughorn's rooms. Circe rose to her feet to answer the knocks, keen to avert her eyes away from the picture of perfection that was Lily Evans. SHe prayed that no one heard the rattle of empty glass bottles in her pocket as she hopped over their feet; a collection of old vials of spent Calming Draft that she hadn't thrown out yet. The other Professors continued with their reminiscing as Slughorn tapped on through his old photo reel, and Circe turned her back to it, striding over to the door and reaching for the handle. As the door swung open, Circe let out a small "ugh" as she saw Argus Filch standing on the other side of the threshold.
"Professor." he said curtly, nodding to her as he held Mrs Norris in his arms.
"Argus. Everything alright?" she asked, immediately noticing the tetchy and tense way the old man was holding himself. The only time Filch acted like this was when he was working up to some display of indignant anger or a vocalisation of his outrage. There had been noticeably fewer "Filch outbursts" once George and Fred had left Hogwarts, and it seemed the Caretaker was finding other miniscule things to get angry about outside of Circe's remit. But as Filch took a long and raspy breath in, she regretted asking him if everything was alright, because clearly, he was working himself up for a rather long whinge…
"The students in Gryffindor… they're-"
"Out of bed? Breathing too loudly?" Circe said irritably.
"They're having a party." Filch responded simply.
Circe blinked at him for a second. "Oh… right. Okay."
The Gryffindors had been brought to their second big victory, largely because of Ron's superb talent guarding the hoops. After the first painful win they'd had against the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, Circe had taken comfort in thinking that it was maybe a one-off victory. That Ron had been filled with an ego boost upon hearing the 'Weasley is Our King' chant, and the novelty of it couldn't possibly have the same impact next time there was a match. But then, the Gryffindors won again. Against the Hufflepuffs that afternoon. Another eye-watering victory of sixty to three-hundred and ten. The Gryffindors had been going mental ever since the end-of-match whistle was called, since they were now assured a place in the final.
"And they're still partying?" Circe asked, a little impressed at their dedication to celebrating their victory.
"They are. Mrs Norris is becoming distressed from the noise they're making."
Circe eyed up the cat, and it stared back at her looking as mellow and calm as a stuffed teddy bear. "Right. I suppose you want someone to give them a telling-off then...Tell them all to go to bed."
"If you would ask Professor Mcgonagall to see to her Head of House duties, I would be much obliged." Filch grumbled.
Circe glanced back into Slughorn's rooms. The Professors were still chatting amiably as they went through Horace's old photos one at a time. Minerva reached for a top up of her wine glass and sent it spilling all over the table. She exclaimed in alarm and began profusely apologising to Slughorn, but Circe could hear the old man's booming chuckle from all the way across the room and Flitwick had vanished the spilt alcohol in the blink of an eye. She turned back to Filch with a heavy sigh.
"Minerva's… busy right now. I'll break up the party."
"Are you sure about that, Professor?" asked Filch, as he watched Circe pull the door shut behind her and toddle a bit unsurely on her own drunken legs.
"Absolutely, Argus." she mumbled back, trying to at least act semi-sober if she needed to tell-off a whole room of rowdy teenagers. "I'm not the Head of Gryffindor House but I'm almost the next best thing."
And if it comes down to it, it would probably be better if the Gryffindors saw me in a not so sober state rather than Minerva. That way she'll still have her reputation and respect from them as their Head of House in the morning. Lets just hope there aren't any Ravenclaws at this party… Circe thought as she strode off past Filch, trying not to stumble about infront of him. She glanced back one last time at Slughorn's rooms and heard another peel of laughter from behind the closed door. Even in reminiscing, Lily and The Marauders seemed to bring joy. Another wave of regret crashed down upon Circe.
And I really can't look at another picture of a past I wish I was a part of… she added internally, a lump rising in her throat.
"Well, I may have asked Professor Snape to intervene, but he ain't here is he." Filch said, following at her back.
The comment reigned down on her like a hammer to her heart. "No." she answered simply. "He's not."
Circe and Filch walked on in silence. She could hear the music being blasted out of Gryffindor tower before they got even close to the Common Room. They came to a halt just outside the portrait of the Fat Lady and Circe leaned heavily on the wall beside her. She was quite a bit drunker than she cared to admit. The noise was making her feel a bit dizzy. The potion was making her head swim with floral notes. Shaking the flagstones under her feet. The bass reverberating in her chest. It sounded like quite the celebration.
"Thankyou Argus, I'll sort this out then." she said curtly, without turning to look at him. She stood still against the wall, pretending to be casual instead of depending on the wall to hold her up straight. Filch eventually sensed that she didn't want him hovering around anymore and made a small grunt of displeasure, nodding curtly back to her and shuffled away.
When she was left truly alone, she paused for a moment before she charged headlong into the Gryffindor Common Room. She could just about hear them all still chanting "Weasley is Our King! Weasley is Our King! Weasley is our King!", over and over again, haphazardly and without a tune. The call came intermittently between raucous laughter, screams and shouts of joy. Circe suddenly found herself quite jealous of the Gryffindor spirit. When they achieved something, the certainly made the whole world aware of it. They celebrated their victories. Ravenclaws just seemed to quietly congratulate one another. Myron always used to tell her of the Gryffindor parties he snuck into in their younger days and she found herself thinking how different her life would have been if Myron was sorted into the house she thought possibly suited him better: the house of mavericks and people who live in the moment. The Gryffindors.
"Well My, I've let them "be kids" for long enough." She mumbled to the empty air. "Time for me to be the responsible adult now and break up the show."
She took a step forwards and instantly came to a halt when she heard a series of hurried footsteps descending the Gryffindor Tower. Circe narrowly avoided the front of the Fat Lady's portrait being slammed into her nose as it suddenly burst open. Luckily, she'd managed to sidestep out the way just in time, no mean feat in her intoxicated state, but her irritation quickly faded away as she heard someone sobbing, running past her on the other side of the picture. She poked her head around the portrait just quickly enough to see a distraught flutter of brown curls disappear down another spiral staircase.
"Oh dear…" she mumbled to herself, knowing only one girl in Gryffindor with hair like that.
Circe glanced up the steps to the Tower, the music spilling down them in a deafening torrent of sound, and then she glanced back to the spiral staircase where Hermione had disappeared. "Ugh, Filch can wait a bit longer to spoil their fun…"
Circe took herself down the spiral staircase on wobbly legs, in hot pursuit of Hermione. As she drew closer away from the noise of the Gryffindor party she did a double take.
Can I hear… birds? She thought to herself as her foot left the last step.
She looked around the room she'd just emerged into. It was one of the discarded classrooms that they didn't use for teaching anymore. It was just four empty walls and nothing in the middle. But as she stood still, looking around the barren ex-classroom, she heard a distinct sniff and the twitter of birds again. There, sitting in an empty windowsill, looking out over the Scottish hills as a quartet of bright yellow canaries hovered just over her head, was Hermione. The young girl rested her head in one of her hands, her long brown curls covering her face from view, and in the other hand she held her wand, pointing it at the birds and half-heartedly telling them which way they should flutter and fly about. But her shoulders were shaking, and Circe could tell she was crying. She approached the young girl cautiously, not wishing to alarm or embarrass her, but after a long moment of silence, Circe thought it was best to let her know she was there, seen as she hadn't stopped sniffing and staring out over the Highland hills since Circe had been there.
"You okay, chick?" Circe asked gently.
Hermione flinched and snapped her head away from the view, her red eyes finding Circe in a flash.
"Professor...I… I know I'm not meant to be out of the dormitories after dark…I'll…. I'll go now..." she spluttered, wiping her face and moving to stand.
"Woah, woah, woah…" Circe stepped in, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder and forcing her to sit back down in her window seat again. Circe took the seat opposite her and fixed her with a kind smile. "Bad party, was it?"
Hermione went quiet, her eyes filling with tears again as she nodded.
"You don't have to tell me what's wrong…" Circe began as she watched Hermione's bottom lip start to quiver. "But if I guess right, you have to let me know. Deal?"
Hermione looked at her with a small frown. "Uhh…"
"Is it...something to do with school?" Circe asked before Hermione could start protesting.
Hermione shook her head.
"Is it… something to do with the War?"
Hermione shook her head again.
"Is it… something to do with a boy?"
Hermione's head was still. The birds above her head gave a chorus of loud, shrill tweets.
"Ahh, I think I'm on to something. Potter or Weasley?" Circe asked. "No, wait. I said I'd guess, didn't I."
Circe say back and thought for a second whilst Hermione turned a little red.
Ahh, so it's obviously a "feelings" related issue, otherwise she wouldn't be turning into a beetroot. And girls this age only ever get this upset when boys are stupid and hurt them. Circe thought. Potter's head over heels for the Weasley girl… but he has been forever, it's not a new thing. So Hermione wouldn't be getting upset because of it now. Ron on the other hand… that Lavender's been sniffing around him recently. And now he's the "man of the match"... I'm willing to bet money on something having happened there.
"It's Ron, isn't it." Circe stated sincerely.
Hermione's lip quivered dangerously before she burst out into tears.
Just call me Sherlock Holmes! Circe thought triumphantly.
She sighed and repositioned herself beside Hermione. She lay a comforting arm around the girl as she cried onto her shoulder, patiently waiting for the rush of tears to pass.
"She… she kissed him, and I was right there..." She whispered through emotional gasps of air.
"Oh honey…" Circe cooed, gently rubbing Hermione's shoulder with her thumb.
"How can he not see…?" She wept on. "How can he not see me!?"
"Because he's a bloody idiot." Circe answered. "I wouldn't go holding your breath for him to actually start being perceptive and considerate, because Men don't become decent human beings until they reach about thirty, sweetheart.…."
Hermione gave a small snort of laughter. Circe patted her shoulder reassuringly and smiled at her.
"It's so hard. It's so hard having to watch him look at someone else… in the way he's never looked at me." Hermione muttered, her face falling back into a picture of misery once more.
"Well… sometimes when you've grown up with a diamond in your midst, you… you don't really notice it's there until you've seen a quartz. You understand what I mean?"
"But Lavender's not a quartz. She's beautiful. She's confident. She just… grabbed his face and did it! And I… I suppose I didn't even realise I wanted to do just that as well… until I had to watch her."
"Yeah. That sucks." Circe answered weakly.
"And wizards… they get married so young, to their sweethearts that they found in school… Arthur and Molly, James and Lily, Alice and Frank… I may never get another chance now. I may have just lost him forever…" Hermione's voice dissolved into more tears.
"Oh Hermione, you're so much better than fawning over some boy because you think you won't be able to pop out his sprogs as soon as you turn nineteen!" Circe exclaimed. "You're so, so bright! And there's so much more to occupy your mind than just Ronald Weasley. Please, for the love of God, don't define your life by boys."
She went quiet for a while, watching Hermione carefully as she digested what she'd said. The girl still looked forlorn and miserable. Circe was suddenly struck by the hypocrisy of her words.
Haven't you also been a miserable sod recently because of a "boy"? Circe asked herself. Hasn't your whole life these past few years revolved around Severus?
"Look, I know you feel terrible." Circe began again. "It's just part of the human condition that we can break each other without even realising it sometimes. But think… in a world without Ron, what would you want to do with your life? What would you want for yourself?"
"I… I don't know." Hermione replied unsurely. "I'd want to… carry on learning. Outside of Hogwarts. As much as I can, however I can… Like you did, Professor."
"Ugh don't make me your role model, kid." Circe grumbled.
"No, I remember what you told us last year. In that class Umbridge watched. About Universities. How there isn't a Wizarding equivalent. Because there should be. There really should be."
Another set of footsteps came descending down the spiral staircase and Circe glanced up just in time to see Harry walk into the empty classroom.
"Ah, Harry." Circe began, standing up from her seat. "I was just looking after Miss Granger until a good friend came along to take over from me." Circe strode over to Harry and patted his shoulder, leaning in close. "Hope you brought a hankie, Potter."
"Uhh…" the boy mumbled.
"No? Then your shoulder will have to do."
She gave Harry's arm a final squeeze of reassurance and began her ascent of the spiral staircase.
As she reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower once more, Circe found herself staring up at the Fat Lady's portrait again. Her head was beginning to ache with each pound of the party music.
Time to break up the party. Circe thought. Sorry Myron.
"Alright my rotund friend, I'll need to get in now."
"Password?" The portrait asked airily.
"Password?! I'm a Head of House!"
"You are not the Gryffindor Head of House." The Fat Lady responded curtly.
"Yes I know, but the Gryffindor Head of House was three sheets to the wind!" Circe exclaimed irritably.
"And you yourself are not looking entirely sober..."
"Oh for fuck sa-"
The portrait mercifully swung open again with a forceful bang. Circe wasn't so quick this time and the mottled, taut canvas went crashing into her face. She staggered back, rubbing at her nose and swearing rather profusely as another set of students came rushing out of the Gryffindor common room. As Circe recovered from the force of the Fat Lady hitting her square on the nose, she heard the familiar asinine giggle of Lavender Brown on the other side of the painting. Lavender's high-pitched and saccharine sweet laugh was accompanied by another voice, a deeper and richer voice. His was cinnamon and whiskey and hers was candyfloss. And just as Circe had suspected, as she emerged from around the portrait for the second time that evening, she saw Lavender and Ron disappear down the same staircase Hermione had fled. Circe gave a great, massive sigh and wiggled her sore nose. She heard the Fat Lady's portrait squeak as it began to swing back into place and she hastily grabbed the edge of the frame.
"Oh no you don't! I'm going in before I get any more oil paints on my face!" she said forcefully, slipping past the painting and into the Gryffindor Common Room.
Circe ascended the steps up to Gryffindor Tower with a building sense of irritation and contempt. The music got louder with each step. It was a real frat party kind of song. Something that wouldn't have been out of place in an American college movie, in which people drank from red cups and chugged kegs and "made-out" with one another on the sofa. And as Circe made her way into the Common Room, it seemed the Gryffindors were trying their best to emulate that partying spirit. There was some kind of smoky, nicotiney cloud hanging over the room, the students dancing and jumping in and out of the thick air with an energy that Circe hadn't known since her own teenage memories. For a second, all Circe could do was watch as a flood of reminders and recollections came back to her. She wandered amongst the students for a while, thinking she might find young Myron or Tonks or even perhaps her old self in the crowd. She yearned to be young again. So young that she could shake off the shackles of this War, throw caution to the wind and just… celebrate being alive. Because the future certainly wasn't looking as promising as the past was.
Bloody hell, you're standing here wishing that you could be a spotty, angsty, awkward, horny teenager again? Circe chided herself.
A splash of something boozy was suddenly spilt into Circe by a dancing, screaming teenager. Circe fixed them with an almost feral snarl and she reached for her wand.
"Periculum!"
Circe screamed at the nicotine-clouded roof and sent a torrent of red sparks shooting from her wand.
All of the Gryffindors suddenly froze in place. The dancing and swaying all stopped as all eyes in the room settled on her, mouths agape and eyes wide.
"TURN IT OFF NOW!" Circe shouted above the music. Wherever the noise was coming from, it stopped. A heavy silence fell over the Common Room.
"FOR EACH BOTTLE OF BOOZE I FIND IN THIS COMMON ROOM TOMORROW MORNING, I WILL BE DEDUCTING FIFTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR HOUSE!" she shouted, cutting through the silence. "AND WHOEVER'S SMOKING THE CUBAN EMBERSTICKS, GET THE SMOKE OUT OF HERE NOW OR I'LL MAKE YOU SMOKE A WHOLE PACKET IN FRONT OF ME!"
Circe looked around the shocked and startled faces for a beat, just to make sure her words had sunk in.
"Now, the rest of you…" she said, a measure quieter. "Get to bed. This second."
There was a murmur of voices and slowly the Gryffindors all started shuffling away up to the dormitories. Circe gave a few death-stares to the odd Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw that slipped past her to return to their own Houses but after a few moments, the air was clear and the Common Room was emptying. Still, Circe stood in the center of the Gryffindor Common Room feeling quite like a Judas. She could only imagine the vicious words that a younger her and Myron and Tonks would have said about the teacher who broke up the party and killed the fun.
Now that teacher was her.
"God I thought we'd have an easier time of things with Snape gone…" Circe heard one student whisper to another as they stumbled off to their beds. "Looks like Professor Smith's more than eager to step into his shoes."
"I know, and she used to be so fun…"
That night's wait by the bridge was somehow even harder and more heartbreaking than the previous nights. Sometimes she would linger for five minutes or so after the strike of midnight, but that night she trudged back up to the castle in absolute misery when the bells were still ringing.
Circe had needed to soothe her aching heart. She needed to fill the gaping hole in her chest. She needed something that might help heal her soul as her most recent sniff of Calming Draft had done nothing to help, apart from making her feel even more light-headed. She'd thrown a glass vial against the castle walls in frustration as she'd walked back up to the school, feeling every bit as fragile as the broken glass at her feet. The events of the night, Slughorn's picture collage and the Gryffindor party, had left her filled with even more anxious energy than normal. She couldn't even entertain the idea of sleep. It was ridiculous. So, she'd grabbed a discarded bottle of firewhiskey that one unfortunate Gryffindor had left on the floor of the Common Room and had fled to find a place of sanctuary. Somewhere to cry all her emotions out and get blackout drunk. Somewhere where she could feel sorry for herself and have a small breakdown without Minerva's watchful eye over her.
Circe didn't know why she'd not thought of going to the Room of Requirement before that odd night. She didn't do much "shagging" in the "shag-palace" these days, but it was still somewhere she could hide away. And perhaps if she wrapped herself up in the blankets and silks on the bed, there might even be a faint hint of Severus's smell on them. Seeing Severus's face earlier that evening, in Horace's pictures, had been almost like the breaking of a seal or the removal of the keystone that held a bridge upright. Now, her soul ached to see him again. In whatever capacity she could think of. There was an urgentness, a hunger, for her eyes to rest upon his face.
The first bright idea she'd had before she planned to lock herself into the "shag-palace" was to go hunting for that disposable camera she remembered her and Severus taking a picture with when they were clearing out his classroom. With the castle now deathly quiet, it was easy for her to tiptoe down to her classroom and fish out the camera from her desk drawer. The missing Gemini tile from Draco's Vanishing Cabinet peeked out at her from under a wad of her Fourth Year's essays, and she closed the drawer in a hurry, as if invisible eyes were watching her over her shoulder. After roughly half an hour of sitting cross-legged on her classroom floor, fiddling with the film, taking swigs of firewhiskey and trying to think of a spell that could actually help develop the negatives, all she'd succeeded in doing was getting even drunker and making a tangled mess of the film. She almost threw the camera against the wall in frustration, but managed to control her drunken temper enough to put the mess she'd made back into her drawer and pray that a muggle shop could still develop them if she sent it off in the post.
So, she'd reluctantly picked herself up off the floor and taken her restless feet towards the Third Floor corridor. Her heart feeling even more desperate and defeated, because of a small plastic box. But as she approached the spot in the wall where normally the door to the Room would appear, she paused. Her spinning and blurred vision seemed to clear for a split second as a brainwave came to her.
Seeing him is the thing I want most in the world right now… she thought hazily.
Circe's heartbeat doubled with excitement and she backed away from the spot in the wall. Closing her eyes, she thought not of the Room of Requirement, but the Room of Hidden Things.
"The Mirror…" she breathed as the door she wanted appeared. "That's how I can see Severus."
As soon as the door had finished manifesting, she charged forwards and into the Aladdin's cave of a room. Her heart was hammering inside her with anticipation as she snaked her way over and around and under and through the heaped piles of discarded rubbish. Firewhiskey in one hand and her lit wand in the other, she searched the Room for the Mirror of Erised.
"There you are!" she called out when her eyes finally fell upon the large, ornate, golden frame. Before, when she had re-discovered the Mirror after losing her father to memory charms, she'd approached the glass cautiously. Now, she almost ran at it. Stopping just short of her red-eyed and dishevelled reflection.
"Ugh Christ, I look wasted…" she slurred, fiddling with a few of her curls and watching herself gently swaying from the booze she'd drunk. She broke eye contact with herself to place the bottle of firewhiskey on the floor. And when she looked back… the person in the mirror was her teenage self.
Circe gasped, and so did the seventeen year-old girl in the mirror. She reached out and touched a hand to the girl's hand, each of her movements and expressions mirrored by the teenage girl she once was: With her huge, bushy hair, her rounded, un-lined face, and wearing her old Ravenclaw school robes. The her before the bags appeared under her eyes, before the scars on her arm and her face were formed, before War, and responsibility, and loss, and pain…
"But… but that's just me." Circe muttered, watching as the teenage Circe's mouth moved in exactly the same way hers was. "I wanted to see…"
But Circe's words caught in her throat as she saw emerging in the darkness behind her reflection another figure. Someone tall and lanky and sullen. Arms crossed over their thin body and peering from out of two long, black curtains of hair with an acid scowl.
"Teenage Sev." Circe said with an amused scoff.
The young Severus approached the young Circe and stood at her side. They both exchanged a glance at one another and then returned their gaze to Circe.
"I wanted to be in your past." Circe said aloud, realising what the Mirror was showing her. "I wanted us to have had a shared history. Somehow for time to rewrite itself so I could have got the old you and you could have got the old me."
She tried not to cry as she beheld what a teenage Severus stood beside a teenage Circe would have looked like. They spoke to one another in silent conversation and Circe watched in astute fascination. They looked like any other Slytherin boy and Ravenclaw girl that she might have seen conversing in the corridors. But it was her, her and Severus.
The Mirror showed her a myriad of seemingly mundane scenes, but each one ached with a sense of poignancy for Circe. She saw a collage of the past they'd never had; what the two of them may have looked like studying for exams in the Library together, carrying Circe's books for her during lesson transitions, both of them bent over a cauldron during a shared Potions lesson, eating breakfast side by side in the Great Hall, flicking paper balls at The Marauders from across the classroom each time they picked on Severus, tucking a strand of his dark, curtained hair behind his ear in that awkward and beautifully naive way teenagers flirt…
Circe suddenly understood why the mirror was so dangerous; It showed her a life that she wanted but could never have. It was a beautiful impossibility. It made her whole being ache but it was unthinkable to look away from it. She could have happily spent the rest of her life in front of the Mirror, lost in that completely fabricated reality, because there was currently nothing that compelled her to return to the present. No Severus, no Dad, no Odette… Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that he couldn't use the Mirror again to see Severus, because it would destroy her. She'd never want to come back to her reality. But for now, she allowed herself to sit on the floor in front of it's murky surface, sipping on her firewhiskey and enjoying the play it put on for her.
"When I got the old you and you got the old me…" she quietly repeated again, watching in her heartbroken comfort as teenage Circe and teenage Severus shared a bag of Bertie Botts by the side of the Black Lake.
Circe didn't know how long she'd been watching that storyboard of the past that never was, when she heard a distinctive cry from out beyond the mountains of discarded stuff. She frowned and looked away from the Mirror, her head spinning with the sudden movement.
Merlin's arse, I am drunk… she thought. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was coming up to four o'clock. She'd spent hours already sat in front of the Mirror and it had felt like nothing. Who's in here at this time in the morning? Circe thought, rising steadily to her feet.
Another cry came, followed by an almighty crash. Whoever it was, they sounded angry...and violent.
"Nox." Circe whispered, and the light from her wand extinguished.
She tried as carefully as she could to manoeuvre herself about in the dark, leaving the Mirror behind to investigate who was making the racket. Whoever else was in here, they hadn't noticed her presence in the Room of Hidden Things as well, probably because she'd been so quiet and so engrossed in the visions the Mirror was showing her. Nevertheless, Circe thought it was best that she didn't draw attention to herself, given the long list of possible nasties it could be making the racket in the Room.
Has Draco figured out the Cabinet? It could be Bella, or Fenrir, or Macnair or anyone else who he can fit through that wardrobe…. Her thoughts raced. Cold dread coursed through her body as she tried to control her drunken feet, praying that she didn't stumble over something in the dark. She was by no means stealthy in her intoxicated state, and as she drew closer to the noise, she realised that whoever it was making all that racket, they were so irate and angry that they didn't even notice a drunk girl stumbling about in the dark behind them.
"Just work! You fucking stupid wardrobe!" The angry voice called again. There was another bloody crash. Circe didn't need to see them to know who it was.
Draco.
CIrce hid herself behind a mountain of empty glass inkwells, able to just about see the silver- haired boy pacing agitatedly in front of the Vanishing Cabinet. He looked like a caged lion; shoulders hunched, mouth curled into snarl, each fall of his foot imbued with a rage.
"Expulso!" He cried, pointing his wand at the cabinet and sending a small blast at the doors. The Vanishing Cabinet rocked on its feet before coming to a stop.
"Expulso! Expulso!" Draco cried again, sending spell after spell at the wooden doors. It was an outpouring of pure frustration and it pained Circe's heart to watch it.
God, that's such a Slytherin reaction to have: when something doesn't work, hit it. Circe thought, sighing to herself as she watched Draco almost drain himself from his repeated magical attack on the Cabinet. One of Draco's spells collided with the display on the Cabinet's front, and the various tiles of the zodiac went flying off it in a variety of different directions.
You need those, kid. Circe thought to herself, chiding Draco's frustrated behaviour. Don't destroy them, for fuck sake, or you'll never get the thing to work! Of course… you probably don't know that even if you've got them all in the right configurement, it still won't work without the last tile in my desk drawer...
Draco collapsed to his knees, utterly exhausted. Circe held her breath and silence descended over the Room of Hidden Things again. She kept her eyes on Draco. He remained so perfectly still, on his hands and knees, head bent low, and Circe thought she might have to out herself to check if the boy was alright. With an outburst like that, he may have hurt himself. But Draco's shoulders started to rock, gently at first, and then increasingly more and more violent. And Circe realised… he was crying.
Crying because of her.
Because she'd sabotaged the Cabinet and rendered it next-to-useless.
The kid in front of her was in tears… because of her.
As Draco's cries became louder and more painful Circe had to cover her ears, feeling like she wanted to wail too.
I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry… she said to Draco in her head again and again and again.
She couldn't help him. She couldn't do anything to alleviate his pain. In fact, she had to keep him in this agony, at least until Severus came home. Watching Draco bawl his guts up went against everything she thought she was… who she wanted to be. How had she found herself in a situation where she'd been a shoulder to cry on earlier in the night for one student, and now being the reason behind why another student was crying?
She left her bottle of firewhiskey on the floor at her side. It was almost empty, but there was still a few inches of the deep-brown liquid at the bottom of the bottle.
I can't help you. I can't help you yet...She thought as she began tiptoeing away from the still heaving silver-haired boy on his hands and knees. But maybe when you've stopped crying, you can have a small drink to help you feel a bit better…
And with that final, pitiful thought, she turned on her heels and left. As much as it physically pained her to do it, she had to leave Draco to his misery.