AN: As the character of Tom is partly inspired by my own brother, I decided to name all Tom's classmates after my bro's favourite musicians. Points if you know what musician's surname I gave to Tom himself! It's my brother's absolutely favourite band.
Chapter 94 - "Rainy days and Mondays always get me down."
The Cantuscope's display whirred and clicked. The pictures spun around with a series of rhythmic ticks until The Hanged Man showed itself proudly.
A loud harmonica melody came blasting out of the machine and Circe groaned.
"Ugh, shut up. Five more minutes…" she said feebly to the Cantuscope, patting it as though it were an alarm clock she could put on snooze. When she couldn't find an off button, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Six-thirty always came too early…
Severus groaned awake beside her too. He turned over to face her and buried his head under a pillow.
"Hanged Man still?" He asked groggily.
"Yes… same as the last three weeks of term…."
"Your blasted machine…" Severus moaned. He sat up and sneered at the Cantuscope. "Alright, we get it. We're both fucked. We are the hanged men. Now kindly play us a different sort of musical arrangement so our demise may at least be decently soundtracked!"
Circe snorted and flung back the covers from them both, Snape hissing as the cold chill of morning crashed against his naked skin. Circe thought the Cantuscope had picked that card for a different reason; The Hanged Man was the card of self-sacrifice, of uncertainty, of punishment. And if that wasn't a description of all that her and Severus had been through recently, then she'd kiss a grindylow….
"What misery-guts have we got droning on this morning? Any more Morrissey? Or Nick Cave perhaps?" Severus asked sarcastically.
"Sounds like The Carpenters to me." Circe said with a yawn.
"Talkin' to myself and feelin' old
Sometimes I'd like to quit
Nothin' ever seems to fit
Hangin' around
Nothin' to do but frown
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down"
"Another Monday? Another week of this hell already?" Severus asked dryly.
He got up and donned his dark green dressing gown, wandering over to the window and staring down at the rest of Hogwarts.
"Who's on roll-call with me this morning? Can you remember?" Circe asked, rubbing at her eyes.
"I believe it's Filius today."
"Ugh, Filius." Circe moaned, but it didn't really matter who she was with. Most of the other Staff were pretty much stunned into shocked silence whenever they were put on roll-call duty with Circe. Everyone was too afraid to talk to her now. It didn't matter who Severus had put on the morning rota with her..
"Where's the bathroom today?" She asked miserably.
"On the East wall…" Severus replied, pointing to the door.
Circe muttered her thanks and trudged towards it.
She clung on to the sides of the sink, exhaling deeply. She worked quickly through her morning washing and dressing regime so Severus could use the bathroom after her. It was a simple morning routine her and Severus had established: Severus would make the first morning coffee whilst Circe got a head start on her preparations for the day. It seemed silly to fuss over her hair and her makeup when the War was raging just outside the windows of their shared rooms, but Circe had to look poised and put-together. The Headmaster's Consort had to look presentable to the outside world.
Their new, shared rooms were poised right at the very top of the castle, in the same sky-scraping turrets where the Headmaster's office was located. Circe liked the sound of the wind around the tower because it reminded her of the Ravenclaw dormitories, but for Severus, who had spent most of his time at Hogwarts underground, the experience and the sound took some getting used to. The Headmaster's rooms were large and luxurious, as was to be expected. Panelled from floor to ceiling in a deep, rich, dark oak, a menagerie of snakes and badgers and eagles and lions were carved into the wood. The symbol of each of the Hogwarts houses. They chased one another as they crawled over the beams, sliding down the wood panelling, dangling over the window arches, looking down on them from the canopy of the four-poster bed. Circe loved running her eyes over them at the end of a long day, looking for two that shared the same pose or the same detail, and coming up short. It was a marvelous cross between a Tudor Princess's quarters and a wood-sculptor's workshop.
The rooms were a honey-comb of hidden annexes and branching-off chambers. The logistics of it made Circe's mind boggle as it didn't, couldn't, make sense… Rooms backed on to other rooms, places where there should have been nothing turned out to be a small study area or a walk-in wardrobe, the bathroom seemed to change location every few days, and for a round turret tower there sure were a lot of corners…. The Headmaster's quarters was its own decently-sized apartment in a space that should have only occupied a few square feet.
The furniture had been upholstered in the richest, deepest shade of purple that Circe had ever seen. The blankets on the massive bed reminded Circe of the colour of Dairy Milk bars. Severus had been a little annoyed when she'd dubbed it the "Cadbury's bed", as he could not un-see the similarities in the colour once she'd mentioned it. But the same cavorting and playing animals were embroidered into the sheets, and on each pillow, and in the velvety curtains. No Headmaster, it seemed, was allowed to forget that they were the representative of every House, not just their own. Which is why the single carving of a Phoenix, positioned just behind a purple-cushioned armchair, had caught both of their eyes…
Circe should have known the rooms of the Headmaster would have had their own secrets. And she wasn't as surprised as she may have been a long time ago when they twisted the Phoenix and a whole other hidden room opened up for them behind an oak panel. A room full of mirrors.
Severus had called it a "scrying" room, as each mirror in the long, thin space reflected back not the image of he or Circe, but a different part of the castle. The Great Hall, the hallway outside the Staff Room, the Third Floor corridor, the Fat Lady's portrait, the dungeons by the Potions storage rooms… everywhere where it seemed Circe had thought she'd found a quiet corner to hide in.
Dumbledore must have found it so amusing when me and Sev were sneaking around, thinking nobody was watching.
Circe emerged from the bathroom fully dressed in a black, floor length dress. Buttons ran all the way down the front of it, from breastbone to toes. The neck was squared and open, revealing her collar to the world, the only bit of skin on show. The dress was tight and restricting, keeping her chest high and her back straight. She'd braided her hair away from her face in a half-ponytail, but a few unruly curls still escaped the plaits she'd made and hung about her face. Circe had never been good at plaits, but something about them screamed "discipline" and "sternness" to her. Anything to get her into the role of The Consort she'd been playing. Yet as she found her reflection in a nearby mirror, Circe couldn't help but feel like an actor, playing pretend, a caricature of what a villain should look like…
"Coffee…" Severus said, extending a steaming mug out to her.
"Thanks." Circe accepted it gratefully and took a long sip. "Not quite my fantasy of a coffee in bed on a Sunday." She muttered.
Severus cupped her face and looked into her eyes. He sighed deeply. "One day… one day."
"Hmm." Circe stared into the deep brown liquid and sighed too. She took another long swig and placed the mug down on a tabletop. "Right, roll-call."
Circe donned her cloak and made for the door.
"Good luck." Severus said quietly.
Circe paused and closed her eyes. A rise of fear stirring up inside her. She turned to Severus and nodded. He nodded back, and ducked into the bathroom.
Circe's walk down to the Great Hall was long and offered her plenty of time to think about the week ahead. Mondays were always the worst day; it was another plunge into a seemingly unending week of misery, the cycle starts again, new, fresh horrors to face. She needed Severus's "good luck" on this day more than the other days of the week because Monday's roll call was the most likely time that they would discover a runaway…
Circe had psyched herself up and slipped into her cold, steely Consort persona by the time she reached the Ground Floor. She held her head high as she approached Filius in the atrium outside the Great Hall. A little shiver crept up her spine as she passed over the place where Neville's tears and vomit had been on that first night, but she hid it well. The little man turned to her with a gulp and bowed low.
"They're all waiting inside." He said quietly, pointing at the closed door.
Circe waved her wand and summoned a quill and notebook from the air.
"We shall see about that." She responded icily.
The doors swung open for her as she took a stride towards the Great Hall, and as she stepped through the threshold, the silent and terrified faces of every student in Hogwarts faced her. Each child looked forwards, arms by their sides and standing in regimented lines, waiting to be counted. Some familiar faces stared back at her: Ginny, Luna, Cho, Colin, Dennis, Lavender… all of them looked washed-out and tired. Some other, less familiar faces avoided her gaze altogether. Circe surveyed them all, her emerald eyes regarding them all coldly. A pin could have dropped on the other side of the room, and all would have heard it…
She looked at the notebook and pointed at the Gryffindors. "Start with them."
The quill and notebook went flying about the students as Circe marched regimentally in front of them. Back and forth, back and forth. None of them dared look her in the eye. Some of them had learnt the "don't look them in the eye and don't speak unless spoken to" rule the hard way. When one of The Carrows had been on roll-call duty with Circe… They'd dragged several students kicking and screaming from the lines and hung them from the Quidditch hoops for a whole day without food or water, until the next morning's roll call, when they were ordered to stand up straight and silent with the rest of the cohort. Circe hadn't slept a wink on those nights, convinced she could hear their frightened crying from up in the Headmaster's quarters as they faced Hogwarts by night.
She clocked each bruise, each graze, each black eye she saw, especially amongst the muggle-borns. They were the ones taking the brunt of The Carrows's unique brand of "discipline". Never beating them with their own two hands, but instead encouraging the pureblood Slytherins to do it. Circe had seen the Slytherins doing it; Waiting behind a stone pillar or around a corne and then laying into the unsuspecting victim, and not a single soul was allowed to intervene on their behalf. Helping a muggleborn came with its own kind of punishments. Both of the Creevey brothers had several welts and dark-purple patches across their faces. Justin Finch-Fletchley had two black eyes. Terry Boot had what looked like a split lip...
"All present" the enchanted notepad said as it came to a hover by her face.
Circe let out a small sigh of relief. The Gryffindors weren't going to make a scene today. Most runaways they'd caught so far were Gryffindors. Ginny twice, the Creevey brothers a few times, and last week…
Tom.
Circe's eyes found her step-brother amongst the silent Gryffindors. The first time the roll-call had revealed that he wasn't present for the morning count, her heart had almost leapt out of her chest. The Carrows personally dealt with the runaways, keeping them in the dungeons of the castle in almost utter darkness for a week at a time. Circe had almost died with worry when Tom had been spirited away to those dungeons, but Severus had assured her that her brother was not going to be subjected to painful or spiteful punishments from The Carrows. Severus had thrown away everything in his old potions cupboards that could be used in a similar way the Carrows had used the angor beans. So, they only had the powers of boredom and their own personal magic to use to torment people. And Severus had made sure to set several alerting charms in the dungeons, letting him know if the Carrows had used any Unforgivable Curses. None of which had been set off. Yet…
Today would be the first day Tom would be out amongst the other students since his time in sensory deprivation. He looked a little grey and his hair was a greasy mess, but he held his head up high, otherwise fine. He had a few yellowing and aged bruises along his jaw, a leftover from a Slytherin attack a few weeks ago that Circe had not been present for. Tom's status as a muggle-born must have been easy to spot once it became clear that he knew nothing about magic and wizards and Hogwarts. But even his bruises, he bore with pride
He's only been a Gryffindor for a month, but his lion's heart is as big as the rest of them. She thought, shaking her head at him.
As soon as her brother had been sorted into Gryffindor, Circe had speculated that Tom may end up getting himself caught up in a bit of trouble here and there… but to be this involved in the student dissent, this quickly… It made her worry for him. She hoped his little, failed escape attempt was just a one off. But something twisting in her guts, and the un-dampened sparkle in Tom's eye told her otherwise…
Her head-count turned up no absentees that day. Circe breathed out a long sigh of relief. Clasping her hands behind her back she turned to face the students with an air of disdain on her face.
"Let's have a good week this week, students." she said quietly. "I would hate to have to remind any of you of the consequences for… insubordination."
Silence thundered in the Great Hall. Every single face that looked back at her had pure resentment written all over it.
"You are dismissed. Food is outside." she said flatly.
The Hufflepuffs were the first to break ranks and leave the Great Hall. Steadily, the students shuffled past her, still keeping their eyes downcast and humble, none of them daring to come within five feet of her. The presence of food in the atrium outside made her stomach rumble as the scent drifted to her. Serving breakfast only after the morning roll-call concluded had proved a good way of ensuring that incidences of runaways decreased. The Carrows had instructed the House-Elves to throw away the students' morning food if anyone was not present for the head count. Just one person missing would mean everyone would go hungry. Today had been a good day for the children to all be present; it smelled like bacon…
When everybody had left the Great Hall, Circe turned on her heels and left. Four tables had appeared in the previously empty atrium, each of them holding just a few remaining bacon sandwiches now. Circe picked up one for herself, one for Severus, and, turning over her shoulder, just to check no one watched her, she pocketed a third for Herriculus. At some point in the morning she'd head up to his secluded little room and give it to him. Perhaps if the day went well, she'd be able to spend an hour or two with him. Herri was quickly becoming one of the only people in the castle she could truly be herself around, and not the Deputy-Commandant she'd turned into these past few weeks. Plus, Herri needed cheering up after Circe had been forced to stick-fast hex his chute down to the Kitchens shut. She couldn't risk the House-Elves knowing about Herri, especially if Alecto and Amycus were speaking to them.
Circe realised she was humming to herself in the quiet and empty corridors. The same song the Cantuscope had played that morning. The words of the catchy yet melancholy number playing in her head. It was such a whimsical yet heavy-hearted song that made her feel not sad, but just tired. Tired of having to live through a life where every day felt like a battle. She would have welcomed an old rainy day or a Monday in the days when Dumbledore was alive… But still, she hummed the song to herself, letting the sound of her voice fill the cavernous stone halls.
"Hangin' around
Nothin' to do but frown
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down."
She took a few hasty bites of her bacon roll and made her way to her first lessons of the day. Severus would tell her off if she didn't eat anything again. Circe still hadn't managed to get herself back to how she'd looked before Severus's disappearance and she was still thinner than she'd been in years. All the worry of Tom and the other students was killing her appetite too. But she bit down a few mouthfuls before her mind could have too many thoughts, milling over every possible thing that could go wrong in the day and make her feel nauseous with worry. Severus wouldn't eat until the very end of the day, when Circe forced him to. He was a hypocrite for eating, but Circe had been fighting for years to get Severus to eat regularly and survive on more than just anger and black coffee. She wasn't going to change his eating habits this year…
Her students were already waiting for her when she entered her classroom. Their voices were raised and perhaps… a touch excited as she stood in the doorway at the back of the room.
"What was it like in the dungeons?"
"Did you have any light down there?"
"Did the ghosts keep you company?"
The collection of little First Years all simultaneously gasped when they realised Circe was present and they scattered away from the person they had been encircling. All of them rushed to stand behind their desks and stretched out like rigid little soldiers, facing forwards to the front of the classroom. Circe's eyes travelled over to the individual they had been gathered around, and she saw the back of a mulleted head faced away from her...
Oh fuck… I forgot. First thing on a Monday I have First Year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.
Steadily, she made her way through the rows of desks, her falling feet the only sound in the classroom. Circe passed by Tom, her eyes lingering on his face and the bruises on his jaw for a second too long, and he caught her stare once more. She could still see the dirt and grime of the Dungeons clinging to him; the Carrows hadn't even given him time to wash before they'd thrown him back into lessons. And each smear of dirt and ring under his eyes was a badge of honour. He was a hero amongst his peers. Tom looked her in the eye, a small show of bravery for one so young, especially from one that had only just made it out of solitary confinement in the dungeons… And once again, Circe's heart gave a pang of sorrow as her own brother looked upon her as just a villain, not his own sister… Tom gave her a tiny, challenging smile and she broke her gaze first. Circe marched for her desk, cursing herself for getting caught staring at him again. Heaven knew what Tom thought the reason for her lingering looks was…
"Books out. Same chapter as last lesson." She said hurriedly, sitting down at her desk and fiddling with a few papers.
The First Years silently reached in their bags and withdrew their books. The rustle of paper filled the air as they turned the pages and followed Circe's instructions.
"Hudson, start reading for us." Circe said, waving at a young Hufflepuff boy with frizzy, black hair.
The First Year nervously cleared his throat and began reading:
"Th… The stories of Beedle the Bard have been told in upstanding wizarding families for hundreds of years. The tenth-century anthropologist Beedle Peverell, the heir to the mighty pureblood Peverell family fortune…."
Ugh. Circe scoffed internally. These new "Ministry approved" textbooks might as well have "written by a Death Eater" stamped all over them.
"…is the Wizard responsible for gathering these stories into one published collection. Beedle wanted to forever immortalise the stories of great Witches and Wizards that were being told by word of mouth. Over time, his stories would become an easy way of identifying children raised within a pure wizarding family in a world infested with muggle scum."
"May, you next." Circe said, pointing at another small Gryffindor boy with shoulder-length, tightly curled hair.
"The most well known of Beedle's stories is the Tale of the Three Brothers. Beedle's inspiration for this tale most likely came from his own great-grandfather Ignotus Peverell…."
On the reading went, with Circe choosing a different reader every few minutes. Circe half-listened to the new revisionist history of the tale, with all the vicious little digs at half-bloods and Muggles and the hailing of the superiority of wizarding culture. She knew that Voldemort would eventually want to begin censoring or alter what children were being taught in school, but this was all so heavy-handed... No subtlety about it at all… Circe had seen textbooks from Nazi Germany that were less obvious in the message they were trying to pedal…
"The Peverell family were renowned Thestral breeders in the early Medieval era. Their work with the scarcely-studied magical creatures gave the Peverell family a closely-guarded wealth of knowledge and earned them a number of important "gifts"." A small Hufflepuff girl called Mabel Carter read.
Ugh, this is way beyond First Year reading. Circe said with a roll of her eyes. This new interpretation of the Three Brothers tale is too complicated for eleven year olds. Do they even know what Thestrals are? Is that on the Care of Magical Creatures curriculum at all?
Circe flipped through a few more pages of the new textbook, concluding that whoever had written this textbook was a moron. But she was too exhausted to stop them reading aloud and address all the possible knowledge gaps they might have.
"Moore, take over." she waved exhaustedly at a pug-nosed Gryffindor boy.
"The Three Brothers' gifts from "Death" are allegorical representations of their discoveries relating to Thestrals, as Thestrals are closely associated with death. Ancient Historians who have studied the tale have theorised that the wand, the stone and the cloak, as mentioned in the tale, were all byproducts of the Peverell Family's work with Thestrals. The Elder Wand, for example, supposedly the most powerful wand in the world, is known to possess a Thestral hair core. The stone-"
Circe snapped her head up from her desk. "Say that part again, Moore."
"Fr-from where, Professor?"
"About the Elder Wand… Quickly!" Cire said impatiently.
Moore flinched and stuttered out. "T.. Th… The Elder Wand, for example, supposedly the most powerful wand in the world, is known to possess a Thestral hair core."
An extraordinary wand... That's what Ollivander said Voldemort was after. An extraordinary wand… And what wand is more extraordinary than that…?
Circe stared into space, her tired mind whirring away behind her eyes as she thought.
When Circe did not say anything, Gareth Moore, the pug-nosed Gryffindor boy, read on. "The stone, later known as the Resurrection Stone, granted the power for the holder to see again their lost loved ones. No known mineral or geological substance holds this power. But the sighting of a Thestral is linked heavily to one's personal experience of death. So what may Thestrals themselves be able to see of death? Of the veil beyond? Several prominent Wizard Historians have put forward the proposition that the Resurrection Stone is the crystallised eye of a Thestral."
"Lukather…" Circe said reluctantly. She'd gone through the whole class, all having taken their turn to read, apart from Tom. "Your turn."
Tom's mouth curled ever so slightly and a small ripple of unsteadiness spread through the class. He picked up the textbook and dramatically cleared his throat. Circe rolled her eyes, wishing that her step-brother wasn't trying so hard to be the James Dean, devil-may-care member of the class.
"The last gift granted to the brothers was the Cloak of Invisibility. As mentioned before, only those that have a relationship with death and have witnessed someone die can see a Thestral. For most of wizarding kind, that means that the Thestral is an invisible being. Completely imperceptible to those who have been spared witnessing death. Therefore, the last of Death's gifts to the Peverells is theorised to be the hide of a Thestral, fashioned into the greatest invisibility cloak ever."
After the Morning lessons, students were taken to the castle grounds to run drills and exercise outside. The Carrows personally presided over this time, stating that it kept the students occupied and tired them out by the end of the day. So whilst Alecto and Amycus had the children performing marching exercises up and down the Quidditch pitch, Circe used this time to sneak off to find Herriculus.
The Fifth Floor was not too far away from her classroom and she'd made sure to choose a location in the castle that nobody would accidentally "stumble upon". The rooms where Herriculus was hiding had once upon a time been Charity Burbage's classrooms. Muggle Studies had been, unsurprisingly, struck off the curriculum by Voldemort's puppet-Minister, and when Charity hadn't returned to Hogwarts after the summer, many of the Staff had hoped that she'd possibly fled Britain. Little did they know that Circe had watched her disappear down the mouth of a very large and very important snake…
So, as Circe approached the boarded-up classroom, she turned to look over her shoulder and checked she was alone. Facing the boards, she cast the password into the air:
"Lay All Your Love On Me."
A final tribute to Charity and her music tastes. Circe changed the password every few days, just to keep security tight, but it was always the same theme: ABBA songs or lyrics.
The boards that blocked up the door slid away before her eyes, and Circe hurriedly turned the handle and disappeared inside before anyone could spot her.
The room was dark, the curtains still drawn over the large, tall windows. Dust clung to the air but Circe could just about make out a few shapes in the gloom. She could hear noises too: the crackle of a television screen and a mosaic of voices as someone cycled through the channels.
"Herri?" she called out into the half-light. "I have your breakfast."
"Circe? Is that you?" a croaky old voice called out in reply. "Come in,'The Friends of Manhattan' is about to start."
"I told you, it's just called 'Friends', Herri." Circe replied with a chuckle.
Much of the room still looked like a classroom: a few rows of dust-covered desks still adorned most of the space, a cracked blackboard with a technical drawing of a rubber duck at the far end of the room, old books, squares of parchment and other lost knick-knacks strewn about everywhere. All the abandoned things Charity had left behind in her classroom. But tucked away in the far corner of the room was Herri's little makeshift living space. Circe had tried to string up a few blankets and reams of cloth to fashion a sort of tent for the old man. The floor was covered with as many rugs, pillows and soft furnishings as Circe could lay her hands on until Herriculus had something that looked a little like a cross between a child's play-den and a yurt. She'd stolen a hammock from the Staff Room for the old man to sleep in and a television from Charity's old display cases of "muggle artefacts" to keep him entertained. Somehow, she'd managed to get the device working and Herri would happily sit in front of the TV as he had done in the B&B in Dartmoor.
"Bacon roll today, Herri." Circe said softly, sitting herself down on a beanbag chair beside Herriculus.
His leathery, wrinkled face lit up in the light of the television and he took the food from her outstretched hands gratefully.
"So, catch me up. What's been happening on 'The Friends of Manhattan'?" Circe asked, watching Herri take a large, gummy bite of his bacon roll.
"Well, the annoying one is still insisting that he and the pretty one were "on a break" during his period of infidelity." Herriculus said, with his mouth full of bacon roll. "And she wrote him a long sonnet expressing her feelings about the ordeal he put her through, and he, the swine, did not even bother to read it."
"Ugh, pig." Circe said, smiling to herself.
"I fear that they will never reconcile." Herri said dramatically. "Perhaps the pretty one will realise that she is too beautiful an angel in this world to waste her efforts on him. Perhaps the annoying one will let his ego get in his own way and stop him from owning up to his mistakes. Oh, and Chandler had to urinate on Monica's foot."
Circe laughed aloud. Her own laughter sounded strange to her own ears. It had been an age since she had heard it. And it was not Remus or Tonks or Myron or even Severus who had coaxed it out of her, but the ancient, nature-defying man sat beside her.
"I… uh… won't be able to stay for long today, Herri. I just came up to check in on you. Make sure you didn't need anything."
"Oh no, I am quite comfortable here with my magical story-box." he replied, pointing at the glowing TV screen. "It's fascinating. You live long enough, and eventually you start to see all that was wizardly becomes normal. All that was "magic" eventually becomes mundane. I could never have dreamt of such wonders like this when I was a boy on Cyprus. And now, you tell me every muggle house has one of these?"
Circe nodded.
"Fascinating." Herriculus breathed. "Perhaps one of the stories I watch will help us with our quest."
"Quest?" Circe asked.
"How I can die!" Herriculus said chipperly, turning to Circe with a bright smile.
Circe felt her stomach lurch, dropping her eyes and avoiding Herri's optimistic gaze.
"You are still going to try and help me die, aren't you Circe?" Herriculus asked her quietly.
"I will try, Herri… Yes… But…" Circe stammered. But there was nothing at all to be found in Hogwarts's vast Library about Herriculus's problem. It was too niche an issue. Too ridiculous a concept. Circe was truly lost about where to even begin looking for answers. "Not to be rude, but… have you ever tried... doing it yourself? You know, when you realised what you were?" She asked delicately.
"Oh, no. I'm too much of a coward." Herriculus chuckled. "I did once contract plague back in the 1300's, totally by accident, and I survived that. Oh, and an eagle once dropped a tortoise upon my head, thinking I was a rock to crack the beast's shell open. And I survived that too. Look, you can still feel the crack in my skull."
Herriculus grabbed Circe's hand and placed it on the taut and liver-spotted skin on his head. True to his word, Circe could feel a long ridge in the old man's skull, just underneath the surface.
Hmm, then we can rule out death by pestilence or blunt force trauma… Circe thought as she withdrew her hand.
"And what of you?" Herriculus asked her. "How do you fair, Circe? I know that you and Seveus are up to much outside of these walls. Fighting in a War that will decide the fate of us all. Doing a thankless job too, judging from the few student's voices I've heard outside this room!"
"They haven't tried to get in here, have they?" Circe asked worriedly. "I thought I'd put enough repellant and masking charms on your door…"
"No, no. Just wandering by at night."
"Hmm." Circe said, relaxing a little. Although it meant that students had been walking around up here in the middle of the night, when the Carrows would almost certainly throw them in the Dungeons if they were caught out of their Dormitories at that time. She made a mental note to investigate later what the students could possibly be doing in the dead of night that meant risking the wrath of The Headmaster or the Carrows…
"Ugh, so you're getting some first-hand reviews of the new Headmaster and Deputy-Consort of Hogwarts are you?" Circe asked, wearily rubbing her eyes.
"With some rather fruity language used to describe you both too! But most of the time I hear silence. Is that normal for a school these days? It wasn't when I was a boy…"
"No… No it's not normal." Circe said flatly, her mind wandering away to all of the horrors she'd seen her students put through so far this year.
Herriculus watched her carefully, eventually taking her hand again. "I sometimes wonder if anybody tends to your needs in the way you tend to mine, my dear." he said gently.
"I have Severus… and I have you." she said, mustering a small smile. "You're the only two people who I can let my Consort mask down for. I know who I have to find if I want a few moments of feeling like me. Who I need to run to if I want to laugh like me… "
"But you appear… lonely. Lost."
Circe did her best to hide her surprise. There was a time, a long time ago, when I described Severus as the "lost and lonely" one..
"Pfft! I've been lonely before." Circe said, putting on a brave face for Herri. She didn't want him worrying about her whilst he was stuck up in this room. She knew what worry did to people who had nothing else to do but wait. "It's just one of those days, Herri. It'll pass. Like rainclouds."
Herriculus squeezed her hand comfortingly. "I am truly grateful for your help, Circe. For all that you are doing both within these rooms and beyond them."
Circe was silent for a moment, staring back into the old man's eyes as an emotion she couldn't quite place welled inside her.
"Thank you, Herri." She said quietly. "It's nice to know somebody is."
The caterwaul charms screamed in the air outside. Circe stood up quickly and dusted down her black dress. Running to a nearby curtained window, she drew back the dense, dusty cloth, peering through the glass and trying to squint into the distance. A slice of harsh sunlight lanced across the room making Herriculus flinch.
"Oh! Circe, what is that racket?" Herriculus asked, clamping his hands over his shrivelled ears.
"Our alarm system…" Circe replied bitterly, still searching the Hogwarts grounds below her for signs of what had caused the caterwauls to trigger. "Any time someone from the outside sets foot in the school, it sounds off."
"Ugh, what an obnoxious sound."
"As if the Carrows think they'll catch Potter because he'll just one day decide to wander on site…"
The caterwauls were suddenly silenced and Circe stopped rolling her eyes to hunt for her wand in her pocket.
"Well, who is it?" Herri asked curiously.
"Oculus Telescopo." Circe muttered on herself. Her eyesight zoomed and she once again began scanning the castle grounds for the new intruder…before gasping aloud.
"Who is it?!" Herriculus asked again. His voice rang with curiosity.
"Our new Minister." Circe said quietly, backing away from the window. "And it looks like he brought company..."
Pius Thicknesse, the new Minister for Magic, was a man who Circe would not have looked at twice on the street.
He was an averagely sized individual, coming to just an inch or two below Circe's nose. His long, black hair was streaked with grey, as was his beard. His eyes too were a startling grey colour, set beneath a rather large and prominent brow. Circe had to look twice at those eyes, buried beneath the big ridge of his forehead, because the second time she caught his stare, his eyes were screaming…
She tensed up, her arms and legs going rigid as she stood in the center of the Quidditch pitch. The wind was loud and bitterly cold, but that was not the reason for the shiver now raking up her spine... The surge of alarm that had gripped her body…. Circe had seen that pleading stare in others before: Katie Bell and, more recently, Mundungus.
He's under the imperius curse.
Severus stood at Circe's side and cast her a sly glance. They'd only had a brief moment of reunion in the castle, when they'd found one another in the descent down to the Quidditch pitch and shared a quick, hurried, conference over the sudden appearance of the Minister. It seemed like neither of them knew of the reason for this unexpected visit... Severus sensed her unease, but could do little to address it at that moment. He kept his moves minisculely small, anxious not to draw the eye of the whole school, who were standing on the pitch in silent formation, or the Carrows, flanking either side of them. Severus and Circe had positioned themselves at the head of the whole hoard, a King and a Queen presenting themselves to new visitors in their land. Everyone was there to greet the Minister. To show the Ministry just how much of a stranglehold Voldemort's servants had on Hogwarts. To show off just how much Hogwarts had been brought to heel.
"Greetings, Minister." Severus said above the roar of the wind. His voice travelled all around the oval pitch like a flitting ghost on the breeze.
"Headmaster Snape." Replied Pius, taking the last few steps towards Severus.
The two of them bowed curtly to each other.
Thicknesse too had come with his own retinue of followers for this audience: two "Ministry workers" who were known to Circe. Yaxley and Macnair. She wondered which of the two of them was the real puppet master. Which one of them was truly speaking to them through Thicknesse's mouth.
"I see you have brought the whole school out to greet us." Thicknesse said, casting his gaze around the silent, still students.
"Alecto and Amycus already had them performing their exercises when you decided to join us, Minister." Severus drawled.
"Ah, how wonderful. Training up our future into healthy, fit, racially pure witches and wizards?" Pius asked, a little too enthusiastically to be natural.
Severus did not answer, merely letting the steely wind whipping around his hair reply for him.
"To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Minister?" Circe asked shortly. But instead of directing her question at Thicknesse, she spoke instead to Macnair and Yaxley at his side.
"So impatient…" Macnair sighed, a cruel smile tugging at the side of his mouth. "Pius was rather enjoying his little excursion outside. Weren't you." Macnair lay a hand on Thicknesse's shoulder, and Circe could have sworn she saw a flicker of pure fear in his grey eyes. "He gets so cooped up in those offices in London."
Pius kept his jaw locked and his face placid. But everything in the man's eyes was still screaming... Begging for help…
Macnair leaned in close to his ear and hissed through his yellow teeth. "Alright, you can present it to them now."
Macnair took a step back as Pius raised both of his arms. Circe's hardened face turned into a deep frown as she watched the Minister fold his arms and reach his left hand inside his right sleeve. When he removed his hand, Pius had a glinting silver handle clutched in his fist. And he kept on pulling…
And more and more of the Sword of Gryffindor emerged from out of his sleeve.
Circe's eyes widened. A small smattering of noises rippled the crowds of students at their backs. Voices of surprise and alarm:
"The sword…"
"What's he doing with the sword…?"
"They can't let him have Gryffindor's sword..!"
A quick, roaring command for silence from Amycus had the crowd of children silent once more.
When all Circe could hear was the howl of the wind and her own thumping heart, Pius Thicknesse placed the blade of the sword in one hand and the hilt in the other. Slowly, he presented Gryffindor's Sword out to them.
"We have finished our investigations on it. The Ministry wishes to return the sword to its rightful home." Puis said levelly. "And an item of this high value couldn't be trusted to the owls. We thought it best to hand deliver it. Back into the caring embrace of the new Headmaster of Hogwarts."
Dumbledore's Will. Circe remembered. They've had it ever since they saw that Dumbledore left it to Harry in his Will. And now… they must be returning it because they believe it's harmless. They have no clue what that blade can do…
Circe remembered a flash of metal and a bone-cleaving crunch. Dumbledore's hand upon his desk, primed for her swing. The Marvolo ring on his finger…
She was brought crashing back down into the windy Quidditch pitch when she saw Severus's pale, deft hands reaching for the sword. For some reason, she was holding her breath. The air catching in her throat as Severus lay his fingers around the shining silver handle of the blade. He took the sword from Pius and held it aloft in the air. A shudder passed straight through Circe as she beheld the Sword of Gryffindor in Snape's hand. He was a King in that moment. A warrior.
Her warrior.
"Alecto, Amycus, send the children on their way." Severus stated, his voice sounding out like a roll of thunder over the deathly silent pitch. Never once did he take his eyes off the blade.
"You heard your Headmaster, off to lessons!" Alecto bellowed at them.
There was a second of hesitation from the students.
"Now!" Amycus screamed at them. And eventually, the formations of students broke ranks and began the trudge back up to the castle.
Yet, Circe watched none of them leaving. Neither did Severus. She stared at his face and he stared at the sword.
Perhaps Dumbledore was right. Circe thought as she sensed Thicknesse, Macnair and Yaxley turn and leave the Quidditch Pitch. Yet her eyes still searched Severus's face. The placid calmness and the quiet bravery that made her hair stand on end. Perhaps we do sort too early. Because that sword looks like it belongs in his hands.
Later that evening, the Sword sat before Circe and Severus on the desk of the Headmaster's office.
It had been a long day, but something uneasy in the air prevented both of them from going to bed. Both of them were coiled tight like a spring. The tension of having to maintain their fronts that day had worn them both thin, and the Minister's visit had been the cherry on top of an already stress-laden day. Fawkes's perch sat empty across the room and the Headmaster's office seemed even more bereft and empty without the bird sitting there, softly chirruping and squawking as he used to do.
The two of them were nursing a pair of rather large goblets of red wine, trying to unwind in each other's company, but both of them had been silent for the past five minutes. Both of them had their eyes squarely fixed on the shining silver glean of the sword in front of them.
"Perhaps they're giving it back to test us." Circe said suddenly.
"Test us?"
"Yeah. Test our loyalty to Voldemort. To see if we'll give back the only item in the world that can destroy his Horcruxes."
"That's a dangerous test for Him to play, if so…" Severus grumbled. "No, he wouldn't risk that if he suspected our loyalties. Or suspected that the sword could do that."
Circe sighed and downed the wine in her goblet.
"I wish I knew where that diadem was, Sev. I wish that fucking Grey Lady would make an appearance..." She muttered sourly, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. "If she'd only stop and speak to me, instead of floating off through the walls and acting all hoity toity when she sights me… I could tell her that I don't want the diadem for me. Or for glory-hunting. Or chasing after Rowena Ravenclaw's legacy. I want it so I can cleave it in half with that blade!" Circe exclaimed, pointing at the sword.
"The diadem is the last unlocated Horcrux of Voldemort's?" Severus asked.
Circe nodded her head, exhaustion plain in her face. "Apart from Harry." She added bitterly.
Severus did not respond to her. His face wincing slightly at the implication that Harry was another lost Horcrux...
"Still no sign of him?" Circe asked.
Severus bowed his head and began sorting through the mountain of papers on his desk. "The last time he was sighted was in London, Shaftesbury Avenue." He replied wearily. "With Weasley and Granger. Three weeks ago."
"Maybe Potter knows where it is." Circe mused. "Perhaps he managed to ask the Grey Lady about the diadem. Perhaps she told him where it is…"
"But without the sword, he cannot destroy it. Or any Horcrux he might find." Severus said. "When the Ministry kept the sword from Potter, when they went against Dumbledore's wishes, they handicapped him. If we can't find Harry and somehow get the sword to him, then we will never bring Voldemort down."
"Well… fuck." Circe stated bluntly.
She slumped back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. The beginnings of a tension migraine was starting to form between her eyes and she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. Severus surveyed her, his eyes running all over her as she huffed and sighed.
"How was it… down in the trenches today?" he asked her cautiously.
That's what their little day-to-day routine was nowadays: Severus would spend much of the day in his office, trawling through reports, receiving information from all over Britain, searching for Harry, holed up in his Headmasterly rooms. Whilst Circe would keep her ear to the ground in the school, move about the students, keep an eye on the staff, alert him to any sniffs of rebellion that might be arising. And then at the end of each day, they would compare notes and debrief. He would tell her what was happening outside of Hogwarts, and she would tell him what went on within it.
"Well, Tom was back from his time in the dungeons. Loving all the attention he was getting. Behaving like a little celebrity…" she said exasperatedly.
Severus scoffed out a laugh.
"No runaways this morning, thank God. The students managed to get breakfast today. Horace needs a restock of equipment but is too frightened to ask you. Hagrid is still refusing to set foot in this castle whilst you're Headmaster, even to teach his classes. Some of the Slytherin boys are inking Dark Marks onto their wrists openly now as some sort of way of signalling to the other students which of them have fathers in Voldemort's armies... And everyone still hates us both with a burning passion..." she added dully.
"Has Minerva… said anything else?" he asked. Circe had told him all about their confrontation in the atrium. How she had seen her attempts to help Neville and her suspicions about Circe. It was worrying, one of the more pressing worries they had...
"No." Circe replied, shaking her head. "I didn't see her today. Not sure what I'd say if I did. If I say something cruel, she'll just assume I'm putting on a front for your benefit. And if I say something kind, she'll think my mask has fallen and we'll both be in danger of being outed."
"Just…try and commune with her as little as possible." Severus offered weakly.
"Easy for you to say when you can stay shut in here all day." She mumbled.
"Well, we can swap duties if you like." Severus said a little shortly. "Then you can spend every waking moment reading reports, going through Dumbledore's old records, tracking the movements of the Order, monitoring the ongoing situation in Europe, keeping a close eye on the Prophet obituaries for the names of students who didn't come back to Hogwarts, making enquiries about possible sightings of Harry without being too obvious as to arouse suspicion-"
"Alright, alright. You've made your point." Circe said quickly, her eyes darting over the mountainous piles of paper the sword sat on top of. "I don't suppose you've found anything useful still in here, have you? Something Dumbledore left behind that might help us?" She asked, casting her eyes over the reams of books and parchments adorning the Headmaster's office.
"Apart from a desk full of Bertie Botts and a book on Anglesey cannibals that tried to eat my hand…"
"Pfft!" Circe scoffed, getting out of her seat and rising to her feet. "Perhaps I should have a look through Dumbledore's old memory collection again."
She tottered on her slightly tipsy feet and set her eyes on the Pensieve. The gift Dumbledore had left her in the Will. She hadn't used it yet, hadn't had the time to. And it felt disingenuous to have her head stuck in the past when the future was falling apart around her. Circe approached the Pensieve slowly, dreading the hours, if not days, she was likely to lose by going back through the memories of Tom Marvolo Riddle's life again. But perhaps there was something she'd missed. Something that hid in plain sight…
And as soon as she lay her hands on the stone screen that kept the Pensieve hidden from sight, a brilliant blue light burst from the wall.
"Aah!" She shouted, flinging her arm over her eyes. "Have you been using this already, Sev?! The Pensieve hasn't been stored away properly!"
"I haven't touched it." He replied steadily.
Circe lowered her arm away from her still burning eyes, the office now bathed in the silvery-blue light of the Pensieve. She frowned at Severus and turned back to the font. The Pensieve only behaved like this if it was in use… She leaned over the rim of the font and saw a milky-white memory swimming in the glistening water.
"I can see something in there already, Severus." She said irritatedly, pointing into the water. "You can't have put the memory you were looking at back in its storage bottle before you packed the Pensieve away."
"I told you, I haven't touched it." Severus repeated firmly.
"Then who…?" Circe turned back to the Pensieve and fell silent.
Images of the memory floated on the surface of the iridescent water. Small little snippets of what was there to see in the memory. And her heart slipped a few beats when she saw Albus's face. She gasped.
"Sev…"
Snape was at her side in a heartbeat, his own pale face peering into the shimmering waters. His eager eyes saw the few teasing flashes of the memory below, and Circe too felt Severus tense when he saw Dumbledore in the reflection. But there was something else bright and silvery in the Pensieve. Something that shone with the same brilliance as the water itself, but wasn't.
Circe squinted. "Is… is Albus holding…."
"It's the sword." Severus completed for her.
Circe gasped again and stood up straight.
"You… you don't think… Albus left this memory here for us to see?" Circe breathed.
"Why would he not have left it with the other memories? Safely in the cupboard with the others?"
"Because how would I know to look for it, Sev? It could take me weeks to find what he wanted me to see if he'd done that. And he told me he was leaving the Pensieve to me in his Will.. He couldn't tell me directly in the Will that there was some memory he wanted me to know about. But he knew I'd eventually get it out, like I just did...And then I'd find what he wanted me to see…" Circe breathed.
Severus glanced down into the Pensieve's waters again, clearly able to see the Headmaster clutching the sword to his chest now. He glanced back up at Circe's eager, waiting face… and nodded to her.
Together, they lowered their heads into the water.
When Circe's head had stopped spinning and the world of the memory settled in around her, she doubted her mind for a moment, doubted that the Pensieve had worked properly; They were still in the Headmaster's office.
Severus stood at her side, glancing around the room with equal confusion. It looked very much the same: the office was neater and cleared of the mountains of papers Severus had strewn all about the place, it felt warmer in the air, like the early balmy days of summer, and Circe noticed, poised on the edge of the Headmaster's desk, was the Marvolo ring.
"The ring…" she muttered, pointing to the shining bit of jewellery.
But the two of them flinched as the loud, shrill squawk of Fawkes sounded out suddenly.
"He's here, Sev! Fawkes is still here…" Circe said, tugging at his arm and pointing at the magnificent, orange Phoenix, sat on top of his perch. "Fawkes left Hogwarts. I saw him fly off into the Forest after Albus-"
And almost on cue, the memory of Albus Dumbledore charged straight through them, holding the Sword of Gryffindor in his hands. One of his hands was black and withered, and Circe realised that this was Dumbledore's memory from a few weeks ago, just before the night on the Astronomy Tower judging by how advanced and decayed his hand looked. The old man paused and looked around the office, as if he had heard Severus and Circe's voices, as if they were ghosts hiding in the folds of the universe…
"If my plan prevails…" Dumbledore spoke aloud to the air. Circe and Severus both felt the breath catch in their throats, realizing Dumbledore was speaking to them. "… then you will both see this as a memory. After I'm gone."
Circe felt her throat close. She wished that she could speak to Albus. Respond to him. Hug him. But she knew that he couldn't hear her. She knew that even if she placed her arms around him, he'd feel nothing of her presence.
"I hope you are both well." Dumbledore continued. "I hope that the War has treated you both kindly. I hope Hogwarts is safe under your leadership. I hope… that the two of you were there with me for my final moments."
Circe sniffed and her eyes clouded.
"After I am gone, I know the Ministry will most likely search this place. And they will want this." Dumbledore said, raising the sword in the air. "But, I'm afraid, one of my many little errands this year has been my endeavours to try and keep the sword in your hands. Not theirs. Which is… why I commissioned the goblins to craft an exact copy of it."
"You fucking what?!" Circe exclaimed.
Dumbledore chuckled to himself. "I can only imagine that Professor Smith probably used some colourful profanity to express her surprise then."
Severus snorted beside her. Circe's eyes shot daggers at him as Dumbledore shuffled over to the perch where Fawkes sat. He coaxed the bird off his seat with a gentle nudge and the Phoenix stretched his great, orange wings out, squawking loudly again. He took off with a flap and settled on the edge of the Headmaster's desk.
"The replica, so far, has been hidden in here." Dumbledore said, reaching a hand into the Phoenix's cage and clasping the base of the perch.
With a mechanical thunk, Albus turned the perch clockwise. Circe watched in rapt fascination as the Phoenix's perch disappeared into the base of the cage and in its stead rose an identical silver sword handle to the one Dumbledore held in his arms. "But now my end draws near, they need to be swapped…"
"The sword… he hid the sword inside the Phoenix's cage…" Severus said slowly.
Circe was too dumbstruck for words. She continued to watch on in silence as the Headmaster lifted the replica from out of the bird cage and replaced it with the real sword. It slid down into the base and disappeared from sight, the rubies on the hilt winking at her one last time before they were forced into hiding. Albus refitted Fawkes's perch in the center of the cage and gave a little tsk at the bird. Fawkes ruffled his feathers and flew back to reclaim his seat, sitting on top of the Sword of Gryffindor as if it were his most valuable nest egg.
Dumbledore turned to the empty air again, now holding the imposter sword, his face grave.
"The sword the Ministry will find in the display cabinet…" he said, pointing to the glass case on the other side of the room where the sword usually sat on show. "…will be this one. The goblin replica. The one hidden within Fawkes's cage, shall be the real sword of Gryffindor. They won't be able to discern any differences between the impostor sword and the true Sword of Gryffindor. Only goblins will be able to see the subtle differences between them. So, they will find that the sword they confiscate is of no use to them. Utterly perplexed at why I chose to leave it to Harry. Perhaps Tom Riddle will one day figure out the powers that the sword wields. Present him with the fake, if he demands it off you. Severus…"
Snape felt a chill zap through his blood as Dumbledore spoke his name. He'd been doing his best to avoid looking at Albus, feeling like he was gazing upon the effigy of a dead man whenever he saw his face. The face of the man he'd killed. But nevertheless, he glanced up and met Albus's searching blue eyes.
"…you must find Harry. Wherever he may be. He must have the sword. And he must receive it without him knowing that either of you gave it to him."
"Again, you're far too keen on "when" and "where" and not too hot on "how", Headmaster." Snape muttered miserably.
Dumbledore snorted again. "And I imagine Severus said something pithy and sarcastic then…"
Severus's eyes bulged. Circe gave him a small, sad smile and placed her arm around his waist.
"Good luck to you both. Hopefully, we do not see each other for many, many years yet…"
Circe gulped, her eyes pricking with tears.
Dumbledore slowly turned his back on them and wandered around his desk. The little move he did when he wanted a meeting concluded. Albus lay his hand upon the desk top, a few inches away from where the Marvolo ring sat, and he gave the ring a warm and gentle smile. He glanced up, the smile still all over his old, grey face, and offered them a final word.
"Come and find me again, when you are ready…"
Circe sensed that it was time to leave. With her throat thick and her eyes cloudy with tears, she withdrew herself from the memory, Severus doing the same….
The two of them lifted their heads from out of the Pensieve, gasping and giddy. They looked at each other for a silent heartbeat, eyes wide and mouths open.
"So, that means…" Circe breathed.
"The real Sword of Gryffindor is…" Severus muttered.
Then, together as one, they turned from the Pensieve in a mad dash and lurched for the abandoned Phoenix perch. Their hands crashed into one another as they both reached inside the cage to make a grab for the perch. Severus made a small grumble of annoyance, but together they clasped the metal perch, hand on top of hand, and turned it clockwise just as they had seen Albus do. The mechanics clicked into place and the perch disappeared down into the cage base, just like in the memory. And from the center of the Phoenix cage rose up the rubied hilt of the true Sword of Gryffindor.
Circe glanced to Severus, a huge, radiant smile blooming on her face. She gestured to the sword, and Severus placed a wary hand around the bejewelled hilt. Slowly, metal hissing against metal, he raised the sword out into the open, like King Arthur drawing Excalibur from the Stone.
His black eyes were wide, but they had that same mighty and indomitable look within them that had made Circe throb when he'd held the replica earlier that day.
Severus walked slowly over to his desk, picking up the fake Sword of Gryffindor in his other hand. His eyes travelled from one to the other, back and forth, his head spinning. Completely identical. Not one perceptible difference between them. They even felt the same. He wouldn't have had a clue which was genuine and which was replica if he hadn't made a mental note that he'd picked up the fake sword in his left hand…
Left for "liar". Left for "liar"… he repeated internally over and over again.
"Well that's not fair." Circe said, hungrily devouring Severus with her eyes. "You holding one sword of Gryffindor had me weak at the knees. Now you've got two… it's a wonder I'm not jumping your bones right now."