Chapter 105 - "Do you have to let it linger?"
Circe burst into the Headmaster's Office hard enough to send Severus's ink spilling. Her face was white with anger as she approached the desk, and Severus's stomach dropped…
"You want to tell me what the fuck this is!?" She growled at him, waving a white letter in her hand. She placed it with a bang on the surface of the desk and every cell in Severus's body screamed at him when he saw The Directeur of Hommehoughair's curling blue script on the parchment.
"Fuck."
"Fuck, indeed." She spat at him.
Christmas had come and gone swiftly in the empty castle. No more news of Harry, Potterwatch fairly quiet, Tom and Herri keeping each other company in front of the old man's telly. However, with the New Year had arrived a whole host of letters from parents, explaining why their child would not be returning to Hogwarts after the Holidays. They'd expected that a fair few wouldn't have had the stomach to return to the castle after the hellish first term under Carrow rule, but so, so many had chosen not to come back. A host of "my daughter has Troll Hepatitis" or "my son has decided he wants to be home-schooled" had arrived for them. Each letter Severus had opened from a school-refuser's parents stank of fear. He could practically smell their terror and prevarication on the reams of parchment he'd been leafing through that day. Severus calculated that when term resumed tomorrow, there might be as little as ninety or so students coming back to Hogwarts…
He'd been so lost in his record keeping, crossing off all the names of the students who weren't returning to see out the rest of the year, that Severus had been lost in his work… until Circe had come bursting in.
Severus looked sheepishly up into her eyes and could have sworn he saw fire roiling behind her irises. He opened his mouth to say something but Circe deserves her anger. He knew this day would come sooner or later, and she had every right to hate him for it.
"H-how did you..?"
"I had to ask Tom to smuggle my letter out through the DA's means of communication." Circe snarled. "I had to use an eleven year old boy and a fake name to get to the truth, Severus! I'm half surprised that Albus didn't have a nosy of it before he passed it back to the DA!"
"A fake name?" Severus asked in a quiver.
"Yeah, it stings a bit when you have to learn what's real through the pseudonym of Regina Phalange!" she roared.
Circe turned from the desk and took a few furious pases up and down the Office. She kicked at the now empty Phoenix stand, the metal structure falling to the floor with an almighty clatter. The portraits of the various Headmasters started and grumbled awake. Even Dumbledore gave a snort of surprise, glancing between Circe and Severus both with bleary eyes. Severus watched the birdcage roll about the floor with dead eyes, his mind wandering to the brilliant orange bird that once sat in the golden cage, to the Sword that had sat concealed inside the stand for months, anything to take him away from the storm of scorn that he sensed radiating off Circe in that moment. He could have used a touch of the bravery he'd felt when he'd held the Sword. But this was a battle that he knew he'd have to face eventually, and yet still he could not still the tremor in his hands. He knew she had every right to be incandescent with him. And right then, he felt like he was stood on the clifftops, watching a thunderstorm of anger coming his way…
Silence rang out in the little office, all whilst Severus waited the agonising seconds for Circe to stop pacing so furiously.
"I knew you were hiding something." She began. "That day, in this Office, when you almost wet yourself because I'd gone through a few letters. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?!"
"Circe…"
"And I thought initially, well perhaps he's trying to spare me from hearing news about someone's death or some other nasty business, but you looked almost relieved when I read that note from Narcissa. The one about Remus and Tonks. And I knew then that whatever you're hiding from me… was worse than that…"
"I never wanted to hide it from you. If you'll believe that."
"And did you honestly think…" Circe continued, ignoring Severus's meek reply. "…that I'd just forget about all of the letters I'd sent to Fontainebleau?! Sending another one, and another one, and another one every time my letters went unanswered. Did you think I'd just shrug my shoulders and say "oh well, I guess he's busy!"?"
"Will you stop shouting! Some of us are trying to sleep!" the portrait of Dumbledore exclaimed at them.
"You shut up, you manipulative old git! You always lied to me too!" Circe cried, turning her rage on the painting.
Dumbledore shrank away from the point of her finger, whimpering slightly. The other paintings tutted and shook their heads at her whilst Circe tried to calm herself down a little. Even Severus's mouth went a little slack at her outburst. Circe took a few levelled breaths in, trying to decide if it was worth apologising to a portrait that probably wasn't even sentient…But coherent thoughts failed her. Dumbledore had deserved that, but the portrait wasn't him. Nothing could replace him. And she reeled at the fact that she both missed and resented the old Headmaster. All those lies and misdirections… and now Severus had done the same thing.
Circe was too angry to speak. Her nostrils huffed as she stared at Severus, who hadn't even tried to defend himself, hadn't even tried to justify his actions.
"Where are they?" she asked in a snarl, leaning over the desk at him. "Gabriel and Raphael. Fontainebleau says they've not been at the school since last July, Severus. And that he's told me this several times in multiple letters… Where are they?!"
Severus raised his dark eyes to her, something deep and enigmatic swimming in there.
"I… I can't tell you." he said in a whisper. "Because I don't know."
Circe blinked at him, her mouth hanging open. "You… don't know?"
"And neither does Rabastan. That's why he's been in Europe since the summer."
Circe choked out a bitter scoff. She couldn't believe this… Severus knew how important Gabriel and Raphael were to her. How Circe looked upon them as the last remnants of Odette on this earth.
"How could you have done this to me?" she asked, a small choked sob escaping from her chest. "It's like… if I kept information about Harry from you."
Severus glanced up at her with a pain in his eyes like she'd just struck him. "That's… that's not true."
"Of course it is! You know I'd do anything to keep Odette's children from harm, the same way you'd do anything to keep Lily's son from harm! And what about your own promise to Odette? You told her in Wengen when she was dying, Severus, that you'd watch out for Gabriel and Raphael!"
"Circe, you don't understand…"
"What don't I understand, Severus?!" she demanded angrily. "What?! I understand that you lied to me. I understand that two people I believed to be safe and sound are anything but. I understand that Rabastan probably thinks I have something to do with it, judging by the way he spoke to me in Godric's Hollow…"
"Rabastan knows nothing. He's guessing because he's desperate."
Circe paused and looked at Severus for a beat. Something didn't feel right here. She could tell nothing from the stoic, war-room mask Severus wore in that moment, but a glance down to his hands betrayed him. That small sign of uneasiness that only she knew to look for: Severus was clenching and unclenching his fists on the desk. Her frown deepened. "You're still not telling me something, are you." she said quietly. "You're not nearly bothered enough about Gabriel and Raphael being missing."
Severus didn't answer her. His face still betraying nothing.
"I can't tell you…" he said, so quietly Circe almost missed it.
She blinked at him disbelievingly. "I'm sorry… What?!"
"I can't tell you!" he repeated forcefully. "I'm… I'm sorry, Circe."
She scoffed at him, reeling a little that he was still choosing to withhold information from her. The two of them had previously shared everything with each other. No matter how difficult, or awful, or terrible.
It was "Honesty all the way" once upon a time…
It stung her heart immensely to learn that that unspoken understanding, that connection of complete trust between them had just been severed. He'd struck her, run her through with his betrayal, and now he didn't even have the courage to kill her completely with the whole truth of what he'd done. Severus was leaving her to bleed out and linger in pain, an animal savaged by a predator in the forest, and he couldn't even do her the courtesy of finishing her off.
"Why…?" she breathed.
Severus opened his mouth, but closed it abruptly, only shaking his head. The small gesture made Circe's blood boil.
"You tell me right now, Severus Snape, or I'll… I'll…" she drew her wand, pointing it at his head in a whoosh. "I'll scrape the truth out of your skull with legilimency!"
"You could try." He said flatly. "But no one has broken my mind's defences in over twenty years."
They stared each other down for a moment, the air turning to ice between them.
You are… You are going to let me linger in this not-knowing, aren't you. She thought, her heart roiling with pain.
Her pleas had amounted to nothing. Not even her threats at Severus could move him to tell her the truth. Circe reluctantly lowered her wand, the anger inside her reaching almost fever-pitch.
"Fine. I'll go to France myself." she said, grinding her teeth. She whirled from the desk and took a few heated steps towards the exit.
"You can't do that." Severus stated coldly.
Circe immediately stopped. "Why?!" she asked, turning slowly back to face him.
He drew another scrap of paper from his pocket, placing it on the Office desk right on top of the letter from Fontainebleau. "Summons to the next Conclave. For both of us. They came this morning."
The letter sat still before both of them, but still its presence felt odd and heavy. Circe always felt an aching malevolence from the letters the Dark Lord sent out to his loyal followers. Perhaps he imbued them with small charms and curses, perhaps it was her own mind playing tricks on her. But still, the letter in front of her seemed to hum with dark purpose.
"When?" she asked, swallowing hard.
"Tomorrow night. He… wants us to bring the Sword. And the Cup too."
"The Cup? Wh...Why?"
"Perhaps… perhaps he does have some sort of connection to his horcruxes." Severus muttered. "Perhaps he does feel it when one is…destroyed."
Circe let her panicking thoughts run away for a moment.
What if Voldemort knows who's destroyed his horcruxes?
What if he's known all along that I destroyed the ring?
What if he's been toying with me this whole time?
What if he can tell the Sword we present him isn't the real one?
Severus could see the questions whirling around inside her head.
"It is likely to be merely a discussion on security." he tried to say calmly. "For Voldemort to settle his mind. Make sure they're all still safe."
"Then you can go in my place." Circe said stiffly. "I'll send word to Gringotts that you'll be withdrawing from my vault, and I can go to Europe to-"
"He's noted specifically that he wants you there." Severus cut in, casting his eyes back to the letter on the desk. "Rabastan may have been whispering in his ear already, after your questionable disappearance on the night Harry was in Godric's Hollow."
Circe shook her head in frustration. "No, I… I have to go to France… I have to find them…"
"You cannot, Circe." Severus repeated firmly, standing to his feet. "If you leave now, you defy direct orders from the Dark Lord. You'd be dead by next week."
"You promised her, Severus!" Circe screamed at him, tears springing to her eyes. "I did too, when I saw her grave in Wengen! We both promised her!"
"You can't fulfil that promise to Odette if you're dead, for Christ sake!" he shouted back at her. The tips of his ears turned crimson in frustration.
"What aren't you telling me?" she pleaded with him, her eyes turning large and longing. "Please, Severus. Tell me the truth. Please…I trust you. Like Dumbledore did. I'd trust you with my life, Severus. I always have, even when the rest of the world would have had me believe otherwise. And whatever you're not telling me, you can't trust me with it?"
A long moment of silence stretched out before them. Circe watched as the muscles in Severus's jaw rippled tensely, as if he fought a battle inside himself, grappling for the right course of action. But he sighed heavily, something in his face changing, and Circe hoped for a second that she might have changed his mind…
"I told you…." He said darkly, his eyes falling to the floor. "I can't."
Her eyes filled with tears. Severus's face was a mask of stone, and she knew that there would be no talking to him. She could fall to her knees and beg, and he would tell her nothing. She could scream the castle down, and he would not oblige her.
Severus did not meet her tear-lines eyes. Too afraid that if he saw the disappointment in her face, he might break. She uttered one single word at him, before turning from the desk. A word that sent a knife through his aching heart. He'd heard it from many a person's lips, but somehow from her mouth, it felt worse. So much worse…
"Coward."
She turned and left, her accusation sitting heavy in the air at her back. Once she was past the gargoyle statue, she broke into a straight run, tears spilling down her face. Circe wanted to find somewhere to curl up and sob. Somewhere where nobody would think to look for her. Eventually she opted for the girl's bathroom on the Second Floor. Myrtle's bathroom. It had been many years since she'd flung herself into a cubicle there, the last time being when she'd found out Michael had died. The last time she'd even been inside the bathroom was when she'd crawled out of the toilet after her run-in with the Basilisk. Myrtle must have been taking a break from her usual antics, as the floor was unusually dry and un-flooded. She remembered the rumours that had circulated about Myrtle's bathroom back when she was a student: that the ghost regularly filled the room with water as a way of covering the sounds of her crying, and anyone else who came to the bathroom for a cry. The noise of your sniffles and sobs would always be masked by the drip of water in the Second Floor bathroom. But on that day, when she came running into the Bathroom, another noise greeted her. Not the wet drip of running water or Myrtle's wails echoing around the stone walls, but a crackle of static voices.
She just about saw out of the corner of her bleary eyes, perched on one of the sinks, a radio. One of Tom's, by the look of it, judging by the Gryffindor crest painted on the side of it. Her brother had left a whole host of items all over the castle during the winter break:dirty clothes, homework books, more experimental sweets from Fred and George, letters from Jeffrey and Lars, and now one of the DA's radios. Circe had meant to remind him to clean up his mess before the others came back to Hogwarts, but in that moment she was glad Tom had left his radio in the Girl's Bathroom; Lee Jordan's voice over the airwaves smothered the sound of her sniffing. Circe made for a cubicle and sat down heavily on the toilet seat just as she had done as a teenager, with no water pooling around her feet to disguise the noise of her tears, and she cried and cried and cried…
"...the remains of Bathilda Bagshot were discovered in Godric's Hollow over the holidays. The evidence is that, despite sightings of her out walking in Godric's Hollow, Bathilda died several months ago. The Order of the Phoenix informs us that her body showed unmistakable signs of injury inflicted by Dark Magic as well as the lingering effects of several hexes and curses upon her remains. Hence why she was left unmoved. There was also evidence of a recent battle in her home, and the building next has the Wizarding Wireless Network News reported any of this? No. The Wizarding Wireless "No News" Network, as we here at Potterwatch say…"
Circe wasn't really listening to the broadcast, but it was a small comfort to have someone's voice with her in the Bathroom as she wept her heart out.
She cried over that severed tether of trust between her and Severus. She cried over her memory of the windswept hill where she'd found Odette's grave. She cried over those two blue-eyed boys that had not been seen for months. She cried until she thought that was all she was ever going to do: just weep her heart out and cower in one of Myrtle's cubicles. Head in her hands, tears plopping down onto the flagstones at her feet, the wooden walls shrinking hopelessly in around her.
There was a heaviness inside her soul that had not been there before she'd burst into Severus's Office. A sense of loss the likes of which she hadn't felt since Dumbledore had died. What was the point of this War, all of this fighting, if the person she trusted and valued the most could betray her in such a deep, personal way? It made her question if she had ever really known Severus at all if he could have kept something as big as Gabriel and Raphael from her. She'd always believed that Severus would never hurt her that much, he'd never lie to her like that…
Perhaps it had all been a fantasy. A beautiful dream. Believing that there had been at least one person in the world that she could trust and depend upon utterly. Believing that Severus would never let her down in the way that most other people she had loved had let her down. Believing that he at least respected her enough to tell her the whole truth when she outed him! She was so utterly and completely wrapped around his finger, that she'd not even entertained the idea that he could hurt her like that. She felt foolish, so completely foolish. She had previously loved every minute of being Severus's fool, but now her insides felt scorched and hollow.
But Circe was beyond anger now. The only thing that circulated around her brain was Odette's face. Lingering at the forefront of her mind. Picturing how she would have looked at her, knowing she'd let Odette's children slip out from her grasp. Circe had forgotten about Odette once, abandoning her to her life amongst the Lestranges. And now she'd done the same to her boys. Her angels. Abandoning them to the mercy of the Lestranges too.
Failure and hurt weighed down upon her heart, so consuming that she lost all concept of time. She completely lost track of the minutes she spent in the cubicle, crying and thinking and despairing.
Her blurry eyes saw the flutter of a ghostly pale figure on the other side of the cubicle. She sniffed and wiped at her face.
"Go away, Myrtle." She said, her voice wobbly.
"My Lady Circe, forgive my intrusion…" a regal and male voice said in reply. "…I wondered if you would grace me with your ear."
The Bloody Baron! Circe realised, shock making her sit up and stop her weeping abruptly.
She dried her glasses on her shirt hastily and wiped the moisture from her face onto the back of her hand.
"If I have found you at an inconvenient moment, then I shall approach you another time." The Baron spoke again.
"No, no…" Circe muttered, flinging open the cubicle door before the ghost could disappear. She still had unfinished business with Hugo D'Orton. Unfinished business and unsolved riddles. She cleared her throat awkwardly and stepped out into the bathroom. "I'm listening."
The Baron stood tall and proud before her, wearing his broad feathered hat, rapier at his side. He too cleared his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the hilt of his blade, almost as if he were nervous. Circe flinched a little when she heard the sound of the ghostly metal, remembering the sweep of the sword as it passed through her guts. But there was no hint of the mercurial madness that she'd glimpsed before in his eyes, only… shame.
Embarrassment, maybe… she thought as she glanced into the shadow his feathered hat cast over his face.
"I… I wanted to apologise for my behaviour… my actions towards you… in the past."
"You mean… what happened the other day?" Circe asked, her eyes darting back to the sword at his side.
"Yes. What I did to you was not gentlemanly. Not in the slightest."
"Oh… well-"
"And I have not been able to rest since. My temper continues to best me, in the same way it once bested me with Helena."
"No, no it wasn't like that, Hugo…"
"Oh, but it was. After all you did to comfort me that day you heard me beseeching Helena for forgiveness…To reassure my troubled mind… and I repaid you with exactly the sort of outburst of rage my Helena condemns me for."
Circe went quiet, a hand unconsciously rubbing at the spot on her stomach where The Baron's blade cut through her. She flinched a little as the ghostly head of Hugo suddenly bowed before her. He dropped to his knee, his feathered hat dipping almost to the floor.
"Please, my Lady. I beg your forgiveness." the ghost said hoarsely. "Can you absolve me of my guilt?"
Circe was caught off guard as the Baron looked up at her, his shadowed eyes shining with a sad sort of desperateness from underneath his hat. She huffed out a sound of shock, grappling for the words to say next. But then she paused, her brain kicking into gear.
"I… might be able to extend my forgiveness…" she began slowly, looking Hugo in the eye. His face lit up with hope. "…if-"
"If?" The Baron asked, the hope in his eyes simmering out a little.
"If you do something for me."
The ghost frowned at her, a little of that haughty, Slytherin coldness returning to his features.
"I see. And what is it you would ask of me?"
Circe smiled wryly at him. She waved a hand, inviting him to stand up and the ghost did so, regarding her curiously the whole time.
"Do you remember what we spoke of before your… outburst?" Circe asked him cautiously. "The thing that Tom Riddle hid."
Something in The Baron's stance stiffened and for a moment Circe feared that he might lash out at her again. But the mercurial flash in his eyes faded and he nodded sagely at her.
"I do."
"I want you to go searching for it. Like you did all those years ago when Rowena asked you to bring it home." Circe said slowly. "I know you brought it back here, to Hogwarts, but I could spend the rest of my life looking in every crevice of this castle for the diadem and never find it. But you can look in places I can't. You don't need to sleep, or eat, or rest, or stop a bunch of teenagers from getting themselves killed…You could find it, Hugo. Long before I ever could."
"The diadem… always the diadem…" the Baron muttered in a low voice. He shook his head slowly and Circe thought that he might actually refuse her. Did he truly need her forgiveness? What did it matter when he was already dead and doomed to unhappiness forever? It did not change his past. It did not change what he did to Helena. "Will you destroy it?" He asked suddenly.
"What?" Circe said, blinking at him.
"Will you destroy it when I find it?" He asked again. "It deserves annihilation. For the covetousness it inspired in Rowena. For the jealousy it inspired in Helena. For the violence it inspired in me…"
Circe was quiet for a moment, silenced by the intense look the ghost gave her, and then she nodded at him. "Yes."
"Then I shall search every inch of this castle." The ghost stated flatly. "And only then will I consider your forgiveness earned."
The Baron nodded once at her, and in a whoosh, he went floating off through the rafters of the Bathroom. Circe watched him go with a small stab of guilt inside her. Was it right of her to withhold her forgiveness just so she could get the ghost to do something for her? But ultimately, if The Baron found the diadem, it would be a benefit for the world as a whole. They'd have another horcrux. They'd be a step closer to winning the War…
The moral dilemma made her feel uncomfortable. Still, for the first time since she'd entered the Bathroom, she found herself thinking over something that wasn't Severus and Odette and her children.
"...sadly, Bathilda Bagshot's passing is not the only death that the News Network and Daily Prophet didn't think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murder of Ted Tonks."
Circe inhaled sharply. Her head turning sharply back to the radio perched on the edge of the sink.
Mister Tonks. She thought, a lump rising in her throat. No, not Tonks's Dad...
Tears rose anew in her eyes as she pictured the father of her former best friend. The man who'd stood at her own Dad's side on Platform 9 and ¾ so Matthew didn't feel so overwhelmed with all the wizarding stuff. The man who'd picked her and Tonks up from multiple bus stops and gigs and pubs. The man who'd been on Tonks's arm as he led his daughter up the aisle on her wedding day.
I can't comfort her. I can't wrap my arms around her and tell her how sorry I am. I can't be there for her. I can't even send her and Andromeda a condolences card… Circe thought, her chest aching with sadness.
"A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that Muggle-born Dean Thomas and a second goblin, both believed to be travelling with Tonks and Gornuk, may have escaped. Dean, if you're listening, your parents and sisters are pretty desperate for news. Try and let us know you're alright, mate."
There was silence for a moment over the airwaves and Circe heard the barely contained worry in Lee's voice.
Dean Thomas missing. More students suffering because of this War. Circe thought, her head dipping to the floor again. We can't keep them safe… When they leave this castle, we can't keep them safe…
"Today's broadcast of Potterwatch is dedicated to the memory of all those that have fallen. Oriri ex cinere."
"Oriri ex cinere." Circe echoed in the Girl's bathroom, touching her wand to her heart.
"Potterwatch will be off-air until term resumes at Hogwarts in a few days time. The next password will be 'Prewett'. This last song is a request from Ted Tonks's daughter, who has recently just given birth to a healthy baby boy. We send our congratulations to Bubblegum and Romulus, who have named the baby Teddy, after his grandfather. This final tune was apparently one of the first concerts Ted took his daughter to, and he lingered in the pub over the road from the venue, having a few Guinesses, whilst he waited for Bubblegum. Every time Bubblegum heard this band, it reminded her of her dear father."
Circe choked out another sob. A tidal wave of emotion hit her. Tonks had given birth… Her son, Remus's son too, was here…
She knew the concert Lee was talking about too because she had been with Tonks on that day. Conveniently left out of Lee's retelling like she'd been forgotten. Mr Tonks had been a few too many Guinnesses deep to drive them home by the time they'd come out of the concert, and they'd had to barter a portkey from a dodgy Wizard selling knock-off band merch to get back to Manchester.
The Cranberries, Limerick, 1989.
"So, Ted Tonks and his family. This is for you. Until next time, try to stay safe, everyone. Keep your head down and your pecker up. I can't wait to see you all again."
Lee's voice faded away, replaced by soft and tender music. Circe heard the gentle plucking of a guitar which slowly bled into a lush collection of violin strings. A strong, clear female voice floated over the top of the melody, both hypnotising and lamenting at once, Irish brogue intact, so loud and defiant, and yet so beautifully vulnerable.
"But I'm in so deep
You know I'm such a fool for you
You got me wrapped around your finger
Do you have to let it linger?
Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?"
She approached the sinks slowly, her feet dragging and heavy as she listened to the song. Placing her hands on either side of the porcelain, she looked up at herself in the mirror, barely recognising the woman that looked back at her. It was as if a small essence of the woman she once was still lingered inside her, but she was a small, compact lump, buried deep inside her. The image in the mirror was a Platonic shadow, a mimicry of what there once had been. Where there had once been a rosy glow to her face, there was none. She'd gained a little of the weight back that she'd lost when Severus had disappeared, but there was still a hollowness to her cheekbones and dark circles around her eyes. Her hair, that had once been the same colour as hewn bronze, was dull. These days, she tended to shove back her curls into a severe looking bun at the nape of her neck, but a few strands still escaped and hung about her face, looking limp and tired.
Limp and tired. That's how you look. She thought, gazing long and hard at herself.
"Oh, I thought the world of you
I thought nothing could go wrong
But I was wrong, I was wrong."
Her thoughts inevitably returned to Severus. To the great gaping hole she felt within from his sucker-punch of a betrayal. Had she been wrong to think that she'd finally found her belonging, her home in him? Had she been stupid to think that she'd finally felt comfortable in the Wizarding world because she'd been at his side? She'd never wanted to trust someone as much as she'd trusted Severus, even with his history of spying and secrecy. But she had anyway. She'd entrusted
him with her heart, mind and soul, knowing that he'd survived on mistruths and lies before. So why was she so shocked to learn he'd lied to her? He'd lied to almost everyone else…
"If you, if you could get by
Trying not to lie
Things wouldn't be so confused
And I wouldn't feel so used
But you always really knew
I just want to be with you"
She needed to get herself to Gringotts. She needed to withdraw the Cup from her vault. For whatever dark purpose Voldemort was planning next. Her hands shook as she thought through all of the numerous reasons the Dark Lord might have for summoning her and the Cup to his side. Of course he hadn't informed her outright what his plans were, he enjoyed letting his followers stew in ignorance and worry, tormenting them almost as much as he tormented his enemies. Circe peeled herself away from the sinks, holding her head high and wiping her face. Steadily she made her way out of the Bathroom and down into the castle grounds, the music following her in her mind as she left.
"But I'm in so deep
You know I'm such a fool for you
You got me wrapped around your finger
Do you have to let it linger?
Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?"
Circe walked until she thought she was a safe distance outside the school's boundaries. She didn't want Severus to come with her to Diagon Alley, she couldn't even think about him without anger still bubbling away in the pit of her stomach. As her feet trudged over the wet grass, she cast her eyes up to the towers of the Headmaster's Office. She was too far away to see if anyone was there, but she felt Severus's eyes on her. Looking down on her from his tower. She felt a sharp stab of anger inside her again just before she apparated. Perhaps that anger would never go away. No matter how much she wanted it to.
"A swap, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked her master.
The food in Circe's stomach turned over uncomfortably. The Malfoys had served an elaborate and rich spread: black pearls of caviar, slimy oysters on a bed of crushed ice, whole, dead-eyed lobsters, crabs, langoustines, and squid. It was a feast for a King, insanely expensive, but nausea-inducing. Way too lavish for the handful of people sat at the table. Only herself, Severus, Bellatrix, Lucius and Narcissa were present for this Conclave. The strong smell of seafood made Circe want to vomit, but she'd reluctantly forced down a few bites, tearing off the claws of a crab as viciously as an animal, watching as the others present did the same to their food.
"Indeed, Bellatrix." Voldemort replied, sitting at the head of the table. "I have many valuable assets that I wish to keep safe, and I have come to the realisation lately that only a fool keeps their valuable assets in one eternal location."
Circe swallowed hard, bile rising up in her throat as she stared at the small, golden cup on the table before her. It had been a long time since she'd seen the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, but she remembered the odd sense of irritability and discomfort it had caused her the last time it had been in her presence. She felt that same feeling now. The seafood in her stomach churning inside her. She could barely think beyond the sense of radiating evil coming from the Cup before her. But the fog in her head had cleared just enough for her to hear Bellatrix's question of surprise.
"You… you want to give the Cup to Bellatrix?" She asked Voldemort.
"And you shall keep the Sword of Gryffindor in your vault, Praetor." He replied in his thin, reedy voice. "You have done such a grand job guarding it in Hogwarts, so it seems only natural that it remains in your care. Just… elsewhere." There was a twinge of sarcasm to Voldemort's voice. Enough that it made Circe's toes curl with discomfort.
Circe glanced to the man sat beside her. She was wearing that ridiculously lavish necklace of pearls and diamonds again and it rattled as she turned her head. She hated the thing; it was a collar, chaining her to Voldemort and all of the terrible things they'd done for him It was so heavy. She wanted to tear it off…
Severus, as always, was an unbreakable wall of calm. His features noble and unmoving in the gloom of the Malfoy's dining room. However, he returned her furtive glance with a small flick of his eyes, as if he were desperate for any sort of communication with her; The two of them had not spoken a word to each other on their way to the Conclave, with Circe electing to wander the halls of Hogwarts, instead of come to their bed, during the fretful night that had transpired between Fontainbleu's letter arriving and now. She'd let her restless mind and her knawing anxiety take her all around Hogwarts, just as she'd done in the days when Severus was in Europe. But as soon as the two of them had touched down at Malfoy Manor, they'd become the picture of a united front. Arm in arm, heads held high, side by side, they'd entered the Conclave.
Circe thought frantically to herself. Giving up the "Sword of Gryffindor" was no bother; the real one was with Harry now anyways. But giving up the Cup was another matter. She'd always banked on the Cup being in her vault as one less thing she had to worry about. One less horcrux she had to find. But now, the Dark Lord wanted to take it from her…
She glanced at Severus again, her hurt and anger towards him temporarily forgotten in that moment of panic.
Say something…! She begged him internally. Convince him to let us keep the Cup!
He seemed to sense her pleas, because he straightened his back and cleared his throat, meeting the Dark Lord's gaze with his own.
"Might I ask, My Lord, what has prompted this… repositioning of your assets?"
There was a small pause as every Death Eater's eye fell on Severus. Circe held her breath too. She'd assumed that the "swap" Voldemort wanted meant that He hadn't called them all there to out her as a traitor, as she'd feared. But perhaps this was an act, a ruse to get her to relax. Severus had just asked him outright what his purpose was for this gathering.
"The security at Hogwarts is second to none." Severus continued. "In some instances, better than Gringotts, I might go as far as to say."
"Is that true, Severus?" Voldemort breathed, his reedy voice icy and full of venom. "From what I have been told, a group of children broke into your Offices and tried abducting the Sword from right under your nose just before Christmas."
Circe gulped in her seat, whilst Severus stayed as cool as a cucumber. Somebody had told the Dark Lord of the failed break-in, led by her brother and the other members of the DA.
The Carrows. She thought bitterly.
She knew in a heartbeat that it was them who'd told Voldemort of that night, and her guts twisted with hatred.
"The Sword had several protective charms placed upon it, My Lord." he responded levelly. "The children of whom you speak had rather a bothersome time moving it even an inch."
"Nevertheless, Severus, it demonstrates a rather worrying state of affairs. I returned the Sword to you under the impression that it would be kept safe."
"But, My Lord, it is safe-"
"Silence!" the Dark Lord cried.
There was a great hiss as Nagini sprang up onto the table, fangs bared, tongue flicking straight at Severus and Circe. Seafood went spewing everywhere as her body thudded onto the feast. Circe couldn't help her terrified scream as the jaws of the creature stopped mere inches from Snape's face. She lunged back, the necklace of pearls and diamonds thudding against her chest. Narcissa and Lucius also let out a whimper of surprise, but Severus, although he looked ashen with shock, made not a sound.
"Nagini, come…" Voldemort said soothingly and the giant snake heeded to him, slowly backing its flicking forked tongue away from Severus's face.
Circe felt like she was going to be sick. Every single part of her shook with terror as she watched Nagini take up residence back in Voldemort's lap.
"You must forgive my ever-loving pet." Voldemort said, stroking her head. "She has become rather spoiled these past few months. Feasting on flesh and blood. A whole host of enemies that I have instructed her to devour. And after Potter escaped her jaws on Christmas Eve, she has been rather pent-up. Desperate for another…catch."
Severus bowed his head solemnly. "Apologies, My Lord. I did not mean to question your wisdom."
"Indeed not, Severus. Or you would have found yourself sat at this dinner table without a throat."
Circe let out a long, shuddering breath. Images flashed in her mind of Charity disappearing down Nagini's distended mouth, of Bathilda Bagshot's mutilated body, of terrible flashing fangs coming for her windpipe…
"It is settled then. You are to bring the Sword to Gringotts and deposit it in Circe's vaults, and The Cup shall be passed on to Bellatrix to deposit in her vaults." Voldemort said haughtily. He fixed Severus with another severe look. "And once this swap has been made, I shall choose to forget your heinous lapse in your duty."
Severus merely bowed his head in response. Dread pooled in Circe's stomach; they could do nothing. They had to let the cup go, or else risk being savaged by Nagini if they dared question Voldemort further. They had to give up the Cup to the enemy…
"Wonderful! Trip to London with Severus!" Bellatrix cried out.
She launched for the Cup, leaning over spilled oysters and upturned lobsters, and snatched it up off the table. And just like that, it was gone.
Circe watched on in horror as Bellatrix cradled the Cup to her chest, smiling her black-toothed grin down at it, as if she were smiling at a baby in her arms.
"Come on! I want to go now!" She roared at Severus.
Snape stood to his feet shakily. The Nagini attack had obviously had a much more profound effect on him than he had outwardly let on. Bellatrix made for him, grabbing his arm in her black talons.
"Your place first?" She asked sweetly, whispering close into his ear.
A glower of jealousy burned in Circe's chest at her closeness to him. Bellatrix flashed her an equally saccharine smile, as if she knew she upset Circe. In the next blink of an eye, the two of them were gone. Apparated away to, presumably, Hogwarts to collect the Sword.
A thick silence settled over the Death Eaters still gathered at the table. Circe's eyes collided with Narcissa's and she saw the bubbling fear sitting just underneath the surface of the Malfoy mother. Her own eyes must have shone with fear as well because a small measure of what looked like sympathy was also in Narcissa's face. Neither of them, Lucius nor Narcissa had said a word during the whole Conclave. The two of them looked grey and utterly forlorn. As if all the life and the will to fight back had been sucked out of them. Lucius especially looked battered and bruised. And when The Dark Lord bade them both to leave with a casual flick of his wrist, they both did so without a sound.
Circe was alone with Voldemort. Nothing between them but the remains of the seafood feast.
"I hope you realise that my contempt does not extend to you, my Praetor."
Circe blinked at him, still reeling in shock. "I… wh… My Lord..."
"I have always been fair in my judgement. Severus's failure to keep the Sword safe in Hogwarts does not tarnish my opinion of you. You have always pleased me."
"Oh, thank you, My Lord." She said, bowing her head graciously, the weight of the necklace pulling her head down.
"You will have to excuse Nagini's rather sudden attack. But these days, I'm finding that there is little my worker bees understand outside of violence." He continued, unbothered by Circe's flustered response. "With victory so close, my followers are becoming complacent."
"Uh… yes. We mustn't get complacent." She managed to say. She gathered her thoughts quickly. Clearly Voldemort still considered her in high regard, and he'd always appreciated her honesty with him before. "Complacency is what lost us the first War." She ventured bravely.
Voldemort narrowed his yellow eyes at her. "You believe so?"
"Well, the child… Potter… I suppose if you'd known the full extent of his mother's power, then you may not have dealt with them the way you did."
Voldemort nodded slowly. "The Potter boy is a loose end. One that I have failed to tie off for many years. He must be destroyed."
Circe nodded back.
"Destroyed", he said. If he wants to destroy Harry, then clearly he has no idea what Harry is.
"But I do wonder, Praetor, what I could have done to clip this loose end at its root. Did it begin with the birth of the boy? Or perhaps it began with his parents… All of those who dared to defy me and stand in the way of my rise to power. I should have crushed Dumbledore's pathetic Order in the cradle. I should have hunted them all down, in the same fashion that I pursued those two women…"
Circe's eyes widened. "W-women, My Lord?"
"Two would-be exposeé journalists. Went by the pseudonyms of Demdyke and Chattox."
The breath left Circe's lungs. Her mother. Voldemort was talking about her mother. For weeks now she'd been trawling through newspapers and records, hoping that she might glean some kind of information about what happened to Phoebe. Circe had thought that she'd never, ever be able to ask Voldemort about her mother directly. But now, here he was. Casually dropping her adopted name in front of her as if it were one of the dead-eyed crabs on the table.
"I had some of my Death Eaters find out who they were. They hoped to embarrass me. Expose my secrets. So, I exposed theirs."
"And… and what were they?" Circe asked, barely able to keep the tremble out of her voice.
"One of them, she turned out to be the disgraced Black sister. Andromeda. The blood-traitor who married the muggle Dolohov just killed..."
"Ted Tonks." Circe said, trying not to grit her teeth.
"Yes, yes." Voldemort said with another dismissive wave. "He was her secret. Him and her half-blood spawn. Andromeda has run from me for half of her life, trying to protect her husband and her daughter from my wrath. But Andromeda will eventually realise, just like Potter, that my revenge can never be assuaged. I do not forget. Not even after years and years and years. And I did not forget. Her husband lies dead now, and I will soon have her daughter in the ground too. Side by side with her half-breed husband. All because her mother dared to expose my secrets."
Circe knew all this. She knew Andromeda's identity had been compromised and she'd been hiding her family from Voldemort for almost thirty years now. She swallowed hard, almost not wanting to ask the question that burned on her tongue:
"And… and the other woman?"
Voldemort's back straightened, as if a nasty smell had just wafted under his nose. His yellow eyes narrowed in contempt as he glared out of the window.
"I was never able to determine who she was. I was able to invade the minds of a few people the two of them had interviewed, so I had knowledge of her face… but not of her name."
Circe almost wanted to cry with relief. Maybe her mother had escaped Voldemort after all.
"It did not matter." Voldemort added, a cruel, mockery of a smile twisting his face. "My generals found a woman who matched the description I had provided to them. But by the time I'd hunted her down, by the time I'd ensnared her, she was half-mad."
Every cell of Circe's body went cold and rigid. "H-half-mad?"
"She'd performed some sort of obliteration spell on herself. My Death Eaters found her babbling in the streets of London, homeless and pathetic, nothing inside her skull. I tortured her, of course. Tried forcing the information out of her and sifting through every little part of her scourged mind, hoping that the pain might break the memory charm barriers she'd placed on herself. Weeks and weeks, I tried to break her mind with pain. I think it rather distracted some of my dear followers." Voldemort laughed cruelly, his eyes travelling up to the dead space above the dining table. "She used to snivel ever so pitifully when I'd have her hanging over our meetings."
Regulus… Circe thought, the realisation crashing over her like a tidal wave of pain. Regulus mentioned in his diary once… A woman with a black bag over her face, hanging over the table. That was my mother… That was my mother.
"But alas, no." Voldemort continued. "Whatever magic she'd performed on herself held strong. She had taken everything of herself away. She couldn't even tell me her name. And by the end, she wanted to. Just to make the pain stop. She wanted to tell me all of her secrets."
"What did you do to her?" Circe asked, her heart hammering wildly inside her. Each beat radiated hatred into every pore of her being. She'd never felt hatred like this before, she'd never wanted to kill so badly.
"I still made use out of her." The Dark Lord said with a shrug. "I had… business to attend to off the South coast. More assets of mine to protect."
The Cave? The Cave where the Locket was kept?
"I needed a life. It didn't matter how worthless or pathetic it was. I just needed a life, and that's all she was without her mind and her memories."
The horcrux creation ritual. To split your soul, you need to take a life. Circe thought, her stomach dropping. No… no you didn't…
"So, I killed her. For my purposes."
Another feeling shifted inside Circe. But this time, the emotion was cold and steely. It distilled all of her anger and her pain and her grief into a hard, black stone inside her. Instead of unsettling her, it calmed her. Taking all her shaking rage away from her in a second flat. She'd never seen the world more clearly. There was nothing else that made more sense than that feeling inside her: A loathing so deep, it transcended everything else. It made her bones ache. It compelled every beat of her heart into action.
You found her. You tortured her. You killed her… And then you used her to make one of your disgusting horcruxes.
Circe knew from that moment on that she would see Voldemort destroyed, or she would die trying. For what he'd done to her mother. For what he'd done to her and her father by taking her mother away. No iron shackles, or cages or even a grave would be able to hold her body down if she had not seen Voldemort dead first. Peace would be unknowable to her until she'd put The Dark Lord in the ground.
"Speak their name and they live again," she had once told Severus about the dead. And Voldemort, besides his best efforts, had not extracted her mother's name from out of her. So, in her own mind, Circe repeated her name over and over again. A silent act of defiance, right in front of Voldemort's face..
Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers
Even when Voldemort dismissed her, tired of conversing for the day, Circe repeated her mother's name in her mind like a mantra.
Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers, Phoebe Rogers.
When she was well out of Voldemort's presence and halfway down the sweeping staircase in the atrium of Malfoy Manor, she finally spoke aloud to herself.
"Her name was Phoebe Rogers." She whispered proudly. "And her daughter will finally see you destroyed."
She reached a hand up to the necklace of pearls and diamonds at her throat, and with a grunting tug, she tore it from her. The glittering jewels cascaded down the steps and onto the floor around her but she stepped over them all, crushing a few pearls under her feet as she walked. Circe breathed in a deep breath, her chest bare and her lungs full. She already felt lighter without it. She left Malfoy Manor that day with pearl dust on her shoes and a smile on her face.