Chapter 27: "And we'll burn the damn thing down."

Circe and Severus walked side by side down the Oxford Road. They both felt considerably more sober in the chill and the quiet of the street, ambling along in silence like old companions. Yet Severus felt that this would be the true confrontation of the night: quietly chatting here on the pavement, not in the pits of The Hacienda in screaming noise. They'd gone ahead together to wherever Circe was leading them, whilst Tonks collected her jacket from the cloak room. Remus, rather gallantly, had volunteered to wait with her while the attendee searched for it.

It was a cold night and Circe shivered. She had made such a quick exit from The Hacienda, so utterly surprised by Severus's appearance, that she'd left her coat in the green room. She muttered an expletive and pulled the thin plaid shirt she wore a little tighter around her. Severus glanced at her and frowned. He shrugged off his jacket in an instant and nudged her on the shoulder.

"Here." He said, holding it out to her.

"Oh, but then you'll be cold." Circe replied, looking at the thin grey jumper he wore.

"I'm fine. How far to this place?" Severus asked, placing it around her shoulders.

Circe's stomach filled with butterflies as his smell of burnt herbs and sandalwood filled her nose. She looked at his wind-blown face, the angular strong jaw he possessed clenched firm in the cold night air. Something Roman-esque and deeply imposing settled over his features again and Circe swooned at him.

"Five minutes." She managed to mumble back.

Severus nodded and he stepped back into place at her side like a centurion.

"What… made you change your mind then, Severus?" She asked, watching his face carefully.

Snape shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down at the pavement. His mind went completely blank as he saw the lights of the city reflected in the puddles beneath his feet. How could he possibly articulate to her why he found himself walking at her side on a Saturday night in a northern city, his ears ringing after the noise of The Hacienda?

"I suppose I was...curious."

"Curious?" she asked.

"Yes. Curious of how I might behave if I were to decide to…"

"Live?" Circe said with a half-laugh.

Severus flinched a little at her off the cuff comment, but ultimately she was right. More right than she probably knew. For so long he'd allowed grief to consume and define him, turning him into someone bitter and nasty and cruel, and he almost didn't know who he was before he'd become that person. Surely, that didn't all have to do with Lily's death. Surely he had to take responsibility for his own shortcomings at some point. It had taken someone like Circe to see through his vitriol and venom, to refuse to stand all of the bullying and bad-temperedness. Who was Severus without all of that to shape him? And if he did choose to follow Circe into a realm of life that he was unfamiliar with, how would it treat him?

Circe noticed how introspective Severus had become, and the gulf that again seemed to be opening up in the silence between them.

"I'm glad you came, Severus." she said finally, in a low voice.

"So am I." he replied steadily.

A look passed between them as they shared a brief but laden smile in the quiet.

They walked along for a while longer until they reached the bar.

"'Big Hands'? What kind of name for a bar is that?" Severus asked, staring at the unremarkable red sign on the rather dilapidated building.

"I came here once on a friend's stag do. Only meant to stay here for a few drinks to start off the evening. Ended up spending the whole night here."

"What makes it so special?"

"Well are you gonna come in and find out or stay here in the cold, moaning?" She said with a coy smile.

An involuntary shiver went through him and Circe folded her arms, wrapping Severus's jacket around her. She smirked and walked inside, taking his warm jacket with her. Severus sighed and followed. As he entered the bar, Severus was hit by the heavy smell of nicotine and stale beer. Something slow, soulful and folky was playing from a jukebox in the corner. Severus could see why Circe liked this place; it looked like it had been plucked straight out of the Deep South. A bar that you only saw in American films about bikers or people who use roundhouse kicks. Lined floor to ceiling with band posters, deep red lighting, a mismatch of old, sagging couches to sit in. It was so un-English. So Americana. It was a fantasy.

Circe pointed to a dusty brown sofa in the window, vacant for them. Severus walked to it to lay claim to it as Circe ordered at the bar, and as he sank into the seat, it gave way under him more than he thought it should. The sofa at Spinner's End had been like this: old, sagging, full of god knows what in terms of human leftovers. He'd thrown it straight in a skip as soon as he could. There were still a few people in the bar at the late hour, but Circe had managed to choose a place that was relatively free of others. She approached with a tray of four glasses and handed one to Severus. As he took a sip, she settled in beside him, finally feeling like she could relax after her busy, emotional rollercoaster of a night.

"God, I hope I gave Tonks clear enough directions to get here. They can't be far behind us."

"It appears that Miss Tonks is rather capable of looking after herself. I had the utmost confidence that she could have fetched her own coat...without Remus's assistance."

Circe laughed. "Yeah. It is rather funny watching people flirt though, isn't it."

Severus felt himself growing red and he took an evasive sip of his drink.

"So…" she breathed, fixing Severus with a look.

"So…" he echoed, trying to pick apart the emotion in the depths of her eyes. Circe raised a brow at him, inviting him to fill the quiet. "I...had to borrow some floo powder from Minerva to get here."

"Was she still preoccupied down by the Lake?" Circe asked, leaping on the chance to keep the conversation going.

"No. I think whatever they were looking for, they didn't find. But it must have been important if the Minister was there."

"The Minister?" Circe shifted uncomfortably.

She hoped that her rather rash decision to keep the timeturner hadn't got her friend into trouble with the authorities.

"Mmm, but given the way Minerva was speaking to him, you'd have thought she was the one at the head of the governing body of the wizarding world. Ordering him about as she was…"

Circe sighed, relaxing slightly. "I hear Fudge can be a bit...docile at times."

"Docile, yes. Easily manipulable too, I fear."

They both took a sip of their drinks and silence descended over them once more. Severus sensed her disinterest in the topic he'd raised.

"But I didn't come here to talk politics." he added.

"Oh? Then what did you come to talk about?" she asked, the hint of a flirt in her voice.

"Well, when I left the castle, I hadn't planned to talk about anything much. I've always let my actions speak for me."

"So, what does all of this action… say?" Circe asked, gesturing to him vaguely.

Severus placed his beer on the table and stared into her open face, her mouth slightly parted in anticipation. She was clearly waiting for him to set the tone, to lead on with what was left unspoken before them. He couldn't help the hungry look he cast down to her full lips, leaning in closer to her with unconscious longing.

"It says… I suppose…" he purred, his rich voice an aphrodisiac to her. "That I cannot deny you anything. Especially when you say 'please'."

Circe's stomach lurched in delight, remembering the wording of the note she'd left in his pocket.

"You make it sound like I forced you, Severus."

"Forced? No, no, no. Compelled? Well, you have compelled me into much that I wouldn't have done and haven't asked for-"

Circe scoffed, feeling a little offended.

"-But I perhaps needed." Snape finished quickly.

"I don't pretend to know what you want or what you need, Severus." Circe mumbled, a touch of frost in her words.

She was elated that he was here and he'd chosen to come, but she felt like making him work a little harder to get back in her good books. Severus stared at her as she took a sip of her beer. He could sense that, perhaps for the first time, she felt a little guarded with her emotions around him. He grappled around in his mind for something that would draw her trustfulness back, her fire and energy. She was a wholly different beast to the woman he'd watched earlier that night on stage.

"How do you do it?" He asked suddenly. "Charge at everything you do with such fearlessness and … life?" He was drawn back to the word again. It was just so befitting for her.

"What?" She asked, bemused.

"Despite everything that's happened... And could happen…." For a second his regrets and sadness threatened to consume him whole again and his eyes clouded with far gone memories.

"I'm no guru, Sev. I'm scared of the same things everyone is." Circe laughed.

That's the first time Circe's called me "Sev". Lily used to call me that. He thought, and for the first time, the mention of her and Circe in the same thought did not sting.

"But I remember my Mum said something to me when she was ill. A proper "put it on a T-shirt" moment as you'd say."

"Which is?"

"As long as you have a beating heart, and two hands to heal with, there's nothing in your day that you don't have the strength to tackle."

"A wise woman."

Circe locked eyes with Severus and she nodded.

A storm of words were blowing in her head, but somehow Circe sat there utterly transfixed by his dark eyes, unable to muster a single thing. Once more, he raised a hand and touched his fingers to a curl at her shoulder. The door to the bar swung open and Circe saw the shock of Tonks's pink hair bobbing in the space behind Severus.

"Tonks, you made it!" she said, pulling away from Severus to greet her old friend.

Remus followed close behind her, his mouth smeared in dark red lipstick. Circe touched a hand to Severus's leg and squeezed, directing him to look at what she was looking at. After the initial surprise at her touch of his thigh, Severus turned to face the young girl, noting that her own lipstick was smudged all over her face too. Circe smirked and covered her mouth as a giggle seeped out of her.

"Did...er… Did you find your coat?" she asked, her grip on Severus's thigh tightening.

Tonks was still jacket-less as she took her seat. Severus looked from Tonks, to Lupin and back to Circe, slowly putting together the pieces.

"Nah, they said that I couldn't have it if I'd lost my ticket stub!" she complained, looking back to Remus to confirm her story.

Lupin looked at his hands sheepishly. As if he'd just been caught by his mother with his hands down his trousers.

"Oh…. did you search for it in Remus's mouth?" Circe asked, sardonically.

Remus's eyes bulged as he looked up from his hands.

Snape spluttered and covered his smile with a hand. Circe began laughing in earnest as Remus turned bright red.

"Oh, but Circe… Isn't that Professor Snape's jacket?" Tonks asked in retaliation, a wicked grin on her face. She pointed accusationally at the black leather coat Circe still wore on her shoulders.

"Touché, Nymphadora…" Circe muttered, feeling her own cheeks colour and Severus tense up beside her.

"Well, folks. Thanks for coming tonight. Cheers." Circe said, raising her glass. The others all clinked their glasses together and offered their 'well-done's' to her. "Now I propose we all get drunk enough that we forget what happened here…." she pointed at Remus and Tonks. "And you forget what happened here." she looked to Severus.

"Deal." Remus said quickly, slapping his palms on the table. It was the first thing he'd said since he sat down. He jumped up from the couch and strode over to the bar to order another round as they all laughed.

------

This time there was no unsettling voice to initiate the dream. The first thing she consciously realised was happening were the many hands of the frightened faces, all clawing at her from within that dilapidated ballroom. She called out for Lily Potter again, but there was no reply. She felt the crushing weight of their many bodies on top of her. She felt their ragged, hot breaths on her skin. She felt the slickness of their tears and their putrid sweat as they smothered her. And through it all she felt the presence of the hooded figure. Looming over her in the frescoed ceiling when she caught a tantalising bit of space and air in the swarming mass of wanted to scream, but every time she felt herself draw in breath, the frightened masses pulled and pushed her from one position to another. They sucked the air from her lungs, filled her mouth with their cloth and flesh. Sickening and stifling.

The robed figure leaned in closer to Circe in a moment of breathless respite. Hovering above her as she stared up at the ceiling, her chest screaming for air. They reached the withered and bony hand out to her, as they had done last time.

"I know what you want. I know who you want, Circe. I can give them to you." the voice called out to her. Beautiful in it's seduction. "You see those around you who defied me. Forever terrified, forever remembered as their last fearful, frightened selves."

The crowd of bodies around her moaned, and Circe felt it: all their pain and distress and white-hot panic. She sobbed, wailing into the open air as the emotion pooled in her veins and she felt herself collapse into sorrow.

"Come to me. Find me…" the voice called out to her, seeming now like a safe harbour in the storm. A small comfort in the sea of terror.

"Circe!" a male voice called out to her. It shook her from the all-consuming sorrow. Her name an affirmation of who she was in the haze of nothingness she felt. She looked around at the faces of the crushing crowd around her, away from the hooded figure.

"Help me… please. Lily? Don't let him take me…" Circe called into the air.

"Lily, take her and go! I'll hold him off…" the male voice came again, closer to her this time.

From beneath the shadows of the hood, Circe saw the figure snarl in a vile show of feral anger. Then there was a light, a bright light of love, and someone grabbed her wrist. Through the swirling crowd of bodies stepped another man, with dark black hair and round glasses. Circe gasped at the older, more matured and weathered Harry she saw fighting off the hooded figure.

Not Harry. She realised. James.

"Take her and go!" James Potter said again, turning back to them as the hooded figure roared in rage.

Circe just had time to glance over to whoever held her wrist, seeing a shock of auburn hair once again, as she was yanked backwards, and backwards, and down and down. Away from the huddle of frightened people, away from the hooded figure, and back into the waking world.

As she started awake, her eyes flew open and Circe was immediately hit by her hangover.

"Urghhhhh…" Circe groaned, grabbing her pounding head.

Her stomach lurched and she ran from her bed to the bathroom. As she vomited into the toilet, she heard a groan from the conservatory and called out.

"Remus?"

"Oh God, I feel like I transformed last night…"

Circe laughed, but a wave of nausea took her and she was sick again. She gripped the rim of the toilet so hard her knuckles went white. As each moment, kneeling on the bathroom floor passed, her dream slipped further and further into nothing. Until she couldn't quite remember why she felt clammy and claustrophobic.

Circe had made good on her attempt to drink enough to forget the night in Manchester, but she remembered it all with excruciating detail. Drink after drink after drink in Big Hands, and after the final call bell had been rung it had been someone's bright idea to go to Canal Street… Severus ducked out somewhere there, and to Circe's amazement he'd made quite a good attempt at conversation that evening. After the unofficial truce of silence had been established between the four of them, they'd simply resolved to try and be four normal adults talking about normal things. It was heartwarming, and it was almost as if they were ordinary folk without their traumas and tensions and taboos. And when Severus had decided to head home at gone one o clock in the morning, it had been because he'd wanted to, not because of impostor syndrome or a difficult situation of his creation. The tower of blunders that they'd built between them was beginning to burn down. Yet, Circe couldn't recall him saying goodbye. They'd all stumbled out of Big Hands and Tonks was discussing going to a gay bar and Circe had heard a pop behind her. When she'd turned around, Severus had gone. Apparated away.

When her and Remus had stumbled back into Hogwarts that evening, they'd had to walk up to Hogwarts arm in arm, holding one another up. The shadows around the castle all seemed to move and shift and Circe was imagining Irish wolfhounds moving in every bit of darkness. They'd woken up Minerva trying to get through the locked portcullis and sending wispy balls of light into the sky to fend off the curious Dementors. Mcgonagall had found them going in circles as they periodically swapped roles of shouting "fuck off, sad-ghosts!" into the air and fruitlessly casting "Alohomora" on the lock. They were both so sozzled that it didn't occur to either of them to tell the other that the spell didn't work and try something different… Mcgonagall had given them both a clip round the ear at finding them in their rat-arsed, useless state, and for forcing her out of her bed in her dressing gown. As they'd reached Circe's rooms, Minerva had slammed her door shut and gone back to sleep. Remus had been barely conscious at that point and Circe reluctantly had taken him inside and laid him out on the sofa in the conservatory, with a blanket and a bucket placed near his head. Remus had been going rather hard that night, partly out of embarrassment after his snogging session with Tonks had been discovered. Circe had felt pretty far-gone, Remus must have been legless.

She'd collapsed into her own bed somewhere around four in the morning. The last thing she remembered before passing out was the dizzying sensation of feeling like the whole room was spinning around her. And now all she was left with was a cracker of a hangover and a memory of a remarkable night, extra-ordinary in its ordinary-ness.

"Fucking hell…" she muttered as she rose slowly from the bathroom floor.

She walked out into the conservatory, very very slowly. Remus was lying prostrate on the sofa, still fully dressed, in a pose that reminded Circe of several dramatic Renaissance paintings she'd seen.

"Circe… just put me down…" he grumbled. The bucket next to him was full of God knows what. "Put me out of my misery."

"I suddenly remembered why drinking in wizard pubs is better." Circe grumbled back, rubbing her temples. "No hangovers with butterbeer or firewhiskey."

"D'you think Pomfrey has something in her storage cupboard?" Remus asked.

"Hangover cures for kids?! Not likely. I have a feeling Minerva will have told her not to give us a single bean either…"

"Ugh!" Remus clutched at his head and groaned.

Circe shuffled back into her room and sat down back at Remus's side a few moments later.

"Here." she said, placing a glass of water and a strange foily lumped strip of plastic next to it.

"What is that?" Remus asked unsurely.

"Muggle cure for a muggle problem. Paracetamol."

"Parecetamol?"

"Painkillers. Take two and swallow it down with water."

Remus fumbled with the foil and managed to sit up just enough to swallow them down. Circe did the same a few minutes later and the two of them lay in the quiet and the comfort of the plant-filled conservatory, slipping back into a snooze together as they waited for the drugs to kick in. Circe pulled herself out of her daze, and nudged at Remus's legs lying over her lap. Her headache was mostly gone but her stomach still wriggled uncomfortably.

"Come on…" she said dozily. "Let's get something horribly greasy and carb-loaded in us."

Remus grumbled again as he was roused from sleepiness. He sat up slowly and swung his legs onto the floor. He took a sniff and grimaced.

"Oh God, it stinks." he said, looking at the bucket.

Circe couldn't smell much, and she put Remus's heightened smell down to the closeness of the full moon. They both stood up, clinging on to each other in much the same way as they had the night before.

"Do I look as rough as you?" Remus asked, looking at Circe with a sickly smile.

"Oh cheers mate." Circe shot back.

She had managed to pull on her pyjamas before getting into bed, but her hair was a tangled mess and her mascara was smudged under her eyes. At least Remus still looked fairly like himself, still in his clothes and a little battered and bruised as he often did after a transformation. Remus stole away to her bathroom for one last vomiting session whilst Circe hastily got dressed. A few moments later, they both emerged into the grounds of Hogwarts looking a little worse for wear.

They walked at a slow pace down into Hogsmeade. There was a light smattering of snow still here and there as it had been a particularly cold March. The light of the morning was burning away at their eyes and they mostly communicated in grunts and groans to one another. They lined out the night, from the moment they'd all converged in Big Hands together and went through every round and every change of scenery trying to pick apart where it all went wonderfully wrong.

"Those bloody jaegerbombs." they both said in unison as they walked the Hogsmeade streets.

"Ugh, Tonks is a machine. I think she put away five of them!"

"Wonder how she is this morning." Remus said with a wistful look.

Circe didn't reply, letting a coy smile creep across her face as she remembered the pre-Big Hands part of the night.

Remus caught her look and turned red under her gaze. "Don't Circe…I thought we agreed..."

"I didn't say anything!" she said defensively. "Well done for pulling, though, you sexy beast." she said teasingly.

"Oh God, she must be about… what? Thirteen years younger than me?"

"So who kissed who?" Circe asked, a twinkle in her eyes.

"No." Remus answered her shortly.

"What? Here's me thinking you've been waiting for Sirius Black to present himself at just the right time, and then BOOM you're all over Tonks's face."

"Stop it, Circe!"

"I mean that's gonna be an awkward conversation when you do finally run into Black. I just assumed you weren't into girls after what you said at my party about a certain Irish wolfhound. But hey, that's me making an arse of myself for not asking…"

"I suppose I've always just been attracted to a person rather than their… bits." Remus said, lulled into engaging with Circe.

"I knew there was another reason why we both got on." Circe said with a joking wink at Lupin.

Remus frowned. "You too?" He asked, stopping dead in the middle of the road.

"Yeah. I've always liked girls and boys. As far back as I can remember, it just… didn't matter to me what was in their knickers."

"Huh…" Remus said nodding slowly. He scoffed and kicked at the snow beneath him. "Well, that's that. I wondered why your scent reminded me a little of Sirius." He mused.

"Scent? You've never mentioned this."

"It's a part of my… condition." Remus said as they reached the Three Broomsticks. "Especially towards the full moon, I can smell things quite astutely. Everyone has their own unique smell and I can sometimes smell who's magic and who's not. It's like… cinnamon in the air." He waved up at the sky, now smattered with a few wet snowflakes falling to the earth.

They moved to a table by the window and slumped down in their seats.

"So what do I smell like?" She asked curiously.

"Well there's the underlying cinnamon, of course. A little of, well, something earthy like moss or soil… and something with lightness and joy. Peony perhaps."

"Sirius Black, the mass murderer, also smelt of peonies?" Circe asked cynically.

"Yes… well no. It's hard to explain…"

"You sure it's not just my perfume, rather than you being able to smell my bisexual panic?" She asked brashly.

"Yes, I'm sure! I've lived with this my whole life, Circe!" Remus replied with a raised voice.

Her face dropped and they both sat back in their seats silently. Rosmurta shuffled over to them and asked cautiously what they wanted.

"Two full-English breakfasts, please." Said Remus without looking at Circe.

The barmaid nodded and walked away.

After a second longer Circe cleared her throat and said quietly "I'm sorry, Remus. I didn't mean to make light of your condition."

Remus sighed and looked at her with his kind eyes. "Well I suppose it's like that old phrase, isn't it: if you can no longer cry about it, then laugh."

"Indeed. But better if you laugh at yourself rather than let others laugh at you."

"You weren't laughing at me."

"I sort of was. I'm a bit of a cock." Circe said, staring at her hands bashfully.

"Oh stop it. There's only room for one remorseful, self-punishing twat out of the two of us."

Circe laughed and all was right between them again.

When their breakfasts arrived they wolfed them down gratefully. Slowly Circe began to feel halfway normal and she polished off the remainder of her bacon and casually helped herself to Remus's discarded black pudding.

"How do you think Severus is feeling this morning?" Remus asked as he put down his fork.

"Oh God, Severus!" Circe said, only just realising that he too must have been feeling the worse for wear. She thought of him in his bed, curled up with a banging headache like her and Remus had been and for some reason, she thought of him sleeping without a shirt...

Severus isn't a pyjama man, surely… I bet he sleeps in the nude.

Her stomach lurched in the pleasantly uncomfortable way that she was used to by now. She squirmed in her seat, dwelling on the image in her mind's eye that she'd conjured.

"How the hell did you manage to get him to come along?" Remus asked with a coy smile.

"I…. uh… I said "please"." She replied enigmatically, a huge smile on her face.

"Anything happen with him last night that I should know about?"

"If it did, Remus, do you think I would have ended up putting you to bed at the end of the night?"

"Ha!"

As they lingered by the bar, paying up their bill, Circe asked Rosmurta if she could make up another bacon buttie to take home. They waited patiently for Rosmurta to finish making it up, when the door swung open and Circe spied another shock of red hair standing in the threshold.

"Oh for goodness sake. Fred, George, I told you…" but she stopped as she realised it wasn't the twins.

It was Ron, and Hermione beside him.

"Oh, sorry guys I…" but Circe stopped again as she saw, in the falling snow outside, a strange shape in the space behind Ron and Hermione. A thick nothingness. She would have looked straight past it had it not been for the snowflakes that seemed to have settled on something mid-air…

"Remus." Circe tapped him on the arm, and he turned to face the kids too. They closed the door with a quick bang and hurried off sheepishly. "Remus, did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Do you have the map on you?"

"Uhh, yes. Why?" He said, reaching into his pocket.

She had produced her own wand in the flash of an eye and snatched it from Remus. "I solemnly swear that I am… doing wrong?"

Remus snatched it back with a huff. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

They both watched the map of Hogwarts and the surrounding grounds bleed onto the pages and Circe thumbed through the different locations looking for Hogsmeade.

"What are you looking for?" Remus asked.

"Hermione and Ron. They're up to something. I saw… something. I'm not sure. Wait, there!"

Circe poked her finger into the paper sharply and saw the two students hovering names, running down the Main Street. A third name hovered beside them.

"Harry? But how? He… he wasn't there!"

Remus laughed aloud, startling Circe somewhat.

"I think I can take a guess!" He chortled. "Oh James, you fiend! I wondered where it had disappeared to."

Something stirred in Circe at the mention of James Potter. Like a very distant memory. But she was distracted from her musings as she saw another name on the Marauder's Map emerge. Hidden until that moment as it was almost completely covered by Ron's.

"Wait… who's that?" She asked, peering at the name. Remus leaned in close, trying also to read the name obscured by Ron. "Is it… P- Pet.? Peter?"

"Peter Pettigrew…." Remus breathed.

"Wait… but he's dead." Circe asked. "That can't be right. The map must be broken."

"It's not broken. It's never broken. I thought I saw his name the other day..."

Remus took back the map and walked purposefully out of the door.

"Here's your bacon buttie, love." Rosmurta said to Circe.

"Remus…! Remus! Don't storm off again!" Circe called after him.

The door slammed in her face. She made to follow him, but Rosmurta hollered at her, waving the bacon buttie she had just made at Circe.

"Oh, sorry…" Circe said hurriedly, digging in her pockets for a few knuts. She pulled out a fistful of muggle ten pence pieces and swore. Leftover change from last night. "Uhh…"

"Oh for goodness sake, I'll put it on your tab." Rosmurta said, pressing it into her hand.

"Cheers, Roz." Circe said exasperatedly as she stuffed it into her pocket.

Circe ran from the Three Broomsticks and a horrible feeling of déjà vu hit her as she stared about the empty street for Remus.

"No no no no… not again!" She shouted aloud to the snow-covered village.

"Remus!" She screamed into the empty air, and when no one replied she kicked at a swinging sign outside the pub.

But Circe's eyes widened and she froze in position as a hard metal object pressed against her ribs. It had sat in her inside pocket, forgotten until this moment. But now it made its presence known, as if it called out to her for usage. She straightened her back slowly and delved a hand inside her coat. Her fingers curled around the gold chain and she drew it out into the open air, staring at the hourglass at its center.

I could. I could use it… she thought. Go back just a few minutes and hide in the opposite alley.

She cast a covetous glance to the street around her and huddled the timeturner close. She stole away to the back of the Three Broomsticks, away from prying eyes and ticked mentally over her plan. She tried to remember how she had twisted and turned the mechanisms last time, but found that she had done it without conscious thought as she'd been absent-mindedly toying with it by the shores of the lake. Perhaps if she looked at it closely, there'd be some instructions. Circe held it in front of her face and considered deeply the decision she was going to make. Was it worth it? All the danger and close calls she remembered from her last trip to the past came back to her and she hesitated. But then she thought of Remus, out there somewhere looking for Peter Pettigrew, the eponymous dead man. Or to Harry, somehow there and not there, which Remus seemed strangely unphased by.

Or perhaps he's meeting with Black! Her head reeled with possible scenarios and situations. She placed the timeturner around her neck and held up the medallion.

God, I hope it was this way round last time. And how much did I turn it?

She fumbled with the device and her excited, clumsy fingers fiddled away with the mechanisms. Just before she felt time halt and spool and warp, she had time to register her thought:

Shit. That's too much… You always do either too much or too little.

And away she went… four days into the future.