Chapter 32: "Tomorrow never knows what it doesn't know too soon"

Severus sighed and looked at his watch. She was late, again. He'd studied every last detail of 'Diana and Acteon', his eyes lingering over the tableau of naked flesh and the bitter surprise of the hunter. The moment of great drama, captured in the picture, was wearing thin. Every face, an expression of shame, passion and abject horror, he had gazed at them all. He felt sorry for poor Acteon, having chanced upon the vengeful and virginal goddess of the Hunt in a moment of intense vulnerability, but it wasn't his fault. Diana's look could kill as she glared at the virile young man, whose only crime was finding her at the wrong place at the wrong time. Severus knew the story, part of Ovid's tales, and poor Acteon would finish the story by being turned into a stag for the shame of seeing the Goddess during her bath. Meeting a grizzly end at the jaws of his own hunting dogs.

Lucky bastard. At least then it'd be over quickly. Severus thought, checking his timepiece once more.

No matter how many times they did it, he always had to work himself up for a meeting with Circe. The butterflies in his stomach would go crazy within him until she arrived. She was half an hour late now. It had always been Circe's habit to turn up to their meet-ups either five minutes early or five minutes late.

Always either too much or too little. Severus thought with a wistful smile Never quite able to get the 'Goldilocks' balance, is she...?

Whether it was mixing potions or fiddling with time-altering devices, she was always either slightly under or slightly over her target. Half an hour was taking the piss though…

Severus wondered whether Circe was having one of her 'forgetful episodes' and he privately grimaced at the painting. Ever since that night when he'd saved Circe from the werewolf's curse, he'd noticed some troubling side-effects with his friend. She had waves of what she called "skittishness" where her head would ache and she'd find it difficult to hold on to memories. It was deeply troubling to Snape, but he tried to keep his concern hidden from her. It was a small comfort to know that they didn't last for long, a day or two at most, and she would return back to normal. But the last time it had happened, it had occurred on a day when she was meant to meet with him. He'd instantly grown worried and had left the Gallery in a nervous state to look for her. Had she finally been targeted by Voldemort? Was she in danger? After apparating back to The Midlands, he'd ended up knocking on her family home's door when her little brother Alec had answered the door to him. The little boy almost burst into tears as Snape had looked down his nose intimidatingly at him, asking if Miss Smith was in. Luckily, before the blubbing had started in earnest, Circe had come down the steps, in her dressing gown, her cheeks red and her eyes popping when she saw Severus at the front door. She'd thrown on her clothes and they'd gone for a walk in the local park together, leaving little Alec slightly bemused by the scary-looking, black clad visitor who'd come to take his step-sister away…

It was then that she'd first told him of her forgetful episodes. They'd sat together, side by side, looking out over the duck pond in Leamington Spa's Jephson Gardens. She'd confessed then of the migraine-like headaches she'd get whenever she'd think too closely on that night underneath the Whomping Willow, and then the forgetfulness would start. Severus had sat there and listened bashfully, knowing that her head was probably reeling against the sudden changes to her fate after that night. A sort of latent PTSD almost… But then the next day she would be back to normal and her head would be in working order. Luckily she'd not forgotten anything too important, until that day. Severus had blushed rather fiercely when she'd asked him how he knew where she lived. He'd responded in his rather evasive Severus-esque way that she'd gotten frustratingly used to over the course of their friendship. But it had made her smile coyly as she'd watched the ducks paddling merrily on the surface of the pond.

As Severus debated over whether he needed to go looking for her again, she was suddenly there, sitting down beside him in the Scottish National Gallery. She muttered her apologies and tried to avoid his eyes.

"Another forgetful episode?" he asked.

Circe sighed heavily and tucked her hair behind her ears. Snape noticed her agitated leg twitching as she pushed her keys and her Walkman into her pocket. He cast a probing eye up and down her body and he saw that she'd hastily dressed herself in a rather casual outfit of a pair of high waisted leather-look trousers and a long sleeved, ripped Bowie T-shirt. Her traditional tartan coat was gone, instead she was in a musky-smelling afghan coat, lined with bristling cream fur. It was an interesting choice of outfit for a sophisticated day ambling around a gallery...

"Nice coat. Very boho. Very vintage." he finished when she did not reply.

"It was my Mum's. Dad was going through the attic the other day and he pulled it out of an old trunk."

"It suits you."

Snape smiled at her and she looked into his face for the first time since she'd sat down. She smiled back at him and felt a little more settled than she had been before. Severus cast his eyes down again and saw that her hands were covered in inky writing. He scrunched up his face and grabbed at her wrist.

"What's all this?" he asked, turning her hand over. On the very top of her left hand were the words "Severus: SNG".

"What I've been doing to help me remember when I get skittish... " she said, rather embarrassed as she pulled her hand away from him.

Snape was mithering over her again. It was sweet, for sure, but she hoped that all of this would all go away once she got back to Hogwarts, chalking it all up to a bit of stress after the events of last year. So far she'd only forgotten a few appointments or a meeting here and there. Nothing too important...But she paused as she looked at her hands on her lap. They were covered in black inky messages. She began to breathe rapidly as she felt a rising sensation of panic.

"What? What is it?" Snape asked, suddenly very attentive to her as she covered her mouth in her upset state.

"Oh God, I don't remember writing half of these Severus…" she said almost hysterically.

Her hands began to shake and Snape grabbed them again. He tried to hold them steady as he reassured her.

"Look, let's go through them one by one. It can't be that bad because you remembered you needed to be at the SNG. The Scottish National Gallery…" he said in a slow, low voice, doing his best to calm her down.

Circe nodded and sniffed.

"What's this one?" Severus pointed to a message on her wrist.

"Uhh.. 'RL." she read aloud. Circe scrunched up her face and pushed her mind to relinquish answers. "Oh! Remus! I was going to write back to him."

"And did you?"

"I… I think so." she answered unsurely.

"Alright, that's good. Two things you can tick."

He traced a tick on her skin and Circe fought to keep her arms erupting in goosebumps.

"This?" he pointed at another smudged message.

"I think that says 'Tonks… something, something.' I don't know."

"Any idea what that's about?"

"No…" Circe answered meekly.

"We shall find out then." Severus answered confidently.

Once again, Circe felt a little calmer with him by her side. It marvelled Snape that he had been slightly irritated with her before she'd turned up, now all of that was a distant memory as he dedicated his whole efforts into keeping her from crying. He glanced down to her delicate wrist and he realised he still held her hand in his. Her skin was soft and smooth and his whole body ached for her. As he glanced up to her, he realised how close together they were sat. It pained him how much he wanted to kiss her again. He wished he could know her as intimately as he had on that morning that never was, in the hospital bed. His dreams had made a point of replaying that moment to him, in excruciating detail as he reimagined the taste of her lips and the return of her passion for him before he had gone back in time. It had been a small indiscretion, but something that had opened the doors to several hot and heavy nights twisted in his bedsheets.

And then there had been those times when he would've sworn his Dark Mark had twinged...

"'Tell Severus about the dreams'...?" he asked curiously, his eyes seeing another inky message on her opposite hand.

Circe gasped and snatched her hand away. "What?! Where's that one?" she asked, a little flustered.

"On your right wrist, just under your sleeve..."

"Oh bloody hell…" she breathed.

Circe cursed her past self for committing that to notice. Her bad dreams had been growing even more frequent and frightful over the summer. Considerably more memorable after Sirius and Buckbeak had escaped to freedom and Pettigrew had scurried away with no consequences for his past actions. She could only remember snippets here and there: A ballroom, many hands, hooded figures. But since the night of Remus's transformation the dreams had almost changed tact, and instead of trying to frighten her into a particular course of action, they were trying to tempt her… Much like Severus, she too had been plagued with explicit and sexual nights whilst she slept. The dream she had had before, with him and her entangled in the library, was almost PG13 compared to some of the other things she'd dreamt of recently. It was as if somebody knew that the way to get her attention, or the way to her heart, was through Severus... But once the initial throb of lust in her loins died down, and she found herself lying in her bed staring at the ceiling, her dreams didn't leave her with a sensation of fulfilment. Instead she felt troubled. Disturbed.

"Do you remember when you asked me last year… if anything 'troubling' had happened to me after the Basilisk was killed?"

Severus sat up, feeling suddenly very uneasy. "Yes…?"

"I've been having these… dreams for a while. I didn't remember them for a long time. But I think I've been having them for the best part of a year."

"What happens in these dreams?"

Circe blushed fiercely, she couldn't look him in the eye. "I… uh… it's hard to explain..." she said vaguely.

It's not hard to explain at all. I fuck you every which way you'll have me and I bloody love it.

"Do you see anything or anyone specific?"

"Um, yes..."

"Tell me." his eyes were a wholly different sensation now. Where they had once been kind and doting, they were now solid and wary.

I guess I don't have to tell him about that part of the dreams… Circe thought. There's the other bits.

"Well I remember… a big, empty ballroom. Like... a crumbling palace or something. There's an old man and an old woman. Hundreds of… I don't know…. Tramps? A girl with pigtails in a Hogwarts uniform. And someone in a hooded cloak…"

Severus looked back to the painting before them. He gazed at the vicious sidelong glance Diana was giving Acteon again. He imagined, if he were able to see Acteon's face, he'd be pulling a similar expression of dismay to himself. He was trying not to jump to conclusions, look at things logically, bide his time. But it troubled him deeply. As if he'd walked into Spinner's End and seen his father's old coat placed over the bannister. The hint of a return of an unwanted presence. He itched unconsciously at his tattooed wrist. But it could just be bad dreams, after all….

He hoped it was all just bad dreams and paranoia...

"Severus?" Circe asked, and he turned back to her sharply.

She frowned at him, unable to muster her next few words. He sucked in a deep breath, seeing that he had made her similarly unsettled by his ruminations. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel even more uneasy given her recent forgetfulness.

"It's nothing to fret about. A manifestation of stress, probably…"

"Oh."

Circe looked to her hands again and tugged at her mother's jacket sleeves. She couldn't figure out why she'd written that message on her hands if she felt so embarrassed to talk about it. Had her past self been able to remember something that she couldn't now? Something that was bigger than Severus possibly knowing of her many graphic sex dreams of him? She sighed and fidgeted with her sleeve again when her eye caught another message.

"Wait, there's one more here… Upside down." she said. "That's not my handwriting."

Severus grabbed her hand again and pulled it up towards his face. "God, you've almost washed this one away. I can barely read it…"

"What can you read?" she pushed.

"Oh I don't know… is that word 'Gig'?" he pointed at her hand. "And then there's a 'Q'... 'Quid'? And a 'WC'... 'Love Myron'."

"Oh shit…" Circe stood up suddenly. Her afghan coat fluttered around her and she looked at her outfit as if she'd just realised what she was dressed in. "Jesus, Sev. Why didn't you bloody tell me I was dressed like this?!"

"I … I did… I mean, it's not your usual garb for our meetings here, but- "

"Quidditch World Cup, Severus!" she shouted, garnering the attention of several muggles in the gallery. Severus flinched and stood up with a shush. "I have a gig at the Quidditch bloody World Cup! Myron tried to remind me…"

"What? When?"

"Today! I've double booked myself. I forgot I was meant to be with the band this afternoon for the sound check!"

"Ah…"

Severus's heart sank, he normally was the one who ended up leaving first during their meet-ups just in case a look of disappointment on his face betrayed him if she were to make her excuses first. He slowly sank back into the bench they'd been sitting on. He felt robbed that she'd be going so soon and he looked at his shoes. Circe, to his surprise, grabbed his hand and yanked him back on to his feet.

"Come with me!" she said, bright eyed. "I'll tell them you're our Sound Tech, or something. Sneak you in so you can watch the Final!"

"To the Quidditch World Cup?" he asked with a cynical raise of his brow. "It's not really my scene, is it."

Circe could recognise when Severus was being cold to her. He wasn't being cold, per se, but he was certainly keeping his emotional distance. Circe knew that it all probably stemmed from her disappearance at the end of last year, when she'd accidentally gone forwards in time four days and Severus had been left lost and alone without her. She frowned, thinking on what she had been told by Remus and Minerva of how frighteningly unhinged he'd been during her absence. It was at once touching and worrying to hear of how distraught he was. Circe knew that his attentiveness to her over her forgetfulness was a knee-jerk reaction of who she knew he'd always been at heart, a caring, kind person. But she sensed him pull back from her in that moment, willing himself not to get too close to her again, in case she should disappear again. His eyes practically ached with his confliction. It was if he were still waking up from a bad dream.

He doesn't trust me, or...well.. He doesn't trust that I'll always be around.

"Oh come on, Seveus. Don't make me say it…" She said with a wide grin.

"Say what?"

"Please?" her eyes sparkled.

Severus felt himself blushing and all of his wit left him. As did his urge to resist.

-------

It had been quite some years since he had been on a muggle train. But Circe had insisted that they go at least some of the way to Dartmoor without apparating. She could just about stomach apparating from the Midlands to Hogwarts without being sick, any more than that and she'd be green with nausea for the rest of the night. Still, Severus had found the journey from Waverley rather companionable as the countryside whizzed by with the two of them sat opposite one another, sharing a table seat, both of them plugged in to Circe's Walkman. Their heads were bent together, looking like they were conspiring and whispering to one another. But both of them were listening intently to the new CD Circe had bought in the station's WH Smiths.

"This is it, Severus. The album that's going to define the decade for British music."

"Allright, 'Rolling Stone'..." Severus said with a roll of his eyes.

"You know, that Diggory kid was right. They're gonna put "Manny on the map" with this record. Fuck, they're gonna put Cool Britannia on the map with this. And I had to get the second album as soon as I finally listened to them."

Severus picked up the album's inner sleeve and thumbed through it. "Look at them… for people who are game changers, as you say, you'd think they'd know how to use a pair of tweezers."

"Nahh it's all part of the charm. That Mancunian, Northern, meat and potatoes rock'n'roll, working class attitude. D'You know what I mean?" She slipped effortlessly into a Manc accent and Severus allowed himself a small smile.

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Ahh come on, Sev…" She stood up and hovered in the train carriage aisle, swinging her arms from side to side in a confident Gallagher-esque swagger. She sounded to Severus like that girl he'd met behind the glass of The Hacienda. "You never felt like a Johnny-Big-Bollocks, in the mood for a bit of smash and grab? Throw a TV out a hotel room window. Doesn't matter if it's outta tune. Let's be fookin' avin ya. Am mad for it!"

"What the bloody hell are you doing, you thug?" Severus asked as his smile grew wider.

She laughed and sat back down in her seat as the ticket attendee eyed her up suspiciously.

They listened to all of 'Definitely Maybe' and then 'What's the Story Morning Glory' again. As the hours and the stations cycled by, Severus soon saw what her fascination with this band was. It was certainly a sucker-punch of an album. Unapologetically rude and loud. She was right, it did make him want to kick something. But it was also incredibly heartfelt and rousing when it wanted to be. They eventually pulled in to Birmingham Moor Street and Circe was quick to drag Snape off the train and into the throng of muggles. He felt a little uneasy in the city, knowing that his father and mother had moved somewhere here after they'd upped-sticks and left Spinner's End one day during the war. It seemed that every grim face around him was a Tobias Snape in waiting. As he and Circe walked towards Digbeth, he felt uneasy and his mood did not brighten when she ushered him into a deserted old factory opposite the bus station. A few building scaffolds were positioned inside the huge factory's interior, the workmen absent.

"It used to be a custard factory." Circe explained. "They used to make Bird's here before it was abandoned. Think they're turning it into offices…"

"Bird's custard?"

"Ahh come on, Sev. We're both children of the West Midlands, we grew up on Bird's Custard!"

"No, I know it. I'd just… forgotten about it. That powdery stuff that you'd add a pint of water to?"

Severus remembered the smell of it, hot and sweet on the hob as his mother made it up to go with his sliced banana. A favorite pudding of his when he was young.

"Eurgh, you made it with water? You're meant to make it with milk."

"We couldn't afford that much milk. And my father would have been angry if we'd used it all up and he had none left for his porridge..."

Severus went quiet and Circe was at a loss for what to say.

Don't say anything, Circe. Give him time to "wake up" from the bad dream.

He stood in the quiet, gutted interior of the factory, staring vacantly around the concrete walls. Her footsteps echoed off the floor as she approached him, laying a hand on his shoulder. He almost flinched as he turned to face her.

"Um.. do you know where you're going?" Severus asked, a little dazed.

"I went to Dartmoor once when I was a teenager, and if I remember what Myron told me properly, the pub that most people have been arriving at is just a five minute walk from where the stadium is."

"And you know this pub?"

"Yeah, popped into it for a Sunday roast when we'd finished hunting for the Hairy Hand of Dartmoor."

"The what?"

"The phantom Hairy Hand of Dartmoor that materialises out of thin air and makes cars swerve off the-"

"Shall we get going?" Severus asked impatiently, holding out his arm to her. Circe smiled and took his arm in hers, and with a wave of her wand they disappeared with a pop into the ether.

------

The pub, when they arrived just outside its doors in the midst of the beer garden, was absolute chaos. As the destination for many wizards apparating and those using the floo network to reach the World Cup, it was chock full of bright eyed and excited Quidditch fans. It was a wonderfully balmy, warm summer afternoon. The golden hour made Circe's hair shine like pure bronze and Snape was quite breath taken by how honey-like her skin looked, and the flecks of gold that were buried deep in her enchanted eyes. Severus had to keep his head low, seeing many Hogwarts students in the crowd as he waded through the huddled masses. Circe was able to get herself and Severus waved through the barriers and safely into the camping grounds by telling the attendees that she was "the entertainment". Severus had been ushered through with her without so much as an upwards glance.

"Oh, just make sure that you keep the magic to a minimum in the camp grounds. They're renting it off some muggle farmer and a few people have already tried to pay him with galleons…" the attendee had said, head buried in a clipboard. "Music tent is the big red one about five hundred yards that way." He waved up towards the mass of tents and Circe thanked him quickly as she dragged Severus behind her.

"So are you supporting the Irish or the Bulgarians, Sev?" Circe asked as they walked through the buzzing crowds of wizards setting up their patchwork of mismatched tents.

"Neither…" he responded sourly.

A peddler selling various green and burgundy coloured merchandise pushed past him, waving a scarf of both teams in his outstretched hands. His cart was pushing itself as he called out to the witches and wizards around him, trying to sell his goods. A myriad of jaunt, upbeat tunes drifted on the air, music coming at them from all angles and blending together in an indistinguishable clamour. Other witches and wizards were spinning colourful charms and small fireworks into the air as they played exploding snap or drank deep-amber bottles of cider, laughing heartily. Circe passed many who were setting up their tents with their wands out for all to see, as the tent's canopy seemed to drift upwards into the sky as if an invisible giant was hoiking it up.

"Good Lord, that poor farmer will have nothing left in his mind after all the memory charms they'll have to cast on him." Severus grumbled.

"I'll have to choose who you're supporting for you then." Circe said, approaching the peddler and buying a scarf of green and burgundy. "I think the burgundy would suit you most."

She handed the Bulgarian scarf over to him and he took it from her as if it were made of barbed wire. She swung the green scarf around her own neck and smiled sweetly at him. He raised an incredulous brow at her, thinking on how the emerald green complemented her eyes rather nicely and reluctantly placed his own over his shoulder.

"I thought you weren't a sporty person either. I don't think this lot will be singing 'Sweet Caroline' in the stands."

Her brow furrowed and she looked at him cautiously. "How… How do you know about that?"

Severus's stomach dropped. He remembered suddenly that she'd told that story when he'd been spying on her session with the MMAP, he himself hidden from sight in a sulk.

"You...uh… you told me on the train." he replied, hoping her recent forgetfulness would work in his favour this time.

"Oh…" she said deflated, fiddling with the tassels of her scarf. "I don't remember that."

"It was… just something you said in pasing."

"Hmm…"

She wandered past Severus with her eyes cast to the ground. The dusk was beginning to creep in and the excited voices of witches and wizards alike were anticipating the coming match. It would be beginning soon and people were already starting to make their way over to the stadium, their faces painted with green and red. There was a pervasive smell of beer to the campsite and various groups were getting a little rowdy as they pumped themselves up for the match, jostling and shouting at one another.

"God, it's like Glastonbury…" Circe said as they approached the red tent. "Only less muddy."

They entered the space and the inside was huge, much bigger than the shape outside would have led them to believe. It was easily big enough to fit three hundred people, but the floor was covered almost wall to wall with beanbags. An older witch was on the stage, dressed in a plush purple velvet dress and more beaded necklaces than Circe could count, playing an instrument that looked something akin to a huge longbow, topped with a gold crested dragon figurine. A few people, sitting in beanbags here and there were dotted about, listening to her.

"Glastonbury Tor?" Severus asked over the noise of the witch's stringy playing. "The historical home of the wizard Merlin?"

"No, the music festival!"

"Oh for god sake…" Severus muttered. He was getting a little frustrated with all of the muggle things she would bring up and he was still startlingly ignorant about.

"Every young person's got to go to Glastonbury once in their lifetime… and have a questionable experience with light hallucinogens…"

"Circe!" Snape exclaimed.

"Oh chill out, I paid three pounds to have a go on a canister of laughing gas for five minutes! They were renting it out in a tent near the pyramid stage."

Severus rolled his eyes as Circe led him to the backstage area. Again, she was waved through without a hitch and Severus was explained away as her 'PA'. He bristled a little at the implication that he was her personal assistant, but it enabled him to stay close to her for the time being, so he bit his tongue. She found her way through the off-duty performers and was soon accosted by Myron Wagtail, waving her over from a couch where he was sandwiched in between two young-looking blonde witches. He was clad almost head to toe in red leather, his shirt open all the way down to his navel.

"Cee, you made it! My message on your hand stayed put then. I was worried when you missed our sound check, darling…" He stood up to greet her and gave her two pert pecks on the cheek.

"Yeah, I'm sorry Myron. It's my bloody head."

"Still feeling a bit "skittish"?"

"Um.. yeah a bit."

"Ah… Still, at least you remembered to dress for the occasion. I love this!" Myron said, touching the sleeves of her afghan coat. "Is it the real article?"

"It was my Mum's." Circe repeated. "Thought it might look nice to wear on stage."

"It's delicious. Very boho chic."

Circe laughed and looked back to Snape behind her. "That's exactly what you said." she grinned at him.

Snape smiled nervously, not quite sure where to look in between the blonde girls on the sofa, Myron's bare chest and the flowing booze and fag smoke that permeated the air around him.

"Oh, Cee… Is this who I think it is?" Myron purred, stepping towards Severus.

"Umm, Myron this is Severus Snape, my colleague." She said, labouring over her final word.

Snape caught the slight tug on Myron's arm that Circe enacted as he passed by.

"Severus, this is Myron. He's our lead singer. We met in Hogwarts. Same year, same House."

"You were also a Ravenclaw?" Severus asked, a little surprised.

"For my sins, I was." Myron replied, eyeing up Snape hungrily. "I just liked learning about all the wrong things." he winked at him.

The blonde girls at his back giggled.

"When are we on?" Circe asked quickly before Severus turned any redder.

"Not until after the match. Performers have also been given their own Private box! I found these beautiful creatures trying to bargain two tickets from a con man in the pub on the Moor." Myron sat back down in between the blonde girls and they squealed in delight as he wrapped his arms around them. "It seems you too have brought somebody to keep you company." he said to Circe with a wicked grin.

Severus shifted uncomfortably in his boots and Circe felt like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. She shuffled around and muttered something about going to check her guitar, wishing she'd not said a bloody word to Myron about her feelings for Severus. She should have known he'd think of some eloquent and razor-sharp witty way to embarrass her. When she'd gathered her courage and had returned back to Severus, he was now the one sat in between the two blonde girls whilst Myron poured another round of firewhiskey for their guests. She laughed, marvelling at how utterly out of place he looked, his discomfort present in the tight hunch of his shoulders as the girls mercilessly flirted with Myron and the other band members. She grabbed her own glass and strode over to where Myron had placed the bottle, aching for anything that might restore her bravery, even if it came in liquid form. She filled her glass and topped up Sevreus. He looked up at her gratefully and one of the blonde girls stood to make room for her. He raised his glass, fixing her with a dark stare.

"I'm sorry… I didn't expect all of this to be so-"

"Rock-and-roll?"

Circe laughed awkwardly, looking at her glass. "That phrase...from your mouth, Severus…It's so oddly surprising to hear you say."

""Yes, well… you have a way of making me surprise even myself. Never in my wildest dreams would I have envisioned myself here, with all of this..." he waved vaguely about the room.

And with you. He thought, drawing slightly away from her.

He had to work harder these days to check his feelings. Finding himself unconsciously aching to be close to her, but his conscious mind wished he could keep her at a distance.

Severus was still, in part, processing her disappearance last year. It had shaken him just how deeply he had been affected when she was gone. He was inconsolable when she was believed missing. It frightened him just how much of himself he lost when she was believed dead. Those four days that had passed by in a horrible nightmarish haze were permeated only by his animalistic drive to find her. When the initial elation at her return had passed, he'd found himself being a little more guarded and cautious with how close he allowed her. He knew it was a backstep, and he was regressing back into his tendency to push those he loved away. But he remembered all too well the crippling pain he'd felt when her presence was stripped away from his life. He loathed that he'd allowed himself to fall for her. He didn't want to depend on her. He didn't want to love her. If he lost her in the way he'd lost Lily, in the way that he'd violently, sickeningly feared in those long four days, then he didn't know what would happen to him. He'd barely survived Lily. Losing Circe would kill him.

Circe saw the ghost of the memory of that "bad dream" pass over his features.

I wish I could figure out how to wake you up. She thought again. God, my own head feels like I'm somewhere in between sleeping and awake on those bad "skittish" days.

"Well, cheers to that." she said finally with a raise of her glass. "To all your dreams being made."

Severus looked at her from over the rim of his glass and swiftly downed it. He let the burning liquid fall down his throat and for a second he felt like he could breathe fire, like he could tackle anything life threw at him as long as this woman was held in his gaze. Circe followed suit and the firewhiskey warmed her belly.

As Circe, Myron, Severus and the rest of their little cohort, staggered their way over to the performer's private box, the roar of the crowd swelled. The stadium was massive, a huge pit dug into the ground at least two hundred feet deep . Circe was gobsmacked. As she pressed her way to the front of the stands she felt a dizzying state of vertigo seize her as she looked all the way down to the stadium's floor.

"My God, Severus… This is incredible. Puts that baseball stadium in New York to shame."

The wave of thousands of tiny flags and the glitter of the spectator's camera flashes going off made it seem like the stands were shivering. As the Irish and the Bulgarian teams flew into the stadium, accompanied by a thousand screeches of elation, Severus couldn't help but have his spirits lifted. Not even he had seen a magical gathering of this magnitude before. His eyes were dazzled by the Irish firework Leprechaun in the sky and his ears rang with the battle-drums that heralded Krum and the rest of the Bulgarian team.

As the referee's whistle heralded the start of the final of the Quidditch World Cup, Severus felt a tapping on his shoulder.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here." A posh voice lilted over the roar of the crowd. Circe felt the hairs on her arms stand up and she turned around with Severus.

"Lucious." Severus answered flatly. Malfoy smiled coldly at Severus and Circe both.

"Ah, Professors." A similarly sumptuous voice said from behind Malfoy's long robes. Draco's snide little face peered round his father and grinned.

"Oh, God…" Circe muttered.

"You know…" Malfoy Senior began "Draco turned to me during the match and said "Father, I do believe that's Professor Smith in the adjacent box to us, leaning over the banisters and screeching like banshee". And I said "Oh no, Draco, it can't be. A respectable woman like Professor Smith would never wear something so hideous. She'd look like a hairy blonde rat if she did"."

Circe tugged at her afghan coat again as her anger bubbled away in her stomach.

"Oh Lucious, put those claws away. I wouldn't want you to mess up your hair in a cat fight." Circe replied icily.

"And then Draco said…" Lucious continued, barely acknowledging her. ""But Father, I believe that's Professor Snape behind her", and goodness me he was right."

"Is there something I can help you with, Malfoy?" Snape asked as he looked sharply down his nose at the silvery haired man.

"Do you know… great spectacle of entertainment as this match is, I was just as surprised to see a dead woman and her walking shadow." Lucious looked pointedly at Circe and then to Severus, both feeling like they'd had a knife slid in between their ribs.

Circe bristled and she felt Snape too tense up at the comment. "I think you'll find, Malfoy, that I am very much alive."

"Yes, I heard about that nasty business last year with the half-breed and the murderer. You were on rather good terms with the half-breed monster were you not?"

"His name is Remu-"

"Asking for trouble hanging out with sorts like that, weren't you… No wonder the Ministry pretty much wrote you off as a dead woman after a few days searching."

Circe strode forward, ready to give Malfoy a hearty biff on the nose. Snape held her back by the arm as Lucious tutted.

"Dear, dear… asking for trouble aren't you. Rather enjoy getting yourself into dangerous situations. Ticking off the wrong people… You should be careful, Professor Smith."

"And what does that mean, Malfoy? A threat?" she asked, as Snape's grip on her grew tighter

"Threat? Me? Never. I just thought that Severus, by now, may have gotten you on side. Perhaps you were starting to see the low lifes and degenerates that you insist on cavorting with for what they are. Severus was never much of a recruiter back in the day though, were you?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Circe asked, looking at Severus.

Snape suddenly let go of her arm. His wrist suddenly pulsating dully beneath his black sleeve.

No.. it can't be…. Severus gasped and touched a finger to the Dark Mark.

Lucious did the same, mirroring his movement with a knowing stare. He tugged at his sleeve to disguise the move and Circe was none the wiser.

"Looks like you may have to try a little harder for you and her to see… eye to eye." Lucious said with a wink of his eye. "Perhaps a few more nights in the close quarters of the Potion's storage cupboard, eh?"

Severus said nothing, deeply mortified. Circe too was a little embarrassed but she tried not to let the Malfoy's see it. Lucious and Draco turned and left as swiftly as they arrived. And for the rest of the match, Severus stood at the back of the box as stoically as a suit of armour. She could sense that Malfoy's comments had rattled him. He thought over the conversation as tried in vain to concentrate on the Quidditch game. Was he really becoming her shadow?

My God, Malfoy thinks I'm trying to seduce her into the Death Eater's ranks… he thought as a shiver ran down his spine.

He unconsciously clutched at the faded Dark Mark on his wrist and fidgeted uncontrollably.

The closer she gets to me, the more danger she's in. If he's returning… if Voldemort's really out there somewhere... He thought somberly as he stared at Circe's back. God, what am I doing here. This can't happen…

He turned on his heels and left.

Circe sensed his departure, feeling that his eyes were no longer on her. She didn't want to turn around and confirm what she suspected, but when she did, she saw Severus was gone. She pushed through the other entertainers in the box and rushed out after him. Circe called out after him as she rushed through the stands, but every time she rounded a corner she saw his boots disappear out of sight. She chased him all the way out of the stadium in this fashion, until they were outside. The campsite was deserted, everybody in the stadium watching the final, so he was easy to spot amongst the tents.

"Severus!" she shouted.

He finally halted in his tracks and turned to face her.

"I can't stay, Circe. I don't really belong in places like this…"

"Severus, don't let what Malfoy said get to you-"

"This is bigger than Malfoy. The rot runs deeper than him. The same rot that's in me…" he said, looking to the ground mournfully. "People that have done what I've done don't deserve-"

"To live?" she asked, exasperatedly. Circe stared into his eyes imploringly. "Severus, please stay. I.. I want you here…"

"What you want and what's the safest course of action for you are two entirely different things. Surely you must know that your… association with me puts you in harm's way."

"You sound just like Malfoy." she said quietly, edging closer to him. "Malfoy doesn't know anything. Malfoy doesn't know anything about me or you. About me and you…"

That made him look at her. Circe's breath was taken away again by the shadows his passionate eyes cast.

"I don't know what you're talking about." he tried to say as nonchalantly as he could. Meanwhile his heart pounded in his chest.

"Oh for fuck sake Severus. It's been three years!" Circe's patience snapped.

She felt like the floodgate of her emotions was opening up. Everything she'd been aching to say, that had sat on the cusp of her lips for so long, was threatening to spew forth.

Three years of furtive glances and lingering touches. Three years of fiery arguments and tantalisingly interrupted moments alone. So much for waiting for him to "wake up" again...

She sucked in her breath and whispered to him, "Surely, you must know-"

"Don't. Don't say it." he interrupted her suddenly.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't give you that... I can't give you what you want."

Her eyes filled with tears as she refused to break her gaze with him. "Why? Because you don't feel the sa-"

"Because I promised you once that I would keep you safe, even if it cost me everything!" he shouted, edging close to her. "Even if it costs me you…"

There was silence for a long while. Severus stood as rigid as a statue as he fought with everything in him to keep himself from running to her and taking her face in his hands.

"What? When did you promise me that?" Circe asked, deeply confused.

But he did not reply. He turned from her and began striding off through the tents.

"Severus, please…" she called after him. "Severus!"

But he did not halt, or turn around to face her again. He could not bear for her to see his moist eyes and he clenched his jaw tight to stop himself from crying out. If he stopped now, all his walls would come crashing down and he would run to her and kiss her until the morning light rose over the Dartmoor fens. And he couldn't have that… No matter how much his name on her lips tugged at his soul each time she called out desperately to him over the tents.