Chapter 5: "It's nice to have you here."

Circe walked through knee deep snow in the Hogwarts grounds, the great expansive Scottish landscape stretched out around her. Ziggy circled in the white sky above and she watched him contentedly. She'd given him a special Christmas treat of a few field mice, which he'd munched down merrily in the Owlery before their long walk. She couldn't wait for her Christmas Lunch when she got back to the castle.

Her toes had turned numb with cold some time ago and the gently falling snow now heartily coated her hat and coat. She had volunteered to stay at the school for the Christmas holidays as it gave her more time to finish her reading and walk when she pleased. Her stepmother Jane's kids were still young. Young enough for Santa and Rudolph and all that jazz and she somehow felt that going back home for Christmas would be getting in the way of a family affair. She'd dutifully sent her presents and cards and well wishes, as well as promises to visit in the new year…

Christmas at Hogwarts was magical. Blissfully quiet. Breathtakingly beautiful. And, with her newfound friend Mcgonagall also staying put for the holidays, wonderfully companionable. Most of the students were gone, save for a handful from a selection of years. Potter and Weasley included amongst them. She'd played a few rounds of wizard chess with Potter, helping to get his skill up and roaring heartily every time he smashed one of her pieces to bits. In the days of holiday, when staff were few and far between, all professors were permitted the passwords to all of the House common rooms. It was in the cozy nights leading up to Christmas Day, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, in front of the Gryffindor common room fire, where her and Potter had matched wits. Ron often stood at her back, whispering tips and suggestions in to her ear. She conceded that Weasley was probably a better player than she was! Late into the evening, when she'd got herself into an awful stalemate and felt tiredness pulling at her eyes, she would allow Ron to step in for her whilst she bid them goodnight and took herself off to bed. The next morning, the boys delighted in telling her how Ron had turned the game around.

The Great Clock Tower struck midday as she waded through the snow covered path, back to the Hogwarts's courtyard. She entered the castle and stomped her boots a few times to dislodge the snow that clung to her wellies. Great white puffs fell off her as she shook her head and arms.

"Goodness gracious, look at the sight of you!"

Circe turned to face Mcgonagall, just as she had on her first day arriving at Hogwarts.

"You look like an abominable snowman."

"I feel like one…" she replied. "My feet are bloody freezing!"

"Then you must come and warm yourself." Mcgonagall handed her a glass of delicious-smelling mulled wine which she took gratefully. "The Elves have lit the fire in the Great Hall and it's all ready for our lunch."

Minerva hooked her arm through hers and ushered her off to the Great Hall with a smile that warmed Circe right up.

Their meal was delicious, and Circe helped herself to another couple of pigs-in-blankets whilst Minerva and Dumbledore pulled a cracker. Her Dad was a useless cook, and Circe had not known before the Christmas lunch she'd just eaten that turkey wasn't meant to be dry and bland. His skill however, was in desserts. As she sat back in her chair, utterly stuffed, she found herself missing her Dad's signature Sherry trifle. Perhaps next year she would go home after all... As the meal wound down, Dumbledore dozed contentedly in his chair and Circe and Minerva chatted amiably, pouring one another drink after drink of warming brandy.

"For you." Minerva said to Circe, pushing a small present across the table.

"Miverva, I thought we said no presents!" Circe chided her.

"I know, but it's just a small thank you for assisting with the Broomstix discount and, well, being an all around wonderful companion."

Circe's eyes pricked with tears and she smiled at Mcgonagall. The two had become quite close in the months since September: Talking long into the night in their shared conservatory, off loading to each other about difficult classes or piling up workloads, and respecting each other's privacy and space when needed.

Circe looked at her present and tugged at the red ribbon that held it together. She popped off the lid of the small box and there nestled on a velvet pillow was the red brooch Minerva had lent her on her first night. It was a truly beautiful piece of jewellery: a piece of amber the size of a tangerine inlaid in a marvellously intricate Celtic interwoven design.

"Oh Minerva…"

"Well, I couldn't help but think how well it suited you. It complements the tones of your hair quite nicely. And I think it helped turn quite a few heads that night." She gave her a knowing wink. Circe blushed a deep red. "I thought Severus's jaw was about to drop off."

"You knew…?" Circe asked, totally aghast.

"I figured there could only be one person in Hogwarts that could upset someone that much within minutes of their arrival." She said casting a raised eyebrow at Circe. "But still, we got our own back, didn't we."

She nudged Circe in the ribs playfully. Circe snorted and clinked her glass to Minerva's. She polished off her drink and Mcgonagall dutifully topped them both up.

"And we dealt out quite the humiliating defeat for Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch too!" Minerva cried out in delight, giving herself an extra splash of brandy in self-congratulations.

"That was weeks ago, Minerva!" Circe laughed. "You are the most awful winner."

"And why should I not be? It's the first win Gryffindor have had against Slytherin in thirty years! I tell you, if Potter hadn't pulled it out of the bag in the last minutes, I would have set Severus's cloak on fire myself!"

"Yeah, what the bloody hell did happen there?" Circe asked, remembering the strange case of spontaneous combustion that had occured on Severus's clothing that day.

"Oh goodness knows." Minerva waved her hand dismissively. "Strange things are always happening at Hogwarts. More so of recent, it seems..."

The remains of their lunch magically melted away and was replaced by a selection of festive desserts.

"Oh goodness me, I don't think I could eat another bite." Circe conceded.

"It's a pity…" Minerva began. "I told the House Elves to cook for all four staff on site. It's such a waste of food."

"Four?" Circe asked, confused. "Who else is here? I haven't seen anyone all week."

"Severus."

"Severus is here?" She asked in surprise, sounding a little too eager for her own liking.

"Why yes. Did he not tell you in your shared lessons he was staying on for Christmas too?"

"No…"

"Hmm how odd. He always stays for the holidays. Every year since he started teaching here." Minerva explained. "Not that it matters. We hardly ever see him anyway. But he does normally materialise for his Christmas lunch…"

Circe's head was delightfully foggy by the time the students began unwrapping their gifts from beneath the huge Great Hall Christmas tree. Potter and Weasley were throwing exploding bon bons at one another in the throws of a post-sugary high. One of the exploding sweets lodged in the boughs of the tree and sent several ornaments flying off in a loud bang.

"Now boys…" Mcgonagall chided them. "That's enough of that."

"Sorry Professor." Potter said, taking out his wand and picking up each ornament with his newly learnt levitation spell. He placed them back in the tree one by one, until he got to a miniature acoustic guitar ornament.

"Engorgio!" Weasley shouted at the ornament. It expanded outwards with a sudden pop as all of the strings snapped. Potter laughed as he held the now average sized guitar in his hands.

Circe rose to her feet and walked over to the boys. She gestured to Potter to hand the guitar over and he did so without question.

"Chordisia repario." She said, pointing her wand at the snapped strings. In a heartbeat they had knitted themselves back together. Circe perched the instrument over a bent knee and began tuning.

Time swam by as she tested each note, lost in her tipsyness and the old familiar feel of the instrument beneath her. She strummed a testing G chord and was pleased with the harmonious result. When she looked up, the Great Hall was empty.

Minerva probably took the boys away before they started bouncing off the walls , she thought to herself.

She picked a little tune as her mind wandered, the shapes of the chords coming back to her in an instant. Soon the tune was joined by a hum. Her eyes wandered over the delectable desserts now abandoned on the table. Chocolate log cake, Black Forest gateaux, angel delight, rum soaked Christmas pudding…

She changed the tune she was strumming.

"These are a few of my favorite things…" she hummed.

As her mind meandered, so did her playing. Hopping from one half remembered song to another. Her thoughts eventually wandered back to an image of Severus, alone in his cold dark dungeon, without any food. Empathy tugged at her heart strings. How lonely he must feel… In an instant she was on her feet, swinging the guitar on its strap behind her so it settled against her back. She bounded over to the table and pulled out a clean plate, filling it with a slice of this and a portion of that. Later she would come to blame it on the brandy, but in that moment she had decided to bring her Byronic colleague the feast if he would not come to the feast himself. She knocked back another drink, just for good measure and went off striding with her plate of goodies down to the dungeons.

The brandy sat warmly in her stomach, giving her liquid courage as she paced hopelessly up and down the dungeon's corridors. She had a vague idea where Severus's quarters were but could not pinpoint it exactly.

Very well she thought, placing the cakes on the floor momentarily. I can be a carolling service as well as 'meals-on-wheels'.

She spun the guitar back around until it sat in her hands once again. She decided on a Christmas number that was her Dad's favorite and started plucking out the catchy baseline.

The music echoed off the cavernous stone walls, breathing life into an otherwise desolate and dingy place. Almost immediately, a door almost right in front of Circe swung open and there, peering into the gloom to investigate the source of the noise, was Severus. He saw Circe swaying a little from side to side, partly from the melody, partly from her tipples. His eyes narrowed to a minuscule squint and his mouth once again hung open in utter surprise before her.

"Welcome to my Christmas soooooong…

I'd like to thank you for the year."

"P-Professor Smith?"

"So I'm sending you this Christmas caaaard.

To say it's nice to have you here…"

"Are you drunk?"

She stopped the tune dead and stared him squarely in the face. "I'm not drunk, Severus, I'm merry. "

"Right…"

She began again, totally abandoning herself to the complete cringeyness of it all.

"I'd like to sing about all the things

Huh shuhhh blah baba dee…" she improvised on the lyrics that escaped her.

Severus covered his mouth with his hand, trying to feign annoyance but in actuality covering the crack of a smile.

"Da shoo be doo babba dabba diyeee

Ohhhhh step into Christmas with meeee!

TWO

THREE

FOUR…

Step into Christmas

Let's join togetherrrr

Weee can watch the snow fall forever and everrr

Behhh debbbooo Christmas

Come along babeyyyy

Step into Christmas

The admission's freeeee heee heeee"

Snape clasped a hand around the neck of the guitar, silencing her instantly. She snorted, unable to stop giggling and Snape fought with everything inside him not to let her infectious laugh take over him too.

"Is there a purpose to this interruption, Professor?" He asked, flicking his own wand in the air.

The guitar shrank back to its original minuscule shape and it now sat neatly in Circe's left hand. She reached down to the floor, picking up her plate of desserts.

"For you." She said, smiling at him. "Seen as you missed Christmas lunch."

He looked down into her outstretched arms at the generous selection she had brought him and a lump raised in his throat. He took it from her without a word, nodding curtly.

Circe laughed again nervously as she waited for a reply from Snape. When nothing came, she put her hands in her pockets and moved to leave.

"You didn't have to.." Snape said quickly, stopping her from turning away. "I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself."

Circe rolled her eyes and sighed . "Merry Christmas to you too, Severus."

She smiled sweetly at him one last time and for a lightning fast moment, he wished she'd kiss him on the cheek like in the old black and white films his mother used to watch on a Sunday.

She turned on her heels and left, humming the chorus to herself again.

When she'd gone, he felt heavy and bereft. He closed his door once more, holding his plate of food. Turning his back, he leaned against the wood and silently slid down to the ground. There was a knawing, wriggling sensation in his stomach as he stuffed the gateaux into his mouth first, followed by the chocolate log and the other sweets she'd bought. In his head, he could still hear her singing. It was the first thing he'd eaten all day and he was, he realised, starving. In truth, the Christmas lunch had totally passed him by, absorbed as he was in his research. Some rather important enquiries about Quirrell had just gotten back to him the night beforehand and he hadn't been to bed yet…

Quirrell was all he'd thought about for the past twenty or so hours, ever since his document requests from the Ministry had come back… He had been right of course; Quirrell was not who he claimed to be. Or at least he was playing at some kind of act. He'd been going by a completely different name until about ten years ago, when suddenly poor stuttering Professor Quirrell had come on to the wizarding scene. Before then, Severus assumed he'd been Maxentius Varallo, suspected Death Eater or at least fanatical Voldemort admirer. He didn't recognise the name from his Double Agent days, but then again the reach of The Dark Lord was much larger and the rot went deeper than most wizards would suspect. On his desk he had his birth records, Auror investigation reports, photographs and records of his short stay in a correctional unit at the Ministry until his eventual disappearance off the face of the earth around the time of the Dark Lord's demise. And that's when 'Quirinus Quirrell' popped up. No history, no past, nothing remotely traceable until his little sabbatical to the Black Forest last year…

Then there was that comment about employers that Quirrell had said on the first day of term that he couldn't quite pick apart. He grappled with the idea of telling Dumbledore of his suspicions. Or was all this just the paranoia of a man who saw old enemies wherever he went? Severus had been caught in a whirling cycle of suspicion, fear and dread at what he may or may not be about to overturn… when Circe had knocked on his door.

Now, all thoughts of Quirrell seemed like a very distant memory. He munched numbly on his Christmas pudding, barely registering the taste of anything. The lump in his throat was still there. So was that knaw in his stomach.

Is it possible, Severus, that just a small, tiny, minuscule amount… you might fancy her a little bit?

That thought terrified him just as much as anything he'd upturned about Quirrell. He stopped chewing, the food turning to ash in his mouth. He'd never once in his life thought about another woman like that, apart from of course...

Lily.

His hands began to shake. Was it a betrayal for him to be feeling like this? To even entertain these thoughts? Lily had, after all, been dead for over ten years now. But the sharp stab of pain in his chest reminded him of the candle he still carried for her. Yet the weight of that candle's burden had, he admitted, felt much lighter since Circe had been here…

When a bear wakes from hibernation, he thought, I wonder if it aches and strains when it first begins to move again?

Was he finally awakening from decades of reclusivity and loneliness? Flexing his muscles after years of disuse? If this is what the land of the living felt like, it bloody hurt. He wished he could go back into metaphorical sleep and shield himself from pain with emotional distance again, but somehow he doubted that that was possible now. He'd eaten the alluring fruits of the underworld. He just hadn't expected it to have come in the form of a chocolate log cake…

Quite the existential crisis to be having over a small crush, you creepy old man… he sighed to himself and pulled himself off the floor.

He resolved to push past it. Forget about it or just…Deal with it. British stiff upper lip. The familiar yet base survival instinct of his simple will to just "soldier on" eventually replaced the wriggle in his stomach. It was his normal. And he calmed slightly.

He placed the now empty plate on his bedside table and collapsed with abandon on top of the duvet. Staring up at the canopy of his bed, his mind was a mess of turbaned-heads, long-gone red hair, old black and white films and Step into Christmas. His sugary gorge was not sitting well in his upset and previously-empty stomach and nausea was creeping up on him. If he went to sleep now, he knew his dreams would torment him with memories he'd rather forget. He dozed for a short while, waiting for the sickly feeling to pass and found momentary respite in his half-sleep.

When he arose, it was the early evening. His room felt stuffy and oppressive and he grimaced as his bleary eyes fell upon the mountain of documents at his desk. He needed to clear his head. Get out of here for a short while. He threw on an outside cloak and a black scarf, longing for the taste of the outside air.

And it was then, in a foul mood, sleep-deprived and confused, that he ran into Quirrell on the first floor.

"S-severus, how wonderful to sssee you here."

Espionage had done nothing for him of recent, so he tried intimidation. He scowled, bearing his teeth like an animal and rounded on Quirrell, pinning him to the wall. The young man screeched, his eyes wide with fright.

"Ssseverus!" he stuttered.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here? You weren't meant to be on site until the New Year…"

"I - I came back ttttto prepare for the new term…"

"What, on Christmas Day? You liar." he hissed, pressing his elbow deeper into Quirrell's neck. "You do not want me as your enemy, Quirrell."

"I-I don't know what you-"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Severus spat, calling his bluff.

When no reply came from Quirrell, Severus knew his intimidation hadn't broken him. In his half-crazed head, he thought he sensed the presence of someone else nearby. He looked around briefly at the empty space around them and rubbed his eyes.

Your paranoia again, old man.

"Very well. We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."

Quirrell dropped from his iron grasp and scurried off like a mouse that had just been released from the talons of an owl.

Severus let out a long sigh of frustration as he watched Quirrell slip away into the darkness. He tried to regain his composure and stood quit still in the now empty corridor for a few moments. The thumping of his heart subsided and he pressed on to the blissful call of outside. His thoughts were still lost in 'if's and 'how's when he passed Circe and Mcgonanall's rooms. Mcgonagall's door remained astutely closed… Circe's swung open on its hinges. The blood began thrumming around his veins as alarm set in once more. He hesitantly stepped forward and pushed it open, the sound of the creaky hinges like a great croaking yawn.

The room was a ramshackled mess. Everything up in arms, on the floor and in complete tatters. Without hesitation, Severus was inside, desperately searching for his colleague. Smashed glass crunched under his feet as his panicked breathing quickened.

"Circe… Circe!" he called out with a deepening alarm.

When no answer came, he pushed on to the conservatory. There were no signs of destruction as there were in the bedroom, but still he did not see her. A quick check into the empty bathroom assured him that he was not about to discover an attack or, God forbid, a murder. Still, his adrenaline was up and he tore out of the room in pursuit of the culprit.

He tore through the castle in righteous fury. His blood was boiling. The cool night air that he had previously been longing for went unnoticed to him as he searched the grounds. In the still of the night he heard voices floating on the air in song. A mixture of both male and female, singing a rather rowdy version of Silent Night. Severus ran to the voices, his hand on his concealed wand, and as he rounded the corner he almost collided with Minerva, Hagrid and Circe. Their faces were red from the cold and, as Severus could smell, a few extra Christmas drinks from down at the Three Broomsticks. A wave of relief washed over him at seeing Circe's face, unharmed and… merry . Circe's eyes brightened as she recognised who had intercepted their path.

"Severus!" she said with a bright smile. "The Grinch has come down from Mount Crumpit!"

"Whatever are you talking about?" Minerva asked with prudently pursed lips. Yet her precarious clinging hold onto Circe's arm said otherwise.

"Nevermind…" Circe said with a snort. Her face fell when she saw the look of solemnity and alarm on Severus's face. "What's wrong?"

"You better come with me…"

She stood in the remains of her room, completely aghast and considerably more sober. Everything she owned was destroyed. Every last piece of clothing torn into rags, each item smashed or damaged, every private cupboard or draw rifled through mercilessly.

"Who would do this?" She asked, trying to hold back tears.

Minerva was at her side, an arm around her shoulders.

"I expect someone who was looking for clues or information on your contribution to the Stone's protection." Severus replied solemnly.

"Did you have any records or notes?" Minerva asked.

"No, of course not. There was nothing for them to find…"

"Which is why I expect their search turned… violent." Severus said slowly. "They became frustrated with the lack of finds."

"Goodness… how lucky it was that you weren't here."

Circe sniffed and tears crept down her face.

"Oh there there, my girl." Minerva comforted her. "The only thing in this room that cannot be replaced is you."

"I have nothing now… except what I'm standing in." She cried.

"We shall figure something out. I promise." Minerva cooed, rubbing her shoulder.

Minerva settled Circe down into the chair of the conservatory and rushed off to make her a sugary cup of tea. Severus was left alone with her as she continued to sniffle quietly to herself. Severus stood awkwardly at her back, not quite sure what to say or how to comfort her. Her hand suddenly flew to her coat lapel.

"Minerva's brooch!" She cried out. "Oh god, I left it on my vanity table. I bet the bastard smashed it to pieces."

Severus turned on his heels and walked back into her room. He hopped over the various bits of debris until he got to the smashed remains of the vanity. He crouched down to the floor, sifting through broken glass and her smashed makeup collection. He overturned one particularly large shard and there it was, partially squashed but still mostly intact. He ran back to the conservatory and tapped her gently on the shoulder.

"Here…"

She turned to him and her face brightened in an instant. "Oh Severus!"

"I'm afraid he may have stood on it but it's mostly fine."

She laughed joyously, "Oh I don't care. It's still here." She said through happy tears.

She sprang out of her seat and propped herself up against the back of the armchair until she was almost at the same level height as Severus.

"Thank you."

And in that moment Severus was utterly stupefied when she leaned forward and kissed him graciously on the cheek.

Severus blushed as deep red as a holly berry. He recoiled from her as if she were a snake and went charging from the room. Poor Minerva almost had the tea knocked from her hands as he barrelled past her in blind panic.

"Goodness, Severus!" She chided, hearing the sound of Circe laughing in the conservatory. "Circe, is something the matter?".

Mcgonagall stepped into the glass house and saw Circe clutching the brooch in her hands as if it were the delicate egg of a baby bird.

"Why did he say " he stood on it"...?"