Chapter 34: "I gotta slow it right down. The day's moving just too fast for me."

The days were moving a little too fast for Circe. She was having another bad spell of "skittishness", ever since she'd received a letter from Tonks informing her that Remus had come by Grimmauld Place to retrieve his mail. She must have been staking the place out for quite some time as Circe couldn't really imagine that many people wrote to Remus aside from herself, and therefore he probably didn't have much need for collecting his letters too often. Nevertheless, Tonks had told her that she'd managed to corner Remus as he was leaving and managed to get out of him that he was currently living from hired bed to hired bed. No word over why the living arrangements between him and Black hadn't worked out. Or where he'd been staying over the summer.

The last letter from Tonks had come about a week ago, maybe… Circe was finding keeping track of time a little difficult. Once, she'd been walking past the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and had heard a group of students playing muggle music, and for a brief moment she thought it was last year. She'd only realised just how out of sorts her head was when she'd entered the classroom to see Mad-Eye Moody himself looking down solemnly over the gathered MMAP members as Cedric, yet again, fought off the other boys in the group from turning off 'Definitely Maybe'. That had shaken her. But she'd managed to compose herself quickly enough before the gathered MMAP members had come bounding over to her with a wide smile.

"Professor Smith! Are you here to tell Diggory to let someone else have a turn with their CD's? I think we've heard this one a thousand times now." Seamus Finnigan complained.

"I'll play it 'till you like it, Fourth Years!" Cedric shouted to him.

"I like it, Cedric." chimed in Cho Chang, Circe's star Seeker.

The other girls in the group gave her little jealous stares.

"Kids… what are you still doing here? The Dementors left Hogwarts a long time ago…" she asked as the past fell back into place in her mind.

"Yeah well... We all enjoyed getting together and doing this so much that we decided to just, y'know, carry on." Finnegan said with a smile.

"And Mad-Eye-" Ron chipped in, but was stopped suddenly as Hermione poked him sharply in the ribs. "Sorry, Professor Moody said it was alright for us to still use his classroom. But I don't think he likes listening as much as Professor Lupin did".

Circe looked up to Mad-Eye, poised at the top of the office stairs, looking down on the gathering like a grotesque looming gargoyle. His fake eye spun in his head and the sudden, jolty movements of it made Circe feel a little nauseous. He nodded politely to her and she nodded her thanks back. Circe felt like that eye was looking into her very head. She turned around swiftly and strode from the room in a strangely upset mood, just as a group of Durmsrtrang boys were curiously hovering by the door of the classroom, inspecting the source of the music.

Teaching with the other students of Durmstrang and Beauxbattons around was making her busier than ever. Rather surprisingly, the foreign students were much more interested in her subject than the run of the mill Hogwarts student was, and Circe was quite pleasantly surprised to learn that runic was actually on the national curriculum for both the French and Bulgarian students. They were practically fluent and Circe found herself presenting them with much more challenging material than she would have done for her Hogwarts students. The Delacour girl in particular was a capable learner and had talked in detail to Circe of the letters she often received from her grandmother that were almost entirely written in runic. When Circe had asked why, Fleur had informed her of her Veela ancestry.

Ahh, that's why all the boys have been practically drooling over you then.

Circe looked at her hand, and noticed a black message scrawled on her left thumb:

"Choosing ceremony, TONIGHT".

Circe began to feel a little hysterical again. After her moment earlier with the MMAP, this was now too much; She thought that the Goblet of Fire choosing ceremony wasn't happening for a few more days. She ran from the castle, desperate for a quiet place away from the crowded corridors and chattering students where she could get her thoughts into order. Luckily it was a rather overcast day, so many of the students were busy inside. Circe ran down to the lake and threw herself under the old oak tree her and Severus had once laid under together in the golden days of summer. She took a few deep and calming breaths, trying to stop her hands from shaking as she threw off her coat to inspect her arms for any more forgotten messages. She scrunched up her sleeves and searched for any more black pen scratches, but there were no more. She sighed in relief.

What the bloody hell is wrong with me? I thought this would all go away when I got back here.

But it hadn't. It had been slowly getting worse. She tried to fob off the problem, as when the "skittish" period passed, she was as right as rain. And then she could be perfectly normal for weeks. But when something triggered her, and she began to forget again, it seemed to be going on for longer and she was forgetting increasingly more and more important things. Circe drew her legs up to her chest and buried her head in her knees.

She was drawn out of her self-pitying when Karkaroff's voice called to her from over the lake. She looked out across the water and saw the Headmaster waving to her, striding back into the castle grounds with a few of his Durmstrang boys. The Bulgarians liked to take long hikes through the hills and Igor had asked Circe's opinion on the best trails to follow, as she was also given to enjoying the outdoors. Circe suspected it was just an excuse to keep close to her and keep the familiarity he had established with her on the go. He'd made no secret of the fact that he planned to enter Krum into the tournament as the horse he'd personally chosen to back, and Circe supposed that Karkaroff was looking for allies in the castle who could be of use to him later. The Beauxbattons Headmistress, on the other hand, Circe had made pains to avoid out of sheer embarrassment. Madame Maxime was doing her best to torture her with hot chocolate and croissants left each morning in the staff room for all of the Professors to help themselves to. By the time the giant woman left the confines of the staff room, and Circe snuck in, they were mostly cold and uncrispy. Circe had been trying to summon up the courage to confront the woman who had, at one time, sent her packed off home after her indiscretion, but that had not quite happened yet. She was still a little bit scared of the woman, remembering all too well how the Headmistress had packed her belongings with a cold flick of her wrist and Odette too had received similarly icy treatment. Circe had hidden the letter from her Dad as soon as she'd made her way home, and it had still been lying on the kitchen table, embossed with the delicate blue crest of Beauxbattons, unopened. She'd later told him that she'd come home because she felt homesick, and Matthew hadn't questioned the matter further.

God, I wonder how Odette is? Circe mused. All the letters she had sent her French sweetheart back in the day had gone unanswered. Perhaps I will ask Maxime what happened to her.

Severus had been very much MIA since the night of the feast. Circe had enjoyed watching his eyes pop as she strode in dressed like a Durmstrang boy. She'd been rather proud of her entry that night and had borrowed one of Karkaroff's coats and Krum had lent her his hat for the evening. Krum was a nice boy, if a little dim witted. But she'd grown quite a soft spot for many of the Durmstrang boys as they'd passed the voyage singing Bulgarian folk songs and teaching them how to play bridge in the boughs of The Brizo. And when Severus had looked ever so covetously at her as she'd taken her seat on the night of their arrival, she felt like she could have taken on the world. But since then, he had been nowhere near her. Circe didn't even know what she'd say to him if he did saddle up beside her. She was just emotionally exhausted by him. Yes, no, stay away, come here. How long could this ever changing dance go on between them? It was painfully ironic that through all of her forgetfulness, she could still remember everything he'd said to her that night at the Final with excruciating detail. Even though she was still irate at him, her heart still hoped against all the odds.

He didn't actually say that he had no feelings for me… Still, she would almost certainly see him tonight at the selection...

------

Dumbledore called a conference of all of the Hogwarts teachers immediately after the selections that the Goblet of Fire had chosen. Circe walked alongside Mcgonagall, Severus, Flitwick, and Moody, a small elite selection of staff, to the Headmaster's office. No one said a word, all to dumbstruck for conversation. Circe let her mind wander as she listened to the uneven clicking of Moody's stick on the stones.

Delacour, a bit of a surprise but the choice makes sense. She's a smart cookie.

Krum, less of a surprise. Looks like Karkaroff backed the right horse after all.

Diggory. Our Cedric, bright and beguiling. He'd be the one I'd put money on.

But as Circe approached the griffin statue that guarded the Headmaster's office, she found herself staring at Severus, and he at her. She could tell they were thinking the same thing:

Harry. How the bloody hell did that happen?

When the staff entered the Headmaster's office, the room was bathed in a shimmering blue light. Circe was the first to enter and she saw Dumbledore hunched over something that looked like a christening font that one might find in a church. He seemed to be entranced by the waters held within the font and as he placed his wand at his temple, drawing out a silvery strand from his head, Circe knew what it was.

"You have a Pensieve?" Circe asked, rousing Dumbledore from his attentive gazing into the waters under his hands.

She strode forwards to inspect it, gasping in delight as she spied a selection of Saxon runes carved into the stone. If she was right, this item pre-dated the school itself. She'd read of the legend of the four Hogwarts founders finding a magical artefact buried at the site of what would become the school, always assuming that it was just that: a rumour. She looked to the glass cabinet at the Pensieve's side as the other staff filtered into the room. It was full of tiny, delicate glass bottles, all labelled with hand-written notes in a variety of different hands.

The memories of every single Hogwarts Headmaster since its founding….

"Thank you for coming." Dumbledore started, ignoring her apparent interest in the Pensieve. "I have called you all here to confer following the revelations of the night."

"With no outsider influence, I see." Said Seveus, referring to the lack of the Bulgarian and French teachers.

Circe had noted that too. This meeting had almost been called in secret, after the initial outrage over Potter's choosing had been aired. Snape did not hide the suspicious way he eyed up Circe.

"What are you looking at?" Circe asked antagonistically, but she didn't need him to clarify.

He was obviously referring to her apparent close fraternisation with the Bulgarians. Moody let out a singular laugh as he looked from Snape to her.

"Oh stop it, you two." Minerva said with a tut. "We have bigger fish to fry tonight."

"It's worrying, Albus." Flitwick said with a grave shake of his head. "Very worrying."

"First the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, and now this." Minerva sighed. Her face looked worn and worried, startlingly drawn in the blue light that permeated the room.

"Strange things are afoot indeed." Dumbledore said as he ran a hand over the glass case of memories. "Things that many of us have seen before…"

"Well surely this can't go on. Headmaster? Albus?" Minerva called out to him with imploring eyes.

"And what do you suggest? You heard Crouch the same as I. Potter must compete."

"You must put a stop to it! Find a way!"

"Surely there must be something the Ministry can do. Try and lift the binding curse..." Circe asked, stepping to her friend's side as she sensed her deep unease. "On the grounds of Potter's age alone. He's a minor, people die in this tournament!"

"Did Karkaroff ask you to pursue that idea?" Snape asked her coldly. "Make sure one of Krum's competitors is taken out of the game?"

"Are you fucking serious, Severus?" Circe asked, going toe to toe with him. "And if anyone in this room was going to be particularly pally with Karkaroff, I'd have thought it would've been you!"

Severus felt the colour drain from his face.

"Ha!" Moody boomed.

"Circe, language!" Minerva chastised.

"Severus, do you really suspect that Professor Smith is anything but completely loyal to her home here at Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked Snape pointedly.

Severus fell quiet as he cast a quick glance to Circe. She met his gaze as she silently seethed at him. He could see he'd spoken out of turn and he looked to his feet.

"No, Headmaster." he said bashfully. "But I do disagree with Professor Smith's and Professor Mcgonagall's sentiments."

"What do you mean?" Minerva asked.

Circe looked at Snape intently, trying to suss out what he was up to. She bit her tongue for the time being, just in case she swore again and had to be told off by Minerva once more.

"These events cannot merely be coincidences. If we are truly to get to the bottom of what is going on, it might be prudent to simply… let things unfold."

"What?" Minerva asked Snape incredulously.

"Do nothing?!" Circe blurted out, unable to stay silent.

"You would offer Potter up as bait to lure whoever is behind this?!" Mcgonagall cried.

Circe stepped towards Snape, once again going toe to toe with him. Snape steeled himself and straightened his back, trying to do his best to block her wonderful scent from his nose and ignore just how close she was. As their argument raged, the rest of the world seemed to fall away around them, until it was just the two of them, in their own private gladiatorial arena.

"Potter is a young man, not a worm on the end of a fishing hook."

"The Goblet clearly thought that he was worthy enough to compete." he responded coldly.

"Oh so the magic cup said it was alright to leave an underage boy in harm's way…"

"That magic cup knows infinitely more than you, Professor."

"So you just don't care about his safety then?"

"The safety of all of my students is of the utmost importance to me."

"So you're just willing to look the other way for the son of James and-"

"Don't you dare say her name!" Severus roared.

"I will say whatever name I please!" she roared back. "Especially as Lily Potter would have wanted to know that her son is in danger."

Silence fell. Circe could see the unfathomable anger and pain in Snape's eyes.

"I agree… with Severus." the Headmaster said finally.

Circe blanched as she was wrenched back into the real world, back to the sudden realisation that there were others in the room, watching her and Snape duke it out.

"You… you what?" Circe asked, losing a large portion of respect for Dumbledore in that moment.

"Alistair, will you keep an eye on the boy?" Albus asked, again ignoring Circe's protestations.

"I can." Moody replied succinctly.

"We must all do our best to tend to our students in whatever ways we can. Dark and mysterious times lie ahead, and it is important that we are all united behind our common aim."

"And what common aim is that, Professor?" Circe asked bitterly.

"To find out who is truly behind these odd occurrences. Harry must be anxious as it is, I do not wish to put undue worry onto him."

Minerva waved her arms exasperatedly and turned to go. Flitwick and Moody followed her soon after but Snape lingered on a moment, staring daggers into Circe's back.

"Thank you, Severus. Me and Professor Smith need to have a small chat before the end of the night."

Severus shifted on his feet and bristled. He didn't like being dismissed like a lap dog, especially by Albus. But he eventually turned on his heels and skulked off, back to his dungeons. The Headmaster stepped in front of Circe, looking at her with an odd face as he broke her longing look, watching Severus dragging his heels as he left.

"I'm not going to apologise, Headmaster. I think you're wrong. And if that means that I have to give in my resignation-"

"There are things at play here that you do not understand, Professor." Dumbledore interrupted her.

"Oh, even more secrets? Even more decisions being made on my behalf?!" she said shortly.

"Severus wants only to protect you, Circe."

That made her stop, looking at her feet as she blushed. "I, uh… didn't realise we were talking about Snape, Headmaster."

"He hasn't shown you his patronus, has he." Dumbledore smiled coyly.

"I'm sorry? What does that have anything to-"

"Oh he was in a right little tizz when he came to see me about that last year. I won't spoil that surprise then." the old man muttered.

Circe scoffed, bemused by the strange direction the conversation had turned.

"Last year when… when the Basilisk was attacking students?"

Dumbledore went quiet. "No, my dear. Last year when Lupin was with us. Just before your disappearance."

"Lupin…" Circe said dreamily, her eyes clouding over as images of claws and bared teeth flashed her mind, and she was unable to place them.

"My dear, are you feeling quite alright?"

"I don't know. I don't know…" Circe began to tear up. "Ever since the end of last year, I've found it hard to... hang onto memories. Severus says I've said things that-that I don't remember saying and he's promised me things that I don't remember him promising…" she trailed off as a tear escaped her eye.

She wiped it away hastily whilst the Headmaster eyed her up cautiously.

"The night of Black's arrival particularly?"

Circe nodded.

"Why don't you give them to me? Your memories. And then perhaps you can use the Pensieve to-"

"No! I… I get worse when I think about that night."

Dumbledore approached her carefully, picking out an empty vial from the cabinet as he did so. "I could take a gander. See if anything amiss is blocking your retaining abilities."

He held out the vial to her and Circe picked it up. Did she trust Dumbledore? If he had her memory of that night he'd be able to see that she had stolen the timeturner from Hermione and her story to Fudge was a complete fabrication. She pushed it into her pocket and smiled politely.

"I'll think about it."

------

Minerva had told her to stay in bed and rest up that weekend. Probably because Mcgonagall had been forced to wake Circe up three times in the past week. Circe had been snoozing quite merrily in bed every time Mcgonagall had knocked on her door, thinking she had nothing to be getting up for. And when she startled awake, she'd spent a few frightened minutes in front of the bathroom mirror, staring back at herself and wondering where her mind was going. Minerva, of course, just presumed she was tired and had told her to rest up now the blessed weekend had arrived. But Circe wasn't tired, she was scared. And if she did as Minerva asked, she'd be spending the whole day lying under her duvet, trying to fight off a panic attack. The Bulgarians and the French were off to Edinburgh, and Circe fancied visiting her old home to show around the foreigners.

"Why don't you let Filius or Hagrid accompany them?" Minerva said to her as she sipped on her coffee, watching Circe apply her mascara in their little conservatory.

"Are you kidding? Those two out in the muggle world will look like Ant and Dec in a circus mirror…"

Minerva chuckled. Circe was just positioning her amber brooch on her tartan coat, ready to head off.

"And besides-" Circe continued. "My job before I came here was giving tours of Edinburgh. When the University wasn't paying me enough, that is. It'll be just like the old days!"

"Are you sure you're quite up for it though, my dear?" Mcgonagall asked delicately. "Yesterday, at dinner, you were a little out of sorts. I think you were so tired, you thought it was breakfast. You kept asking Pomona where the orange juice was."

"Oh it was just a… silly joke that me and umm Hagrid had going on."

"But Hagrid wasn't at dinner… he was out tending to the dragons."

"Oh was he not?" Circe said nervously. "Well, talk about abandoning me on stage…"

Circe met the foreign Head's and a small selection of their students down in the clock tower courtyard. A few of the French and Bulgarian students were eager to see a bit of Britain during their time at Hogwarts and, based on what Circe had been told by Igor, this was the first of many residential trips planned. Circe stopped dead when Maxime turned around and fixed her with a pursed-lipped smirk, but luckily Igor drew her into a hearty hug, slapping her on the back as he talked excitedly of their imminent excursion. All of the kids had an overnight bag, the Professors too, and Circe gathered their attentions and ushered them out of the castle grounds and down into the village. She instructed the children one by one how to say "Deacon Brodie's Pub, Edinburgh" properly, before she gave them a handful of floo powder. They disappeared off into Rosmurta's fireplace, engulfed in green flames, until Circe and Maxime were the only ones left. She extended the pouch of powder out to her with a slightly unsteady hand. Maxime took a handful and asked again,

"Ed-in-burr-uhh, oui?"

"That's it."

"Mon dieu, I do not know why the British insist on spelling things different to how it is pronounced."

"Just wait till you hear about, Worcester…" Circe muttered.

Maxime went whooshing off into the floo network and Circe soon followed. She stepped out of the fireplace in the basement of Deacon Brodie's as she did a quick headcount, smiling as she realised all of them had arrived safely.

"Well done, all!" Circe congratulated the foreign students. "Shall we drop off bags first?"

The owner of Deacon Brodie's was a witch whom Circe had known for a number of years. Her and Myron had played here a few times, back in the days when it was just he and her and their two acoustic guitars. She gave the middle-aged, red haired woman a polite nod as the overseas students climbed the stairs from the basement.

"Cheers, Morag." Circe said as the owner pulled a pint for an unsuspecting muggle man at the bar.

"Come back later fer a pint when yaeve put the waens t'bed, aye?"

"Sure."

"What did she say?" Maxime asked, as they stood in the street of the Royal Mile. "I could not understand a word!"

"Oh, so much for the 'Auld Alliance' then, eh?" Circe laughed. Maxime remained stone-faced. "She said we're welcome to come back when the waens, the wee-ones, are in bed."

The group walked along towards the University, stopping every so often for Circe to point out a particular spot or attraction. The University often let out rooms in the student halls to people who were willing enough to pay the meagre price to use the vacant rooms for a stay. Circe knew them well enough, down by the Pleasance Courtyard. Simple and a little spartan, but efficient enough. And when enquiries had been made, they'd managed to clinch a flat for the Durmstrang boys and a flat on the floor above for the Beauxbattons ladies. After a few minutes of allowing the children to drop their bags off and freshen up in the communal bathrooms, Circe walked out of the Halls to get herself a quick coffee from the small cafe across the road.

Circe missed her life in the city. She missed the blackened sandstone towers and the bustle of people. She even missed her tiny little flat from time to time. It all seemed like it had happened in another lifetime, when she'd lived and worked here. She was just tucking into her cappuccino, sitting on a bench in a small little park overlooking the Pleasance Theatre, when she heard a voice whisper a "Psst!" to her. She turned around suddenly to see Remus loitering in the shadows of a linden tree.

"You made it! God, I didn't remember if I'd actually got around to sending my letter." She stood up and strode over to Remus, embracing him as they smiled.

"Yes, well… you did threaten to send my gramophone to Grimmauld Place piece by piece if I didn't come to meet you…"

"And where the bloody hell have you been if not at Grimmauld Place?" Circe asked, fixing Lupin with a reproachful look.

"Tonks told you then, did she?" he said sheepishly.

"Well, Sirius certainly bloody didn't!" Circe replied sharply.

Lupin flinched and Circe looked him over. He was still wearing pretty much the same clothes he'd worn when he'd left Hogwarts. He looked thin and drawn. Deep circles sat under his eyes.

"I asked him not to, Circe." Remus said with a long sigh.

"Have you been living rough again?" Circe asked, her brow furrowing with worry.

Remus looked to the floor, kicking at the fallen white flowers from the linden tree.

"Hostels and shelters. Got to move on after every month or so, of course…"

"Oh, Remus! What happened? With you and Sirius? Did…. did it not work out?"

"Something like that…" he offered vaguely. "You mentioned in your letter that it's Tri-Wizard year."

"Gosh we have a lot to catch up on." Circe muttered.

She heard a flurry of high-pitched, delicate French voices and turned around to see the Beauxbattons girls already congregating out the front of the Halls, ready to start exploring Edinburgh. Circe pulled Remus behind the linden tree in a hurry, eager to keep him out of sight.

"Look, I suspected something must have happened with Sirius and you, after Tonks let it drop that you were only swinging by to pick up your letters every now and again. The situation probably wasn't made better by Tonks's presence, knocking on your door constantly… Am I right?" Circe asked.

"I think the only person more jealous than Sirius is Severus." Lupin spoke quietly. "But we aren't the same people that we were twelve years ago, and Sirius just wanted to carry on as if nothing had-"

"Professor Smith?" Fleur called from over the road. "Most of us are 'ere and ready for our tour!"

"Gah! Here, you have this." Circe said, handing her coffee cup to Remus. "And take my room key too. You look like you could use a good nap."

"Circe, honestly I'm okay…"

"You're a poor liar, Remus. Look, have a little sleep, order yourself a takeaway…" she continued, slapping a muggle twenty pound note into his hand. "...and I'll be back soon to talk you through my plan."

"Your plan?"

"To help get you sorted and safe, mate."

Remus said nothing, his eyes filling with tears. He looked at the note and the key in his hands and nodded wordlessly.

"Don't… don't tell Sirius… that I've been living rough. I may have told him that I was going to Tonks's… when I was angry."

Circe groaned, but did not press him further. She patted him on the shoulder and walked off to rejoin her tourist group.

"Sorry about that." Circe said nonchalantly to the waiting Durmstrang and Beauxbattons teachers. "Just spotted an old friend from when I used to live here. Shall we…?"

"Un monsieur, non?" Fleur said, eliciting a small giggle from the other French ladies. "Petit-ami, peut-être?"

"Boyfriend?! Ohh, no. I...Uhh…"

"Mademoiselles!" Maxime said sharply, and in a second the Beauxbattons girls fell gravely silent. "Professor, shall we commence your tour?"

"Yeah…" Circe said, swallowing hard. "Follow me everyone."

------

After a long day of touring the Old Town, from the top of Edinburgh castle, all the way to Arthur's seat, Circe was well and truly tired. Her voice was a little hoarse from having to talk over the top of the other muggle tourists at the Edinburgh sights, but that was nothing that a small drink would not fix. She loved talking about this city, and there was always a pub waiting for her with a soothing pint somewhere nearby. As Circe had rounded up her story of Greyfriars Bobby, by the iron gates of Greyfriars graveyard, the students had been allowed a few hours to explore in their groups before their curfew back at the Halls at 9 o'clock. After a few of the children had hung back to ask Circe for some recommendations of places to get a quick bite to eat, Karkaroff and Maxime also were waiting on her local guidance to be taken somewhere for a drink.

"How about back at Deacon Brodie's?" Circe asked.

"Ahh that charming little… 'ow you say? Pub?" Maxime asked.

"Yes."

"Well, you should know, Professor Smith. Beauxbattons ladies drink only the best single malt whiskey."

"Then Olympe..." Circe said, taking her arm. "I think you and your girls will be right at home in Scotland."

The Professors settled into a neat little booth by the window, much to the delight of Morag, who welcomed Circe back, and the foreign Heads to the country, with a round of Glenfiddich. Circe had never been a huge fan of whiskey, but her skint days here as a post-grad had taught her not to be picky when free booze was being offered. After a few rounds and increasingly amiable chat (once the beer began to flow), the three of them ordered haggis, neeps and tatties. When it arrived, Maxime looked at it rather disgustedly, but Igor began wolfing his down in an instant. Circe too, tucked in to her meal and the French Headmistress reluctantly followed.

"Do I want to ask what 'aggis is?" she asked.

"No. I'll tell you when you've finished it." Circe said and Maxime laughed.

After a few mouthfuls she conceded that it was rather tasty. When the meal was done and Maxme had felt considerably more francophilic after ordering a raspberry creme brulee for dessert, they settled back into more drinks.

"So tell me, Professor. Why are you not married?" Igor asked suddenly.

Circe blushed fiercely.

"That young man who you met with by the Halls, he seemed like a handsome man. And you are a beautiful lady."

Maxime cleared her throat.

"...Amongst other beautiful ladies here." he finished quickly as Maxime tittered.

"He wasn't my ex-boyfriend." Circe said hurriedly. "And also because the last time I was someone's 'type', I was giving blood, Igor…"

Karkaroff laughed again, slapping the tabletop heartily and almost sending Circe's and Maxime's drinks over.

"And why should a woman need to be married, eh?" Olympe chimed in. "Her life does not lack meaning if she is without a man at 'er side. She is a woman after my own 'eart." she finished giving Circe a warm look.

Circe smiled back and nodded.

"Well, from what you told me on our first day at Hogwarts, it sounds like you'd be content with a man or a woman at your side!" Karkaroff taunted.

"Oh God, not this again.." Circe muttered, putting her head in her hands.

"You know, I saw Odette with 'er children only last spring." Maxime said, making Circe's head snap up.

"She… she has children?"

"Two. A set of twin boys. You know she works for the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France?"

"I… no I didn't. I never really heard from her after I was… sent home by you."

"Ahh ma cherie, je suis desole. I could not tell you then, but you know 'er father would have started an awful fuss if he'd have found out about your… daleance. He was not a very liberal-minded man. Odette begged me just to send you 'ome and she promised to do six months worth of detentions if I kept it from 'er father."

Circe had been told about Odette's father, during that time long ago in France. He too worked for the Ministry in France, from an old and long line of pureblood French wizards. Odette was always expected to marry into another pure family and continue the line. Circe didn't give a flying fuck about any of that and this had made her appear very enticing and intriguing to the French girl who'd been raised on strict ideas and boundaries on purity and poise.

"But… but you wrote to my father." Circe asked, frowning slightly.

Why had Maxime just assumed my family would treat me any better?

"Oui. But in my letter I never went into the specifics of your indiscretion. Surely you know this…?"

Circe turned an even deeper red. She'd made sure her Dad had never opened Maxime's letter, out of anxiety over how he would react. If Odette had been afraid of her family finding out too, then surely that could have been the case for her as well.

"I suppose that's why I never heard back from Odette then. She couldn't be seen communicating with me… in case her father put two and two together."

"Oui. But she is 'appy now. And they keep 'er busy down at the Bureau de la Justice Magiquie." Maxime finished this sentence labouring over the last few words, as if outlining to Circe where she might send a letter to if she were to decide to write to Odette now.

Circe gave a small smile back to the Headmistress. "Thank you."

After a while, Circe stood up and excused herself to go to the loos. She washed her hands and took a moment to look herself over in the mirror. Did she want to write to Odette? Wouldn't her husband be a little put-out if she decided to get in contact? Still, it was a welcome, nice distraction to find herself thinking about someone other than Severus. She signed as she remembered what Dumbledore had said to her about his patronus, that little riddle that he'd put tantalisingly out there… She remembered that Snape had been unable, reluctant to show it last year and she'd caught a few scant glances of it when he thought no one was watching. The hurt from remembering Odette was faded and distant, barely even a pain anymore. Almost a kind of aching happiness. The hurt from Severus was still fresh. She ached to tell someone about it, just vent to someone who could listen and understand. And then, coming back to her like she'd been hit with a sledgehammer, she remembered Remus waiting in her Halls room for her.

Circe dried her hands and began thinking of a way to get loose of the foreigh Headmasters and back to Remus as quickly as possible. But she paused for a moment, remembering that even Remus had kept things from her: about him and Black, about his living situation. Everybody she cared about seemed to do that. Even Remus had left her alone after the night of his transformation.

She couldn't stop her mind from wandering, ticking over the horrible events of that last night under the Whomping Willow. It was like when someone tells you not to think of a black cat, and then suddenly that's all you can think about. All at once, her head was flooded with images of stretching limbs and vicious claws. Silvery white moonlight and gnashing jaws. Someone was screaming out her name as she bled into the ground. Things that had never happened. She clutched at her head, in excruciating pain, and stared down into the drainage plug of the white sink in front of her. Feeling like her memories were draining away like the tap water flowing away down the plug.

And then, she forgot.

To Circe, it was now 1991. Before she'd accepted her job at Hogwarts. Before she knew Remus and Minerva and Hagrid and Severus… Before all of that, when she'd still been living in Edinburgh and working for the University part-time. When she looked up at herself in the mirror, she couldn't quite recall why she looked so pale. Perhaps it was a bad bevvy after a gig her and Myron had just finished up here. They'd played together a few times at Deacon Brodies. Quiet little acoustic gigs, just to touch base with one another and keep their friendship ticking over. She adjusted her coat and frowned as her hand passed over an amber brooch on her lapel.

Hmm, when did I get that?

She shrugged her shoulders and strode out of the toilets, hands in her pockets. She looked around for Myron, or anyone she recognised, but she found no one bar the owner Morag, who nodded to her curtly. As she wandered her way out of the pub, off on her way home, she thought she heard a voice with a strange accent calling out something weird. "Professor", was it? But she continued on, not bothering to turn and investigate the shouting. Shouting was something that happened in pubs all the time, and Circe was ready for a pot noodle and bed.

She walked along the dark and rather empty streets of Edinburgh, coated with a fine mist in the dimness of evening. The headlights of the many cars illuminated the mist until it shone so brightly into her eyes she had to close them to stop herself becoming too dazzled with whiteness. But she almost didn't need to see. She knew these streets intimately. She let her feet walk her confidently on until she'd firmly found her way out of the touristy center and was outside of her old block of flats. She fumbled in her pockets for her keys but groaned aloud to the air as she realised she must have left them somewhere.

That'll be a fun little scavenger hunt in the morning. I hope Myron took my guitar as well after the gig…

Her fingers brushed against something long and thin in her inside pocket and she frowned.

My wand? Why did I bring my wand out? I normally just leave it under my bed these days.

Nevertheless, Circe cast a quick look around her and was satisfied that the street was empty enough for her to cast a quick charm.

"Alohomora." she whispered, and the door clicked open.

She slipped inside the building with a smile, thankful she wouldn't have to call the landlord tonight. Circe continued climbing the stairs to her old flat, wondering if her VCR had managed to actually record Top of the Pops for her. She approached her door and cast another unlocking spell.

As she stepped inside, she was immediately brought to a sudden halt.

What the fu- Where is all my stuff?!

None of the furniture in the flat was hers. And the white terrier sitting on the sofa didn't belong to her either. Was this a joke? Had she been evicted? The dog looked at her and began to growl.

"What is it, Duggie?" another voice called out from her kitchen.

The dog began to bark, each sound sending Circe's mind reeling as realisation suddenly began coming back to her.

Wait, this isn't my flat…

I don't live here anymore…

Oh my God, I haven't lived here for over three years!

An old lady emerged into the living room to investigate the noise of the dog and she immediately locked eyes with Circe. She looked back at the old woman with wide eyes and open mouth. Her heart pounded.

"I.. I can-"

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" the old woman screamed, dropping the mug she'd been holding. "JOCKO! JOCKOOO!"

Out of her old bedroom came a rather large looking man with the meatiest hands Circe had ever seen, wearing a stained white vest and blue tracksuit bottoms. Half a cigarette still hung from his mouth as he looked at the little barking terrier and then to Circe.

"I'm… I'm sorry I think there's been a mista-"

"Yer too right there's been a mistake!" the man shouted, lunging towards her.

Circe dodged his grabbing meaty hands and ran to the other side of the sofa.

The old woman screamed on. "GET 'ER, JOCKOO!"

The dog barked incessantly.

"I'll show you that ye picked the wrong flat to burgle, ye dirty little thief!"

Jocko lunged for her again and Circe screamd, knocking over their TV as she went.

She ran for the door and managed to get to freedom just as Jocko was closing in on her again and narrowly missing another porcelain mug being thrown at her head. Circe sprinted for dear life down the stairs and did not look back as she fled headlong into the mist.

Remus was still happily dozing in her bed when he heard Circe fiddling with the lock on the room's door. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, grumbling a little as the light flicked on.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, his leftover Chinese on the small desk in the room. He could smell it. "I think there's still a bit of sweet and sour-"

Circe sobbed, and Remus looked up at her to see her back pressed against the door and her face coated in tears.

"Circe? Circe, what happened?"

"I just broke into someone's flat…"