Chapter 33: Chapter 33: "You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out."
Circe went through the rigmarole of the gig as if she were in a bad dream. She played, letting her fingers take over without much conscious input from her mind, whilst her head went over and over and over what Severus had said to her before he left. The stage lights shone in her eyes, bathing her in colour and heat. The crowd were jumping and screaming and singing along to the music. But she was only present in body. In spirit, she was still screaming out over the tents, begging Severus to come back. She felt sorry for anybody watching her that night; she was as wet as a damp dish cloth. Myron had tried to jimmy some life into her by swinging his arm around her and trying to get her to hop in on the singing every now and again as he was known to do when they performed. But she felt awful. She just wanted to play the gig, cut her losses, and go home. Myron had, of course, given her a bit of a bollocking back in the Green Room, for being about as charismatic as a brick but he'd come to a sudden halt in his diva tantrum when she burst into tears.
"Ah Cee, fuck him… he's not worth it."
"Why does it feel like I've just been broken up with…? By a man I was never… you know...with?!" She asked, laughing disbelievingly.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No, I want to get shit-faced."
"Correct answer."
Myron had ushered Circe into his private tent, leaving the blonde girls he'd picked up feeling a little put out, left behind in the backstage area. Circe had tried to convince him to leave her to her wallowing and go entertain his lady friends, but he'd waved her concerns away, saying, "Misery loves company. And I think the one with the mole on her left cheek had her eye on the bassist from 'Love Potion No. 9'..."
Circe tutted, knowing that Myron was probably making it up to make her feel better. He really was a good friend, dropping everything and anyone else when he knew she was upset. He produced another bottle of whiskey from under his sleeping bag and passed the whole thing to her. She unstoppered it and took a hearty swig.
"I don't feel miserable. I feel…angry." Circe muttered as she sat on his camping bed, tearing chunks out of the grass beneath.
"Give him time, Cee. He's obviously working through some shit." Myron took the whiskey and matched her generous glug.
"I've given him three years, Myron. Three years of pining after him! But it's not even that. It's that he doesn't trust me to be able to look after myself. Treating me like I'm a child who doesn't know any better. Like I can just choose to stop… feeling for him."
Myron sat down next to her and rubbed her shoulders comfortingly.
"Cee, I've never been one for all of this "eggs-in-one-basket" thing. I've always been more a "different-ditty-in-each-different-city" sort of bloke. But this is what you're gonna do: you're gonna get catastrophically trolleyed with me tonight, then you'll write a sad poem in your journal, and then you're gonna forget about him." He gave her a hearty punch on the arm and she reluctantly smiled. "For now, anyway."
"For now?! He was pretty clear that I should stay away from him indefinitely!"
"Nah. Let him come back to you. Cee, I wish I could slip inside your mind and show you…" Myron said with a wistful look in his eye.
"What?" She asked curiously.
"How he looked at you. Earlier, before the match. I don't think I've ever felt that strongly for anyone to look at them like he looked at you. You know, when you were sitting on that green room sofa together. It ain't over with you and him. That I do know."
"And if he doesn't come back?" She asked, her eyes clouding over with tears as she looked to Myron with a hopeless glance.
"Well, then you know what they say, Cee. Don't be angry cause it ended, smile because it happened."
"Nothing bloody happened though. That's the thing…" she grumbled, taking another swig of whiskey.
There was a loud noise outside of the tent and both Circe and Myron flinched.
"Ha, it sounds like the Irish aren't being gracious winners."
Circe frowned deeply as the sound of smashing glass and shouts accompanied the noises beyond the tent's walls.
"God, it sounds like they're about to start a riot…" Circe mused, as she rose to inspect.
"Nothing like a bit of rock 'n' roll to get the blood flowing. Mods vs rockers. Brighton. 1964…" Myron stood up briskly and sent a few punches into the empty air.
"You? In a fight? You're more of ballet than boxing, aren't you?"
"Oh, clearly you don't remember Mykonos, 1988…"
"I remember when you got your arse handed to you, outside that club, by those German backpackers. If that's what you mean."
"They weren't fighting fair, they used biological warfare..."
"They were holding a kebab, Myron!"
As the two of them pulled back the tent's door, they froze, their faces dropped open in horror. There was fire everywhere. People running and screaming, trying desperately to get clear of the blaze that was ripping through the campsite. Circe saw through the flames and the smoke the steady march of a group of entirely black-clad wizards, their faces covered by masks. She gulped. She'd seen masks like that in the papers a long time ago…
Death Eaters.
In the sky above them, Circe saw an elderly man and a woman suspended by what looked like a network of invisible strings. They hung there, in twitching pain, screaming in terror as the Death Eaters kept them suspended above the horror they wrought below.
"Shit, Cee. That's the muggle farmer who owns this joint!" Myron said beside her, pointing into the sky. "And his wife, by the look of it."
"Run to the red tent and tell the others to get out of here." Circe said with a fierce determination.
"Why? Where are you going?"
Circe delved into her coat pocket and drew out her wand.
"I'm gonna show these pricks that I'm more than capable of keeping myself safe, without Severus's help…" she muttered.
Circe ran into the fray, leaving Myron screaming after her.
She moved through the fleeing wizards with a fierce determination. The Death Eaters were veering off in another direction to her, dragging the muggle farmer and his wife with them. Circe was not going to let them out of sight, but it was becoming increasingly hard to keep track of them as person after person ran into her, pushing her from pillar to post.
"Professor!" A familiar voice called out to her.
She wheeled around behind her and saw Hermione, Ron, Ginny and the Twins.
"Kids! Keep going that way." Circe shouted, pointing towards the woods on the edge of the campsite.
"But Professor, it's Harry." Ron said imploringly. "We lost him."
"I'll find him. Just keep going, all of you!"
The Gryffindors did as they were told and went running off to the safety of the forest. Circe turned around again and almost screamed aloud as she failed to find sight of the Death Eaters. She took off in the general directions of the screams of pain, hoping she'd be able to help the poor muggle farmer and his wife. But from over the panicked screams and shouts, she heard someone speaking in a language she didn't recognise. Circe looked around her and saw a pair of young pre-teen boys calling out into the mass of fleeing wizards. They were dressed almost head to toe in burgundy red, their faces smeared in paint. She ran to them, asking if they were alright, but they looked back at her with vacant faces.
"Do you… do you speak English?" She asked.
They shouted back at her in their own language with frightened eyes, and Circe thought it sounded vaguely Slavic.
Look at them Circe, they're Bulgarian.
"You… you need to leave!" She said, pointing towards the trees.
The boy closest to her shook his head violently and started chattering alarmingly fast.
"Brat mi. Tryabva da namerya brat si..!"
"No, you don't understand. There's danger. You need to-"
A red, fizzing curse passed over Circe's head and she crouched low, dragging the two Bulgarian boys down with her. She turned around in time to see a lone Death Eater, a faceless shining mask of chrome and wearing a tall pointed black hat, aiming his wand at her. Circe gasped, grabbing for the Bulgarian boys and shoving them behind her.
"Crucio!" the Death Eater shouted again and Circe was swift enough to block the curse this time.
The Bulgarian boys behind her huddled close to her back and she kept a hand firm on them. She adjusted her stance and took a deep breath, preparing for a duel. The Death Eater flung another curse at her and she blocked it swiftly.
"Expelliarmus!" she returned, but the Death Eater blocked her disarming spell with ease.
She hadn't dueled anyone properly since the demonstration with Severus, and she couldn't afford to be as reckless as she had then. If she fluffed a block or took a risk, the Bulgarian boys at her back might pay the price. For some reason, her mind thought of Severus's signature bluebell flame and how he'd used it against her in their duel. That cold fire that was so unique and so uncommon, that stung with sadness and enveloped you with hurt. If she used it, it might just take the Death Eater by surprise.
"Kampanoulia Flamaria!" she shouted, and Circe felt the spell drawing on her recent unhappiness, ironically stemming from Severus himself.
It liked to feed on her misery, and she let it channel directly into the startling blue flame that spewed forth from her wand. The Death Eater was taken aback, awash in the bluebell fire. But he soon broke the torrent of azure fire with a wave of his wand, and looked to Circe with a menacing growl. She gasped, trying desperately to think how she could get the boys to safety so she could fight in earnest. But then, another spell whizzed over her head again, this time from the opposite direction from where the Death Eater stood. It collided with the Death Eater, and another one came, and another and another, until he was hard pressed to defend himself from the barrage of disarming spells being railed against him.
He eventually gave up, pulling his huge black cloak around him and disappearing with a loud pop. Apparated away.
"Circe!" a femenine voice called out from the direction of where her saviour had come from.
"Tonks?" she called back as the Bulgarian boys began to cry.
Sure enough, from out of the burning tents and smog stepped a shock of pink hair.
"Are you all alright?" she asked, rushing to her friend.
"Yes, I think so. Are the Aurors here already?"
"The First-Responders, yes. More to follow soon."
"Dimo! Aleksi!" another voice called out to them.
The Bulgarian boys looked out towards the voice with a cry.
"Viktor! Tuk sŭm!" they were about to run off again, but Circe grabbed on to their arms swiftly.
"Oh no you don't!" she scolded, fixing them with a stern gaze.
But before they could shout at her in something she didn't understand, from out of the chaos stepped a young man in a Bulgarian Quidditch kit whom Circe recognised instantly as the man of the match: Viktor Krum. She let go of the young boy's arms in shock and they went running to him. The one who had spoken to her was enveloped in a relieved hug by the Seeker. When he let go of the young boy, after he'd stopped crying with relief, he turned to Circe and spoke in broken english:
"You help my brother?"
Circe was a little star struck. The young man was broad shouldered and blessed with straight lines and clean features. His large, dark eyebrows gave the look he fixed Circe with an incredibly arresting affect.
"Your brother…" she breathed.
Soon the Bulgarian Seeker was joined by another older man, who looked equally as dark and europeanly swarthy. He could have been an older incarnation of Viktor as he sported the same clean, straight nose and deeply inspective eyes. But unlike the young man, he possessed an impressively long beard, streaked with a few greys here and there. He spoke to the boy in their language, and he back to him. Krum pointed to Circe and the older man finally looked at her.
"Mister Krum would like to thank you for helping to protect his little brother from harm." the older Bulgarian said in heavily accented english.
"No problem…" she replied weakly. Krum stepped forward and shook her hand strongly. Circe smiled at him and shook back. He did not return her smile. "God, the kids at Hogwarts won't believe this when I tell them I met you…" she laughed awkwardly.
"Hogwarts?" the older man asked.
"I teach there."
"What is your name?" the older man asked with a probing raise of his large, bushy brow.
"Professor Circe Smith."
"Headmaster Igor Karkaroff of the Durmstrang Institute." he too took Circe's hand and shook it with a considerably firm grip. "I believe we are going to be working in collaboration this year, Professor."
"Um… what?"
"Surely Headmaster Dumbledore has told you of the plans for the Tri-Wizard tournament?"
"Oh! God, that's this year, is it?" Circe asked.
She remembered when the Tri-Wizard tournament had come around when she was in school, and she'd been lucky enough to spend part of the year studying in France. Although she'd been forced to go home early after a bit of an incident with a Beauxbattons girl…
Her memories were shunted away to the background of her mind when the sky suddenly illuminated in a sickly tinge of green. Everyone looked up into the darkness, mouths hanging open with surprise. Circe felt sick to her stomach as the Dark Mark lit up the night sky.
"Oh God…"
Karkaroff turned a strange shade of lime as he looked up at the effigy of the skull and the snake. He muttered something in Bulgarian but Circe could tell it was probably some kind curse or expletive. Soon, more Ministry Aurors found them, bringing Arthur Weasley, Barty Crouch and Fudge himself to the scene. Circe sighed with relief when she saw Harry amongst them as well. All of their faces were bathed in the awful viridescent light from the Dark Mark in the sky. Tonks scanned the faces amongst them, looking for someone, and her face fell into a mask of worry as she failed to find who she sought.
"Oh, Harry. Thank goodness. Ron and Hermione were looking for you. Are you alright?" Circe asked.
"Please do not talk to the suspect. He is under suspicion…" Crouch said to Circe with a chastising wave of his finger.
"Suspicion? Suspicion of what?"
"He was found at the scene of the crime." Crouch's eyes darted up into the sky and then back to a flabbergasted Harry.
"Wha… you don't think….?"
"It wasn't me, there was a man!" Harry said suddenly.
"A man?" Arthur asked, laying a comforting hand on the boy. "What did he look like, Harry?"
"I dunno... It was hard to see. Thin, pale, lots of hair on his head… uhh blonde."
Crouch stiffened slightly at Harry's description, and with a dismissive and authoritarian wave, he instructed Arthur to take him and rejoin his own children in the forest. The other Ministry Aurors continued their searching and Circe was left again with Tonks and the Bulgarians. As Igor and Krum talked in hushed whispers with one another, Circe saddled up to her friend's side and tugged on her sleeve.
"Karkaroff.. why do I know that name, Tonks?" she whispered to her, all the whilst eyeing up the Durmstrang Headmaster as she puzzled away.
"Well if he hadn't been standing right next to me, I might have suspected he was the one who cast the Dark Mark."
"What do you mean?"
"He's an ex-Death Eater, Cee. The Wizengamot only let him out of Azkaban cause he agreed to give up a few names."
"Shit… he was the one who implemented-"
"Your mate." Tonks interrupted with a cheeky wink of her eye.
"Severus is not my mate." Circe responded sourly.
"Oi, oi. Trouble in paradise?" Tonks asked teasingly. "Here's me thinking you weren't returning my calls coz you were busy with him."
"Fuck!" Circe exclaimed, raising her hand to her face. ""Tonks call back"! That's what it said!"
Tonks looked at her friend with a concerned face. "Bloody hell, Myron said you were a bit forgetful these days."
"I'm sorry, mate. It's uh… it's been a bit of a strange summer."
"Well, we all have our moments, Cee. I just wanted to give you a heads up who Dumbledore's got to teach DADA this year."
"Who?"
"Moody."
"Moody, your mentor? Mad-Eye himself?"
"The very same. I thought I'd see him here actually… I've gotta say, I was just as surprised as you when I heard. I mean who'd wanna give up hexing bad bastards to teach a bunch of snot-nosed kids? No offense, Cee…"
"None taken. With the way things have been going at Hogwarts recently, it might actually be beneficial to have a properly trained Auror about."
Circe dragged her heels and walked along with Tonks for a while. She guessed she needed to find Myron and let him know she was okay. Her decision to run out after the Death Eaters had been a bit reckless, and no doubt he'd have something to say as some kind of armchair psychologist, telling her she didn't need to "prove" anything because of what Severus said.
Let's hope he managed to get the instruments out of the red tent before it caught fire. Circe thought, imagining her rather flamboyant front man carrying both her and his guitar under his arms. Perhaps those blonde haired girls came in handy after all.
She could still taste whiskey on her breath and she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be feeling miserable. Circe hoped that the pub on the moors was still open.
"Hows … how's Remus?" Tonks asked suddenly, startling Circe out of her longing to drink her sorrows away.
"Well you tell me. You're closer to Grimmauld Place than I am."
Circe had received a number of letters from Remus, with his return address being listed as the Black family home in London. She smiled, thinking of Black and Lupin together in that house, rekindling their old, long-buried feelings.
"Remus never went to Grimmauld Place, Cee." Tonks said gravely.
"What? He's been living with Sirius since the… since the…" her head went fuzzy as she struggled to utter the words since the night he transformed in front of us. "Black told me he was looking after him."
"Well, I don't know what happened, but that's not the case. I've gone by to call a few times and their horrible House Elf has slammed the door on me every time."
"He's not there?" Circe asked as cold worry began to pool in her stomach. "Then where is he?"
------
As a show of their thanks, the Bulgaians had offered Circe passage on their ship for the journey to Hogwarts. The Durmstrang boys were, in fact, all present at the Quidditch World Cup and had gone there to support Krum in his final match before journeying up to Scotland. Circe's rather generous present from Sirius still sat in her Dad's garage, and as she'd suspected, the price to insure the thing was more than she could afford. She'd told Remus in one of her letters to inform Black that she needed to return his gift to him, but Circe guessed from Tonks's revelations that the message had never been passed on. Karkaroff had shaken Circe's hand firmly again, with promises to meet her at the coast closest to her in two days time. Circe made sure she wrote the reminder on her hand in huge black marker pen, just to make sure she remembered.
Her Dad had driven her to Weston-Super-Mare, all of her things for the year piled into the back of his car. She'd asked him to look after her new Jaguar whilst she was away, and being a bit of a car-enthusiast he had agreed with not much grumbling. Matthew Smith was a worryer. He cast a quick look at his daughter as they beetled down the M5 whilst listening to the radio together. Circe had said something about hitching a lift with someone to get back to work, and Circe's work could only mean something… magical. Even after all these years, any mention of magic sent him into a bit of a light sweat. He liked his life orderly: from the simple yet effective outdoorsy clothes he was in the habit of buying, to the same short back and sides haircut he'd had since Circe was a young girl. He was a man of routine. Matthew enjoyed cars and quietly going into an empty room and reading about World War Two, not whizzing around all over the country off to watch "Quid-ball" or whatever his daughter did... He'd never once shouted in the whole of Circe's memory, but he certainly made his feelings known when there was something to have good old-manned whinge about. He shifted in the driver's seat and undid his North Face jacket a tad, just to let in a bit of air. Magic meant chaos and inexplicable things that he couldn't explain with logic and reason. Magic also meant he'd be reminded of Phoebe again. But still, he was willing to try and swallow down his uncomfortableness around magic if it meant spending a few hours more with his daughter before she went back to Scotland.
"You sure these Bulgarians are savory fellows?" Matthew asked his daughter over the sound of Tony Blackburn.
"Yes, Dad." she answered a little brusquely. "You remember when I went to France for a bit in my final year?"
"I do."
"Well, this is the other school that was at that tournament. The Durmstrang Institute."
"Oh I see…". He muttered, even though he didn't. "I could have bought you a train ticket, if you'd said-"
"It's not that, Dad. Muggle trains don't go all the way to Hogsmeade anyway…"
Muggle… Matthew thought. Phoebe used to say that word.
"Well… Jane's talking about a holiday up in Inverness at some point this side of Christmas. Send the boys off to their Dad's for a bit so we can get away. If you've got a bit of time, you could come and meet us. Show us around the Highlands."
"Yeah, I'd like that." Circe said with a smile.
Matthew smiled back.
"Not far now. Where am I going from here Circe?"
"Sand Bay." She responded, reopening the OS map her Dad always kept folded pristinely in his glove box. "About three miles down the coast from Weston. Nice and quiet."
They pulled into the car park overlooking the windswept and grey beach. It was a bit of a miserable day, overcast and cold, and the beach looked like something straight out of an Afred Hitchcock film. Matthew placed the last of Circe's bags on the sand and turned to his daughter with a warm smile. He spread his arms and she enveloped him in a hug.
"Bye, Dad." she said quietly. "Say goodbye to Alec and Tom for me too."
"I will, darling. Look after yourself. You haven't been quite right since you came home this summer."
"Dad, I'll be okay. I promise. Stop fretting."
"I know, but you had me and Jane sick with worry when that Professor Mcgoogle or whatever wrote and told us that she'd not seen you for a few days. What happened there, darling?"
Circe frowned. Her dad hadn't pressed her about those four days. Luckily Minerva had only written to him on the third day of her disappearance and she'd reappeared the next. She couldn't bear the thought of her Dad sitting in his quiet-room armchair, unable to go to bed, fretting over her.
"It was a… bad night out. Had a cracker of a hangover and forgot to tell her I was recovering at a mate's is all."
"Circe, you've never been that irresponsible before…"
"Listen, Dad. It was a bad series of events. I made a few mistakes and it got me into a bit of bother. But I'm alright, Dad. No harm done to anyone in the end, so you don't need to worry about me."
"Alright, you're a big girl now." Matthew said with a huff. "But I'm always gonna be your Dad, so I'll never stop worrying about you."
Circe smiled as the wind whipped at her bronze curls.
So like your mother… Matthew thought as he turned to leave.
"Might go and get a fish supper by the promenade before I head home." he called back to her over the roar of the wind.
"I'll write to you, Dad." Circe said as she gave him one final wave.
Circe thought about asking him to stay and meet the Bulgarians. But based on what she assumed would be a fantastical vessel of unparalleled muggle equivalent, she reluctantly let him go. Matthew gave her one last wave, trying not to feel too bad that he was seemingly leaving his only daughter alone on a rather grim beach with all of her possessions in the sand around her.
His car pulled out of the car park and she was let utterly alone on the desolate beach. She looked to the cliffs at her left, and then to the rock pools on her right. She could just about see the burnt out remains of the old Weston-Super-Mare pier on the horizon, just around the bend of the coastline.
And then, the ship burst from the waves.
Circe flinched as the spray of the salty ocean erupted in a massive plume, and from the previously grey and tranquil waters a huge galleon, sporting three stout masts of glistening white sails honed into view. Dim, misty lights shimmered from the portholes like ghostly eyes embedded in the slick wet wooden exterior, and the ship came to a bobbing halt as Circe caught her breath. A few moments later, a small crew had rowed to the coast in a little lifeboat. The all-male crew approached her and nodded to her with a curt bow, amongst them was Krum himself.
"We take your things?" he said in his broken english. Circe nodded and the other young men gathered her belongings and hauled them into the boat.
"Is the little Krum still with you?" she asked Victor, looking around for the small pre-teen boys she'd defended from the Death Eater. "Dimo?"
"Ahh, Dimo go home. He no like England." Krum said, using his limited vocabulary.
Circe laughed and nodded. "No, can't say I blame him after what happened."
"Dimo and Aleksi also say big thank you." Krum said, picking up her trunk as if it was nothing.
Circe scoffed and waved her hand. "Ahh there's no need to thank me."
"That very English." Krum said to her with a small smile. It was the first time she'd seen the stern faced boy smile. "English people spend all their time thanking and apologising. And then say "no need to thank me"!"
She laughed and nodded. "Yeah, we do do that, I suppose."
Together they rowed back to the ship and a long rope ladder dropped over the side of the hull for her. Circe steeled herself and began the long climb to the top, eventually stepping on to the deck of the ship where Karkaroff and the rest of the Durmstrang boys waited for her. Karkaroff shouted a single command word, and as one the boys stamped their feet and saluted her. The suddenness of it made Circe flinch again.
"H-hello." she replied a little unsurely.
"Professor Smith, welcome on board The Brizo." Karkaroff said with his heavy Slavic accent, extending a hand out to her. "Allow me to show you to your quarters."
"Quarters?" Circe asked with a smile.
"Why of course. Our guest of honour deserves only the finest suite during our voyage."
Circe allowed him to lead her through the ship and down into its boughs, all the while feeling the eyes of every Durmstrang boy on her.
"Brizo. That's not Bulgarian, is it." Circe asked, having endeavoured to learn a few phrases of their language once she'd known she'd be journeying with them. "Greek isn't it?"
"You are a learned woman, Professor Smith." Karkaroff replied, looking back at her with his dark, bushy brows. "Brizo was the Greek goddess of sailors and fishermen. This boat was once a sunken wreck, downed during the failed invasion of the Spanish Armada, I believe. But my predecessor acquired it some years ago for our school's business."
"So a Spanish galleon, named after a Greek deity, manned by Bulgarians…" Circe replied with a smirk.
"And an English mascot." He laughed.
"Oh a mascot now, am I? Here's me thinking I was the "guest of honour"."
Karkaroff laughed, low and strong, as he pushed open a door. He motioned Circe inside and she looked around her cabin with wide eyes. It looked like it would once have been the Captain's suite; it was fitted with a stout writing desk in the center of the room, behind it a huge domed window that looked out over the sea. A small single bed was built snugly into the wall on the left and a huge mapping globe was on the right. She walked over to the globe and spun it on its axis, smiling from ear to ear.
"You like it?" Karkaroff asked.
"It's wonderful." Circe said, as the boys from the lifeboat began to place her things inside the room.
"Dobre!" Igor said in Bulgarian. "We set sail at once!"
He swept from the room with a confident stride and Circe stood before her window as she listened to the sound of the boat getting ready to dive once more. She heard the whistles above her and the running and shouting of the Durmstrang boys on the deck above her. Then it all went quiet, and the sound of their footsteps receded until they too were stored safely below deck. And almost in the blink of an eye, Circe watched the murky waters of Sand Bay rise over her window and swallow the boat whole, until they were completely underwater.
The hours passed as the galleon cut soundlessly through the teaming British waters. Circe spent those first wonderful moments of the dive with her face pressed against her glass window, watching the flotsam and jetsam float by. She'd even seen a huge-mouthed basking shark wriggle past her at one point. Eventually when the light fell and all Circe could see was an impenetrable blackness from her window, she reluctantly decided to get up and go exploring. As she walked down further into the boughs of the ship, she heard a calamity of voices all speaking in Bulgarian, accompanied by the clatter of plates and cutlery. She poked her head around a door to see a huge mess-hall, made of a heavy, dark wood and lined with several long tables. The Durmstrang boys were busy laying spaces at the benches and placing steaming hot clay pots of food on its surface, all doing their duty to prepare for dinner. A few of them looked up from their chores to give her another polite click of the heels and a bow, and Circe did her best not to blush too hard. She walked inside and inspected the pots of food as the boys began to take their seats at the table. Whatever they were serving, it smelt delicious. Krum was at her side before she realised he was present, inviting her to sit down with him and heaping a large portion of the food onto a plate for her.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Gyuvech." he replied. "A… beef stew?" he asked, looking to his classmates for help with his English words.
She thanked him as he placed the plate in front of her and the rest of the boys began ladling out their own portions. She saw a couple of them sprinkling on some grated white cheese from another bowl and she too followed suit and topped her gyuvech with it. The boys all stood up in unison when Karkaroff entered the mess hall, sitting down again only when the Headmaster prompted them to do so. He took his seat at the other end of the hall and Circe watched him closely as he talked and communed with his students. He reminded her of Severus in that dark, mysterious sort of way. Not to mention that they were both convicted Death Eaters and she began scolding herself for being maybe a bit too personable with him earlier. Still, Death Eaters were known to be charming. Was it any wonder that, perhaps despite her conscious intentions, Karkaroff had rather gotten her to like him? Yet she still wished that the charismatic Headmaster would take his contented and amiable look off his face; it didn't seem right that a man who'd been an ally of the Dark Lord was allowed happiness now. Yet she felt hypocritical thinking that; hadn't she said almost the complete opposite to Severus? But she could spend her whole evening, her whole life allowing the past to burn away at her heart. Someone out there clearly trusted Karkaroff enough to allow him to be a guardian of children. Or was that what he wanted her to believe? It was all rather confusing. The Headmaster locked eyes with her and she nodded back to him politely. He grabbed his goblet and stood up, the rest of the Durmstrang boys following. Circe did the same, hurriedly grabbing her own goblet.
"A toast, to our English good-luck mascot." Karkaroff said as he raised his glass.
"Toct!" the boys shouted in unison and Circe smiled politely, raising her goblet.
She drank and was a little surprised when a sumptuous red wine hit her lips. It was wonderful and rich and fruity, but she noticed the same liquid was in the students' cups too.
"Are you all drinking wine!?" she asked Krum.
"Of course." Krum replied with a befuddled look on his face.
"Oh… how very european."
------
Severus was waiting in the Great Hall, wishing Dumbledore would hurry up and round off his speech so the night could be brought to an end. The feast was passing by achingly slow without Circe and he wondered, not for the first time that evening, where she was. He hadn't spoken to or heard from her since the night of the Quidditch World Cup. He wondered, with a flutter of panic in his stomach, whether she had actually decided to hede his hasty warnings to her that night. But nevertheless, within himself he had been vindicated when he saw the Dark Mark plastered all over The Prophet the next day.
Still, Minerva and Dumbledore seemed unphased by her lack of presence and he decided to bite his tongue for the time being. Yet he felt the remnants of his tattered and bruised soul slipping back into oblivion the longer the night wore on and he didn't have her company. The entrance of the Beauxbattons girls went almost unnoticed by him and he was only yanked from his ruminations on the past when a butterfly charm fluttered irritatingly past his face. He batted away the insect with a wave and it dissolved away with a shimmer, leaving a glittery residue on his hand. Madame Maxime took her seat next to Hagrid at the Staff table and Severus once again settled back into his dark and brooding mood, cursing the past with every waking thought.
"And finally Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, quietening down the mass of students and excited boys with a wave of his hand, "I would like to introduce you to the young men of the Durmstrang Institute and their Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff."
Igor bloody Karkaroff, Severus thought as the doors for the Great Hall crept open again. Just when I thought I was letting paranoia and past-ghosts get the best of me.
In strode the strapping Bulgarian boys, accompanied by those same war-like drums that he had heard at the beginning of the Quidditch match. They played out their introductory performance: the traditional Bulgarian lightning-staff dance accompanied by a particularly skilled student who ate fiendfyre and spewed it out into a soaring phoenix over the heads of Hogwarts students at their tables. The students exclaimed excitedly and clapped in delight, gasping in shock as in strode the world-famous Seeker Viktor Krum. Severus watched as Ron turned a strange shade of grey and almost fainted in delight. Snape rolled his eyes. Yet he could not control himself from gasping aloud too when in walked Circe with the remaining Bulgarians and their Headmaster.
She smiled coyly up at the staff table, dressed in a traditional Bulgarian fur hat and a massive floor-length black coat that many of the Durmstrang boys also sported. She looked windswept and dashing, several days at sea had given her almost a pirate-esque air of allure. Severus bristled with envy as she took Karkaroff's hand and she was lead up to the staff table as if she were his pirate Queen.
"Professor Smith!" Dumbledore said as she approached the table. "I hope that Karkaroff hasn't head-hunted you away from us. I hear Bulgaria is quite cold this time of year…"
Circe laughed as Igor took the Headmaster into a good-natured embrace.
"Ahh, our English mascot could weather the Bulgarian winters like a true native!" he shouted, gesturing back to Circe with a wink. "But alas, no. She has told me in no uncertain terms, whilst we have been at sea, that her heart is firmly set here in Hogwarts."
Circe coloured red slightly at his comment and moved to take her seat. Madame Maxime eyed her up cautiously. Circe locked eyes with the French Headmistress and gasped quietly as the lightning flash of recognition passed over the large woman's face.
Maxime chimed in in her soft and delicate voice, "Ahh but I think Professor Smith left a little piece of her 'eart in France too, non?"
A titter rippled through the staff who were old enough to remember the incident Maxime referred to. Circe looked to her shoes and sat down in between Karkaroff and Severus feeling as red as a beetroot.
"What was that?" Igor asked her with a wicked grin.
"I'll tell you later..." she grumbled back to him. "Something embarrassing I did when I was a teenager…"
"I shall hold you to that, English." Igor said, pouring himself a generous helping of wine.
"Have you told me this story before?" Snape asked, summoning up all of his courage to speak to her.
Circe's heart rate doubled. It wasn't quite enough of a "comeback" to prove Myron right, but it was interesting that he'd chosen to break the silence between them first.
You can take that "I'm sorry" look of your face as well, Severus. After the way you shot me down like a fighter pilot and left me wanting to cut my own heart out.
Circe looked at Severus's hands, gripped a little too tightly around his cutlery, and she thought of her own little small revenge.
"Oh look, if you're all so bloody interested…" she said, slamming her fork down on the table with a jolt. "Maxime caught me and…. another Beauxbattons girl- Odette was her name... together."
Severus's eyes bulged.
"Together doing what, I do not understand." Igor said in bemusement.
A thousand and one images passed through Severus's mind: Circe's full lips on top of another woman's. 'Odette' conjured up a raven-haired beauty, caressing Circe with deft fingers of delicate pale skin. Hot and sweaty, tangled together in some dark French broom-cupboard. Blouses open and hands down one another's skirts. He was fully erect before he could stop himself.
"Oh… OH!" Karkaroff exclaimed. "Ha! How do you say in English? In Sappho's embrace!?"
"Headmaster, shush!" Minerva chided, leaning over her plate with a finger pressed to her lips. "I don't think this is an appropriate conversation to be having here."
Luckily, most of the students were busy munching away at their food, chatting about the various new arrivals.
Karkaroff laughed and returned back to his food. Circe inclined her head ever so slightly to Snape and whispered "Is something the matter, Severus?"
Snape was sweating quite a bit by this point. His groin ached with desire. He pressed his belly hard against the staff table to try and hide himself, but it was useless. If anyone had looked under the tabletop they would have seen the rock-hard manifestation of what was playing out in his mind's eye.
"I… Uhh… Excuse me…" he said in a fluster, rising from the table swiftly and disappearing through the side door before anyone could look too closely at him.
"Oh what a shame, he'll completely miss Barty's announcement…" Circe said, barely able to conceal her smile as the Goblet of Fire was wheeled in front of the entire school.
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