Chương 11: Chapter 11: "When I was still quite naieve."
Notes:
AN: Every time a fanfic author writes a smut scene, an angel gets its wings. Now's that time, folks. You have been warned...
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Circe rose offensively early that weekend, excitement bubbling away in her stomach. She pulled out her outfit from the very back of her wardrobe and held it up to her body. It was too small for her now. She sighed to herself, wondering if she had ever been that small…
Minerva had outright bullied her into bringing her old Quidditch kit back to Hogwarts that year. Now she was a firm, established member of staff, it was time to fulfil the promise she'd made to her sporting rival. Today was her first proper training day with the Ravenclaw team. More so, it would be her first time properly in the air on a broom for almost ten years. She tied her hair up into a ponytail and left her glasses on her bedside table. She'd made the mistake of leaving her glasses on during a match only the once, and when a bludger hit her in the face she was lucky the bridge of her glasses hadn't broken her nose. She was a beater, not a seeker. She only needed to see big objects…
There once was a time when not wearing her glasses didn't bother her so much. Now, she squinted and blinked for a few seconds, hoping her sight would adjust in time, but the room around her was a warped blurry mess.
That's what reading in the dark does to your sight , she chided herself.
Her eyesight had really gone noticeably downhill when she'd gone to University. Researching from faded manuscripts, reading late into the night, harsh blinking computer screens… it had all done its damage.
Perhaps I ought to get some contacts , she mused. Or there's probably some spell to fix bad eyes, surely. 'Oculus Un-shito' maybe...
The cream jodhpurs were a little snug, but weren't restricting her movement too much. She hoisted them up and gave an experimental wiggle, finding them stretchy and accommodating. Her blue Ravenclaw team jacket, however, barely fit her now she'd grown into a woman's body. She sucked in and pulled the buttons under her breasts, desperately trying to do it up. The buttons slid together and she breathed out, thankful that it still just got around her. She looked into the mirror on her vanity table, smoothing a hand over her hips and fussing over the jacket one last time. Circe tutted, admitting to herself that no amount of repositioning or rearranging it was going to make it look as loose at it once had been. She gloved and booted herself and strode off to the Great Hall to grab a quick breakfast before practise began in earnest.
She spied her young hopefuls in the Great Hall, also grabbing a quick bite to eat before their practise started. Ravenclaw was always unfairly overlooked when it came to Quidditch. They were often dismissed as the bookish, studious house. Not the house of sportsmen. But Circe challenged anyone who voiced that misconception to her to find a more dedicated, hard-working player than a Ravenclaw who's got something to master. Ravenclaws practised hard until they were the best, not maybe in natural ability, but through relentlessly drilling and training until they were the top of their game.
The morning sun was beginning to bleed through the stained glass, casting beautiful shards of coloured light on the House tables' surface. One of the boys on the Ravenclaw team nudged his playmate in the ribs as Circe made her entrance. They both made the face of someone who has seen a fish walk out of a pond. Circe checked herself as she acknowledged she may have looked the same if she'd ever seen one of her Professors out of their teaching attire and in a Quidditch kit.
"Ah come on, boys. I know I'm your Professor but it's not too hard to imagine that I once had hobbies, is it?" Circe joked with them.
The boy snorted, sending orange juice out of his nose. The Sixth Year captain handed her a hot cup of coffee with an enthusiastic smile.
"No, Professor. It's just… if you want, we can find you a bigger jacket from the second hand-"
"I took the Ravenclaw Quidditch team to victory during the summer of '81 in this jacket, Inglebee." She responded, pulling on the collar. "It's rather sentimental to me."
Circe sat with her team, helping herself to a bacon roll and taking an animated bite out of it.
"Mmmm, reminds me of the taste of Hufflepuff flesh!" She growled, eliciting a laugh from some of the young Second Year chasers. She leaned in close to the Captain, "And I'll try and get it adjusted by next week." She whispered to him.
She wolfed down her roll, followed by a crisp green apple, feeling sufficiently energised for the practise session ahead. One more drag on her coffee and she was practically buzzing. She banged her fist down on the table, almost making the kids jump out of their skin in shock.
"Right Ravenclaw!" She shouted. "Let's go chase some clouds!"
-----
Severus was on Library duty that weekend. It was certainly the short straw to draw as a staff member; to be finding yourself sitting in the room of books, monitoring the high shelves and convenient hiding places for snogging students on a Saturday morning.
He cast a weary eye over the gathering children meeting to work on homework or gossip, filling the work benches as the morning progressed. They had the good sense to leave him alone to his pile of unmarked papers. For a few quiet hours, he lost himself in his work, the gentle sound of chatter and idle talk in the background lulling him into a working stride.
"P-Professor Snape, sir…"
Snape looked up from his marking, ready to bite off the kid's head for the interruption. The intensity of his look almost made the little First Year cry. "You are required on the Quidditch pitch, sir."
"Why..?" He asked slowly, venom dripping from his voice.
"Tu-Th" he stuttered
"Speak up, boy!" He snapped.
"There's a problem with the Ravenclaw team, sir…" he stuttered.
He said nothing: knowing exactly who would be behind this 'problem'. He groaned, already feeling his irritation levels rising. Wordlessly he slid out from under his desk and marched to the grounds of the castle, leaving the poor First Year a little teary from their interaction.
As he reached the Quidditch grounds, he could see the azure blue of the Ravenclaw team's uniform practising quaffle passes in the skies above. On the floor of the pitch he heard raised, angry voices and continued his sweeping march towards the gathered crowd. Duncan Inglebee, Sixth Year, Captain of the Ravenclaw team was facing off against the Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint. Both were backed by several members of their teams joining together in the cacophony of insult-hurling.
"What is the meaning of this rumpus?!" Snape bellowed at them.
Flint turned around to face him, "Professor, we need to train for our match. I booked the pitch with Madam Hooch yesterday!"
"Bollocks!" Inglebee chimed in. Snape gave him his death stare and he withered slightly.
"Inglebee!" a familiar voice called from up in the sky and as Snape raised his eyes he saw Professor Smith descending on her broom, covered almost head to toe with mud. He noted that she too was dressed in a Ravenclaw quidditch kit, a keepsake from her own Hogwarts days she was now glad she hadn't thrown out.
"Is there a problem, boys? Professor?" she asked, panting slightly from her physical exercises.
Her hair was wild and her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath.
Snape's arousal completely blindsided him, hitting him like a freight train. His heart seemed to stop and something stirred beneath his trousers...
Luckily Flint chipped in before Snape had a chance to betray himself. "I booked this practise time with Madam Hooch."
"Oh I'm afraid that's not possible, Marcus. I've had the Ravenclaw team's training programme booked up since September. We've been here since seven o'clock this morning, as you can probably tell." She smiled and pulled at her cream, skin tight jodhpurs, indicating at the mud smeared all over them.
Snape's crotch twinged.
"No! I booked this day!" Flint said through clenched teeth.
"Mind your manners, Captain." Snape finally managed to say. "Did you see Madam Hooch? Speak to her?"
Am I sweating? I feel like I'm sweating… Snape thought, neurotically balling his damp palms into fists and releasing them.
"Yes… Well, no. Montague did." The boy gestured to another Slytherin Chaser behind him.
Graham Montague stepped forward.
"Well?" Snape asked expectantly.
"Well.. yeah I went to Madam Hooch's office…"
"And you saw her?"
"Uh, no… She wasn't there. I left a note on her desk for the date and time Marcus wanted. I thought that would be fine…"
The whole of the Slytherin team collectively groaned.
"There you have it, Professor." Circe said, shrugging her shoulders. "Rolanda obviously wasn't there to tell Mr Montague that this time was already booked up so-"
"Professor, can't you do something?!" Flint butted in. "They've been here since seven, you heard them."
Snape realised he had been staring at her slightly too tight tunic, pinned just under her breasts. He started his nervous fist-balling tick again, feeling his trousers growing tight around his groin region.
"I'm afraid Mr Montague that that's neither here nor there." Circe sighed. "If you have not booked this slot then I'm afraid that you'll have to re-address your training programme-"
Snape wasn't capable of concentrating on what she was saying. He could barely form cohesive thoughts that made any logical sense as he watched her chest boucing up and down with each of her breaths.
How dare she look this fucking stunning… And speak to my students like that… His misplaced anger rose up inside him, and rather infuriatingly his vexation only seemed to make his erection stronger...
"Professor, must you insist on being an insufferable gloater? Or must we harken to every tiny detail of your infantile plans and schemes?" he spat at her.
The mouths of the Slytherin team dropped to the floor, a couple daring to laugh slightly, nudging their teammates in the ribs.
Circe clenched her jaw, her anger bubbling just under the surface, and moved towards Severus. She paused, toe to toe with him, refusing to let him intimidate her. Squaring up to him like an Amazon warrior in front of an enemy. He looked down his nose into her mud-smeared face. An intrusive thought came screaming into his head that he would love to pull that matted hair of hers back and have her looking up at him like this from her knees….
"I would think very carefully, Professor…" she said through clenched teeth"... before you talk down to me in front of any students again."
The heat of her gaze was enough to make even him blanch. He felt another strong twinge in his cock.
God, what's wrong with me?!
"Inglebee, take the team back to the pitch." she added without breaking eye contact.
There was absolute silence between both sets of student teams. Once the Ravenclaws had taken to the air on their brooms, she turned away.
"Oh , and Professor …" she added, mounting her own broom.
Her arse rounded out as she bent over the handle, and Severus had to surpress a heavy moan from escaping his throat.
"If you had asked nicely I would have let you know that we will be finished with our training at one o'clock, and the afternoon session is yours. Perhaps if I receive a note of apology from the Head of Slytherin House for calling me.. what was it 'infantile' and 'insufferable'...I shall compromise and let you have the pitch from twelve." She finished with a cheeky smile.
Rage flared up inside Severus as he clenched his fists by his side.
"Oh, I don't think I ever got the last apology either, Severus. The one about the lacewing powder? You can chuck that in there too whilst you're at it."
She flew away without another word to join the Ravenclaw students in the air.
***
Snape burst into his bedchamber, incandescent with rage.
An apology! An apology! The fucking nerve…!
He picked up a nearby empty potions flask and flung it against the opposite wall.
And why won't this fucking erection go away?!
He sat on the end of his bed pulling down his black slacks to his knees. His erect cock sprung up defiantly, throbbing away. His heart rate slowed as his breath reduced. Slowly his hand encircled the base. He tried to fight it, but the image of Circe's thighs in those mud-covered jodhpurs seemed burned into his brain.
And how her ass looked when she mounted that broomstick...
He groaned.
Come on, Severus. How did you get rid of these when you were a teenager? He thought.
It felt so wrong, but he just couldn't seem to help himself. His hand moved slowly up and down his shaft without him telling it to. His head became flooded with images of her…
That blue jacket, pinned tightly under her breasts. In his head, she took it apart, her hands tracing over her top, inviting him to stroke her, touch her. No sooner had he considered it that it was there in his head. He imagined running his thumb over her thick bottom lip, almost able to feel the mud on her cheek, his other hand delving into her white quidditch tank top, feeling the warmth of her flesh and her heartbeat. Would she gasp and look at him with that same fire in her eyes she had had when squaring up to him if he squeezed her nipple? His stroking became faster…
In his head her top was off now, both of his hands fondling her breasts. Just her standing there in those tight cream jodhpurs, squirming at his touch. He remembered the thought he had earlier. He grabbed her hair. It was soft and thick in his fist. He yanked her head back looking in to those arresting green eyes of hers. His imagination took over as he pictured her hands roaming his body too, unfastening him and finding his hard cock. He wickedly pictured her sinking to her knees in submission and hungrily taking him into her mouth.
"Oh fuck.." Snape whispered to himself, alone in his room.
His strokes became fevered and fast, and in his head it was her mouth. Sliding up and down his shaft with her perfect thick lips, teasing at him with her tongue, working at him with her hand. Again and again, over and over. She took him into her. He felt his orgasm building deep within the pit of his stomach. It grew and spiked and it lanced through the head of his cock, and he moaned heavily as his seed spilled out of him.
He sat there for a moment, panting, still clutching himself. A heavy wave of shame washed over him as he leaned back on his bed and let the last remnant of the orgasm fade.
Well, that was new… he thought still very much in shock that he had masturbated to one of his colleagues after seeing her in a muddy quidditch kit…
Grabbing a nearby towel, he hastily wiped himself down and re-dressed. He looked at the clock on his wall. Eleven thirty.
Half an hour to write my apology note. He thought dryly.
Swallowing what remained of his pride, he scowled to himself as he ruffled through his desk for a spare square of parchment.
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Circe was doing her best to get on with her work as Gilderoy beguiled Harry and Ron with tall tales of his time in Hogwarts. The two were still serving their detention time for colliding bonnet-first into the Whomping Willow at the start of the year. It had been quite the juicy bit of gossip; Percy Weasley had informed her of just how livid Molly had been and the inquiry poor Arthur was facing for having ownership of an unregistered flying car. Still, Circe couldn't help but admire their gall. She too may have commandeered the vehicle if she thought that she'd missed the only train to school. Still, they paid for it in a hearty few months worth of detentions. Nevertheless, a detention with Gilderoy was a punishment that she wouldn't have willingly inflicted upon anyone…
She had been in charge of Weasley's detentions for that evening and had put him to polishing and organising her extensive collection of medieval scrying mirrors. Not long into the evening, Gilderoy had passed her classroom with Harry in tow. He'd jumped on the opportunity to impose himself upon Circe and had settled himself into her room quite comfortably, claiming he would keep Circe company whilst he handed Harry photo after photo of his face to be posted back to a fan. Of course, he hadn't noticed that Circe had stopped engaging in conversation with him a while ago as it was all just an excuse for him to talk about himself. Gilderoy talked at people, not with them.
"I remember when I was a student here…" he said wistfully, as if he were performing a soliloquy. "I was once so bogged down with cards on Valentines Day, that the Great Hall had to be siphoned off after breakfast to sort through them all. The poor owls must have delivered about eight hundred or so."
"Mmm, pity they were all in your own handwriting, Professor Lockhart." Circe mumbled under her breath, just loud enough for Ron to hear her.
He laughed and covered his mouth with his polishing cloth.
"What was that Professor Smith?"
"I said it's a pity breakfast had to be abandoned. Too many feathers in the porridge, you see…" she lied quickly.
The sun set behind the Scottish hills outside the classroom, and Gilderoy ploughed on with anecdote after anecdote, seemingly unbothered by the fading light. Circe yawned as she escaped from Lockhart's inane prattle into a book.
Sorry boys, every man for himself she thought to herself, feeling sorry for Ron and Harry that they could not be similarly distracted. Perhaps that's your real punishment in this detention…
A stillness settled over the castle as afternoon gave way to the evening and students gradually left the halls and classrooms to gravitate back to the cozyness of their dormitories. Circe's eyes began to itch with tiredness as words and symbols blurred together on the pages before her. Her teaching duties on top of her newfound role as Quidditch coach had rather zapped the energy from her. Her muscles ached from being on her feet all day. But it was a good ache; the ache of someone who was content in what they had managed to get done. For a brief moment she closed her eyes and let her head rest against the back of her chair. The soft candlelight pulled her into a doze, Gilderoy's droning voice almost becoming a comforting background noise for her.
She let herself fall into the gentle oblivion of doze. Again, her half-waking mind was filled with the sandstone spires of a home long left behind, the sky whizzing with flying bludgers and quaffles. She walked through Edinburgh in her mind's eye, down narrow cobbled streets and into an old bookshop. Inside the shop was a book-lover's paradise: reams of old leather bound tomes, stacked to the very ceiling in a patchwork mosaic of coloured spines. She spotted a trail of black cloth tucked behind one of the shelves, a shining boot poking out from beneath. Never quite able to catch him, she chased the black-clad figure from high bookshelf corridor to bookshelf corridor. Disappearing around another corner before she could get close to them.
What are you looking for, Severus? She called out.
"Harry..? Harry??" a voice shook her out of her doze.
She was pulled back into the land of the living, feeling like she had been dragged over glass. She opened her eyes to see Potter looking around the room in a daze, his autographs abandoned. Ron had been the one who had called to him, it seemed, as he wore a look of puzzled concern on his face.
He looks more confused than usual, Circe thought to herself, blinking away the last remains of sleep from her eyes.
"Harry, my boy, are you alright?" Gilderoy asked, shaken from one of his personal anecdotes.
"That voice… can't you hear it?"
"Wh-what voice?" Ron responded, stuttering.
"In- in the walls…" Harry moved from one corner of the classroom to another, following the movement of something only he could hear.
"Oh goodness me, poor Harry is delusional with exhaustion." Gilderoy laughed nervously. "And Good Lord, look at the time! It's almost seven o'clock, we've been at this for three hours. Why don't you boys get going back to your dormitories now, eh?"
Circe said nothing, watching the young black-haired boy's eyes dart about the walls and up into the ceiling. Ron quickly gathered his things into his bag, grabbing Harry by the arm and dragging him out of the room.
"Harry...what the bloody hell's going on?" she heard Weasley whisper to him as they fled the classroom.
"How odd." Circe said to herself.
She'd underestimated Potter and his friends before and therefore she was not as willing as Gilderoy was to sweep the whole affair under the rug. She tried to stand as still as she could, straining her ears trying to listen to the slightest hint of anything. Anything that might indicate to her what Potter had been hearing. Her eyes tracing the same areas that she had seen Harry's flit to nervously...But that task was soon interrupted by Gilderoy, who was never a person who prized silence.
"Poor child. Obviously has a severe case of attention-seeking. Especially after the status of celebrity that's been around him since birth." Gilderoy lamented.
How ironic Circe thought to herself, rolling her eyes.
"Well, regardless of whether he seems to invite it or not, attention always seems to find Mister Potter. All for the wrong reasons too."
"Oh come now, you don't really think that he was hearing something that none of us in the room could hear, do you? It was Peeves obviously playing a trick… or something. Now had that been me, I would have blasted a revealing charm into the walls to expose the horrible little poltergeist."
"I'm sure you would have, Gilderoy."
Circe busied herself with packing her things away, realising that any opinion not his was lost on Gilderoy. She had just about managed to sort the last of her essays away when Lockhart sat on the end of her desk, right on top of her satchel…
"You know…" he began, leaning in close. "I remembered the other night why I recognised you from our school days."
There was a sickly tinge to his voice that turned Circe's stomach over. Circe grabbed at her satchel strap and tried to pull the bag loose from him. He didn't budge.
"Oh yes…?" Circe replied rather shortly.
"Charlotte Ambrose's eighteenth birthday party..." he said slowly.
Circe looked up at him wide eyed. Gilderoy smiled back at her, knowing that she too remembered the event he referred to. Circe cleared her throat awkwardly.
"I uhhh I'm afraid I don't really remeb-"
"Oh come now, yes you do! I see it in your eyes. No one ever forgets a kiss from Gilderoy Lockhart." he added with a wicked grin.
Circe felt sick. "Well.. as I recall, Gilderoy, you were quite a bit older than me at that party. So I maybe wouldn't go spewing that to everyone."
"Pfft, paltry details. We were both teenagers."
Circe tugged hard on her bag, almost sending Gilderoy tumbling off the desk. Now free, she swung it hard over her shoulder and squared up to him.
"You only kissed me because I was top of the league tables in the Duelling Club!" she hissed at him, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her satchel strap tight.
"You liked it though didn't you?" Gilderoy chuckled, raising a brow at her.
"You only did it cause you thought you could get some second-hand kudos if you had me."
"Gosh, you weren't this upset about it at the time." Gilderoy said, raising his palms defensively at her.
The smug look on his face was crying out for a fist in the center of it.
"I was fourteen, Gilderoy. I didn't know any better! You on the other hand..."
She grabbed her pile of books and clung them to her chest, as if she hoped they would give her comfort or a physical barrier from the bad memory. She didn't want to look at him. She was quite frankly embarrassed at herself. Yes, she had liked it at the time. Gilderoy was older, confident, her Prefect. And she'd been young. The first time a boy had ever shown her attention in that way. After a few beers down in Hogsmeade, Gilderoy had pulled her behind the pub's bins and planted one on her. All very romantic…
It had been Circe's friends who had told her about how Gilderoy had been spouting about their snog as the party went on. Saying that it was he who'd been coaching her at wand-fighting, and he was the sole reason behind her skill on the duelling grounds.
"She's obsessed with me!" He'd said. "Can't get enough of my wand technique. In between snogs, of course."
She vividly remembered the cruel, libidinous laughs that came from the group of older boys Gilderoy had attracted around him at the bar.
She finally fled from the pub once Gilderoy started making some rather crude comments and not so veiled innuendos about "wand fights" going on elsewhere with him and her… Of course, the lipstick smeared all over her face and the smug look on Gilderoy's face only added fuel to the fire. No protest she made to contradict Gilderoy's claims seemed to matter, and she wasn't the last girl whom Gilderoy claimed to have done various "things" with whilst he was in school. Nevertheless, it was a rumour she'd never lived down, even after Gilderoy left Hogwarts and she'd remained at school.
"Ahh come on, look at you now. A woman in the flower of her beauty." Gilderoy stepped in front of her, stopping her from leaving her classroom.
Her temper flared and her grip tightened around the wand in her pocket.
I'll put you on your bloody arse again, you bastard . she seethed at him. You're not too old for a jelly legs jinx.
"If you ever want to re-enact Charlotte Ambrose's party now we're both all grown up..." he purred "you know I'd be game." He smiled widely at her, giving his best Daily Prophet headshot pose.
She was about to blast him in the chest with a curse, taking her wand from her pocket, when a swift hand settled on her wrist.
She wheeled round to where the hand had come from, ready to scream them down to let her go. Instead, she saw the placid, calm face of Severus.
He stared intently at her, his eyes the only thing giving away the urgency within him. She shot back an equally intense look at him, imploring him to let her have her satisfaction. But his grip on her wrist was tight, the strength in his hold preventing her from raising her wand. Eventually she relinquished, letting her wrist go slack and her expression relax.
"Professors…" Snape said in his signature drawl.
His eyes passed from Circe to Gilderoy, who stood with a slightly frightened expression now etched upon his features. Circe took a small pleasure at watching Lockhart wither in Snape's presence, but she turned from him and moved to stride from the room in a huff. Yet Snape called after her before she could leave:
"There seems to be an incident in the corridor along the second floor."
She halted and reluctantly turned to face them again, her top lip curled in disdain.
"An incident, Professor Snape?" Gilderoy asked.
Circe did not reply, keeping her mouth closed tight like a cork in a bottle of anger. If she opened it, she feared she would never stop shouting.
"Something rather interesting based on the noise I heard from two floors away."
Severus moved over to Circe's side and cast her a sideways look. Something in his expression had now changed from a look of reprimand to one of care. Are you alright? His eyes seemed to say now. She swallowed hard as her eyes settled on Gilderoy's shoes. She wrinkled her nose, as if smelling a bad odour. Snape picked up on her subtle clue and looked back to Gilderoy, raising an expectant brow at him.
"Ah, I shall head up there and see what all the fuss is about then!" Gilderoy said, taking his cue to leave.
He swept from the room in a flourish of rich blue silk and heady cologne, leaving Circe and Severus very much alone.
"I… heard a little of what Gilderoy said." Snape offered, hesitating as he saw just how firmly Circe clenched her jaw together. "I thought you may have wanted someone to step in and rescue you."
"Then you know why that bastard deserved what I was about to give to him." she spat at him, beginning to pace the room.
She threw her satchel down, furious that she had been denied her vindication.
"Gilderoy would have complained about you and, in the right or not, you probably would have been dismissed for attacking a fellow member of staff."
She roared and kicked a nearby shelf, sending a cascade of books and papers spewing onto the floor. Severus did not even flinch, although he marvelled at how angry she was. He'd never seen her this irate before. Actually, he couldn't recall her being angry at all.
He searched internally for a way of cheering her up, or breaking the streak of anger that he saw coursing through her. A taunting, wicked thought passed through his mind and his lips twitched in a small smile.
"Was it really that bad of a kiss?" he ventured bravely.
Circe turned to him sharply, a lance of anger spiking through her core. When she met Severus's face, his mouth curled up in the slightest hint of a smile, she felt the tip of her anger disappear and her normal calmness begin to creep back into position. She laughed. Slowly at first. Then the hysterics took over her.
When she'd managed to stop laughing, her eyes were blurred with tears and Snape looked at her as if she were a woman possessed.
"Little fucking shit…" she breathed in between gasps, waving in the general direction Gilderoy had swanned out. "I can't even escape Gilderoy fucking Lockhart in my adult life."
She placed her hands on her hips and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down further.
"Bloody hell, you'd think I would be over some prick from all the way back in school who took advantage of me, wouldn't you."
"That's the unfortunate fact about being hurt young." Severus offered. "It's the first time you've ever felt those feelings, so it all feels deeper… stronger… than any hurt that comes after."
Circe stopped her pacing to look at him. Something about the distant look in his eyes made her falter. Again, her chest ached for him as the slightest hint of sadness crept into his expression.
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
They both heard the thunder of footsteps above them as feet pounded on the floor of the corridor above. They both cast their eyes skyward and frowned.
"Jesus, what's going on up there?" she asked.
"Perhaps we should journey up there too. Give Professor Lockhart some assistance."
"I'd rather give assistance to a vampire sucking my mother's blood." she replied sarcastically.
He grumbled in agreement but still raised a brow at her and gestured his head to the door. Circe sighed and reluctantly moved to his request.
-----
Severus parted the ocean of students on the second floor as if he were Moses before the Red Sea. Circe followed in his wake, trailing close behind him before the students could move back into position. Tall as she was, she still struggled to see over the moving, bobbing heads to the source of the commotion. But something had got their hackles up. Circe saw the back of Dumbledore and Mcgonagall as she approached the center of the commotion, their eyes cast to the wall beside them. Circe followed the line of their sight and gasped…
Her hand flew to her mouth as she saw the limp, stiff body of Mrs Norris suspended from the lantern hook on the wall. The dark crimson letters of the message behind the cat were wet and shining with ichor.
"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware…" she read aloud. "Fuck me…"
"Shhh!" Severus elbowed her in the arm.
Is he really telling me off for my language? Now?! She thought to herself.
Minerva shooed away the students who had gathered around the gory scene back to their dormitories, leaving only Potter, Weasley and Granger.
Of course… Circe thought, doing her best to emulate a Severus-esque eyebrow tilt.
They shifted on their feet awkwardly, somehow looking even more conspicuous than before.
"Good Lord Potter, that was fast." She said, folding her arms. The Staff turned to Circe collectively and waited for her to continue. "Not two minutes out of my detention and you find your way into trouble."
"Now now, come Professor." Gilderoy butt in, pushing his way to the forefront of the crowd. "We mustn't point fingers. What did I say to you earlier? Attention seems to find Mister Potter whether he likes it or not."
"Oh, you said that to me did you Gilderoy?" She narrowed her eyes at him and stared daggers.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and Circe lay down her ocular arms to acknowledge the Headmaster.
"Did you say Harry was in your detention tonight, Professor Smith?"
"And Ron."
"You see Headmaster, it wasn't me!" Harry protested. "Me and Ron found Mrs Norris like this when we left our detention with Professor Smith and Professor Lockhart."
"Rubbish!" Filch spat, leering forward. He looked like he wanted to strangle Harry. He raised a bony, thin finger at the boy and wagged it accusationally in his face. "You killed my cat, you evil little-"
"She is not dead, Argus. But she has been petrified. A condition very much reversible with the right potion." Dumbledore said calmly.
"Potion?" Filch asked, his eyes darting to Snape.
"I believe before I brew the Restorative Draft, the Mandrake growing is Pomona's speciality." Snape said, trying to deflect Filch's attention away from him.
"But they're healthy and strong, Argus. And they should be ready for harvesting soon." Pomona chimed in, placing a comforting hand on the caretaker's shoulder.
Circe leaned in close to Severus as Filch wiped his eyes and blew his nose on Pomona's hankie. "But doesn't that potion take months to brew?" She whispered to him.
"And almost constant supervision to ensure it doesn't go stale and become useless." He whispered back.
"It is such a pity." Gilderoy said a little too loudly for the situation. "Had I been here, I know the exact counter charm that could have saved her." He bragged. He finished with a theatrical flourish of his wrist.
Circe rolled her eyes.
"Just a small little bat-bogey curse...please Severus?" Circe whispered to him.
"No, Professor…"
She tutted. "You're no fun."
Severus smiled to himself. Pleased that she seemed to have her signature dry humour back after her run in with Gilderoy earlier. "So I've been told."
"Professor may we go now?" Hermione asked expectantly.
Minerva signed heavily and nodded her head. "Very well. But straight back to the dormitory. No dawdling!"
The three children turned on their heels and scurried away. Circe watched them go, running as if the wind was at their backs. She felt as though she were missing a piece of the puzzle again. Things happening within her grasp but just out of her comprehension. She turned back to the sticky red letters on the wall, losing herself in thought and trying in vain to visualise half-remembered manuscripts. Books with blurred words and phrases floated tantalisingly just beyond her conscious mind. She had read these phrases before. But for all her research and study, trying to recall where she'd seen them was like trying to grasp the memory of a dream.
"Staff, meeting in the Staff Room first thing tomorrow." Dumbledore said resolutely. "And this corridor is to remain closed to students until further notice, or at least until we can clean this off-"
"No! Don't clean it." Circe butt in. She turned from the wall, back to the Headmaster in alarm. "It's a message from the perpetrator. It's important. The… the Chamber of Secrets…"
"Professor?" Dumbledore asked expectantly.
"This has something to do with the very history of Hogwarts, I'm sure of it."
"Circe, you have researched this?" Mcgonagall asked.
"A long time ago. I think so. Hogwarts was built in the early Middle Ages, so it falls within my subject specialism."
"I see." Minerva replied concisely.
"Headmaster, let me find what I can about the Chamber of Secrets. I might be able to uncover some vital information pertaining to who may have done this."
"And how they are able to petrify living things." Snape added coolly.
"You… you don't think this is just a student playing some kind of prank?" Gilderoy scoffed, almost laughing aloud at their concern.
"No I don't, Lockhart." Circe shot back venom dripping from her voice. "And until we know for certain, I think we should err on the side of caution."
"I agree, Headmaster." Snape said, standing at Circe's side.
Her blood flushed warm with delight at having Severus back her up so publicly. She let a small smile creep across her lips as butterflies filled her stomach.
Stop it! School-girl crushes have got you into enough trouble already tonight!
"Very well. Professor Smith, I hereby grant you full access to the Restricted Section of the library. Find what you can, and bring your findings to our Staff meeting." Dumbledore said slowly, making sure his words were heard by all gathered.
"Thank you, Headmaster" Circe replied, bowing her head slightly. "I shall leave no page unturned."
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