Notes:
Hi everyone!
The chapters are named after a song that I feel best encapsulates the mood of the section. A virtual sweet to anyone who gets it first! All of the music referenced in the story I've tried to keep non-anachronistic and are all 90's bangers that would have been around in the relevant year of the fic. For best results, listen to the tune as you read ;)
Please do excuse typos or bad grammar. I will try to amend as I find!
Clumbs x
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The Elephant Cafe was unusually quiet for this time of year. It was August in Edinburgh and the Fringe festival was in full swing. Normally there would be a host of actors, musicians and performers besetting every space available in the city for concerts, plays and colorful menageries, including the cafe just off the Royal Mile. But today, Circe's favorite cafe was a peaceful haven from the bustle of Auld Reekie, quiet enough to leave her alone to her thoughts.
She sat in her usual window seat, her back to the relentless gray drizzle of the Scottish day. The clouds hung low and the sun had yet to break through the concrete colored sky at five o clock in the afternoon. It was a lethargic-feeling day; the tours of Edinburgh castle that Circe led had been repetitive and dull. Friday, this day, was one that did not have any of her seminars or lectures at the University on her lecturer's timetable. She had asked the university department to up her hours and give her at least three days out of the five to teach. But alas, no, the "budget cuts" to the department had been cited and she'd taken on her tour guide job at the castle to make ends meet. It wasn't all bad, she loved both jobs when she had an interesting and captivated audience. But today, a group of kids from Falkirk High school had been touring the castle and hadn't even done her the courtesy of pretending to listen… not even when she'd showed them the Old Witchery: the site of the medieval gallows, right at the top of The Royal Mile, where Scottish witches were burnt.
The curse of the academic, Circe thought dryly. Dad did warn you that specialising in something niche would pigeon-hole your career.
At twenty five years old, she'd spent many years trying to break into the University's teaching faculty. Specialising in the History of Magic and the Occult in Medieval Europe didn't exactly mean jobs were bountiful, so she'd leapt at the opportunity when Edinburgh University had advertised for a Junior part-time lecturer. She'd been in Edinburgh now for almost four years and her role had barely changed. Getting any kind of promotion was incredibly lucrative and it seemed to Circe the only way she'd ever be made a full-time staff member was if one of her colleagues died on the job. The oldest member of staff in the History department was a maddeningly young fifty seven too… The whole thing was giving her a tension headache.
She ran her hands through her hair, teasing apart her strong curls with her fingers. They were not coil-like, or even big and 'Disney Princessey', but something in between. In her less confident moments she thought she looked like something akin to a Springer Spaniel. She looked out the Cafe's window into the dim and drizzle outside and pondered that the moisture would have her looking like King Charles Ist by the time she got home. She pushed up her glasses and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. Her coffee sat half-drunk on the table in front of her, a letter with her name written in dark ink on the envelope next to it.
She had a decision to make.
She picked up the thick envelope again and scanned through it with her emerald green eyes. It was an interesting proposition: a job, free bed and board and a decent salary. All three things that she was struggling with here.
However...
It had been many years since she had last seen Hogwarts. But could it really work? Could returning to its halls as a teaching staff member be a good idea? For many years now she had been a woman of two worlds, her past firmly rooted in the wizarding world and her present as a masquerading muggle. More days than not now, she left her wand in its Ollivanders box underneath her bed. Although it was decidedly much harder to leave her blue Ravenclaw scarf at home, especially on cold or unforgivingly windy Scottish mornings. More than once she had passed an unfamiliar face, walking through the Old Town, and locked eyes with a stranger with a magical and knowing twinkle in their eye. Sometimes they also wore a matching blue scarf, sometimes not. A curt nod of acknowledgement and they passed her without stopping.
Most of her friends from school had been baffled that she'd decided to attend a muggle university after her NEWTS. She'd tried to explain that it's what her Dad wanted, being a very traditional and upstanding muggle accountant. Her mother had died many years before, when she was ten. From what Circe could gather, her father had never been big into the wizarding stuff even when her Mum had been around. When she was gone, it became a world he had no understanding of and engagement with it brought back a wave of grief and emotion, connected to the memory of her mother. Circe had received her Hogwarts letter when she turned eleven and every year when she went away to school in September, it became a world completely separate and devoid of anything her Dad was. He tried his best, of course, to ask her and write to her about her studies, both when she'd been away and when she was at home during the holidays. But she could see it was painful for him to talk about it, and when she did elaborate to him he looked as confused and lost at what she was saying as if she were speaking Greek.
Her Dad had still talked about her Mum, as painful as it was for him and her both. They had grieved together and were, as a result, very close. But he had managed to do it by only very occasionally referring to her mother's magical abilities. Somehow, his efforts came across as both sweet but also incredibly reductive.
I went to Hogwarts for Mum, she thought. I went to University for Dad.
Most of her Hogwarts friends had drifted apart from her in the years since school finished. She saw a few occasionally, but most she only heard about in passing rumours and occasional Christmas cards. And the wizarding world hadn't taken to mobile phones in the way that Muggles had yet… They were all reaching that age when they were all starting to spawn too. Maybe it was a small blessing to be spared of the myriad of baby photos, after all. However, Circe made a habit of ordering a Daily Prophet every couple of months to keep up to speed with the news of the wizarding world. It was infrequent enough that no one noticed the owls outside her flat window delivering it. And that's where she'd seen the advert.
Dumbledore was advertising for a new teaching role: a teacher of Ancient Studies. To start that September too. After one too many school kid tours at the castle, and the third week in a row surviving on Pot Noodle after another tight month, she'd found herself posting her CV in response to the ad. Yet, she'd expected an interview at least. But there in her letter before her, Dumbledore was offering her the position. It would certainly be a shock to assimilate back into the wizarding world after so many years away, and yet she found her heart aching for Hogwarts. Her home. Her past. Her family.
Rather decidedly, she reached into her leather satchel beneath the cafe table for her pen and notepad and swiftly wrote out two letters of resignation: one to Edinburgh Castle and one to the University. She would miss it, she mused, but what future was there for her here? After paying her bill, she stepped out into the dim afternoon light and started her journey home. She wrapped her almost floor-length brown tartan coat around her, protecting herself against the rain, and strode up towards Greyfriars. She posed a striking figure at almost 5'9 and her coat flapped behind her as she walked with purpose along the Edinburgh pavements. She paused for a moment as she stood in front of the red post box before her, her resignation letters in her hand. After a deep breath, she looked up and blew Edinburgh a goodbye kiss before posting them through the hole. There was no going back now. She reached into her bag again and pulled out a third letter, one she'd written almost as soon as she'd received the one from Dumbledore but until then had little expectation of posting it. Her letter of acceptance. She stared at it in her hands, watching rain drops peppering its surface. How was she going to send it? She didn't even have an owl anymore..
A hoot brought her out of her speculative trance and she looked up. As if in answer to her thoughts, there perched on top of the statue of Greyfriars Bobby was an owl. Beautiful and silken brown, giving her the most intense stare. She raised an eyebrow back at the creature, marveling at Dumbledore's intuition, and held the letter out tentatively to it. For a brief moment, the owl did nothing and she felt foolish at the thought of being seen waving a letter at a bird. But then, the owl snatched it from her, taking it into his beak and taking off into the dismal weather. She smiled as she watched the bird fly off into the steel sky, caring not a jot at the droplets coating her glasses and soaking her hair through.
I'm going home…
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The drive up to Fort William had been a leisurely thing. Ever since coming to Scotland, she'd always dreamt of going up to the Highlands for an explore. But work had become overwhelming and Circe found she had no one special to go with and it was yet another thing that had been pushed aside in the drudgery of day to day survival.
Her landlord had settled on her lease, happy to wave the time of notice down to just a few weeks, saying he'd probably find someone within a few days to occupy the modest one-bedroom apartment. A small goodbye round of pints had been had between her and a couple of colleagues she had become friendly with, but otherwise her leaving the city of Edinburgh was swift and painless. Now, all her worldly possessions were stuffed into her VW Beetle. Taking her sweet time of things, she'd spent a night camping on the shores of Loch Leven, then on to Glencoe for a heavenly weekend walking the landscape, and then had detoured rather heavily out to the Isle of Skye for a while. Looking out at the harbour on her last day at Portree, tucking in to her fish and chips had been a wonderful slice of peace, if a tad lonely. She wished she'd done this sooner, and with the friends she had just left behind in Edinburgh. But still, a little solitary holiday before the inevitable return to Hogwarts gave her time to organize her thoughts.
She'd made the inevitable trip out to Diagon Alley earlier in the summer to, in many cases, re-purchase a lot of her wizarding necessities. Re-familiarizing herself with knuts and bolts and sickles had been a wee bit challenging, but it came back to her after a few practice buys. She remembered instantly the erudite joy of stepping into Flourish and Blotts, the grandeur of Gringotts and the general buzz of being around her likewise magical kinfolk. There were very few faces she recognized and even fewer still who stopped for a short hello. After completing her shopping list, she'd impulse-bought a beautiful speckled Tawny Owl she had christened Ziggy (after her favorite album, of course).
Ziggy had made it his mission to screech the whole ride up, but she found that he quietened down considerably when she sang to him. As a result, her journey had been punctuated with several car concerts, barreling down small highland roads belting Tiny Dancer or at one point, when she'd played every single character on the Les Miserables soundtrack... Her voice felt red raw by the time she'd checked out of her final B&B.
And then suddenly, all at once, there was Hogwarts. It was almost as if she'd not expected it to be there, even after diligently following the signs for Hogsmeade. Breathtakingly beautiful, it sat on the crest of the hill in a moment of rare but brilliant sunlight. There had been times when Circe had been sitting on another monotonous bus journey to work or filing paperwork in the University's offices that she'd questioned whether Hogwarts had ever been real, all just an imagined dream of her teenage years. But there it was, in striking defiance.
How could anyone mistake Hogwarts for a ruin? Circe thought to herself, marveling at the disguising charm that had been put on the building to deter local muggles.
From the very tips of Ravenclaw tower to the snaking stairs leading down to the boathouse, Circe drank in every little detail, a thousand and one memories coming back to her. She pulled the car over and for a short while just stared at her long-forgotten home now before her, emotionally laden tears now springing from her eyes. The ache in her chest that she had for Hogwarts when she had first received Dumbledore's letter exploded into a warming wave of love. She smiled to herself, her vision blurring from her tears. She hastily wiped her face and continued her drive.
Hogwarts did not have a car park, unsurprisingly. But in her correspondence with the school since the summer she had been instructed to leave her car in Hogsmeade and make her way to the school with the older years in the self-drawn carriages. Her belongings, she assumed, would be brought up to the castle later. She arrived early in the afternoon, a good few hours before the Hogwarts Express was due to arrive. Time for a quick drink.
The Three Broomsticks was a time capsule for her. Unchanged for centuries and again a well of memories from Circe's own time in school. Many an evening had been spent in here in her teenage years, experimenting with booze and boys. She ordered a butter beer and made herself comfortable by the warm fire, Ziggy snoozing in his cage next to her feet. She supposed she could let him free now and he'd find his own way to the Owlery from here. But he'd already become her darling, her firm companion, and she wanted just a few more moments with him before she was truly on her own.
She had only been tucked into her book for a few minutes before a great bellowing voice at the other end of the pub shook her out of her reader's trance. Not in a month of Sundays could she ever mistake that voice…
"Hagrid?" She called out.
Hagrid's head popped round one of the pub's corners and his eyes lit up. Almost as much of a fixture of Hogwarts as the greenhouses or the Great Hall. She almost got teary again when she saw him.
"Circe! Blimey! You're the one Dumbledore got to teach Ancient Studies then?"
Circe stood and Hagrid strode over to her. Hagrid enveloped her in a crushing hug and Circe tried to return it in kind but felt as if the wind were being squeezed out of her.
"How long 'as it been since you were in this neck 'o the woods then?" He asked her, finally releasing her from his iron grip.
"Nine… ten years. Something like that."
"Don't you look all grown up…" Hagrid beamed. "Makes me feel my age! People that were teenagers yesterday are adults now and kids I thought were little babies are growing up faster than I can keep up!"
Circe laughed "And when are the little darlings due to get here?" She asked.
"Oh, six or seven. Not for a while yet." He replied. "You'll never guess who's starting Hogwarts in this year's lot." He teased.
"Who?" The two sat down together at Circe's table next to the fire, her interest peaked.
"Harry Potter."
Circe was speechless. He was already eleven? She thought. "Goodness me…"
"I know! Took him myself to get his wizarding stuff from Diagon Alley I did."
"So You-Know-Who has been gone for over ten years…" she breathed.
"You didn't fight in the last war did ye?" Hagrid asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to do the mental maths.
Circe felt a sting inside. "Um… no I didn't." She replied. "Damn thing was over before I'd turned eighteen." She added, helping Hagrid with his mental gymnastics.
It had always been a sore point for Circe. Her latter school years had been plagued by stories of Voldemort's warmongering. She watched many of her friends in the older years go off to fight in the war and die in the war, and to her it seemed like time could not travel fast enough to speed her to her eighteenth birthday. The Order flatly turned her down when she'd asked to fight alongside the Potters and the Longbottoms and Dumbledore himself. She'd even at one point lied about her age to join the fight, but Dumbledore had turned her away at the first Order meeting she attended and suffered through three months worth of detention as recompense. Voldemort had been defeated by The Boy Who Lived in September, Circe turned eighteen in October…two years later.
"Ah well… nasty stuff." Hagrid said dismissively, sensing the coolness of her tone. "All better left in the past."
"Indeed." Circe said curtly. She sighed heavily and tried to push the bitter memories away. "Another round Hagrid?"
The two spent a few cozy hours talking and catching up on the past ten or so years. She told Hagrid of her lecturing job at The University (having to first of all explain what a University was) and he brought her up to speed with his rescue of Harry Potter from his frightfully awful sounding relatives. The beers flowed and the sun began to set outside.
"Have ye been up to the castle yet?" Hagrid asked after a while.
"No, I was going to wait for the carriages to get here. Go up with the students."
"Or ye could walk it, if you didn't want t' wait any longer." Hagrid offered.
Circe thought on this for a moment. Of course, how had she completely forgotten the walking path from Hogsmeade? It was an attractive offer, one that avoided all kinds of gawping teenagers muttering to each other and elbowing one another in the ribs as they looked at her.
"You know, I think I might." She said. "Sort a few things out before the feast."
She stood up and touched the top of Ziggy's cage, ready to carry him up to the castle.
"I'll look after 'im." Hagrid offered, pointing at the bird. "Introduce him to everyone. Show him where the Owlery is."
Circe couldn't think of a better person to leave Ziggy with. "Thank you Hagrid." she said, handing the owl cage over to the giant.
"Now go on, be on your way." Hagrid replied, taking the cage from her and patting her reassuringly on the back. "I know you professors have lots t' be doin' this time of year. And I'll see you soon at the feast"
"See you soon...colleague." Circe said with a smile.
Hagrid laughed and waved her out the door.
The sun was just dipping over the horizon as Circe passed the Shrieking Shack. She found herself almost upon the Hogwarts grounds by the time the sky was streaked with purple. The huge wooden doors of the outer courtyard were slightly ajar and she saw a warm orange light spilling out from the heart of the castle. She tiptoed up to the doors and peered around quietly. A myriad of house elves were bustling all around inside. They carried food, cutlery, glasses and a trove of other things here and there, chattering away. Circe had never seen a House Elf whilst she'd been at school. They preferred to keep to the kitchens and out of sight, she'd heard.
I guess they come and go as they please when the students aren't here she thought.
She watched them in awe for a while, nattering away to one another and moving at a lightning fast speed. In one House elf's hand she spied a very familiar looking suitcase: hers!
"Hey!"
She forgot she was meant to be hiding and pushed open the doors. The house elves all looked up in unison and scurried away at the presence of a human. In seconds they were gone and it was all Circe could do to keep her head from reeling in dizziness as she failed to keep an eye on them.
"May I help you?" A voice called out to her from down the hall.
Circe turned to meet the voice and saw the striking figure of her old Professor, gliding gracefully towards her.
"Professor Mcgonagall."
"My goodness!" Mcgongall clutched at her heart as she saw Circe's face clearly in the soft yellow light. "Circe Smith! How wonderful to see you again."
"You too Professor." Circe beamed. Her familiar Scottish brogue was a soothing tonic to her.
"Oh I suppose you'd better call me Minerva now we're to be colleagues." She added, pursing her prim lips together and taking Circe's hand into her own.
"Ha! That will never not be strange to me…" Circe said.
"Oh many an old student has found themselves back within Hogwarts's walls once more, myself included. Besides, I also hear that we're to be neighbours…"
"Neighbours?"
"Come," Mcgonagall said, beckoning to her. "I shall explain on the way to the Staff room."
"There's a Staff Room…?" Circe asked, genuinely surprised. Not once had she seen a staff room whilst she'd been a student.
"Well of course." Mcgonagall laughed. "No self-respecting Professor would ever tell a student where to find them outside of lessons!"
They both laughed and began their walk.
It came to light in their conversation that Minerva and Circe were to lodge adjacent to each other.
"With a shared bathroom and quite a charming little conservatory for us both to use." Mcgonagall added.
It wasn't what Circe had expected, but at least it was still private enough… and it was sure to be a damn site less lonely than her single occupant flat in Edinburgh.
"The house elves have been dropping off your possessions all afternoon" Minerva added.
She stopped outside of a normal looking wall not far from a courtyard where Circe and her friends used to frequently sit together. The empty wall space seemed to be flanked by two armour suits, standing to attention.
"Wait… I don't see…" Circe began.
"The Staff room is here." Minerva assured her. "You just have to know the password."
She walked up to the armour suits and they sprang to life, stamping their spears on the floor. Circe flinched. Mcgonagall did not.
"Pedagogica magica." She said to the suits slowly.
For a beat, nothing happened. But then the two armoured suits turned to each other and reached into each other's helmet visors. Like a magician pulling hankies from his sleeve, a long richly embroidered tapestry emerged from the helmets. Soon, they held a deep red tapestry in their hands that they held up to the empty wall with their armoured gauntlets.
"The door is behind the tapestry." Minerva said.
Circe looked to her old teacher, skepticism plain in her raised brow. Minerva did not reply, simply waved her hand at the cloth, inviting her to check. Circe inched forwards and tentatively pulled back a corner of the tapestry and there on the wall behind was a heavy oaken door where there had not been one before. She looked back to Minerva, wonder twinkling in her eye. Minerva smiled back, and they both walked through into the Professor's staff room.
Immediately, Circe was hit by the familiar scent of brewing coffee and people in conversation.
Not unlike muggle Staff Rooms she thought to herself.
Warm and inviting was the Hogwarts staff room: in one corner of the room sat a small kitchenette fitted with a rather steampunky looking espresso machine that covered the whole left wall with copper pipes and a menagerie of small brass animals sitting on the metal tubes. It hissed and spurted out jets of hot air every few minutes, like it were alive. At the other end of the room were a collection of mismatched chairs. Barstools, armchairs, chaise lounges, benches, enough to seat the whole staff cohort during a meeting and they were littered everywhere. Circe even spied a few hammocks dotted about here and there, with a selection of invitingly soft looking pillows thrown into their boughs. Books covered every wall surface that was not occupied by moving portraits.
Probably of ex-staff members Circe thought to herself.
A selection of other familiar professorly faces greeted her warmly and she was soon shaking more hands and smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. Professor Flitwick, her old head of house, gave her a lengthy handshake and extolled his joy at seeing her again.
"Rolanda! Pomona! You remember Circe, don't you?" He cooed, dragging her from person to person.
"Of course I do…" Madame Hooch beamed. "Circe Beater, the Hufflepuff Eater."
Circe laughed, remembering her epithet from her years in the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.
"Ooh another ex-Quidditch player!" Mcgonagall clasped her hands together in excitement. "You must give some coaching to the Ravenclaw team at some point. Filius is rather scared of heights and they've been neglected of recent years."
"Of course." Circe said courteously "If the Gryffindor team are still as bad as I remember, they won't need much of my help." She winked at Minerva as the other staff members giggled.
Mcgonagall gave her a playful tap on the shoulder with the scrolls bunched up in her hands.
Minerva pulled out her golden pocket watch from her cloak and sighed. "Time is almost upon us." She said. "I'm afraid I have to dash off to see to a few last minute arrangements, but do pop in to your living quarters before the Feast, and we'll continue to talk sports."
"Will do." Circe nodded.
Mcgonagall was gone in a heartbeat. Most of the other staff also shuffled off after another round of welcomes and hand shakings for Circe. After Pomona Sprout smiled sweetly at her and uttered one last "It's good to see you, my girl." Circe was left alone in the Staff Room.
Damn she thought to herself, I didn't ask her where our rooms in the castle actually are…
Circe did not feel like trawling through the innumerable rooms and corridors of Hogwarts by herself, looking for a room that may well be hidden just as effectively as the Staff Room was.
She wondered whether she'd even have time to change out of her travel outfit she wore now. If it came to it, she theorised it wouldn't be so bad to wear what she had on: her trademark long tartan coat, threaded with gorgeous oranges and blues (and rather like the Buchanan family tartan, her Scottish colleagues had told her) which she'd paired with an old black turtleneck and baggy blue jeans.
The staff room was dead-quiet, punctuated only occasionally by the soft gurgle of the coffee machine ticking over. She wandered absentmindedly over to the espresso machine at the far wall of the Room. She looked up in amazement at the maze of pipes and cogs spanning floor to ceiling. A brass eagle perched on top of the machine caught her eye. She stared it at it for a moment before it suddenly sprang to life and looked at her with a curious flap of its wings.
"Hello Mr Eagle." She laughed, extending a curious hand out to him.
The bird screeched, sending a jet of scalding hot steam from its beak, straight at Circe's hand.
"Ouch!" She shouted, toppling backwards.
She thudded into the back of a heavy leather armchair and she heard an angry shout emanating from the seat. She gasped and wheeled around, clutching her scalded hand.
Oh God, they must have been sitting so still and quiet… she thought
"I… I'm so sorry…" she stuttered.
They heard me say "Hello Mr Eagle".
She turned bright red as she walked around to the front of the chair to meet her unknown audience. The voice grumbled again and snapped down the copy of The Daily Prophet that was held tantalizingly over their face. The man's look could have curdled milk…