IX. The Cliffside

Track Nine: My Little Dark Age, MGMT

  IN THE rocky cliffs of north Devon, a small seaside town resides at a distance from tourism and any other outside influences. It's stayed stuck in time for centuries. With two pubs, a small post office, and an even smaller inn run by a little old lady. The inn hadn't seen many visitors in the last ten or so years, only a few stray folks who were too drunk to walk home or some out-of-towners who thought they booked a night in the more popular Clovelly which resides a solid twenty miles south of them. Needless to say, a completely drenched young man in thick robes makes for a very odd occurrence in their town.

  Regulus Black would like to make one thing straight. When he woke up from his near-death experience in Tom Riddles's cave he did not purposely seek out a muggle rather, a muggle found him. He had been planning the second stage of his Horcrux hunting expedition for some time now, it required a great deal more thought and risk than his quest to get the locket. As far as he knows thus far, Voldemort has at least three: Salazar Slytherin's locket, Rowena Ravenclaws diadem, and Helga Hufflepuff's goblet. He honestly could not foresee himself living past getting these, let alone if there were more. His hair was sopping wet, dark curls dripping water down his ornately carved cheekbones and over his hollowed eyes. His face had broken through the surface of the water, he gasped for breathe as Kreacher's small slimy hand wrapped itself around his. Immediately, the house elf apparated the pair towards the rugged coastline. In the shadow of an abandoned lighthouse, Regulus sat quietly in thought as the small elf healed the cuts littered across his legs from the venomous teeth and nails of Inferni. His breathe was strained, it felt as though his lungs were breathing through fire. 

The waves crashed violently over the rocks, spraying the pair lightly with sea salt. A coughing fit shook his thin frame as he accidentally took a gulp of seawater from the ocean spray. He brushed Kreacher off of him and uttered a set of very important instructions, enclosing a small rusted locket into his hands and sending him off to Grimmuald Place. Regulus still wasn't completely aware of what he was doing but this same scenario had been played out in his head so many times that the movements were almost instinctual.

The thin murky fog that so closely resembled the sharp color of his eyes now seemed to enclose the world around him. He made his way up the jagged cliff, following a thin and windy trail that traversed its rough terrain. He was headed towards the nearest village, in hopes of finding somewhere to stay. He was engrossed in his thoughts, wondering where he would go next. His extensive planning did not go further than his entrance into the cave, he didn't see the need when the likelihood of his survival was slim to none. He had known of the dark lords Inferi long before he had encountered them in person.  

One of the dark lord's closest and oldest trustees, Abraxas Malfoy, had been talking about the re-birth of the inferius in Malfoy Manor, many years ago. Regulus, who had been drawn to the Dark Arts from a young age, had begun to study them in Grimmuald places ancient library, yet to no avail could he find them. His curiosity eventually led him to the restricted section of Hogwarts, where he found books detailing the archaic art of necromancy. It was a discipline so taboo that not even the darkest wizards would touch it. That was until Grindelwald came. He ignored every written and unwritten rule of magic, he defied the necessary boundaries of their world, and he played God with the dead. It was well known that Grindelwald essentially paved the way for the rise of Lord Voldemort, so it only made sense that Tom felt the need to enlist the undead to protect a part of his soul, which Regulus now had.

Regulus had dried himself with a spell but the sea salt sprayed over the cliffs as waves crashed down below him. He was moving like an apparition, elegantly traversing the rocky shore. 

Regulus turned many thoughts over in his head as he reeled from his victory, and as they normally did, it led him back to his brother. It had been many years since Sirius left, but the wound still felt raw and fresh, reopening anytime he revisited a memory. Regulus knew that he made the only choice he could and that Sirius was always destined to escape. Although, that didn't mean Regulus couldn't resent Sirius for it, which he did. Regulus had always made the right choices, staying loyal to himself and his family. Whilst Sirius chooses a new family, defied his values, and went off on his own. Regulus was reaping the consequences for doing what he was 'supposed' to do, whilst Sirius was on the right side of history and would proudly die for his cause. In the back of his mind, Regulus felt cowardly for surviving. At least his martyrdom would prove something, to himself and his brother, because Regulus still wasn't sure how or why he was doing this. He supposed he wanted to prove something to himself, which is why he continued up the cliff, embarking on a suicide mission to destroy every last Horcrux. 

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  THE halls of Hogwarts were already alight with talk of the tournament. Students were eagerly buzzing about the corridors, and seventh years were burning with anticipation at the prospect of becoming a champion. The school had seen nothing like this for hundreds of years, and while nothing was ever completely mundane at Hogwarts, the repetitive monotony of everyday life was broken. Thus, the students were rowdier than usual and the professors have given up on assigning homework and exams for the upcoming week, so they had their weekend free of any stress. 

Circe had hardly been able to focus herself on assignments, she too, was rapidly anticipating the choosing of the champions.  She already knew Viktor would be the champion for Durmstrang, Karkaroff had forbidden any of his other students from entering. She also knew that Fred and George Weasley were cooking up something (Kat & Este as well, by extension). She had seen the little blonde first-year scurrying through the hallways with some sort of loot from the potions classroom. Luckily, Filch hadn't caught her, or else she would've been in detention for weeks (not to mention her having some newfound controversy with Snape). Este winked at her and vanished around the corner. Circe already knew she'd be collecting two galleons from Hannah Abbott later that night. 

Circe and Emrys had agreed to meet in the great hall around lunchtime since they had both stayed up late the night previous. They noticed that most of the student body had made themselves at home at their house tables, watching as their housemates went to put their names in. Emrys quickly spotted Cedric and his group of seventh-year friends, the elder boy waved the pair over. 

"Hello to my two favorite fourth years! Have you all placed bets on who'll get in?"

Emrys shook his head "No, but Circe has placed some on who won't. She's convinced the Weasley twins will try and pass the age line to put their names in. Rightfully so, might I add."

"They've been acting suspicious all day and I saw Este sneaking around the grounds!"

Cedric nodded along "You'd be dense not to bet on them. If there is anyone in Hogwarts doing something stupid, it's usually one of them." 

Circe and Emrys sat down next to Ced's group of seventh-year friends but kept to themselves. It wasn't that they didn't enjoy the company of the other seventh years but neither knew any of them quite like Cedric, who'd taken Circe under his wing when she had first come to Hogwarts and had grown close to Emrys as well.

"Oh look, there they go now." Circe grinned, as she knew what was coming. 

Fred and George Weasley had just cockily walked into the Great Hall with matching smirks painted across their face. Circe had to stifle a laugh, knowing how their arrogance would undoubtedly backfire on them in a few moments. 

The twins walked right up to the edge of the line and stood there, rocking on their toes like divers preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with the eyes of every person in the entrance hall upon him, the pair took a great breath and stepped over the line.

For a split second Circe thought it had worked — They both certainly thought so, for they let out a yell of triumph and leaped after Kat, who was cheering — but the next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards.

The entrance hall rang with laughter. Even Fred and George joined in, once they had gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each other's beards. Este and Kat were holding onto each other as they both almost fell over with laughter. 

"I did warn you," said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the corridor and into the hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours. And Miss. Scamander, Shafiq, I do hope that this encourages you to avoid any further schemes like this in the future. " He shot the two a wink as Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, accompanied by Lee, who was howling with laughter.

 The feast had only just begun, but hardly anyone could sit still with all of the bubbling anticipations for the tournament. They all felt as though they were teetering on the edge of something both dangerous and thrilling, despite most having not entered. 

Harry had been attempting to busy himself with mundane tasks he needed to get done (Like going to visit and help Hagrid with his Blast-Ended Skrewts, to make up for not taking care of magical creatures) throughout the day, but his mind kept leading him back to the night before with Circe Black. Soon he was at dinner trying to pay attention to Ron's animated story but her shiny golden eyes and bright cherubic cheeks stayed imprinted in his psyche like a tattoo. She fascinated him, likely due to his curiosity regarding Sirius's past. She seemed like the key answer to his questions. Except for the fact that she likely knew much less about him, than Harry did. Despite the blood relation, Sirius had made little to know references to his mysterious brother. Which, of course, only antagonized Harry more. He desperately needed to know more. Lack of knowledge was a lack of power and Harry felt utterly helpless, knowing nothing about his parents and their past other than the short conversations he's had with Sirius and insults Petunia hurled at him over the years about his witch mother. 

So, there really was no cure to his curiosity in Circe, but he let himself keep believing that there was. He'd never thought about her much before that night they came back to Hogwarts, where he snapped at her and received a stern talking-to from Hermione after. "How could she have possibly known?" Hermione asked him. The answer was that she couldn't have, but since when was his anger ever rational? After a year of hating his falsely accused Godfather, he could hardly stomach having to sit through the man's niece hurling further insults about him, when Sirius had only ever wanted the best for the people he cared about. 

Thus, this bred complicated feelings towards Circe Black. In some ways, he felt as though he would be doing her a disservice by telling her the truth about Sirius when it should be coming from her Uncle directly, but on the other hand, if Sirius had his reasons for not reaching out to her, Harry would respect that. During Harry's visits to the cave in Hogsmede, he hadn't had the thought to mention Circe after the carriage ride. He figured it would upset Sirius more and he didn't even know if his Godfather knew of Circe's existence. Because from what Harry had gathered, Sirius wasn't all too close with his brother. 

Harry felt a nagging guilt that night in the kitchen and it followed him throughout the next day. Her gleaming eyes and her sharp talon-like stare seemed to catch him at every turn, he discreetly snuck a glance at her from across the great hall. He saw the way the corners of her eyes crinkled up each time she smiled along with her friends. Harry had never paid close attention to the till girl now, but over all the years they'd been at Hogwarts, he didn't think he'd ever seen her truly sad. This only solidified the idea in his mind that she really didn't need to know about Sirius, it was not as though she needed him anyways. 

Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Circe simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions.

 At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored. "Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" — he indicated the door behind the staff table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions." He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting. . . . A few people kept checking their watches. . . ."Any second," Hannah whispered, two seats away from Circe.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. The next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" said Circe as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. She saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

The girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Emrys said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbaton's party

"Disappointed" was a bit of an understatement, Circe thought.

Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms. When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip

Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

The noise was so loud Circe was sure that it would shatter her eardrums, but she didn't care. In that moment all she could feel was excitement and pure joy. She was so grateful that the champion was someone she could actually root for (And not some prat like Marcus Flint), she was grateful that Cedric would have his chance to gift glory to their school and etch his legacy into these walls, forever.  Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. The applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again. Emrys and Circe were both shaking as they sat down, their vocal cords worked raw as they both grinned at each other excitedly. 

Circe shook Emrys's hand and seemed to practically vibrate in her seat with excitement, she really couldn't believe it. "He did it! He did it he did it he did it! I can't tell if my happiness is from Cedric winning or the look on Flint's face. Dear Merlin, he really does look depressed." The two both turned, facing the direction of Flint's brooding face, trying hard not to burst into cackles. 

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip and everyone in the room stared at him. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out -- 'Harry Potter'.

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authors note:

TRYING SOMETHING NEW !!!! every now & then i'll sprinkle in new bits and pieces of flashbacks from reg! let me know what u thought about this chap (also don't get scared from the beginnings of harry's little circe obsession, it's nothing romantic yet, it's more of draco-in-sixth-year type beat. it's still going to be a very long slow burn .... lol)