VIII: Campfire
Track Eight: Sleep On The Floor, Lumineers
The great hall glowed with warmth. The large, usually drafty hall, was toasty and illuminated by ten times more floating candles and constellations than it normally had. Circe looked around at the hundreds of new witches and wizards around her, all of the magic in their veins seemed to be buzzing out of their bodies and into the air around them. She was sure the excitement in the room alone would electrify a muggle.
Sitting next to her, Cedric and Emrys's eyes were about to pop out of their sockets when they saw Krum walking to sit behind them at the Slytherin table. She smirked into her roll when he tripped over his feet in an attempt to squeeze past the students mobbing him. Emrys and Cedric both shot her a look of contempt.
"You ought to show him a bit of respect, he is a world-class Quidditch player"
"- And a student, I wonder how he manages!" added Emrys. Cedric nodded in agreement.
"Aren't you a little old to be obsessed with Quidditch players? Cedric is practically an adult for Merlin's sake, isn't it embarrassing?"
Before their playful banter progressed into a proper quarrel, the great hall was silenced by the loud thunder of their Headmaster's voice.
"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen, ghosts - and most particularly - guests," Dumbledore boomed, looking out among the students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will both be comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be opened at the end of the feat. Now I invite you to get comfortable and make yourself at home!"
Food materialized onto their empty plates and chatter erupted from every crevice of the great hall. The dome echoed and amplified the voices by ten. It buzzed with energy, bodies were alight with anticipation and bubbling curiosity. She could hear whispers and rumors forming, and bets being placed at who will win or dares being made to enter. She couldn't hide her disdain at people for treating this like a child's game, not a potentially fatal high-stakes tournament.
"The moment has come," said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket —" "The what?" Circe muttered.
Emrys shrugged.
"— just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation" — there was a smattering of polite applause — "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater (Circe automatically disapproved), or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced. Remembering him in his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, Circe thought he looked strange in wizard's robes. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting looked very odd next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."
At the mention of the word "champions," the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."
Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways . . . their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."
At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.
"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.
Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.
"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.
"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."
Dumbledore's mouth had barely closed when chatter erupted from the student body. Circe immediately leaned across the table to get in on a bet with her dormmate Hannah. They were placing bets on what underaged students would attempt to cross the age line. Circe wagered on Fred and George Weasley as well as Kat, she had seen what antics they put Este up to. Hannah put her bet on Ernie Macmillan who had been staring at the Goblet ever since it had been placed on the podium.
The students began to file out, anxiously anticipating the next night. Circe was walking quickly behind Cedric in order to catch up to the head boy. She elbowed him harshly and lowered her voice significantly "You're not really considering entering, are you?". Cedric whispered back "It doesn't really matter, does it? There are over a hundred eligible people, I can't imagine I would be. Besides, didn't you hear? They're offering over 1000 galleons as a prize."
Circe nodded along. She couldn't deny that 1000 galleons was a significant prize. She supposed that a school-supervised event couldn't be nearly as brutal as the tournaments of the past. She'd spent a lot of time in the library reading about obscure topics, needless to say, they've come a long way since the middle ages. The schools no longer facilitated brutal murders or killings of students by giant ogres. The excitement of having a Hufflepuff champion much outweighed her irrational fear of Cedric being torpedoed off his broom into a swirling vortex. She decided it was time to outgrow her irrational fear.
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One of the many perks of being a Hufflepuff was that Circe didn't have to walk across the courtyard and up ten flights of stairs (Not to point fingers, but Ravenclaws have to have brains and calves), instead, she simply turned left out of the great hall and walked for a few hundred feet. Not to mention she's right next to the kitchens in case she happens to have a midnight hankering for a Treacle Tart. Ever since the first year when Cedric showed her the entrance to the kitchen, Circe has been sneaking in at all hours of the night for the delectable treats. She supposes that it is worth the tradeoff of having a lame mascot, fluffy badgers really don't intimidate anyone.
As the Hufflepuffs marched back to their dormitories, Circe quickly fell into step with Emrys. "How will you be able to stomach ancient runes without me this year? I just realized we'll be having different schedules now. With you in ancient runes and me in Muggle Studies. At least we'll have Care of Magical Creatures together!"
Emrys sheepishly turned towards Circe, lowering his voice to a whisper "Actually Circe, I'm not in Ancient Runes. I've joined the frog choir."
Circe's head whipped around from where she had been staring at a moving portrait, her jaw dropped in disbelief. "We spent half of third-year making fun of their croaky opera attempts!"
She paused, thought for a moment, and lightened her tone "But, of course, if you really did join I'd promise not to do that anymore."
Emrys laughed, shaking his head "We both know you definitely wouldn't stop doing that if I ever joined. I was just messing with you, but I have changed classes. I'm going to add flying to my schedule, it'll give me extra time to practice for Quidditch tryouts. I know you disapprove of the whole flying and violent contact sports thing, but I'd rather tell you now than have you hear it from someone else."
Circe sighed when he said that, rolling her eyes she nodded along "Yes, Emrys I know it's your right as a male to make stupid decisions. I suppose it's only in your nature to exercise it."
The warm glow of the hearth in the heart of the Hufflepuff common room, wrapped around the pair like a mother's embrace. She was sorry to leave it so soon, but she had only just remembered the lengthy Defense assignment that was due in the morning. Circe, again, had left the assignment until the last possible minute. Leaving Emrys, Circe excused herself from the common room and gathered her quill & ink to take with her to the kitchens.
Circe never worked best by herself, she needed a comforting hum and rhythm to soothe her restless mind in order to focus. Thus, late-night studying in the library or the common room (Her fellow Hufflepuffs tended to turn in earlier) wasn't an option for Circe. She learned early in her second year that the kitchen was her ideal place for cram sessions. The house elves knew her by name and always checked on her before turning back to their household duties, so she left the common room with her work tucked neatly in her bag, in hopes of getting some much-needed work done. Circe lightly tickled the pear and took a step back, the portrait swung open and the magical aroma of the Hogwarts kitchens filled her senses.
She was greeted by Evie, a helpful little elf who often helped prepare a cup of hot coaco for Circe on late-night kitchen trips like these.
"Would Ms. Black require anything to eat or drink tonight?"
Circe nodded back towards the elf enthusiastically, she could really use a steaming hot cup of Jasmine tea right now. She told Evie her request and took a stool over to an empty counter to begin her assignment. It was nights like this that Circe held a particularly deep hatred for Moody, the crazy professor who assigned ten-page-long essays on the effects of the cruciatus curse. A rather grisly topic and grisly length. She detested Defense Against the Dark Arts, a class she never did well in. She didn't understand how her cousin was an Auror when Circe fought tooth and nail to not receive a Troll.
Before she could dip her quill into her inkwell, she heard a voice behind her, clearing their throat.
"Er — Hello?" Circe said confusedly, wondering why the boy wasn't speaking. She hadn't even heard the door open behind her and she cursed her oafish instincts. She had as much survival instinct as a slug.
"Sorry, I mean — wait, what are you doing here?"
He looked quite confused and Circe couldn't help but feel embarrassed about being caught lurking about the kitchen at such a late hour.
"I'm a Hufflepuff, access to the kitchen is basically a birthright. Although, I should be asking you the same. What's a lion doing so far from its tower?"
Harry just shrugged and pointed towards Evie, who was now carrying a tray of Treckle Tarts and a pot of tea. He must've talked to Evie before noticing Circe, the witch yet again cursed her poor instincts. It's a wonder her ancestors survived natural selection between Doras clumsiness and Circes complete and utter lack of survival skills.
Her thoughts were interrupted but the tiny patter of footsteps arriving in front of her "Mr. Potter, Ms. Black, here are your tea & tarts! Evie is happy to serve! Please come find Evie if you ever need anything else!" Evie quickly retreated back into her duties whilst Circe and Harry were left in awkward silence. It was odd, sitting here across from Harry Potter after their odd encounter in the carriages at the start of term. She expressed her distaste for her uncle and yet, Harry acted as though she'd done something wrong. His demeanor had completely changed and if not for the guarded stare he assumed since he'd encountered her in the kitchens, she may as well think that the incident in the carriage was made up in her head. The girl could tell that while he may be still wary of her, he had adopted a much less hostile approach to her existence.
Harry caught the maledictious eyeing one of the Tart slices and he quickly offered her some. Circe obliged, of course, and gulped a bite down with her tea. The silence became comfortable and the pair ate in peace for a moment. Harry eyed the nearly empty parchment roll in front of the girl and raised his eyebrows.
"You're only just now starting Moody's assignment? You know it's due tomorrow morning, right."
Circe shrugged "Relax Potter, It's all part of a routine I have. Hate Defense, wait till the last second on assignments, somehow scrape by with an acceptable and repeat."
Harry looked at her alarmed "You know that Defense is a practical course, right? You may have to defend yourself one day."
Circe wasn't too concerned, she had wits and excelled at the theory when she did apply herself, the only issue was her study habits and the interesting assortment of teachers she's had over the last few years.
Circe shook her head "It's not the class that's confusing, it's more of the disruption we get every year that throws me off. Last year we had one roll of parchment per month, now we have nearly six! Last year we studied theory and useful spells, this year all we've done is study the bloody unforgivables! It's quite ridiculous and if you ask me, Dumbledore should've kept Lupin. Despite the whole werewolf thing, he'd be better than the Loon we have now."
Harry let out a soft chuckle at Circe's description of Moody "I agree with you there, honestly, Moody's more suited for St. Mungos than he is suited for schoolchildren."
Circe nodded enthusiastically, Moody had used his class as a torture session for his students rather than a teaching one. "The only people who enjoy his classes are the morbidly obsessed Slytherins. It's a wonder how he ended up in Hufflepuff, it's about as inconceivable as you being a Slytherin."
Harry stared blankly at her, wondering if she somehow found out about his sorting in first year, and was secretly taking a dig at him.
To Circe, Harry Potter was the embodiment of a Gryffindor: the self-righteous, hero complex, bravery to the point of stupidity, stereotypical lion. She realized it made sense if he was, though. Gryffindors were closer to Slytherins than they cared to admit. At a certain point, the careless bravery morphed into selfishness, determination turned into ambition and 'chivalry' became interchangeable with arrogance. Harry's actions seemed to toe that line between the houses.
"The sorting hat shouted Hufflepuff before it even touched my head. I suppose it was able to sense my love for pastries before I got off the express." Circe paused for a moment, remembering her original question. "What are you doing down here? Only Hufflepuffs know how to get into the kitchens."
Harry didn't respond right away, but his line of sight went over to a small house elf who was sulking across the kitchen. She had sad droopy eyes and was being tended to by another house elf, who looked back at Harry happily. The latter scurried across the floor and began talking so fast that Circe could hardly keep up.
"Hello, Harry Potter! Dobby is taking good care of Winky. Dobby meant to see you sooner but Winky was crying a lot." Dobby shot Winky a look of disdain and wrinkled his long nose. "Dobby does not understand why Winky misses her masters. Winky is ungrateful of Albus Dumbledore graciousness! Many people do not like free elves, but not Dumbledore! Dobby is forever grateful for his help. Can Dobby help Mr. Potter with anything?"
Harry shook his head and thanked Dobby for extending his offer, before he turned back to Circe and saw that she had resumed her studying so he murmured a quick goodbye before pulling on the invisibility cloak & disappearing up the moving staircases.
authors note:
CIRCE & HARRY INTERACTION !!!!!! (exciting! after over a year of writing & eight chapters lol)! also everyone say thank u to katie for this beautiful new gif 🥺🥺 i'm in love w it !! also please excuse all my sloppy writing. i'm aware that it's a bit cringey but i'm far too lazy to go back and edit in depth so you'll just have to deal!