HP: Panem et Circenses

November 23rd, 1995

The loud noises of the crowd drifted from the tall wooden stands of the arena underneath a clear late November sky. The adrenaline slowly faded from his veins; an ache of exhaustion crept into his limbs and a faint pound throbbed in his head.

"Tristan!"

Valeria bounced around the corner of the white tent, her face flushed red and her arms spread wide.

"Woah, easy there," Tristan chuckled, staggering back from the force of her embrace. "I've taken my beating already for today."

"You did it! Thank Morgana, you did it!" She clung to him tight, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "But just why did you have to make it so bloody tight?! Why didn't you just-"

"My turn!" Galahad's voice interrupted her impending lecture. "Let me through!" A new pair of even smaller arms broke their hug to force themselves in between them.

"Hey, baby brother!" Tristan laughed and effortlessly picked him up, running his eye over him from head to toe before setting him back down on the ground. "How are you feeling? Anything still missing or did Dorea patch you back together?"

"That was awesome!" Galahad ignored his questions with a bright cheer. "I thought they were going to have to send in the wizards to stop that lothfill-"

"Lethifold," Valeria chimed in.

"-yeah, whatever, from hurting you! But then you just sneezed this black smoke and turned the Lethifold into a torch!" His brother grinned from ear to ear, bouncing excitingly on the balls of his feet. "How did you do that?! You have to teach me some of those spells. Can we start with the fire-"

"-easy there, Galahad, maybe when you're a bit older." Tristan roughed his brother's hair and fixed a bright smile to remain on his face, even when he spotted his parents approaching over the top of his siblings' heads.

"Tristan!"

His mother strode swiftly past her other children in a blur of lavender robes and hugged him long and tight without saying a word; her trembling shoulders, a stifled sob, and her short ragged breath spoke for themselves.

"You did very well, Tristan." His father clapped him on the shoulder, green eyes piercing through him. "You've progressed a lot... further in your studies than either of us had expected."

'How much did they pick up?' A sharp twist of uncertainty knotted in his stomach. 'The fiendfyre was an obvious one, but can they link that weird black mist to a ritual?'

"Thank you, Father." Tristan didn't dare to meet the intense emerald gaze for too long, so he quickly glanced over his shoulder and around himself instead. "Where have you left Aurelia?"

"She's at home, Dobby is keeping her company," his mother answered, gently brushing a disheveled lock of hair from his forehead. "She's a bit too young to be witnessing some of the magic here. Everyone else has come though. Dorea, your uncle Matthew and aunt Amelia, even Melania and Arcturus made it."

'How lovely...' Tristan snorted, a small smile finding its way onto his lips. 'Arcturus is definitely going to kick my arse for letting things come so close...'

"Tristan, you were brilliant!" A familiar voice shouted from behind him.

He whirled around, barely catching a warm, soft weight in his arms, while thick auburn curls blocked his vision.

"Uhm... hey, Adelaide." Tristan quickly recovered from the surprise and glanced over her head at the mixed reactions of his family.

His father seemed very amused, bottom lip shoved out in an impressed nod. Galahad stared up at Adelaide with a cocked head and a small frown, evidently still undecided on what to think about her. Valeria and his mother both studied the other witch tight-lipped, arms crossed over their chests, eyes cold and distant.

'This won't go well...'

Tristan gently tried to separate himself. "Uhm, Adelaide, perhaps you could..."

"Oops." She finally loosened her tight hold on him and spun around, auburn curls brushing over his chest. Her eyes widened and she blushed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your family reunion like that, Mrs. and Mr. Peverell."

"Don't worry about it," his father smiled kindly. "You're Richard Goldstein's oldest daughter, aren't you? Tristan has told us about you over the summer."

"Did he really?" She beamed and pecked Tristan's cheek. "I'm so happy he did!"

Tristan's father quirked an eyebrow, his mother's lips tightened into a thin line, Valeria's frown merely deepened and Galahad made a gagging noise that earned him a light slap over the head from his mother.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you for a while now, Mr. and Mrs. Peverell." Adelaide didn't seem to care about the reactions at all. She shook his father's hand, a touch of pink still on her cheeks. "Such a pity it didn't work out at the World Cup."

"Yes, very unfortunate indeed," his mother hummed, her eyes flickering to Tristan and back to Adelaide. "But it's a pleasure to finally meet you now, Adelaide." She offered the younger witch her hand, though her posture remained rather stiff. "Say... how did my son and you become... acquaintances again?"

Adelaide turned a little pink. Valeria failed to stifle a snort.

"Really, Mother?" Tristan sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

His father scooped an arm around her waist. "Love, perhaps we should-,"

"Well, I was just curious..." Tristan's mother raised a well-manicured eyebrow. "As far as I know you're neither in the same House nor in the same year so it's only natural that parents wonder-"

"-sorry, Mother, but I need to get back to the judges and other champions," Tristan swiftly fell into her words. "They still have to hand out the clues and they'll probably share some more information on the next task with us as well." He gently steered Adelaide away. "I'll catch you guys later."

They walked around the corner until they were out of sight and he was certain they were out of ear's reach. He paused by the mouth of the white tent.

Adelaide fidgeted with her fingers and bit her bottom lip. "I don't think your mother likes me very much."

Tristan cringed. "She's just very protective of me, that's probably all." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Adelaide, I'm a bit confused right now because I thought we had agreed not to make... this-" he gestured between them, "-something public."

"I know," she murmured, gnawing at her bottom lip. "It's just..."

"What?"

"I really like you, Tristan-" she blurted out and took his hands, "and it- it hurts to see you with other girls! But now with you participating in the tournament, they'll all throw themselves at you..."

'I see...' Ugly thoughts bubbled from the back of his mind, talking in smooth cold voices. 'I should've known...'

"You were never interested in taking this public before." Ice slipped into his voice and he pried his hands free. "But now that I'm champion and did well in the first task, you suddenly want to?"

"What- no, it's not like that. You- you have to believe me!" Adelaide stammered. "We work well together, don't we? So why don't we give it a try?"

"How do you even know if we work well together?" A cold chuckle spilled from his lips before he could help it. "We don't hold deep conversations or share our goals and ambitions. We don't go on dates, or really do anything normal couples do. All we do is screw each other whenever we feel like it."

'Because you're the popular girl, who never worries about anything in her life. Whose ambitions are limited to finding some nice husband after she graduates so she can live some dull, perfect pureblood life.' The high smooth voice returned, colder than ever. 'How could I share that with you when I was meant to be so much more?'

"Please, just give me a chance then!" Her lips began to tremble. "Take me to the yule ball and you'll see that we work well! We will dance and have fun together all night, like any real couple!"

'I do have to go with someone, and now that I'm a champion with some actual popularity I could probably have my pick...' A pair of summer-sky blue eyes and full, red lips clawed themselves to the forefront of his mind. 'No, I'll definitely not ask petite Fleur. That's exactly what she wants...'

He watched the gleam of hope in Adelaide's light green eyes and weighed the option. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Thank you!" She pressed herself against him and crushed her lips up against his, her hands in his hair.

'I really shouldn't get her hopes up.' Tristan reciprocated the kiss, letting Adelaide slip her tongue into his mouth.

The mouth of the tent fluttered. A throat was cleared audibly and familiar, soft laughter drifted over his back to his ears.

"Mon dieu, Tristan. Everyone is waiting for you while you're out here... celebrating already."

He tried to turn his head but Adelaide's fingers tugged on his hair more tightly and she moaned into his mouth.

Tristan broke the kiss and pried himself out of the tight embrace. "I'll be right with you, Delacour." He glanced down at Adelaide, an awkward silence rose between them. "I gotta go now, sorry."

"Sure." Adelaide's eyes flickered past his shoulder and her lips tightened. "Find me later, will you? We should definitely celebrate."

"Perhaps there'll be some time," Tristan said before turning around.

"Finalement." Delacour's blue eyes bored into him as she held open the entrance to the tent. He wordlessly stepped past her inside.

The five judges stood by the table in the corner, whispering over some scrolls of parchment. Viktor Krum sat on a stool in the middle of the tent. One side of his face was covered in a thick orange paste and his arm was bandaged from wrist to shoulder. He scowled at Delacour and him as they entered.

'At least his nose didn't take another beating this time...'

"How'd the field trip to magical Asia go, Krum?" Tristan leaned against one of the poles and shot him a wink. "Did you... stumble over some points on your way?"

"19 points," Krum muttered through clenched teeth.

"Well, that's not too bad." Tristan sighed, placing his hands behind his head, "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, right?"

"Arroganz and boldnez iz wery poor combination, da." Krum's dark eyes flashed. "Zhe snitch haz not been caught yet, Peverell."

"Ahh, Quidditch metaphors. I love me some of those," Tristan chuckled. "Have you heard this one yet? 'Catching the snitch doesn't win you the game'." He feigned a frown. "Wait! My bad, that must be a sensitive subject for you, isn't it?"

Krum's knuckles flexed and his fingers twitched to his waist. A good-natured chuckle sounded from where the judges had gathered.

"Now, now, Mr. Krum... a bit of banter after the tasks is considered tradition in the Triwizard Tournament." Bagman bounced into the middle of the tent, looking as pleased as though he personally just subdued some of the most dangerous magical beasts. "Well done, all of you! I think I speak for the entire jury when saying that we're really impressed with all of your performances."

'I'll be the judge of that as soon as I'm out of here.' Tristan's eyes flickered to both of his competitors.

Krum scowled. Delacour held his gaze with warm blue eyes. Her fingers snuck up her head and she loosened her bun, tossing long platinum-blonde hair over her shoulder. Her red lips curved into a smirk.

Tristan tore his eyes away with a roll. 'I really want to find out how she didn't lose a single feather out there...'

"Now, just a quick few words," Bagman continued cheerfully. "You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth - but, as promised-" he pulled three small scrolls of parchment out from behind his back and wiggled his eyebrows, "-we're giving two of you something to think about in the meantime!"

He playfully criss-crossed his arms, offering the scrolls to each competitor, until Crouch audibly cleared his throat.

"Yes- yes, right, Minister." Bagman nodded quickly. "Having finished the task first, Mr. Peverell will receive two clues. Ms. Delacour, who took slightly longer, will receive one."

'Are those three entirely different clues?' Tristan studied the rolls curiously. 'Or do Delacour and I share a clue and I just get an additional one?'

Bagman offered one scroll to Delacour. "This- this one's for you, Ms. Delacour."

"Mercy, Monsieur Bagman." She accepted the role with a flash of pearly white teeth, letting it slip down her décolleté into her blouse.

'That explains why she scored so high.' Tristan choked on his laughter. 'She probably promised Bagman a private performance later on...'

Bagman blushed and turned away. "And these two are for you, Mr. Peverell."

Tristan took both scrolls and let the length of his wand slide into his palm. He hissed under his breath and coated the scrolls in a faint shimmer of magic, adding a seal of crimson wax.

'That will stop anyone else from reading them.'

He felt Delacour's eyes on him as he stored the scrolls within his robes. Glancing up, he caught her lips in the same delicate pout he'd barely resisted kissing an hour before.

'Unless petite Fleur somehow steals Slytherin's Locket from Mother and suddenly speaks Parseltongue.'

Tristan shot her a quick wink. Her eyes sparkled playfully and she blew him a kiss in response. Tristan made an act of dodging it and left the tent.

'I really shouldn't encourage her little games, no matter how fun they are.'

"Tristan, over here!" His family lingered by the entrance to the arena. Galahad and Valeria bounced to their feet as he approached them.

"How did it go?" His mother asked.

"I'm in second place by points, but I finished the task first, so I received the most clues for the next task," Tristan recounted. "It will be held by the end of February."

Galahad leaned closer to him. "So... what clues have you been given?" A bright gleam of excitement burned in his green eyes. "Do you have to fight another beast?"

Tristan chuckled. "I'll take a look at them later but I'm afraid I won't share them with you." He ruffled Galahad's hair when he began to pout and held his father's gaze firmly. "This tournament is something I'd like to win by myself."

His mother sighed. "We understand. But please let us know if there's anything we can do to help you."

"Well, there is something you can do..." Tristan admitted.

"I expected as much," his father said, a small smile tugging on his lips. "Do you have any more classes this afternoon? Are you allowed to leave the grounds?"

"I'm exempt from classes and I doubt my House has prepared some victory party in the common room for me," Tristan snorted. "Still, I don't see how that matters?"

"Well, I thought you'd rather use our pensieve instead of asking Headmistress McGonagall for hers." His father raised an eyebrow. "Am I wrong?"

"Wait, how did you-"

"-because it's the same thing I would've done," he chuckled, patting Tristan's shoulder with a small, proud smile. "We'll meet at home after saying our goodbyes."

"Thank you." Tristan nodded. "I'll see you later then," he added towards Valeria and Galahad.

He wrenched the world past with a faint snap and staggered over the dark wooden floorboard of North Dawn Manor's living room.

"Hello?" A high voice chirped, and soft footsteps padded from the kitchen. "Who's there?"

"It's me," Tristan called. "I decided to skip History of Magic and visit my baby sister."

"Tristan!" Aurelia darted around the corner in a blur of blonde curls and baby-blue pajamas.

He picked her up and spun the giggling bundle around. "Wow, you're getting pretty heavy, little lady."

"What did you have to do for the first task?" She fired questions excitedly. "Did you manage to win? What will you have to do next?"

"I turned some tattered, nasty-smelling cloak into a torch," Tristan chuckled. "I also finished the task the quickest, but one of the other competitors managed to do so without dirtying her robes, so the judges granted her two more points than me."

Aurelia's face scrunched up into a tiny frown and her large eyes narrowed. "You're not telling me everything!" She pointed her finger at him accusingly. "Mommy didn't allow me to watch you and now you don't even want to tell me about it." She stomped on a tiny foot. "That's not fair!"

His parents appeared right next to them in a faint rustle of fabric.

"Mommy, Tristan doesn't want to tell me about the first task!" Aurelia chirped immediately and tugged on her mother's lavender robes. "It's not fair!"

"I will share with you an... appropriate version of how your brother performed in his first task. Come with me, Aurelia." His mother shot his father a pointed look before she swiftly grabbed her daughter's hand and led her over to the kitchen. "Now then... where have you hidden Dobby?"

"We were playing hide and seek," Aurelia giggled. "He's really good. I haven't found him yet!"

Tristan's father watched them leave with a small, fond smile before turning back around. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way."

Tristan followed him upstairs and to his office, keeping a calm face when the rune-covered door knob smoothly gave in the moment his father touched it with his wand.

'I should really continue reading their notes on rituals.' He tore his eyes away from the photo frame, in which the enchanted parchment had been hidden in. His father summoned the rune-covered pensieve from the shelf with a twist of his wrist. 'That magic already saved my life once, maybe even twice against the Lethifold, and who knows what other useful bits and pieces I'll find in there...'

His father's eyes bored into him. "Which one would you like to visit first?"

"Krum's," Tristan decided, fighting a smile. 'Petite Fleur would want me to save the best for last.'

His father's pale, knotted wand touched his temples and was retrieved with a swirl of silver clinging to it.

"Ready when you are."

Tristan took a deep breath and bent over the stone basin. The office gave an almighty lurch. He was thrown forward and pitched headfirst into the silvery swirling substance.

The tall stands of the arena rose like walls of smoke from a fire. The roar of a dragon boomed over loud cheers, stomps of hundreds of feet, and exciting applause. Viktor Krum entered opposite them, his wand raised and a scowl fixed on his face.

A red-scaled, nimble dragon crept around a boulder in the middle of the arena, spewing fire from its pointy snout.

"It's smaller than I thought," Tristan commented as the dragon began engaging Krum.

"Very true." His father's lip twitched. "There are much bigger dragons, more dangerous ones as well..."

Spells flashed from Krum's wand. The Bulgarian showed some impressive athleticism, dodging bright gushes of fire and swiftly rolling behind boulders for cover.

"Krum approached this encounter like one might approach a quidditch match against an unknown opponent," his father said. "He probed for weaknesses, tried to test the Fireball's endurance, and performed quick but powerful attacks himself."

Out of a volley of eye-rupturing curses, one finally struck true, bursting the Fireball's bulging red eye like a bubble of soap.

"It worked well-"

The dragon roared in agony. Cherry red flames erupted from its violently thrashing snout and caught the sleeve of Krum's jersey.

"-until it didn't." Tristan finished.

Krum's face was scrunched up in pain as he poured water over the burns on his arm, shoulder, and cheek. His wand flared up again in a storm of sickly yellow curses, blasting the remaining healthy eye of the dragon into a bloody paste that leaked from its socket.

The Fireball's scaled tail connected like a whip and tossed Krum against the closest boulder. His wand scattered away down the sloped stone. The dragon threw its fanged maw open in a triumphant growl, blazing heat bubbled in the depths of its long throat.

The first tongues of cherry red fire spewed from its maw, roaring towards Krum, who merely threw his arms in front of his face. Half a dozen flashes of red connected with the Fireball and it tumbled to the ground.

"That's it." His father placed a hand on Tristan's shoulder as red-robed wizards stormed the arena and subdued the dragon. The memory blurred around them; the arena and its crowd burst into puffs of swirling smoke.

Tristan landed back in the office, taking a shaky gulp of air. His father played with the thick golden signature ring on his finger, running his thumb over the Peverell crest.

"Krum is stronger and certainly more powerful than the average eighteen-years-old wizard but that was to be expected with him being chosen by the Goblet for his school." A touch of pride swelled in his father's voice. "However, from what we've seen so far, he has nothing on you."

'Some wizards are good.' Tristan stifled a small smile. 'Others are meant to be great.'

"I'll still be careful around him. Like any cornered animal, Krum and Karkaroff are the most dangerous now. They didn't come here to lose and they'll desperately chase any advantage."

"Good, don't underestimate them." His father nodded, bringing his wand back up to his temple. "Onto the next one then?"

"Yeah," Tristan smothered a tiny flare of excitement and dragged Delacour's taunting smirk down into the abyss.

'Let's see if you're more than just a pretty face, petite Fleur.'

The tall stands rose once more all around him. A cat-like creature almost the size of a rhino stalked around the middle of the arena. Thick muscles rippled beneath sleek black fur. Its red tongue flopped over a pair of yellow teeth as long as Tristan's wand and thick as his wrist. Golden eyes, each holding a predatory gleam, swept over the crowd of spectators and a long sharp-ended tail twitched at its rear.

"Anything I should know about Nundus?" Tristan asked as his eye caught Delacour's silver bun entering at the opposite end of the arena.

The Nundu's nostrils flared and it jolted into her direction with a loud, sizzling hiss.

His father chuckled. "They don't like birds."

Delacour twirled her wand over herself in a shower of silver magic. Her form faded from view like smoke in the breeze. The Nundu leaped at the spot she had just stood on with a roar, yet its yellow fangs caught nothing but cool November air.

'Petite Fleur and her disillusionment charms.' A grin tugged at Tristan's lips. 'Hopefully, she doesn't have to sneeze this time.'

"No doubt you realize the impressiveness of what she just showcased." His father commented as the Nundu stalked around the arena, occasionally hissing and swinging its claws at the air.

"My disillusionment charm is pretty solid as well."

"But not good enough to trick a Nundu, Tristan, I doubt mine would be either." he said, "Only your cloak would be capable of a similar feat, which makes her being able to do so all the more impressive."

"Why is that?"

"She's a veela, Tristan. It's in the very nature of her magic to be noticed and to be seen." A small gleam dwelled in his father's green eyes. "To repress this inherent part about herself, along with her smell and sound is incredible, especially at her age."

Delacour thrust her wand above her head. "Fianto Duri!"

A crackling, glowing beam of bright magic burst almost a hundred feet into the air before tendrils spread away from its tip like the petals of a vast flower. They arced upwards, feeding a spreading, translucent barrier that trapped roughly half the arena, including the Nundu, within it.

Tristan frowned. "She managed to erect an unyielding shield charm over the arena, despite the many wards of the Unspeakables?"

His father nodded. "She wove her magic through the wards like threading a needle through loose wool. In all my life, I have come across little feats that rival this. Even your mother was impressed."

Delacour's form faded back into view outside the unyielding shield. She studied her creation carefully. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths, yet her lips quirked into a small proud smirk.

The prowling Nundu caught sight of her and lurched, its fangs and claws bared. It bounced off the ward like a rubber ball from a wall and was hurled back against the nearest boulder.

Delacour ignored the furiously hissing beast and touched her wand to the ward. She closed her eyes, humming under her breath. The barrier shimmered bright and shrank a few feet backward.

Tristan felt at a loss for words. "She manipulates her own ward, but she does so from the outside?"

"Impressive, isn't it?" His father grinned. "It takes incredible control and a perfect understanding of the ward you've cast to do so. I wouldn't be surprised if she had offers from Gringotts for curse-breaking or perhaps even from the French Unspeakables lined up already."

Tristan remained silent and watched as Delacour shrank her ward thrice more until the enraged Nundu barely had space to turn itself anymore. She began spinning her wand in intrinsic motions, poking it at the shimmering wall of magic before tearing it away.

'She's funneling the air out of her ward.'

The Nundu began wheezing and gasping for breath. It clawed at the wardline desperately until its legs gave out and it sprawled to the ground, twitching and choking in agony. Finally, after almost a full minute, heavy black eyelids dropped over its enraged golden orbs and it stilled.

The memory blurred around them and Tristan found himself thrown out back into the office.

"What do you think?" His father sat down behind his wide desk, absently adjusting the frame with his family inside.

"She's brilliant with wards," Tristan admitted, unable to keep the trace of admiration out of his voice. 'Petite Fleur is definitely more than just a pretty face...'

"And she restricted her solution to one branch of magic-" his father added, tugging the memory back from the surface of the pensieve with the tip of his pale wand, "-unlike you, who revealed his strength in transfigurations, offensive curses, and in some more… abstract forms of magic."

'I bet she has specialized in this one branch of magic and has little knowledge of the others.' Tristan grit his teeth. 'Wards and a perfect disillusionment charm won't help her in every task.'

"So what? I'm still more powerful than her," he blurred out.

"Do I sense some… irritation there, son?" His father chuckled and regarded him curiously. "How are you and the French champion getting along so far?"

"If anyone's irritating it's definitely her. She's a sneaky little veela and doesn't even try to hide it." A grin crept onto his lips. "At least I can confidently throw off her weird magic now, it used to get to me in the beginning. Her little games are much more annoying."

His father watched him in amusement. "Are you sure a girl like her needs magic and mind games to get your attention?"

Tristan rolled his eyes. "Careful, dad, we don't want Mother to hear you talking about veela too much, do we?"

"You're right, we definitely don't," he laughed and rose from his seat, walking over to the window that overlooked the grounds.

Tristan tensed. 'Here it comes...'

"You've been practicing fiendfyre..."

He sighed. "I'd not be sitting here if I hadn't."

His father turned back around. "And I'd be a hypocrite if I told you to stop practicing magic as dangerous as that. So instead, allow me to at least ask you if you're staying safe while doing so?"

"I have a secure location and I forced myself to progress little by little." Tristan shrugged. "I don't know what else to do, it's not like I can ask a professor to supervise me."

"No, of course not," His father sighed. "What about that other spell you used? Care to share where you've learned it?"

"What spell do you mean?"

His father leveled him with a flat look. "Come on, Tristan. I don't think it's necessary to rewatch a memory to figure out which one I refer to."

"It wasn't a spell I read anywhere." Tristan chose his words carefully. "I honestly don't know exactly what it was myself. I just knew that if I didn't do anything I'd die."

"How curious." His father watched him intently for a few seconds. "Perhaps your magic reacted instinctively then. The black mist just reminded me of something..."

"It was somewhat similar to what you used the night of the World Cup, wasn't it?" Tristan probed carefully.

"Yes- yes indeed," his father hummed. "Very similar actually."

"Is it some sort of family magic then?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I'll pick your mother's brain about it later. Perhaps she has an idea."

"Well, do let me know if you find out," Tristan said. "I'd be pretty disappointed if speaking to snakes was all I inherited from you."

"Careful you little prat. I'll put up more of a fight than that ragged piece of cloak you faced earlier," his father laughed. "Anyway, I suspect your mind's still set on working out the clues by yourself?"

Tristan nodded. "I appreciate you showing me the memories, I really do. But this tournament is something I need to finish alone."

"Your mother and I understand," he said. "Just make sure that you don't forget there's a world outside of training and preparing. Although, now that we got to know Adelaide-"

"And... you've ruined it." Tristan jumped from his chair with a groan. "Thanks for showing me the memories again, I'll be up in my room before apparating back to Hogwarts later."

"Alright, alright," he laughed and gave him a wave. "Make sure you're safe and... responsible. When apparating, that is, of course..."

"Thanks, dad." Tristan bolted from the room and hurried up the stairs.

After locking the doors with half a dozen charms, he pulled out the two tiny rolls of parchment and pressed the tip of his wand to each wax seal.

"Let's see how useful these clues truly are then, shall we..."

A flutter of nerves shot through him as he unrolled both of them simultaneously and held them next to each other.

'Vines and pines, where the sun never shines.

What's taken is hidden, deep in the forbidden.'

'Flows of grain, efforts in vain.

What's lost shall devour, you shan't waste the hour.'