HP: Panem et Circenses

December 31st, 1995

The frozen surface of the lake glimmered in the sunset like the diamonds embedded in his mother's jewelry. A thick white carpet rose from its icy shores to the distant pine trees at the bottom of the hills surrounding North Dawn Manor.

Tristan repeatedly ran his wand down the length of his coat, casting warming charms on himself. "Is there a reason we're out here in the cold that goes beyond admiring winter's beauty?"

"Of course there is," his father said and slowly turned away from the setting sun, the ghost of a content smile still on his lips. "We're out here so I can teach you a spell."

'A spell?' Tristan frowned. 'It's been a few years since he's taught me spells...'

"Chances of me stumbling upon this particular spell in the Hogwarts' library?"

"Very slim," his father chuckled. "Even the Restricted Section has been purged of anything deemed too dangerous for students by the previous headmaster."

'And Father teaching me implies I wouldn't find it in our library or in the Blacks' either.' Curiosity fluttered through Tristan. "Is the tournament the reason you're teaching me now?"

"No." His father shook his head. "Perhaps it'll come in handy in one of the tasks, but that's not the reason. I'm teaching you now because you're capable and also because it's your right to know it."

'Family magic then...' Tristan held his tongue, not risking the excitement spilling from his lips. "I'm all ears..."

"You'll need your eyes too." A pale, knotted wand slid from his father's sleeve into his palm. "Observe."

He flicked his wand over his chest and toward the frozen surface of the lake.

Screaming flames clawed over the snow and bit deep into the ice, not crimson in color, but of midnight black. Countless tongues pooled together into a wrenching shadow; a pair of wings bled from its back and vapor poured from its nostrils, whispering faintly in the crispy air.

"Interesting," Tristan hummed, holding his wand outstretched as he inched closer through a puddle of molten snow to study the creature. "It's almost as corporeal as a patronus, it even shares the form of yours... But those flames-"

"-are more like fiendfyre." His father stepped next to him. His wand was trained at the thestral like he was a dresseur at the zoo conducting a lion. "One of our ancestors had a streak of brilliance and thought there should be a third option on the rather wide spectrum between both spells." He dispelled the creature with a flick of his wand, black mist bleeding away in all directions. "Want to give it a try yourself?"

"You said no incantation." Tristan twirled his wand between his fingers. "What intent is required?"

"It's not a guardian like the patronus, neither is it an avatar of pure hatred like fiendfyre," his father explained, demonstrating the wand motion once more for him. "Fuel it by the strongest, most consuming desire you can access. Whether that is desperation to escape the inevitable, your hatred for a foe, or a dream almost within reach, won't matter; only that you hold on tight to that feeling and let it fully consume you."

"Will it also take the form of my patronus?"

"How should I know? Yours will be the second account," his father shrugged, a lopsided grin sneaking its way onto his lips. "Your mother could probably give you three more siblings and she still won't carry enough of my magic to cast it. You have to be born from Peverell blood for that."

"Yeah, uhm, let's cool it with the baby remarks." Tristan wrinkled his nose. "Did this brilliant ancestor of ours manage to give his spell a name by chance?"

"Yes, he did." Amusement danced in his father's eyes. "He called it 'Carnifex'."

"The Butcherer," Tristan snorted. "Of course, it's something Latin. This family is obsessed with anything Roman." He flexed his fingers around his wand and focused. "Alright then. Should I give it a try now?"

His father nodded encouragingly. "Don't rush it. Take all the time you need." He patted Tristan's shoulder and paced a few steps back.

Tristan took a deep breath. 'What do I desire the most?'

A sparkling trophy drifted to the forefront of his mind. Its silver surface cast the reflections of countless, awe-filled eyes, and soft whispers of marvel drifted from within it.

'But greatness isn't given freely...'

Silver hair veiled the Triwizard Cup like a cloak. Two jewels garnering its crown shivered into summer-sky-blue eyes that sparkled with mirth. Crimson rubies at its base melted into full red lips, curving around the cup in a faint smirk.

'I won't let you steal it.'

Tristan compressed his magic and went through the wand motion, blinking his eyes back open. Black mist spewed from his wand and poured in all directions. His magic leaked from the mist like water from a broken faucet, dripping into the snow and boiling through it with angry hisses.

"Keep it nice and tight, Son," his father called from behind him. "You've conjured it. It obeys only you."

Tristan dragged the loose threads back together, picturing the form of the raven before his mind's eye. Ebony tongues hissed in protest and wrenched around, snapping back at him.

"Control it, Tristan!"

He clenched his jaw tight and dug his heels into the muddy ground, forcing more magic through his trembling wand. A single black feather swirled through the dark mist and the ghostly, white glow of two sharp orbs rose from amidst it.

Tristan's wand began trembling madly and the fatigue ripped a low groan from his lips. Dark spots swam in his vision before he stumbled to one knee. Ebony tongues screamed in triumph and lurched at him. Tristan threw his arms up, shielding his face for the inevitable.

"Almost."

His father stepped in front of him and dispelled the black mist with a long, smooth wave of his pale wand.

"Thanks." Tristan took a shaky gulp of air and lifted himself back up on the offered hand. "I- I don't get what went wrong. Conjuring it was no issue, but it just wouldn't fuse into a stable shape."

"It wasn't a lack of power, far from it." The glint of pride hovered in his father's green eyes. "That was a far better first attempt than mine and I was a bit older than you are, too."

Tristan frowned. "That only leaves my intent and desire then..."

"You must be honest with yourself for this kind of spell to work, Son." His father shoved the knotted wand back up his sleeve and patted Tristan's shoulder. "You can't win a battle of wills whilst there's an ongoing one within your heart."

'But there isn't.' Tristan smothered a flare of irritation and glanced away, eyes roaming over the frozen lake where the last rays of sunshine vanished behind distant hills. Before his mind's inner eye, Fleur Delacour's angelic face smiled up at him from underneath a tangle of sheets.

'I know exactly what I want.' Tristan fed it to the abyss. 'And after the Yule Ball fiasco I know who I need to beat to it as well.'

"Daddy!" A high voice called from the balcony behind them and echoed over the lake.

Tristan spun and glanced up, catching a glimpse of golden hair barely poking over the parapet and two small hands waving down to them.

"Mommy said you and Tristan have to get ready now! She said you'd know what happens when we arrive late because of you two."

"Alright, we're coming, Aurelia," his father laughed. "Now get back inside before you catch a cold, please."

"Okay, Daddy." His sister's delighted giggles lingered in the cold air as she zipped away from the parapet.

'I should just ask.' Tristan shifted his weight back and forth, wrestling with his pride. "Can we- can we try it once more before I go back to Hogwarts?"

"Of course." A bright smile appeared on his father's face. "As often as you'd like, Tristan."

"Thank you," Tristan nodded. "We better get going then."

He wrenched the world past him, stumbling from the snowy landscape into his warm chambers.

"Tonight's my chance at redemption." Tristan tentatively sniffed his armpits. "A shower might be a good start."

The dark green carpets of his room lurched into clean white tiles and sparkling mirrors. Tristan slipped out of his clothes and stepped underneath warm water, scrubbing himself until his skin was glowing a faint rose.

He dried his hair with a flick of his wand and apparated back into his room, roaming through his wardrobe until he decided on an elegant black set of dress robes. "There we go. This should give Mother no reason to reprimand me."

Tristan snatched his invitation and the amulet with the Peverell crest from his nightstand, slipping one over his head and storing the other in his robes. Then he left his room and skipped downstairs into the foyer.

Galahad sat by the fireplace, hiding his face behind the cover of familiar-looking pages.

"That can't be an interesting read anymore." Tristan plunged into the seat opposite him. "Surely you already know it by heart by now?"

"I don't want to go to some stupid ball," his brother huffed and dropped Quidditch Through The Ages in his lap. His brows were drawn together in a scowl. "I'd much rather read this one another dozen times than dance."

"You don't have to dance and there'll be lots of your peers from Hogwarts, Galahad." His father strolled into the foyer from the living room, dressed in dark green robes. Two rings sparkled on his fingers, one with a thick black gemstone, the other with an engraved thestral. "Like your cousins, the Potters, and the Blacks..."

Loud noises spilled down from the main staircase. "Mother, can I please-"

"-I said no, Valeria, and if you fidget around your décolleté one more time I'll charm the dress to cover your entire neck. Don't test me!"

Tristan's mother appeared in the doorway, shooing her two daughters ahead of her. All three had their golden hair braided down the length of their backs in similar fashion and wore long dresses; Aurelia in baby blue, Valeria in royal blue, and his mother in midnight blue.

His oldest sister still scowled with her arms folded across her chest. "At least tell me why!"

She was immediately leveled with a sharp look. "You're fourteen, young lady. I'll not have you looking like some scarlet witch at your first ball!"

Valeria pouted and stormed away, squeezing herself into the armchair next to Galahad.

"See that, boys?" His father chuckled and greeted his wife with a kiss. "The three of us will accompany the most beautiful women tonight."

He was rewarded with a soft smile and another kiss that only broke when Galahad made gagging noises.

"Is everyone ready?" Tristan's mother ran her eyes up and down the dress robes of all males, flattening the occasional wrinkle with a flick of her fingers. "And do you all have your invitations?"

Tristan wordlessly fished the small scroll out of his pockets and presented it. His siblings mirrored him.

"Good, Tristan, why don't you go first?"

"Sure." He grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped into the fireplace. "Bones Manor."

The foyer vanished in roaring green flames. His chest was squeezed tightly and a strange tingle crept down his spine. The invitation crumbled away in his grip as a festively decorated antechamber swam into his vision.

'Interesting wards.' Tristan stumbled out of the fireplace and rubbed the soreness out of his breast. 'Entering without an invitation is probably even more uncomfortable.'

He glanced around, absently brushing dust off his shoulders. Polished suits of armor sparkled underneath the light of a golden chandelier and rich tapestries hung along the walls like they did at Potter Manor.

His father and siblings appeared behind him in bright roars of flames, with his mother clutching Aurelia's hand to stop her from darting straight off.

"Mr. Peverell." An elderly, bald wizard, dressed in purple robes approached them. His voice carried something rich and deep and he spread his arms invitingly. "Welcome back to Bones Manor."

"Lord Bones, thank you for the invitation." His father accepted the offered hand. "It's an honor."

"The honor is certainly mine." Lord Bones shook it, holding his father's eye for unusually long. "It's a shame how the wheels of time allowed many people to forget. But the Bones' haven't, Mr. Peverell. I haven't forgotten."

Tristan frowned. 'What the hell are they talking about?'

"We appreciate that." His father nodded. "Allow me to introduce my family. I'm sure you remember my wife."

Lord Bones finally blinked away. "She was still called McKinnon last time we met but it's a face impossible to forget. The years seemed to have only enhanced your beauty, Mrs. Peverell." He brushed his lips over her knuckle. "And even half blind I can tell without doubt that these must be your children. They're the spitting images of both of you." His brown eyes rested on Tristan and he nodded sharply. "It's an honor to receive a Triwizard Champion. Excellent performance in the tournament, son. You're the embodiment of British strength. Make us all proud, will you?"

"I'll try my best, sir," Tristan replied politely.

"I'm sure you will." Lord Bones made an inviting gesture. "Follow me into the main hall, please. The ball began shortly."

They strolled behind Lord Bones over black and white mosaicked stone tiles through large winged doors. The main ballroom was roughly the dimension of the Great Hall at Hogwarts; only its high ceiling was painted white instead of fully transparent, and golden chandeliers made for a source of light instead of countless, floating candles.

The gentle tune of a waltz and the buzz of conversation drifted over a colorfully dressed crowd. One of the many small elves, which all darted around carrying loaded trails on their heads, approached them.

"Help yourself to an aperitif and enjoy the night." Lord Bones bowed slightly. "I'm sure we shall have an opportunity for later conversation." He strolled out of the hall again, presumably to welcome the next batch of guests.

'This will be fun.' Tristan accepted a drink, feeling his family's presence slowly being noticed as the prickle of eyes in his back increased. His parents led them all to the other side of the ballroom, parting conversations like a ray of sunshine did the clouds.

"Your father and I will seek out my brother and sister-in-law." Tristan's mother took a few small sips from her glass, eyes roaming over the guests. "Stay together and behave! Tristan, you're responsible tonight."

"No way, I'm definitely not babysitting." Tristan shook his head. "Besides, didn't you assign me plenty of apologizing for tonight?"

Her lips thinned and she drummed her fingers against her glass, eying him coolly. "Fine. Valeria, you're responsible."

"What- no!" she cried. "I don't-"

"No talking back, young lady!" His mother's eyes flashed dangerously and Valeria wilted. "Behave. I will check in on you later."

She linked herself in on his father's side and they strolled off together, dipping their heads left and right to greet other guests.

Valeria whirled on him, her eyes spitting fire. "What the hell was that for?!"

Tristan leaned down for a whisper. "That's for telling Mother and Father about me and Delacour." He ruffled her perfectly braided hair. "Enjoy your evening, baby sister, and remember to make sure that neckline doesn't drop too low..."

"Argh! You-"

"Too slow," Tristan chuckled, dodging her blow, and quickly skipped off into the crowd.

The ball was now full ongoing. Plenty of guests, among them the occasional face he recalled having seen at Hogwarts, had taken to the dance floor already. Polite laughter drifted over countless conversations and parents hectically chased and chided their smaller children for running off unattended.

A cluster of guests blocked his path to the table with snacks. Tristan was about to swerve around them when he spied familiar auburn curls a few feet away.

'Oh Merlin, nope.' He spun on his heels and dipped back into the crowd. 'The night's way too young to have my dress shirt ruined by a cocktail-throwing ex-girlfriend.'

He put half the ballroom between himself and Adelaide before taking a deep breath, absently striding past occupied tables.

"And who the bloody hell thought it was a good idea to invite you, boy?" a raspy voice chuckled.

Tristan skidded to a halt at the table he was just about to pass and glanced left. "Grandpa, is that really you?" He grinned. "By Merlin, you finally escaped the Old People's Home!"

"Bah! You're no spawn of mine." Arcturus' nostrils flared dangerously and his gray eyes sharpened to steel. "Stop stalking around like you're up to no good and grab a bloody chair already."

"You know I can never refuse you anything, grandpa." Tristan stole an unoccupied chair from the neighboring table and seated himself next to Dorea, opposite two elderly witches.

One was slim and wore a long green, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture. The other was rather fat and her feathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo.

"Tristan, these are Dowager Longbottom-," Melania gestured at the slim one, "-and Dowager Prewett," she pointed at the fat one, who was sipping on her glass of champagne. "Augusta and Muriel, this is-"

"-Tristan Peverell, the first Peverell born on British Soil in almost a millennium." Muriel Prewett put down her glass and eyed him sharply over her beaky nose and red-rimmed eyes. "It's hardly necessary to introduce him, Melania. In my one hundred and five years I've never witnessed someone making the headlines nearly as often within such a short time span."

"Rita Skeeter is a big fan of mine, ma'am." Tristan measured the distance to the plate with fruit in the middle of the table. "I don't think she'll stop until I give her that interview she so wants."

"You'll stay far away from her, Tristan." Dorea rolled her eyes. "And you, Muriel, should know better than to listen to the dragon dung the Prophet publishes these days."

"I'm not taking it word for word, I'm reading between the lines, Dorea," she replied, eying Tristan like he was some cake she'd love to have with her champagne. "So... Hogwarts' Triwizard Champion is a sixth-year student from Slytherin. Rather surprising if you ask me. Almost everyone I know thought it'd either be the Diggory or Davies boy."

Tristan smothered a smile. "I guess they must've lacked the certain something the Goblet was looking for then." He bent over the table and stole a cherry from the plate of fruit.

A soft pang tug at his heart as he watched it sparkle in the light of the chandelier. 'Why Fleur…'

"Fine young men, both of them..." Muriel hummed. "Are they friends of yours, boy? I've seen them earlier by the buffet."

"Really?" Tristan swallowed the cherry. "I must find them later."

"Urgh, you mean those two pretty boys?" Arcturus snorted. "I know their kind. They would've watered their silky pants had they faced a Lethifold on their own."

'Did he just compliment me?' Tristan shot him a wink, earning a scowl in return.

"Don't be so crude, Arcturus." Muriel drained her glass and clicked her bony fingers at a passing elf for a replacement. "I'll admit you've done well for yourself in the tournament so far, Peverell, but that misstep at the Yule Ball..." She shook her head and pursed her lips. "I know the Goldsteins myself, boy. Why would you ditch such a nice, young girl from a good, respectable pureblood family for some fling with a French veela?"

Irritation flared in Tristan's chest and he dropped the next charry back on his plate. "I mostly blame the alcohol and a... adolescent lapse of judgment."

"It sure was a lapse," Muriel snorted, looking delighted at the effect she had produced. She took another large gulp of champagne and belched. "However, decent to look at that veela might be... I'd never allow my sons or grandsons to run around with some French-"

"-perhaps a change in topic is in order," Dorea chided in, placing a hand on Tristan's balled fist. "How are the preparations for the blood adoption going, Augusta?"

"We... we've set up all the paperwork with the Ministry and Gringotts." The slim witch's tight expression and stiff posture softened a tad. "Hopefully we can finalize everything soon."

"Blood adoption?" Tristan raised an eyebrow.

"My late son, Frank..." Augusta's fingers vanished in her huge crimson handbag and dug around, "-he was killed by the Dark Lord when he and his wife Alice were attending Abraxas Malfoy's wedding as guests. They- they wanted to start a family but then my poor daughter-in-law was left widowed so shortly after their marriage. I haven't seen her laugh or smile for years. Not until-"

"-she met my grandnephew Fabian," Muriel cackled. "I had almost given up on him ever settling down but then the two married a little over a year ago. They are expecting twins now."

"Congratulations." Tristan let Muriel drawl on uninterrupted and leaned toward Melania to whisper. "Wasn't there another Prewett?"

"Yes," she nodded with a fond smile. "Fabian's twin brother Gideon married our granddaughter Narcissa. They have two children together. Their daughter Ophelia should be around Aurelia's age. Little Richard's still a toddler."

Tristan tried to connect the different links before his inner eye. "Well, good luck updating your tapestry with the family tree in a few years."

"The healer says they're unsure whether it's two boys or a boy and a girl," Muriel eventually began to stammer and repeat herself more often, yet at no point did she pause taking generous sips of champagne. "Laughable, I say. Have you seen my family? Us Prewetts have fathered and mothered male twins for as long as Britain remembers. It can only be another batch of them."

"I see," Tristan hummed. "And so one of them..."

"Will carry on the name Longbottom." Augusta dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief she'd finally found in her bag. "And with it a gleam of hope I had once buried with my son. I know my Frank would be so proud of Alice and happy for her. A family is all he ever wanted to give her."

"Talking about family..." Melania beamed, glancing past Tristan's shoulder. "You look adorable, darling. Turn around for us, will you?"

A small blush crept up Violetta Black's pale cheeks and she sent her blonde hair spinning as she turned on the spot before making a small curtsy.

"Good evening," she said shyly, her blush intensifying as her eyes flickered to Tristan.

"Good evening to you as well, young lady." Melania laughed softly. "Where've you left your brother?"

Violetta glanced over her shoulder. "He's over there with Mother and Father." She wove them over. "Come here, Alphi! Great-grandma wants to see you."

Alphard's shoulder-length, dark curls swayed elegantly as he walked over. Behind him, Tristan spotted Uncle Sirius and Aunt Isolde, matching in black robes of fine acromantula silk.

"Evening, everybody," Uncle Sirius grinned roguishly. He flicked his wand and swiftly levitated the unoccupied neighboring table next to them, pulling out a chair for his wife. "How are we all enjoying the ball?"

"The music is a bit too loud," Muriel squawked, impatiently snipping at another elf for a refill. "And I've certainly tasted far better champagne at the previous balls the Bones' have hosted. I'll have to talk to Edgar about that. Unacceptable really..."

"I... see." Uncle Sirius barely managed to cover his snort with a polite cough and let his eyes roam down the table. "Oh, Tristan, didn't even see you there at first, buddy." The roguish grin returned, foreboding nothing good to follow. "How did you find yourself in such... esteemed company? Are there no pretty French witches to charm here tonight?"

Tristan strained his smile. "Haven't found them yet."

"Should've brought your own." Sirius' barking laughter turned into a wheeze, courtesy of his wife's elbow. "What?" he whispered to her in confusion. "Did I miss something?"

"Two more minutes.' Tristan vowed as the conversation between the adults picked up again. 'Then it should be polite enough to get the hell out of here.'

Alphard nudged him gently with his elbow. "Uhm, Tristan. Are you and the Beauxbatons champion like... dating now?" He failed to keep his voice at a whisper. "Because I was thinking... What about the tournament? Will you compete against Krum together?"

The entire two tables had heard him and all eyes turned to Tristan, with the exception of Violetta, who had turned pink again and was now intently studying her nails.

"No," Tristan unclenched his jaw. "We won't compete together."

Alphard frowned. "What about-"

"And neither are we dating, Alphard," Tristan said, forcing his voice to remain calm.

"But you two were sno-"

"Have you seen my son and Lily, Sirius?" Dorea once again saved him with a clutch interference. "Or perhaps either of my grandchildren?"

"Yeah, they were all with me earlier," Sirius said, glancing over his shoulder and shouting over the waltz of music into the crowd. "Oi! James! Your mum wants to speak to you!"

Dorea closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. "Thank you, Sirius. Though I doubt there was a need to shout."

"Mum?" Uncle James strolled through the crowd. "What is it?"

Aunt Lily's red mane trailed right behind him and their two children, Magnolia and Charlus, were on their heels. A third table was repositioned, allowing the party of Potters to join them.

Muriel groaned. "Why am I suddenly surrounded by your entire kinship, Arcturus? You lot are worse than the Weasleys my grandniece Molly married into."

'I actually agree with her on this one.' Tristan sighed in irritation. 'I just want to get out of here before they pester me about Fleur again.'

Uncle James laughed. "I haven't seen Molly and Arthur yet tonight, but we're getting some ginger reinforcements just now." He nodded over Tristan's shoulder.

A foursome of guests strolled over. Tristan's uncle Matthew was dressed in crimson robes as was his wife Amelia.

"Cousin Tristan!" A tall, strawberry-blonde dragged a chair over and settled next to him and Alphard.

"Markus," Tristan dipped his head in greeting. 'Please just sit down and shut your trap.'

His cousin leaned in dangerously close. "I thought, I might see you here with Fleur Delacour." He craned his neck and glanced around as if he expected Fleur to dispel her disillusionment charm and appear out of thin air. "You two looked awfully familiar at Professor Slughorn's Dinner and from what I've heard, the Yule Ball didn't go too bad either." He shot Tristan a wink and chuckled.

"Yes, Tristan," Valeria singsung and slipped into his lap with a soft giggle. "How come the lovely Fleur isn't your date for tonight?"

"Valeria." His mother's voice carried a threatening tone as she came over, holding Aurelia by the hand.

'That's fucking it.' Tristan poked Valeria with his fingers into her rips until she giggled and reluctantly vacated his lap. "If you would excuse me for a moment…"

He quickly darted off, not giving his mother any chance to call him back. 'I can just tell her that I went to apologize.' The watch on his wrist showed only an hour left until midnight. 'Which perhaps I should still do in this year.'

Rising on his tiptoes, Tristan skimmed over the heads of the crowd for a familiar crown of auburn hair until he spotted her by the cocktail buffet.

'That's a rather dangerous location to meet an angry ex-girlfriend, but I suppose I have no choice.' Tristan dragged up whatever lingering shadow of a Gryffindor the Sorting Hat had once seen in him and approached her.

Adelaide was standing with her parents and brother, absently spinning her glass of champagne while her family held a conversation. Mr. Goldstein was the first to notice him, eyes dipping low to his daughter before they narrowed back on Tristan. "You really have some nerve to show up here, Mr. Peverell."

Adelaide gasped and whirled around. She flinched back when she saw him, spilling champagne over the polished floor.

'Half's gone already.' Tristan eyed the rest of the glass' contents warily. 'Pity it wasn't all.'

He cleared his throat. "Pardon me for the interruption but could I talk to you-"

"How dare you!" Adelaide suddenly lurched forward, the hand holding her glass flicked up.

Cold champagne drenched Tristan's face like he'd dipped his head into the frozen lake; he felt it trickle down his neck and into his dress shirt, clinging to his chest, yet he still couldn't bother to care.

"How dare you..."

The conversations around him turned into excited, hushed whispers and murmurs. Countless stares bored into his back but none of it felt real to him. It all drowned out in the echo of her words.

"How dare you..."

Through eyes squinted together to keep out the burn of champagne, Adelaide's light green irises blurred into midnight blue, her skin paled to the light of the moon, and her long auburn hair shifted to platinum.

'No! Fuck this.' Tristan tore himself out of his trance. 'Don't even go there.'

He squeezed his eyes shut before blinking repeatedly and wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

'I shouldn't have approached her whilst she had a drink. What a rookie mistake...'

He met Adelaide's furious glare with a sigh of frustration. "Please, Adelaide, I just came to talk for a moment."

"Leave her alone!" her younger brother hissed angrily, pulling his wand from within his robes. "Or you'll regret it!"

Tristan shot him a half-amused look. 'He's got heart, gotta give it to him...'

"No, Anthony." Adelaide placed a hand on her brother's arm. "If anyone gets to hex this asshole it'll be me." She glowered at Tristan tight lipped before shooting her family a nod. "Give us five minutes, will you."

Her parents exchanged a frown and regarded their daughter apprehensively. "Are you- are you sure, dear?"

"Yes."

"Give the sign if he tries anything." Anthony retreated as well, gripping his wand tightly underneath his robes while making eye contact with Tristan.

'Would be a lot more intimidating if you weren't such a twink, mate.'

"What did you come here for?" Adelaide fired off, her gaze swapping over his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be gloating and boasting with your new girlfriend?"

"Delacour is not here," Tristan sighed. "And she's definitely not my girlfriend."

"Why not?" she sneered. "That French bitch got any other girls beat in all the compartments you care about; boobs... legs... butt. You're telling me she still wasn't enough for you?"

"Look, Adelaide," Tristan took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't come here to talk about Fleur Delacour; I only came to apologize to you. The way I treated you at the yule ball wasn't fair and I understand that you're upset-"

"Upset?" she echoed incredulously, her shoulder tensing. "I came back, Tristan. I came back because I realized I was being harsh by running away. And what did I see?"

"I'm sorry. I really am." Tristan felt at a loss for words. "What else do you want me to say?"

"If you were truly sorry you wouldn't have lied to me about everything in regard to her." Her lips started trembling. "How long have you two been going behind my back?"

"Wait- what?" Tristan startled. "I- no... I didn't- I swear there was nothing between me and Delacour before the Yule Ball."

Adelaide snorted. "Just another lie. Do you really think I'm stupid? You two danced like some fucking couple that has been married for years."

"Adelaide, perhaps we can-"

"No!" She stomped on her heel, her voice gaining in volume and catching the attention of everyone around them. "You didn't dance with me that way, Tristan. You never kissed me the way you kissed her!" She broke out in sobs that shook her entire upper body. "And after you ran off with her... I bet you've- I bet you've never-"

"Okay, this clearly isn't going anywhere right now." Tristan interfered as tears started spilling from her narrowed eyes. "I just wanted to do the right thing and express my apologies. I've done that. The last thing I wanted was for you to become even more... resentful."

"Resentful? You think I'm resentful?" Adelaide taunted in cold laughter. "I pray that the rumors about veela are true, Tristan. I pray she's ensnared you like she did all the other boys." She smeared away dark tears of mascara to reveal green eyes alight with fire. "Because when she breaks your heart into shards, perhaps then you'll find a better word that fucking resentful."

Not giving him the chance to reply, she spun on her heels and rushed off.

'I'm afraid your prayers will fall on deaf ears, Adelaide.' Tristan watched her break through a circle of spectators from where she bolted straight past her parents to the exit of the ballroom.

"For Fleur Delacour to break my heart I'd first have to let her get close to me."