HP: Panem et Circenses

May 31st, 1996

Sunlight spilled through scattered blonde hair. A soft warm weight rested on his chest; arms wrapped tightly around him underneath a tangle of blankets. Tristan breathed in a faint trace of vanilla and swept a fluttering lock aside, glancing down at a peaceful smile on red lips.

'Fleur.'

He pressed his lips to her forehead, fingertips trailing up the curve of her spine.

Fleur stirred against him. "A bit higher, s'il te plait," she whispered into the crook of his neck.

He drew small circles between her shoulder blades, smiling as she purred.

"I love being so close to you." Fleur tightened her hold on him, curling her legs around him. "I can feel your heartbeat and your magic."

"My magic?"

"Oui." She placed her hand over his heart, guiding his palm over her own. "There's no storm when you wake up with me. Your magic is so calm. So warm and protective..."

Tristan stared at her small smile like it held all the answers, basking in the warmth of her bare skin and the silken softness of her curves. "I love waking up with you as well."

A fierce longing rose beneath his ribs, forming a hot lump in the back of his throat.

'Every day.' He pressed a kiss through her hair as the words caught on his tongue. 'I wouldn't mind waking up like every day...'

Fleur's lips quivered. "I definitely felt that." Her fingernails trailed down his chest to his stomach, sending hot little flutters through his veins. "Do you want me again already?" She smirked up at him, a little heat smoldering in her bright blue eyes. "Was last night not enough?"

Tristan chuckled. "You're very hard to resist, petite Fleur." He tilted her head up for a kiss. "Especially when your sex-craving veela nature is slowly rubbing off on me."

She caught his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping playfully. "Do something then." Her fingertips dipped lower, curling around him under the blanket. "I'm right here in your bed already, non?"

Fire bubbled in his belly and his heartbeat quickened to her slow strokes. Tristan dragged the blanket aside and rolled them over, pinning her down underneath him as he caught her lips and cupped her breasts.

A flash of silver burst through the door into his bedroom, coiling into a bobcat. "Rise and shine, my little love birds," Valeria's voice chirped from within the mist. "Breakfast's ready and we're all waiting for you."

The patronus faded away like fog before the sun.

Fleur pecked his lips. "Desolé, Tristan." She wriggled out underneath him and slipped off the bed. "You should've taken your chances earlier..."

Tristan's eyes dipped from the pale curve of her throat down to the swell of her breasts and her smooth, long legs as she bent to retrieve her underwear. He sighed. "This could've been such a nice start in the day..."

"We still have all summer together," Fleur laughed, slipping her feet through something lacy and blue. She caught his eye as she clasped a matching bra behind her back. "Now stop staring and get dressed. Your family is waiting for us."

He heaved himself off the bed, dragging on the first pair of casual clothes he found in his wardrobe. They headed out into the hallway to bright sunlight, laughter ringing from the dining room downstairs.

Valeria greeted them with a cheer. "Look, the two love birds finally made it!"

Tristan led Fleur past the loaded table toward the remaining empty chairs, his mouth watering at the sight of fried bacon, pancakes, and freshly pressed orange juice.

"Your wake-up call wasn't necessary." He rolled his eyes. "We would've been down here in a second anyway."

"I'm starving because you took so long." Valeria waggled her spoon at him. "You should thank Morgana, I sent my patronus to your room and not the guest room. It was fifty-fifty where you'd spend the night together..."

Fleur's ears turned a little pink.

'So that's how it's going to be.' Tristan fought to keep his own flush down. 'It'll be a long breakfast then...'

His mother rushed into the dining room in a blur of lavender robes. "How lovely-", she dropped a plate of fruits on the table, spilling cherries over its edge, and sat down beside her husband, "-now that we're all here, we can finally begin."

Galahad and Aurelia tugged in, securing themselves the thickest pancakes and crispest slices of bacon. Tristan avoided his mother's pointed stare and filled his plate, gulping down a few chunks of orange juice.

Fleur stole the spilled cherries and piled them on her plate, biting her lower lip as she perused the many dishes.

"Did you sleep well, Fleur?" Valeria offered her a bottle with an innocent smile. "You should try a pancake with some syrup. It's my favorite combination."

"I think I'll have la crème fouettée first." Fleur topped her pancake with a generous crown of white, adding a single cherry to the top. "Et oui, I slept quite well. Merci beaucoup." She took a small bite, licking whipped cream from her lips with the pink tip of her tongue.

She caught his eye and smirked.

'Nope.' Tristan quickly averted his eyes and busied himself with his own pancake. 'Don't think about it…'

Valeria giggled. "You do look very well rested, Fleur. You're almost glowing," her gaze flickered to Tristan, "-and so does my brother. I can't remember the last time he seemed so... relaxed."

Tristan's father snorted, choking on his orange juice. His mother's nostrils flared and she took a long breath, stabbing a piece of banana with her fork.

"I don't see any difference." Galahad frowned at him and shrugged, feeding spoonfuls of chocolate powder into his milk. "He looks as broody as always."

"I am not broody and our sister is just being annoying again!" Tristan snapped, scowling across the table. "Thank Merlin, she's done now anyways..."

"I'm not done talking to Fleur yet!" Valeria chirped. "I've slept very well too, Fleur, thanks to your silencing charms last night."

"Valeria!" His mother's voice held an edge sharper than any knife in her kitchen. She flicked her wand, vanishing splutters of orange juice his father had snorted over his plates.

Pink crept up from Fleur's collarbone to her neck and she squirmed on her chair.

Tristan slowly stirred his hot chocolate, glaring at his sister; she giggled and stuck out her tongue at him, popping cherries into her mouth with a huge grin.

"Wait! Something funny's going on," Aurelia squeaked, hunching over the table. "Look, Tristan and Valeria are making silly faces at each other!"

His father heaved her back down. "That's nothing for you to worry about, little princess. Back in your seat you go." He pointedly cleared his throat. "Anyway, do you guys have any plans for today?"

Tristan swallowed a mouthful of pancake. "Nothing much really." He caught Fleur's eye. "I'll probably show Fleur around a bit and we'll stop by Gregorovitch's shop later to get my wand checked."

"Gregorovitch?" Valeria broke out into a fit of giggles. "Shouldn't wizards book an appointment at Saint Mungo's for issues with their wand?"

"What?" Tristan spluttered. "I- no! I don't- I've never —" he clapped his mouth shut before anything else slipped out, his face burning.

His father and brother buckled with stifled snorts. Valeria hugged herself and bobbed, tears of laughter stinging in her eyes.

"What's so funny!?" Aurelia's tiny brows knitted together into a frown. "And what's wrong with your wand, Tristan?"

"I think-" Valeria gasped past her giggles. "I think only Fleur... can tell us if... there's something wrong... with it."

His mother's hand came down like a whip on the tabletop, silencing them all. "Valeria!" she hissed. "One more word and you'll have breakfast by yourself! In your room! For the remainder of summer!"

Valeria squealed. "No, I'll be good!" She twisted her wrist over her lips, tossing an invisible key over her shoulder.

"Please don't get all angry with us, Mommy," Aurelia whispered, placing her tiny fingers on her mother's stomach. "You'll stress the baby."

Tristan chuckled. His mother sagged back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose with a long sigh.

"You're right, dear." She cupped her daughter's hand over her belly. "I'm not angry; I love you all very much. But that doesn't mean you lot can't be very exhausting at times."

Valeria giggled. "And we'll even get some reinforcement soon." Her eyes drifted to Tristan and Fleur, holding a gleam of mischief. "And who knows..."

"Valeria." His father shot her a pointed look. She dramatically clasped her mouth shut, stifling her giggles.

Tristan caught the faint pink hinge on Fleur's cheeks. 'But we've always been careful, no?' The wicked little gleam in her eyes drifted into his thoughts and a tiny niggle of doubt wriggled in his stomach. 'On the risky days at least...'

"Lost in thought, Tristan?" Valeria quipped.

"Hush, little harpy." He rolled his eyes and finished his pancake, then leaned in toward Fleur. "I'm sorry about her. You shouldn't have to endure all that."

"C'est bon." Fleur placed down her mug of hot chocolate. "If your family acts and teases as usual they must approve of me, non?" She offered him a soft, warm smile. "Besides, Gabby would make you suffer through far worse had I invited you for breakfast with my family."

Tristan laughed. "Oh, I bet she would." He wetted his thumb and wiped a tiny speck of chocolate from the corner of her lips, ignoring Valeria's whistling. "Are you finished?"

"Oui." Her smile thinned and a decisive gleam crept into her blue eyes. "I've waited long enough."

'So have I.'

He rose from his chair. "Fleur and I will head out for the day. Don't expect us back until dinner."

"Have fun you two!" Valeria waved cheerfully, casting a careful glance at their mother. "And - uhm - good luck..." She giggled.

Tristan sighed. "Thanks."

He led Fleur back up to his room and summoned the assassin's wand from his bedside table into his open palm. "Time to finally unravel your origins."

Fleur stepped in front of his tall mirror and wrapped her long hair into a tight bun with nimble fingers. "I wish we could just ask the English wandmaker that weighed our wands for the Tournament."

"Ollivander refused to help me once," Tristan murmured, stowing the Invisibility Cloak in his pockets. "He would ask way too many questions."

"What about the one that made your new wand on the continent? Mykew Gregorovitch?"

'The one I swore an unbreakable vow to.' A tad of anxiety gnawed at Tristan as he held Fleur's eyes in the mirror's reflection. 'I'd rather avoid the two of you meeting and chatting about my wand...'

"Gregorovitch chose to retire after crafting my wand. But since those assassins spoke perfect English, they'd have been customers of Ollivanders anyway." He offered her his hand. "Luckily for us, there's another way to get our answers."

"D'accord." She turned around and pecked his lips, slipping her fingers through his. "On y va."

Tristan wrenched the world back past them with a soft snap, stumbling from his room onto chewing gum-stained paving stone. Scabrous, feral pigeons stalked along the top of a row of chipped, marked bollards.

Fleur's eyes latched onto a nearby street sign. "Muggle London?"

"Yes." He led her over to the lopsided red phone box opposite them. "Since we can't ask Ollivander, there are only two other places in Magical Britain where wands and their owners are tracked."

"Your Ministry and Gringotts, non?" Fleur murmured.

"Exactly," Tristan nodded. "And I don't know about you, but personally, I'd rather not break into Gringotts. Apparently, they judge intruders under Goblin law..."

Fleur stemmed her hands on her hips and raised a slim eyebrow at him. "So instead you want me to infiltrate a foreign Ministry of Magic?"

'I did.' Tristan smothered a wry smile. "We'll finally be even.'

"It's not that big of a deal, is it?" He opened the door to the phone box and gestured for her to join him. "Besides, it's the weekend. Hardly anyone will be there."

Fleur stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the peeling, red-painted booth and foul stench. "You know that with my family's ties to our Ministry, this could very well be seen as an act of espionage."

"Only if you get caught, petite Fleur." Tristan grinned. "Right by the entrance hall, there's a device recording the wands of anyone who visits the Ministry for the first time." He turned to the phone, swiftly dialing the numbers six, two, four, four, and another two. "We'll go in, get the information we need from whoever is operating it, and get back out. Voilá."

The dial whirred smoothly back into place. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a cool female voice sounded. "Please state your name and business."

"Tristan and Isolde, fleeing King Mark's wrath due to their illicit love affair."

Fleur stared at him. A soft click came from the phone and two badges slid out of the change dispenser.

Tristan picked them up and pinned one to the front of his robes with a grin. "Tristan and Isolde - Forbidden Lovers." He offered Fleur the other badge. "Want a souvenir?"

"Bien sûr." Fleur rolled her eyes and slipped it down the front of her blouse. "I always keep self-incriminating evidence." She twirled her wand over her head, fading from view in a faint shimmer of magic. "You go and find out what we need. I'll make sure no one bothers us."

The phone box lurched with a screech and the pavement slid up past the window.

"This is nothing but typical tasteless English design," Fleur huffed. "Visitors to the French Ministry of Magic enter through a magnifique bird-caged elevator, not some crampy, smelly muggle contraption."

'You don't say...' Tristan hid a small smile. "Perhaps you can show me one day..."

Her warm hands crept into his hair. "You shouldn't go in without a disguise."

"You're right." He conjured a slim hand mirror and carefully threaded brown into his irises, lightening his hair and altering his cheekbones. "How do I look?"

"Far less handsome." Fleur's soft laughter brushed down his neck. "Good thing no one will see me with you."

The phone box came to a rattling halt and the door opened to an almost deserted, marble-paved floor. The occasional tight-robed Ministry worker hurried past the hall of empty fireplaces underneath the ever-changing runes carved across the royal blue ceiling.

Tristan strolled towards the center of the hall, checking out the cheerful, water-spurting statues in the golden fountain. The eyes of a wizard in peacock-blue robes, who stood by the security desk, latched onto him.

"Hey, you! Are you a visitor?"

"Me?" Tristan pointed at himself in feigned surprise. "Oh no, I'm just killing some time until I meet my girlfriend to grab lunch in Diagon Alley."

"You can't just waltz around here, boy." The badly shaven wizard pinched the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. "Hand over your wand for registration."

"If you insist." Tristan produced the assassin's wand from his sleeve and dropped it onto a multi-scaled brass instrument. It began to vibrate, spitting out a narrow strip of parchment by the slit in its base.

The security wizard glanced up from Tristan's badge with a dumbfounded expression and tore the slip off, holding it before his eyes. "Ten inches of hawthorn, dragon heart core, been in use for eight years. That corr-"

"Legilimens!" Tristan touched their thoughts, stumbling into snatches of countless encounters with faceless visitors.

He threaded the wand combination into a thin red cord, tracking it through the web of blurred memories to a series of meetings. A familiar name stood from the visitor's badge pinned to a broad-shouldered wizard's chest.

Marcus Flint

Tristan startled and ripped their thoughts apart, staring into the panicked expression of the security guard.

"What in Merlin's-"

"Confundo!" Fleur murmured beside him.

The gleam of panic drained from the wizard's eyes and his shoulder sacked.

"I usually keep the first." He shrugged, handing over the slip of parchment and wand. "But today you get them both back."

Tristan took them and spun on his feet. His breath quickened and his thoughts raced as he rushed back to the visitor's entrance.

Something brushed into his side. "What's wrong?" Fleur whispered. "You saw something, non?"

"Not here." He linked his arm through hers and drew her into the nearest empty phone box, banging the button for up until it lurched with a scrap.

Fleur's form faded back into view as they ascended. She cupped his jaw, staring up into his eyes. "Now. Talk."

Tristan let out a long breath, frowning at Flint's wand in his palm. "I know who owned this wand. His name was Marcus Flint, a Slytherin two years out of Hogwarts."

'And someone who never hid how much he disliked me...'

Fleur's eyes darkened a hue. "Was he close to the Malfoy boy?"

"Of course he was," Tristan murmured, stepping back out into muggle London and slipping the wand into his pocket. "All of those purebloods were close."

"Bon. So where does he live?" She asked. "I know you've killed him already, but we must search for clues there, non?"

Tristan strained his mind. "I honestly don't know where the Flints live." Inspiration struck him like lightning and he clasped her hand. "But I know who does."

The world blurred from trist gray pavements into black walls.

"Where are we now?" Fleur asked.

"Grimmauld Place Twelve, the ancestral home of the Blacks." Tristan led her toward the staircase, climbing two steps at a time. "The Blacks are one of the oldest British pureblood families. They've kept records of their business dealings with other prominent families, including any residences."

Fleur followed him down the gas lamp-lit corridor past the tall frames of gray-eyed former heads of house.

"If they're such an old family, why can you just apparate through their wards?"

"Somehow the wards recognize me as a Black, probably because one of their members married into the Peverell line some time ago." Tristan slipped through a dark tapestry into the hidden library behind it with a low chuckle. "See? Grandpa Arcturus still hasn't found a way to lock me out."

Ancient tomes lined the towering shelves to either side, some sullied with dried blood, others locked in thick rusted chains.

"Incroyable," Fleur's frown evaporated as she approached the nearest tome.

"Careful, I suggested not touching anything here." Tristan slipped his arm around her slim waist and gently drew her back. "Most of these are cursed to harm anyone without Black blood opening them."

"Merde." Fleur pouted and retrieved her hand, a little gleam of frustration lingered in her eyes.

They skipped past the many tomes to the back of the library. Tristan rummaged through scripts and scrolls until he found a stack of yellowed parchments, loosely held together by some cords. "This should be it."

Fleur stepped to his side. "You found it?"

"I think so." He carefully flickered through the first few pages, skimming past columns of accounting. "Fawley... Fawcett... Fenwick... Fletcher... There it is - Flint!"

Tristan tapped the fading letting of an address scribbled at the bottom of the page. "A few miles west of St. Giles on the Heath, right by Lake Roadford."

"Bon." Fleur drew his hand back and closed the pages shut. "Take us there now." She cupped his jaw, tilting his head up until he met a determined pair of dark blue eyes. "I've waited long enough."

"So eager." Tristan tapped her nose with a grin and bent down to kiss her. "I quite like that side of you."

"Non." She drew back a fraction, one hand on his chest and pursing her lips. "You're not handsome enough to kiss me."

"I knew I forgot something," Tristan laughed, reverting his disguise with a flick of his wand. "There. Back to handsome and kissable."

Fleur rolled her eyes and gave him a quick peck. "Now go and take us there." She unclipped the Ministry's visitor badge from his chest and slipped it into his pocket, then interlaced their fingers. "I want one less obstacle by the end of this day."

"So do I," Tristan murmured. He tightened his hold and wrenched the world back past them.

Wildflowers blossomed down the gentle slope of a hill to a crumbling stone wall. A symmetrical Georgian-era villa stood by the shores of a wide lake. Smashed roof tiles littered the grass near its walls.

"This place hasn't been properly looked after in years." Tristan spun his wand and picked his way down the gradient towards the tall iron gate lying on its hinges. "Do you feel any wards?"

Fleur produced her wand and closed her eyes, humming under her breath as she paced up and down the remains of the stone wall. "I can feel the residual magic of quite a few wards. However, they're all gone now."

"Let's see what we find inside then." Tristan jumped over the wall.

A loud crack rang over the field and an old tiny house elf appeared on the gravel path leading to the estate. "Who is you, Tibby asks?"

Tristan's eyes roamed from the elf's sullied tunica to the drawn-shut curtains in each window. "We're here to see your Master."

"Tibby serves Mistress." Tibby frowned. "And Mistress hasn't told Tibby she expects any guests."

The front door creaked open. "It's fine, Tibby. Let them pass," a hoarse voice called from within the dark.

"As Mistress wishes." Tibby bowed deep and vanished with another crack.

Tristan exchanged a glance with Fleur. He slid the length of his wand back up his sleeve and stepped closer. "Good day, Madam..."

"-Travers." A graying, stooped woman in loose brown robes revealed herself. "Persephone Travers."

Her small beady eyes scanned him head to toe. "You're Tristan Peverell. Now that is quite a surprise. And you-" she thrust one bony, white finger at Fleur, "-are Fleur Delacour. What brings two Triwizard Champions to my doorstep?"

"I was hoping to talk to Marcus Flint," Tristan said. "He's a former housemate from Slytherin and this was the only address I recalled."

"My grandson Markus?" Persephone's wrinkles deepened. "He hasn't lived here since he graduated from Hogwarts; got a flat in Diagon Alley now. Besides, he's so busy with work, I haven't heard from him in several months."

'I'd be surprised if you had.'

"Do you have the address to his flat?"

Persephone shrugged. "I probably do - somewhere - but why would I pass up on the opportunity to see my grandson again if you need to speak with him in person anyway?" She clapped her hands. "Tibby!"

The elf reappeared with a loud pop.

"Go to my grandson and tell him he's got guests waiting for him." Persephone sent her elf off with a lazy flick of her hand and ushered them inside. "And you two, go make yourself comfortable in the living room while we wait."

'An old woman can't pose too much of a threat. We can just stun her and take a look around.' Tristan squashed a tiny glim of discomfort and shot Fleur a brief nod. "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Come along, come along." Their host led them down a dark corridor, hobbling past dull, plain tapestries depicting scenes of hunting, and several empty rooms until they came to a slightly more grand doorway.

Rundown extravagant chairs encircled a bleached mahogany table that stretched from their end of the room all the way to the other side. A dusty crystal chandelier bathed the scene in a warm flickering light.

"Excuse the mess, I'm in the process of redecorating," Persephone muttered, slumping into a chair by the fireplace with a sigh. "Can I get you anything to drink while we wait?"

"No, thank you."

"Suit yourself. Tibby shouldn't take too long anyway, though she's not swift as Pimsy was. I can't believe I'd ever miss that bloody elf," she huffed, nodding at Tristan. "Unfortunately Pimsy was killed the night they butchered my daughter and her husband's family. If you're a friend of Marcus, he's told you how he grew up an orphan I presume?"

"He's mentioned it in passing once or twice..." Tristan squashed a flare of annoyance. 'But mostly who he blamed for it.'

Persephone's beady eyes bored into him. "Did you know they killed my daughter even though she was with child at the time?" She gestured at the fireplace. "We've found her right here. In this very room. Both hands cradling her stomach. What kind of monster does something like that?"

Tristan forced words through clenched teeth. "They say war brings out the worst in us."

"Aye, so it does," Persephone cackled. "I wonder what's the worst about you, Tristan Peverell..."

A prickle of foreboding crawled down Tristan's spine. He caught Fleur's eye and the open question looming in them. "Thank you for your hospitality, but perhaps it's best if we-"

"I lied to you earlier." Persephone interrupted him.

A fist of ice clenched Tristan's gut. "You lied to me?"

"Yes." Their host slowly rose from her seat, hobbling closer. "I told you I was surprised to see you." A sharp smile spread over her pale thin lips. "That was a lie..."

"You expected me." Tristan sucked in a deep breath, wisps of black magic trickling through his fingers. "Why? Who are you?"

Persephone's wrinkles fused into smooth skin as she gained height. "Who we are isn't important, Peverell." Her gray hair shrunk, shifting a bright turquoise and her eyes turned gray as storm. "What matters is our purpose…"

Tristan's blood ran cold and he thrust out his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

The Musketeer slashed his wand at the chandelier. It dropped from the ceiling and intercepted Tristan's spell, exploding into a thousand tiny shards that he swatted back at them.

Fleur stepped around him and redirected the shards upward with a smooth wave of her wand. They burst through the thick wooden beams above in a spray of fragments, driving a slim crack through the ceiling from one side of the room to the other.

"That's not good." Tristan staggered back as the building jolted, showering them with dust.

His magic seeped from his wrist, fusing into a dark veil above himself and Fleur as the ceiling came crashing down on them. Debris and wood hammered against his shield like thunder, burying them like an avalanche.

Tristan waited for the storm to settle, then pushed massive planks out of his way with a groan and coiled the ebony mist of his magic tight around his arm. He snatched Fleur's hand and steered them out of the dust, glimpsing back over his shoulder at the pile of rubble.

'Perhaps he died?'

Wards rose above his head and tightened like a fishing net, sending goosebumps up his arms.

'There's more of them. Perhaps all four.' Fear spread through his breast and a stab of ice lanced through his ribcage. "Fleur, we need to get out of here! Now!"

Her hand clasped his, hot as flame. She tugged but the room remained still.

"I can't apparate us." Panic crept into Fleur's voice as she twirled her wand again and again. "Tristan, I can't apparate us!"

"Good. Why would you want to leave already?"

Tristan whirled around. Marcus Flint's broad frame loomed in the doorway.

'The wand in the forest was switched.' A cold shiver ran down Tristan's spine. 'They planned this. All of this.'

"I'd like my wand back." Flint spun a slim piece of wood through his fingers. "This one just doesn't feel the same. You get what I mean, Peverell?"

Tristan crushed down his fear and allowed himself a tiny taste of the sweet adrenaline singing through his veins.'Right now it's just one Musketeer and Flint. We can beat them.'

He flexed his fingers around his wand. "You sure you want to face me all alone with a wand that's not your own."

Flint snarled. "Who says I'm alone?"

Tristan glanced back over his shoulder. Golden fog seeped through the mountain of debris like blood, parting it to either side. Two Musketeers stepped through the dust, one with their hood drawn and a crest of golden rapiers gleaming on their chest.

"That wasn't very polite, Peverell. You didn't even give me a chance to introduce myself." The other Musketeer turned to Fleur. His turquoise hair shimmered to platinum and a small melancholy smile played on his lips. "Salut, Fleur. It's good to see you again."

Fleur edged around Tristan. Heat haze danced above her white knuckles as raised her wand and sneered. "I don't even know who you are."

"No, of course you don't." The Musketeer reverted his hair to turquoise with a quiet sigh and charmed his robes to match the ink black ones of his companion.

"I'm sorry for what follows, Fleur. Truly." He conjured a golden crest of crossed rapiers from thin air, pinning it to his chest before he raised his hood. "But it is inevitable."

'They want to kill us. Both of us. Like they killed Dorea.' Cold rage tightened its grasp around Tristan's heart, biting so deep it scorched the breath from his lungs.

The Musketeers' wands snapped up in a dark blurs, unleashing a storm of spells. Tristan batted them back past them into the rubble and added his own into the mix, scorching deep, weeping marks into stone and wood.

Spellfire flashed bright behind him and tendrils of Fleur's silver magic seared the hairs on his neck.

"Kill Flint," Tristan called over his shoulder, adjusting his stance to shield her. "I'll figure out a way to get us out of here."

He forced his arms faster through the wand motions. 'But first I'll take my revenge.'

"There is no escape, Peverell. Not this time." The two Musketeers advanced in unison, one blocking his spells while the other returning fire with sickly orange curses. "Not even your father's Cloak will let you pass these wards."

"Fine." Cold rage trickled through Tristan's veins like ice and he slashed his wand. "Then I'll pass through you."

Ink-black mist bubbled and lunged like multi-headed serpents, shredding his sleeve to tatters. His magic twisted into a cloud of jagged fangs and gleaming dark lances, ripping through rumble and wood like a scythe through autumn leaves and tossing one Musketeer into the pile of rubble.

The remaining Musketeer dodged low and spun their wand in slow circular motions; golden fog spewed from its tip, holding the trashing black magic at bay.

'No.' Tristan twisted his wrist. 'Not this time!'

Slim ebony tendrils reared back to lunge, punching through the fog and coiling around the Musketeers' limbs, singing deep through their black robes.

Their companion pushed themselves back to their feet and thrust out their wand. A second stream of golden fog reinforced the first, fusing into an unyielding wall.

'Fuck!'

Tristan clutched his wand with both hands, pouring magic through the elder until it grew hot beneath his fingers. The golden fog ate through his efforts like boiling rain through snow, pushing him back over smoking tiles until he bumped into Fleur.

'I cannot hold them off much longer.' Fatigue sank its sharp teeth deeper into him with every second and beneath his heart, the cold knot of fear in his gut writhed and thrashed. 'And if I fall, we both die.'

"Avada Kedavra," Fleur cried and something heavy hit the ground with a thud.

"Break the wards," Tristan winced as dark blood oozed from beneath his white nails, drenching the pale elder wood and dripping.

"I'm trying!" Fleur gasped. "I can't get through. I can't get through their magic!"

"You have to!" Tristan curled his fingers, wrapping his magic into a flickering shield. "Keep trying!"

The golden fog pierced through and pushed them back inch after inch, sending them staggering past Flint's corpse, which burst into flames as it was engulfed, until their backs were pressed against the wall.

A twist of despair rose to strangle Tristan's heart and his head spun. 'We can't get out.'

"S'il te plait." Fleur's labored breath rang in his ears as she slashed her wand again and again, her spells fizzling out in the fog. "S'il te plait, Tristan!"

The golden fog crept over the tiles beneath his heels, leaving them steaming and glowing hot red. Unbearable heat clawed at him like fiendfyre, drenching him in sweat, and turning the air around him so hot, the slim silver chain around his neck singed deep into his skin.

'My amulet.' Tristan desperately groped for it above his heart, black mist scorching a hole through his shirt, and closed his fist around his parents' gift. "Fleur, hold onto me!"

Fleur's fingers tightened around his wrist like a vice, nails digging into his flesh.

Tristan hurled the last bit of his magic into the golden fog and yanked on the amulet, bringing it to his lips.

"Home."

The room lurched in a whirlwind of colors, then he tumbled into the abyss.