HP: Panem et Circenses

July 2nd, 1996

A gentle breeze played with his hair and rustled through the leaves of apple trees. It skimmed over the calm surface of the lake, sending small steady ripples glimmering in the bright summer sun underneath a cloudless, deep-blue sky.

"This looks like a good spot, non?" Fleur placed her white-ribboned bonnet onto the pebbles by the shore, tipping one red-painted toenail into the shallow water. "Are you ready, Tristan?"

Tristan grinned. "This time I'll beat you."

"Non, you won't." She caught his eye with a small smirk and trailed her rosewood wand down the front of her light blue, knee-length dress; the thin fabric crept up her thighs, tightening into a one-piece bathing suit.

"Such a sneaky little veela." Tristan ran his eyes up her long, smooth legs, admiring how the spandex cupped her breasts, held by a slim string over one shoulder. "Using your unnatural beauty and charms to distract the competition..."

"If I wanted to distract you, I'd wear one of those muggle bikinis." Fleur slipped out of her sandals and tamed her long hair in an updo. "Or perhaps I'd just swim naked, non?"

Tristan chuckled and glanced up over his shoulder, spotting the manor's balcony between the orchard of apple trees. "I'm not sure my family would approve of that..."

"I know your brother won't mind a peak." She looped her wand through a small clew by her waist. "He's still blushing as badly as when I asked for the Bouillabaisse anytime I talk to him."

Tristan snorted. "Perhaps because you usually pout and bat your eyelashes, demanding he share chocolate."

"And it works, non?" Fleur smirked and tip-toed into the lake until its clear ripples brushed past her hips. She took a dive, breaking the surface a few meters further away, her wet blonde hair catching the rays of the sun. "Come on, Tristan. It's time for you to practice."

Tristan pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes, charming his trousers into a pair of short swimming trunks. He waddled into the cool wet of the lake and rotated his shoulders, stretching and flexing his arms over his head.

Fleur ran her eyes down his body. "Bon. Now follow me." She glided off into the open like a mermaid, her lithe silhouette dragging tiny ripples over the surface.

Tristan took a deep breath and dipped low, smothering a shudder as a cool wave engulfed him fully. He took off after her, parting the water to either side of him with long smooth strokes and basking in the weightlessness.

Fleur took a dive, blonde hair and toned legs vanishing.

'Where the hell did she go?' Tristan kicked water with his feet as he glimpsed around and waited, unease gnawing at him as the seconds turned into half a minute. 'Did something happen to her?'

"Looking for moi?"

He whirled around, flinching behind his arms as Fleur spurted a mouthful of water at him and laughed.

"Alright." Tristan wiped his face with a grin, then lunged for her.

She dived out of his path with a squeal, smirking as she paddled away on her back. "If you catch me, I'll let you do whatever you want to me tonight..."

'That'll do for motivation.' Tristan grinned and took off after her with quick strokes.

She rotated flat onto her tummy, arms swooping in and out of the water like a well-oiled machine, taking breaths either side after every few strokes.

'Fuck, she's fast.' Tristan chased her down the shoreline, his breath quickening as they passed his mother's gardens and reached the main balcony.

Fleur twisted around, kicking herself off the manor's wall. "Last chance, mon Coeur. One more lap."

Tristan fought for each stroke, ignoring the deepening bite of fatigue and fierce protest of his lungs. His heart raced and his muscles grew numb but he still kept going, pursuing Fleur until his feet brushed against pebbles and he slumped in the shallow water.

"Are you alright?" A warm wet weight nestled into his back, soft fingers roaming through his hair.

"Just give me… a second… to catch my breath," Tristan spluttered, resting on his knees and drawing sharp, ragged breaths.

"A pity you didn't catch me, non?" Fleur's quiet laughter tickled his neck as his heart rate gradually steadied. "But you know what that means; we'll do whatever I want tonight."

"Don't we always?" he chuckled, following the light pull of her hands out of the water.

"I've yet to hear you complain." She offered him a coy smirk and swished her wand, transfiguring the pebbles into fine white sand and covering the spot with a fluffy, blue-striped towel.

"I doubt anyone in my situation would complain." Tristan watched her bend over and flatten out the wrinkles in the towel. He licked his lips as she caught him staring. "Having a sex-craving veela girlfriend certainly comes with its perks."

"You haven't even seen all of it." Fleur laughed softly as she laid down on the towel, propping herself up on her elbows and curling her toes. "There's so much yet to discover." She shook out her silver hair in the breeze, pearls of water trickling down her sun-kissed skin.

Tristan's breath caught and his heart lurched in his breast. 'She's so beautiful...'

"You're staring again, mon Coeur." Fleur crooked a finger at him, patting the towel beside her. "Come hold me in the sun instead."

He lowered himself down beside her, pressing a kiss to her forehead and drawing her into his arms. "Better?"

"Oui," she whispered with a quiet sigh, wrapping her legs around his and resting her head on his shoulder. "Et maintenant, c'est parfait."

Tristan closed his eyes and let the summer heat soak through his drying skin. The warmth oozed the ache from his muscles and Fleur's slow, rhythmic breath lifted a great weight off his heart, carrying his worries away on the faint breeze brushing through his hair.

'Perfect indeed.'

Fingertips roamed down his chest, tracing the outline of his abs and leaving a featherlight trail of goosebumps in their wake. Tristan blinked one eye open, following Fleur's line of sight. "Enjoying yourself, petite Fleur?"

"I do," she murmured, grazing over his shoulder and arm, a soft gleam of admiration in her blue eyes. "You feel a lot stronger than you did two weeks ago..."

"Well, I did gain all the weight back I lost while sleeping and with it most of the muscle." Tristan flexed his pecs and kissed the tip of her nose. "Give me a few more days and I might even catch you in the water."

"Your muscles won't help you." Fleur rolled her eyes with a playful smile. "Just because fire is a veela's element, doesn't mean water is our weakness. I've been swimming in the sea since before I started walking." She closed her eyes and drew his hand over her heart, cupping it with her own. "You'll only ever catch me in your dreams, mon Coeur."

'My dreams.' Tristan's breath caught on the hot fist of emotion clamped around his throat. 'You're so much better than any dream I could ever come up with.' He tightened his hold on her, breathing in her faint sweet vanilla scent. "I love you, Fleur."

Her lashes flattered, lips curving into a smirk. "Je sais."

Tristan pressed featherlight kisses down her collarbone, smiling as she squirmed. "Are you not going to say it back?"

"Why should I?" Fleur bit her lower lip, stifling her soft laughter. "You've already heard me say it before, non?"

"Yes, I have," he murmured against her lips, admiring the small shiver he caused along her neck. "But I like hearing you say it again. And again. And again…"

Fleur pulled his head down into a soft kiss, tracing his upper lip with the tip of her tongue. "First you take your sweet time gathering the courage to finally tell me those three little words and now you can hardly stop." She drew back a fraction and smiled up at him, her heart shining in her warm blue eyes. "Je t'aime, Tristan."

The longing flared in Tristan's breast, hot and fierce, sending his heart hammering. He rolled on top of her and crushed his lips onto hers, his hands in her hair.

Fleur smiled into his kiss and slipped her tongue into his mouth, letting him savor the taste of her. A faint moan broke from her lips as he cupped her breast over her bathing suit, drawing small circles around her stiff nipple with the edge of his thumb and toying with the slim string over shoulder, slipping it lower and lower.

Fleur's breath hitched. "Go on and stop teasing me, mon Coeur."

Her low whisper sent the heat trickling south, pooling in Tristan's belly as settled between her legs and he eased her thighs apart. "You look good when teased."

A shadow fell above them.

Tristan flinched back and his head snapped up.

His parents stared down. "Are we interrupting?"

Tristan scrambled from between Fleur's thighs to the other end of the towel and covered his crotch, his cheeks burning. "We - uhm- we just finished our swim."

His mother's cool blue eyes flicked from his trunks to Fleur, lingering on the patch of creamy white cleavage he had just exposed. "Really? Your lack of clothing could've fooled me..."

Fleur's ears turned pink and she tugged the string back up her shoulder, flattening her arms over her chest.

Tristan flushed. "Can we help you?"

His father's lips twitched. "We thought it was time for another lesson. Unless you two are busy otherwise?"

"Nope, not at all," Tristan blurted. "Just - uhm - give us a second to get dressed, will you?"

"Excellent idea," his father hummed, stirring his wife around.

'Fucking hell.' Tristan summoned his wand into his palm and scrambled into his shirt and shoes. Fleur charmed her swimsuit back into her short dress and conjured two red pieces of lace from thin air. She slipped her feet through her underwear and wiggled it up her thighs, clasping a matching bra behind her back.

He tore his eyes away and bounced to the balls of his feet. "We're ready now." A little excitement twisted in his stomach. "What's the lesson? More dueling?"

His mother turned back around, running cool blue eyes over them. "No, we'll do things differently today. You'll stay with your father. I'll be taking Fleur with me."

'That can't mean anything good.' Tristan exchanged a brief glance with Fleur, a little niggle of suspicion squirming in his stomach. "Alright then."

"Come along, Fleur." The two witches strode back through the orchard towards the manor.

Tristan whipped on his soles, twirling his wand through his fingers. "Do we stay here?"

"No. And you won't need your wand this time either," his father called, steering off in the opposite direction. "Today I'll teach you how to use magic without it."

"But why?" Tristan frowned, hurrying to keep up. "If the Musketeers disarm me, some wandless tricks will hardly beat them."

"Perhaps not beat them, but it saved my life when I was a little younger than you and a few more times afterward," his father said, stopping by the rocky part of the shore. "Wandless magic is a highly underappreciated skill."

"That's hardly surprising with how rare it is." Tristan smothered a brief flash of pride. "But I can do a fair bit already."

"So I've heard," his father chuckled. "Let's see it then."

"I mostly use it to summon my wand." Tristan took a few steps back and tossed his wand into the air, curling his fingers and twisting his wrist.

The piece of elder zipped back into his palm, tiny wisps of black magic swirling around its handle and through his fingers.

"Not bad." His father bobbed his head. "Reminds me a lot of when you were little. Your mother and I had to ward off all your toys because you either summoned them across the room or banished them away from you as soon as you grew bored. I remember once you knotted your mother's hair so tight together, she only managed to untangle the knots with magic."

Tristan grinned. "I vaguely recall some similar feats from my siblings."

"True. You've all been ahead of the curve when it came to accidental magic, but only with you did we ever have the impression you could use it somewhat... deliberately," his father studied him with a keen glint in his green eyes. "You have a gift for wandless magic, Tristan, one that must be honed and trained like a muscle."

"Practice makes perfect," Tristan acknowledged. "Just as with most magicks."

"Exactly," his father said. "However, summoning your wand, something very closely bonded to you that even holds a significant imprint of your magic, won't do for an exercise that you can steadily progress in. So instead-" he wove his hand at the shores, summoning a foursome of flat white pebbles as large as dinner plates and stacking them from biggest to smallest, "-I'd like you to rearrange those. And one at a time, please."

Tristan slipped his wand back up his sleeve and examined the pebbles. 'Can't be too difficult.' He opened his palm, reaching deep for his magic.

The far up pebble zipped into his outstretched hand.

"Gentle, Tristan." His father intercepted it and sent it floating back atop the others like a feather in the wind. "I know it's difficult but try to fight the impulse to just summon it."

Tristan frowned and closed his eyes, stilling the storm of his magic until it withered and curled beneath his skin like a carpet of serpents. He curled his fingers, picturing how his magic swathed the smallest pebble like wrapping paper around a bonbon.

'And now...'

He opened his eyes and raised his palm; the pebble shook, spasming as it ascended higher and higher into the air.

"That's much better already," his father approved. "Now set it back down. Nice and slow."

Tristan lowered his hand, oozing his magic back into himself. The pebble plunged with a heavy thud, scraping over the rocky shore.

"Don't just retrieve it all at once." His father laughed. "Try again with the next one. And make sure to stack them neatly."

Tristan fixed the second largest pebble with a long stare, chewing his bottom lip. He opened his palm and curled his fingers. The pebble rose a few inches, jerking and bucking, and followed the movement of his hand, sinking down on top of the other.

Tristan let out a long sigh and allowed himself a small smile.

"Not bad." His father stepped around him with a low whistle, laughter flashing in his green eyes. "However, the remaining two are a tad heavier. Perhaps I should call Narcissa before you try those?"

"Hilarious." Tristan rolled his eyes. "I already feel stronger than I was before the coma. Some stupid rocks won't put me to sleep now."

"If you say so." His father held up his hands, grinning as he retreated. "I'd usually say knock yourself out, but given the circumstances..."

A soft murmur of ambition ignited in Tristan's breast, whispering through his veins and honing his senses. 'Alright then.' He opened both palms towards the remaining two pebbles and clawed deep, pouring his magic out into the air. 'Perhaps that'll shut you up...'

The flat stones rose with faint jerks and sailed in slow, smooth synchrony. A soft ache crept up Tristan's arms, tugging at his magic as if the stone were made of lead. He clenched his jaw tight and uncurled his fingers, balancing the pebbles on top of the two smaller ones like a stack of washed dishes by the sink.

"Now that is impressive." A soft note of admiration colored his father's tone as he studied Tristan with sharp green eyes. "I already knew you had talent, but this still comes as a surprise."

"Thanks." Tristan took a deep breath, letting the dull pang of fatigue wash through him. "It did take a lot out of me though," he admitted with a grimace, flexing his aching limbs. "I've grown so used to my wand that doing magic without it feels like painting with my hands instead of the finest paintbrush."

"You're exhausted because you still waste too much magic," his father chuckled. "I can practically feel it leaking off of you in ripples."

Tristan blinked down at his hands. "So how do I... waste less?"

"Focus. Unlike when you were a toddler and unable to express yourself, you no longer need to rely on raw emotions to power your magic."

Tristan frowned. "But neither did I just now."

"Are you certain?" His father quirked an eyebrow at him. "Was proving me wrong not your main motivation?"

'Yes, it was.' Tristan admitted. 'It's always about proving someone wrong...'

Malfoy's and Crouch's triumphant sneers flashed before his mind's eye. The stench of the Lethifold's black maw rose in his nostrils and the furious clicking of Aragog's blood-drenched pincers rang in his ears. Fleur's pitch-black eyes burned into him from behind a silver cup and a crest of crossed rapiers loomed from golden fog, swallowing the world.

Tristan took a deep breath and blinked the images away. "Any time I performed some great magic or grew beyond myself, it had always been my emotions that powered it. Usually anger… sometimes desperation."

A shadow swirled through his father's eyes. "Using your emotions is not inherently wrong. They are perhaps our most powerful tool, allowing wizards of our caliber to perform feats of magic most could only dream of. But there's a reason we taught you occlumency from a young age, son."

"I know."

"Then adhere to it." His father opened his palm and summoned all four pebbles at once, curling and uncurling his fingers and sending the stones spinning through the orchard like a muggle juggler. "At times our emotions can be a hindrance. A waste of power, that should be channeled precisely and directed with purpose. By the end of this summer, you'll know how to do just that."

'Sounds like something that might benefit me in other fields of magic as well.' Tristan held his excitement at bay, the flame of ambition flaring bright in his breast. "Are there any limits to wandless magic?"

All four pebbles thudded to the ground as his father strode past him toward the shore. The breeze followed his wake, sending the leaves in the orchard dancing, whispering around the hem of his cloak, and rippling over the lake's calm surface like countless tiny stones had been tossed in it.

"You already know the answer to that question." His father raised both hands, magic shimmering around his fingers like heat haze and a bright mad gleam burning in his emerald eyes. "The only limit magic has are the limits we impose on it, Tristan."

Tristan stared out into the lake. It bubbled in time with his father's breathing, shrinking back from the rocky shore further and further as the ripples rose upward into a single towering wall of water.

'That's not good.' Tristan staggered back, drawing his wand.

His father lowered his arms and the wave plunged, crashing down onto the shore and washing over the rocks and sand. Its cool spray ignored his father's figure, splashing like howling rain against the thin veil of magic Tristan conjured before his face.

The wave closed behind him, drenched him up to the knee as it oozed back down the shore.

"Would you like another demonstration?"

Tristan curled his toes in his soaked socks. "I'm good, thanks," he muttered, drying his shoes with a tap of his wand. "Was that for catching me with Fleur earlier?"

"Should've kept those bathing trunks on, son," his father sniggered before his expression grew a tad more serious. "You're almost seventeen now and we've given you two a lot of leeway. We don't mind what you get up to behind closed doors, as long as we, and by that I mean us and your siblings, don't hear or see you." He cocked his head with a frown, scratching his jaw. "I can't remember the third point I'm supposed to tell you..."

Tristan snorted, imitating his mother's voice. "And tell our son to always be safe and responsible, perhaps?"

"Yes, that was it!" His father laughed, striding toward the manor. "Talking about your mother, how about we see what our better halves are up to?"

"I doubt they're sipping tea and gossip about our shortcomings," Tristan snorted, glancing over his shoulder at the bursting bubbles of foam on the lake's calm surface.

'All that power... all that greatness at the tip of your fingers.' A shudder swept through him, leaving his skin prickling and settling in a soft murmur of ambition in his breast. 'If this is how powerful you've turned out with your dream coming true, then what would you've been had Voldemort taken everything away?'

"Are you coming, Tristan?"

Tristan blinked and staggered up the pebbles into the orchard. "On my way."

The gentle breeze carried the sound of spellfire over the primrose field. Bright red sparks burst over his mother's gardens by the distant manor.

His father frowned. "That doesn't sound like the clatter of teacups." He quickened his step toward the hedges and scurried around the corner.

Two twirling shapes circled each other around charred hedges and scorched flower beds. Spells flashed from their wands in rippling washes of magic, ricocheting in the center of the garden and colliding in deafening claps and thunderous booms.

"Would you please stand still already?" His mother staggered as sparks of every color burst against the faint shimmer of her shield, sending her wobbling from side to side. "You're lucky I can't apparate..." she huffed, lowering her shield and unleashing a storm of curses.

Tristan lurched forward. "We have to-"

"-wait right here." His father held him back with an amused smile. "They're not using anything lethal so don't ruin your mother's lesson plans now."

'But what if they hurt each other?' Tristan fisted both hands, nails digging into his palms, and swallowed a thick lump of unease as his mother advanced. 'What if Fleur refuses to stop again?'

Fleur chewed her bottom lip, batting aside spells in flashes of blue and pink and yellow, her skin glowing in the light of magic. She danced and twirled and ducked through the flurry of sparks, her blonde hair swayed like molten platinum, until her back met the hedge.

"Got you now," his mother cheered, thrusting out her arm and sweeping her magic forth in a jagged surge of purple.

Fleur's eyes widened and she dove to the ground, rolling over the grass as the spell seared through the hedge where her head had been, leaving a smoking hole.

Tristan sucked in a sharp breath, his heart pounding in his ears. "Nothing lethal, you say?"

"I'm sure they know when to stop." His father's smile shrank a tad. "Your mother's pregnant; she'd never endanger our child."

Fleur conjured a long thin snare of bright orange and wrenched it down like a whip. Tristan's mother caught it with the tip of her wand and twisted her wrist, ripping the snare from Fleur's grasp and lashing out with it.

Fleur stabbed her wand forth in a flood of silver magic. Her shield burst with a screech of metal over glass, knocking her off her feet.

She caught footing and bent over backward, bright hexes sizzling past her as she folded in half at her waist, bouncing back off both palms thrice and landing on her toes after a nimble backspin.

His father blinked. "Congrats, son." He let out a low whistle. "That is some girl you've got there."

A small grin crept through the anxiety onto Tristan's lips. 'Yeah... I found out all about how flexible she is.'

His mother scoffed. "I could probably do that too if I didn't carry a baby in me." She advanced once more, sending hexes arcing from the tip of her wand and forcing her arm faster and faster.

Fleur weaved back through the spells like a leaf in the breeze, then twisted around and met the crackling beams head-on.

Thin tendrils of white blossomed from her wand like petals from a flower, splitting into ever finer tendrils and weaving together into a brilliant shroud that scattered his mother's magic like rain before the wind.

'Or like golden fog.' Tristan caught the flash of triumph in Fleur's blue eyes and his mouth dried. 'How does she know their spell?'

Fleur leveled the flickering haze of her magic and thrust out her wand with a small smirk. Azure flames billowed bright, flashing through the garden and smashing into his mother's veil of magic with an eerie ring that sent her wobbling on her back foot.

"Alright then," his mother growled, digging her heels deep into the ground and twirling her wand in a wide arc.

Floating tongues of azure fused in a brightening orb of magic at her wand's tip and the hairs along Tristan's arm prickled as the air began buzzing.

A high-pitched wail burst from the pockets of his mother's robes.

"Damn it." She lowered her wand, the bright gleam of her magic fading like a dying candle. "How in Morgana's name are ten minutes up already?" she muttered, scowling at a slim golden clock she fished out of her robes.

Tristan breathed out a sigh of relief and shook off his shackles. He hurried over to Fleur, slipping an arm around her waist. "Are you alright?"

She straightened with a deep gulp for air, her face flushed. "Bien sur... Mon Coeur." A proud, satisfied smile crept onto her lips. "It was a very good lesson, non?"

"And an even better show." Tristan brushed a few stray silver hairs behind her ear, admiring the pink blush on her cheeks and the gleaming pearls of sweat trickling down her neck, vanishing in heaving cleavage. "You were amazing," he murmured, his hands dropping to her waist and drawing her in. "I really want to kiss you right now."

Fleur pushed against his chest. "Merci, but I'm all sweaty and sticky." She glimpsed past his shoulder, her flush creeping from her cheeks to the tip of her ears and her voice dropping to a whisper. "Besides, your parents are coming over, mon Coeur."

"Yeah, we would appreciate it if you showed some patience, son." His father laughed, one arm resting around his wife's waist. "And congratulations on keeping up that long, Fleur. She wasquite impressive, wasn't she, dear?"

"Indeed, she was," Tristan's mother hummed, folding her arms. "Well done, Fleur."

Fleur slipped out of Tristan's embrace and dragged him closer to his parents by the hand with a bounce in her step.

"You were incroyable," she panted, skidding to a halt in front of his mother, a bright gleam of admiration shining in her eyes. "I was tutored by Madame Lacroix, the French dueling champion, but you're so much faster and stronger than her. How come you've never competed?"

His mother snorted. "Because I chose a family over some fleeting fame or shiny trophies on a shelf." She rested one hand on the curve of her belly with sigh. "And there's not a single day I regret ever doing so, dear."

Fleur chewed her bottom lip. "Will you continue teaching me, s'il te plait?"

His mother's eyes flickered between them, softening as she nodded. "You're very talented, my dear, but there is still a long way to go for you. Our duel would've ended way before the five-minute mark had this one-" she prodded her husband in the rips with her elbow, "-not put a baby in me."

"Ow." Tristan's father rubbed his side and blinked. "How am I the only oneresponsible?"

"Because you're the only wizard that comes into question, Harry Peverell," she scoffed, poking him in the chest. "I already gave you four perfect children and you still decided to make me all sick and fat and slow again."

"I remember you doing some of the 'deciding' as well."

Tristan cringed. "Can we talk about something, perhaps?"

His mother whirled on him. "Oh, does my pregnancy make you uncomfortable?! Perhaps I should put a curse on you and see how you like morning sickness and not being able to appara-"

Dobby appeared with a loud crack, clutching a sealed envelope and the evening edition of the Daily Prophet to his chest. "Master and Mistress received mail."

His father quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "And that couldn't wait for dinner, Dobby?"

Dobby swallowed, his tennis ball-sized eye widened to twice their usual size. "Dobby is very sorry for interrupting, sir." He offered the envelope with trembling fingers. "But Dobby thought you should read it quickly, sir. Dobby saw it had been printed in the paper as well..."

His father frowned and accepted the envelope, ripping it open and letting his wife glimpse past his shoulder.

'That's weird.' An ominous chill fell upon Tristan, crawling down his spine as he stared at his parents. "Well, what is it?"

Their lips tightened. The blood left his father's face with every line he read and ice crept into his eyes. His mother sucked in a sharp breath, her knuckles whitening and fingers digging into the fabric above her belly.

Anxiety knotted in Tristan's gut and his heart pounded. "What the hell is going on?!" He curled his fingers, summoning the newspaper from Dobby's fingers.

A photograph of his parents stretched over the front page, taken as they danced at the Bones Manor. The mosaic dance floor split open and swallowed them, each tile flipping and revealing smiling pictures of wizards and witches no older than Tristan, many of whom wore green and silver highlighted Hogwarts uniforms.

The pictures faded into the abyss and bright crimson letters loomed from the dark.

JUSTICE FOR OUR SONS AND DAUGHTERS -

PEVERELLS ON TRIAL FOR MURDER