HP: Panem et Circenses

October 30th, 1995

His footsteps slapped loudly on the cold floor in a steady rhythm. Three floating orbs of bright pulsing light hovered around him, casting monstrous, distorted shadows of himself on the rough, moist walls of the tunnel.

A loud crunch rang from underneath his boot. Annoyed, Tristan kicked the pale remains of yet another shattered rat skull aside. He strolled further into the darkness, following the curve of the tunnel around a corner.

A gigantic shed snake skin lay curled and empty across the tunnel floor, its scale a vivid, poisonous green. After having passed it nearly every day for the last few months, the sight barely provoked a reaction in him anymore.

The tunnel turned and turned again until a solid wall rose from the ground ahead on. Two entwined serpents were carved deeply into it, their eyes were set with great, glinting emeralds, which almost made them look alive.

"Open," Tristan hissed.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open. The two halves slid smoothly out of sight and granted him entrance.

Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness. His floating orbs cast long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place, its closest resemblance being the Slytherin common room.

He moved forward between the serpentine columns. "Torches!"

With each of his steps, fire roared in regular intervals along the walls to his left and right, bathing the chamber in a warm light.

"I'm back, Salazar!" Tristan craned his neck, greeting the massive statue, high as the Chamber itself. "And I see you still haven't made an appointment with a barber..."

The Founder's long, thin beard fell almost to the bottom of the sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the rough Chamber floor.

Tristan heaved his backpack off of his shoulder and leaned it against a pillar: "Now then, let's see what's on today's agenda..."

He pulled out a small black diary and flipped through the pages, his index finger running down the column of entries. "Huh, who would've fought..." He tapped the entry next to today's date: "More dragon-roleplay for-'' He flipped a few more pages until he found the first change in entries: "-seventeen more days, then we will finally try our hands on the real deal."

Tristan shrugged out of his outer robes in the middle of the Chamber and loosened the tie of his uniform before rolling up his sleeve and taking off his wristwatch. "Well, let's get to work then, I don't have too much time before they expect me upstairs again."

His wand slid into his palm from where he spun it between his fingers, showering the rough stone floor of the Chamber with bright silver sparks. He faced away from his backpack towards the nearest wall and took a deep breath.

"Magic is like a muscle and every workout counts..."

His mind was wiped blank like an empty canvas. An anguished, voiceless yearning clawed its way up through the emptiness. Tristan drowned it in five years of shunning from his peers, five years of bitterness, and desperate frustration until razor-edged, cruel teeth beneath, countless icy fangs plunged deep into his heart.

"Incendio!"

The emptiness burst outward in bright cherry flames. The inferno washed against the closest pillar, clawing at the engraved snakes with screaming tongues and angry hisses until the stone blackened and the snakes' emerald eyes burst into a thousand tiny shards.

'More!'

Tristan dragged his wrist around. He bathed Salazar's feet in boiling heat and held the connection until the Founder's toes began glowing a faint orange.

Steam poured from the joints of the tiles underneath him, twirling upwards in faint spirals. His wand arm began trembling. An unbearable heat radiated off of the stones and clawed at his skin. Beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his face and exhaustion slowly inched into his jerky limbs.

Finally the fatigue bit too deep, ripping a low groan from his lips. The bright flames guttered out from the tip of his wand and Tristan stumbled to the ground.

"Oh, fuck, that's really hot!" Tristan winced as his knee connected with a steaming stone tile and dragged himself back up to his feet, panting heavily.

He staggered a few meters away to the next undamaged pillar and slid down to its base, resting against it until the sharp pang in his lungs subsided and his breath evened.

Tristan summoned the empty cup from his backpack and filled it with a stream of clear, cool water. Half its content was spilled over his dress shirt as he took swift gulps.

"Well, all in all, that wasn't too bad. We're definitely making progress, don't you think, Salazar?"

He eyed the Founder's steaming, blackened toes, the outermost part of it still glowing the faintest orange: "Don't worry, I'll clean you up after having another go in a few minutes."

Tristan rested his head against the cool pillar with a soft sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead while he let his gaze roam through the Chamber and up to the Founder.

"You know, Salazar... don't take this the wrong way, but I'm still a little disappointed in your grant Chamber of Secrets."

The Founder's stoic face remained in place.

"Of course, perhaps there's nothing left here because my parents found this place before me, but I at the very least expected some secret library with rare books the other Founders didn't want your students to read." Tristan heaved himself up from the floor, staggering a few meters on shaky legs: "But no, I just get a large empty area to train spells in when it could've been ancient tomes, mountains of gold, or perhaps a fancy time turner and of course, a speaking portrait of yourself."

The statue still didn't make a face.

"Hey there, I'm talking to you!" Tristan shouted, kicking a small pebble against Salazar's giant toes: "Have you been lonely for so long that you only speak to snakes, is that it?"

"Speak to me, Slytherin!"

The ground trembled and shook. Slytherin's gigantic stone face suddenly moved, his mouth opening with a scrape, wider and wider, creating a huge black hole.

Tristan clutched his wand and leaped back. His breath came in short gasps. He swallowed heavily and watched the statue in awe, wand pointed at its wide mouth and a hundred curses at the tip of his lips.

The tension gradually faded after listening intently for almost a minute with nothing happening. Finally, he allowed himself to relax again.

"Well that wasn't too difficult, was it?"

'But something must've been up there.' He eyed the opening warily and thrust out his wand at the statue's feet.

Spikes of stone burst from its surface and smoothened out, creating a steep staircase. Tristan climbed upwards, entering the tunnel in Salazar's mouth with his wand held at the ready and his heart pounding frantically.

'This is finally it. This must be it.'

Torches flickered to life at the end of the tunnel, flanking a rune-covered wooden door. He carefully touched the tip of his wand to the handle and let his magic flare into it.

'Nothing...'

Tristan nudged the door open with his foot and peaked into a small room behind it. Abandoned shelves stretched along the walls, collecting dust and cobwebs. A bunk bed and desk stood opposite him. Empty vials and a stack of blank parchments littered its dusty surface.

"This is it?" he frowned. A wave of disappointment overcame him. "Is this really it?"

Tristan strode further into the room and towards the desk, spotting a single note on top of the stack of parchment. He snatched it up, his eyes roaming over faded ink that curled into letters of familiar handwriting.

For you to read this, our final dream has come true. We love you, child of ours, always.

A tight, bright point of cold welled within him until burning fury flashed through Tristan's veins. The note burst into flames and he tossed it aside.

"Of course it is their dream..."

He rushed back out of the small study and descended the stairs at a daring speed, pacing back and forth in front of Salazar's blackened toes.

"It was them who found the Chamber first. They slaughtered the monster. They harvested whatever treasures had been held here for centuries. Always my parents..."

Cold fury fogged his senses and his heart hammered against his ribs while he clutched his wand tight.

"When will I finally escape their shadow?! When can I finally have something for myself?!"

Ice lanced deep through Tristan's veins. Angry whispers and hisses rose from the back of his mind, yearning to be set free, clawing for relief.

With a roar, he thrust his wand at the thin tip of Salazar's stony beard.

Cherry flames spurted from his wand and splashed over the stone. A torrent of heat seared over his face and hands. It felt like the beads of sweat on his arms and neck were vaporized in an instant.

The hungry, furious whispers grew louder and more demanding as his wand began to tremble. Tristan watched wide-eyed as a tongue of bright gold licked at the Founder's beard from deep within the crimson inferno and coiled tight around. It melted through the stone like boiling water through snow; thick droplets of gleaming, molten rock splashed to the floor of the Chamber.

Suddenly the golden flame flared up as if he'd hurled petrol over it. The whispers echoing from deep within its crackle turned into furious roars.

'No, I'm not ready for that yet!'

Tristan dragged up every bit of power and poured his will into the searing fury. Screaming hate clamored at him, clawing at the pictures he hurled into it.

Valeria's beaming green eyes, and their dwell of mischief. Galahad's amazed expression the first time Tristan took him on his broom. Aurelia's soft, delightful giggles as he splashed her with water from the lake by their home.

The golden flames sputtered out before his toes.

Tristan panted heavily and clutched his rips as the fatigue bit deep.

"That was stupid..."

He wiped the sweat off his forehead and winced at the toll. "I should never let things get to me like that. Arcturus would kick my arse for my lack of emotional control."

'But you finally did it.' A hot flare of triumph rushed through his veins, numbing the fatigue and ache in his limbs. 'And significantly sooner than you had hoped.'

"But it was still reckless..."

He stumbled over to his backpack and the empty cup next to it. It took him three attempts to perform a simple water-conjuring charm. Tristan slowed his greedy gulps into small sips so as not to spill and be forced to spend magic he barely had left.

After a few more minutes of resting, he staggered back up to his feet and probed for the wristwatch in his backpack.

The hand showed twenty minutes to six o'clock.

"Oh, fuck," Tristan swore, flinging his backpack over his shoulder and stumbling to the exit.

He hurried down the dark, wet tunnels, panting, scolding, and cursing the Founder's name when he climbed the countless stairs back up into the castle.

"You look awfully sweaty," Myrtle chirped when emerged from the sink: "Still handsome, but very sweaty..."

"Thanks, Myrtle."

Tristan cleansed the dirt and dust-crusted mirror with a flick of his wand. He turned on one of the tabs that actually worked and splashed water onto his face before drying himself off with a conjured towel.

"Getting ready for a date?" Myrtle teased, hovering around him as she giggled.

"Nope, we're expecting guests for the night, actually for the rest of the school year." He made an attempt at restyling his hair: "Don't worry, Myrtle, you'll always be the only girl I'm romantically interested in."

"Come back soon then." She shot him a wave as he headed for the entrance. "I'm so used to your visits, it's almost lonely here without you."

"I will."

'Because I have to.'

Tristan hurried through abandoned corridors towards the main staircase and rushed past several grimy portraits. Most had been thoroughly scrubbed this past week, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. Even the suits of armor guarding the entrance to the Great Hall were suddenly beaming.

Loud noises and chatter rang from the entrance hall. Tristan swiftly joined the mob of green-trimmed students, who were being ordered into lines by a panting Professor Slughorn.

"There you are, Mr. Peverell... Finally, finally!" His Head of House quickly ushered him to his year mates: "You were the only student accounted for and why do you still have your backpack?"

"Apologies, Professor, I lost track of time whilst studying."

Tristan dutifully joined the line of sixth years, feeling the sneers and stares from Malfoy and his lot, who were right behind him, bore into his neck.

Valeria's golden curls sparkled a few meters ahead of him. She turned her head, shooting him a questioning frown.

'Later,' Tristan mouthed just as Headmistress McGonagall called for them to follow her.

They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest.

Tristan caught his younger brother standing in front of the Gryffindors, looking relatively calm next to a boy who was positively shivering with anticipation.

'I wonder how they'll arrive.' He scanned the darkening grounds but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent, and quite as usual.

A quick warming charm made the wait more bearable until a sixth-year 'puff finally shouted and thrust out his arm to point at a spot over the forest:

"There!"

Tristan squinted his eyes together. Something large was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle. A gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of a small elephant.

The front three rows of students drew backward as the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

'Beauxbaton.' Tristan recognized the two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars, before the door to the carriage opened.

A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully.

A shining, high-heeled black shoe emerged from the inside of the carriage, followed by the largest woman Tristan had ever seen.

'Well, that explains the size of the carriage at least.'

She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

McGonagall started to clap politely and soon the student body broke out into applause as well. The two headmistresses met in the middle of the courtyard and talked briefly, with McGonagall pointing to Rubeus Hagrid, who sported a furious blush.

Tristan turned his attention back to the carriage, which was spitting out about a dozen blue-uniformed, fine-silked students one after the other.

'Time to check out the competition...'

All of them seemed in their late teens, presumably their last year at Beauxbaton. Most were shivering despite the scarves and shawls wrapped around their heads. Only the very last person in the back quickly pulled their wand and twirled it over their shawl-covered head, from where the tiniest glimpse of silver peaked out.

Before he could get a better look at them, Madame Maxime ordered her students to follow her through the parted Hogwarts crowd up the stone steps.

'Impressive... the entrance, not the contenders...'

Tristan turned his attention back to the great lake, its smooth black surface was distributed by great bubbles from a whirlpool and waves washing over the muddy banks.

'Let's see how Durmstrang does it then.'

A long, black mast rose slowly out of the heart of a whirlpool, followed by a magnificent ship gleaming in the moonlight, with dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes like ghostly eyes. It glided toward the bank. The splash of an anchor echoed through the night and a plank was lowered, allowing tall, broad-shouldered silhouettes to disembark.

The delegation covered in cloaks of shaggy, matted fur was led by a man wearing sleek and silver like his hair. Anger flared through his veins when Tristan recognized Igor Karkaroff. Headmistress McGonagall greeted them politely, yet a lot stiffer than the warm welcome she had granted their French guests.

Tristan's gaze followed the determined-looking students behind Karkaroff, lingering on the one at the front, where a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows poked out underneath the furred hood.

'Now there's the competition...'

"It's Viktor Krum!"

Whispers of the name echoed through the night the second he was recognized by more of his peers. The Hogwarts students quickly filed back up the steps behind the party from Durmstrang. Ronald Weasley from Gryffindor was almost wetting himself and girls from all houses frantically searched their pockets for anything that might allow Krum to sign an autograph with.

Tristan spotted Galahad among the 'dorks and fought his way through the mass to intercept him before he could enter the Great Hall.

"Hey there, little brother." He stirred him to the side by the shoulder: "We haven't talked in a while. How've you been?"

"Doing okay," Galahad shrugged, his eyes lingering on the retreating form of his classmates: "New classes, lots of stuff to see and learn."

"Yeah, I remember when I first arrived," Tristan hummed: "Listen, how are things in Gryffindor? They're not giving you a hard time, are they?"

Galahad's expression darkened: "Why do you care? Are they making fun of your 'dork brother in Slytherin already?"

"There's nothing wrong with being a Gryffindor," Tristan said: "Father was one, as were Uncle Sirius, James, and Aunt Lily." He playfully tousled Galahad's hair until his brother chuckled and fought him off. "I know you have enough self-preservation and cunning in you not to run head-first into any problem you encounter. I'm just trying to look out for you because we're family."

"Things are fine, really," Galahad said: "No one is bullying me or anything, I'm being left alone for the most part. Even the Weasley twins spared me from their pranks, unlike any other first-year. But well... I suppose that's more because of you."

"What do you mean by that?" Tristan frowned.

"You- you have quite a reputation here, Tristan," Galahad admitted with a grimace: "And people, at least from my House, aren't too eager to cross you. They- they say bad things have happened to those who did in the past. Is that true?"

'Bad indeed.'

"Don't worry about what they say, baby brother." Tristan tousled his hair one last time and motioned for Galahad to follow him back to the Great Hall: "Keep your nose out of trouble and come straight to me when anything's bordering you, okay?"

"Will do," Galahad smiled. "Thanks, Tristan. And good luck!"

"Luck?" Tristan raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"The other schools are finally here." His brother glanced up at him in excitement and smiled proudly: "Tonight the teachers will probably tell us how to enter our names, so I wish you good luck."

With that, he took off and hurried through the entrance of the Great Hall to the table dressed in red and gold.

'Am I really that predictable?' Tristan followed his brother into the festively decorated Great Hall with a small frown.

Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms.

The light blue squad of Beauxbatons students had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table already. The Durmstrang students had taken off their thick fur coats, sporting wine-red military-style uniforms underneath them, and had settled themselves at the Slytherin table, where Tristan caught Abraxas Malfoy and Caspar Crouch striking up a conversation with Krum.

He quickly slipped onto the bench next to Valeria at the end of the table, facing two burly Durmstrangs opposite them. Up at the staff table, Filch added four new chairs, two to each side of the Headmistress.

McGonagall stood and a silence fell over the Great Hall.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, particularly to our guests who have traveled from afar to join us tonight. It is an honor and a pleasure to welcome you all to Hogwarts. I trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable..."

Tristan let his gaze roam up the Slytherin table and studied the Durmstrang students. In their tight red uniforms, all of them cut impressive figures. The determination was evident on their faces and their body language radiated confidence.

'But how strong is their magic?'

He caught movement in the corner of his eye.

A girl from Beauxbatons removed the scarves around her neck, tossing long silver-blonde hair over her shoulder in a fluent ripple of platinum. She sat all the way at the front, slightly apart from her schoolmates, with a two-person gap between her and the nearest person wearing light blue.

Tristan was not the only one who had caught the gesture. A hushed murmur, followed by stark silence rippled through the upper regions of all four house tables. Eyes dipped from McGonagall down to her, especially those of boys.

The girl paid them no heed. She merely craned her pale neck and stared up at the ceiling as if nothing below it interested her in the slightest; a small, curious smile tugged on the corner of her pink lips.

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," McGonagall said. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

"So, where have you been?" Valeria immediately asked him as the plates in front of them filled with a far greater variety of dishes than any other night he'd been at the castle.

"Library," Tristan shrugged and loaded his plate with steak and potatoes.

Her green eyes narrowed: "I was in the library and I didn't see you anywhere."

"The library is large, baby sister." He shot her a grin: "What did you even do up there?"

She huffed. "Waiting for Hermione Granger to finally stop pestering Madam Pince about house elves, so I could ask her about books on the tournament."

The conversation between the two Durmstrang students opposite them paused for a few seconds before it was picked back up.

'Eastern European, but they understand too much English for my liking.'

Tristan led his wand glide into his palm and cast a muffliato, shooting the boys a quick wink. "Did you find anything interesting?"

"I know how the champions are selected." Her eyes lit up: "In the past, one had to enter their name in the Goblet of Fire."

"Goblet of Fire?" Tristan shot her a dubious look over the rim of his cup.

"Yes," she nodded: "It's ancient and powerfully enchanted, able to pick the name of the strongest contender any school has to offer."

A gentle thrill raced through his veins. "So it's strength that matters most?"

She shrugged: "Not much is known about the actual attributes the Goblet looks for, but I would presume its magical potency, skill, and above all, determination to win."

'I still bring all those to the table,' Tristan hummed, absently staring across the hall. 'But how many of our guests do the same?'

A blur of silver drew in his eye again.

The girl from Beauxbatons gracefully stood from her spot, smoothing out whatever invisible wrinkles might have been caught in her blue, knee-length skirt.

Tristan's eyes followed the stride of her long legs over to the Gryffindor table, where his brother was sitting. She paused and pointed her delicate arm at a certain dish in front of him.

His brother's face flushed bright red while he handed her the dish. All around him the boys were staring at her with glassy eyes.

'Wait, I know those signs...' He traced the girl back to the Ravenclaw table. 'She is a veela.'

The girl sat back down, parting the veil of platinum hair with both hands and revealing high, refined cheekbones, slender, elegant brows, and full lips. Her bright, clear, blue eyes glanced up and she caught his eye.

A strange tingle drew him in, almost hypnotizing him until he snapped out of it by blinking repeatedly.

A flicker of surprise spasmed over her pale face. Her eyes narrowed a fraction and she glanced back down at the dish to load her plate.

"She's a veela," Valeria commented from beside him, pursing her lips in a pout that showed great resemblance to the one he'd seen on his mother's face during the World Cup.

"So I have noticed," Tristan stabbed his potato with his fork. 'And I thought I was much better at resisting that weird magic.'

He risked another quick glance at her: 'Perhaps she is stronger than those I've seen at the World Cup?'

"Look how the boys all act around her. She casts her veela magic deliberately," Valeria pursed her lips: "Even I could feel it when she glanced over at us just now!"

"Perhaps you're just finding out something new about yourself, baby sister." He grinned: "Don't worry, I won't judge you for your preferences."

"Uh, no. Big no!" Valeria wrinkled her nose, her gaze roaming to the 'puffs: "I prefer boys, handsome boys, like Cedric Diggory..."

Tristan nearly choked on his mashed potatoes. "Oh, Merlin."

Up at the staff table, the two remaining empty seats were filled by Bagman and Minister Crouch shortly after dessert arrived. The former beamed in the light of the many candles, the latter looked as grim as ever, eyes shifting to his son at the Slytherin table.

Soon the golden plates had been wiped clean and McGonagall stood up again. The tension in the Great Hall grew almost palpate. A sharp thrill of excitement raced through Tristan's veins, drowning out any remains of the lingering fatigue from his earlier practice in the Chamber.

"And now the moment has come-" McGonagall said, a rare smile curving her thin lips, "-and with the start of the Triwizard Tournament, I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket."

"Casket?" The word was whispered through the Great Hall.

"See?" Valeria shot him a triumphant grin.

'It must contain this Goblet of Fire then…'

"Before we begin I would like to introduce the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman, who, alongside our esteemed Minister of Magic, Bartemius Crouch, has worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament."

A loud round of applause echoed from the benches. Whereas Bagman acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand, Crouch did not smile or wave. He merely stood up for a second, tightened his pristine black robes, and gave a quick nod.

"Both will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."

Tristan's expression faltered as the disappointment clawed at him. 'Great, definitely no bias to be expected there.'

"Silence!" McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the exciting murmurs that had risen at the mention of champions: "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Filch approached the staff table carrying a great, ancient, wooden chest encrusted with jewels. All over the hall, the younger students began standing on their benches to see it properly.

"The instructions for the tasks our champions will face this year have already been examined by Minister Crouch and Mr. Bagman."

'So the tasks are already set.' Tristan sharpened his attention.

"There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways... their magical prowess, daring, powers of deduction and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

"Champions will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the one with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

McGonagall flicked out her wand from her waist and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. She reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup, dancing blue-white flames filling it to the brim.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. From now onward, aspiring champions have no more than twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools."

'Worthy.' Tristan savored the taste of the word on his tongue: 'That's quite an open-ended expression.'

"The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. However, in accordance with the change in rules, the Minister has provided several specialists who will be casting a ward line around it. Nobody who has not yet finished their fifth year and sat their OWLs will be able to cross this line."

'Specialists, huh?' Tristan's eyes narrowed and flickered to Crouch: 'Unspeakables then?'

Murmurs of disagreement rose from the benches, especially amongst the younger years. Already Tristan caught patches of elaborate strategies to circumvent the wards.

McGonagall silenced them with an impressive glare: "Finally, I see it as my duty to engrave upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end."

"But how?" Valeria frowned and turned him. "Some sort of binding magical contract?"

'No, much more abstract...'

"Soul magic I presume," Tristan mused: "Entering your name is the equivalent of a vow. Either you cannot break it to begin with, or breaking it has dire consequences, like the loss of your magic or even death."

"There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion," McGonagall stated, her expression one of utmost seriousness: "Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play a dangerous game before you drop your name into the goblet. That is all for tonight."

Loud noise broke out immediately in the Great Hall. Tristan remained seated for a few more seconds while all around him his housemates and the Dumstrangs rose from the bench. He sought out Abraxas Malfoy, who was striding along Caspar Crouch past the Goblet up the staff table where he shook hands with Bagman and the Minister.

'This is finally it, my chance for glory.'

The noises around him faded away. A grim determination settled within Tristan as he stared into the blue depths of the flames spewing from the Goblet of Fire.

'I'm prepared to play a game for it. But I'll be playing to win.