Students mingled on the broad wooden podium, bustling back and forth through the neat rows of white stools brimming with hundreds of witches and wizards dressed in colorful, rich robes; the chatter and laughter of friends and families rose above the sun-soaked shores of the Black Lake like a great canopy.
"Mhm, Outstandings in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defense, Potions and Transfiguration—" Fleur's lips quirked as she handed him back the document "—and Exceeds Expectations in History of Magic, Astronomy, and Herbology."
"Astronomy and Herbology..." Tristan stowed the parchment in the inside pockets of his gown. "Hardly subjects I care about." His eyes roamed over the buzzing crowd, drawn to where the Potters and Prewetts chatted within the queue of guests perusing the grand buffet.
'Not that I cared much for any of the other classes either.'
Tristan's fingers picked up a swift rhythm against his thigh.
With each guest that brushed past the Potters and struck up a conversation, one more tight little knot joined the tangle of tension twisting in his stomach. 'Where are you?' The unease gnawed away at him like a rat, sinking cold, sharp hungry little teeth into his gut. 'Just show yourself already.'
A warm hand closed about his drumming fingers.
"Herbology can be very useful, mon Coeur," Fleur murmured, cupping his cheek in the other palm and tilting his head to meet her cool blue eyes. "Certain flowers demand more attention than others."
"I'm sorry." Guilt chewed at Tristan. "I haven't even thanked you for showing up today, have I?" He let his gaze dip, admiring how the dark-blue silk clung to her figure. "Or told you how amazing you look in that dress."
"I do not need cheap compliments," she replied. "Today is difficult for you; oui, je sais, mon Coeur, but you can enjoy the moment regardless."
"Enjoy?" Some of that frustration seeped into his tone, leaving it sharp and cool as frost. "You think I enjoy any of this?"
"You could if you allow yourself to." Fleur lowered her voice to a whisper and slipped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his chest. "Do not give them more power than they already have, mon Coeur; do not let them spoil every moment in your life."
'Every moment.' Images flashed through Tristan's thoughts in a rush of memories, from McGonagall announcing him as school champion to the sea of spectators at the dueling championship staring down at him with awe-filled expressions.
But every last one of those memories — even those spent laughing with his siblings in the summer sun or cuddling Fleur beneath warm blankets — was fueled by soft fury and drenched in the dawn-bright light of the Musketeers' sigil; it loomed from somewhere in the back of his skull, a smothering, ever-present weight dragging at his heart.
'It'll all be over soon.' Tristan hugged her tight and rested his chin on top of Fleur's head, taking deep breaths laced with sweet, familiar vanilla fragrance until some of that tension eased in her warmth. 'I can enjoy moments like these once I've wiped them all away.'
"Mon Coeur...?"
"You're right." He pressed a kiss into Fleur's soft hair. "Thank you for being here today."
"I am yours, non? That means I will always be there when you need me." She drew back and straightened his cap, flattening a wrinkle in his dark gown. "Well done on your examinations; I am very proud of you."
"I know you're smug you beat me..."
A small smirk played on Fleur's rose-pink lips and her blue eyes sparkled with silent laughter. "Perhaps that, too." Her gaze flickered past his shoulder. "Your Professor Slughorn is approaching. There is a woman with him."
'The Unspeakable; Slughorn actually kept his promise.' Tristan extracted himself and studied the thin, brunette witch in burgundy robes beside the potions master. 'If I don't land an invitation for an internship, at the very least I might figure out if someone actually broke into their department.'
"Tristan, m'boy!" Slughorn called as he tottered over, beaming from his many chins to his broad, bald head gleaming in the summer sun. "And you've brought the lovely Mademoiselle Delacour; I take it you two are still an item?"
"Yep." Tristan raised their interlaced fingers. "You'll have to wait your turn, Professor."
Slughorn threw his head back in roaring laughter, drawing more than a few curious glances from the surrounding guests. "Cheeky as always. Congratulations on your NEWTs, m'boy. I was very pleased with your results in Potions, very pleased, indeed."
"The practical or written one?"
"Well, the practical one, but that was to be expected from you, no?" Slughorn chuckled to himself. "Always been more of a hands-on student, aye?" He dipped his chins to the witch beside him and gave an exaggerated wink. "Now then, Tristan, this is the... friend I told you about, Ara—"
"Athena." The Unspeakable's sharp, light green eyes darted from Tristan to Fleur and back. "Horace told me you expressed an interest in joining us, Mr. Peverell?"
He gave a nod. "I do."
Athena hummed. "Perhaps then, Horace, you could keep Ms. Delacour company for a few minutes while Mr. Peverell shares his motivation with me?"
Slughorn held out his arm. "I'd be delighted to!"
Fleur drifted across on her white heels and slipped one slender arm through his, holding Tristan's eye as the professor led her off chattering about the weather.
Athena flicked her wand from the loop at her waist and drew it through the air in a faint shimmer of magic. "A privacy ward, just in case." She put the wand away. "Now, Mr. Peverell, my department was rather surprised about your interest in an internship. We were also conflicted about whether to indulge in it; truth be told, some of my colleagues demanded I do not meet you at all."
"Yet here you are."
"Call it a job interview." Athena cocked her head and studied him for several long moments. "Your name's been in everyone's mouth these last few years ever since the Triwizard Tournament. I don't think a single month passed without an article about you or your family."
Tristan rolled his eyes. "If you're telling me people in your department take the Daily Prophet at face value, I might have to retrieve my application."
"We read between the lines, Mr. Peverell," she smiled a small, sharp smile. "What I'm more interested in than Rita Skeeter's attempts at professional journalism is the nature of your relationship with Fleur Delacour."
Tristan blinked. "That's a rather personal question for a job interview."
"Have you been involved ever since the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Yes, Fleur's been my girlfriend since." A soft note of pride filled his heart with gentle warmth as he sought and found her crown of blonde braids within the crowd. "Why do you ask?"
"Because — as I'm sure you know — Miss Delacour very recently landed an internship herself in the French Department of Mysteries," Athena said. "Furthermore, her father, Philippe Delacour, is an advisor for the French Ministry and regularly interacts with high-ranking ministry personnel."
"Okay, and...?"
Athena shot him a flat look. "Romantic relationships between Unspeakables of different nations pose obvious security risks for both organizations, Mr. Peverell. With how confidential our work is, we tend to avoid security risks, not invite them into our department."
"Easy fix to that." He shrugged. "I don't mind swearing a vow; an unbreakable one even, if the wording is reasonable. I'm sure Fleur can be convinced, too."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what would you know of unbreakable vows?"
"I'm pretty good with those sorts of magicks." Tristan fished the grade transcript from within his pocket. "There are more branches of magic than those listed on here; I'm interested in learning about all of them."
"You did show an aptitude for some," Athena hummed. "I watched a memory of the first task and what you did to that Lethifold. I've also watched memories of your duels from Stockholm."
"Wow, so you've actually checked my curriculum vitae; now this really feels like a job interview."
Athena ignored that. "Let's say that I can overlook your relationship to a potentially future French Unspeakable from a family with strong ties to the French Ministry. Let's say I also forgot what happened the last time your family set foot into our department…"
"I'm not my parents, Ma'am," Tristan murmured, smothering a slim flare of annoyance.
"No, you're a duelist, Mr. Peverell, and we hire researchers that help us unravel the oldest mysteries and puzzles of our world; we study magic, we do not use it for our own selfish gain, especially not to harm others."
"Perhaps if you hire someone who knows how to use magic, you'll have an easier time when your department experiences the next security breach..."
A spark of irritation flashed through Athena's eyes.
'Got you.'
Tristan caught it and held on, light as a feather, brushing their thoughts together and following that spark through the pale green of her irises; in the faint gloom of flickering blue candles, he found the outline of one unmarked, handle-less black door after the next lining a circular room built from black stone polished smooth as water.
Athena squeezed her eyes shut, blinking hard. "I think that concludes your job interview, Mr. Peverell."
"We both know you were never going to accept me in the first place."
"No, but now I've gotten the measure of just who you are." She dropped the ward with a flick of her wand and turned on her heel.
"So have I," Tristan whispered, watching her leave.
"You are smiling, mon Coeur." Fleur linked their arms and joined his side in a faint wash of vanilla. "It went well then?"
"I didn't get the offer, but it wasn't a complete waste of time either; when I hinted at a security breach in her department, I caught a glimpse of where the Musketeers probably broke in."
Her slim blonde brows narrowed a fraction. "You used legilimency on an Unspeakable?"
"I don't think she actually noticed it," he said, skimming the crowd for the Potters and Prewetts. "At least she didn't call me out on it."
"You must have gotten very good at it if she did not notice you," Fleur murmured. "Why did she not make you an offer?"
"I have Mother and Father to thank for that." Tristan chuckled. "Although, my girlfriend interning with the French Unspeakables wasn't a winning factor either. Apparently, that constitutes a major security risk..."
She wrinkled her pretty nose and flicked her blonde braids over one shoulder. "Please, as if the British Department had anything of value for the French one." Fleur led him through the crowd to the stands with the appetizers, close to where the Potters and Prewetts stood chatting.
He hesitated. "Why are we going towards them?"
"Because it would raise far more suspicion if we did not exchange words all afternoon, mon Coeur." She plucked two glasses off the table and frowned.
"Something wrong?"
Fleur tapped the glass with one red painted fingernail. "These are charmed," she whispered, closing her eyes and touching the tip of her wand to it. "Anti-switching spells and a few more against poisons."
Tristan took a glass from her. "Well, at least they learned from last time." He swallowed its contents, licking his lips. "It also tastes much better than the cheap stuff Great-Grandmother Konstanze had."
Aunt Lily appeared from within the crowd in an emerald-green dress, trailed by Uncle James and both Prewett couples. "Tristan, congratulations on your NEWTs." She turned to Fleur with a kind smile. "You must be Fleur. I don't think we've met yet, but I've heard lots about you."
"Fleur, these are James and Lily, Gideon and Alice, and Fabian," Tristan introduced. "You've probably met Narcissa last summer already."
Fleur inclined her head. "Bonjour."
Narcissa regarded Tristan with a cool look, lips so thin they put McGonagall to shame.
"Come on, love." Gideon nudged her in the side with his elbow. "Don't be like that."
The cross of her arms tightened. "He hurt you, Gideon."
"Yeah, and Poppy fixed me up in no time so you hadn't even noticed until I told you about it." He grinned at Tristan. "You were a cocky little shit, Peverell, but you've actually backed it all up, so no hurt feelings on my end. Let's have a rematch sometime soon, aye, lad?"
"Sure, but perhaps have your brother join to even the odds; I went easy on you last time, remember?"
Both Prewetts chortled and Fabian cracked his knuckles. "I wouldn't mind having a go."
"Do you consider joining an academy and dueling professionally, now you're down with your NEWTs?" Alice chimed in.
"Maybe something similar along the line," he replied. "But it's not set in stone yet."
"What about you, Fleur?" Lily hummed. "You graduated from Beauxbatons this year, too, didn't you?"
"Oui, c'est vrai," Fleur murmured, leaning her head against Tristan's shoulder. "I will do a Mastery in Enchanting at the magical University of Bern."
"The one in Switzerland?" Lily's face lit up in interest. "You'll have to tell me all about how you like it. I considered doing the same after I graduated, but because of the war—" she took James' hand in hers "—and perhaps also because of this prankster right here, I decided against it; I'm just not one for long distance relationships."
"The distance is no issue." The ghost of a smile passed over Fleur's lips. "Tristan and I will make it work."
'The ICW's headquarters and Albon's office are both in Switzerland.' Tristan hid a small smile himself, slipping his arms around Fleur's slim waist and drawing her back against his chest. 'I'll probably be away on missions every so often, but there'll be far less distance then there is right now.'
"Some couples handle distance well," Alice agreed. "My late fiancé, Frank, and I dealt with it just fine when I was still at Hogwarts for a year after he graduated. He wanted to become a duelist, too, but then he chose to enroll in Auror school and—"
Her eyes latched onto something behind Tristan; all the color drained from Alice's face. "No... No, it cannot be..."
He spun around.
The trembling wand tip of a black-robed, middle-aged wizard pointed straight at his heart. Between dark-blonde hair and a strong jaw, a raw, wild gleam brimmed in wide brown eyes.
"Bombarda Maxima."
Tristan hurled his magic at Fleur, knocking her down the shore.
The blast slammed into him like a battering ram, knocking him off his feet and tossing him through the air; pain exploded through his body as he crashed into something harsh as rock. White-hot searing lances stabbed through his back, and his vision swam in a darkening world drowning in a sea of screams.
Tristan's eyes slid shut with each wave after wave of agony sweeping through him; a deep tiredness loomed in the darkness beyond his closed lids and a strange coldness took hold of him.
"Tristan!" Warm, slick hands cradled his face into soft silk. "Stay with me, mon Coeur." Fleur's pleas came distorted and from far, far away. "You have to heal, Tristan. You have to. Do not leave me, s'il te plaît."
'I don't want to leave you.' He fought the fatigue's relentless grip, clawing deep for his magic. 'And I won't. I cannot die.'
The cries around him grew clear and sharp, as did the taste of copper on his tongue. Tristan spat out a mouthful and gasped for breath, blinking his eyes open with a low groan.
Fleur's blurred face hovered inches above him. "I need to remove this, mon Coeur, so you can heal."
Searing waves of pain throbbed from his right arm hanging limb and heavy from its shoulder joint and the thick, spiked wooden splinter poking out of the left side of his rib cage. "Ah fuck." Tristan clenched his jaw and rolled onto his stomach, wincing. "Alright, do it."
"Je t'aime," she whispered, ripping the splinter free.
A groan burst from his throat as his ribs cracked back into place and tears stung in his vision.
Gentle hands rolled him onto his back, cradling his head. "Better, mon Coeur?"
"Almost." Tristan took a few shallow gulps of air, cupped his right shoulder, and tugged.
The limb popped back in.
"Fuck, that hurt," he cursed, heaving himself upright and onto his feet, glancing about.
Shards of blood-slick wood jutted from the trampled grass like teeth, and broken bodies sprawled across the podium's ruin, twitching or death-still, faces torn open and limbs twisted. Screams pierced the air in every direction—high, keening sounds of terror from guests, wails of children and the raw, rattling sobs of families.
A strangled whisper came from behind him. "Frank..."
Amidst the battered forms of her husband and his brother, Alice stared up into the summer sky; blueish-purple entrails coiled about the wooden splinter piercing her stomach. "Why...?" She coughed blood, gurgling, "Frank... why?"
"If we help her, mon Coeur, we will not catch them."
'Them?'
Tristan followed Fleur's blood-stained arm to the pair of dark-robed figures sprinting up the slope to the castle.
'There they are.'
All the lingering pain and sorrow drowned in the bubble of fierce hatred swelling in his heart; it burned bright, bright and hot as hell, yet brought nothing but cold, sharp clarity.
Tristan took chase, stumbling over twitching, wailing bodies, and smacking into crying guests, breaking into a sprint as he reached the foot of the slope.
"They are too fast!" Fleur called from just behind. "We will not see where they go next."
He skidded to a halt, watching the two figures vanish past the top of the hill. 'Fuck.'
Frustration soaked through him like ink through parchment, fusing every last drop of magic within him, leaving it thrumming in his veins and prickling beneath his skin.
Tristan drew Fleur close by the waist. "Hold on tight."
"Mon Coeur—"
And he rose off the grounds like smoke in the breeze, floating atop the bluebells and ferns towards the Hogwarts' towers and turrets.
"Incroyable." Fleur breathed, standing on his feet and clinging to him.
The winds whipped across Tristan's face and tore at his robes as he picked up speed, soaring past Hagrid's hut and up the winding track, rising higher and higher.
"There." She pointed at the two dark figures sprinting down the bridge leading to the courtyard; Fleur drew her wand and took aim, fingers growing hot where they curled into his robes. "Avada Kedavra."
Beams of emerald shattered the tiles and railings, showering the Musketeers in a spray of stone and dust, but they kept running.
Tristan landed on the bridge behind them and thrust out his palm.
Their feet caught and they smacked face-first into the tiles, scrabbling back up with their wands drawn.
"Tristan and Fleur..." Teddy Lupin's lips twisted into a small, sad smile beneath that mob of turquoise hair. "I had a feeling we might meet today."
"For the last time." Tristan closed the distance; black mist bled from his wrist, chasing about the length of his wand in a swirl of faint furious whispers. "There's nowhere left to run."
"We will go through you," Teddy said, pointing his wand at Tristan's crimson soaked shirt. "You won't pose much of a threat after all the blood you lost, and Fleur will not stop us alone."
"Your girlfriend underestimated me, too," Fleur murmured. "She learned her lesson the hard way."
"Girlfriend?"
"Oh, you did not know?" She cocked her head. "Victoire came back, too—" Fleur's eyes were huge and dark and slim white feathers fluttered along her arms, "—just not for very long."
Teddy shared a glance with Neville. "You're lying," he whispered. "Harry must've told you that name. Vic would have sought us out immediately and joined us, not gone off by herself. She would've come looking for me."
"Perhaps you did not know her as well as you thought," Fleur spat. "The putain certainly knew you. She told me all about her Teddy before I killed her."
Teddy's face twisted into a mask of raw pain. "It doesn't matter; even if that's true, Vic and I will be together again soon." He swept his dark wand up. "And you will be dead. Avada Kedavra."
Fleur tore a tile from the bridge, intercepting the flash of green. She banished the chips back, but Neville transfigured them into bats and ushered the flock forth in a web of flapping dark wings.
Clenching his fist, Tristan squashed every last bat in a grip of magic; from within that thick dark pulp, he sent off slim jagged lanceswith swift jabs of his wand.
Teddy waved his wand in a wide arc; golden fog swallowed the projectiles and flared into a dense veil of amber.
Tristan fired curse after curse into it, and Fleur struck the shield with a whip of sizzling bright blue flame, tearing out small chunks with each lash.
"Let Tristan tire himself out," Teddy said. "We kill Fleur and deal with him after."
They switched targets, burying Fleur in a storm of spells; she wove through the onslaught, bending and twisting, twirling in a dance full of grace, bathed in a halo of faint silver magic like the trail of a shooting star.
Tristan advanced down the bridge, weaving wand motions together until the pale elder blurred in his grasp. Curses sizzled past his cheek and smacked into the railing on either side of him, but he pushed through, driving Neville and Teddy back step by step.
"Are you sure you caught him earlier, Nev?" Teddy demanded, jabbing his wand at the stone railing; it bent inwards, coiling together like barbed wire. "How the fuck is he still standing?!"
Tristan crushed the magic from the transfiguration. "I'll rest once I've wiped you all away." With a wave of his hand, he brushed the railing aside and down into the abyss, striding on.
Neville and Teddy retreated from the edge of the bridge onto the courtyard; they touched their glowing wand tips together, pouring golden mist into a dense veil of magic.
Slim streaks of blazing silver unfurled from Fleur like petals of a flower, curling into gleaming ribbons. She flung them at their shield with little flicks of her wand, tearing gaping holes through the golden mist.
"Go ahead without me, Ted!" Neville shouted, gripping his wand tight and stepping in front. "I will hold them off."
"No, you won't." Tristan slashed his wand; a twisting, wrenching swarm of screaming shadows struck the shield like a serpent, sinking crooked fangs through it. "Neither of you will escape. This ends today."
"Teddy!" Neville seized his wand with both hands, sweat pouring from his brows. "Just go already!"
"I'm not leaving you, Nev!" Teddy shook his head. "All for one, remember?"
"All is lost if we both die here!" Neville grunted. "Just go! Take the passage from the Room of Requirements."
Teddy clenched his jaw, gray eyes dark as clouds as they flickered from Neville's trembling wand to the slim cracks running down the shield. "I will see you on the other side, Nev. Together with everyone else, I promise." He turned on his heel, sprinting across the courtyard and slipping inside the castle.
'No!'
The rage burst like a bubble, tearing a scream from Tristan, and he slashed his wand, unleashing every last ounce of magic.
Neville's shield shattered with a clap loud as thunder, tossing him backward.
Tristan hauled Fleur behind himself and thrust his magic into the shockwave, feeling it whip across his face like a gust of wind and sweep through him in a strange shudder.
Silence hung in the courtyard. Gleaming scraps and bits of golden mist drifted from the air like snow and settled on the tiles.
"Go ahead, mon Coeur," Fleur murmured, glaring at Neville with pitch-black eyes. "Finish it."
Tristan strode through the falling specks of gold; they set his robes aflame, scorching through the fabric and searing into his skin like boiling oil. He smothered the pain beneath icy fury and tore his burning sleeves off at the elbow, shedding his smoldering graduation gown.
Neville stared at the patches of raw, red flesh weeping clear fluid until new pink skin crept across them. "You're a monster," he whispered, dragging himself upright and raising his wand aloft. "No matter what happens to this world, I will make it a better place by ridding it of you. Accio!"
Glass shattered high above and something dark swept down from the towers. "I faced monsters like you before." Neville caught the Sorting Hat in his right hand. "I fought Voldemort right here, in this very courtyard, when I was seventeen years old."
Ink black magic bled from Tristan in faint ripples. "You didn't fight Voldemort; my father did." The tiles fractured beneath his steps, steam hissing from slim cracks in the stone. "You're the one who brought the Devil's Snare to St Mungo's, who slaughtered Sirius and his children, who poisoned my uncle and cousins and my little baby sister."
From within the Sorting Hat, Neville drew a long, shimmering blade of shining steel. "My cause is the right one. This is Godric Gryffindor's sword; only a true Gryffindor can wield it." His fingers flexed about the red rubies on the handle. "It absorbs all which strengthens it."
"Absorb this." Tristan bathed the courtyard in fiendfyre, unleashing his fury in a torrent of screaming crimson flames, forging them together into the blazing coils of the Basilisk.
Neville cut off its head and parted the flames to either side of him with a wave of his wand. He grabbed the blade in both hands, raising it over his head, and charged.
Tristan thrust out his palm and wrung his wrist as if unlocking a door.
Gryffindor's sword slipped from Neville's grip; he screamed as his limbs twisted and curled backward like the legs of a dead spider, bones snapping like dry twigs and piercing through his skin at the elbows and knees.
"You lived by the sword —" dragging Neville across the tiles to his feet, Tristan summoned Gryffindor's shining blade into his empty left hand " —now die by it."
A dozen red-robed Aurors led by Uncle James stormed the courtyard. "Stop! Drop the sword, Tristan!"
Another dozen burst from the Entrance Hall, spreading out into a loose semi-circle.
Fleur pointed the tip of her wand at the broken and bloodied knot of limbs that was Neville. "This coward does not deserve mercy."
"That's not for you to decide!" James growled, raising his wand at her. "He killed two of my closest friends today, but we'll still take him into custody. Drop your wands, or we'll take you two in as well!"
'First Teddy escapes and now this.' Barbed bitterness sank its thorns into Tristan's heart. 'I hate this.' His grip on the sword tightened. 'Why does everyone always have to get in the fucking way?'
"I said drop it, Tristan!" James barked. "Now!"
Two dozen wand tips snapped up.
"This is not worth it, mon Coeur," Fleur whispered into his ear, grabbing his arm. "I felt them lowering some of the wards to allow portkeys in; let us leave while we still can."
Tristan ground his jaw as the frustration wound itself a notch tighter. "If we leave now, they'll pump Neville full of Veritaserum and drag him before the Wizengamot. We can't let that happen."
"They will need to heal him first," she replied, eyes pleading. "We can still finish the job."
Tristan crushed the irritation and tossed the sword to James' feet. "There you go, Captain Potter. He's all yours."
The Aurors swarmed in and levitated Neville on a conjured stretcher, whisking him away as they activated their portkeys.
James stomped closer, glaring at Tristan with hard hazel eyes. "I want you to follow me to the Ministry. I still need your testimony."
Tristan scoffed. "Go down to the shore and take the testimony of the dead; we're fucking done here." He seized Fleur's arm and wrenched at the world, tearing through the remaining wards.