HP: Panem et Circenses

June 24th, 1995

A shrill whistle sounded from the steam engine outside. Jerking and shaking, squealing and shrieking, the Hogwarts Express slowly began to pick up momentum, leaving behind Hogsmeade station and the small gathering of waving villagers that usually came to say their goodbyes.

'Even the muggles have much better and faster trains for long distances by now.'

Tristan clutched the handle of the next compartment and steadied himself, snorting as some of his younger peers before him stumbled through the hallway.

'I wonder when we'll finally switch and get rid of this old, rusty accumulation of scrap metal.'

He tore his eyes away from the window when the high towers, sharp roofs, and many windows reflecting the bright sunlight were finally swallowed by the wild Scottish scenery.

Tristan opened the closest compartment, about to slip inside when suddenly a hand held him back by the hem of his robes.

"There you are!" A soft, high laugh rang through his ears. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Tristan startled and spun around, ice jolting through his veins and a thin piece of wood sliding into his palm.

"Woah, easy there." Warm, light green eyes twinkled with mischief. "It's just dear old me."

Long auburn curls bounced from side to side as the girl raised to her tiptoes and brushed her lips over his for a quick peck, leaving a faint peachy taste.

Tristan smiled, the same bright, polite smile he had perfected over the years. "Sorry, Adelaide."

He slowly shoved his wand back up his sleeve while eying the pair of friends that had tagged along with her.

'Neither of them looks too pleased to be in my presence...'

"So, why have you been looking for me?"

Adelaide rolled her eyes before grinning widely: "So we can share a compartment on our way back to London of course!"

"Aha," He nodded. "And will your friends be joining us?"

Adelaide shot him a coy look before glancing over her shoulder at her friends, auburn curls bouncing against his chest: "No, I think it's best Emmy and Liliana will grant us some alone time."

Again, neither of the girls, both still dressed in blue and bronze, seemed happy by her declaration. They shoot him skeptical looks.

"Fair enough." He shrugged and opened the compartment, allowing Adelaide to enter first while he grabbed her trunk.

"Ladies." He flashed Emmy and Liliana a small smile, closing the door swiftly and locking it with a tap of his wand.

Scottish highlands flashed past outside the window. Tristan levitated Adelaide's trunk up onto the overhead rack, keeping his own shrunken version in the pocket within his robes.

"So, what are your plans for the summer?" Instead of taking a seat, Adelaide waited for him to be seated before slipping onto his lap, steadying herself with one arm around his neck.

The scent of sharp, sweet shampoo filled his nostrils.

"I haven't actually planned much yet, I'll just be spending some time with my family..." Tristan admitted, brushing her hair away from his face where it tickled his nose: "What about you?"

"Are you saying you're not attending the World Cup?" Her eyes went wide and the fingers roaming through his hair stilled: "It's been decades since the last time it was held in Britain and we even have Ireland making it into the finals!"

'Oh, that...'

"I'm not too sure." He leaned against the backrest, his arm coming around to circle her waist. "I suppose it could be fun."

'Although my family isn't very big on public events...'

"Fun?" Adelaide echoed incredulously: "I thought all boys love Quidditch! Besides, you've been playing Keeper for your House ever since you were a second year?!"

"I admit it's fun," Tristan shrugged, fingers absently brushing over the curve of her hips. "I'm not really obsessed with the sport though..."

"Are you just doing it for the physical workouts then?" Adelaide smirked and turned in his lap so that her legs now straddled him on either side.

'A healthy body and mind lead to healthy magic, at least Dad always says so and he's the strongest wizard I know of...'

He felt some heat traveling south as she pressed herself a bit closer and grinned up at her: "Maybe I do..."

"I could tell you've grown quite a bit this year-" She brushed her lips over his again, fingers trailing over his shoulders and curling into the fabric above his arms, "-filled out in all the right places..."

"Did I?" He broke the kiss, laughter bubbling from his lips: "Is that why you went for the ickle fifth year instead of staying in your age range?"

"You're far from ickle and it's just a single year," Adelaide breathed and dragged her lips back on his: "You're much more mature than the majority of sixth and seventh years anyway."

"Is that so?" Tristan grinned.

His fingers curled around the plait in her hair and he tugged lightly, drawing her head back to expose the soft skin on her neck and leave a trail of kisses.

"Mhm-" She gasped and shifted on his lap: "More experienced as well. Are you going to share the name of the lucky witch that taught you those tricks?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Tristan whispered.

"Well, maybe I can persuade you?" She tossed auburn curls over her shoulder and slid down his lap, getting to her knees between his thighs.

"Woah-" Tristan seized her hand as it went to the fly of his trousers, his eyes flickering to the door: "What are you doing, Adelaide?"

"Helping you relax a bit, obviously. OWLs must've been exhausting, even for high-performers like you." She looked up at him with large, light green eyes: "You didn't complain a few days ago, remember?"

A torrent of images, including auburn curls sprawled out over his lap, flashed through his mind.

"That- that was different." Tristan choked. "Besides, we're on the bloody Express!"

"I trust your locking charms." Adelaide shrugged her hair over one shoulder and batted her eyelashes, fingers brushing over his crotch: "And I can tell you'd like me to continue..."

'Should I let her?' His thoughts went racing. 'No, the risk is too high.'

"Thanks for the offer but now is really not the ideal time for that sort of fun." He squashed the tiny voice that urged him to let her continue and heaved her back up to her feet, pressing a light kiss on her lips. "Besides, I've got to find my sister, it's a small family tradition to ride the train together and she should be here by now."

"Oh, okay." Traces of hurt flashed through her eyes and she lowered her gaze. "I suppose I should go back to Emmy and Liliana then..."

"You're welcome to stay." He offered while walking to the door, letting his wand slide into his palm and murmuring under his breath to unlock it. "I'm sure Valeria won't mind."

"No, I don't think so." Adelaide straightened her hair and shook her head: "You- your sister doesn't like me very much…"

"Where did you hear that?" He frowned.

She levitated her trunk back down and dragged it to the door.

"Nevermind, jus- just forget about it." Adelaide pecked his cheek before slipping back out of the compartment, glancing over her shoulder one last time. "Write to me over the summer, will you? And let me know if you do make it to the World Cup!"

"Of course." He smiled, locked the door from the outside, and twirled his wand between his fingers: "We should meet up either way. Today will definitely be the only time I ever refuse an offer like that from you..."

Her high, soft laughter rang through the hallway: "Careful, I'll hold you to that, Peverell." She winked at him and walked away, auburn hair bouncing down the length of her back.

Tristan turned and headed in the opposite direction, for once rather thankful that his peers almost threw themselves out of the way to let him pass.

'Now then, where are you, little baby sister?'

The top of golden curls sparkled between two broad-shouldered figures a few compartments ahead of him.

'Gotcha.'

Their conversation carried over. The two figures suddenly moved together and blocked her path.

"-so now I'm some evil harlot simply for turning down your brother? Tell him to fucking get over himself and stop harassing me!"

"Why, you filthy little-"

Tristan moved swiftly, bumping into the left boy's shoulder to toss him aside and forcing himself past them.

"-do you really want to finish that sentence, Bellingham?"

"Fuck!" The other boy cursed and flinched back, fingers itching towards his waist.

"Do it," Tristan stated calmly, a sharp, little thrill racing through his veins: "Come on then, what are you waiting for? Have a go at the Peverells. I know you want to..."

"I'm- I'm the bloody Dueling Champion of Hogwarts!" Bellingham spat through his clenched jaw. "I-I'd paint the walls re-red with you!"

"Then a third and fifth-year shouldn't cause you to fucking stutter so much." His sister snarled from behind him, her blonde curls brushing against his arm as she squeezed past.

"You little bitch!" Bellingham hissed and snatched his wand from his waist.

Tristan caught his wrist in an iron-tight grip, smashing it against the door of the compartment until he dropped the wand and winced in pain.

"You're rather slow." Tristan smiled coldly, kicking the piece of wood through Bellingham's legs into the corridor behind him. "This isn't the dueling pit, buddy. Real fights don't start with wands drawn already, you should keep that in mind next time..."

Bellingham glared at him and flinched his wrist back, rubbing it furiously while cursing under his breath: "One day you Peverells will get what you fucking deserve!"

"Apparently it won't be today," Valeria snorted. "And certainly not by you."

"I suggest you two fuck off now, unless pretty-boy Davies here wants a go himself." Tristan placed his hand on Valeria's shoulder to keep her by his side, feeling her tremble in agitation ever so slightly: "And it comes without saying that neither you nor your idiot brother will harass my sister ever again."

"We're prefects, Peverell," Roger Davies boasted, pointing at a shiny golden badge on his chest.

'He seems very convinced that the title meant something.'

Davies sneered: "So we don't take orders from dark wizard scum like you!"

"A dark wizard am I, huh?" His wand was in his hand within a split second, poking Davies in the chest. "Those are supposed to be quite dangerous... Perhaps the Ravenclaw Quidditch team will be looking for a new captain next season, what do you think, dear sister?"

"You- you can't-" Davies paled and began to quiver, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. "The- they'll expel you and snap your wand for this!"

"Do you really want to test that theory?"

"Don't, Tristan-" a slim arm applied gentle but firm pressure until he lowered his wand, "they're not worth it. Let's go..."

The smaller hand, with a surprisingly tight grip, led him past the two older boys. He allowed her to guide him, still keeping his eyes trained on them over his shoulder.

"You know I could've dealt with those idiots by myself just fine, don't you?" Valeria huffed in irritation, canceling his locking charms with a flick of her wand.

"I know that but- wait-" Tristan paused in surprise before he followed her inside, eyes widened, "how did you know it was this compartment?"

"I don't know, I just felt it," she shrugged and took a seat opposite him, crossing her legs and flattening the wrinkles in her silver and green-highlighted school uniform. "I'll teach you over the summer if you teach me some dueling. That idiot Bellingham will definitely try again next term..."

He sighed: "Do I even want to know what happened?"

"His little brother asked me out and I told him I'm not interested. Apparently, that hurt his ego. Now then-" Valeria sniffed and wrinkled her nose, "are you going to tell me why it smells like a witch's perfume in here? Had a little fun before saving your baby sister?"

"No, I actually missed out on some fun because I had to go and save my baby sister," Tristan chuckled and pulled his wand from his sleeve, absently playing with it.

"Don't tell me it was that 'Puff, Adelaide Goldstein, again." Valeria groaned: "Haven't you heard that she's pretty much slept with half of sixth and seventh year already?"

'So Adelaide was right. My sister truly doesn't like her.'

"Perhaps that's why she's settling for a fifth year now?"

'And I doubt it's been that many. Just some petty rumors from shallow, little people...'

"You don't seriously consider dating her, do you?" His sister asked incredulously.

"You know I don't date. Adelaide and I just have something casual going for us." Tristan shrugged it off: "I probably won't have time for dating next year anyways because I'll have to fight off all your potential suitors."

Valeria giggled, emerald green eyes flashing with amusement: "You're just jealous that I inherited all of Mother's traits while you only got her eyes. Soon I'll be just as irresistible as her." She cupped her own breasts through her school uniform with a small frown: "Well, I suppose these two girls mightneed another year to grow, but then..."

"Can we please talk about something else?" Tristan cringed and pointedly looked out of the window.

"Fascinating how quickly you turn from the most promiscuous adventurer, who haunts Hogwarts at night, to some complete prude as soon as we leave the Castle," Valeria giggled: "But on a serious note, thanks for stepping in out there."

"You know I always will." He twirled his wand between his fingers, glancing over at her: "We're family, we look out for each other. That's how it has always been and I don't think it will change anytime soon."

"I will still need those dueling tips over the summer then," Valeria sighed and leaned back, tossing her long golden curls over her shoulder: "Father always goes too easy on his 'Little Princess' and Mother prefers I don't train for a few more years at all. It's ridiculous, really..."

"They just don't want us to experience the same childhood they had," Tristan stated: "But at least they still teach us how to protect ourselves. I don't think many other families do anymore..."

"I was honestly torn whether or not to stop you out there." Valeria grinned challengingly: "Do you think you could've taken both of them by yourself? Peter Bellingham is the famous Hogwarts' Dueling Champion after all, and of course, Roger Davies is a mighty Prefect..."

'He's only champion because I never chose to participate.' A small smile played on Tristan's lips: 'Being a gifted dueler is good. Being a gifted dueler no one knows about is even better.'

"It didn't matter that there were two of them against me, the corridor is too narrow for them to use numbers to their advantage, like circling around me," Tristan mused loudly, twirling his wand between his fingers: "And I think it's out of question which one of us is faster with their spell work..."

"You're such a braggart." Valeria rolled her eyes good-naturedly, curling her legs up the bench to sit on top of them.

"But it's true," Tristan shrugged: "In my five years at the Castle I've had plenty of opportunities to assure myself of it." His fingers flexed around his wand: "And I'm sure many more opportunities will follow soon..."

'My parent's legacy ensures that...'

"You know they don't all hate us, don't you?" Valeria frowned at him: "Before they came to Hogwarts most of the muggle-borns have never even heard about what our parents did during the war-"

"-but as soon as they truly enter our world, they do learn of it, and I've yet to meet one who stayed friendly after that," Tristan laughed coldly.

"Fine," Valeria's eyes flashed in irritation: "But the half-bloods-"

"-either hate our parents, and by extension us, for what they did or alternatively hate us for how they did it. It's a point one can apply to pretty much the entire Wizarding World," he interrupted her again, raising an eyebrow in challenge: "What's next, Val, are you going to tell me the purebloods are any different?"

'After our parents ended some of the oldest British bloodlines?'

"I'm just saying there's no need for such a bloody victim complex! To you, it's always us vs. them. I'm not saying we don't have enemies, just that they don't all hate us, Tristan," Valeria repeated firmly.

'It's better to assume the worst from them, that way I won't suffer a nasty surprise.' Tristan chose to remain silent, studying the passing landscape.

His sister continued: "And unlike you, I actually have some friends in my year-"

"Now wait a minute-"

"-ones that aren't only interested in getting to know me physically, brother dear." She added with an eye roll when his lips parted in protest. "Out of the two of us, you're definitely the loner."

'I can't really argue with that.' Tristan chuckled. "Fair enough, let's hear them."

Valeria began counting one slim finger after the other: "I'm on good terms with Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis from our House, the same holds for the Patil twins and Susan Bones in my year. And of course, Maggy and Alphi from Gryffindor are actual friends of mine..."

"Greengrass and Bones are distantly related and the Potter and Black children don't count, Valeria, we practically grew up with them." Tristan snorted: "Besides, Magnolia and Alphard always hang out with that idiot Weasley and Granger. Now how do those two treat you?"

"To be fair, Ronald Weasley spewing nonsense about Father and Mother being dark sorcerers and killing people is pretty amusing most of the time," Valeria chirped: "I doubt he or his sister would've ever seen the light of the day if it wasn't for what our parents did."

"It's not very likely," Tristan hummed.

"They risked their lives for them." Valeria gritted her teeth: "They should be hailed as heroes instead of getting called dark wizards at every corner!"

"You know they don't want any of that," Tristan sighed: "Their reasons to fight Voldemort weren't exactly selfless."

"Oh, I know," Valeria giggled: "One merely has to compare dates to figure out Father's true motivation..."

"Dates?" Tristan frowned.

Valeria cooked her head. "Voldemort was defeated on October first, 1978, you were born in June, 1979."

"You think Mother was already pregnant with me during the Battle of Hogwarts?" Tristan stared out of the window: "I haven't actually thought of that…"

'Was I the reason they risked so much? So I could grow up in a better world than they did?'

"It's supported by so many hilarious rumors as well," Valeria snorted: "You want to know my favorite?"

"I actually don't-"

"-some Ravenclaw claimed that Voldemort ensnarled Mother with his secret Parselmouth sex magic-" Valeria buckled on her seat, her high laughter filling the compartment, "and the only way to stop him and ensure that the baby was indeed his, was for Father to defeat him in a duel."

"Secret Parselmouth sex magic..." Tristan didn't know whether to feel amusement or ridicule: "How did an idiot like that ever land in Ravenclaw?"

"I don't know but it's pretty funny." She wiped a tear from her eye.

"No to me," Tristan grimaced and spun his wand between his fingers. "I wish Father didn't have to reveal it at all, I wish the world never found out."

He hissed under his breath, letting a tiny snake of ebony mist curl around his wrist and up his arm. 'It's just another advantage lost to us now.'

"Perhaps he was forced to defend himself with it," Valeria suggested, watching his creation with a curious smile.

"If only Father finally shared his memory of that night with us." Tristan murmured, vanishing the serpent in a puff of black smoke: "I suppose Mother could as well, we know she's seen it in person by the way she tenses anytime it's brought up..."

'It can't have been easy watching the father of your unborn child fight for his life.'

"Perhaps Father can't even recall the memory anymore," his sister mused: "The Ministry says he was injured gravely in the fight due to all the dark magic he used..."

Heat bubbled in his stomach: 'And all they did was watch while locking him and Mother in a cage of wards... trapping them with Voldemort and hoping their two biggest problems cancel each other out...'

"But they don't actually say he was injured, do they, Valeria?" Tristan said: "Our classmates shoved those old articles in our faces plenty of times. The Prophet reported that he fell fully unconscious, some reporters even say he died that night..."

'And no one has seen him after the duel for an entire year... not even Uncle James and Sirius...'

"Really, Tristan?" Valeria snorted in disbelief: "No spell can bring back the dead, Professor Vector always says it's against the very nature of magic. Not even Father could pull that off." She flicked her hair up, binding it in a high ponytail: "Besides, you don't usually care about what the little, shallow people think of us, so why do you now?"

'Because something happened back then, something important that our parents don't want the world to know.' He exhaled and stared back out of the window, eyes clinging to the Scottish highlands: 'But one day I will find out what it was... I have to...'

"I suppose it doesn't matter," He lied with a shrug.

"There's not really a point in hiding that we're Parselmouths anymore either, everyone assumes it already." Valeria's eyes sparkled with mischief. "We should have a huge demonstration in front of the entire school during the next Welcome Feast. We could hurl some conjured serpents at the 'Dorks? Make them slink up their trousers..."

Percival Weasley's face would definitely be priceless. But Hogwarts' most popular headboy will be gone after this year anyway.'

Tristan stifled a chuckle and shook his head: "No demonstrations, sister. Let them keep guessing, as annoying as it may be. Their uncertainty only plays in our favor until one day we strike."

"Sounds very Slytherin," Valeria chuckled and bobbed her head: "I like it."

"Well, we did get sorted into his House." He flourished his wand over his school uniform, transfiguring the green- and silver-highlighted robes into casual jeans and a shirt. "It'd be quite embarrassing if we lacked the cunning, ambition, and self-preservation that goes with it."

"Since you mentioned ambition, any idea for what classes you'll be taking next year?" Valeria asked curiously.

"Obviously the cores: Charms, DADA, Transfigurations, and Potions." Tristan ran a hand through his hair: "Runes and Arithmancy are a must as well, and then either Herbology or Creatures, depending on where I scored better in my OWLs."

"So all the classes Mother and Father took." His sister's eyes gleamed with mirth: "Why are you trying to follow their footsteps even though you know it will be almost impossible to outperform them academically?"

Irritation tingled underneath his skin.

"I'm not trying to follow their footsteps and neither is my goal to outperform them!" Tristan snapped, his fingers flexing around his wand: "Those are simply the subjects that will be most useful to me in the future."

"I've read that other magical European schools offer a much wider variety of classes for their upper years," Valeria shared: "For example, at Beauxbaton they offer alchemy and enchanting. At Durmstrang there are courses for spell-crafting and even the Dark Arts."

"It'll be a cold day in hell before the Ministry allows such classes to be taught here in Britain," he snorted. 'I'll just have to teach myself any of that magic… As I always do…'

"I wish I could visit some of the other schools for a day, just to see what they're like, you know?" His sister sighed and lay down, her long legs stretching over the entirety of the bench: "I'd still have to deal with silly boys asking me out, but at least none of them would call me a dark witch for throwing off their advances."

"We both secretly know you love being chased like that," Tristan chuckled and conjured a pillow, carefully levitating it underneath her head.

"Thank you, big brother." Valeria stifled a yawn and shifted into a more comfortable position: "I'll take a quick nap, wake me up once-"

"-we either arrive or the Trolley Lady knocks on our door," he chuckled: "Sure I will."

"You're the best." She closed her eyes, a small, content smile creeping over her lips.

He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest for some time before flicking his wand.

Purple vapor wrenched into a set of numbers.

'I suppose I could kill time with some light reading until we arrive.'

He enlarged his trunk and removed a book for advanced runes, absently skimming through the pages and merely reading the sections that caught his eye.

All too soon the scenery began changing. Wild Scottish highlands gave way to rich green forests and open fields, which eventually turned into villages and finally the outskirts of London.

"Enough beauty-sleep for today, baby sister." Tristan gently nudged Valeria's shoulder until she stirred with a groan.

"Sweets?" She murmured, rubbing her eyes: "Please don't give me any of the nasty Bertie Bott's beans like last time."

"Sorry, I've got none," he chuckled: "The lady probably just skipped our compartment with all the charms we've placed on it. But we'll arrive at King Cross soon, so you can just snack from Mother's Honeydukes stash once we're home."

"I'd rather not unless you give me the Cloak for that." Valeria arched back and rose from the bench, stretching her arms over her head. "I can still feel the bruises on my butt from her stinging hexes when she caught me last time."

"You'll catch some more curses if Mother sees you exiting the Express like that." He gestured at her disheveled robes and hair while shirking his trunk and storing it in his pockets: "You know how much she cares about looking the very best anytime we're in public together."

"Fine," Valeria huffed and smoothened out the wrinkles in her skirt with wide flicks of her wand, tossing golden curls over her shoulder and binding them in a loose braid: "I swear she's slowly turning into Great-grandma Constanze. Soon she'll have us act like perfect, prim little purebloods."

"Better not let her hear that," he chuckled as the Express pulled into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station, its brakes squealing and screeching before finally coming to a halt.

They went back into the hallway, edging past the masses of exciting students out onto the platform. Thick white steam poured from the red chimney at the front of the train, concealing the majority of the colorfully dressed people waiting.

"Do you see them?" Valeria asked, attempting to peek over the crowd on her tiptoes.

He let his eyes roam over the many heads until finally spotted one of sparkling gold next to a crown of deepest ebony.

"Found them." He tugged Valeria on the hand and guided her through the crowd.

A lonely couple stood slightly offside, ignoring the scandalous looks, and muffled whispers thrown at them. Both were tall and dressed in robes of fine silk, him in wine-red, her in velvet blue. He was standing behind her, his arms scooped protectively around her midriff while she leaned back against his chest.

Green eyes found him as he approached, instantly gaining some of their familiar warmth.

"Tristan." His father's arms left his wife's waist and opened for an embrace, his hurried steps betraying his usually calm demeanor.

"Hey, dad." He hugged him tight and allowed a few smart claps to land on his shoulder before pulling away, switching spots with his sister, who had greeted their mother first.

"My son," she whispered and embraced him after kissing his cheek, fingers curling into his shirt.

"Look how much you've grown up already." She pulled back and blinked up at him, pride sparkling among the tears in her eyes: "Taller than me and perhaps even your Father soon."

"In a few years maybe," his father snorted and gently sat a squealing Valeria, who he had leaped off her feet in greeting, back onto the platform: "You two have your trunks? Are you ready to-"

A bright, white light flashed to Tristan's right, searing his eye.

His father leaped in front of them, gray mist pouring from his pale wand and wrenching into a thin, pulsing barrier.

A second flash blinded him and Tristan waited for something to strike the shield. His own wand was already pressed into his palm while he dragged his sister behind him.

The steam from the Express cleared, revealing a blonde witch wearing magenta robes and a paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly after a third flash flashed from it.

"What a lovely family reunion!"

Elaborate and curiously rigid curls bounced, contrasting oddly with her heavy-jawed face. Her thick fingers clutching a crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.

"How about a tiny interview, Mr. Peverell? Or maybe your son and daughter would like to answer a few questions?"

"I told you to leave my family alone, Skeeter," his father cursed and curled his fingers into a tight fist.

The camera exploded in a puff of black smoke, sending metal and glass shards skittering over the platform past the feet of the shrieking crowd that had gathered around them.

"Let's go." He turned towards Tristan and offered his hand, ignoring Skeeter's outraged expression and the furiously scribbling green quill that suddenly zipped over a roll of parchment.

Simultaneously his mother scooped an arm around Valeria, tightened her hold, and vanished with a faint snap.

The world went black and was forced past him, while he was pressed very hard from all directions, iron bands tightening around his chest.

The pressure faded just as quickly, allowing him to gulp a great lungful of air. Gravel crunched underneath his heels as he staggered forward, opening his streaming eyes.

A proud manor, its familiar towers, bay windows, and sharp roofs, rose from behind tall iron gates and neatly trimmed hedges.

'Home.' A small smile spread over his lips.

Tristan allowed the faint surge of magic from the wards to ripple over his skin and fade away like smoke on a breeze.

"Bloody Rita Skeeter."

Next to him, his father cursed, letting his wand slide back up his sleeve before he turned to Tristan, concern dwelling in his eyes: "Are you okay, son? I'm sorry, that can't have been the most pleasant side-along apparition. This vile woman just has a way of getting under my skin."

"It's nothing, dad," Tristan shrugged it off, grinning when he caught his mother and sister waving from the balcony above them. "Is it always a competition for her?"

"Your Mother loves getting the better of me." His father chuckled and waved back: "Well, in any case, it will be one of the last times you'll ever suffer through the traumatic experience of getting side-alonged…"

"What do you mean, dad?" Tristan frowned and turned back to him, noticing the faint smile that tugged the corner of his lips: "I've only just turned sixteen this summer. It'll be over another year until I get my official license."

"The Ministry has no jurisdiction here, Tristan," Harry Peverell laughed and spread his arms, gesturing around them at the wide grounds surrounding the manor: "This summer I'll teach you how to apparate until you master it. I'm sure you'll find it a most useful skill..."