HP: Panem et Circenses

March 21st, 1997

"Are you sure you've packed everything? Socks? Underwear? Flip-flops? Swimming trunks?"

Tristan placed his invisibility cloak on top of a stack of folded clothes. "I somehow doubt I'll be needing the latter two." He closed his trunk and tapped the lid with the tip of his wand, shrinking it to the size of a snitch and slipping it into his pocket. "I'm heading to a dueling tournament, Valeria, not on vacation."

"Sounds the same to me," Valeria murmured, watching him from his bed. "I wish I could come with you."

Tristan's heart sank. "I'm sorry." He slipped his wand back up his sleeve and sat down beside her. "I really am."

"You're not the one locking me up in here all day," she muttered, hugging her knees to her chest. "Mother and Father are."

He drew her into his side and patted her back. "They do it for the right reasons," Tristan murmured. "Right now, Hogwarts just isn't safe for you and Galahad."

'I've made it a little safer.' A swell of sweet satisfaction blossomed in Tristan's breast, but Umbridge's broken, black-feathered blood-quill drowned in the reflection of crossed golden rapiers, bright as the sun. 'As long as they breathe, it's never safe enough.'

"I just miss my friends a lot." Valeria gnawed at her bottom lip. "Do you reckon I'll be allowed to visit you? That way, I'd at least see Daphne again."

'No, you won't.' Tristan held his tongue, swallowing a stab of pity. 'Mother and Father won't take any risks after what happened on New Year's Eve.'

"Tristan?"

"Perhaps? I'm honestly not sure." He tousled her long blonde hair. "First, I need to make it far enough into the tournament to make any visit worth it."

Valeria rolled her eyes at him as she patted her hair back down. "Oh please, no one at Hogwarts stands a chance against you and you won the Triwizard Tournament just last year."

"True." Tristan chuckled. "But Fleur would've won if she hadn't been so set on beating me in a straight duel."

"Is she participating this time?"

"No." The cheer faded and the grin slipped from his lips. "She said she's too busy with projects and her latest internship in the French Ministry and whatnot."

Tristan cupped the necklace beneath his shirt. 'It's been weeks since I last saw her in person and not via the mirror.' A flare of longing snaked around his heart, warm and gentle as Fleur's embrace, sweet and soft as the brush of her lips, and yet stinging like a bitter-sweet little pain. 'I miss you.'

"Earth to Tristan." Valeria nudged him in the side with her elbow. "Think about the upside: with Fleur not participating, you'll be even more likely to win."

"I suppose we'll see about that." He glanced at his wristwatch. "My chances of winning go near zero if I miss my portkey, so let's head downstairs."

The manor lay still and silent as snow. Tristan's father rose from the sofa as they entered the living room. "All packed already?"

"All in here." Tristan patted his pocket. "Time to say goodbye now."

"Waaait!" Something blonde dashed from the dining room, burying its face in his hip. "Will you be away for long?" Aurelia mumbled.

"I'll be back in two weeks."

"With another big shiny trophy?"

"If things go well for me I might." Tristan chuckled and scooped her up in his arms, kissing the top of Aurelia's neat blonde braids. "I'm not even sure what the champion receives; some gold probably."

'I don't care for trophies or prize money.' Before his mind's eye, his baby-sister flashed a huge empty-tooth grin, stretching her tiny, rosy fingers for him, her eyes as big and bright and full of admiration as Aurelia's. 'I was robbed of something so much greater...'

Tristan dragged his smile back in place and tousled Aurelia's hair until she squirmed out of his embrace and dashed off in giggles.

"What's going on here?" Galahad poked his head around the corner, his eyes finding Tristan. "Oh, hey." He gave an awkward wave from across the living room. "Good luck in the tournament."

Galahad turned and his footsteps faded away, leaving a strange hollow feeling in Tristan's stomach.

"Come along, Aurelia, let's give Daddy and Tristan a moment to say goodbye." Valeria snatched her giggling younger sister's arm and led her back into the dining room.

Tristan's father shot a thankful look after them and ran a hand through his hair. "Galahad is having a difficult time right now," he murmured. "I'm trying my best, but…"

"I can't really blame him," Tristan said. "No one his age should be locked up for months."

'You'll be out and playing Quidditch again soon, Galahad. I'll make sure of it.'

His father sighed. "Best of luck in Stockholm, son." He brought Tristan in for a brief, firm hug. "With everything we taught you over the summer, I doubt any opponent stands a chance against you. Just... be careful, please."

"I will," Tristan promised.

Movement stirred in the corner of his eye; his mother lingered on the last step of the marble staircase, her face slim and pale, but dressed in magenta robes with her hair braided over one shoulder.

"Mother." Tristan swallowed hard as his father retreated to the dining room.

She crossed the space between them in small swift steps, silent as a ghost, and swept him into a fierce hug.

All the suspense melted in her embrace, and she clung to his shoulders, feeling frailer in his arms than Tristan recalled, yet her warmth and the soft lavender of her shampoo calmed him all the same.

"I wanted to say goodbye," his mother whispered, her voice thin as paper. "And wish you good fortune."

"Thank you." Tristan took a step back. "How are you-"

A single finger on his lips silenced him.

"Promise me," she murmured, clutching his hands in an iron-tight grip. "Promise me this tournament is not just some farce to go after them again."

"I'm only going to Stockholm to become a better duelist, not to chase them" he replied, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. "I promise, Mother."

Her grip eased and she sagged against him. "Thank you," she breathed, trembling like a leaf in the breeze. "One of my children was taken from me, Tristan. I will not lose another." A fierce spark sprang to life in her bright blue eyes, burning with wild determination like the flames of the Goblet of Fire. "If you chase after them by yourself again - on my honor as the last McKinnon - I will drag you back here and lock you up with your siblings."

Tristan clenched his jaw. "I wouldn't need to go by myself if we fought for the same team."

"We do, Tristan."

"It doesn't feel like it." His tone cooled a touch. "You're keeping too many secrets from me."

"We are only trying to keep you safe,' she whispered, her lips quivering. "We are protecting you. As all parents protect their children."

"I've protected myself just fine over the years." Tristan lifted her right hand and drew a sequence of letters across her pale, blue-veined skin with the edge of his thumb. "From all sorts of danger."

The last speck of color drained from his mother's face.

"Umbridge introduced me to a new type of quill recently," he murmured. "Now, I know why you were so worried about Valeria's detention."

His mother's eyes flashed like the winter sun on ice, and she yanked his hand up, twisting his wrist.

"Don't worry." Tristan showed her the unmarked skin. "Like I said, I can protect myself."

She swallowed, staring up at him with wide blue eyes. "What did you do to her?"

'I punished her.' Some of the fury he'd buried that night in Umbridge's office stirred beneath the surface, whispering through his veins like a cold dark serpent. 'And I enjoyed every minute of it.'

"Umbridge won't remember a thing, I made sure of that. I also made sure no child will ever write with her quill again." Tristan caught his mother's hand in his and studied the pale back of it. "Since you don't have a scar, I'm assuming Father has one right here. I wonder what it says?"

"Please, Tristan." Her voice caught as she shook her head. "I beg you; let it rest."

'Let it rest?'

His mother's huge and pleading blue eyes stared up at him, brimming with unshed tears, but all he saw was the light and warmth dying in them over and over again, and the echo of her scream tore through his heart like a jagged blade of despair. "You know I can't do that, Mother..."

She buried her face in his chest. "I know. You are your father's son after all."

Tristan held her tight as her tears dampened his shirt, prying himself out of her embrace once her shoulders stopped trembling. "I need to go."

His mother gave a shaky nod and led him to the fireplace, wiping tear streaks from her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve as he threw a fistful of floo-powder into the cackling flames.

"I love you, Mother." Stepping into the fireplace, Tristan swallowed the raw, thick storm of emotion, but it all bubbled back up like a potion. "And I'm glad you're recovering, but all this secrecy just needs to end."

"It will," she whispered, blowing him a trembling kiss. "Soon it will all end. I promise you, my son."

"McGonagall's Office, Hogwarts."

The living room and his mother's wide blue eyes vanished in roaring green flames.

"Your timing has been rather lackluster as of late, Mr. Peverell." A stern, tight-lipped expression met him over neat stacks of essays. "Make sure not to leave a single speck of ashes on my carpet."

"Yes, Professor." Tristan brushed himself off and stepped out of the fireplace.

McGonagall's expression softened as she rose from her chair. "Follow me to the courtyard. The dueling team will depart via portkey together from there."

She swept out of her office, Tristan on her heels, and headed towards the Giant Staircase.

A faint sense of deja vu overcame him as they descended the steps past snoozing portraits. "Any last-minute advice, Professor?"

McGonagall's lips twitched. "If I thought it necessary, you'd hear it."

"I'm not sure if that was a compliment or not?"

Her stride slowed a tad. "Let us not beat around the bush, Mr. Peverell; I've seen your performance in the dueling club, and I know your habit of holding back. You have a legitimate chance against any opponent you'll encounter, even those with far greater dueling experience." She leveled him with a long, pointed look. "All I'm asking of you is to keep your temper in check and to think about the consequences of your action; for you and for this school."

"I'll keep it in mind, Professor."

"Thank you and good luck, Mr. Peverell." McGonagall ushered him through the entrance hall.

A sea of students from all years bustled all over the courtyard beneath a clear spring afternoon sky. Their cacophony of laughter and enthusiastic, high-pitched chattering echoed off the surrounding walls.

"Tristan!" A familiar voice called.

Daphne hurried up the steps, the Hogwarts crest prodding from her black robes and her cheeks glowing. "Where have you been?! I was looking everywhere for you!"

"Did you check the boys' bathroom?"

She blinked, turning a little pink. "Uhm, no."

"Well, that's where I was hiding and flipping a galleon on whether to bail or not."

Daphne swatted his shoulder and rolled her eyes at him. "Sometimes I really pity Valeria. Come on, everyone else is here already." She grabbed his arm and led him past a group of seventh years. "There's Roger Davies and Cedric Diggory from your year, along with Cho Chang, Cormac McLaggen, and Adrian Pucey from sixth year. Anthony Goldstein and Blaise are with Professor Flitwick already."

"When are we leaving?" Tristan asked.

"Soon." Daphne's light green eyes latched onto something above his shoulder and she wrinkled her nose. "Probably right after our Headmistress held her fare-well speech."

Tristan turned around; Umbridge stood in the entrance of the castle, a fleck of bright pink contrasting stark against the dark brickwork, and raised her wand to her throat.

"Hm, hm."

The courtyard fell silent as every eye flicked to her.

Umbridge smoothed out the front of her pink cardigan with a faint tremble in her fat-fingered hand. "How nice to see all your bright, happy faces... so full of excitement for your peers' impending departure. It is a great honor to represent our school at any event, but especially one as prestigious as the European Dueling Tournament."

Tristan ignored her rambling. 'Nothing too obvious aside from her fingers.' A flash of pride seized him. 'My memory charm works perfectly. She's still the same fat cruel toad she's always been.'

"I remain confident those chosen from among you will carry out this privilege with responsibility and dignity." Umbridge fixed a sweet smile on her broad face, but there was an ugly gleam in her brown eyes as they lingered on Tristan. "Because unlike it was handled under the previous administration, this year, students will be equally commemorated and held accountable for all their actions as representatives of Hogwarts and Magical Britain."

'And she still detests me like the plague.' A host of stares prickled in the nape of Tristan's neck, but a small smile threatened to spread across his lips. 'I won't draw any suspicion.'

"Hm, hm." Umbridge cleared her throat and puffed out her chest like a proud pink toad preparing to squawk. "In addition-"

She sucked in a sharp breath and her hand flew to her nose, catching a slim trickle of crimson save for a single drop of red that stained her pink cardigan.

The crowd broke out in a ripple of whispers and points of fingers.

"That will be all, children." Umbridge twisted on her heel and strutted back inside the castle, Filch limping after her.

"How strange," Daphne murmured. "That was the third time her nose started bleeding in the last month alone. She should get herself checked out at St. Mungo's."

'They can't help her. No one can.' Tristan allowed himself a small taste of sweet satisfaction. 'I wiped it all away.'

"Perhaps the promotion to headmistress came with more stress than she expected." He shrugged. "A classroom full of children must be more difficult to handle than her army of subordinates at the Ministry."

Daphne giggled and tugged at his sleeve. "Come. I think Professor Flitwick is gathering everyone."

Tristan followed her through the deafening crowd of students to the center of the courtyard, where Flitwick was handing out coins to the other duelist. "Everybody, hold on to these, please, they will portkey us to the site in Stockholm in approximately-," he inspected the huge clock above the entrance, "-ten seconds?!" Flitwick squeaked. "Quick, Ms. Greengrass, Mr. Peverell!"

Tristan tugged with a little magic, and summoned two coins into his open palm, handing one to Daphne and rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger.

A horned Viking helmet stood from the rough bronze. He closed his fist around the coin and met Diggory's and Davies' matching scowls with a thin smile as the chants and yells of all of Hogwarts rang in his ears.

Following a familiar pull at his naval, the courtyard was sucked into a maelstrom of colors and Tristan landed on soft grass, bright sunlight stabbing his vision.

He took a deep breath of salty air, slipped the portkey into his pocket, and glanced about; they stood in a clearing surrounded by a thicket of tall dark pine trees that spread all the way to the crumbling crowns of a snow-shrouded mountain ridge.

Lit by the setting sun, the clearing flared into a gradient that led down to the rough shores and steep cliffs of a huge fjord, and where its broad entrance met the open sea, rocky islands peaked from within the shimmering blue.

A soft snap echoed over the clearing.

"Friends from Hogwarts!" A tall blonde wizard in green robes and fur-lined boots spread his arms wide, greeting them in a faint Scandinavian accent. "Welcome to Stockholm."

"Thank you, Jarl Olafson, it is good to see you again." Flitwick offered a small bow and motioned behind himself. "These are my students."

Jarl Olafson's eyes roamed over them. "Three students each from your upper three years, yes? A rather small delegation considering this will be Hogwarts' debut after not participating for almost two decades, Professor Flitwick."

"Each of them are handpicked by me." Flitwick drew himself up. "What we lack in numbers, we more than make up for in skill."

Olafson laughed. "We shall put your claim to the test in the coming days, Professor." He gestured down the slope into the fjord. "Follow me to the campsite, please. The other schools will arrive shortly, after which I will show you your accommodation."

Tristan joined Daphne at the front of the group as they wound down the steep, rocky track past the dark trees. "I take it, you know who he is?"

"Jarl Olafson is a two-times dueling champion and the Swedish representative on the ICW," she whispered, a touch of admiration coloring her tone. "He's been organizing the European eighteen-and-under Dueling Tournaments for the last ten years."

Further below, where the cliffs flattened into a shore, a village of log cabins encircled a massive fire pit. Half a hundred wizards and witches around Tristan's age dawdled along the short spread of beach and on the wooden dockyards, their chatter and laughter carried over by the gentle breeze.

'Perhaps Valeria was right and I should've packed my swimming trunks.'

The fjord gurgled like one of his mother's bath bombs, sending ripples to the shores.

"Stay calm everyone, there is no need to panic," Olafson called as he headed for the furthest pier. "We are just in time to welcome our friends from Durmstrang."

A familiar black mast rose from amidst the heart of the fjord. The ship it belonged to followed, all its barnacles-clad planks glowing an eerie green in the rays of the setting sun.

Tristan watched it anchor at the docks. 'I don't have any friends in Durmstrang.' A delegation of broad-shouldered, red-furred students marched in unison down the wooden pier, led by the sleek-haired shape of Igor Karkaroff. 'Only enemies...'

"Igor, it's good to see you again, my friend." Olafson clapped Karkaroff on the back and they exchanged a few words, then strolled side by side back to the shore. "Professor Flitwick and his students also just arrived from Hogwarts."

Karkaroff's ice-blue eyes roamed over them, lingering on Tristan until he tore them away. "Professor Flitwick." He straightened his white fur coat and gave his goatee a twirl. "I was surprised when news of Hogwarts' participation reached me. Pleasantly so..."

Flitwick dipped his head "We will do our best to make it an interesting event, Professor Karkaroff."

The ghost of a sneer flitted across Karkaroff's face as his students squared their shoulders and muttered among themselves. "I am sure you will."

Tristan let his eyes roam over each of them; half-familiar faces stared back in utter contempt.

'As expected.' He offered them a thin smile. 'No friends in Durmstrang.'

The fjord sent small waves rippling over the shore as the silence between the two groups stretched on.

Olafson clapped his hands together. "Ah, the spirit of competition lingers in the air already, yes? Our remaining competitors from Beauxbatons Academy should arrive shortly, too. You can all welcome them with me here at the shore or alternatively retreat to your accommodation to rest from your journey before the opening ceremony starts tonight."

"I'm sure there will be plenty of time to get to know each other better later on." Karkaroff barked a few commands in some harsh Eastern European tongue and his students marched past toward the three log cabins bearing the Durmstrang crest above their entrance.

Tristan turned to Daphne. "You don't know by any chance how well Durmstrang's been doing in these competitions the last few years, do you?"

"They've won the eighteen-and-under championship in the last 13 years, except for the second to last year," Daphne murmured, her eyes lingering on the broad backs of the Dumstrangs. "They really didn't seem to like you..."

"They didn't like my sister's jewelry either."

Daphne squirmed. "Valeria told us about that." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But what happened to Viktor Krum in the third task? Why was Professor Karkaroff so furious with you?"

'Krum was an obstacle.' The Bulgarian's bloodshot eyes as the devil's snare wrung the life out of him flitted before the eye of Tristan's mind. 'And he threatened my little sister.'

"I have no idea." He shrugged. "I didn't meet Krum in the maze, only Fleur toward the end."

"I see." Daphne bit her lip. "Are you two still...?"

"Yes," Tristan said, his hand snaking toward the locket beneath his shirt, but the cold metal hung still and silent and heavy above his heart.

'She hasn't wished me good luck yet.' His gaze drifted out across the fjord's wild beauty in the setting sun. 'But it's fine. She knows I won't duel until tomorrow. Fleur won't forget me.'

"I'm happy for you." Daphne's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "You must be very excited for Beauxbatons arrival then?"

"Fleur's not coming." Tristan swallowed the bitter-sweet little pain that throbbed in his chest. "She's too busy." Clawing for a distraction, he motioned to the teenagers surrounding them along the shore. "If Durmstrang only just arrived and Beauxbatons' yet to join us, what school do all these people attend?"

"Some attend smaller, lesser-known schools of magic, sprinkled all over the continent, but the majority will be privately tutored and enrolled in dueling institutes."

"Dueling institutes?" A name hung among Tristan's thoughts. "Like Madame Lacroix's?"

Daphne nodded. "Lacroix is the most well-known address in France, but there are plenty of others in Spain, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. Britain is pretty much the only country where almost every magical child enrolls at a single ministry-funded school. In other European countries, parents prefer to tutor their children privately, often in smaller institutions founded way back during the Roman occupation of Europe."

"Interesting," he murmured.

"Look!" Daphne pointed up in the sky as the noise around them rose. "There's Beauxbatons."

A powder-blue carriage soared over the mountain ridge and down towards the fjord.

"How come we're the only school that doesn't have a fancy way of transportation?" Tristan snorted. "We just portkey."

The carriage bounced on its huge wheels as the Abraxans towing it hit the ground and dug their hooves deep into the shore, hurling up a cloud of dust and soil.

That strange sense of deja vu took hold of Tristan again as he studied the emblem of crossed wands, each emitting three golden sparks.

'Stop thinking about her all the time.' He crushed the searing flare of longing at its root and watched Madame Maxime exit the carriage with unmatched grace for her size. 'That will only make it worse.'

But with each student clad in blue that followed, the beat of his trembling heart set out, and a little hope twisted between his ribs, sweet as sugar and sharp as a razor blade.

The last student descended the steps.

Tristan stared into the empty gloom of the carriage's entrance. 'That's it.' That slim scrap of hope crumbled away to ashes like the smoldering petals of a flower, tearing his heart with it into the endless void of the fjord. 'And why shouldn't it? She told you she wasn't coming.'

A pair of slim blue heels appeared on the highest step.

She floated from the carriage on light feet. Her blue uniform whispered around her bare thighs, and all her hair falling in a single plait down her left shoulder, braided with red roses and glowing like spun silver in the last rays of the sunset slipping over the mountain edge.

"Fleur," Tristan whispered, his heart bursting in his breast.

Her eyes traveled down the shores, shining with all the light and all the warmth, and the soft smile gracing her rose-pink lips as she found him stole all the air right from his lungs.

"I thought you said she wasn't going to..."

Daphne's words, the noise of the crowd, and everything else drowned in the brightness of her smile; even time stood still as stone.

He rose to his feet and followed the tug of his trembling heart, his eyes glued to hers and the faint color of excitement on her cheeks.

Fleur met him halfway across the shore and threw her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck in a wash of sweet sharp vanilla.

Tristan breathed it all in. "You're here," he whispered into her silver hair, marveling at the soft, familiar weight of her in his arms and letting her warmth soak through his skin like summer sun. "You're really here."

"Oui, mon Coeur." Fleur leaned back and smiled up at him, her long lashes fluttering as she blinked fast. "I am here."

"Why- how-?"

"Come." She threaded her fingers through his and stirred him down to the shore. "I will explain everything."

The rhythmic swash of the waves washed away the whispers of the crowd.

Fleur flattened her skirt down her backside and lowered herself into the sand. "My internship was set to conclude in two weeks, but I decided to end it prematurely because I wanted to be here with you."

'She did that for me.' A stab of guilt laced through Tristan's stomach as he sat cross-legged beside. "You know I'd never want you to give up opportunities like that."

"Mon Coeur." Fleur cupped his cheek and caught his eye with a serious gleam in hers. "The only reason I sought this internship in the first place was because of you."

"What do you mean?" He frowned. "Where exactly did you intern?"

She drew her rosewood wand from the slim loop at her waist, and a shimmer of magic fell around them. "I could not tell you before, because I was sworn to secrecy on my magic, but now I can," Fleur whispered. "I interned in the Bureau D'Enigma. The French Department of Mysteries."

A shiver slipped down Tristan's spine. "And? Do they… do they suspect me?"

Fleur rested her head on his shoulder and took his hands in hers. "As of now, they do not, but if I have learned anything about the Unspeakables during my time with them, it is that they do not give up so easily," she said. "Some of the magical phenomena they study have been passed down from one Unspeakable to the next for decades."

"So they won't give up until they find me." The grip of fear tightened like a noose around his neck. "What do we do?"

Fleur silenced him with a chaste kiss. "Mon Papa leads our Ministry astray with false information, so right now, mon Coeur, we focus on the bigger problem." Her eyes darkened a hue. "Three out of four Musketeers are still out there, and we are here to become better duelists than them, non?"

"Yes," Tristan murmured, staring across the fjord into the pink and gold of the sunset. 'I need to be greater than them.' The sun slipped over the edge of the world and its light died like all the happiness and joy in his mother's eyes. 'So I can wipe them all away.'

"Bon." Fleur rose and brushed the sand off her skirt, holding out her hand for him. "Everyone is gathering for the opening ceremony. We should join them."

In the dusk by the campsite, the benches and logs brimmed with students from all schools and countries. Amidst them, Jarl Olafson cut a striking figure against the growing flames of the bonfire. "Welcome everybody! It is my pleasure to welcome you all to this year's eighteen-and-under European dueling championship!"

A small round of polite applause echoed back from the log cabins.

"Although I do recognize plenty of familiar faces, allow me to explain the following two weeks for anyone who's here for the first time. Each of you attending today has been chosen because you're among the finest duelers of your school or institute; in the next two weeks, however, we will find the very best among you."

'The greatest.' A soft flare of ambition rose in Tristan's breast as he caught the assured expressions of those around him. 'Like I was meant to be...'

"Within our three age brackets, you will all be divided into groups of six. Over the next five days, you will face each of your opponents once. Then, the three contenders with the most wins in each group progress to the next stage; the direct eliminations. Once you're defeated there, the tournament is over for you, and in the end, there will be no one left but our sole winners for each bracket."

A ripple of excited whispers swept through the students.

Olafson thrust his arm out into the open fjord. "The dueling circuits are on an island in the middle of the fjord, invisible to the eyes of the muggles and even our own, until we portkey there. Please note that entering the forest without our permission is prohibited. You are, however, free to roam this campsite as you please."

Smothered chuckles sounded from some of the older students and they jabbed their elbows into each other's side. Tristan raised an eyebrow at Fleur.

"Later," she mouthed.

Olafson drew his wand and gave it a sharp flick; tables appeared along the shore, creaking under the load of piles of crisped bacon, plates with sizzling sausages and steaks, steaming pots of soup, and heaps of fried potatoes and tomatoes, flanked by jugs of juices and butterbeer.

"Any further questions will be answered in due time." Olafson spread his arms. "For now, I invite you all to rest and eat to your heart's content. You will need all your strength for your first duels tomorrow. May the odds be in your favor!"

Tristan's mouth watered and his stomach grumbled.

"Hungry?" Fleur laughed.

He flushed.

"Let us get you some food, mon Coeur." She drifted to the buffet, and they lined up behind the queue of eager students waiting for their turns.

Tristan chose a bit of everything and followed Fleur back to an empty table, noticing her loaded plate. "You seem to have worked up quite the appetite yourself, petite Fleur."

A playful little gleam appeared in Fleur's bright blue eyes and she bit her lip, twisting the soft pink of it beneath her white teeth. "It has been a few weeks, mon Coeur, I feel famished."

"You have a lot on your plate, already." Tristan grinned as he dug in. "I don't think you could handle any more."

She offered him a small smirk over the edge of her cup. "We shall see."

"You don't mind if we join you, do you?"

A foursome of tall Durmstrang students towered opposite them.

"Sure." Tristan tugged his plate back. "Help yourself."

They shed their long fur coats and squeezed onto the bench, elbows crammed into their neighbors.

Tristan exchanged a glance with Fleur and hid his smile behind his cup.

They ate in silence until the blonde-haired young man who had approached them set down his knife. "My name is Richard Wagner," he said in German.

Fleur placed her braid over her other shoulder in a ripple of platinum and red rose petals. "Fleur Delacour."

"Tristan Peverell."

"I know," Wagner replied, his lips curling and emphasizing the scar that ran from his cheek to his ear. "My brother met you at Hogwarts last year. Most people here know your name already."

"Really? It's only my first year..."

"You're new here, you should give everyone a chance to get to know you better. We usually meet in the forest two hours past midnight."

Fleur's fingers found his beneath the table.

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "I thought the forest was off-limits?"

"It is off-limits for the weak." Wagner sneered. "During the day, we all must follow the rules of the tournament, but at night-," his grin sharpened, "-at night, we hold our own competitions. And we include wagers."

Fleur's grip on his hand tightened.

"I very recently won some gold, so I don't really need the money." Tristan shrugged. "But I'll think about it. How's that?"

Wagner ground his jaw. "You should think very carefully, Peverell." He pushed the bench back and rose to his feet, as did his peers. "If you do not show up, there will be consequences."

Again, Tristan offered them that same thin smile as slipped his fingers out of Fleur's and stood. "I think I remember your brother now, Wagner. The similarities between you two are remarkable."

Wagner scoffed. "Are truly so arrogant as to believe you have seen the best Durmstrang has to offer?"

"Well, I did beat Viktor Krum, and the Goblet of Fire chose him as the worthiest among your lot, so..."

"The Goblet chose who Professor Karkaroff wanted it to choose." Wagner's eyes flashed. "Viktor was the star pupil flaunted before the world; everyone else who came to Hogwarts dropped a blank piece of paper into the Goblet. Viktor was one of us, and his death will be avenged, but he was far from the best Durmstrang has to offer."

"And let me guess: you're the best?"

"I was raised to duel-," Wagner drew himself up, "-born for it. I bled for the chance to be here. As did many of my brothers and sisters. You will see for yourself tonight, Peverell." He nodded at his companions and they strode off.

"Well, that was strange." Tristan chuckled, turning to Fleur. "Did you know about these unregulated duels in the forest?"

"They have existed ever since the tournament was first introduced, it was the same when I first participated two years ago." A little concern flickered through her blue eyes. "You are not thinking about going, are you?"

He pondered the matter. "The chance to beat them twice sounds somewhat tempting," Tristan admitted.

"Désolé, mon Coeur, but I have made plans for us tonight already." Fleur took his hand and led him past the bonfire to the log cabins. "Plans that cannot be changed."

He eyed the emblem of spark-spurting wands above the entrance. "Unless I've suddenly changed schools, this is the wrong cabin for me, petite Fleur."

She rose onto her toes and caught his lips in a long soft kiss, her fingers roaming through his hair. "It is the right one for tonight." Fleur slipped inside the cabin and led him through a dark hallway to the room at the very end.

The graceful sway of her hips in her tight uniform and the hem of her blue skirt riding up her bare thigh sparked a little twist of excitement in Tristan's breast.

A simple four-poster bed stood below drawn curtains and opposite an empty closet.

"So, what kind of plans did you make for us?" he asked with a grin. "There's not much to do in this room."

Fleur locked the door with a few whispered charms and gave him a gentle nudge, sending him stumbling onto the bed. "We can make up for lost time, non?" She straddled him with a small smirk and undid the buttons of his shirt one by one with nimble fingers.

Tristan leaned back into the soft pillows and admired the red roses woven into her braided hair as the heat stirred south with each roll of her hips.

"Is that going to be your tactic to win over the next two weeks?" He brought one hand from her slim waist to the soft curve of her hips, cupping the swell of her breast with his other hand through her blouse. "Using your sex-craving veela nature to exhaust me every night until I can't duel the next day?"

"You don't have to exhaust yourself for me, mon Coeur," Fleur whispered, trailing a path of hot little kisses down his bare chest. "Just let me do the work and when you're ready again, you can have me as slow as you like."

She leaned back with flushed cheeks and smiled down at him, her heart shining in her big blue eyes. "I want you to make slow love to me tonight."