HP: Panem et Circenses

March 31st, 1996

Morning mist withered before a rising sun and the dense fog engulfing the high towers and sharp roofs fled from the valley the Castle sat in. Tristan paced back and forth through the high, dew-soaked grass along the edge of the abyss, spinning his pale wand through his fingers.

'The sun is almost up now.' Doubt bubbled from his gut, churning it like thick hot tar. 'Did Father change his mind and go without me?'

The gentle breeze whispered in a piece of fabric behind him and Tristan whirled around.

"Good morning, son." His father strode through the high grass, a long black cloak rustling around his ankles. "I hope you weren't waiting for too long?"

Tristan stifled a faint sigh of relief.

"Only a few minutes perhaps," he lied. "I half thought you might not show up."

"We made a promise to each other, remember? I'll stick to my part of it." He paused by the abyss and stared down at the Castle, his expression unreadable. "Your mother was the one who needed a bit more convincing. She's been rather moody and on the edge about this for over two weeks now."

"I'm surprised she didn't insist on coming with us," Tristan murmured.

His father's expression tightened. "This isn't some family vacation, Tristan. Valeria and you might be old enough but if something were to happen to us today, then it's best your younger siblings still have one parent left."

'Oh...'

A flutter of nerves mixed with the thrill of excitement in his veins and Tristan swallowed thickly. "You think something might happen to us?"

"No," he shook his head. "But it's best to be prepared for the eventuality. Do you have your Cloak?"

"Of course." Tristan flashed him a glimpse of smooth silver fabric within the pockets of his robes. "What's your lead then? And where are we going today?"

"Today, we're doing research," he said. "The elderly wizarding couple we bought our home from eighteen years ago moved to Switzerland shortly after the sale. The transaction was handled by Gringotts, everything was highly confidential and still, the couple died roughly two months ago by mysterious means."

"You think the Musketeers killed them?" Tristan frowned. "Our manor is unplottable, but a skilled practitioner of the mind arts could piece together memories to pin down the rough location."

"Exactly," his father nodded. "But that is not all. The hearing of the will and even the surrender of their vault at Gringotts was blocked by the Swiss Ministry of Magic for almost two weeks."

A faint chill ran down Tristan's spine. "That is more than enough time to go through everything and check if there's something relating to their previous residence. Like pictures or souvenirs." He sought his father's gaze. "But how do you know all that? The goblins would never share information on their clients."

"I can be very persuasive," his father murmured, ice flashing through his green eyes. "And I don't take no for an answer when it comes to my family's safety."

"Do you have a name?" Tristan asked. "Of the one who contacted Gringotts and blocked the reading?"

His father nodded. "He's the Swiss ICW representative and goes by the name Robert Wagner." He offered his hand. "Today we will find this man and ask him a few questions as to why he blocked the reading of that particular will."

A hot flare of determination swelled in Tristan's chest.

"Sounds good." He moved to take the offered hand when a tiny gnaw of suspicion bubbled from the back of his mind and held him back. "Actually... doesn't this all sound a tad too convenient to you?"

His father let out a faint snort. "Of course it does. I would've been rather disappointed in you if you hadn't raised any issues."

Tristan rolled his eyes. 'Thanks for the show of confidence.'

"This group has been unheard of by anyone alive yet within the span of two months, they make such clumsy mistakes that allow their tracking? No-" a dark cold gleam welled up in his father's eyes, "-finding this man is undoubtedly a trap for us. What do you propose we do about it?"

Tristan took a few moments to gather his thoughts. "The Musketeers want another confrontation with us; one where they can dictate the terms of engagement. If we make them wait any longer and force them to leave even more little bread crumbs for us to pick up, then they'll only grow more suspicious of why we haven't gone after them yet. I say we go now and trigger this trap."

"My thoughts exactly." A small sharp smile played on his father's lips and he reached for Tristan's arm. "We don't have time to sit around and wait while some faceless cowards threaten our family. Prepare yourself."

The fog-engulfed Castle wrenched past and he stumbled over rocky ground, his lungs filling with a gulp of fresh, crispy air.

Down beneath them, a four-armed lake took sharp bends and twists between steep cliffs and massive mountain ridges. A jagged tower as dark as the lake's surface rose from an island at its center, furthest from any of the shores.

Tristan slipped his wand into his palm and glanced around, muttering a few warming charms. "The Alps?"

"Lake Lucerne in Switzerland," his father said, pointing at the castle ruin, and then descended down the ridge. "The ICW headquarters are deep underneath that island. It's invisible to muggles."

Tristan grimaced as he sought some halt on the rough rocks. "I can't imagine it'll be easy to get in there."

"You'd be surprised then," he hummed, leading them to a stone basin close by the shore. "The ICW is all about transparency - with the exemption to muggles of course - so visiting and taking a look around the non-restricted areas is actually encouraged."

Tristan stepped closer to the shore until the gentle tide swapped against the tips of his boots. "How does one even get to the island?"

He closed his eyes and let the site's magic seep through him. Countless, tightly intertwined wards shifted and swirled like the waves on the lake's surface. "If the wards here were any stronger, they'd be a solid wall so apparition is out of question."

"Employers and representatives of nations arrive via special portkeys that are tied to their magical signature," his father explained. "If I touch my wand to this stone basin a dock will rise from the water. Visitors usually take a boat from it, but unfortunately, it'll announce our arrival."

Tristan held back a sigh of frustration and kicked a few pebbles into the lake. "So what now? Are we going for a swim?"

"No," his father murmured and strode towards the shores. "We fly."

"I didn't bring my broom."

A strange bright gleam crept back into his eyes, then flared into a wild burn. "Why would we need one?"

Faint ripples of magic bled from his wrists and began chasing themselves all around him, blurring the air and distorting his figure like a mirror's fogged reflection. Small pebbles jerked by his feet and droplets of water rose a few inches above the lake's surface.

'The air...'

Tristan watched transfixed as his father fisted both hands, his fingers twitching, then he ascended off the ground as if invisible arms heaved him up by the shoulders.

'He's manipulating the air around himself just like I've done in the French Department of Mysteries.' He wrestled with marvel and envy alike. 'Only his control is leagues above mine.'

Tristan smothered his pride. "How do you-"

"Voldemort was many things, but above all, he was the most gifted wizard this world has seen in centuries," his father spoke down to him. "We don't have time to teach you right now, Tristan. Disillusion yourself and let me do the rest."

Tristan swallowed his disappointment and twirled his wand over himself, watching his reflection on the lake's surface vanish.

"Let's go then." His father thrust his pale wand at Tristan before disillusioning himself. A gentle but persistent force clad itself tightly around Tristan and heaved him up until he likewise floated a few feet above the pebbly shores.

"Well... This is bloody awkward." He watched the surface warily as they drifted over the water. "It looks much better than it feels."

A low chuckle sounded from upright. "That's just the levitation charm. For me it's rather smooth. You steer with your body weight just as you'd do on a broom, yet you're also floating like a leaf in the breeze or like smoke on the wind."

'I'll find out what it's like eventually.' Tristan vowed and focused as the island grew closer.

It stretched to about the length of the Great Hall. A track flanked by shrubbery led from the dockyard by the rocky shores to a wooden annex that stood by the foot of the ruined tower.

They touched ground behind one of the sparse trees and disbanded their disillusionment charms. Tristan carefully peeked around the bark of the tree, tracking the sound of voices from somewhere ahead of them.

Two white-robed wizards flanked an archway leading into the tower. A third witch sat by a small table underneath the annex.

'The crest of the ICW.' A spike of cold determination ran through Tristan's veins as he caught the golden letters pinned to their chests. 'Did some of its employees take Dorea from us?'

"Only ICW employees with a badge or visitors with a pass can cross through the wards into the tower." His father whispered into his ear then pointed his wand at the rune-engraved circle of stone plates that ran around the ruin. "You see that? It detects anything with a soul or anything that has been touched by magic. You need to be given a visitor's pass to cross it unharmed but-"

"-but all the passes are held securely behind it and have to be given out by the guards first." A small smile crept onto Tristan's lips. "It's a well-thought design..."

'... still, not one that can trick Death. He doesn't have a soul to be detected...'

"This might get a bit cramped." Tristan fished the Cloak out of his pockets and wrapped it around his shoulder, holding one side open. "Just don't cuddle up too close to me, please."

His father's lips quivered. "Your cloak won't fulfill its full potential for me anymore. I've passed it on - from father to son - just as it's meant to be."

"Alright," Tristan shrugged and lowered the hood over his head. "Stay tight. I'll get you one of those visitor badges then."

He edged out from behind the tree and crept up the gravel path, passing over the circle of stone slaps where the runes emitted their faint glow uninterrupted.

"I could really use some coffee." One of the guards by the archway yawned in an exaggerated fashion. "Boss, would you mind if I just-"

"I can't have you abandon your post to get a cup of coffee again, Thomas." The witch by the table placed down her quill next to a box of neatly stacked visitor passes and shot him a pointed look. "You can drink as much as you like when we change shifts in a bit over an hour."

"Aye, aye, boss," Thomas sighed and slumped his head back against the crumbling brick wall, absently combing through his beard with his wand.

'Your day is about to get even worse, buddy.' Tristan took careful aim at the man's face.

Bright red sparks burst from Thomas' wand and ignited the neatly combed beard.

"Fuck!" He cursed and patted his face frantically. "Ah, fuck, that's hot."

The witch by the table pushed back her chair and hurried over. "I told you a hundred times not to touch your face with your wand, you idiot!"

Tristan slipped past her towards the box of visitor passes, snatching two from the top.

"Gemino." He replicated each and rearranged the fakes to the bottom of the stack, then crept past the arguing guards back towards the tree.

"Well done," his father nodded approvingly and pinned the pass to his chest. "I suggest you go first and stay underneath your Cloak until we're sure there are no further obstacles inside."

Tristan nodded and wrapped the Cloak tightly around himself. He lingered a few meters from the annex and slipped through the archway once the witch in charge had finally stopped scolding Thomas and returned to her seat.

'So far so good.'

The tower held about double the space it would suggest from the outside. Bright golden lights shone over the mosaicked marble floor and a wide spiral staircase curved down into the deep.

"Ready?" His father's voice drifted from a faint ripple of air beside him.

"Yes." Tristan grabbed his wand tightly and advanced down. 'Robert Wagner, here we come.'

After less than a minute, the eerie silence gave way to the busy buzzing of voices. Behind the final twist, the spiral staircase straightened and flared out into a grand hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor.

A crowd of colorful robes scrambled like ants and shouted in an incomprehensible mix of languages underneath the peacock-blue ceiling with its gleaming golden symbols and the giant crest of the ICW inlaid at its center. Short queues of wizards and witches were forming before fireplaces and rooms labeled for the use of portkeys were set into the walls on either side.

A hand steered him back and along the wall to the spiral staircase where his father abandoned his disillusionment charm. "What do you think?"

Tristan pursed his lips at the throngs of people, wending their way between each other, carrying tottering piles of parchment or thick briefcases, or reading the newspapers as they walked only to be scolded when they ran into someone else.

"It's even worse than the British Ministry. I could never imagine myself working like this for the rest of my life."

'And why should I when I'm meant to do something so much greater?'

"My disillusionment charm or your Cloak won't do us any good here," his father said. "Since our faces are rather recognizable these days I suggest some light transfiguration."

Tristan lifted off the hood and stored the Cloak in his robes. He conjured a slim mirror and watched his reflection as he transfigured his cheekbones less prominent, threaded streaks of chocolate brown into his dark hair, and turned his irises from pale blue into a shade as warm as the summer sky.

"Nice inspiration you took there." His father's chuckle sounded from the face of a complete stranger that wore the white robes of the ICW guards.

Tristan rolled his eyes and changed the color of his own robes. He slipped the stolen visitors pass into his pockets and replicated one of the ICW crests his father had pinned to his own chest. "Let's go."

They joined the stream of witches and wizards to the other end of the hall and into a wide corridor. The flags of different nations lined the walls to either side next to sets of large winged doors.

Jostled slightly by the crowd, Tristan craned his neck and consulted a map drawn along the ceiling. "These are just the Americas. The European nations are split over the third and fourth floor." He finally caught the white cross on a red background. "Switzerland is on the fourth."

His father nodded and approached the closed elevator behind golden grilles, swiftly pressing the bottom for up before they could be joined by anyone else.

Unlike in the French Ministry, the lift ascended without a great jangling and clattering and opened back up on a much less crowded hallway. Tristan drifted past offices and flags, drawing the occasional, surprised looks on themselves until he saw it.

"This is it." A warm thrill of excitement swirled through him. "This is the Swiss office."

A fierce gleam crept into the brown eyes of his father's disguise and he twisted the handle, striding inside.

Three spacious cubicles and an open area with a podium and blackboard separated the office. Pictures of Swiss sightseeing attractions, cut-out photographs from yellowed newspapers, and frames with people lined three of the walls. The fourth offered a view of a huge snow-covered mountain ridge.

"Grüezi mitenand," a blonde man peeked over one of the cubicles, pushing a pair of glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "How may I help you?"

Tristan caught the pale tip of a wand poking out of his father's sleeve as he followed him to the Swiss man's desk.

"Good morning-" his father's eyes dipped to the name tag, "-Mr. Schmid. My colleague and I are looking for a Robert Wagner. Just something about his employee badge malfunctioning a few times already."

"Robert, you say? His badge will be the least of his problems." Schmid winced in pity. "He's not been to the office for almost two weeks. His wife Antonia wrote to me saying he's caught a nasty case of spattergroit. Poor chap, isn't he? So soon after he overcame dragon pox."

'How awfully convenient.' Tristan exchanged a pointed glance with his father. "Do you know Robert well, Mr. Schmid?"

"Well enough, I suppose." He nodded. "He's-"

His father's wand snapped up. "Legilimens."

Schmid's eyes widened and his jaw slacked while his shoulders began twitching. After a few moments his father lowered his wand and curled his fingers, ripping the golden ICW badge from Schmidt's chest and flicking his wand.

"Obliviate."

Schmid's expression turned dreamy momentarily then he snapped back. "Well, I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I'll get back to work now." He vanished back into his cubicle.

"Do you have something?" Tristan asked excitingly. "A location?"

"I do." His father pointed the tip of his wand to the ICW badge. "Portus. This portkey will take us straight there."

Tristan reverted the transfiguration on his face, fingers fisting around his wand. "Then let's go and end this ridiculous paper chase."

His father caught him by the arm and tapped the portkey with his wand. The office blurred past, sucking him into a whirlwind of bright colors, until he stumbled over a dirt road leading to a lonely alpine house by the edge of thick pine woods.

Smoke rose from the chimney and Tristan flicked his wand. "Homenum revelio."

The wood buzzed between his fingers. "There are three people in there."

'Four would've been rather sketchy.' He smothered his churning nerves underneath a gulp of air.

"Stay close to me." His father thrust his wand up high. A ripple of magic tore through the existing wards and burst into the sky, falling in a shimmering dome over the house and grounds.

Tristan spun his wand in circles and followed him up onto the porch from where they crept below the large windows to the front door.

"Alohomora." The handle gave in and they slipped inside the house, closing the door shut behind them.

Dark wooden beams ran parallel along the ceiling, holding a large chandelier made of antlers. Severed heads of wild peered down at them from the walls and a handsome fire crackled in the neat fireplace by the corner.

His father hummed a familiar incantation under his breath and a frown crept into his expression. "They're underneath us in a basement."

"This way." Tristan slipped through a door into a short hallway and took a turn left before the kitchen, descending down a flight of stairs.

A sturdy door blocked their path.

"Are you ready?" his father whispered.

Tristan took a deep breath and nodded.

His father's wand snapped forward, blasting the door through its hinges and they advanced into the room.

Tristan settled the smoke and dust with a wave of his wand. His heart froze with a sickening wrench that ripped the air from his lungs at the sight that bore him.

Valeria, Galahad, and Aurelia hung from the ceiling by a noose tied around their necks. Blood leaked from their shut eyes and lips, trickling down the front of their Hogwarts uniforms and collecting in a puddle underneath their dangling feet.

"No!"

The basement spun away and dark spots swirled before his eyes. Black mist shredded his sleeves to tatters, cutting through the robes that held them and Tristan dropped to his knees to catch one after the other.

"Valeria!" He wiped the blood from her pale lips and shook her shoulders, wincing at the odd angles her limbs were bent. "Valeria, wake up, please!"

His father scooped Aurelia up in his arms, all the blood had vanished from his face. He simply stared at her in horror.

Tristan clawed for air past the raw pain in his breast, dragging ragged shallow gasps past numb lips. "We need to get them to Saint Mungo's!" He heaved Valeria up into his arms, staggering slightly. "They're still alive, the spell only recognizes living humans!"

His father remained silent, running his hands through Aurelia's long golden hair with a small frown on his ash-white expression.

"What are you doing?!" Tristan paused before the door. A scream burst through his breast. "Fucking help me, Father!"

"I- I saw my little girl this morning," he whispered. "She- she'd cut her hair last weekend. This... this isn't her. It can't be..."

"What?!" Tristan gasped, snapping his head back and forth between his siblings. "But- but how?"

Valeria's eyes jerked open and she hurled herself at him with a snarl, sinking her teeth into his arm.

"Fuck!"

Tristan whizzed in pain and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her away from him. She trashed in his grasp with a furious screech and clawed for his face and anything in reach with her fingers.

Galahad's body jerked and spasmed, then dragged itself upright and lurched at his father. He banished him and Aurelia across the basement with a wave of his hand, pinning them flush against the wall.

"Polyjuice," his father muttered, watching white foam dribble from Galahad's mouth with pursed lips. "And some sort of rage potion I'd assume."

Tristan's stomach plunged into a cold, dark pit.

"They could've gotten Aurelia's hair when they held her hostage at Potter Manor." He gestured at Galahad and Valeria, who were trashing against their magical binds and clawing their own uniform and skin to shreds with blood-crusted fingernails. "But this here is proof they managed to break into Hogwarts."

His father's jaw clenched tight. "The Wagner family is beyond saving, but they might still be useful to us."

He curled his finger and floated Aurelia's body closer. "Legilimens."

Her body shuddered, then stilled and her pale lips stretched into a smile so bright, the corners of her mouth tore open and bled.

"Nice try, Daddy," a terrible, metallic replica of Aurelia's voice sang cheerfully. "But if you want to know where to find us, you'd only have to come... home."

All the blood drained from his father's face. "No..."

A ripple of searing magic washed through the basement, so powerful it shattered every window above and brought Tristan to his knees, clutching his ears tight. He blinked his eyes open and staggered back up to his feet. "What the fuck was that?!"

"Wards." His father stared at Aurelia.

"You're out of time, Harry Peverell." Her dreadful smile grew wide and tore her jaw apart in a spray of crimson and pale bones.

Soft snaps of apparition sounded from outside the basement and a loud blow announced that the front door had been blown apart.

"ICW! Lay down your wands and come out now!"

"Go!" His father grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. "Go home and see after your mother and sister!"

Tristan wrestled with a fist of cold panic that seized his heart in a vice-like grip "What about you?!"

"Do as I say!" His father banished the polyjuiced bodies of Galahad and Valeria back against the wall, smashing them into a paste of gore and bones before stepping in front of the door. "I'll be fine, Tristan! Now go!"

Tristan threw the Cloak over himself and wrenched the world past. He stumbled from the towering white cliffs onto the balcony of North Dawn Manor, taking a huge gulp of air.

His mother whirled around from the railing, her wand pointed at his heart.

"Tristan, thank Morgana!" she gasped in relief and held her stomach, slowly lowering her wand. She glanced past his shoulder and her slim brows drew together. "Where is your father?"

A low rumble rang over the manor.

"He had to stay behind but he'll be with us soon." Tristan held his tongue and swallowed a tangle of unease. 'Hopefully. He has to.'

Above her head, he caught patches of blurry air and the faint wisps of dark magic that swirled by the edge of the ward line above the lake. "Mother... what's going on here?"

She whirled back around and her nails dug deep into the wooden railing. "Someone is attacking us." She drew a few ragged breaths. "Dobby."

Their elf appeared on the balcony with a pop. He was shivering slightly and his lips trembled. "Mistress called for Dobby."

"Take Aurelia into the master bedroom and lock the doors," his mother ordered. "If anyone but we enter, you kill them immediately, do you understand, Dobby?"

A glint of determination crept into Dobby's tennis ball-sized eyes and he nodded, flopping his large ears. "Dobby will protect the young mistress. Dobby will not fail." He vanished with a loud crack.

Tristan slipped his wand into his palm, his heart pounding against his ribs. "What do we do now?"

"We defend our home." She seized his hand and apparated them down in front of the manor.

He hurried after her up the gravel path past the hedges of the gardens toward the tall iron fence.

"Over there." Tristan gestured to the fields where his father taught him how to apparate last summer. "What- what the hell is that?"

A tangly mass crawled down the hill like an avalanche of insects. Tristan's blood froze the moment they came close enough and he took a step back.

'Inferi.'

Countless corpses threw themselves forward, crawling above and underneath each other, and tumbling down the hill despite snapping their limbs and necks.

'How the hell did they create so many inferi?'

"Get back inside, Tristan." His mother's voice cracked as she raised her wand, clutching her stomach with one hand.

The ward line flared up bright, like a barrier of heat haze that rose into a dome above their heads.

The first inferi that hurled themselves against the shimmer of magic were torn apart in wisps of black smoke. The ones following clawed at the wardline with talon-length, yellowed nails. Bloated pustules swelled on their pale skin, and their bones snapped and shattered the moment they breached it.

"They can't get far." Tristan clung to the flicker of hope blossoming in his breast. "Our wards will hold them, won't they?"

His mother wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, frowning at the pearls of sweat. "They're trying to overpower our wards and overload them."

"All this... heat-" she gestured at the steaming blades of grass around them, "-is the first sign that it's working."

'And once the wards are weakened enough they could apparate inside.'

He watched as a few dozen inferi eventually broke through. They simply ripped themselves free from the black vines that lurched at them and dragged their limbs back together in an eerie orange glow of magic.

"We've got to do something." Tristan tore off his long cloak and grabbed his wand more firmly. He cut off his tattered sleeves and stepped past her. "I'm not letting you or Aurelia die here today."

"What are you doing, Tristan?" His mother's hysteric shouts rang over the screams of the undead and the drum of his heart in his ears. "Get back here, now!"

He ignored her and headed for the closest inferi. 'I'm not dying here today either. I was meant to be great…'

Elder wood burned between the tips of his fingers as Tristan dragged up the crest of crossed rapiers on the breast of a faceless shadow and the terrible smile of Aurelia's polyjuiced counterpart. He allowed the raw hatred to bubble up from the dark place beneath his heart until it burst in a scream that seared the breath from his lungs.

Fiendfyre exploded from his wand in a mad roar. The inferno swallowed any inferi that had broken through the ward line or came crawling down the slope in bright crimson flames, leaving nothing but a line of black smoke and the reek of seared flesh and scorched hair.

His mother stepped beside him with her wand raised. Her magic washed into his flames, doubling them in size and driving them back past the wardline.

'You're not getting through here.' Tristan clawed for more power until his arm started trembling and the air became too hot to breathe.

Dead men, women, and children alike threw themselves forward, trailing blazing manes of hair, and barely slowing down even as their muscles and tendons melted away. He let go of the fiendfyre and thrust his magic into the air. Black, jarred ribbons of magic lurched like serpents, stabbed like razor sharp daggers, and banished every inferi within reach back up the slope.

'I will not allow it.'

A loud snap echoed over the roar of flames and the screams of inferi. Tristan whirled on his heels, a curse on his lips and the tip of his wand glowing green.

His father strode towards him; his torn, ragged cloak steaming in the heat. Thick, raw, red lines closed back together all over his body and raw fury blazed in his eyes.

He thrust his wand out with a roar and his magic rippled through the seared air, submitting the unhinged crimson flames all around them to his will. The fiendfyre brightened and grew to the size of Slytherin's monster. It twisted and curled around the inferi, driving its fangs deep into the heart of the herd and sprawling out those that didn't instantly melt into a thick paste of flesh and bones.

'We can do it!'

Cool relief flooded Tristan's veins, letting him drag up the last bits of his magic. His spells tore through the black smoke and flashed over the scorched grass, falling lunging inferi left and right, blasting them to pieces with sharp jabs of his wand and tearing them apart when they attempted to drag themselves back together in eerie orange glows.

The very last one hurled itself down the slope at him with a snarl. Tristan blasted out its legs from underneath it and drove his heel deep into its skull, shattering the bones.

Silence settled as black ash fell down on them like snow, it clung to his blood drenched clothes like feathers to tar. Fatigue bit deep into his muscles and limbs, ripping a groan from his lips, and forced him to his knees. Tristan gagged and spat; the surrounding reek almost had him hurl his stomach out.

"Well done, Tristan." His father steadied him by the shoulder, pointing his wand forward. "Stay strong now. It's not over yet."

A foursome of dark-robed figures strode down the hill, pausing just outside the ward line with barely ten meters between them and his family. Tristan wiped his mouth and glared at the crossed golden rapiers on their chest. He drew himself back up straight and joined his parents by the wardline.

"You failed today," his father murmured, drawing deep, ragged breaths himself. He thrusts his wand at the sea of charred corpses surrounding them. "And you'll fail again until the day you're finally brave enough to face me."

"We're here, Harry Peverell." The musketeer's distorted metallic voice drifted over to them. "Why don't you come closer and face us right now?"

His father's jaw clenched tight and he stepped forward only to be held back by Tristan's mother. She shot him a pleading look and shook her head.

The musketeers chuckled hoarsely.

"Today was a victory. Today, we proved that even God can bleed. And once there's blood in the water..."

"It doesn't matter. There's no place you can hide from me," his father hissed, black magic flaring from his wrist, clawing deep at the steaming ground surrounding him. "I'll find out who you are and once I have, I'll rip every single one of you limb from limb."

One of the musketeers stepped forward and reached out as if to touch the blur of air that was the ward line.

"You already know who we are, Harry Peverell." Their hand rose higher and tugged back their deep hood.

Tristan's heart set out as the face of a young man, perhaps a few years older than himself with half familiar gray eyes, was revealed. However, his reaction was nothing to his father's.

"No," he whispered as all the blood drained from his face and he shook his head in denial. "It cannot be."

"You stole something from us, Harry Peverell." The young man's light brown mob of hair shifted to bright blue and his lips crooked into a bitter, cold smile. "So now we'll take everything from you."