HP: Panem et Circenses

April 17th, 1996

A tail of white swirled through Fleur's mug of hot chocolate with each slow and steady stir of her spoon. Whipped cream melted away into the dark surface, rising its level until some of it dribbled from the edge of the mug and onto the table.

Before his mind's eye chocolate brown turned to crimson and the white mug to pale lips, blood trickling from them.

Tristan jolted upright and shook his head.

"Ca va?" Fleur's slim brows drew together and she cupped his jaw with warm fingers, studying him with concern.

"It's nothing," Tristan fixed a smile on his face and nodded down to her mug. "I just noticed you're slopping on our table."

"Ah, pardon." A small pout crept onto her lips and she vanished the spilled chocolate with a flick of her wand. "You should've told me sooner-" her eyes lit up playfully, "-or perhaps stolen a quick sip."

He tried to force the smile into a grin. "I'd better not. You're terrible at sharing anything sweet."

"C'est vrait." Fleur took a few more sips and watched him over the edge of her mug. "Will you tell me?"

Tristan blinked. "Tell you..."

"Whatever it is that's bothering you. You've been acting strangely over the last two weeks." The pink tip of her tongue darted out over her bright red lips and the gleam of a confident little smirk sparkled in her summer-sky blue eyes. "You seem restless. Perhaps you've grown tired of... waiting already?"

"No, it's not that." Tristan smothered a sigh and clawed for the right words to say. "I'm just-"

"Ms. Delacour and Mr. Peverell."

McGonagall saved him from having to explain himself. She approached their spot at the Slytherin table followed by the huge silhouette of Madame Maxime. "I would like you two to accompany me, please. We have matters of the third task to discuss with the Champions."

Tristan shared a quick glance with Fleur and shrugged. "Sure. Lead the way, ma'am."

They followed the two headmistresses out of the Great Hall and over the open courtyard onto the grounds towards the Quidditch pitch.

Tristan paused with a frown. 'What the hell did they do?'

Knee-high hedges crisscrossed the short green grass from hoops to opposite hoops.

"I know there'll be some very upset students once they see this."

McGonagall's shoulders tensed and her lips thinned. "I was assured there'd be no lasting impact. Come along now, Mr. Peverell. The others are waiting."

Tristan caught back up with Fleur, who was already studying the arrangement of hedges with calm blue eyes. Krum, Karkaroff, Bagman, Crouch, and a tall, long-haired ginger stood by the bottom of the stands.

"Welcome everybody!" Bagman boomed happily, spreading his arm towards the hedges. "Well, what d'you think? They're not as impressive right now, but give Rubeus Hagrid another few weeks and they'll be twenty feet high," he grinned. "And don't worry, Mr. Peverell, you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Though as a keeper you probably care more about the hoops anyway."

Tristan snorted. "Just remember that you'll face the Headmistress' ire should you fail to take them down in time." He slipped his wand into his palm and crouched down, prodding the hedge with the tip of it. "She's the biggest Quidditch fan here."

"No worries, no worries." Bagman's gaze flickered to McGonagall and he chuckled nervously. "Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"

"Maze," Krum grunted, his small black eyes trained on Tristan.

"That's right!" Bagman clapped his hands together. "The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it wins. But - there's a catch of course." He glanced to the Minster.

Crouch cleared his throat. "Once fully grown, the hedges are not only impervious to magic but they'll change their layout arbitrarily so studying it now is pointless." His lips curved into the hint of a sneer.

'Impervious to magic, huh?' Tristan smothered a small smile. 'I know just the spell to test that...'

"In addition, you'll have to overcome a variety of obstacles, which will increase in difficulty the further you progress through the maze."

"What kind of obstacles will there be?" Fleur asked calmly.

"Us professors have come up with most of them. However, we'll also have some external help." McGonagall gestured to the tall redhead next to her, a hinge of pride swelling in her voice. "Mr. Weasley was a student of mine and Hogwarts headboy a few years ago. Perhaps you'd like to introduce yourself, William."

'I knew it was another bloody Weasley.' Tristan rolled his eyes. 'And a head-tosser as well.'

"Sure thing, Professor, and thanks for having me - it's great to be back at Hogwarts." Weasley grinned, playing with the dragon fang earring dangling from his left ear. "I'm a curse breaker for Gringotts. Over the couple of years I've been doing the job, my team and I ran into some tough situations while exploring old tombs in Egypt or burial sites in South America and Asia. We'll prepare the maze so you should expect some sneaky wards and lures and the like." His roguish grin swapped over them, lingering a tad longer on Fleur. "Let's see if I can trap any of you."

A flare of annoyance spiked through Tristan and he clenched his jaw tight, smothering the urge to scoop Fleur closer by the waist.

"As the champion with the most points, Miss Delacour will get a head start of thirty seconds into the maze, followed by Mr. Krum and Mr. Peverell." Bagman bobbed his head encouragingly. "But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending on how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"

"I certainly hope so," Weasley's grin stretched even wider.

'It won't fucking matter what you come up with.' Tristan glared from the ridiculous dragon-fang earring over the knee-high hedges and to the center of the pitch. 'I'll burn my way through any obstacle that stands between me and the cup. Once this tournament is over, I can finally focus on the real issues.'

"That is all we have to share with you for now," McGonagall said. "You may return to your classes or training."

Krum and Karkaroff took off to the ship immediately. Tristan lingered slightly behind the delegation that made its way back to the castle. He felt Fleur's gaze on him and with it the memory of where they had been interrupted.

He eventually gave up and met her eye. "Ca va, petite Fleur?"

"Oui, ca va bien." A playful little smile curled her lips. "How about a petite stroll around the lake?"

"Sure if you-"

"Ms. Delacour!"

Weasley split from the adults; his dragon fang earring bounced with each step he took back down the stairs.

"Oui, Monsieur?" Fleur tossed her silver braid back over her shoulder and regarded him coolly.

"Your father sends his best," Weasley chuckled and dipped his hands into his pockets. "He's mentioned you quite often and made me promise I'd pass on his regards."

Fleur's slim eyebrows rose a fraction. "You know mon pere?"

"Gringotts recommended me to their French division because your Ministry was in need of a course breaker," he said. "I've been working with him on a case for a couple of weeks now. We usually chat over lunch."

'A case in the French Ministry that requires a foreign curse breaker?' A tingle of suspicion rose from the back of Tristan's head, whispering in a smooth cold voice. 'Now you're officially more than just irritating.'

"Ah, merci beaucoup, Monsieur Weasley." Fleur smiled as she linked her arm with Tristan's. "Please return my regards should you meet my father again soon."

Weasley's grin slipped momentarily and his lips curled in displeasure as his gaze flickered to their interlocked arm.

"I sure will, and you can call me Bill." He finally regarded Tristan. "So - Peverell - aren't you in the same year as Fred and George? I'm not sure since I remember hearing about you from Percy mostly."

Tristan held back a snort. "I'm sure you have."

"Don't take this the wrong way, pal, but I'm surprised you were chosen as Hogwarts champion with how young you are." Weasley scratched the faint red stubble at his jaw and chuckled. "I just know that Fred and George would punch way above their weight class in such a tournament."

'Poking at my age in front of her, huh?' Tristan sacked the jab with a small, sharp smile. "I've handled myself just fine so far, you're welcome to try and change that. Now If you would excuse us..."

Irritation flickered through Weasley's blue eyes before he grinned again.

"Confident, huh? No worries, pal, I should definitely get started too." He glanced back at Fleur and winked. "I'll catch you at your parents' Beltane Ball soon anyway, won't I Fleur?"

'A Beltane Ball?' Tristan frowned down at Fleur. 'That's not something she's mentioned yet...'

"Bien sure." Her features remained impassive but she nodded. "Have a good day, William."

Weasley grinned roguishly and shot her a thumbs up. "Suppose that's much better than Monsieur Weasley already, but I still insist it's 'Bill' next time we meet."

He hurried back up the stairs to the courtyard.

'What a fucking prat.' Tristan wrestled with annoyance, especially at seeing Fleur's lips curve into the tiniest smile as she steered him toward the Black Lake.

'My smile... for him...'

He took a deep breath and tried to let the envy fade away. 'Weasley played me down as some immature little boy. If I now behave like the jealous boyfriend, I'll only prove him right.'

Fleur laughed soft and high, leaning against his shoulder, and the sweet vanilla scent of her hair stirred up to his nostril. "I can hear you thinking, Tristan."

"Must be that sneaky veela magic," he quipped. "Soon I'll have no damn privacy."

"Or perhaps-" she smiled up at him from underneath long lashes and kissed him, "-I'm just starting to get to know you better."

Something possessive flared up in his breast. Tristan pinned her flush against him and crushed his lips down to hers until she broke apart with a small smirk.

"Feeling better now?"

"Yes," he grinned and pecked the tip of her nose. "I do."

She laughed and slipped her fingers back through his. "Don't worry about William Weasley. His eyes hardly ever slipped down my décolleté; I've been approached by far worse men..."

'Actually, that makes him all the more dangerous.' Tristan tried to keep his thoughts at bay but they blurted from his lips. "Let's hope he doesn't forget his manners at your parents' Beltane Ball."

Fleur paused and she simply regarded him for a few long moments. "Do you want to attend?"

Tristan frowned. "Does it matter? Beltane is in less than two weeks already and unlike William Weasley, I wasn't invited by your parents. I can hardly-"

Her warm finger came resting down on his lips and shut him up. "Just answer my question, Tristan."

An image of Fleur in her long silver dress, smiling and twirling underneath the arm of a tall shadow, flashed through his mind and his gut coiled tight in uneasiness. "Yes."

'If only to stop Weasley from making a move on you.'

"D'accord." She brushed her finger to the corner of his lip and down his jaw, sending him a small smile. "Then I hereby invite you."

He blinked. "Just like that?"

"Bien sure," she hummed and resumed their stroll. "Just like that."

"Your parents will be cross with you," he grimaced. "There's got to be a reason they didn't invite me."

"Does it matter?" She threw his words back at him with a smirk. "I want you there and you want to be there with me. So we'll make it happen."

Warmth fluttered through him and settled by his heart. "Thank you, Fleur."

She studied a patch of grass by the shore, then fetched her wand from her waist and conjured a silver picnic blanket.

"Now that we have that out of the way-" she sat down gracefully and flattened the wrinkles in her blue skirt, "-you can finally share what's been bothering you, non?"

'I knew she hadn't forgotten.' Tristan fidgeted nervously with his fingers and moved to sit down cross-legged opposite her.

"Nu huh," Fleur laughed and crooked her finger at him. "You have to be much closer to be my pillow."

"There are worse jobs," Tristan chuckled and sat behind her. He stretched out his legs to either side of her and circled his arms around her front. "Comfortable?"

"Oui." Fleur snuggled back against him and squirmed down until her head rested above his stomach. She smirked up at him coyly with large blue eyes. "It's perfect for both of us, non? I get a warm pillow and you get to play with my hair and massage my head."

"Sounds pretty fair by your standards." He ran his hands through her long platinum blonde tresses, fingernails gently scraping over her scalp.

Fleur closed her eyes and hummed contently, melting into his touch. Her small smile and the peaceful rise and fall of her chest lifted the tension off of his shoulders and brought ease he hadn't felt in months.

"If you don't want to tell me about it, then I'll stop bothering you," she whispered.

Tristan sighed and his hands stilled. "I want to tell you - I really do - but I can't..."

She glanced up at him and something flickered through her large eyes. "Because you don't trust me enough yet?"

'Is that it?'

Tristan pondered the matter for a few moments.

"No, I don't distrust you. But things are going on in my life right now that make a deadly tournament look like the least of my problems. It's pretty messy and I don't want to drag you into it."

Fleur cocked her head; a single silver lock slipped from his fingers and bounced down her neck. "If you want me to be a part of your life then you'll have to let me in eventually."

A hot tang of guilt churned in Tristan's stomach.

"I promise I will," he brushed her hair back behind her ear and bent down for a kiss. "Just give me a bit more time to sort the biggest part of the mess."

"Bon," Fleur whispered and squirmed back into his lap.

Tristan continued caressing her hair, tugging and wrapping her silver tresses around his fingers.

"That feels very familiar." Fleur blinked one eye open, her lips curving into a smirk. "Wrapping my hair around your fist will only stir memories and get you tempted, Tristan. We're out in the open…Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Now you're just cruel." He chuckled and let her curls slip through his fingers to glance at his wristwatch. 'It's twelve already.'

He sighed.

"Unfortunately I don't have time for anything fun that involves pulling your hair today." Tristan gently heaved her out of his lap into an upright position. "There's something I still need to take care of."

"Leaving our picnic date early?" A small pout crept onto her lips. "You'll have to make it up to me."

He kissed those upturned red lips with a sly grin. "I'll make it up any way you like."

Her blue eyes darkened a hue and she dragged his head down to meet her lips. "You should be careful with promises like that, Tristan. I'll hold you to them." She slipped her tongue into his mouth, leaving a faint sweet trace before slipping out of his embrace and patting his chest. "Now go, sort out your mess, and come back to me quickly."

Tristan nodded despite his heart's protests at the loss of her warmth. "I'll see you soon."

He hurried over the grounds and back up to the Castle, then descended into the secret passageway on the third floor.

'No time to use the floo from home. Arcturus will already kick my arse for being late.'

The moment he felt the faint ripple of the wardline wash over him, Tristan wrenched the world back past him, stumbling from the smelly remains of rats into the oil lamp-lit hallways of Grimmauld Place Twelve.

Thank Merlin, Arcturus hasn't found a way to keep me from apparating straight in.'

Gray-eyed former heads of the Black family peered down at him from their tall frames.

"Yeah, you guys have just the shade I came to investigate."

Tristan tracked the faint sound of voices to the kitchen and strode inside.

"Hello everyone."

"Tristan," Melania glanced up at him in surprise. "We expected you by floo."

"The brat apparated again," Arcturus snorted. "Could've at least made it on time then, boy."

"Sorry for that. They revealed the third task to us today, which, in case you care, will involve a giant maze on the quidditch pitch." Tristan's eyes roamed to the young, blue-eyed, and bubble-gum-pink-haired witch in tight, burgundy-red robes opposite Melania. "You must be Nymphadora. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

She scowled. "Call me Nymphadora again and I'll hex your mouth shut."

"Alright then," he held up his hands in surrender. "How about Cousin Nym since we both call Arcturus grandpa?"

"Just Tonks!" She hissed, her hair turning from pink to a shade of red that matched the Weasleys.

"Now that's a really cool skill." Tristan strolled over to her side of the table. "You're a Metamorphmagus, correct? Could you tell me a bit more about your abilities? Is it something you can learn for example?"

"You can't learn it as far as I know, you either have it or not." She shrugged and lengthened her nose. "I can change my appearance at will without the need of polyjuice, a bit like self transfiguration only I don't need my wand for it."

"Nymphadora was born with this ability." Arcturus chimed in, ignoring Tonks' reaction. A bright gleam of pride hovering in his sharp gray eyes. "The Blacks have produced them before but she's the first in over seven generations."

Tristan watched in fascination as her hair shifted through a whole rainbow of colors while she altered her facial structure simultaneously.

"I bet all it took was some fresh blood after centuries of inbreeding," he murmured under his breath.

"You've got something to say? Speak up, boy, I'm over ninety years old," Arcturus growled. "Why the sudden interest in Metamorphmagi anyway?"

"I think I recently ran into... someone with a similar ability." Tristan shot him a pointed look across the table. "So I thought it best I learn as much as possible about it."

Arcturus' face whitened and his thick brows drew together in a deep frown.

"You've met another Metamorphmagus?!" Tonks' face lit up. "That's incredible, I haven't met anyone else my entire life."

Tristan snorted. "You're like barely six years older than me." He studied her face again, unable to keep the temptation at bay. "This might sound a bit weird, but could you change into your... natural form for me - like the one you were born with?"

"According to my mother, my hair changed from black to ginger and blonde within an hour after I was born." Tonks crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. "And the last boy who asked me to change my appearance for him regretted doing so deeply."

'That opens up a whole lot of possibilities.' Tristan fought to contain his laughter. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just - it's very important for me. I wouldn't ask otherwise."

She regarded him coolly for a few moments before dropping her arms. "Fine."

Her hair shivered black, thick curls tumbled over full lips, high cheekbones, and pale gray eyes.

'Almost, but not quite. She looks more like Diana Lestrange than that Musketeer.' Tristan compared her image to the one burned into his mind's eye. 'Still, it has to be Black.'

Tonks snapped her fingers at him.

"Stop looking at me like some creep, little cousin. I'm not even your type." Her hair paled to platinum blonde and her eyes turned a deep blue, red lips curving into a smirk. "My sources told me this is what you currently fancy."

Tristan rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "You're nowhere close to the real deal, but nice try."

'Fleur is the most beautiful girl I'll ever see.'

"Hmm, Frenchie is a bit taller I suppose and she's got me beat in this compartment as well." Tonks cupped her boobs through her uniform and shrugged. "Though it's not like I can't change that either… Wanna see it?"

"Nymphadora, that is enough!" Melania cringed.

"Just joking - just joking." She rose from her chair and reverted all changes back to how Tristan first saw her. "Anyway, my lunch break is almost over so I need to get back to the Ministry."

"Thank you for coming and the - uh - demonstrations, Tonks," Tristan laughed. "You did help me a lot."

"With some very weird fantasies that involve not one but two frenchies no doubt."

Heat crept into Tristan's cheeks.

"Nymphadora!" Melania cried, buying her face in her hands.

"I'm out, I'm out already." She shot Tristan a wink and slipped through the door back into the hallway.

"That girl still needs to learn to hold her tongue," Arcturus growled, then his eyes found Tristan. "Well, boy? Spill."

"The person I've encountered was definitely a Metamorphmagus," Tristan admitted. "He was around Nymphadora's age and there was a faint resemblance as well."

"I don't understand how." Melania shook her head. "Andromeda and Edward don't have any other children and another European Metamorphmagus would've made the headlines long ago. It's an incredibly rare ability."

Tristan regarded Arcturus carefully. "Is there... Is there anyone else with Black blood around our age we're not aware of? Someone born out of wedlock perhaps?"

Arcturus nostrils flared and he heaved himself out of his chair with a groan. "I don't like what you're insinuating, boy, but with the tapestry now restored we can have a look together."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Tapestry?"

Arcturus led him up the dark staircase and to a room with a giant tapestry across the wall. Golden threads glinted brightly and displayed a sprawling family tree dating back to the Middle Ages.

"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Tristan read at the top.

"This tapestry will show anyone with Black blood," Arcturus explained. "For over a millennium, it allowed us to identify any bastards early before word got out to the public and potentially ruined our reputation."

"And then the Toujours Pur comes into play." Tristan's stomach coiled in disdain as he tracked the branches from the top to the bottom.

'Uncle Sirius' children, Aunt Narcissa's children, the Potters, Tonks, Brutus and Diana, and even some Weasleys.' He tore his eyes away from William Weasley's name tag and grit his teeth in annoyance. 'But no one else around our age with enough Black blood to be recognized...'

"You mentioned it was fixed recently. What was wrong with it?"

"The magic in it started malfunctioning around two decades ago." Arcturus scoffed. "Probably because that cunt Walburga tried to burn my granddaughter Andromeda from the tapestry for running off with the Mudbl- I mean muggleborn," he corrected at his wife's pointed look.

"Ever since then, it showed a bunch of blurred nonsense for the last two generations of Blacks up until your father fixed it two weeks ago."

Ice laced through Tristan's veins and he whirled around. "My father was here?!"

"Yes." Arcturus' eyes narrowed. "Why is that important?"

'Because I somehow doubt he fixed the tapestry. He hid something.' Tristan forced his face into an impassive mask. "It's nothing, just curious he didn't mention it."

He turned back around and crouched down by the wall, running his fingers along each of the golden threats. "Do you recall what kind of nonsense it showed before?"

"The branches leading to our grandson Sirius, our granddaughter Narcissa, as well as the Potters got all blurry and sometimes wouldn't show any of their children," Melania explained.

Tristan frowned. "But not the one leading to the Tonks family?"

"No, that one has been fine so far." Arcturus' gaze burned into his neck like a ray of summer sun. "However, your father did mention we should call him in case something weird goes on with that branch as well. Care to explain why he'd expect that?"

"I have no idea," Tristan murmured and balled his fists, anger flaring bright in his breast. 'Once again everything leads back to him. What are you hiding from me, Father?'

"Anyway. Thanks for showing me." He straightened. "I should get back to school now."

"Boy," Arcturus' bark held him back. "I made a promise on my sister's grave; we both did. I expect you to tell me what you find out just as I would."

"Sure." Tristan shot him a nod and wrenched at the world, blurring the tall dark tapestry into the red curtains and muggle portraits of the entrance hall at North Dawn Manor.

Aurelia's delighted giggles drifted from the living room.

"Let's try again, Aurelia. I have twelve oranges and I want to split them equally between you and your siblings. How many do each of you get?"

"Four!" Aurelia chirped.

"Why... four?" His father asked.

"Because Tristan doesn't like oranges unless it's juice so he'll give one more to each of us!"

"Or I'll give all of mine to you." Tristan chuckled and slipped around the corner. "That gives you six while Galahad and Valeria only get three."

"Tristan!" Valeria dashed through the room in a small blonde blur and jumped into his arms, babbling happily.

"Hey there, little princess." Tristan spun the giggling bundle around once, then sat her back down. He caught his father's eye across the dining table littered with checkered paper and a large abacus that had most of its orbs shifted to the left side. "How's mathematics going? Moved on from sums already?"

"We've just started with divisions, she's doing rather well as you've witnessed." He stood with a small proud smile. "Your visit comes as quite a surprise. Are you staying for lunch?"

"No, I'll be on my way soon," Tristan murmured, tickling Aurelia's sides until she squirmed with giggles. "I just wanted to stop by after meeting the lovely Nymphadora and checking out the recently fixed Black family tapestry."

His father's expression fell and he tensed. "Aurelia, why don't you take a small break from our studies and let me catch up with Tristan for a minute? I promise he's all yours afterward."

"No fair." Aurelia scrunched her tiny face up in a frown and skipped off.

His father waited until the echo of her light footsteps faded.

"You shouldn't have dragged the Blacks into this, especially not Nymphadora with her being an Auror for the Ministry." He stepped out from behind the table and paced up and down the length of the living room. "We mustn't let this spiral out of control any further."

"Funny you say that," Tristan chuckled coldly. "I wasn't the one who butchered an entire squad of ICW hit wizards so they wouldn't see my face. Neither did I raise Arcturus' suspicion by manipulating their family tapestry to hide whatever secrets you have from him."

His father whirled on him, his jaw clenched tight. "What did you tell them, Tristan?"

"I told them the truth," Tristan retorted heartedly. "And the truth is that Dorea was murdered by another Metamorphmagus who showed a remarkable resemblance to the Blacks."

His father took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "You need to drop the matter immediately, son. I should be protecting you from all of this like your mother suggested, not drag you straight into it."

"Involving me was the only honest thing you've done and you're delusional if you think I'll just give in now," Tristan snapped and stepped towards him. "I spent weeks drowning in guilt for what they did to Dorea and Aurelia because I thought it was my fault, because I stole some bloody piece of wood from Unspeakable."

He hovered an inch from his father's face, matching him in height, his heart drumming in his ears.

"But guess what we both know now? I'm not the one responsible. I've never even seen the face of that blue-haired coward before." He poked him in the chest. Hard. "But you have! So I'm going to ask you the very same question you asked me. What did you steal, Father?"

"Careful now. You're forgetting yourself, Son." Cold, hard green eyes glowed a finger's length from his. "I only want to-"

The fireplace roared brightly in the corner of the living room. Tristan's mother stepped out of the green flames and vanished the dust of her prim magenta robes with a flick of her wand. Her eyes found them and widened.

"What in Circe's name is going on here?!" She swiftly forced herself between them and pushed them apart. "Why do you two look like you're about to bloody duel each other?"

"Things got a little heated because I'm slowly getting the hang of Father's secrets." Tristan took a gulp of air and smothered the fire cursing through his veins. "And I won't drop the matter now. I want those Musketeers dead and if I first need to unravel every single puzzle surrounding you then so be it."

"I'm only trying to protect you, Son." A deep sadness crept into his father's green eyes, snuffing the sharp glow. "Why can't you see that?"

Tristan's gaze dipped down to his mother, then back up to his father. "Does Mother know everything?"

He swallowed and nodded, circling an arm around her waist and drawing her close. "Your mother and I stopped having secrets a long time ago."

She twitched in his arms, a mix between a choke and a chuckle escaping her lips. "Actually there- there's something I should tell you, dear."

He blinked at her in confusion and cupped her cheek; the third person in the room seemed all but forgotten about. "What is it, love?"

"There's a secret... a very small one." Something incredibly vulnerable Tristan had never witnessed before crept into her voice, cracking it. "It's the reason I avoided apparating these last few days."

She cupped his hand and brought it down resting over her belly.

"I'm pregnant, Harry."