HP: Panem et Circenses

November 30th, 1996

A foursome of red and gold soared through a clear November sky, passing the Quaffle among themselves as they dived past scattered dots of yellow. The Keeper matched their direction, hovering in front of his right hoop, arms and legs spread wide, but the Chasers turned sharp and scored through the middle hoop instead.

"Spinnet scores again!" Lee Jordan announced. "Gryffindor now leads one-hundred-and-twenty to forty."

The sea of red students roared, stomping their feet on the stands, their chant drowning the boo-shouts of the Hufflepuffs and ringing in Tristan's ears like the screams of Ekrizdis's countless, faceless children as the fiendfyre swallowed them.

'He's dead now; no child or muggle girl will ever suffer that horrible fate again.' A shiver ran down his spine. 'But with everything he knew about Horcruxes, he was more than useful to us.'

The stadium shrank in the distance, dark as the recent nights spent with Fleur hunched over stacks of parchment filled with their notes.

'Soul magic opened the Chamber of Secrets last time, but why can't we find any link to the Musketeers? What are we missing here?'

"Let's go 'dorks!" Valeria's cheers shook him from his thoughts as she wove her charmed scarlet scarf over her head like a lasso, the small red bows in her braided golden hair bouncing. "Unleash your inner lions!"

The surrounding Gryffindors squirmed back, shooting her odd looks.

"Calm down, baby sister." Tristan laughed. "I don't remember you ever cheering for me like that."

She stuck out her tongue at him, a golden number seven and their last name painted on each flushed cheek. "Probably because you were nowhere near as good as our brother, just look at him!"

Galahad corkscrewed through a barrage of bludgers, drifting on his firebolt like a leaf in the breeze. He blocked Zacharias Smith's pass to a teammate and dropped the Quaffle to Angelina Johnson, steering straight up back into the clear blue sky like a firework.

"And there's Peverell again with yet another brilliant play that allows Johnson to score," Lee Jordan shouted as the crowd of red jumped up and down in the stands. "The Hufflepuffs are completely overwhelmed by his interference. It's like the Lions play with four chasers instead of three."

"Impressive." Tristan shoved out his bottom lip in a low whistle. "Let's hope he doesn't forget the position he actually plays. If Diggory catches the snitch now, the 'dorks still lose."

"Galahad won't let him," Valeria declared. "See, he's keeping Diggory too busy to spot anything."

Tristan caught a red blur and a bigger yellow one chasing each other through the Hufflepuff hoops. "Diggory's never going to catch him." He chuckled. "I don't think I've caught Galahad since he turned ten and that was before our parents gifted him that firebolt."

Katie Bell upped the score further. The Gryffindor team exchanged high-fives in their half of the pitch and Galahad flew a couple of tight loops around them to the cheers of the red crowd.

A flash of yellow collided with him, sending Galahad spiraling, but he managed to stabilize the firebolt a meter before crashing into the grass, clutching his shoulder in pain.

The stands erupted in uproar.

"How bloody dare they attack him!" Valeria shouted and squeezed past the row of furious 'dorks. "I'm so sick and tired of these pretentious 'puffs; hard-working and honest my arse."

A flare of anger rose in Tristan's breast, but he tugged his sister back. "Don't. There's no point while the match's still going."

"What a nasty foul by Finch-Fletchley," Jordan scoffed. "Of course, he claims to have lost control of his broom, but that excuse won't save him from the free throw he cost his team."

Galahad shrugged off his captain's heated arguments and insisted on making the throw himself; he scored through the open left hoop and took to the skies again, corkscrewing around the 'puffs to the mocking hollers of his housemates.

"Hah! Serves them right." Valeria balled her fist.

"The 'puffs are too far behind to care about the difference in points, but by taking out Galahad, they might kill two birds with one stone," Tristan murmured. "He needs to stop showing off and finish the damn match already."

Taking a sharp turn high above the pitch, Galahad steered into a vertical dive, grimacing as Diggory caught up with him and bumped shoulders again and again.

"Oh no." Valeria's breath caught and she clutched Tristan's hand. "What in Circe's name is he doing now?!"

Tristan squinted and tracked their descent to the tiny spark of gold twitching above the dense green at the center of the pitch. "He's found the snitch!"

The crowd rose in a great ripple of red and yellow, screaming their Seekers on as they plummeted through the chasers and beaters, all having abandoned their game.

Valeria's nails dug deeper into Tristan's skin the closer Galahad approached the ground. "He'll kill himself!" she shrieked. "Tristan, he won't make-"

Galahad wrenched the firebolt up, his right fist raised high above his head. Diggory mirrored him, but his feet caught in the ground and he crashed, sprawling over the grass like a barrel.

"And he's got it!" Jordan cheered. "Galahad Peverell caught the snitch, finishing the match two-hundred-and-forty to forty for Gryffindor."

Their brother soared past the roaring stands, grinning wide and parading the snitch between his index finger and thumb.

"That was bloody brilliant!" Valeria bounced up and down with all of Gryffindor house as Galahad celebrated his win with a couple of loops over the heads of the fuming Hufflepuff players, then returned to his cheering teammates. "He's lucky Mother didn't attend the match; she'd spank him silly for giving her a heart attack with that last move."

In the corner of his eye, Tristan caught one of the Hufflepuffs swinging their beater's bat, but the desperate shout stuck in his throat and his heart froze.

One Weasley twin yanked the handle of Galahad's firebolt down and batted the bludger back, knocking the other beater clean off their broom. Having lost control of his firebolt, Galahad spiraled downward, but the other twin caught his fall.

Tristan slipped his wand into his sleeve. "Stay here, Valeria." He fought through the enraged mob of 'dorks and leapt over the edge of the stands into the pitch, his magic catching his fall.

The Hufflepuff team swarmed above Galahad and the twins like an angry beehive. Their keeper hopped off his broom and swung his fist, but Weasley ducked the blow and his twin landed a punch to the jaw, knocking him out cold.

"Nice one, Fred."

"Why, thank you, George."

Tristan sprinted across to his brother and crouched down. "Are you alright?"

Galahad's eyes widened over Tristan's shoulder.

Whirling around, Tristan dodged a bludger by a hair's width, feeling the wind of it whisper past his cheek. He slashed his wand and hammered the air into the Beater's chest, knocking him back into two of his approaching teammates and sending all three of them sprawling over the pitch.

Cedric Diggory crawled out from beneath the groaning tangle of limbs and leveled his wand at Tristan's heart, pale gray eyes brimming with hatred.

"Enough!" A loud bang tore over the pitch.

"In all my years teaching…" McGonagall stomped between them, her wand drawn and her expression furious. "What in seven hells has gotten into you?!"

"They started it, Professor," one twin scoffed. "They hit a bludger at Galahad when the game was already won."

"And out of all directions you could've hit it back, you decided to retaliate, Mr. Weasley." McGonagall levitated the unconscious Hufflepuff keeper onto a stretcher and Madam Hooch ushered him away. "Never before has a headboy stooped as low as to engage in some muggle street brawl, Mr. Diggory." She whirled around to Tristan. "And what in Merlin's name are you doing down here, Peverell; you don't belong to either of those teams!"

Tristan heaved Galahad back onto his feet and handed him the firebolt. "My brother was attacked while playing quidditch. Again." He leveled McGonagall with a long look. "Consider me a Gryffindor anytime that happens, ma'am."

"Perhaps you ought to be punished like Gryffindor then, Mr. Peverell," a sickly-sweet voice chimed from behind him.

'Of course she's here.' Tristan took a deep breath through his nose and turned around, facing Umbridge's pink cardigan and broad smile.

"Punished?!" Angelina Johnson echoed. "Have you not seen the match, Professor? The Hufflepuffs attacked us. They should be punished!"

"I've seen plenty, Ms. Johnson. Naturally, Mr. Williams will be suspended from the next game for unnecessarily hitting that Bludger in the heat of the moment. However-" Umbridge glanced from one twin to the other, "after witnessing such violence from Mr. and Mr. Weasley, I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again."

The twins blinked at her, gaping.

"Surely-

"-you're jesting?"

"Not at all." Umbridge's smile stretched over her flabby face as she watched the Gryffindor team struggle to comprehend. "I truly think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick." Her bulging eyes lingered on Galahad. "Oh, and since Mr. Williams' slip-up was far from unprovoked, the life-long ban will be extended to Mr. Peverell here as well."

"Ban me?" The light died in Galahad's eyes as he stared at her, and the firebolt slipped through his fingers, thudding into the grass. "From ever playing again...?"

"I'm afraid so." Umbridge bobbed her head, her chin wobbling. "This all could've easily been avoided if you had shown some better sportsmanship."

"Better sportsmanship?!" Johnson screeched, tussling her hair. "All he did was celebrate our victory! Have you ever even watched a Quidditch match?!"

"Careful, Ms. Johnson, or the Gryffindor team will be short three players and a captain by the end of the day."

Tristan turned to McGonagall. "Say something, please. My brother didn't do anything wrong."

McGonagall stood frozen as though carved from ice, her lips razor-thin. "Dolores, I urge you to reconsider. Surely a suspension for the next game would be punishment enough."

"My decision is final, Minerva." The look of the utmost satisfaction swelled on Umbridge's face. "Which reminds me..."

She flicked her short, thick wand at Galahad's firebolt, but Tristan curled his fingers, tugging with his magic, and it slapped into his palm.

A low murmur of excitement rippled through the players from both teams, awe and anticipation shone in their eyes.

"This broomstick is confiscated, Mr. Peverell," Umbridge snapped, her chest heaving with deep breaths. "It shall be kept safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. Hand it over right now."

"This broomstick belongs to my brother." Ice crept into Tristan's voice and the cold rage stirring beneath his heart misted his breath. "You can nail a hundred more Decrees to the walls, I still won't let you confiscate our private belongings."

The players waited with bated breath, every eye darting between him and Umbridge.

"Very well... very well," Umbridge whispered and fixed the smile back on her face, but her voice shook with rage. "From here on forth, only members of the Quidditch teams are allowed to use brooms on Hogwarts' grounds; anyone who's not will be expelled immediately."

She whirled on her heels and stomped off the field, leaving the stunned Gryffindor team behind.

"She can't possibly ban someone for life. You can overrule her, right, Headmistress?"

"No, Ms. Johnson, I cannot." McGonagall let out a long sigh. "Mr. Diggory, please gather your team and come along. I'll have a word with you and Professor Sprout."

They marched off, a few Hufflepuff players shooting ugly sneers over their shoulders.

Johnson whirled on Tristan, her dark eyes full of fire. "This is all your fault, Peverell!"

Tristan blinked. "Mine?"

"None of this would've happened if you didn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong; now half my team is banned from playing, all because of your bloody spat with Umbridge."

"Angelina," one Weasley twin murmured. "You're being unfair. Umbridge's been out for our blood ever since we charmed her chair to fart anytime she sits on it a few weeks ago. She would've banned us regardless."

"But not him!" Johnson thrust her finger at Galahad and glared at Tristan. "Gryffindor can kiss the House Cup goodbye for the next six years because we've just lost the best Seeker this school has ever seen. I hope you're happy now, Peverell."

Galahad's shoulders trembled and he spun on his heels, running toward the castle.

"Fuck," Tristan muttered.

Johnson stepped into his path. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I don't care about your bloody House Cup, Johnson. Now move," he tossed the firebolt into his left hand and slipped his wand into his palm. "Or I'll move you."

"They're right about you, Peverell." Shaking her head in disgust, she stepped aside. "I regret ever cheering for you in the tournament last year."

"I still don't care."

Tristan hurried across the pitch and took the steps three at a time, his lungs burning as he caught up with his brother and Valeria by the courtyard.

The questions hung in Valeria's wide green eyes, but Tristan silenced her with a quick shake of the head and caught Galahad by the shoulder. "Hey, just wait a second, please."

"Leave me alone." Galahad shrugged him off, heading for the Giant Staircase.

Tristan grimaced at the tangle of guilt clenching tight in his stomach and hunted for the right words. "I know this is all messed up, but I promise you'll play again soon.

Galahad whirled around, dried tears streaks staining his cheeks. "Did you not hear Umbridge?! I'm banned for life!"

"You're banned for however long Umbridge will remain at Hogwarts." Tristan swallowed hard. "And I'll make sure that won't be long."

"Stop," his brother pleaded, the tip of his lashes sparkling. "Just… please stop making everything worse. They're all going to hate me already."

A sharp pain twisted in Tristan's heart as their brother turned his back on them and waited for a flight of stairs to the fifth floor.

"Angelina was right." Galahad drew a shaky breath, his shoulder trembling. "None of this would've happened if you'd just stayed out of it. But you never do..."

"Galahad, we saw-" Valeria reached out with her hand, but the staircase locked into place and their brother darted off again. "We saw them trying to hurt you from the stands," she murmured as they caught up again. "Tristan only did what he thought was right; to protect you, because we're family, remember?"

"Family." Galahad let out a mix between a sob and a snort. "Sometimes I wish my family weren't the way they are, or that I didn't arrive at Hogwarts being hated by half my peers already. At least I still had Quidditch to look forward to, but now you've taken even that away from me."

"Please, Galahad." Bitter guilt tore at Tristan's heart, ripping out pieces of him. "This is exactly what Umbridge wants; us fighting amongst each other. We can't let her win." He nudged him with the firebolt as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "You will play Quidditch again soon. I swear it."

"Sure." Galahad let out a bitter chuckle through hitched breaths. "Until then I'll sweep my dorm with this and hope you'll stay out of my life for once." He snatched the firebolt. "Alea iacta est."

"So it would seem." The Fat Lady swung open and Galahad crawled through the hole, but she closed shut as they tried to follow him. "Nuh huh, you two don't belong to my house."

Tristan stared through the paint and canvas, a strange, sick feeling settling in his stomach as Galahad's parting words echoed from the back of his skull.

"Can you please let us through, we need to talk to our brother," Valeria implored. "Besides, I'm a…" her fingers stilled over the empty space above her chest.

The Fat Lady raised one thickly drawn eyebrow. "You're a… what, dear?"

Valeria's brows creased and her lips tightened. "Never mind."

"Let's go," Tristan murmured, taking her hand and leading her back to the Giant Staircase. "Galahad doesn't want to talk to us anyway right now."

'First Valeria's Prefect status, then Galahad's spot on the Quidditch team. Umbridge will take more and more until she's pushed us in a corner.' Cold hatred fed into a grim certainty. 'I must stop her soon.'

Spellfire sounded from within the Great Hall.

"I need to blow off some steam." Valeria dragged him through the twin oak doors.

"Looks like Flitwick's teaching the shield charm tonight." Tristan ran his eyes over the pairs of duelers as they settled in an empty spot in the back of the hall. "How's yours coming along, baby sister?"

Valeria rolled up her sleeves, biting her lower lip, and drew a sharp semicircle with her wand.

A bright white veil of magic sprang up in front of her.

"Silently cast." Tristan let out a low whistle as he probed her shield with the tip of his wand, meeting fierce resistance. "Sturdy as well."

Dark shadows dwelled in Valeria's green eyes. "I've got more free time to practice now thanks to Umbridge. Go throw some curses at it."

Taking a few steps back, Tristan hurled a handful of schoolyard jinxes at her, testing her shield's strength by targeting certain areas, but it held fast, and every last spell exploded in a shower of brilliant sparks.

"Ah, very good, Ms. Peverell, very good," Professor Flitwick squeaked. "Next you should work on your speed when casting the shield. In a real duel, your opponent doesn't wait until you're ready." He bustled over to Tristan's side. "How about you, Mr. Peverell? Have you been working on your spell repertoire as we agreed upon?"

"Yes, sir."

Tristan demonstrated over a dozen hexes from Uncle Matthew's book on European dueling circuits and etiquette, forcing his arm faster through the wand motions until his sister's shield shattered with a high-pitch ring, and he summoned her wand into his palm, twirling it between his fingers.

"Show off." Valeria caught her wand with a pout as he tossed it back over.

"Excellent, excellent." Flitwick clapped his hands, bouncing on his feet in excitement; behind him, half the pairs in the Great Hall had stopped their practice to watch them. "Since you're unlikely to encounter a more powerful opponent, we'll move on to your precision and technique next, Mr. Peverell. Once you've developed a few strategies for different scenarios, you'll be pretty much ready."

"Ready for what exactly, Filius?"

'You've got to be kidding me.' Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced over his shoulder; Umbridge leaned against the entrance to the Great Hall, still wrapped in her pink cardigan, clutching a quill and clipboard between her fat, ring-stocked fingers.

Flitwick's brows furrowed. "How may I help you this afternoon, Dolores?"

"Just by answering my question, please." Umbridge cleared her throat. "After that, feel free to carry on as usual while I perform my duty as High Inquisitor."

"But this is not a class."

"No, however, just like any other regular meeting of three or more students with educational purposes, I'm obliged to inspect if it meets the Ministry of Magic's revised standards." Umbridge's smile sweetened. "Now then, my question, if you would, Professor...?"

Flitwick drew himself up. "Hogwarts hasn't been represented in the international dueling leagues for several decades now, but with the team we've built this year, we stand a good chance in the upcoming tournament in Stockholm."

"Surely I'm misinterpreting things, how silly of me," Umbridge let out a high little laugh, "but are you considering letting Mr. Peverell represent this school?"

"He's our best chance at winning."

"Is he now?" She tutted and crossed something off on her clipboard. "If you're that convinced, then you won't mind providing some demonstration for me, will you?"

Flitwick frowned, his small dark eyes flickering to Tristan. "Mr. Peverell, do you mind exchanging a few spells with me?"

"Not at all, Sir." Tristan shrugged out of his outer robes and handed them to Valeria.

"Oh no, now you misunderstood me, Filius." Umbridge let out a girlish giggle. "A duel between you and Mr. Peverell would be quite… boring to watch. We shall hold one between Mr. Peverell and his sister, and Mr. Diggory and Mr. Finch-Fletchley instead; they'll be evenly matched, no?"

Hushed, excited whispers rippled through the Great Hall and none of the other pairs acted like they were practicing any longer.

'Diggory knows my hands are bound while Umbridge is here to protect him.' Tristan caught a strange gleam rising in Diggory's gray eyes as he murmured something to his younger Quidditch teammate. 'That's why he's so confident despite me wiping the platform with his best pal Davies a few weeks ago.'

Flitwick's frown deepened. "We haven't practiced dueling in pairs yet, Dolores, but I assure you Mr. Peverell can hold himself against me and-"

"I'm afraid I insist, Filius, otherwise I'll have to reconsider the… raison d'être, as the French call it, of this club." Umbridge scribbled some more on her clipboard, flapping one hand at the main stage in the center of the Great Hall without glancing up. "And up there, please, so we can all easily follow this little… demonstration."

"Very well." Flitwick sighed, his eyes catching Tristan's.

Tristan shot him a subtle nod and drew his sister aside.

Glaring daggers at Umbridge's, Valeria dropped both their outer robes to the floor. "What the hell is going on here, Tristan?"

He ushered her up the stage. "Remember how Umbridge doesn't like people practicing magic? This is her creating a scenario that'll allow her to forbid the dueling club entirely."

Valeria's green eyes flashed. "She's here to take away your chance to participate in the tournament." Her knuckles clenched around her wand. "Like my prefect's badge and Galahad's spot on the quidditch team."

"It's fine, really." Tristan shrugged. "I only bothered with the tournament because this year didn't promise anything else exciting."

'And that changed with the opening of the Chamber and the recent attack.' He smothered a niggle of worry, crossed golden rapiers flashing bright as the sun before his mind's eye. 'I'd never leave you two alone in the Castle now.'

"So what?" Valeria huffed. "I still don't want her thinking she took something important from us again."

"Don't let Umbridge get to you now," Tristan murmured as Diggory and Finch-Fletchley climbed the stage, wearing matching sneers. "She wants us to lash out at these two idiots for attacking our brother and getting him banned from playing Quidditch ever again. Just stick to the spells we're allowed to use and don't let them provoke you into doing something stupid."

"I still owe Justin for bothering me at the start of this term," Valeria muttered. "He's mine; you take care of Diggory."

He muzzled her long blonde hair with a grin. "Try not to land yourself in detention again, baby sister..."

"Duelers, take position!" Flitwick raised his arm. "On my signal!"

Sliding his wand into his palm, Tristan tuned out the great noise from the crowd of spectators, a trickle of cool adrenaline sharpening his senses.

Flitwick's wand went off with a bang.

Diggory and Finch-Fletchley sprang forth, wands trained at Valeria, and buried her in a storm of spells. She staggered back as washes of color rippled across her vibrating shield, wincing at each impact.

'Of course they'd target her first...'

An ugly heat stirred in Tristan's breast and he stepped past Valeria, bending his magic around them both and weaving it through her weakening shield like fine silk.

"Alright there, baby sister?"

Valeria swiped a sweat-soaked blonde curl from her forehead with a scowl. "I could've handled that."

Across them, Diggory muttered something under his breath and slashed his wand; sizzling green tongues spouted from the tip, coalescing into an enormous fiery eagle that flapped a pair of blazing wings and took to the air with a furious screech, sharp talons poised at Valeria.

Her green eyes widened and her wand trembled. "I don't think I can handle that."

Tristan dropped his shield and yanked the eagle down with a flick of his wand, smashing it into the platform. It screeched and flapped forward still, talons searing deep black scorch marks into the wood of the platform, but Tristan tightened his grasp and crushed the magic from within it, snuffing out the green flames to his feet.

'I bet I would've been given a warning for using such magic.'

He shot an annoyed glance at Flitwick; frustration hung in the half-goblin's dark eyes, but anytime he opened his mouth, Umbridge drummed on the clipboard with her quill, watching the duel with a broad smirk.

'Flitwick knows the club will be dissolved if he has to reprimand someone for using dangerous magic.' Wry humor tugged at Tristan's lips. 'Unless that person is me of course; Umbridge would like nothing more than that...'

Rejoining Valeria's side, he shielded her as she traded spells with Finch-Fletchley and twirled through colorful hexes like a dancer, her blonde curls billowing in a cascade of gold.

'I know who taught her that…'

Tristan smothered a hot flare of longing and slipped every approved curse he knew of through the openings Valeria provided him, hurling his magic at Diggory until the Hufflepuff's back met the wall.

Diggory's trembling shield shattered like a pane of glass and two spells connected, one driving the air from his lungs in a low wheeze, the other forcing him to his knees.

"Do it now!" Diggory hissed, clutching his ribs.

Finch-Fletchley stabbed his wand at Valeria. "Serpensortia!"

A fast black serpent burst from the tip of his wand and thudded to the floor in a fierce hiss. The crowd flinched back with panicked cries as the serpent reared, its jaw torn open, armed with countless gleaming fangs the size of small daggers, and slithering toward Valeria.

"Aww," she cooed, lowering her wand. "How cute-"

Tristan caught the triumphant gleam in Umbridge's bulging eyes and clamped one hand over Valeria's mouth, dragging her behind his shield; the serpent struck against the thin haze of magic and bounced off.

Shooting a stern look at his sister, he lowered his hand from her mouth. "Really, Valeria?"

Understanding dwelling in her large green eyes. "Oops." She squirmed, flinching as the serpent struck again. "I forgot we're not supposed to use our evil parselmagic..."

Tristan dropped the shield with a sigh. "Just go deal with the snake, please."

"Yes, big brother."

It lunged with a furious hiss.

Valeria slashed her wand and banished it across the platform, where it sank its fangs into Finch-Fletchley's ankles.

"Get it off!" The 'puff howled in pain, dropping his wand as the serpent struck again and dragged him across the platform. "Cedric, help!"

After two failed attempts, Diggory vanished the serpent, but Finch-Fletchley tumbled face-first onto the platform from Valeria's bright red stunner and his wand slapped into Tristan's open palm.

'That's one down.'

Flitwick levitated Finch-Fletcher onto a stretcher to the cheers of the crowd, and Umbridge glowered, fat knuckles white around her clipboard.

"The other one is all yours." Valeria shoved her wand back up her sleeve with a small smirk.

Tristan took a calm step around her toward Diggory, twirling the smooth elder through his fingers. "That's some tough competition here, mate." Familiar words hovered on his tongue. "No hurt feelings though, I hope?"

Raw hatred blazed in Diggory's gray eyes and he wove his wand in a wide arc, conjuring half a dozen slim ribbons of water and transfiguring them into gleaming icicles. His gaze flitted past Tristan and he sent them hissing forth like spears.

"No!" Tristan leaped in front of Valeria, shattering two icicles with a slash of his wand, but a third tore a line of fire across his shoulder and graced Valeria's cheek.

She gasped, beads of dark blood trickling from the shallow cut down the pale soft skin along her neck.

A twist of fury rose in Tristan's heart, bright and hot as hell, and he whirled on Diggory, ink black mist swirling around his wrist and through his fingers.

'You dare!?'

Shimmering shards of ice shivered and rose from the platform all around him, splitting thinner like branches from a tree again and again and again, melting in the white-hot rage of his magic and fusing into a towering shapeless form, as tall as the Great Hall's open ceiling.

The crowd shrank back from the stage and held their breath, staring at him with gaping mouths. The marvel in their eyes shone bright as falling stars in the darkest night, and the hunger to unleash it tugged at him, spurred on by the faint insistent whispers of the smooth elder wood between his fingertips.

A warm gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "Don't, Tristan," Valeria whispered.

Tristan caught the utter triumphant smirk on Umbridge's broad face and crushed the searing temptation, compressing the soaring swirl of water to a single slim frozen disc. With a flick of his wrist, he flung it at Diggory, banishing the 'puff's feet out from underneath him, and ripped the wand from his grasp, tossing it off the stage.

"Ms. and Mr. Peverell win!" Flitwick announced.

The crowd erupted in cheers, their claps and stomps thundering through the Great Hall, and Umbridge scowled, fragments of her quill littered around her heels.

"Tristan!" A mouse-brown-haired Gryffindor struggled through the mob, his face flushed, waving a camera in one hand and Diggory's wand in the other. "Tristan! I'm Colin, Colin Creevey. Can I please take some photos of you and your sister?"

"No." Tristan sighed, steering Valeria to the staircase. "We don't want any photos tak-"

Colin slipped on the puddle of water before the platform, his face smashing into the first step of the staircase with a loud crack, and the camera shattered in a thousand pieces.

All hell broke loose and the crowd screamed, but Colin lay still as stone beneath the Great Hall's ceiling, eyes wide and dull and open, and a thin stream of blood trickling from his nose.