November 1st, 1995
A dull pain, like the pounding of a hammer, throbbed inside his skull when he woke up. Tristan attempted to blink his eyes open and craned his neck to the side. A sharp pang spiked through his upper body, tearing a low groan from his throat.
"Bloody hell!"
"Yeah, bloody indeed," a familiar voice quipped from his left.
"Valeria?"
Tristan opened his eyes with a low wince. His sister stood in front of a large wardrobe, clothed in her pajamas with her golden hair held high in a messy bun. She ran the tip of her slim wand over some black fabric and murmured under her breath.
"Urgh, do you have any idea how hard it is to cleanse dried blood from those uniforms?"
"What-" a wave of dizziness crushed Tristan. He carefully massaged his temples, fingers brushing over some cloth wrapped around his head. "What are you doing here, Valeria?"
"What am I doing here?" She folded the school uniform and turned to him. "You're in my room, brother dear, so tell me what you remember of last night?"
'Last night?'
He clawed through the dense fog in his mind for something. The memories struck him like lightning. Bright beams of magic blinding his vision, crimson flames searing over his skin, and sharp flashes of agony tearing through his body.
"I think I had a little run-in with our lovely housemates." Tristan's chuckle turned into a wince as he attempted to propel himself up.
"It's not funny and stop moving around so much!" Valeria hissed. She crouched over him and ran her wand over the bandages around his head. "It took me almost an hour to fix you up when you showed up at my dorm last night, looking worse than Father's worn-down dueling dummies."
"I promise the others look even worse than me," Tristan groaned. "Do you have some water by any chance?"
She hushed him and gently heaved his head, bringing a cup of water to his lips. Tristan stilled and took a few careful gulps.
"So what's the damage report, Healer Peverell?"
Her lips quivered. "I fixed your two broken ribs and the gash in your thigh as well the cut on your forehead and some more, smaller cuts. I don't know how to treat a concussion, so you'll have to deal with the headache for now, but I already applied some dittany to most of the bruises I found."
"Only most?" Tristan asked.
Valeria flushed pink. "I've already stripped you of enough clothes, Brother, don't you think?"
"Uhm-" Tristan slowly lifted his covers, glancing down his bare chest and torso to the hem of his black boxers. "Yeah, I think you stopped at just the right part." He leaned back with a sigh. "Thanks for fixing me up, sister."
"Of course." Valeria bit her bottom lip. "I'm just not as good as Mother at fixing injuries."
'Probably because she has a lot more practice. I wonder how often she had to fix up Father before their little... upgrade.'
"You should definitely go to Madam Pomfrey soon," Valeria interrupted his musings. "She'll have something for the concussion and she'll spot if there's any internal damage."
"You know I can't do that," Tristan groaned as he heaved himself back on the bed: "Pomfrey can smell dueling injuries from a mile away. By the time she placed me in a ward, I'll already have McGonagall chewing out my arse."
"So who cares?!" Valeria huffed. "You only defended yourself against what... like eight opponents?" She gestured down his bruised body. "And look what kind of curses they've used on you!"
"It was actually ten opponents, although the first few were taken out rather quickly," Tristan snorted. "And trust me, all of us used some rather… questionable curses."
Her slim brows drew together. "What did you do to them, Tristan?"
"I was spent and there was only one way out," he grimaced. "Something to catch them by surprise, something to quickly overwhelm them."
She frowned deeply; then the galleon dropped.
"You used parselmagic against them?" she gasped.
He offered her a weak smile. "It was either that or you would've had a lot more fixing up to do on me."
"You did the right thing then," Valeria nodded. "But I still think you should tell the staff about them all ganging up on you. Report it to someone."
"I have much more to lose than to gain in that," Tristan sighed. "They've surely gotten rid of all the evidence in the common room by now, so it's my word against theirs."
"And of course, all of them are purebloods from esteemed families, one of them even being the son of the Minister of Magic." Valeria frowned. "What is to stop them from spinning this whole story on you then?"
"They'd be rather stupid to try that." Tristan chuckled. "Diana Lestrange fired an unforgivable at me and I don't think she's too keen on visiting her dear mother in Azkaban."
"What?!" Valeria's lips trembled and she reached out to him. "Lestrange fired an unforgivable at you? Tristan, you could've been-"
"-it was just the cruciatus and she had piss poor aim." He took her hand and ran his thumb soothingly over the back. "Don't worry too much about me. But if you want to do something good for me there is a spell you should try."
"A spell?" Valeria's slim eyebrow drew together.
"For healing. I'd do it myself, but I'm feeling rather drained after last night," Tristan said. "Just point your wand at the injury and say Vulnera Sanentur."
She eyes him warily. "I've never heard of it. Are you sure it's a real spell?"
Tristan nodded. "Father used it on me after I lost all my nails during our apparition practice." He held up his bandaged wrist for her. "Try it here first."
"If you say so." Valeria carefully unwrapped the bandage and trailed her wand along the line of scarp that had formed over the shallow cut.
"Vulnera Sanentur."
The scab shed off like snakeskin. New pink tissue stretched over the cut like tight weaving, leaving behind barely any traces of an injury.
"Incredible!" Valeria gasped, brushing her finger over his wrist with wide green eyes. "It pretty much regrew itself."
'This would be damn useful to have permanently during a duel, like Father does.' Dorea's warnings echoed through Tristan's ears and he quickly dismissed the idea. 'Such powers come with a terrible price.'
"Mind doing it a few more times?"
"Of course not." Valeria stopped staring at his wrist and carefully unwrapped the bandage on his head, fixing up the cut by his hairline and afterward the one on his thigh.
"There you go." She clapped her hands. "Almost as good as new."
"I'm feeling much better already."
Tristan shifted to the edge of the bed despite his body's initial protests. He stood and flexed his stiff limbs, rotating his sore shoulder a few times.
"Enjoying the view, sister?"
"No!" She quickly averted her gaze from his torso, her pale cheeks rapidly gaining color. "I, uhm, I'll quickly head to the Great Hall and bring back some breakfast for you."
"No need for that." Tristan picked up his pale wand from the bedside table, casting a purple ribbon of magic that twisted into the letter nine. "I'm coming with you."
He summoned his uniform from where Valeria had folded it and slipped into his button-down, trousers, and robes.
"Tristan, you should really rest." His sister's voice took on an almost motherly tone; her green eyes shone with worry. "Take it easy for a day. Magic doesn't fix everything."
"But I'm fine, see?" Tristan grinned as he performed a jumping jack.
"You're ridiculous." She rolled her eyes. "Now get out, I'm not changing with you in here."
"What if I pinky-promise not to take a peek?" Tristan quipped. "And it's not like there's really that much to see any-"
"-alright, that's it!" She pushed against his chest with both hands and shoved him out of her room. "Get out!"
"Are you really going to kick out the first boy you've allowed to stay the night?"
Valeria's face turned bright red and she shut the door in his face.
Tristan leaned against the wall opposite her dorm with a chuckle, absently studying his robes.
'These might be clean of blood but they'd still look suspicious on a Saturday.'
He let the length of his pale wand slide into his palm and twirled it over himself. His long black robes shrank down to an ordinary dark hoodie; his pair of trousers into casual-fitting jeans.
'Much better...'
The door opened and Valeria stepped out in knee-high boots, wearing black tights, a blue skirt, and a white turtle-neck; her golden hair in a long plait. "Ready to go?"
Tristan gave her a once-over as he led the way to the common room. "Is there a reason you dressed up?"
"Of course, it's a Hogsmeade weekend, silly," Valeria shrugged.
"Huh, I completely forgot," Tristan mused. "Got a date at Puddifoot's lined up then?"
"No, but I'm meeting Maggy and Alfie in the Three Broomsticks later."
They stepped out into the greenish gloom of the Slytherin common room.
Valeria leaned closer towards him, brows in a deep frown. "Are you sure you've actually fought someone in here last night? I'm getting the suspicion you simply fell down the giant staircase after having one too many shots of fire-whiskey in celebration."
Tristan's eyes trailed over the spotlessly swept space. "More like some poor souls worked a night shift..."
Aside from a few lamps at the high ceiling, nothing seemed to be missing. Even the damage to the walls and fireplace had been repaired. Small, scattered groups of lower-year students glanced up as they passed through, falling in hushed whispers and quickly averting their eyes when they caught him.
"Was anything interesting said last night?" Tristan asked as they left via the concealed entrance and made their way up to the Great Hall.
"I wouldn't know," a small shiver shook his sister. "The moment the professors cleared the hall, I hurried into my dorm underneath your cloak. Not even a minute later they started pounding on my door, demanding I come out."
A stab of guilt pierced through him.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Tristan offered. "I knew entering might stir trouble for us, but I didn't expect it to escalate like it did last night."
She slowed in her step and wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm just glad I made it to my dorm in time. I doubt Diana Lestrange would've missed the cruciatus at point-blank range..."
"Hey, don't think about that." Tristan gently pried her arms to the side and took her in a hug, rubbing his hands soothingly down her back. "I'll never let them get close enough to hurt you. I promise."
"Will you really look out for us?" She buried her face in his chest, blonde curls sprawled out over his hoodie. "And what about Galahad?"
"He's got the Potters and Blacks with him up in Gryffindor." Tristan shoved down a small dwell of worry. "Besides, the 'dorks are much too noble to harass a first-year."
"Probably true," a soft laugh burst from Valeria's lips and her hold on him tightened. "What a heart-melting show of loyalty to your family, brother dear. You'd have done so well for yourself in Hufflepuff."
"And there goes your chance for another hug this month." Tristan pried himself out of her arms, pressing a kiss down to her forehead before roughing her hair. "Let's go, I'm hungry."
"Wish I could say the same." Valeria trotted beside him. "All that blood kind of spoiled my appetite."
"Trust me, you won't pity whoever had to clean them up last night."
The Halloween decorations were still up in the Great Hall. A few lonely bats dove below the candles and greeted them the moment they stepped through the giant oak doors. Silence followed their entrance.
"Seriously?!" Valeria pursed her lips when almost every eye was immediately drawn to them. "Urgh, are they going to be staring like that all term? How annoying…"
"Just ignore them." Tristan took a seat at their usual spot on the far end of the Slytherin table and helped himself to some breakfast. "They stare at us. They always have."
'Some things just don't change.'
"Well, they stare even more now," she snorted. "But I'm actually more curious why the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are missing. Is not attending our breakfast their way of showing disapproval for the Goblet's choice?"
Tristan frowned and glimpsed up at the staff table. "No, I have a feeling it's something different that will be explained shortly..."
Their arrival seemed to have stirred some movement up there. McGonagall had initiated a heated and hushed exchange of words with Slughorn. The latter looked particularly uncomfortable while fidgeting with the top buttons of his robes.
"Do you reckon Slughorn already knows what happened in the common room last night?" Valerie whispered.
"I know he's a lot slicker than many students give him credit for," Tristan said. "He knew Malfoy and I would be at each other's throats the moment he left us alone and still he did so. He's probably being chewed out by McGonagall right now because she noticed quite a few upper-years missing."
"Malfoy's absent." Valeria brushed her curls aside and peeked to the far front of the Slytherin table. Usually, the upper years sat there during mealtimes in a tight wall of green and silver, yet, now it was rather sparsely crewed. "So are the Lestranges and Crouch."
Tristan followed her eye. Their remaining housemates either exchanged hushed whispers, their eyes occasionally flickering over to him, or focused intently on finishing their breakfast.
He made a quick headcount, marking all ten of his advisories from last night absent. A hot flare of triumph pulsed through his veins, curling his lips into a small smile. "Somehow I doubt we'll see any of them for lunch or dinner either..."
The students from all four houses had slowly caught up by now. They paused their breakfast or whatever conversations they had been involved in to point up to the staff table. Eventually, McGonagall's nostrils flared and she rose to her feet. The giant doors closed as if on command and the Great Hall fell silent immediately.
"I'm sure many of you will have noticed that our honored guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have not joined us for breakfast this morning yet," she addressed them sharply. "The reason for that is because I asked them to grant us a brief moment to discuss a matter of significant importance; last night's election of the Hogwarts' champion."
A murmur passed through the hall and all eyes flickered to Tristan, causing the hairs at his neck to stand straight. He forced his expression blank and waited.
"Hogwarts is a school for magic," McGonagall continued, her voice cutting through the whispers like a knife. "It was built from scratch by four of the greatest British magicals, who all wished to create a safe harbor for young witches and wizards. They build a castle where our kind can be among each other. A place where we can all freely express ourselves without fear of exposing our world to the muggles and the dreadful repercussions it might bring with it."
"However-" she paused briefly, her expression grew more serious, "-they did not build a place for slander, bullying, or even violence!"
Questioning mutters and confused glances were thrown in all directions, but especially to the Slytherin table and the missing upper-years.
"I understand that many of you are frustrated and you have every right to be so. If I were your age again, I would have hoped to represent Hogwarts myself in such a prestigious event as the Triwizard Tournament. Nevertheless, letting said frustration out on the very person who has been chosen in your stead, is nothing more than the petty signs of a bad loser and it will from now on be addressed accordingly."
'You all should've simply been better.' Tristan smothered a small smile and let his gaze roam over the benches challengingly. 'I was only chosen because I'm greater than you.'
Roger Davies was staring up at McGonagall angrily amidst his gang of sixth- and seventh-year 'claws. Over at the 'puffs, Cedric Diggory, who had his girlfriend Chang practically sprawled out over his lap, was glowering from the headmistress to him and back.
'Hurt feelings?' Tristan mouthed silently and shot him a wink before turning back around.
"Tristan Peverell has been legitimately selected by the Goblet of Fire, that much was confirmed by an entire team of Unspeakables led by Minister Crouch himself," McGonagall declared. "No one will be forced to support or cheer for Mr. Peverell during the coming days and tasks. You're all free to not attend any of the events connected to the Tournament, despite my personal desire to show our foreign guests a united school and healthy spirit."
"But let me make one thing very clear." Her voice turned sharp as steel. "Any slander against Mr. Peverell, as well as acts of violence and other direct attacks, will not be tolerated."
'Bit too late for that...'
At the 'dorks, Angelina Johnson and some of the seventh-years seemed very unimpressed with the headmistress' words, frowning in grim defiance. Even Tristan's brother seemed melancholy. He avoided catching his eye and absently stirred in his bowl of oats as if to not draw any attention to himself.
'I'm sorry, Galahad.' A dwell of guilt nagged at Tristan's consciousness. 'Now they probably give you shit for merely being my brother, don't they?'
McGonagall's voice remained sharp as ice. "Hogwarts is and will remain an institute of education, just as our Founders had envisioned. I will not let anyone make a mockery of our Castle's millennia-old prestigious standing in front of our foreign guests. Any more slander, the malicious spread of rumors, or other forms of aggression will be punished most harshly. This includes suspension and even expulsion."
A heavy silence settled through the Great Hall.
"That is all," McGonagall nodded sharply and took her seat. "Please enjoy the rest of your day, whether it be at Hogsmeade or here in the Castle."
The giant doors opened back up; a string of surly-looking, red-robed Durmstrang students passed through, led by Karkaroff and Krum towards the Slytherin table.
"Well, that was inspiring," Valeria chirped. "What do you think?"
"I think McGonagall is more concerned about the reputation of her precious school than my wellbeing and I still doubt she has the balls to pull through with any of those threats." Tristan snorted. "But I won't complain if it makes life at the Castle just a little bit more bearable, especially for you and Galahad."
"Well, we know what Hogwarts thinks about your selection, so let's hear from the rest of Britain." Valeria pointed up.
About a hundred owls streamed into the Great Hall, circling the tables until they saw their recipient. Almost all of them carried the latest, wrapped-up edition of the Daily Prophet, one of them dropping its package right on Tristan's plate.
"Well, let's see what they say, shall we?" Tristan flipped open the front page.
His very own high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes stared up at him coldly. A large hand with a familiar golden ring came down on his shoulder. He whisked off in a puff of black smoke only to reappear seconds later for the scene to play out again.
SCANDALOUS SELECTION
Peverell Heir To Compete In Triwizard Tournament
By Rita Skeeter
"Witch Weekly will absolutely love that photo, brother dear," Valeria giggled, patting his jaw. "At least whatever they recovered after Father smashed their camera was captured from a good angle."
"Hush, little harpy." Tristan fought her hands off and began reading.
"Magical Britain is in shock, dear readers!
What was meant to be the spectacular reintroduction of the legendary Triwizard Tournament turned disastrous when the Goblet of Fire spat out the name of one Tristan Ignotus Peverell, son of the notoriously exiled Lord Harry and Lady Marlene Peverell, neé McKinnon.
Whereas the rumors about the boy's parents are well known, one more horrific than the other I might add, the same cannot be said for Mr. Peverell himself.
Here's what we do know about the so far rather mediocre heir to the darkest and most speculated European family, which fell from grace in the latter years of the last major British Wizarding War..."
"What a bunch of dragon dung." Valeria rolled her eyes and discarded her own edition. "Rita Skeeter didn't even give you the benefit of the doubt. She just jumped straight into our parentage and went from there. I finally understand why Father loathes her so much."
"A shame all of wizarding Britain clings to whatever bullshit spills out of her quill." Tristan took a deep breath, stifling a flare of heat cursing through his veins. 'And talking about Father...'
A blur of white feathers fluttered down and settled between the jar of marmalade and the sugar bowl, hooting softly.
"Hello, Hedwig, you've got something from our parents?" Valeria offered her a piece of bacon. "I think this one's for you actually, Tristan."
The snow-white owl hooted in confirmation, dropping a tiny scroll of parchment in front of him and pushing it closer with its black beak.
"No idea what this could be about," he snorted as he tore it open.
There are things we should discuss, Tristan.
Meet us in the Three Broomsticks at 10:30 am, Room #7
Your loving parents
The letter crumbled to black ash the moment he read it, sieving through his fingers.
Valeria eyed him warily, taking tiny sips of juice. "And?"
"They want to talk." He glanced down at his wristwatch. "In less than half an hour."
"Best get going then." She bounced to her feet. "I'll meet you in the entrance hall in a bit, I'll just freshen up in the bathroom."
Tristan finished his breakfast and headed to the exit of the Great Hall. A scutter of short-skirted Beauxbatons girls paraded through, some of whom shot him curious looks and giggled softly. He patiently waited by the giant doors until they were all past, then he stepped through himself.
A blur of silver and blue blocked his path, almost running straight into him. A whiff of sweet vanilla filled his nostril, exuding warmth in a uniquely alluring way and fogging his senses.
"Pardon," a soft voice murmured. Pale hands parted a veil of platinum hair.
'It's her.'
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Delacour." Tristan edged a few steps back, wiping his mind blank like an empty canvas. "Why in such a hurry?"
"Headmistress McGonagall insisted we wait for quite some time, Monsieur Peverell." Her delicate brows drew up in feigned confusion with the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her rose-pink lips. "I really wonder what she had to say to you all that required us to stay outside that long."
"I'm afraid it's a school secret and I've kept you long enough already, haven't I?" Tristan plastered a bright spread of teeth on his face. "Besides, your... friends-" he gestured to the Ravenclaw table where the Beauxbatons had taken up seats tightly together, no spot left free in between them, "-are already waiting for you. Bon appétit, Mademoiselle."
Her irises darkened a few hues and she strode passed him, silver hair flourishing down the length of her back.
Tristan dragged his eyes away from her long, stocking-covered legs.
Valeria appeared beside him, glaring dagger into Delacour's back. "What did she want?"
"To get in my head and mess with me probably," he shrugged and turned to the courtyard.
"Well, don't just let her!" She shoved out her bottom lip in a pout. "I don't like her. You should stay far away from her from now on."
"You dislike any girls my age, Valeria," Tristan chuckled as he led the way toward the village. "Especially if they're pretty."
'And she's the prettiest girl I've ever seen...'
He dragged the image of her away, drowning it in the beautiful scenery that lay before him. They sprung over the frosty grounds, letting the quiet song of the birds, the gentle breeze, and the smell of the woods wash over them.
Valeria was still pouting. "I don't mind innocent 'puffs like Goldstein-"
"-trust me, Adelaide's definitely not innocent..."
"Eww, I really didn't need to know that." She pursed her lips in distaste. "Anyway, there's something strange about this Delacour girl, aside from her being a veela."
'She is proud, very confident in her magical abilities, and doesn't have any friends among her peers. Sounds rather familiar actually...'
"We will learn more about her with each task," Tristan decided. "But feel free to keep an eye on her for me."
Their conversation from the night before lingered in his thoughts. 'After all, we know she's done the same the moment she arrived here.'
They reached the village and made their way toward Hogsmeade's best pub. Shouts, cheers, and the buzz of conversation rolled over Tristan like a wave when he held open the door for Valeria and entered behind her.
"Mother and Father are probably waiting for me upstairs already," he shouted over the noise. "Don't sneak off to Puddifoot's with anyone just yet, because I'll be sending you up there once we're done."
"Don't worry, my date is set for later anyway," Valeria grinned, blonde curls vanishing in the crowd.
Tristan climbed the stairs and strode down the dim corridor until he reached the assigned room. He entered after knocking.
"Tristan."
His mother strode over from the large window overseeing the village square and took him in a warm embrace.
"Hello, Mother."
She cupped his cheek with a small, strained smile on her lips. "Thank you for coming, Son."
"You wished to talk to me?" Tristan turned expectantly to his father.
He was still standing by the window, dressed in dark robes and watching him like a hawk.
"Why, Tristan?"
"Why... what?"
His father's brows creased in disappointment. "Why did you put in your name?"
"Seriously?" A burst of cold laughter rolled from his lips. "That's the first thing you have to say to me?"
"Did you expect our... congratulations?" His father's eyes flashed like emeralds. "Do you want us to tell you how proud we are of you?"
"No, I expected none of that. But I can imagine how this conversation would go between any other student and their parents after they were chosen to compete in the name of their school." Tristan shrugged. "Pretty sure it wouldn't proceed like this."
"We're just worried about you. Contenders have died in this stupid competition, Tristan, lot's of them," his mother's lips trembled. "What could you possibly have to prove to yourself that it's worth taking such blatant risks?"
"Perhaps that I am more than the mediocre heir to Europe's darkest family."
"Are you going to let Rita Skeeter get to you now?" His father shook his head. "No one is calling you mediocre, Tristan. Your mother and I knew that you'd be chosen by the Goblet if you wished to compete. Who else could it be? You're our son-"
"-and right there it is, can't you see it?!" Tristan interrupted him, thrusting out his finger at his father.
"I am your son," he said almost accusingly. "Forever overshadowed by either the fantastic tales of your achievements and your skill in magic or alternatively shrugged off as the son of exiled, lawless murderers."
"We've talked about this," his mother reached out and tried to take his hand, her eyes large and full of emotion. "What we did-"
"-doesn't even matter to me because it's in the past and cannot be changed!" Tristan said, shrugging her hand off. "But this tournament... This tournament is here and now! And it can be a clean start for me. A chance to prove that I am my own person. Because I know I was meant to be more than just your son!"
'Because I am greater than all these shallow little people who keep nagging at me like rats...'
"What did we do wrong?" His mother clutched her chest with a quiet sob, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Why do you hate us so much, Tristan?"
His father swept her in a tight embrace, whispering into her ear and brushing through her hair until she calmed.
"I don't hate you, I never did." Tristan took a deep breath, letting the heat in his veins fade into nothingness. "But you need to understand that I didn't enter my name just to spite you. I did it purely for myself and my own goals."
"You were right about something," his father frowned, still holding his mother tightly. "Whatever we did is in the past and cannot be changed, but some people refuse to let it rest. I just know-" he ran a hand through his black hair with a sigh. "I just have a feeling that they might try to use one of the tasks to do something horrible to you. It would be the easiest to make it look like an accident with how they're usually set up."
"There's a pattern to how they're set up?" Tristan raised an eyebrow. "What do you know about the tournament?"
His parent's exchanged a quick glance, both their expressions darkened. "Dangerous creatures, hostile environments, timely pressure... anything you can imagine straight out of a muggle fiction book. Did they tell you anything already about what you have to face?"
"They're testing our daring, so we get no clues about the first tasks," Tristan snorted. "Something about courage in the face of the unknown..."
A flinch spasmed over his father's face. "I see…"
"I don't like it," his mother whispered, glancing up at her husband. "Maybe we should-"
"No!" Tristan stated decisively. "We are not going to do anything. On November 24th the two of you are going to sit in the stands with Valeria and Galahad while I face whatever they've scheduled for me by myself after I have prepared for it also by myself."
"Don't be a fool, Tristan." his father said. "Do you think the other two champions will refuse any help they're given from their teachers?"
"I don't care. Beating them will only taste sweeter." He dragged Delacour's taunting smirk into the abyss. "Remember what I told you about why I signed up for this. I don't need nor want your help. Every person I accept help from, I share my victory with. I don't want that. This will be for me only. My very ownfeat of greatness!"
"Greatness," his father's face twisted into a grimace as if the word tasted like ash on his tongue. "You need to be very careful about what you dream, Tristan. Your mother and I once knew a wizard who chased fleeting greatness."
The weight of his wand suddenly grew heavy in Tristan's sleeve, humming softly through the fabric.
"He did so throughout all his life. Until he was nothing but a dull shell of his former self."
'Maybe he just had the wrong approach to it.'
Tristan let the length of his pale wand glide into his palm, rolling it between the tips of his fingers.
'Mine will be better...