October 31st, 1996
Students swarmed past flickering jack-o-lanterns into the buzzing entrance hall; their footsteps reverberated through the Castle like a great thunderstorm, and their bright laughter bounced off the tall walls and ceiling.
"Come on, big brother!" Valeria snatched his hand and skipped ahead, her golden braids billowing. "Don't be slow now, or the best food will be eaten already."
"The feast hasn't even started yet." An indulgent smile tugged at Tristan's lips and he let her tow him through their peers towards the Great Hall.
A loud batch of students dressed in red and gold poured from the Giant Staircase.
"Besides, let's wait for Galahad." He tugged his sister to a halt by an alcove next to the massive twin oak doors. "There's something I need to talk to both of you about."
Valeria glanced back over her shoulder at him, a little concern flickering through her green eyes. "Oh, right..." She peeked around the corner into the Great Hall. "Perhaps he's inside already?"
"No, I see him right there." Tristan pointed at a group of younger boys by the footing of the marble balustrade.
"Aww, look at him and his 'dork buddies." Valeria skipped into their path and stemmed her hands on her hips. "Hey, little cubs. Mind if I steal my baby brother really quick?"
Galahad flushed and murmured something to his friends; they shot nervous glances at the gleaming badge on Valeria's chest, whispering to themselves as they slipped around her into the Great Hall. He let Valeria usher him out of the throng of students to the alcove, shooting them both a curious look. "What's up?"
Tristan ran his eyes over his brother and grinned, mussing his dark hair "We haven't talked in a while now. How are you doing?"
"I'm exhausted and sore everywhere." Galahad massaged his shoulder. "Angelina worked us almost every single day this past week."
Tristan chuckled. "That's what happens when you outfly all other contenders during tryouts and outscore half the core team." He offered his brother a proud smile. "With all that practice, I'm sure you'll play spectacularly in your first match next week. But how are your classes going, are you getting along well?"
"Uh… yeah, it's not like any of the stuff is difficult yet." Galahad's eyebrow rose a fraction. "Look, why don't you just tell me what this is really about so we can all join the feast?"
'Straight to the point, huh?' Tristan exchanged a glance with Valeria. "What do you think about Umbridge so far, Galahad?"
Their brother frowned. "I don't like her, but no one really does," he muttered. "Well, aside from some of the pureblood Slytherins, no offense to you."
"None taken," Valeria giggled. "What's class with her like?"
"Same as yours, no? She just makes us read that stupid book the entire time." His expression darkened and he glimpsed past the last lingering students into the Great Hall. "Are we done now? My friends are waiting for me and I'm seriously starving."
Tristan caught him by the arm. "This is really important, Galahad. We need to know what else is going on in her classes." He squatted down to his brother's eye level, fishing for the right words. "Umbridge talks about our parents, no?"
Galahad squirmed under his gaze. "Yes... and about you too…"
"What exactly does she say?" Valeria asked.
Their brother swallowed. "Sometimes, while everyone's reading, she makes these… comments about dark magic and how evil the people who use it are."
"What comments?"
"She usually picks examples from the civil war or the tournament last year and… and she always looks at me when doing so," Galahad whispered, his eyes flickering to Tristan. "She said some stuff about magical creatures as well... pretty bad stuff."
'About Veela, no doubt.' Tristan crushed a stab of hot anger. "And how do you respond? Do you argue back?"
"Well, I couldn't just let her walk all over our family like that," Galahad scoffed. "You taught me to always stand my ground, remember?"
Tristan's heart sank and guilt chewed away at his stomach. "Does she punish you for it?" He seized his brother by the shoulders, giving him a quick shake. "Tell me, has she done anything to you?!"
Galahad flinched.
"Easy, Tristan." Valeria shot him a pointed look and pried his stiff fingers off, brushing her hand through Galahad's dark hair. "Did she give you detention or anything for talking back to her?"
Their brother shook his head after a moment. "No, but she's taken lots of points from Gryffindor already." A faint shade of pink rose up his cheeks and he fidgeted with the buttons of his uniform. "Some of the upper years confronted me about it, and I really wanted to make the Quidditch team, so I've been quiet ever since and not lost any more points."
'Thank Merlin.' Tristan breathed out his relief. "Good, you did the right thing."
"Did I?" Galahad's brows wrinkled. "I don't even understand most of what Umbridge's babbling about, like whatever happened during dad's trial at the Ministry, but I can tell when she's saying nasty stuff about you or our parents. Why does she even hate us that much?"
Tristan shared a look with Valeria.
"Look, Galahad, Umbridge is from the Ministry; they're nosy and want everyone to always do as they say, right?" Valeria explained. "But our family doesn't want anyone prying into our business, and that's why Umbridge doesn't like us."
"I guess that makes some sense," Galahad murmured. "But she really seems to single me out among all the other students who talk back to her."
A four-legged shadow prowled around the corner of the alcove; Mrs. Norris stared up at them with bulging, lamp-like eyes and meowed.
Valeria flapped her hand at the scrawny, dust-colored creature. "Shoo off, you overgrown rat."
Tristan pulled his brother into a hug. "I know how you feel, Galahad. Trust me, I really do. But Umbridge isn't going to stop provoking us anytime soon, perhaps she'll even get worse." He drew back, peering down into his brother's blue eyes. "So I need you to promise me that no matter what bullshit she throws at you, you don't rise to the bait, got it? Just keep cool and think about some Quidditch drills or whatever."
"Fine." Galahad released a long sigh. "I'll try."
Mrs. Norris raised her tail and bared her teeth in a hiss, meowing even louder.
"Alright, I'll give you someone to meow at." Valeria flicked her wand and closed her eyes. "Expecto Patronum."
An ethereal lynx leaped from the tip of her wand, fang ablaze and pouncing after Mrs. Norris. Tristan chuckled along with his siblings, but the humor drained as Filch stalked around the corner.
"Mrs. Norris!" He caught the cat as she leaped into his arms, all the hairs on her back standing straight as needles. "What happened to you, my sweet?! Who scares you, tell me!"
He tracked her yellow eyes and furious hiss to the lynx fading into silver mist behind Valeria's legs.
"You!" he shouted. "You played some cruel prank on my poor Mrs. Norris with that- that beast of yours!"
"No," Valeria lied, shoving her wand back up her sleeves. "We were just chatting."
"Get inside, all of you, now!" Filch spat, patting Mrs. Norris' head as she hissed at them. "I'll make sure the Madam High-Inquisitor learns of this. She's promised me an Educational Degree that'll allow me to string you up by the ankles in my office for punishment!"
Tristan glanced up at the towering wall of wooden-framed Educational Degrees that grew with every day. 'Where the hell is that one even going to fit? It's only been two months and she's already run out of space...'
The Great Hall buzzed with noise and laughter; a thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and dark ceiling, swooping past floating pumpkins bearing stuttering candles, and over the four loaded house tables and crammed benches.
He squeezed himself in next to Valeria opposite her girlfriends at the end of the Slytherin table and helped himself to some mashed potatoes, carrots, and a thick steak.
Valeria mounted her plate with countless dishes until the first peas tumbled off the edge. "At least we now know the fat toad hasn't made any moves on Galahad yet," she said over the clatter of cutlery. "That's good, right?"
"Yeah, but we also know she's trying hard," Tristan murmured. "She's not stupid; she knows Galahad is the weakest link, and she'll keep exploiting that until he eventually slips up."
Valeria quirked an eyebrow at him. "And then what?" She bit off the end of a sausage and chewed away. "It's not like Umbridge can expel him for talking back, the worst she'll do is give him detention."
Tristan glimpsed up at the staff table where Umbridge's pink cardigan clashed with the festive orange and black decorations.
"That woman is pure evil, Valeria. I see it in her eyes every week in class." He clenched his knuckles around his knife. 'And I will not underestimate my enemy and let either of you suffer the consequences again. I learn from my mistakes, I do not repeat them.'
His sister nudged him in the side with her elbow until he blinked. "Hey, cheer up, big brother, tonight's Halloween!" A bright, careless grin spread across her lips. "Let's celebrate like we always did at home when we were little!"
Tristan swallowed the last scraps of his meal; his reflection frowned up at him from the gleaming golden plate. "I never understood why our parents celebrate tonight almost as much as Christmas." He sipped the remainder of his pumpkin juice in small gulps. "No other wizarding family does it as far as I know..."
"So what?" Valeria towed a platter of dessert closer and sliced the thick cherry tart into four squares with the edge of her fork. "Stop complaining about fun occasions!" She dropped the smallest piece on his plate with a bold grin. "You of all people should smile more often; these days, you sulk as much as Roger Davies."
Tristan caught the Ravenclaw picking at his food on the next table. "Well, it's hardly my fault he was demoted from captain of the dueling club, is it?"
Valeria's green eyes flashed with laughter as she munched away on her tart. "Nuh-uh, you merely humiliated Davies in front of his mates and wiped the platform with him, not to mention now the entire dueling club is calling for you to replace him..."
"I told them I wasn't interested and Davies only deserved what he got." A fist of ice snatched the humor away. "He said some things to Fleur last year that I couldn't forget."
'But he lied about all of them. Tristan speared the dark red cherry topping his tart on the pines of his fork and stared at it. 'Fleur would've never let him touch her. She's not like any of the other shallow girls.'
The deafening noise of the Great Hall drowned in the flare of longing stirring in his breast, sharp as razors. 'She's different, just like I am... And that's what makes her so perfect for me.'
"You miss her, don't you?"
He slipped the cherry past his lips, letting its sweetness melt on his tongue. "I always miss her when we're apart."
Valeria cupped his hand in her smaller warm one. "Let's sneak off to the kitchens and have a private little feast tonight, how would you like that?"
Tristan shot her a grin. "My, Ms. Penny Prefect, are you prompting me to break the rules with you?"
"Only this once." She tugged him from the bench and down the table to the entrance with a bounce in her step "Come on, big brother, don't be—"
She dropped his hand and shuddered. Crimson pooled underneath the twin oak doors and trickled into the Great Hall, running down the joints of the tiles in slim dark lines.
'Blood.' A cold shock flashed through Tristan's veins and he yanked Valeria back, sliding his wand into his palm and pushing the heavy doors open with a flick of his wrist.
Mrs. Norris dangled in mid-air, yellow eyes wide and empty. Her ribcage gaped open in a column of shattered bones, spilling blueish-purple entrails that twisted around her head like a noose.
Tristan followed the trickle of blood down sullied gray fur, spreading into bold letters shimmering bright red on the stone tiles in the light of the flickering jack-o-lanterns.
THE HEIR HAS RETURNED ONE FINAL TIME. THE CHAMBER STAYS OPEN UNTIL THERE ARE NO MORE SECRETS.
A piercing shriek cut through the silence and glass smashed behind him.
Tristan whirled on heels, meeting every last pair of wide terrified eyes along the four house tables, mouths gaping at him in blank horror.
"My cat! What happened to Mrs. Norris?!" Filch roared, scrambling down from the staff's table.
"You!" He moved in on Valeria. "You've murdered my cat!"
Valeria's face turned pale as ash. "No," she whispered and shook her head. "No, I didn't—"
"You've killed her!" Filch screeched, reaching for her with long gaunt fingers. "I'll kill you! I'll—"
Tristan banished Filch's feet out from underneath him and pinned him to the floor with his magic, cold fury whispering through his veins, and ink-black mist swirling through his fingers.
A loud bang shook the Great Hall.
"Mr. Peverell, release Mr. Filch at once!" McGonagall rushed between them, lips thin and eyes hard as they roamed over the scene. "Prefects, guide all students back to their common rooms through the fireplace in the antechamber! Anyone sneaking off tonight will be suspended immediately!"
The benches scraped back and the students lined up before the antechamber, whispering among themselves.
"My cat," Filch croaked, dragging himself over the blood-stained tiles. "My sweet Mrs. Norris."
McGonagall flicked her wand, cutting through the invisible strings holding Mrs. Norris and wrapping her in a faint sphere of magic. "Come with me, Argus, together we'll figure out what happened to her." She shot Tristan a stern look. "You will come as well, Ms. and Mr. Peverell."
He took Valeria's cold shaking hand. Portraits flitted from frame to frame, whispering and pointing their fingers, and the eyes of Slughorn, Flitwick, and Vance bored into his neck.
"I didn't do it, Tristan," Valeria whispered, shrinking back behind her golden curls. "I promise, I didn't do it."
"Shhh, it's alright." He drew small circles over her back. "I know you didn't. You were with me the entire time."
The words written in dark blood loomed before his inner eye.
'But someone did... Someone killed Mrs. Norris and wrote those letters.' A grim certainty rose from the dwell of his thoughts. 'They know about the Chamber of Secrets and that it once housed a monster. Now they use our link to Slytherin to make us look like the culprits...'
"Holyhead Harpies."
The gargoyle lurched sideways and they climbed the spiral staircase. The eyes of every former headmaster lining the walls snapped up and they fell silent.
McGonagall swept all the books and scrolls of parchment scattered over her wide desk back into the shelves with a wave of her wand and lowered Mrs. Norris, vanishing the sphere of magic surrounding her. "Emmeline, I presume this will be your area of expertise."
Professor Vance drew her wand and ran its tip over the corpse. "The cat likely died from blood loss, but those wounds have clearly been inflicted by magic." She shuddered. "I don't even think any specific spell was used; the attacker just... lashed out."
Filch thrust his finger at Valeria. "She did it!" he spat. "She killed Mrs. Norris!"
"I did no such thing!"
"Liar! I caught the three of you scheming before the feast and nearly scaring my little sweet to death. Your beast did this to her!"
"Beast?" McGonagall sucked in a sharp breath and her colleagues paled. "What beast, Ms. Peverell?!"
"There's no beast! I conjured my Patronus because the cat was annoying, that's all." Frustration brimmed in Valeria's green eyes. "My Patronus takes the shape of a lynx. It was meant to be a joke; I would never hurt anyone!"
"The worst a Patronus could physically do, is tickle you when it passes through you," Flitwick squeaked.
"My sweet cat was murdered in cold blood, not tickled!" Filch cried. "I want someone to get punished for it!"
"For that, we first need to find the real culprit, Argus," McGonagall murmured, her face darkening. "Perhaps we should head back down and inspect-"
"Hmm, hmm."
They whirled around; Umbridge leaned against the door to the office, pink quill and clamping plate in hand.
"How in Morgana's name did you get in here?" McGonagall scowled.
"Knowing the passwords to all offices is essential to carry out my duty as Hogwarts High-Inquisitor, Minerva," Umbridge simpered and strode closer, her bulging eyes fixed on Valeria. "Now then, I think I'd quite like to see this Patronus a fifth-year supposedly conjured."
Valeria froze. "My- my Patronus?"
"Oh yes, dear." Umbridge nodded, her smile widening. "Since you could be lying and instead used dark magic to kill Mr. Filch's poor cat."
'I see what you're trying to do.' A cold point of rage swelled in Tristan's heart. 'You won't get away with this.'
Valeria pulled her wand with trembling fingers and closed her eyes, taking a huge breath. "Expecto Patronum."
Silver mist spewed from her wand, swirling into the faint outline of a big cat before it withered away like smoke in the breeze.
Her eyes snapped open in panic. "No wait! I can do it!" She tried again, and once more, but with the same result.
"I think we've seen quite enough, my dear." Umbridge scribbled something down on her clapping board. "Or rather, we didn't see anything..."
"Oh, come on, this is dragon dung!" Tristan pulled his shaking sister into his arms. "You cannot just threaten someone and then force them to perform an emotion-based spell!"
"Careful, Mr. Peverell, or you'll land yourself in detention with me." Umbridge fixed him with a sharp smile full of tiny teeth. "It's quite obvious your sister is lying to us; fifteen-year-olds don't conjure corporeal Patroni."
"I'm afraid I must prove you wrong, Dolores," Albus Dumbledore's portrait chimed from behind McGonagall's desk. "If you write to my dear friend Professor Griselda Marchbanks, she'll tell you that throughout Hogwarts' history, a handful of students conjured a corporeal Patronus during their practical OWL examinations in Defense against the Dark Arts."
Umbridge's eyes blazed as she dragged the broad sweet smile back on her lips. "That still doesn't prove that Ms. Peverell is one of these few rare exceptions."
"Of course not." Dumbledore inclined his head, amusement twinkling in his pale blue eyes. "However, given that both her parents and her older brother are among those few rare exceptions, I'd personally not bet a single knut against her ability."
"We don't have any more time to waste on this, Dolores." McGonagall snapped as Umbridge opened her mouth. She glanced up at the former headmaster. "It has happened again, Albus..."
"So I have heard." Dumbledore's expression turned grave as stone. "What did it say this time?"
McGonagall drew her wand through the air, leaving purple ribbons of magic in its tip's wake. "The Heir has returned one final time. The Chamber stays open until there are no more secrets."She swallowed hard. "What in Morgana's name does that mean, Albus?"
"The Heir has returned..." Dumbledore hummed, stroking his long silver beard, his eyes flickering from the message to Ms. Norris and then to Tristan. "Unfortunately, it could mean a great many things, among them that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened once more."
'Voldemort opened it the first time, he was the only one capable.' Tristan frowned. 'The Chamber was opened again during my parents' sixth year, but they killed the Basilisk, and they had no reason to attack muggleborns while fighting Death Eaters.' That familiar grim certainty seized hold of him again. Someone's digging up the past, now we're at Hogwarts. Is it them again? The Musketeers?'
Umbridge snorted. "Some mysterious Chamber of Secrets hasn't been found in a thousand years and it won't be found for another thousand, Dumbledore." Her bulging eyes fixed on Valeria. "Tonight, we witnessed yet again the brutal reality of what happens when children growing up under the influence of dark magic aren't reeducated carefully."
Dumbledore exchanged a glance with McGonagall.
'He knows so much more about this, more than anyone else, otherwise, McGonagall wouldn't ask him for help.' Tristan's thoughts raced. 'I need to talk to him alone.'
McGonagall took a long deep breath through her nose. "Yes, you're likely right, Dolores. How do you suggest we proceed then?"
Umbridge straightened up. "We start by meeting Mr. Filch's reasonable demand for punishment." A wide satisfied smirk spread over her broad face. "And then we ensure this won't ever happen again."
"My sister is innocent." Tristan snapped out of his thoughts. "It can't have been her Patronus, and we were with our housemates from the moment we left Filch. Ask any of them; they will all attest to it."
"Be that as it may, your sister still admitted using dangerous magic to scare Mr. Filch's poor cat. And why?" Umbridge tutted. "Entirely out of boredom."
"What?" Tristan blinked. "How is a Patronus dangerous magic?"
Umbridge ignored him. "This time it was a cat, but next time it might very well be another student." She let out a little laugh. "Clearly Ms. Peverell isn't fit to serve as a role model, and as such, I hereby revoke her position as Prefect."
Valeria's face fell in the still, loaded silence.
"Now, now, Dolores," Slughorn spluttered, fiddling with the collar of his dress shirt. "Let's not make any hasty decisions. I assure you young Valeria has been an exemplary student for the last four years. Perhaps we should-"
"Do nothing!" McGonagall snapped, glowering at Umbridge. "Because you do not have the authority to make such a call anyway."
"Well, actually, Minerva, I do have the authority." Umbridge pulled out a piece of parchment from underneath her clipping board. "Hem, hem... Educational Decree Number Twenty-five-"
"Not another one, woman!" the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black groaned.
"As High-Inquisitor I now have the power to strip pupils of privileges, otherwise I'd have less authority than common teachers. This here-" Umbridge flapped her fat fingers at the parchment, "-gives me supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges, even those that may have been imposed by other staff members or the headmistress, which means Ms. Peverell will hand over her badge to me right now."
Valeria swallowed hard, staring at the ugly gold rings flashing on Umbridge's open hand. A dark glint blossomed in her green eyes and her chest rose with deep breaths.
"I'm waiting, my dear." Umbridge's smile sweetened.
Valeria ripped the prefect's badge from her uniform and strode across the office with her chin held high, dropping the badge in Umbridge's palm.
Umbridge flinched back with a hiss and the badge clanked over the floor. "Detention, Ms. Peverell!" she snapped, clutching her hand. "I should have you expelled for attacking me!"
"Badges tend to have pins, Dolores." Something smug crossed McGonagall's expression. "Perhaps you should have worded your request more carefully."
"There was more than one pin!" Umbridge squawked, wrapping her hand in a white handkerchief, streaks of crimson spreading in the fabric. "And it was gleaming hot!"
McGonagall summoned the badge between her thumb and forefinger. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary, but perhaps you should seek Madam Pomfrey with such a serious injury."
Umbridge glared at Valeria and stalked off, the clicking of her heels fading down the spiral staircase.
The professors and portraits let out a collective sigh.
"Let's finally get to work, everyone. We need to inspect the scene downstairs and swoop the entire Castle." McGonagall leveled Tristan with a long look. "Off to your common room, Ms. and Mr. Peverell. I trust you won't need an escort."
"We'll be fine, Headmistress."
Tristan led Valeria past the Gargoyle, her posture stiff as wood as they descended down the empty Castle.
'I need to get back up there and talk to Dumbledore. If the Musketeers' vendetta originates in my parents' past, then I need to know everything that happened last time the Chamber was opened.'
"You'll get rid of her, yes?"
He blinked. "Sorry, what?"
Valeria turned her head, deep dark and cold shadows swirled in her green eyes. "You've heard me."
Tristan sighed. "I will, yes, but probably not before your detention."
She squirmed. "I'm sorry about antagonizing her, I know it's exactly what you wanted us to avoid." Her breath hitched. "But the way she talked... I was just so angry and- and..."
"Shh, it's okay." Tristan drew her into a hug before the Slytherin common room, running his fingers through her hair as she trembled and something damp tickled his neck. "Umbridge will regret what she did today," he pulled away and kissed her forehead, wiping tear stains from her cheeks. "There's still something I need to do tonight. Wait for me in your dorm, okay?"
Valeria's puffy eyes widened. "Are you okay to...?"
"No," Tristan said. "I just need to talk to someone else."
She nodded and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Tristan. I'll wait for you." Whispering the password, she slipped through the hidden entrance.
Tristan threw the Cloak over himself and headed back the way he came, fumbling the Map from within his robes. Umbridge was stalking circles in her office, the other professors gathered by the Great Hall, splitting off in pairs to patrol the corridors as he slipped past them up the Giant Staircase to the seventh floor.
"Holyhead Harpies."
The Gargoyle gave way and the rush of adrenaline heightened with each spiral turn. Tristan entered the office and slipped his wand into his sleeve. "Immobulus."
The chatting Portraits froze in their frames except for Albus Dumbledore.
"Most impressive," he chortled. "You've returned even sooner than I expected."
"Then you know my questions." Tristan pulled the Cloak off himself in one fluent motion. "You said that the Chamber of Secrets was opened before. I need to know everything that happened the second time it was."
Dumbledore's eyes lingered on the Cloak. "And why should I tell you anything, Tristan Peverell? Rumors of your doings have reached even as far up as this office. I should be terrified if only half of them were true."
"Or perhaps you should ignore the gossip of shallow little people," Tristan scoffed. "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, and spite spawns lies."
Dumbledore paled, a deep darkness worming into his eyes. "I've heard those words before, you know, many years ago..."
"By my father? Speaking to snakes doesn't make us the next Voldemort. Mrs. Norris might've been annoying but my sister's no murderer," Tristan retorted. "The true culprit is using our connection to Slytherin to make us look responsible. I need to find them and stop them."
Dumbledore pierced him with a calculated stare, smothering his beard out. "What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets, Tristan Peverell?"
"I know it's more than a legend; I found it myself last year."
"And the supposed monster?"
"A Basilisk," Tristan said. "But it's dead."
"Its gaze alone is fatal," Dumbledore hummed. "Which explains poor Myrtle Warren's lack of physical wounds."
"I know all about the first time it was opened by Voldemort already, I need to know about the last time."
Deep sorrow hung in Dumbledore's blue eyes. "The Chamber was opened in 1976 again, in an attack that robbed a young Muggleborn of her magic and would've killed her if your mother hadn't intervened. Initially, I suspected your father, that was until I saw his reaction to the possibility of your mother being hurt."
"My parents don't care about blood purity." Tristan rolled the piece of elder wood between his fingers. "Blood does give you power, only magic does."
"Still, I knew they were involved, especially when the very bathroom Myrtle Warren had been found dead in suddenly disappeared under the Fidelius charm."
Tristan peaked up. "They were afraid someone else might access the Chamber. Voldemort?"
Dumbledore bowed his head. "Despite not having set foot into the Castle for years, Tom had pushed some boundaries of magic further than any other. I suspect he created a method to transfer a piece of himself, including his ability to speak Parseltongue, onto a willing student."
"A form of possession." A cold chill slid down Tristan's spine. "Abstract soul magic..."
"The kind of magic never to be messed with." Dumbledore's expression darkened. "After a second attack on a muggle-born prefect, Thomas Avery, a seventh year, was eventually found dead underneath the Dark Mark, just the morning after a Prefect patrol with your mother; coincidentally, that is also when the attacks stopped."
"Avery," Tristan murmured. "The name rings a bell. I think there was a girl who graduated in my second year."
'Definitely someone to visit and check if they still harbor any grudges against my family....'
"I'm afraid that is all I know on the matter." Dumbledore folded his hands. "The supposed entrance to the Chamber of Secrets on the second floor remained hidden. However, from what I found out, Myrtle did manage to find her bathroom following the Battle of Hogwarts, meaning the Fidelius must've been lifted after my death."
'Dumbledore's death...'
Tristan studied the former headmaster's calm wrinkled face, flirting with the question. "Did my parents kill you?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "How could I possibly know the answer to that, my boy? Your parents and I didn't see eye-to-eye on many issues, our biggest difference being the means to which one might step in order to win a war." He polished his palms together. "What I do know is that at the time, there might've been three wizards alive capable of beating me in a duel, and your father was one of them."
"But so was Voldemort."
"Yes, so was Tom." Dumbledore fixed him with a piercing stare. "But why does it matter to you, Tristan?"
"It shouldn't." He shrugged. "The dead are dead. And if they did kill you, then they probably had a reason for it."
"Your parents saw a reason in every life they took whether it was, mine, Tom's, or that of an easily impressionable fifteen-year-old boy, who yearned to just belong somewhere. It didn't matter to them, for it all brought them closer to that sunset they imagined," Dumbledore hummed, the ghost of a small sad smile curving his lips. "There's a part of me that happily watches them raise their children and finally live the life they've always dreamed of after all the suffering they endured. But another part of me is terrified at the prospect of what our world might've suffered had they lost another, and what terrible doom awaits us, should their sunset start burning."
"Don't worry, Professor, I will never let that happen," Tristan murmured as he raised his wand, erasing their conversation from the distant echo threaded into the canvas and paint. "Obliviate."