November 10th, 1996
Tristan measured his steps from one pillar to the next, counting the footprints in the snow and drumming his fingers against his thighs.
'Where is she?' He stared at the Castle's empty entrance and the vast clock chiming above it, and turned sharp on his heels, resuming his pace. 'She said she'd be done by three o'clock.' The cool November air stung in his lungs with each misted breath. 'Has something happened to her?'
"Hey, big brother."
Tristan whirled around; Valeria skipped down the steps of the courtyard, wrapped in a cloak and scarf.
He rushed through the snow towards her. "Are you alright?"
"Depends." She flexed her wrist with a grimace. "My hand hurts like hell from all the lines Umbridge had me write."
"Just lines then?" Tristan breathed out a sigh of relief. "Nothing else?"
"And petty comments about the terrible dark magic I was exposed to growing up." Valeria rolled her eyes and slipped her fingers into some dark blue mittens, hooking her arm through his. "Let's go, I promised to meet the girls for some shopping."
"I'm sure you'll find plenty of time for that after we've met Mother and Father at the Three Broomsticks."
They strolled through the still, white scenery down the path into the village. Entering the busy pub, Tristan wriggled through the crowd of buzzing students and climbed the staircase in the back, knocking on the door to the very last room.
Footsteps padded from the other side and the door was wrenched open. Their mother snatched Valeria's right hand up and yanked the mitten off, twisting her wrists all around.
"Ouch!" Valeria squeaked. "What was that for?"
"Sorry, dear." All the tension left their mother in a quiet sigh and she drew Valeria against the prominent bump of her stomach. "I'm just glad to see you well."
'Uhm, okay...' Tristan blinked over the two golden heads at his father; relief shone in tired green eyes framed by dark rings. 'He looks like he hardly slept. Is he that worried about the attack?'
A pair of lithe arms dragged him into a fierce hug. "Come here, son."
"Oh, thanks," Tristan muttered into his mother's hair, arching his back to avoid crushing her belly. "You remembered me."
Their father closed the door and locked it with a tap of his wand. "It's good to see both of you again." He gestured at the small round table loaded with four steaming mugs. "Please, have a seat."
Tristan squirmed out of the embrace and slipped onto one stool, taking a few careful sips and letting the rich hot chocolate melt on his tongue.
'I should get Fleur some of this for Christmas. She'd like that; it's what we had for our first date'
Their father took a long breath. "Thank you for your letter, Tristan, even if what you shared worried us a great deal. Has anything else happened since?"
"No, it's been rather quiet, given the... circumstances."
"You mean your peers?" Their mother's face fell. "Are they giving you two a hard time?"
Tristan snorted. "It's not like Mrs. Norris was popular among the student body and everyone saw us sitting in the Great Hall when the attack happened. Somehow, certain folks are still stupid enough to believe that we'd leave self-incriminating evidence like that message, but there've always been those who held a grudge against our family, no?"
"I see," their father hummed. "The reason we asked you here today is because after debating the matter for a long time, we've come to a very difficult decision for this family." He paused, waiting for a brief nod from their mother. "There's no point talking around it, so... we've decided to pull you out of Hogwarts."
Valeria snorted hot chocolate through her nose and dropped her mug, gaping at them. "You're joking, right...?"
"I wish I were, sweetie, but this recent attack proves that the school is no longer safe," their mother said, vanishing the spilled chocolate with her wand and reaching out for her daughter's hand. "But it'll all be fine; only last year you mentioned that you thought Beauxbatons was quite nice and-"
"Beauxbatons?!" Valeria flinched, pushing back her chair. "I don't want to go to bloody Beauxbatons; all my friends are here!"
Their father cupped their mother's hand above the table. "I know this must come somewhat abrupt, sweetheart, but please sit back down and just let us explain first," he sighed, deep tired shadows in his eyes. "We promise that we only had your best interest in mind when coming to this decision."
"So our best interest is to tear us away from Hogwarts now that we've finally found footing here?!" Tears dwelled in Valeria's green eyes and she shook her head. "I don't want to hear any of this!"
"Valeria-"
"No, I'm going to my friends!" She jabbed her wand at the door, slamming it shut behind her and stomping away.
Tristan's parents let out a frustrated breath.
He shot them a long look. "Don't think for a second Galahad's reaction will be any better. He just got accepted into the Quidditch team and pretty much won the first match for them; you'll never get him to leave now."
"Damnit, Tristan!" His father slapped the tabletop with his flat palm. "Then it's on you to convince your siblings. This is exactly what you want, isn't it? Transferring to Beauxbatons? Being closer to Fleur?"
'Fleur.'
The longing stirred somewhere deep within Tristan's heart, sharp as steel and hot as flame, and her image rippled from the dwell of his thoughts in a wash of sweet vanilla, soft red lips and eyes bright as the summer sky.
Crossed golden rapiers loomed right behind her, brightening like dawn and drowning Fleur's face in amber rays.
"No." Tristan shuddered. "Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, it won't make a difference, they'll find us regardless."
'But this way she stays safe.'
His father froze. "They?"
"Seriously?" Tristan cocked his head. "You think I don't know who's behind this third opening of the Chamber?"
The remaining color left his father's face. "Tristan, I-"
"No, you're going to listen to me now," Tristan cut him off. "Four months ago, you warned me not to drag Fleur into our families' messes, and now you suggest I drag all our messes to her? You're trying to use my feelings for her to make me convince my siblings? Are you actually serious?!"
"Please, dear," his mother's voice shook, one hand on her belly. "Beauxbatons will be much safer for you."
"There is nowhere safe for us," Tristan laughed. "The Musketeers have a fucking Metamorphmagus; they can get into any place they like, so we might as well stay here in Britain!"
"We will not risk your lives," a sharp cold note colored his father's tone. "We'll pull you out of school entirely and teach you at home if we must to keep you safe."
"Oh yeah, great idea," Tristan mocked. "Let's lock Galahad inside his room for the next six years and Aurelia for the next ten years; I'm sure that'll work..."
"I know what an isolated childhood feels like, but it's still better than no childhood at all," his father whispered. "There's nothing more important to us than our children, Tristan, and nothing we wouldn't do for you."
Tristan fixed him with a pointed look. "You can try and drag Valeria and Galahad out of here and hide them behind our wards, but I won't leave. If you really want to make things safer for us, then start by telling me the name of that blue-haired freak so I can spot him on the Map."
His father swallowed hard. "I can't, Tristan, I'm sorry."
Tristan smothered a flash of searing irritation in sips of steaming chocolate. "Then there's little else to say for now, but as promised, you'll hear from me if anything interesting happens up here." He pushed his chair back. "I'm off to see Fleur, have a good day."
"Please talk to your siblings," his mother snatched his hand between hers, blinking fast. "We only ever wished to keep you safe."
Tristan left the Three Broomsticks and trekked over to Honeydukes, cupping the locket to his heart beneath his robes and pouring a little magic into the metal until it grew hot, a nervous flutter swirling through his stomach.
She wavered into sight on the steps of Honeydukes like smoke in the breeze, lustrous blonde hair held beneath a dark blue beret and wrapped in a matching coat, bright blue eyes and soft red lips greeting him with a small warm smile.
"Fleur," Tristan breathed, all the air slipping from his lips, and his heart lurched in his chest, pounding fiercer with each step she took toward him.
Fleur flung her arms around his neck, warm and soft against his chest. Her lips burned on his, her tongue slipping past, tasting of sweet cherry, robbing him of his breath and every sane thought until she pulled back and smirked up at him from beneath long lashes.
"You're staring again, mon Coeur." She drew him into a soft long kiss, arching herself into him. "I think it's slowly getting worse, non?"
"Can you blame me?" Tristan held her tight and breathed in sweet vanilla, some of the stress melting into her warmth. "You're so absolutely perfect."
"And you're all tense again." She sighed into the crook of his neck. "Is it that Umbridge woman?"
"No, not this time," Tristan admitted. "But my parents are considering taking us out of school because of the attack. They're worried for our safety, yet they insist on keeping me in the dark."
"Secrets complicate everything." A challenging little glint rose in Fleur's blue eyes. "Thankfully there are none between us anymore, non?"
'My wand... my Cloak... and my expedition to the ICW.' Tristan smothered a sharp twist of guilt. "Just a few tiny secrets left now." He pecked the tip of her nose. "If I become all boring, you'll fly away back to your fancy castle in France."
Fleur rolled her eyes. "Did you want to leave now?"
"We should. They're probably all waiting for us already, and the quicker we solve this riddle, the sooner my siblings can return to Hogwarts if my parents actually pull through with their threat."
She glimpsed back over her shoulder at Honeydukes with a small pout.
"I'll buy you as much chocolate as you can carry. Without magic, of course," he added, slipping his fingers through hers with a grin. "Are you ready, petite Fleur? It's been some time since you've had to use your sneaky siren magic, no?"
Her small smirk sent his heart flopping. "I leave you speechless without using my allure anytime you see me, mon Coeur." She pressed a long soft kiss to his lips. "It'll all work out, just trust me, and don't lose your head. I'm all yours, no matter what, remember?"
"I remember." Tristan spun the world back past them with a faint snap, stepping out into the dark hallway at Grimmauld Place.
Melania clutched her chest by the staircase. "Morgana, you nearly gave this old lady a heart attack."
"I don't see any old ladies around here." Tristan revealed Fleur. "I brought some company."
"Lovely to see you again, Fleur." Melania offered her a pitying look. "Be careful with that boy, my dear; mother magic may have blessed him with charm and half-decent looks, but I'm not sure it's worth it to keep him around. Now come along you two, Arcturus and Thomas are waiting in the drawing room."
Steel gray eyes snapped up at him as they entered.
"The cheeky brat apparated again, didn't he?" Arcturus muttered. "On my honor as a Black, I won't let Death have me until I find a way to lock you out of my wards!"
"Good luck with that, Grandpa." Tristan snorted and pulled back a chair for Fleur, dipping his head at the graying man in fine silk robes sitting opposite Arcturus. "You must be Lord Avery. Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"Tristan Peverell." Avery's sharp brown eyes dipped to Fleur as she took off her beret and shook out her long blonde hair, his lips curling in distaste. "The rumors about you are true then. I can see the... appeal, but to stain one of the oldest magical bloodlines like that..." He shook his head. "What a waste."
Sour heat flared through Tristan's veins, but Arcturus silenced him with a sharp glare. "I keep reminding him she's out of his league ever since we've met her, but to no avail so far. Sit down, boy."
Tristan swallowed his anger and slipped his wand into his sleeve, aiming it at Melania and Arcturus. "Confundo," he whispered under his breath as he took his seat.
"Well, go on then and ask your questions," Avery drawled. "Arcturus and I still have important business to discuss."
Fleur threaded her fingers through Tristan's beneath the table and a torrent of potent magic swept over him, soft as her sugary kisses, and warm as falling asleep by the lakeshore while holding her in the summer sun. He wrestled the urge to kiss her, biting down on the flare of longing blossoming in his breast.
"We were wondering if you could tell us a bit about your son." Fleur smiled and cocked her head, spilling silver hair down her shoulder.
"Thomas?" A vacant spark rose in Avery's eyes. "My son's been dead for longer than you live. What interest do you have in him?"
"He was murdered when the Chamber of Secrets was opened at Hogwarts." Tristan picked his words with great care. "It's opened again now, perhaps by the same people who did it the first time, so we hoped to learn what really happened back then from you."
"My son was hanged beneath the Dark Mark in the middle of Hogsmeade." Avery's gaze flickered back to Fleur. "The Dark Lord and his servants killed him, not some Heir of Slytherin."
"Voldemort admitted to it?" she asked.
"No." Color rose on Avery's cheeks and he loosened his collar. "No, he denied it, but I remember he was furious."
"How did you come into his services?"
"I was never one of his servants." Avery puffed his chest out. "The Dark Lord approached those of noble blood himself, my family amongst the first. I supported his vision of our world and financed his war, up until it cost me my son."
"You're still very proud of your son, no?" Fleur's smile sharpened and her eyes darkened a hue. "Tell me about him, Lord Avery."
Avery swallowed hard. "Thomas was a bright boy and very talented, so naturally the Dark Lord approached him and asked for his services. He honored my son beyond any other to carry out his orders at Hogwarts all by himself."
"Tell me about those orders," Fleur whispered. "What was Voldemort's plan with him?"
"I don't know and I never found out afterward." A gleam of hunger crept into Avery's eyes and he licked his lips. "Thomas refused to tell me anything. There were times I hardly recognized my own son."
"He treated you differently?" A faint glow began radiating from Fleur and her fingers grew hot to the point of pain in Tristan's hand. "How so?"
"He- he locked himself into his room with that book." A little drool collected in the corner of Avery's mouth. "He even wrote into it during dinnertime, never once looking up at us."
"Book?" Tristan raised his sleeve and touched their thoughts. "What book?"
The drawing room drowned in darkness; beyond Fleur's soft red lips, warm blue eyes, and flutter of her silver hair, a small black book lay open on a bedside table.
"Thomas read from it and wrote into it, sometimes for days and nights, even entire weeks ever since I first saw him with it, almost like it responded to him." Avery's voice echoed through his skull. "I tried it myself, but it never worked with me."
Before Tristan's mind's eye, black ink seeped through yellowed parchment like water through sand. The frustration bit deep and he flipped the pages back to the front, a name staring up at him from the upper right corner.
'Tom Marvolo Riddle.'
Tristan tugged their thoughts apart and blinked. 'That's it.'
"Thank you, Lord Avery, you helped us plenty." He gave Fleur's hot hand two squeezes, feeling her draw her magic back in.
Avery blinked and wiped drool from his mouth with his sleeve. "What the hell-"
"Unfortunately, we've got to get going now." Tristan canceled his charm on Arcturus and Melania as he rose to his feet, shame gnawing away at him with blunt teeth at their perplexed expressions. "Thanks for having us."
He tugged Fleur out of the drawing room and down the hallway to the hidden library, hot triumph whispering through his veins. "That book is how Voldemort intended for Avery to open the Chamber of Secrets. It belonged to him; I saw his muggle name written on it."
"It's a very clever medium," Fleur murmured. "You write into it like a diary, only it answers, and with each word, you pour more and more of yourself into it; your hopes, your fears, your dreams, until the imbalance is great enough for the book to pour something back into you."
"A form of possession, soul magic." Tristan shuddered as he ran his index finger along the spines of a heavy tome stacked in the back of the library. "Avery hardly recognizes his own son because there was little of Thomas left, most of it was Voldemort, and Voldemort was able to open the Chamber of Secrets."
"Bien sur," Fleur breathed and caught his hand. "I remember translating Persian runes about such magic during my internship."
"How does it work?" Tristan whirled around. "What's it called?"
"I don't know how it works," she whispered. "But it's called Horcrux."
"Horcrux." Tristan snapped the thick tome shut and tasted the word on his tongue. "I've spent every holiday in this library, or the Potter's, or our own, but I've never even read about that."
"That doesn't surprise me," Fleur murmured. "When my superior saw my translations, he was furious and made me swear never to mention it. The ICW monitors that kind of magic closely and he didn't wish to report anything to them."
"Great," he muttered, sagging against the shelf with a groan. "Just the sort of organization whose attention we want to draw."
Fleur bit her bottom lip. "I know someone who might be able to tell us more about it..."
Tristan studied the guarded expression and sighed. "It's Weasley, is it?"
She laughed, slipping her fingers into his. "Non, mon Coeur, I'm not that cruel."
The tome-stacked shelves jerked left and he stumbled over dew-soaked blades of grass, staring at the edge of a dense forest that stretched up to the thick dim clouds hanging on the horizon of a gray sky.
"Where are we?"
"The Black Forest in Germany." Fleur fixed her beret back on top of her long hair and pointed at the outline of a dark tower poking out from within the pines. "A wizard lives here who's an expert in the dark arts."
Tristan blinked. "And you know this because...?
"Goblin magic has its limits, so sometimes Gringotts is forced to work with external consultants, who treat delicate matters confidential." She offered him a small smirk. "I happened to overhear such an instant."
"Coincidentally, of course, because we both know you're rubbish at sneaking around."
Fleur blew him a kiss. "I have plenty of other skills that make up for it, non?"
They followed the slim path winding into the forest until they reached a clearing the size of Hogwarts' courtyard. The fire-blackened remains of a fortress's keep rose from within crumbling walls and a run-down gatehouse, looming shabby yet ominous.
The song of birds and the playful chime of the breeze through pine leaves died, and an odd chill crept down Tristan's spine, sinking cold blunt teeth into his heart and leaving a taste foul as ash on his tongue.
"I don't like this place," he murmured as they strode past mounds of fresh dirt and Celtic knots hanging from withering white wooden poles, all the hairs prickling on his neck.
"Je sais, the magic here feels terriblement," Fleur murmured, edging closer to his side. "Let's just ask our question and leave."
A door by the foot of the black tower opened with a screech of metal over stone. "Visitors," a rasping voice cackled from within the dark, followed by a dull rhythmic clank. "It's been too long since anyone but the goblins visited me."
Tristan smothered his unease. "We seek some information," he called. "If you reveal yourself, perhaps we can talk about it."
"Knowledge has its price." A lone shadow prodded from the doorway in steady dull thuds. Its long gaunt fingers wormed out of the sleeves of deep purple robes and caressed the eerie green crystal attached to a long wooden carved staff. "But you came all the way from Britain." The wizard studied them, red eyes burning bright against his sickly yellow skin and fizzling gray hair. "This must be some valuable information you seek..."
"What do you know about Horcruxes?"
The wizard's lips curled into a feral grin, revealing blackened crooked teeth. "Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction. Besides, aren't you two a bit young to be thinking about immortality?"
Tristan shared a frown with Fleur. 'Immortality?'
"I will tell you what I know about Horcruxes." The wizard ran his long pale green nails down the sides of the crystal attached to his staff. "But I have my price."
"Name it," Tristan retorted. "We have gold."
Cold high laughter ran over the clearing, scaring off a flock of ravens beneath the tower's steep black roof.
"I don't have any need for gold, I want something far more valuable." The wizard pointed one long gaunt finger at Fleur. "And it's been many years since I've had my last taste of veela."
A flash of icy fury flooded Tristan's veins.
"I'm not part of any deal." Fleur raised her chin and tugged him back, her fingers hot as flame and her eyes dark and huge. "We'll just find someone else to ask."
She put her other hand on Tristan's chest, stirring him around, but the world rotated with them and spun them facing the tower again.
An eerie green glow emitted from the crystal staff. "One does not step into the realm of Ekrizdis and refuse his demands; perhaps the goblins should've told you as much, little veela."
"Ekrizdis." The name stirred something and a shudder swept through Tristan. "Azkaban... the Dementors."
"Azkaban was my grandfather's work and the Dementors his loyal servants. This is my own realm and I too have those who serve me." Ekrizdis raised his long staff and a ripple of pale green magic burst from it, shaking the Celtic knots dangling on the wooden poles and sending clumps of dirt rolling from the fresh mounds. "The veela girl will share my bed tonight, but don't you worry, boy, you'll have her back by dawn, together with your answers."
Tristan let the cold fury trickle through him like ice, tasting its rush as he slipped his wand into his palm. "We're no longer interested in a deal. If you don't let us leave now, we're going to treat you like an obstacle."
Ekrizdis cackled. "Do your worst, child." He stabbed his long staff at them like a spear; a pale green beam of magic burst from the crystal at the tip and smashed into Tristan like a hammer, knocking him back against Fleur and sending them sprawling through mud into a mound of dirt.
Tristan heaved himself onto his elbows with a groan and curled his fingers. Two wands slapped into his palm and he tossed the rosewood one to Fleur as they crawled behind the mound.
"The entire clearing is warded," Fleur gasped. "Perhaps I could break them and apparate us out, but I don't want to leave without our answer."
"I don't think he's in the mood for answers." Tristan peeked over the top of the mound. The crystal staff glowed with eerie magic and he tucked his head back down, feeling the second crackling green beam whisper past his ear and searing his hair. "And I don't want to get hit by that again either."
"Come out, boy! There's nowhere to run," Ekrizdis hollered. "You can either die facing me or I'll make you watch as I break the little veela all night long."
Tristan shot Fleur a grim nod and they rolled out to opposite sides of the mound, bouncing to their feet. He buried Ekrizdis in a storm of hexes, blurring the motions of cutting, piercing, and rapturing curses together, and forced his arm faster until the air crackled with the haze of his magic.
Arrays of runes flared up on Ekrizdis's staff. The hail of Tristan's and Fleur's spells fizzled out in weak sputters against a faint haze of pale green magic, like water splashed onto hot rocks.
"Pesky Roman wands and spells." He tossed the staff from one hand to the other, twirling it around his wrist until the crystal at the top spewed green sparks, buzzing angrily, and he leveled it at them. "This is what real sorcery looks like."
'Oh fuck.' Tristan yanked Fleur to the ground as a surge of magic tore over them like a ripple spreading over a lake's surfaces. It cut through the ruined walls and pale wooden sticks like a searing green whip, flatting the clearing.
"We have to find a way past that shield!" He jumped back up and jabbed his wand at the scattered blackened roof tiles of the ruined gatehouse, hurling them at Ekrizdis, but they melted in the pale green aura, collecting in sizzling piles of lava at his feet.
Ekrizdis cackled in amusement as Fleur's bright flashes of silver magic exploded in colorful showers of sparks. "You're strong for your kind, little veela." His red eyes burned behind the eerie green veil spewing from his staff, "Perhaps, if Mother Magic wills, my seed flourishes tonight and my grandfather's legacy continues."
"No." Tristan's stomach churned and bile rose on his tongue, ice stirring in his chest. "Never!" The fury trickled through every limb and coiled tight within him, closing in cruel and dark and sharp around his heart, sinking in its ragged teeth and crooked claws, ripping out chunks of him.
Ebony mist exploded through his sleeve, scattering scraps of his cloak into the air and twisting over the clearing in furious hisses, swelling into slim lances and razor-sharp hooks as it fed on his rage.
Ekrizdis' eyes widened as the wrath slammed into his shield, hurling him to his knees, and he clasped the staff tight with both hands.
'Die!' Tristan suffocated him in the ink-black mist of his magic, letting it rip away at him in terrible screams like nails torn down glass.
"Mon Coeur, arrête!"
Fleur's voice broke the rage-indulged trance and he reigned his fury back in with a tired groan, tracking the concern in her wide blue eyes down to his hands.
Dark blood oozed from beneath his nails, joining the slim trickle from his wrist and seeping into the runes carved around the handle of the elder wand clutched between whitened fingertips.
"It's fine, it doesn't hurt." Tristan drew a huge breath and flexed his hand, feeling the faint tug of fatigue. "And it was worth it." He pointed his wand at the tower.
Ekrizdis staggered on legs wrenched in opposite directions, one arm a blood-spurting stump, and pale green liquid leaking from the patches of raw flesh on his face, trickling down into the tatters of his purple robes. "What is your name, boy?" he coughed a mouthful of blood.
"Tristan Peverell."
Recognition flickered through those red eyes and busted lips curled into a cold cruel grin. "You've had a little taste of that magic you wish to know more about, didn't you? Is that why you're here?" Ekrizdis covered the crystal atop his staff with the stumps of his remaining fingers. "Rumor has it you've already encountered my father's creations, Tristan Peverell. Now prepare to face mine and join them!"
He drove the blunt end of the staff into the mud by his feet and twisted it.
A faint tremble tore through the ground and the Celtic knots shuddered along the wooden poles. Long, thin mottled gray fingers broke through the surface, wriggling like maggots, nails scoring deep lines as they clawed and plowed the dirt away.
Tristan flinched back as the first of countless small, hairless skulls broke through the soil all around him and Fleur; hollow empty eye sockets stared at them from withered skin, and they glared, little mouths gaping open full of tiny sharp black teeth.
"Quelle horreur." Horror blossomed in Fleur's blue eyes. "Les enfants," she whispered, her wand trembling. "Ce sont des enfants."
"Their filthy muggle mothers bear them here in my tower after my seed prospers in their bellies for months," Ekrizdis cackled and cupped the pulsing green crystal with both hands. "The boys, I employ into my services, the girls-" he licked his lips with a feral grin, red eyes burning bright as coals as new pink skin stretching over his face and his arm regrew from the ragged stump. "The girls have been powering my sorcery for over a century."
Hundreds of small bodies straggled and jerked to their feet all around Tristan and Fleur, their thick rotten reek swamping his nose, choking his breath.
'Children.' Raw disgust gnawed at him like the huge fat maggots wriggling through their rotten flesh. Tristan turned on his heel, eyes roaming over them, and raised his wand in a flood of ebony mist. 'One from each muggle woman he raped. Double that since he only keeps the boys, whereas the girls...'
They threw themselves forward, swarming him like rats, their tiny fingers outstretched, screeching and screaming.
Tristan kicked the first one into the mud and his fury broke free; blazing crimson flames burst from the tip of the elder wand, billowing over the clearing and ravishing dozens of them in a rush of hungry whispering red tongues.
'I cannot save you anymore.' He slashed his arm and bathed the horde in fiendfyre, his bitter hatred coiling into the scales of a vast serpent. 'I can only stop there being more of you.'
The Basilisk lunged into the dark tower, shattering the windows, and Tristan flinched behind his arms from its searing heat as it burst through the roof, molten mortar weeping from the walls as it reared its head back with its maw torn wide open, fangs blazing bright as the sun.
The effort ripped a groan from Tristan's lips, forcing him to one knee, and the tower sagged above Ekrizdis in an avalanche of burning debris.
Azure flames sprang up around him and a warm hand rested on his shoulder. "Hold on, mon Coeur." Fleur joined his side with her wand raised, glowing in the slim tendrils of silver magic blossoming from her like the petals of a flower.
Her flames washed into the crimson fiendfyre and the inferno exploded in a storm that shook the ruined castle. Their magic seared through wood and cobblestone like boiling water through snow, scorching the screaming horde, melting pale withered skin and rotten flesh off small bones and leaving nothing but a steaming glistening pool of entrails and blackened spines.
Fleur pierced the remaining three of them on a wooden pole and Tristan whipped his wrist around, letting the flames swallow everything in their path until the bite of fatigue ripped the strength from him and he staggered into a pair of soft arms.
White ashes rained down on him, stacking in a thick carpet and the scent of scorched flesh stung his nose as he rose to his feet.
"It's not done yet, mon Coeur." Fleur's fingers slipped through his and she leveled the black smoke with a wave of her wand.
Ekrizdis crawled from beneath the collided entrance of his tower towards his staff. "My collection, my precious collection."
Tristan curled his fingers and tugged with the last drags of his magic, summoning the staff into his open palm, but Fleur took it from him and tossed it to her feet, crushing the green crystal below her heel and grinding out the shards.
"No!" Ekrizdis cried, reaching for the splinters. "What have you done, you foolish halfbreed!"
Fleur stabbed the blunt end of the staff through his hand and twisted it. "You disgust me!" Her shin shivered and sharpened, tiny white feathers poking out along her neck, and her eyes went huge and black as ink. "And I will make you suffer for raping all those girls." Steam twirled beneath her fingers and the wooden staff blackened as she forced it deeper through Ekrizdis' hand. "For ruining their lives, and what you did to their babies!"
"Fleur..." Tristan murmured, reaching out for her shoulder, but wincing from the heat. "We still need him."
"Je sais, mon Coeur," she hissed, her chin shivering back, and some of the darkness drained from her eyes, leaving them as dark as the midnight sky. "We had a question for you when we came here, remember Ekrizdis?"
"Go to hell, veela whore," Ekrizdis spat. "I'll tell you nothing."
"Then we're going to break you," Fleur whispered and ripped the staff from his hand, a cold smile curling her red lips as he screamed. "And just as you suggested, I will make Tristan here watch, because you belong to me."