THE TREMENDOUS TALE OF TRISTAN BELLWETHER

by LooptyLue7

A young boy from a long line of powerful dark wizards must navigate the wizarding world with mediocre magical abilities.

1. Chapter 1-4

THE TREMENDOUS TALE OF TRISTAN BELlWETHER

The Dragon and the Serpent

The Dragon is loud. He flaps his wings, and seeks to be seen and feared. His cries are like fire, the embers leaving nothing but desolation in their wake. This is not true for the Serpent. For unlike the Dragon, he is cunning and persuasive. He feeds on rats and vermin so that towns may thrive. All the while he waits to strike at the feet of his enemy with poisonous fangs. You see the Dragon nearly went extinct because he perceived he had no equal. But the Serpent will always thrive because he knows his adversary, so he shrouds his true ways in secrecy.

Thomas M. Riddle, 1975

PROLOGUE

I'm assuming if you're reading this, then you've heard the story of Harry Potter. There are few who haven't. While it is interesting, I must confess, the story is incomplete. To completely understand what took place all those years ago, one must first take into consideration the tremendous tale of Tristan Bellwether.

This is as important of a story that you will ever hear. I will try my best to be a reliable narrator. You see, this is the story of magic and wonder; heartbreak and sadness. I confess that I'm tempted to make it more jovial for the reader. While you may know the harrowing tale of "the chosen one" à la Harry Potter, those fantastic tales hardly tell the whole story. In truth, the wizards in his story fought for answers to meaningless questions regarding purity of blood, while a greater evil dwelled within the most forgotten parts of our world. Though not as glamorous, the details of the following story are equally as important so that one day you might remember this tale as a warning of what could've been if not for Tristan Bellwether.

CHAPTER ONE: MALICE AT MALFOY MANOR

It was a warm summer's morning when Mrs. Bellwether found herself restlessly staring at her bedroom clock. She would have been pacing if she could, but early that week a vexing woman had left her in bad shape with a particularly nasty cough. She had been hit with a surprisingly powerful hex before managing to strip her assailant of her wand. You see, Mrs. Bellwether like her, mother before her, was a witch. She was a short Ghanaian woman with stunning long brown hair and a beautiful smile.

She had had a lot of wizards eying for her affections by the time she had graduated from Bomanto School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but she had fallen for a particular English gentleman visiting Accra on holiday. Mr. Bellwether was a tall, dark skin man, who always wore a dragonhide cloak. He was lean but muscular, and very handsome. He wore his hair low on the sides, and on top of his head he had medium length dreadlocks that he wore tied into a ponytail. He had a charm about him that made many witches swoon. She had first noticed him because of his bright and inquisitive personality. He'd ask the locals loads of question about customs, how to find shops, and once he even stopped Mrs. Bellwether, who was at the time Agatha Bonsu, and asked where he might find a festival because he felt rather like dancing and if she would accompany him because he was a bit too timid to go on his own. She looked into his deep gray eyes and smiled.

That had been all it took, and before long they were picking out flowers, a wedding dress, and where they would live. She decided that she would move to London and they would move into the old Bellwether manor. Martin hated the place since it reminded him of his deceased parents but nonetheless, he agreed to make the manor his home as long as she was there to share it with him. They had both gotten jobs with the Ministry of Magic (the wizarding governing body in England) and before long Mrs. Bellwether was surprising Martin in his office with the news that she was pregnant with their first child.

That was nearly nine months ago and now here she lay alone in their bed waiting for her husband to return. Somehow, she knew that the baby was coming soon, and her husband Mr. Bellwether had been out all night again helping the Ministry with whatever it was they had him doing, she wasn't sure. She looked at her wristwatch uncomfortably while fidgeting with the band. Sweat poured down her forehead.

She was unaware that at that very moment, Mr. Bellwether was doing everything in his power to get back to his wife. He had been given a very special assignment by the ministry of magic but despite his every effort, he found it particularly difficult to abandon this project no matter how hard he tried. He knew his wife needed him, but as he approached the long avenue he found that it was quite impossible to steal himself away from his present company. He stopped and turned about face on the old cobble stone pathway looking directly into the eyes of a man he very much hated; Lucius Malfoy.

The noon sun beat down upon the two men with sweltering precision. Lucius had just stepped out of his house to greet Martin, and already he begun to sweat profusely. Martin, however, stood there comfortably in his long dark leathery cloak, oblivious to the heat. He wore black gloves, black boots, and pants of a loose black fabric.

Lucius approached him fervently with a bright smile spread wide across his face. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and long blonde hair, and it was peculiar to see such an elated expression on his chiseled face. He wore what surely must've been expensive clothing. His cloak was of black silk with shiny green embroidery, his shirt was a soft pillowy white, and his pants were as green as the eye of an emerald.

"It's been a long time old friend." Martin called out.

"Yes, it certainly has."

The men embraced and pulled apart to examine each other.

"Looking good Lucius. You finally started to put on weight." Martin stated with a smirk.

"I assure you, it's my lovely wife's cooking." Lucius replied with laugh.

"I thought you were going to get rid of that thing." Martin pointed back at the tall gilded gate on which a dazzling peacock pranced back and forth.

Lucius laughed harder this time. "It's grown on me. But come now, we mustn't dawdle outside. These are dangerous times." Lucius said, all of a sudden stern.

Lucius motioned for Martin to follow him into the house. When the two men crossed the threshold, the door shut behind them and a series of locks clicked into place.

Martin looked around the foyer which housed statues, sculptures, and old paintings of wizards that followed him with their eyes.

Lucius offered Martin a seat in the next room.

"I'm surprised to see you moved into your parents' old place, you used to hate it here! It looks livelier now, though. Your father preferred colours that were a bit too dark and dreary for my liking." Martin jibed.

"This coming from the man who wears nothing but black." Lucius laughed.

"Too true." Martin laughed as well.

"It's been five years without a word from you." Lucius continued seriously. "Did you find the cure you were looking for?"

"I wish it were that simple, Lucius." Martin answered. "I'm with the ministry now and they have me running errands for them that are a waste of my time. Meanwhile, I've had to find many hard to find wizards, and then I've had to find the wizards that trained those hard to find wizards."

"And the Dark Lord knew of your comings and goings?" Lucius asked intently.

Martin scoffed sycophantically, "Who? 'No Nose'?"

At the name "No-Nose" Lucius became startled. He looked over his shoulder to make sure that they were still alone.

"Still calling him that, I see. It's not wise." Lucius warned.

"We all know that his name is jinxed. Besides 'No-Nose' is catchy. Or perhaps 'He Who Has No Sinuses.'" Martin laughed to himself.

Lucius squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. "Surely you're one powerful wizard, but it would be unwise to assume that your power rivals that of the Dark Lord."

At this, Martin looked annoyed. "Do you really think that half-being could beat me? A man- Yes, a man, Lucius…"

Lucius, who was about to interject, sat there tense, quiet.

Martin continued. "…is only as powerful as those who prop him up. Nevertheless, for the time being I am one of those people. He has knowledge that I seek, so it works in my favor that our interests are aligned. Even still, though I take orders, I will never be branded like cattle." He eyed Lucius's left arm.

There was a tense moment between the two before a tall beautiful woman walked into the room. Her long blonde hair draped down her shiny green pajama blouse. As she entered the room, she was surprised to see Martin, who was just as surprised to see her. She struggled to find her words. Her cheeks went scarlet as she made a fruitless attempt to disguise her hatred of him.

"The 'dragon' has landed at Malfoy Manor. What brings you here after all these ye-" She began, but Martin cut her off.

"Cissy, you're pregnant!" He shouted.

Martin looked from Narcissa to Lucius back to Narcissa.

"Narcissa, you must get back to bed. You are supposed to be on bedrest." Lucius insisted.

"Congratulations, you two!" Martin exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically. He made to shake Lucius's hand, but just then, an ill feeling came over him.

"What's wrong?" Narcissa asked.

"I can sense powerful magic." Martin replied, tension in his voice.

"Not to worry, we have this house warded with enough enchantments to give anyone of the Order of the Phoenix serious problems. Not to mention, the alarms should give us enough time to-"

Martin reached for his wand just as the windows shattered and bright red, green, yellow, and purple lights streaked through the room.

Martin silently waved his wand as a powerful shield charm appeared on all sides of the trio.

Lucius drew his wand angrily. "Stop! My wife is pregnant, you fools!" He raised the sleeve of his left arm and touched the tip of his wand to the tattoo on his forearm.

There was another loud crash and the trio turned to see the front door blown off its hinges. A flurry of spells flew in their direction but Martin again waved his wand and black flames erupted from the tip, forming a wall of black fire.

Suddenly there were loud bangs all around them as cloaked figures began to appear throughout the room.

"Aurors!" Martin cried out. "Go! Get her out of here!" He pointed to Narcissa who was wandless and had run to shield herself behind a long table."

Lucius made to run towards her but a spell whizzed right past him singeing his robes. He shot a hex at the wizard who attacked him but it was deflected and countered.

Lucius dived out of the way, as the spell hit one of the legs of the dining room table.

"Stop! You'll hit my wife!" He screamed. "He pointed his wand at the man. "Avada Kadavra!"

The auror again evaded his attack and made to aim his wand but he cried out in pain as a black hand of flames grabbed him by his left leg, completely burning through his calf. The man roared in absolute agony.

Lucius, in astonishment turned to see that Martin was dueling with no less than 12 aurors. He blocked and parried as the black flames danced across the room. The few spells that managed to pierce the flames were deflected off his mysteriously enchanted cloak. Martin had drawn his hood up over his head for extra protection.

The man on the ground continued to wail, holding what was left of his leg. Malfoy aimed his wand at the defenseless wizard.

"Avada Kadav-"

"Expelliarmus!" shouted a tall dark haired wizard.

Malfoy's wand flew through the air and the man caught it.

"Alastair, are you alright?!"

"Do I look alright, Frank?!"

"Stupefy!" shouted Frank. Malfoy fell backwards limp. Frank then turned to aim his wand at Martin who was now surrounded on all sides, though nearly a dozen wizards lay dead on the tiled floor around him.

"There's no reason to die today, son. Put down your wand and come quietly." An older, graying wizard called out firmly.

A young witch approached the old wizard on his left, she was trying to catch her breath from the immense heat being emitted from the black flames that were still dancing around the foyer. She aimed her wand squarely at Martin's chest and yelled, "Bombarda Maxima!"

Blue light streamed across the room and the spell found its mark. Martin did not attempt to defend the spell because he was more concerned with losing focus on the other 11 wizards and witches who had him surrounded. The spell hit him and almost caused his legs to buckle but the bulk of the spell's energy was absorbed by his cloak and rapidly expelled back out into the room.

The explosion was massive, causing pieces of the walls and ceiling to collapse. Dust and debris blanketed the room with momentary darkness.

Martin's reflexes were fast and he cast a shield charm over Narcissa, as debris bounced off of the invisible wall over her head.

Martin hurried to Narcissa's side.

"You have to get yourself out of here." He told her sternly.

"My husband. I can't leave him."

Martin searched her deep blue eyes. "Cissy, I'll stay with him. I've never been one to run from a fight." He smiled as he walked towards the fray.

Narcissa nodded and whispered something inaudible to him before running to the far end of the room.

"Sir, the enchantment on his cloak is too strong! We can't pierce it." The young witch called out.

Martin could hear the aurors fumbling around in the darkness trying not to trip over debris. Out the corner of his eye he saw Narcissa driving her shoulder into the door at the back of the room but it would not open.

He knew casting a spell to clear the door could cause the rest of the house to collapse onto her and he did not want that. He prepared himself to fight to the death. He reached into his cloak and drew out a second black wand. Martin slowly ran the wands down his opposite arms and whispered a spell to himself. At that moment, the room became bright as day. The sleeves of Martin's coat had erupted into brilliant blue flames that contrasted the black ones he had cast earlier. He ran at the room full of aurors with murder in his eyes.

He dodged, parried, and blocked the jinxes, hexes, and curses being hurled at him. The way he danced across the room was a thing of beauty, never a wasted movement. He flicked his left hand at a muscular wizard with red hair, and poisonous spiders appeared out of thin air, swarming him. The wizards screaming died out in a matter of seconds. Martin flicked his right hand at a witch with short blond hair, right as she began to aim a killing curse his way. He hit her squarely in the abdomen and her body turned to ash.

"Narcissa! Aim your strongest curse at her! All of you!" shouted the old wizard.

"Sir? She's pregnant." Shouted the witch from earlier.

"Do you want to die here, Doogle?!"

"No, sir." Doogle replied hesitantly.

"Than do as I say! All of you, on my mark."

Martin ran towards Narcissa who was cowering in the corner near the door. He pointed both wands at her and yelled, "Protego!" Two powerful shields appeared, one within the other.

He gave Narcissa a smile of assurance as the first group of spells hit him in the back. The wind was knocked out of him but he did not falter. A second group of spells hit him in the side as he made to turn around. The burning in his lungs this time was severe and he dropped to one knee. He looked up to see ten wands pointed at his face.

Narcissa let out a scream of fury. She tried to reach out for him but the wall he had put between them was too strong.

Martin did not raise his wand. He did not cry for mercy, nor did he grimace. He simply sighed to himself in finality as the green lights sped towards his hooded form. He tapped his wands on the hardwood floor simultaneously as the spells tore through his cloak, hitting him in the head, arm, chest, and legs. He collapsed onto the ground.

Narcissa's screams were deafening.

The aurors let out sighs of relief but they were too distracted to notice the final curse sent there way.

"Move you fools!" Moody shouted. He crawled away as quickly as he could with his mangled leg. It wasn't good enough, but to his surprise, Frank grabbed him and pulled him clear of the blast radius of the spell. He was barely out of range when the floor opened up forming a seemingly endless hole into oblivion. The other aurors never had time to scream as they fell to their deaths. The floor instantly closed up behind them.

At that moment, there were several loud bangs as Death Eaters apparated into the room with wands drawn.

"Longbottom, we have to go!" Moody shouted out with urgency.

Frank Longbottom looked bewildered and horrified as he looked around the room counting the bodies of his fallen comrades.

"Frank!"

Frank turned to Moody and nodded. He grabbed Moody by the arm and they both disapparated.

Little did they know that they were hardly noticed by the Death Eaters, who were distracted by the lifeless form on the floor.

A tall, muscular man with a mask obscuring his face looked down upon the body. "It appears that even the great Martin Bellwether couldn't escape death in the end." He spoke as if he pitied Martin.

Another masked figure turned to the tall man, before turning back to look down at Martin. "Too true, Yaxley. Too true."

At that moment pain shot through Agatha. She knew now that the baby was coming. She moaned loudly, and a little creature about 2 and a half feet tall ran into the room as another taller creature stood bashfully at the doorway of the room. Both had long pointy ears, large blue eyes, and long carrot shaped noses. They were what were commonly known as house elves and the elder of the two, a grave looking female, looked at Mrs. Bellwether with empathy in her eyes.

"Madame is it time?" the elder elf asked.

"Yes Bimpy… I… I think the baby's coming." Mrs. Bellwether let out a strained sigh.

Bimpy snapped her fingers and began calling out orders to the younger elf. The elf was much younger, in fact, and displayed the awkwardness, of a teenager that had not quite adjusted to his growing body.

"Leally, bring me some moist towels and some of the orange birthing potion." Bimpy demanded in a kind, but commanding tone. She had a soft, melodic voice.

Leally who looked extremely nervous turned around, running straight into the bedroom door, which was still ajar. He stumbled for a moment, caught his footing, and ran off down the long corridor. You'd think that the elves had no magic at all, but in actuality it was quite the opposite. House elves were known for their powerful magic, but seldom performed it in the presence of witches or wizards.

Bimpy helped Mrs. Bellwether steady her breathing and place more pillows under her lower back. Once her breathing finally calmed to short rhythmic breaths, Mrs. Bellwether spoke again.

"Bimpy?" she asked.

"Yes Madam." The elf replied.

"I'm scared… I don't think.." she let out a long breath before continuing. "I don't think… I'm going to make it… I love you, you know that… …and I want you to take care of my child—"

"Madam, you mustn't say such things. Your child will have a mother and a father and want for nothing." Said the elf boldly, almost as if she were meaning to convince herself of this as well.

"No." Mrs. Bellwether smiled. "I'm going to be with my husband soon. Take care of-"

At that moment Leally stumbled into the room with a number of vials of potion in his large outstretched hands.

Bimpy took the bright orange vial carefully from Leally's hand and pulled off the rubber stopper. In an instant, a pleasant flowery sent engulfed the room.

"Here madam, you must drink." Bimpy held the vial up and tipped the contents into Mrs. Bellwethers parted lips.

Mrs. Bellwether swallowed forcefully, but within moments began to looks as if new life had been given to her.

A number of things happened within the next few tense hours. Amidst the groaning, shouting, and sometimes crying, Leally lost track of time. Bimpy was giving out orders. Items were knocked all over the place from Leally trying his best to follow these orders. Eventually Bimpy would tell Leally to simply hold Mrs. Bellwethers hand, and that he could leave the rest to her. A couple more seconds, minutes, or maybe hours later and there he was, a beautiful baby boy. Bimpy wrapped the baby in a warm blanket and presented him to his mother.

With her remaining strength, Agatha reached out and lightly grasped the baby's hand. "My beautiful baby boy…" She turned to Leally looking him deeply in his big blue eyes before she continued. "Keep him safe."

Leally nodded as tears poured out of big round eyes.

At this Mrs. Bellwether released, the child's hand and her arm fell limply at her side. She shut her eyes, and spoke no more. The newborn child burst into loud cries.

It was a summer day when this happened.

CHAPTER TWO: THIS TIME ONCE MORE

Tristan was a boy like most boys in England, and like most boys he loved sports, music, and getting into trouble he ought not to be into. He was a boy of tall stature and he had cheeks that always possessed traces of a smile. He was a boy of privilege and of means. There was very little in his life that was not afforded to him if he were only to ask. Nevertheless, Tristan had a secret, one that he had never shared with anyone outside the walls of Bellwether Manor. He was a child without parents. Well, that wasn't entirely true, was it? He was cared for and raised by an old house elf by the name of Bimpy.

Bimpy was a strict guardian and thorough in her teachings. She was a wise old elf who raised Tristan as best she could, given the unusual circumstances. She had found the name Tristan in book about an old muggle love story (muggle is the name that wizards gave non magical people). Bimpy loved reading and had an affinity for muggle romance novels. She also took to reading muggle biographies, stories of adventures, and even one or two books on parenting.

All in all, Bimpy raised Tristan as if he was her own child. Still, she was quite shocked upon learning that human children must eventually be enrolled in a school. She failed to send him to primary school until he was nearly six years old. A nosey round faced woman had found him playing in a nearby park, how he got there, she was unsure, but she accosted the boy and threatened to report his parents to the proper authorities, as all children his age should be in school. Bimpy, who was close by, had to hide for fear of being seen by a muggle, and decided at that moment that it would be best to send him to a muggle primary school. This however, proved very difficult as Bimpy had the hardest time keeping him in school. Every few years she would have to enroll him in a new school when his magical abilities were noticed by his peers.

Bimpy, knowing little of the norms of wizard's magic, did not find it peculiar that Tristan could often perform powerful magic without the use of a wand. The boy had learned to harvest his magic much like the house elves who did not use wands. Bimpy taught him many spells for everyday life, and Leally, Bimpy's biological son whom Tristan affectionately referred to as "brother", taught him jinxes that Bimpy would not teach him or did not want him learning.

When he was eight, Tristan accidently turned a fellow classmate's book into a tarantula. The class erupted in shrieks and Tristan was reprimanded, for what his teacher had assumed had been a pet spider he had brought from home. Bimpy was furious at Leally that night, though he apologized repetitively assuring her that it would never happen again. It did happen again.

At age 9, Tristan was taught a jinx to turn flowers into fireworks by Leally. Leally, thinking that the spell would be too difficult for Tristan, thought nothing of it. He would later receive another stern scolding when Bimpy found out that Tristan had been reprimand for setting off fireworks in the schoolyard. The outrage from the other parents was so strong, that Bimpy had to withdraw Tristan from that school, and send him to yet another school even farther away. Leally felt bad about this and apologized to Tristan frequently, but Tristan assured him that he had only been there for a short while and had therefore not had the chance to make friends.

In truth, Tristan hated going to school because he was always bullied for his odd looks. He had dark gray eyes and his coarse hair was a peculiar black spectacled with gray, giving him the look of child who was much older than his years. He was tall for his age, but very thin, which lead to the other kids having an easy time beating him up on several occasions. However, when his magic would start to manifest, the bullying would immediately cease. Of course, every new school ended up like that last, with all the children frightened of him.

Bimpy who was at her wits end, remembered reading in one of her muggle parenting books that bullied children often learned to thrive in their school environment when they were put in martial arts classes. Bimpy hoped that this would teach Tristan to control his magic if he could otherwise defend himself, so she enrolled him in Kung Fu. Her hunch was correct, Tristan stayed at his next school until the age of 11, when he was suspended, not for defending himself, but for defending a classmate from a gang of bullies led by one very round, very angry, blonde boy. He had hit him squarely in the nose, causing the boy to roll down a hill and into a rose bush. Of course, his parents were highly upset at having to remove thorns from the boy's backside for half of the night. They told Tristan as much the next day, and demanded that he be expelled from that school. Fortunately, he was allowed to finish out that school term but he was not allowed to come back.

On August 30th, 1991, just days before the start of the new school term, Tristan laid out on the lawn staring at the clouds next to Leally. The sun shined down on his mahogany skin. He unconsciously moved his hand through a gray patch in his hair. The gray, of course, was a result of his mother being hit by a hex before his birth, Bimpy repeatedly told him this when Tristan repeatedly asked.

Tristan knew little about his parents, besides what he could squeeze out of his father's portrait. Little known to him; however, was the private agreement Bimpy had made with his father's portrait to keep certain aspects of the wizarding world secret from Tristan until he was old enough to understand. Bimpy did not much like wizards and preferred muggles, though she had never actually met a muggle.

Tristan reached over and yanked a tall blade of the deep green grass at its base. He began tying it into little knots unconsciously.

"I'm starting a new school tomorrow." He said absently to Leally.

"This is the fifth one, isn't it?" Leally asked in his high nasally voice.

"I'm not sure. I stopped counting." Tristan replied. "But for some reason, before the first day of a new school, I get nervous. Like someone won't want me there."

"Nonsense! You quite often wind up being the most popular kid at school." Leally chimed in encouragingly.

"That's because of the magic, but before I… slip up, I'm usually the awkward new kid that nobody talks to." Tristan let out a sigh. "I want to have friends! Real friends!"

Leally looked a bit hurt and didn't respond.

Seeing the hurt on his face, Tristan quickly corrected himself. "Leally, you're my brother. It doesn't get much closer than that."

Leally gave him a slight smile. "Well, brother, it's best to get all the fun in we can before you get loads of homework. I hear there's a circus down in Wandsworth. If we're really careful, we can catch the show without being seen."

Tristan nodded in approval. Leally reached out and grasped his wrist and with a snap of his fingers they both disappeared with a loud crack.

Later that night, when Bimpy had asked them where they had been all day, and why they had neglected their chores, Leally had a hard time making up a story as to where they had gone, and why they had been gone so long.

"Uhh. We went down to the lake. Decided to go for a swim. We weren't seen." He hurriedly answered in short brief sentences.

In actuality, Leally and Tristan had managed to sneak high into the rafters, and watch the circus performance from above the crowd without ever being seen. Well, once a young boy pointed up at Tristan, but the child's mother shushed him and continued on watching the performance.

Tristan, who had found sitting on the steel beam very uncomfortable after about an hour, was exhausted from the long day and quickly ate his plate of diced chicken, steamed rice, and broccoli (Bimpy was a brilliant cook). Tristan bowed his head to thank Bimpy for the meal, before heading to the sink to clean his dish. It only took a few short scrubs to clean the sparse remains of the delicious meal. He placed his plate on the dish rack, and without another word, went up to his room to head to bed.

The next day, Bimpy woke him early in the morning to make sure that he would not be late on his first day.

She hurried him into the bathroom to shower, brush his teeth, and change clothes. When he had finished, he walked down the old winding staircase, following the fresh smell of bacon and eggs, down the hall and into the kitchen.

"Straighten your collar," Bimpy said as she scraped a hot pan of eggs into a plate set at the edge of the long kitchen table.

Tristan sloppily attempted to fix the collar of his striped black and gray polo. He approached the table, but instead of sitting, he lifted the plate to his chest, grabbed the fork set near to where the plate had been, and began eating while standing up.

Bimpy scolded him, "You're going to get food everywhere! Sit down and eat!"

It was too late. Tristan had swallowed down the eggs in a matter of seconds. He put the plate down and began to speak with bacon still crunching loudly in his mouth.

"So em gon to take de tran?" He asked through jumbled words. When Bimpy didn't respond. He swallowed and continued. "I'm going to take the train right?"

"Yes, it leaves at 7 am sharp. It's half 6 so you have time." Bimpy responded.

Tristan gave Bimpy a hug goodbye, jogging out of the front door.

The station was probably only a ten minute walk, but Tristan preferred to practice apparating, he had only done it successfully once before, but even Leally was stern about Tristan apparating at such a young age. Tristan walked into his backyard and hid behind a large tree. He squinted his eyes in concentration and snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. He tried again and again, and finally he felt a tug on his stomach as he was squeezed together from all sides and sucked into a finite hole. He disappeared with a loud bang and then reappeared less than a foot away from where he started. Tristan groaned because he was no closer to getting to the train station.

He called out for Leally, and moments later, the groggy house elf was standing next to him in a pair of flowery red pajamas.

"You called?" Leally asked trying to hold back a yawn.

"Yeah, can you take me to the station?"

Seconds later there was another loud crack and he was standing near a tall oak tree, only a couple yards away from the country train stop. It would be a 45 minute train ride into London, which Tristan found highly irritating. Bimpy would not allow him to risk being seen apparating so close to roves of muggles.

He waited patiently for the train, and a young couple, probably in their early 30's approached the platform with their daughter who was about his age. The man and woman looked solemn and neither spoke as the daughter stood with her eyes to the ground. The train came shortly and he fidgeted with his pocket change as the train came to a complete stop. The conductor stepped off of the train as all of the doors opened. He stepped on and paid for his ticket.

When he arrived in London he pulled out a map that Leally had given him one week prior. He had circled where Tristan's new school would be located. Tristan took off at a light brisk pace, for he loved to run, and took off down the main street towards his new school.

He arrived early, and the schoolyard was empty. It was a small school, with an old factory feel to it. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. The paper was his school itinerary, and he used it to navigate his way to his classroom. Seated in the corner of the classroom was a friendly looking woman in her early twenties. She hardly noticed as Tristan walked in and was startled when he spoke.

"Um, shall I sit anywhere or are the seats assigned to us?" He asked as politely as possible.

The teacher smiled jovially and waved at him. "Hello, what is your name?"

"I'm Tristan." He said slowly. "Woods." He added.

Tristan had been instructed by Bimpy not tell anyone his true last name secret. He was warned that his father was betrayed and that there were those who may seek to harm him as well.

"My name is Miss Thompson." Her eyes returned to her desk as she rummaged through the papers scattered upon her desk. "Excuse me, I've just been making name tags for you all." She picked out a piece of paper scanned it and then motioned for Tristan to come to her desk.

He approached the desk, and could the see the names of his classmates written out in various coloured markers. She handed him his name tag which was written in bright green letters.

"Here you go Tristan, you may sit where you like." She paused for a second as she noticed his hair for the first time. She smiled cordially, folded the paper so that it would sit up on his desk, and handed it to him.

Tristan picked out a desk in the back of the class, and sat there waiting for the other students.

At eight o'clock, the teacher stood up, with her jumble of papers now organized into a neat stack and she began to walk from desk to desk placing the nametags down. She had run out of nametags by the time she reached the desk next to Tristan. She eyed him curiously.

"I hope you're not trying to hide back here." She joked.

"I prefer not to sit somewhere where I can have things thrown at me from behind." He replied blandly.

"I don't allow that sort of behavior in my class. No one will pick on you. Understand?" she nodded her head assuringly.

Tristan smiled and nodded in return, "Okay."

Several minutes passed away in silence and then Tristan saw a peculiar sight. The family from the train marched into class with the father practically dragging the daughter. The mother was in tears, sobbing silently. The father was wearing a long emerald green cloak with a salmon coloured suit and tie. He looked like someone out of a circus. Next to him was a woman in a dark purple cloak and shiny yellow dress, and a pale girl around Tristan's age with long dark black hair.

"I don't wanna go!" The girl yelled. Her long velvety hair was draped over her face but he could see that her face was soaked in tears.

The father who had at first seemed stern, reached up and began wiping tears from his eyes as well. He turned to the teacher with a forced look of professionalism.

Miss Thompson was startled by the visitors, and up until that moment, was staring at the family dumbfounded. She walked over to greet them.

"Hello, and who are you my dear?" She asked, directing her question at the girl with the dark hair.

When she did not answer, her father piped up and said, "W-we've come to drop off our daughter for her day of lessons. " The man was clearly fighting back tears. "We are the Cobberlys. Are you Ms. Thompson?" he spoke with a shaky voice trying to remain calm.

"Yes," she answered. She got up from her desk and walked over towards the family.

"My daughter is new to the 'public school system' and she's just a bit nervous." said Mr. Cobberly

"Well, this is a great school and I'm sure she'll make loads of friends." She said as she kneeled down to meet eyes with the girl. "Hello, what's your name?" she asked the girl again.

The girl wiped her eyes and replied, "Cliona." She forced out.

"That's a pretty name."

Tristan couldn't help but stare at Cliona because of how oddly she was dressed. She wore an oversized jumper with bright flower patterns dancing across an orange background. Her skirt, looked more like the bottom half of a formal dress, and was an odd shade of lime green. Likewise, she wore boots that seemed as if they were made for trouncing around in the mud, rather than sitting in a class room.

As if she could sense his gaze upon her, the girls head darted up and she locked eyes with Tristan. She immediately stopped crying and scowled at him.

"Cliona, I wasn't expecting an extra student. I hope you forgive me but there's an extra seat in the back there next to Tristan." She motioned to the back of the classroom.

That seemed to make matters worse, the girl now completely just stared at Tristan, seemingly angry that he had gawked at her while she was crying.

"You'll be alright honey. Ms. Thompson will take good care of you, and you'll learn a lot." Cliona's mother spoke in a shaky voice and she leaned in to hug her daughter. Her father leaned in as well, and within moments they were waving their tearful goodbyes.

"First day in public school?" Ms. Thompson asked.

"Yes." Cliona replied blandly.

She walked to the seat in the back of the class next to Tristan but did not say a word to him.

She eyed Tristan as she approached the desk next to him, but she did not speak. She continued to glower as she seated herself facing the teacher. Tears slowly began to slide down her cheek.

Both Cliona and Tristan sat there in silence as the minutes ticked by, and Miss Thompson sat in the front of the class organizing her lesson material for the day.

Tristan, feeling a bit bored waiting there, decided to break the silence. He leaned close to Cliona speaking in a whisper.

"Oi, why are you crying?"

When she didn't respond he continued.

"Is it something I did?"

Cliona continued to face the front of the class, as she muttered angrily under her breath. "Why would it be something you've done?"

"I don't know."

"Anyways, it's none of your business." She snapped.

"Not very nice, are you?" Tristan laughed playfully.

Cliona scowled and balled her hands into fists.

"I'm Tristan."

The girl didn't reply.

Tristan sighed. "Well you don't have a nametag on your desk, so it's best if you introduce yourself."

She scowled at him. Taking this as a fair warning, he left her alone and focused on the first trickle of children beginning to make their way into the classroom.

The room quickly became filled with the noise of excited school children, back from their summer holiday. The children were boisterous and hardly noticed Tristan and Cliona sitting quietly in the back of the classroom.

"Find your seats, everyone!" The teacher called out cheerfully. She had to speak very loudly to get their attentions. "I've given you nametags, which will be on your desks."

The children now made their way through the desks searched for their names. It was then that they began to notice Tristan and Cliona sitting quietly in the back of the classroom. One by one, the children's eyes surveyed Tristan, his streaked gray hair and dark gray eyes, but there attention would inevitably fall on Cliona who, like her parents, looked like something out of a circus. Her bright green poncho and flowery pajama pants caused the other children to snigger amongst themselves.

A curly blonde boy with braces sat a few seat down from Tristan, to the left of Cliona, who didn't seem to find interesting. The boy stared at Tristan's hair, as children tended to do, and then sat down hesitantly.

"Hello," said the curly haired boy. "You must be new here." My name is Robbie." He looked up at Tristan's hair again. "Bloody hell, what's up with your hair?" he blurted out louder than he intended.

Many of the students turned to look at Tristan. Cliona turned her head slightly, feigning disinterest.

"I was struck by lightning!" he said loudly so that all of the gawking student could hear.

Cliona's face burned red as children started pointing at her. A thin boy with dark brown hair and an arrogant smile approached the desk in front of hers. He read his nametag, but did not sit down.

"I've never seen you before" the boy said callously.

The blonde girl seated to his right, and in front of Tristan, chimed into the inquiry. "Oi, John, I think she's new. She dresses as weird as those folks down in the village."

"Do your parents always let you walk out the house like that?" The boy asked, this time smirking.

Cliona didn't answer.

A chubby redheaded boy, who had no doubt decided that he didn't want to be associated with Cliona moved his desk up, to put more space between himself and Cliona, before sitting.

John turned to look at the towering figure of the portly redheaded boy. "You're new here too. Good choice not sitting too close to her."

The redheaded boy had an intimidating manner about him, so John went back to glowering at Cliona.

The blonde girl faced Cliona, "Don't mind John there, he's a bit of a prat. It's okay if your parents were too poor to afford proper clothes. My parents donate loads of clothes for the less fortunate. As a matter of fact, I think those are my old pajamas." She pretended to look closely. "Those are my old pajamas!"

The students within earshot began to laugh loudly. Even the stern redheaded boy cast a mocking glance at Cliona.

Tristan felt bad for her, but there was hardly a thing he could do to help her. The bell rang and Ms. Thompson eventually called the attention of the class to her.

At lunch time, Cliona did not eat in the cafeteria. Tristan sat at the far end of a long table by himself. At the other end were a group of students, including the blonde girl from earlier and John. No one bothered Tristan. No one talked to him.

When he had finished the tuna sandwich that Bimpy had made for him, he emptied out the rest of his paper bag, which contained a pack of crisps and a small bottle of milk. He gathered his food and decided he would try to look for Cliona.

He found her sitting outside, hiding next to a large group of trash cans. She was in tears.

Tristan approached her. "Don't cry." He said plainly.

She looked up, her red eyes soaked with tears. She did not respond.

Tristan sat down next to her but she scooted away.

He opened his pack of crisps and reached out his hand to offer her some.

"I didn't see you eat. We've still got another few hours. Trust me, it can be quite a long time to wait before you get to grab a bite to eat again."

She turned her head away from him, to indicate that she did not care how hungry he said she would be later.

"Look, I've been there. I know what you're going through. I've been in over eight different schools in five years. Eventually, you learn how to not stand out so much."

"I don't want to learn to not stand out. I don't want to be at this sort of school." Her voice was cracking, from having not been used all day and from the constant crying.

"Where were you at before this?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

Tristan reasoned he would have to try another strategy to get her to talk to him.

"I'll tell you my biggest secret, if you tell me yours." He hadn't really thought this through properly before he spoke, because he had so many secrets that he could never tell anyone. Nevertheless, he felt that this was the only way to get her to open up.

She cracked a brief smile and nodded. "Anything?"

"Yeah, but you first, though!" Tristan added quickly.

"No fair, I thought you were going to go first." she smiled more broadly this time and paused. "Oh well, it's not like you'll have any clue what I'm talking about anyway."

"Try me." he replied playfully.

"Um. The thing is..." she stopped, and it seemed as if she was considering not telling him at all. "I'm a squib!" She blurted out. A lot louder than it seemed she intended.

"A what?" asked Tristan. He sniggered. "I thought you were going to tell me a real secret."

She didn't laugh, but she reached out for the bag of open crisps. Tristan handed them to her.

"Seriously" she continued, "That's my secret. My parents were heartbroken, because I-" she trailed off. "I didn't get a letter from Hogwarts."

"Hog-what?"

"I told you that you wouldn't understand."

"Well, um, I don't, but I've heard of Hogwats before. I think."

"Hogwarts." It was Cliona's turn to snigger. "No you haven't." she said snorting with laughter.

"Guess not." he replied, still sure that he had heard that name before. He thought that Bimpy had mentioned it a long time ago when talking about his father. Maybe he misheard her.

"Your turn." Cliona said jovially.

Tristan smiled back at her, but was still mulling over in his mind what secret he would tell her. He couldn't tell her, his real name. That was one secret he made a promise to keep. Nor could he tell her that his ability to make magical things happen, is the reason why he got expelled from so many schools. He decided to go with a secret that she wouldn't believe.

"I was raised by a house-elf."

Tristan did not hear the laughter that he was expecting. He did not even hear what he assumed would be accusations of him being silly or lying. Cliona was silent.

"Nevermind, I guess I'll tell you another more believable-"

"Are you a wizard?" Cliona cut in.

Tristan's mouth dropped open. "No, I- Wait. How do you know about wizards?"

Cliona was about to answer but the bell rang to signal the end of lunch, and they had only a few minutes to get back to class.

"We'll talk later?" Cliona asked.

"Yeah." Tristan agreed

They arrived back in class after the rest of the class, who were already seated at their desks. Tristan and Cliona hurried to their desks. As Cliona passed John, his face crinkled up into a grimace.

"Eww. What's that awful smell?" He blurted out loud enough for half of the class to hear, but not the teacher.

They students sniggered quietly to themselves.

Tristan, who was walking behind Cliona, still had his small bottle of milk in his hand. He popped off the cap and pretend to trip. The milk landed on the top of John's head spilling on his hair, face, and down his shirt. The class now pointed at John and began roaring with laughter.

Tristan was now on the floor, trying to sell his impromptu fall. He looked up at John.

"Sorry, mate! I wasn't watching where I was going." he said in his most convincing apologetic voice.

The blonde boy cast Tristan a fierce glance. Tristan then noticed that he had accidently spilled a few drops of milk on the boy's shoes.

"Eh, sorry." Tristan whispered.

The boy did not reply.

Miss Thompson hurried over with a towel that she had grabbed from her desk. She wiped down the milk from John's hair and face and sent him to go finish drying himself off.

John left the room with his head down, and Miss Thompson turned to Tristan, who was just now climbing to his feet.

"This is only a warning Tristan, but food and drink are not allowed in the classroom," she said sternly.

"Sorry, Miss Thompson." he replied politely.

Cliona was beaming at him and mouthed the words, "thank you."

The rest of the day was uneventful. The teacher reviewed what they should have learned in Math and Science the previous year, and when the teacher passed out calculators to the class, Cliona played with hers not knowing what it was for or how to use it.

Tristan sat fidgeting in his seat, for the next few hours, occasionally stealing a glance at Cliona who was paying little to no attention to the lesson. She continued tapping the small black calculator gingerly as if it may explode. She glanced over at him a few times as well, and she too appeared ready for the day to be over.

When the final bell rang, Tristan waited impatiently for the teacher to dismiss the class. She was going on about her summer cruise.

"I had the chance to see Athens, and my boyfriend and I took a yacht out to Mikonos. It was beautiful!" Miss Thompson said with an air of longing.

She looked down to see that all of her students were watching the clock instead of her, and she decided that it was time that she let them go. She dismissed them a few minutes early, and the children jumped to their feet.

Tristan gathered his papers and shoved them into his bag, but he had a hard time getting to Cliona, because a group of students had stayed behind to talk with him. He saw that Cliona didn't have a bag, and was carrying a stack of books in her arms looking very uncomfortable. She was waiting for him, but her arms looked like they may give out at any moment.

The curly haired brunette boy with braces was standing inches away from Tristan's face. The boy was so close that Tristan could see a piece of fruit wedged between two of his bottom teeth. The boy spoke eagerly.

"I can't believe you did that!" the boy cried out excitedly. "John's had it coming for a while. Bullies all the people he thinks aren't cool enough, he does."

Voices of the other children chimed in agreement. They were patting him on the back and showering him with compliments.

"What a great joke!" said a girl with wirery glasses, and long front teeth. "I bet he finally knows what it feels like to be laughed at by everyone." She pointed to the boy with the braces, "Tim and I get it the worst."

Tristan, wasn't paying much attention, though. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Cliona's face was going red with strain.

"Um, excuse me guys. I have to be outside when my parents come." he lied. He squeezed between the adjacent row of desks and reached Cliona.

"You need help with that?" he pointed to the books seconds away from falling.

She nodded with relief strewn across her face.

Tristan took the books and put as many as he could fit in his bag, and decided to carry her science book, since there was no room. "You need to buy a bag for you school books!"

Cliona shrugged. "So," she said leaning over in a whisper, "tell me more about your house-elf."

"She's not my house-elf." He replied. "She's a free elf." He looked around cautiously. "I'll tell you when we get outside."

But they wouldn't have the chance to go outside together, because Cliona's parents we're standing just outside the classroom door. Looking just as conspicuous as they did earlier that day.

"Cliona, honey!" her mother motioned for her to come over.

Tristan followed, a few paces behind her.

Cliona's parents eyed him suspiciously.

Tristan caught up to Cliona, "I've still got your books remember."

"Right! Um, just one second. Let me introduce you to my parents." She turned to her mother and father who were staring at Tristan as though he looked familiar. "Mom, dad, this is Tristan Woods."

"Pleasure to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Cobberly." I saw you on my train ride into town, so I reckon we live pretty close."

At this Cliona's parents seemed alarmed but they said nothing. Mrs. Cobberly was the first to speak. My dear child, you must be like our Cliona.

Cliona nudged him to play along.

"Yes, he's a squib as well." Cliona said.

"Yep, I'm a squib." Tristan confirmed

"Keep your voices down!" Mr. Cobberly scolded.

Cliona and Tristan nodded.

Tristan waved and made to leave.

"Aren't you taking the train with us?" Cliona's mother asked.

Tristan had intended on taking the train, but he was afraid of the questions he might be faced with if confined to a compartment with Cliona's mother and father for 45 minutes.

"I just need to speak with the teacher for a bit. No need to wait for me."

Cliona looked disappointed. She turned to Tristan, "It looks like all have to wait another time to hear your fantastic story."

Tristan nodded disappointedly. He removed the bag from his back and handed her back her books.

She gave Tristan a quick smile of affirmation as she as she walked towards her parents. Her father quickly took the books from her hands and placed them in a sack that he brought with him. The sack wasn't small, but it was hardly large enough for her to fit all of her box inside. Nevertheless, to Tristan's great surprise, the books slid almost effortlessly into the bag.

Tristan watched as she left with her parents and waved them goodbye. He made is a way out of the school and into the adjacent woods. Once he was sure that no one could see him, he closed his eyes and thought really hard about his home. "115 Purall Lane. 115 Purall Lane. 115 Purall Lane. He thought to himself repetitively."

He felt that familiar tugging behind his naval, almost as if he was being pulled inside out and folded upon himself over and over again. After what felt like several long seconds, he finally finished compressing himself to the minutest point and disappeared with a loud crack. He decompressed almost at once and crumpled onto the walkway in front of his house.

He was shocked to find himself back at home. "That wasn't so bad," he said to himself, shaking off his nerves. He collected himself and climbed to his feet, but he felt a sharp pain under his shirt. He raised his shirt to see that there was a gouge out of his abdomen and he was bleeding profusely. He screamed and called out for Bimpy.

Bimpy who was so worried for Tristan's wellbeing neglected to ask him how he had come about this injury. She had Leally fetch her an unnamed milky white potion, and within seconds, Tristan's skin was beginning to grow back.

At dinner that night, Tristan sat at the long dining table with Bimpy. Leally was not there, nor was he anywhere to be seen since the apparition debacle.

After dinner, Tristan cleaned off the table and began washing the dishes by hand. Bimpy smiled at him.

"Dinner was delicious today, mum."

"Thank you, dear." She approached Tristan. "You don't have to clean the dishes all on your own. Let me help."

"That's okay. You cooked. It's only right that I wash the dishes." Leally was usually there to help with cleaning up after dinner, but they had finished their meal without a sign of him.

Tristan finished cleaning within 20 minutes and made his way up the long winding staircase of the creaking manor to his bedroom. His room was on the third floor at the end of the hall. He passed the familiar portraits of his great grandparents and settled himself in his room. He took out his books and began studying until he fell asleep.

Tristan was up bright and early the next day. He grabbed a muffin and an apple and headed for the door.

"Don't forget your lunch!" cried Bimpy.

Tristan turned to grab a brown paper bag from the kitchen table.

Tristan was the first to arrive at school that day and he waited outside of the school enthusiastically. He was not waiting long when he heard a faint crack. Cliona and her parents were walking out of a nearby park overrun with trees. This time they were dressed in identical bright blue robes, while Cliona wore a slightly less conspicuous bright blue sundress. Clearly she was aiming to not be teased today. Her parents had not walked all the way to the school before she waved them away. They kissed her, disappeared into the wooded park, and there was another faint crack.

Cliona hurried over to Tristan, who was now sitting on a bench in front of the school.

"Alright Tristan?" Cliona shouted happily. "I told my parents that I had to be to school earlier today!"

"I reckon it's still awhile before the school opens. The teachers haven't arrived yet." Tristan remarked.

Cliona sat down next to him. "Well, Mr.- Uh…Tristan" She giggled.

"Mr. Tristan"

"I don't know your last name, Tristan."

"I go by Woods. Tristan Woods." He answered.

"I don't know any wizarding families by that last name? Are you muggle born?" She questioned.

"Muggle? Oh! A nonmagic person?"

Cliona frowned. "Not all 'nonmagic" people are muggles."

"Well, Woods is not my last name but it's the name I go by. And I'm not magical and not quite a muggle." He replied.

"Not magical? Well then how do you know about house-elfs?"

"I was raised by one."

Cliona sniggered but when Tristan did not laugh she stopped abruptly.

"Wait, you're serious? I've never heard of that being allowed. What about your parents?" She asked.

Tristan had never talked to anyone about his parents before and he felt a sense of protection over their memory.

"They were murdered." Tristan said bluntly.

Cliona gasped. "By You-know-who?"

"Who?"

Cliona paused, gathering up courage as she whispered. "Voldemort."

"Volde- Oh right! Yeah, Bimpy always refers to him as 'no nose.' Apparently it's a nickname my father used to call him."

"No nose? Why no nose?" Cliona asked.

"Apparently you weren't meant to say his name, so my dad did the logical thing and described him. I'm guessing he didn't have a nose, though I've never seen a picture of him." Tristan sighed.

"Nor have I." Cliona chimed in. "If I'm being honest…" she continued. "I think my parents were supporters of his. They were into the whole pure-bloods only sentiment, but then they ended up with a daughter like me, and…" she stared off distantly determined not to cry.

"Bimpy says my father worked for him, though he didn't like him much." He sighed and offered Cliona a bit of truth. "Before my father was murdered, he was so feared that Bimpy says his enemies might target me just to spite his memory. For that reason I can't tell people my last name or that I know magic."

"You know magic?!" Cliona exclaimed. "Why aren't you at Hogwarts? You should have gotten a letter!"

"Letter? No, I didn't get one, and I don't reckon I want to go to school with wizards. Bimpy says they're evil."

"But you are a wizard!" Cliona shouted. "Do you know how many people would love to have the opportunity to have magical abilities?" She glowered at him accusingly. "You're wasting your gift!"

"Please, let's not dwell on that." Tristan replied.

CHAPTER 3: BONNIE THE BOGGART

The following weeks Cliona and Tristan grew closer and spent nearly ever free hour of the day together. Cliona's parent's had arranged for her and Tristan to take a portkey to and from school every morning and afternoon. Cliona even began coming around to the Bellwether Manor, though she seldom went inside due to, as she put it, "the creepiness factor." It was on a Saturday morning, in late September, that Cliona finally agreed to explore the large manor with Tristan. Even Tristan had not explored all of the rooms because he had no reason to. They sat outside playing until the sky, which was already very overcast, unleashed a torrent of rain. Cliona gasped and muttered something about ruining her new dress and suggested that they both go inside the manner.

They were alone that morning, as Bimpy was down in Diagon Alley shopping, and Leally was rarely seen at all these days.

Tristan hurried and pushed in the large oak door as heavy rain splattered the patio. Tristan and Cliona removed their shoes and entered into the main hallway. Tristan led Cliona to the kitchen.

"Would you like anything to drink?"

"No, thank you." Cliona replied. She was staring intently at the large metal box in the far corner of the room. "You have a television?"

"Oh, yeah. Bimpy loves to watch it while I'm away at school. Personally, I think she watches too many romance movies." He laughed.

"But this is one of the oldest wizarding manors. At least that's what my father says." She stated.

"Bimpy, says my grandfather had a few electrical outlets installed. Apparently, he was very attached to the muggle world." He pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. "Luckily he did, or I would have been bored all those years since I had no friends."

Cliona appeared saddened by this information. She walked over to the table, "It is sad. Being cut off from the magical world and being not fully apart of the muggle world either."

Suddenly there was a loud bang, as if several heavy items had dropped from a substantial height. Cliona jumped clear off the ground and searched the room for the ruckus.

"I think it came from the basement," Tristan said. He was resigned to sit there in his chair and ignore the noise.

"Are you just going to sit there? What if it's a burglar? Or a poor animal could be trapped down there." She gave Tristan a concerned look.

"I've heard banging before. I don't go down there. Not that I'm afraid of my own basement, but I'm perfectly content with pretending it doesn't exist." He was beginning to feel anxiety that Cliona would force him to explore his own creepy basement. Not that he was afraid, just that he was cautious and what better way to keep one's self safe then to ignore strange and unusual sounds.

"I can't sit her knowing there could be something down there, for better or for worse." She reached out and grabbed Tristan's hand, dragging him to his feet. "Come on!"

She led Tristan through the hallway, following the direction of the loud noise. They passed a broom closet and Tristan halted her and reached inside and pulled out a wooden broom and a wooden mop.

"Just in case." He said.

"You want to clean?"

"Weapons." He explained.

He marched forward towards the basement door, gulped and then opened it slowly.

"It's dark in there. Can you turn on a light?" Cliona said nervously.

"Um. There's no electricity down there." He was breathing heavily but he progressed down the steep, narrow staircase. There was minimal light coming from the hallway but it provided dim glow which allowed them to watch their feet as they tiptoed down the creaky wooden stairs. Cliona was barefoot and extremely cautious not to step on any splintered wood.

"On second thought, I don't think this is a good idea." Cliona squeaked nervously.

"Too late to back out now." Tristan jibed. He could just make out a curtain covering a small basement window and he hurried over and moved the curtain so that they could have a little more light. His hands became wrapped in webbing and spiders fled as Tristan tried hurriedly to wipe off the web from his fingers.

Cliona gasped.

With the new lighting, they could see a pile of old picture frames that had been knocked to the floor.

"This must have been what fell." Cliona reached down and picked up one of the frames. In the frame were two boys. The taller boy was black with patches of gray hair, he looked about 16 years old. He had his arm wrapped jovially around the smaller of the two boys, who was pale with long blonde hair. They were both laughing and waving at the camera.

"That's my father." Tristan stated plainly. He startled Cliona as he pointed over her shoulder.

Cliona rubbed the dust off of the cracked frame with her blouse. "He's very handsome." Cliona looked up at Tristan and blushed.

Tristan didn't appear to notice. He stared deeply at the second boy in the frame. "I'm not sure who he is though."

They heard another ruckus coming from an old dresser a few feet in front of them and before Cliona could reach out and pull him back, Tristan had bounded over and opened the drawer. She gasped in terror, arms still outstretched.

She backed away as a dark mist rose into the air from the opened drawer. The mist settled in fronts of Tristan and began changing shape. Tristan was too surprised to be scared though he knew to back away from the floating, changing blob of mist. The mist kept growing and before long it was beginning to take the form of a towering figure with large muscular arms, grayish skin, and large vacant eyes.

"Troll!" Cliona screamed. She made to run for the door but her legs gave way in fear. She covered her head, still screaming.

Tristan hurried over and stood between her and the troll. He shouted up at the troll. "You can't be a troll! How can a troll fit in that little drawer?!"

The troll's vacant face became one of confusion. It leaned down as it stomped its way forward. Its face was inches away from Tristan's, and it let out a deafening roar. Oddly enough, Tristan didn't budge.

Cliona squinted at the creature briefly and then shut her eyes again.

This time, the creature began growing even larger. Its neck elongated and leathery wings sprouted from its back.

Again Tristan stared down the creature. He'd never seen a dragon in person before but he had never thought of them as terrifying. In fact, he was quite fascinated by them. Hardened rust coloured scales covered every inch of the dragon's hide. The dragon's eyes were ruby red and burning embers could be seen within its gaping mouth.

Cliona cowered in fright, not daring to peer up at the towering monster.

"I don't know what you are, but I'm not afraid of you!" Tristan shouted up at the creature.

The dragon locked eyes with Tristan, its large cat-like pupils staring into Tristan's small, very much human pupils. Moments later it began to shrink.

It continued to shrink until it had reduced its form to the size of a human. It wore a dark green cloak and a hood covered its head. Curly brown hair draped down around the creatures neck. It turned to Tristan again and this time he backed away in fright.

"Y-you're not her!" he stammered.

The creature continued to advance and Tristan once again retreated back towards the far wall of the basement.

"Stay away from me!" he screamed. He stumbled backwards and fell hard onto the concrete floor.

It was Cliona's turn to be brave and she jumped in front of Tristan shielding him with her arms spread wide. The creature faltered for a moment. As Cliona stood there facing the creature her legs visibly trembled.

The creature once again began to change form. This time only briefly. Where the cloaked woman had stood, an attractive brown skin woman stood in nothing but polka dot underwear.

A blue light suddenly glimmered dimly in the room. The light was getting brighter and brighter. Cliona turned to see that Tristan had once again climbed to his feet. In his hands he held two bright blue flames. Tristan's eyes had changed from gray to white and his facial expression was vacant.

He lifted his hand to throw the blue flame, but he was taken off guard by the sound of sniggering. He searched the basement for the source of the laughter, and he could see that this was hardly a basement at all; they were in a laboratory. Nevertheless, the faint laughter eluded him. Cliona nudged his shoulder and pointed to the woman that he had once thought was his mother. She was hunched over and he was embarrassed to see that she was only wearing pink polka dot underwear. He quickly turned his head blushing furiously.

Wait a second, he thought. Was that woman laughing?

He glanced at the woman again, and sure enough, her shoulders were shaking with laughter.

The woman shrank and dissolved into a floating black mass before taking the hazy form of a creature that looked much like a bunny. Tristan would have found the animal to be cute if he had not seen it turn into a dragon only moments earlier.

The small rabbit-like creature continued to squeak, which Tristan took as laughter.

Without really meaning to do so, the blue flame leapt from Tristan's hands and towards two lamp posts positioned on either side of the room.

Light from the blue flames danced across the basement walls like ocean waves. Tristan and Cliona stared in utter astonishment at the sheer size of the laboratory. This basement laboratory must have been more than three times as wide as the manor that sat on top of it.

To his right, there were long rows of cabinets, each adorned with odd symbols that Tristan had never seen before. To his left there were vials, flasks, cauldrons, and other experimental accessories. The fluid in the experiments looked old and dust coloured.

Along the far wall of the laboratory Tristan could make out a series of circular glass cases, the tallest of which being nearly 15 feet tall. A long black cloak floated in its mist filled glass.

"Wow, can you believe this has been here all along?" Tristan said, still in awe.

When Cliona didn't respond he turned to find her following the violet coloured bunny creature as it hopped from table to table, taking care not to knock over any of the delicate lab equipment. The creature took one final hop and landed on a table with an open class case, much like the ones Tristan had seen earlier, except much smaller, and the glass had been darkened till it was practically opaque. The creature sauntered up to the glass case. There was a placard pasted to the glass, which Tristan could not read from where he was standing.

Before Cliona could read it aloud, the disembodied voice of a woman announced. "Bonnie the Boggart, circa 1373. Danger level 1."

"What's a boggart?" Tristan called out as he walked over to her.

"I've never seen one before, but my mom told me that they were some sort of shapeshifting pest." Cliona replied.

Bonnie stared up at Cliona with its wide violet eyes. Cliona pushed aside messily strewn papers on the desk and picked up a dusty folder labeled "Bonnie". She opened the folder and read the note stuck to the inner cover.

"During my time in Scotland I happened across a small village where locals had stories of a creature that lurked in the shadows and could appear as their worst nightmares. I deduced that the creature was probably a common boggart but I did not want to take this case too lightly due to my research on the "Screaming Bogey of Strathtully." This case, however, perplexed me, because the creature was often found to be quite mischievous and used its shapeshifting ability to play practical jokes as well and people often reported phantom laughter. The villagers had rather fondly named the creature "Bonnie" because they felt like it was the spirit of a playful princess that had passed away. Stories of a long lost princess that loved playing practical jokes arose amongst the community but no one knew how to bring her spirit to peace. When I arrived at the village, I discovered immediately that they were dealing with the presence of a boggart. The common theory is that boggarts are neither conscious nor are they alive, but this isn't true. Moreover, while boggarts amongst most scholars are considered non-beings, this boggart seemed to have a particularly heightened sense of self-awareness. In fact, she (and I do believe it is a she) enjoyed a good laugh almost as much as a scare." After a week long ordeal of trying to capture her, I grew rather fond of her cunning. Finally, I managed to do what no wizard in recorded history had managed to do up until now. I persuaded the boggart to show me its true form. Not having the heart to remove Bonnie from her home, I packed my belonging and headed back to England only to find that she had stowed away in my luggage. I've decided to keep her."

Bonnie sat there patiently as Cliona finished reading and sat the folder back down onto the messy desk. She stared back at the creature examining it.

"I think she likes you." Tristan said with amusement in his voice.

He turned back to the tall glass case against the far wall. "What do you reckon that is?" He pointed to the floating cloak.

"I don't know, but it looks creepy. We should leave it be." Cliona replied cautiously.

Tristan wasn't listening. His feet were carrying him faster and faster towards the mysterious object. When he got close enough to the glass, he could see that the cloak appeared to be taking shape. He rubbed his shirt sleeve against the glass. He could see that cloak was covering a tall, thin skeletal figure.

The disembodied voice returned again and he let out a startled cry.

"Dementor. Leader of the Brasov Pack. Approximate age 1500 years. Danger level 5. Do not open."

"Tristan?! Tristan!" Cliona ran over to where he was standing with his mouth agape. The boggart was perched on her shoulder. "What are you looking at?" She squinted hard at the tall murky glass and let out a cry of her own. "What is that?!"

She pointed at the shriveled and decaying arm which could be seen in the area glass Tristan managed to wipe clean. The arm lay there limp at the creature's side.

"There's a sign, next to the glass." Tristan pointed to a dusty wooden placard with the words: DANGER DO NOT OPEN.

"It appears to be in a state of suspended animation." He declared.

"Suspended animation?" Cliona asked.

"Like a long sleep. I definitely think it's still alive." He glanced at the other glass containers and he could make out differing forms floating in their murky abyss. "I think they're all alive, in one way or another."

Cliona followed his eye line and grimaced at the row of bodies floating in various glass containers.

"Let's get out of here, Tristan." She didn't wait for a response and began walking towards the staircase. Bonnie hopped down from her shoulders and floated back to her opaque glass case.

Tristan reluctantly followed Cliona. There was so much more he wanted to know, but he didn't dare stay in the basement by himself. He climbed the stairs after her. At the top step, the blue flames were extinguished and the basement was once again blanketed in darkness.

Over the next week, Tristan had managed to convince Cliona to once again visit the basement on three more occasions. Bonnie was delighted to see them, and to Tristan's dismay she transformed into his mother in polka dot underwear on every occasion. Cliona found it amusing every single time and began making requests. She would close her eyes and think of classmates in various funny outfits or with clown makeup on and Bonnie would impersonate them. Tristan found this amusing, as well.

Additionally, they had managed to peruse through several cabinets and match runes to the creatures in the jars. There were banshees, ghouls, and grindylows, ruflebarts, and etomaxes, to name a few. However, they had yet to find more information on the nameless dementor.

Additionally, Tristan had mustered up the courage to introduce Cliona to Bimpy, who was delighted to see that Tristan was making friends, especially a friend who came from the magical community. Likewise, Cliona's parents were happy to see that she had made friends with another squib, as they thought Tristan was. Nevertheless, Cliona's parents, Aengus and Aileen Cobberly, were not very kind to Tristan, and he rarely spent time at the Cobberly's house when they were around. Tristan had taken a personal disliking to them because they were cruel to the house elf that served them.

At school, Tristan and Cliona had managed to make a lot of friends. Tristan became very popular because he was quick witted and charming. Cliona, however, still faced problems with several students who felt that she was a little "too awkward to be human." Emma, the blonde girl who had been teasing Cliona the first day of school, continued to try to turn the students in the class against her. She would lead them in the whispered chant of, "Cli-alien" behind Cliona's back. Despite continuously assuring Cliona that Emma was jealous of her, he could tell that the taunting was getting to her.

On the first day of October, Cliona became so enraged by the continuous shouts, that she cornered Emma and punched her square in the nose. Emma was sent to the nurse's office with a minor nose bleed and Cliona was sent home early. Around lunch that day, Tristan became worried because he realised that they did not normally take a portkey back home until much later in the day. He decided to skip his daily lessons and go looking for her to make sure she was alright.

He found her bag sitting next to the portkey, but she was nowhere in sight. He looked around, but all he could find were disturbed patches of grass and scarred trees. He decided that perhaps the portkey had worked after all. He grabbed her things and ran back to the school. When he came back into the classroom, he expected to be scolded, but the teacher was surprised to see him carrying Cliona's belongings.

"Tristan?" Miss Thompson asked with a worried expression on her face, "Have you seen Cliona?"

"No, ma'am. I saw her things lying outside so I decided-"

Miss Thompson darted out of the room without allowing Tristan to finish his statement. The class began murmuring loudly.

Tristan walked over to Timothy. "What's going on?"

Timothy spoke in a voice that reminded Tristan of someone trying to speak with hot food in their mouth. "Apparently, Cliona was supposed to wait for someone to pick her up from school, but she left before her parents could be contacted. Miss Thompson had a hard time reaching them, and when she did, they said that they would arrange to come get her. That was at half 11. Her mother came here and then went back home to check if Cliona was there, when she couldn't find her, she came back here."

"Wow." Tristan interjected

"I know, it makes you wonder, how someone can even travel that fast. I mean, she was back within minutes."

The other students in the class were muttering under their breaths, afraid to say what they were no doubt thinking.

Miss Thompson burst back into the classroom, and the students fell silent. "Mr. Brown, please come with me."

Tristan turned to follow Miss Thompson out of the room, Cliona's backpack still slung over his shoulder.

In the Dean's office, Mrs. Cobberly was pacing nervously, tears welled up in her eyes.

"I'm sure she got lost while walking through the woods. The woods aren't very big, and shouldn't take her long to reach the opening on the other side. We can call the police and have them look there." The Dean said reassuringly. He was a small man, with long brown hair tied tight into a ponytail. He wore a dull blue suitcoat and he had a deep authoritative voice.

Tristan had only seen the Dean on one other occasion but for some reason, the Dean seemed to be behaving oddly. Perhaps he too was worried that some criminal mischief had taken place.

Mrs. Cobberly turned and spoke. "I'm worried because there are those who would want to hurt us for our political beliefs… Well, our former political beliefs. My husband and I, we supported an unpopular candidate so to speak."

"John Redwood? I dare say he was very unpopular." Miss Thompson chimed in.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack and Miss Thompson started. She looked around puzzled at the calm demeanor of everyone else in the room.

"Was that a gunshot?!" She yelled.

Mr. Cobberly walked into the Deans office looking deeply troubled. "Aileen, I think they've come for our baby." He walked up to her and embraced her, tears in his eyes as well."

"Mr. Cobberly we will notify the police as soon as we have a concrete lead." The Dean told him in a calming voice.

Miss Thompson was still looking around for the source of the loud bang, and her head was still poked cautiously out of the office door.

Suddenly something clicked in Tristan's mind.

He abandoned all caution. "I'm surprised you would apparate here Mr. Cobberly, you could have been seen."

Everyone in the room except for Miss Thompson unconsciously cringed at the word "apparate".

"Apparate?" Miss Thompson turned to Tristan.

"Yes, that's what that loud bang you heard was. It's a way for magical beings to get to and from places almost instantaneously." He clarified.

"Tristan what are you talking about?" she stammered.

Mrs. Cobberly was hardly coherent, but Mr. Cobberly cut across Tristan. "Stop it, boy! We have enough problems as it is. We don't want muggles knowing anymore than they have too!"

Again, everyone in the room except for Miss Thompson cringed at the word, muggle.

"It seems so. I don't know much about magic as I'm still very young, but is there some way for an individual to change his form to look like another person?" he asked Mr. Cobberly.

Mr. Cobberly looked at the Dean and Miss Thompson, and then lowered his voice so only Tristan could hear. "That's difficult magic boy, very difficult, unless you're a metamorphamagus. The only other method is polyjuice potion."

"Well, Mr. Cobberly I think he's done one of those things."

"Who, boy? Spit it out!"

Tristan pointed angrily. "The Dean. I'm assuming Cliona was sent to his office. It should have been his job to watch her, but instead she was sent out alone before you or Mrs. Cobberly were contacted."

The Dean turned angrily. "What are you accusing me of, kidnapping?"

Tristan continued, unperturbed by the interruption. "He didn't even flinch at the sound of you apparating. Plus, he has seemed very uncomfortable with me talking about magic, unlike Miss Thompson, who still seems a bit clueless."

Miss Thompson turned on Tristan angrily.

He grimaced. "Sorry, Miss Thompson."

Just then Mr. and Mrs. Cobberly drew their wands and shouted, "stupefy" as the Dean dove out of the open office door.

Tristan darted into the hallway after him and managed to get close enough to him to grab the cuff of his sleeve as he disapparated.

Tristan immediately felt an odd sensation. He felt as if he was being distorted and pulled towards a center that was not his own. He lost all the air in his lungs and his heart and brain burned inside of him. And just as suddenly as it all began, it was over. Tristan was sprawled on the floor inside the doorway of a dark house. He screamed in pain as he held out his arms and saw thin lines of skin missing. Blood soaked his shirt. The Dean was also in a bad state. He lay on his side cradling his face. There was blood dripping from his hands. Tristan assumed that something about his unexpected presence had caused the Dean's apparition to backfire and harm them both.

"Dormon, is that you?" A gruff voice called out.

"Let me go!" A voice cried out in fear.

The sound of that voice erased all of the pain from Tristan's mind. He stood and stumbled his way forward. He was sure that he had lesions on his legs as well.

"Please! My parents have money! They can pay you! Please let me go!" The girl was wailing.

Tristan hurriedly followed the sound of the girl's voice.

"Shut up, ye!" The gruff voice shouted.

A loud smack could be heard and the girl's voice fell silent.

Tristan began seething with rage. He felt the anger burning inside him, willing him forward, and showing him what to do. He held his hands out in front of him and his palms glowed like embers. The fire went from orange, to blue, to black. The flames inside of him guided him the rest of the way to his fallen friend.

Before he stepped into the room, he could sense the presence of a large man.

"Dormon? Is that you?" Talk to me, mate." The gruff voice called out. "I got the girl, just like we were hired to do."

Tristan stepped into the doorway and saw a long wand aimed at his chest.

"A child?" The gruff voice cackled; however, his laughter was cut short.

"What's that in your hand, boy?" He asked nervously. "Oi! Answer me! Avada Ka-"

Too slow. The black flame leapt from Tristan's left hand onto the wand which instantly dissolve it into mist. The gruff voiced man held on a bit too long and the flame singed through his fingers. He screamed holding his wand hand in agony. Tristan moved almost as if it wasn't of his own accord. He held up his right hand and the black flame within it grew from the size of his fist to the size of a balloon. He stood over the cowering figure that was trembling in fear and utter agony.

He wanted to hurt the man for what he did to his friend. He had that power. He could punish him. A faint voice in his head was imploring him to do it.

"Tristan?"

He started, and the black flame vanished from his hand. A tear ran down his cheek as he turned to face Cliona. She was tied to a chair in the corner, and he hurried to free her bonds. When he had finished he helped her to her feet. She was wobbly but she could stand. Tristan could barely make out a large bruise underneath her right eye. He could feel his temper rising but he ignored the temptation to seek retribution.

"Tristan! You're covered in blood!" Cliona shouted.

"Small mishap." He smiled. "Speaking of which, we're going to have to try this again."

"Try what?" she asked inquisitively.

"I'm going to try to apparate us both back to your house."

"Shouldn't we go outside first, so we can figure out where this place is? How else are the wizarding police supposed to find them?"

"No, we have to go while we can. No telling how many more people are connecting with these two." Tristan replied.

"That's true." She agreed.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, anything" Cliona confirmed.

"Hold onto my arm tightly and think of your kitchen. I don't want to screw this up again, because it's quite painful."

Tristan closed his eyes. He shut out the cries of the man with gruff voice and the steady thundering of distant footsteps getting closer and closer to the room where they stood. He pictured the Cobberly home, with its oval shaped kitchen and lime green decorum. He took in deep breaths and willed himself to calm down. He heard the first voice as it approached the doorway.

"He's in here! Make sure the girl is still with him." the voice shouted.

Tristan could see the silver utensils that floated along on the ceiling, waiting to be summoned for use. He could see the small oak table the comfortably fit the family of three.

"Hey, who is that?" a voice yelled.

CRACK! Tristan felt the familiar sensation of getting pulled down within himself, squeezed into an infinitesimal mass, and then expanded again into his normal form. This time he land with grace onto the Cobberly's kitchen floor. He turned anxiously to make sure that Cliona had survived the apparition in one piece.

She smiled. "I'm home!"

"Ahhhhhhhhh!"

Tristan and Cliona started as they turned to see her mother sitting at the kitchen table in tears.

At the sound of her scream, two aurors ran into the room with wands drawn.

Mrs. Cobberly jumped to her feet and was across the room hugging her daughter. She couldn't speak, she could only sob, drenching her daughter's shirt with tears of relief.

The aurors pulled Tristan to the side.

"Whose blood is that and where did you come from?" the wider of the two aurors unceremoniously demanded.

"It's mine. I had an accident trying to hold onto the dean while he was apparating." Tristan explained.

"Nice try, but I don't see a single scratch on you!" the officer scoffed.

Tristan looked down to see that his wounds had healed. In his excitement in finding his friend he hadn't even noticed.

"Officer, he saved me!" Cliona chimed in. "He's a hero."

"How?" the officer asked.

"Cunning and guile," Mrs. Cobberly replied. "Officers thank you so much for all you've done to assist me in this matter. Could you alert my husband that our daughter has returned?" She asked in her nicest voice.

"But I still have more questions!" the officer shot back.

"I'm sure these questions can be answered later, after my husband knows that our daughter is safe. He's absolutely stricken with grief." Mrs. Cobberly explained.

The aurors nodded, and with two separate cracks, they were gone.

When the officers had gone, Mrs. Cobberly rounded on Tristan. "You're a wizard!"

"Yes, mom and you can't tell anyone except dad! He doesn't want to go away to Hogwarts."

"But Hogwarts is a great school! Why would you not want to go there?" Mrs. Cobberly asked confused. "We would be thrilled to have Cliona go there, and I'm sure your parents would be proud, as well."

Cliona answered again before Tristan could respond. "I'm sorry that you were not thrilled at me being a squib."

Mrs. Cobberly bowed her head in sadness.

Cliona continued, "But Tristan is different, he doesn't want to go to a wizarding school because he knows that wizards are biased and they would hate him solely based upon his surname."

"Honey, it can't be that bad."

"My name is Tristan Bellwether. My father was Martin Bellwether." Tristan announced.

Mrs. Cobberly almost fainted, and then grabbed a seat. She looked up at Tristan. "If that's true, than Hogwarts is the last place you want to go. You have my word, I won't tell your secret."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cobberly."

"No. Thank you, Tristan. You saved my only child. Now, you should get out of here before scores of more Aurors come."

Tristan nodded and made his way back home.

CHAPTER 4: FUDGE'S DECLARATION

The next couple days Tristan didn't see much of Cliona. Her parents were being very protective of her and were not even allowing her to go back to her lessons. Tristan found that he didn't know what to do with himself with all time he had to himself. He hadn't seen Leally at all these past few week, and he was beginning to worry about him. Perhaps he had gotten in trouble with the law. The more he thought about it, the more he hated that Leally had left without telling him. He tried going to his Kung Fu lessons, but due to his difficulty focusing, magic would ooze its way out of him without him being able to control it. He turned a pair of shoes into a porcupine and accidently sent small flames out whenever he would hit the punching bags. He figured it was best that he stayed home. He spent more and more time with Bonnie and grew quite fond of her attempts to make him laugh.

On the fourth day after the incident with Cliona, Tristan sat in the kitchen watching a movie Blimpy had found at a muggle artifacts shop down in Diagon Alley. The movie was called "Ferris Beuller's Day Off." He was nearly finished with the video, and thinking to himself, "do Americans really dance and sing in the streets?" when a thundering booms rattled the front door.

Startled, Tristan jumped to his feet prepared to defend himself, if he must. Bimpy rushed to the door.

"Stay back, Tristan." She warned. She approached the sturdy oak door, waved her hands, and the door opened.

Four men stood in the open doorway with fierce expressions on their faces. There was a rumbling amongst the men. The man in front, wore a long black travelling cloak, pointed purple boots, and a lime green bowler hat. He seemed like a man of great importance, and he looked at Bimpy as if she were less than him.

"My name is Cornelius Fudge, and I am the Minister of Magic," he said.

Bimpy looked horrified. "Minister! Yes of course!" Blimpy bowed low. "What brings you out here, sir?"

"I've come to talk to the boy," Cornelius barked. "Where is he?"

"Sir?"

"The boy. The child of Martin Bellwether. We know he's alive. A wizard was admitted into St. Mungo's last week, screaming and raving about a boy with gray hair and an ability to burn with black flames." Cornelius turned and spoke loudly to the empty room as he walked around the foyer. "The burns on Hinkletone's hand was so severe that it had to be amputated.

Tristan, who had been hiding on the other side of the wall leading to the foyer, covered his mouth in horror. Had he really produced fire hot enough to cause damage that even a healer couldn't fix?

Mr. Fudge continued, "Fiend fire. There are very few wizards who have ever been able to control fiend fire, wouldn't you say Moody?"

Tristan heard a loud clogging step as it crossed the threshold into his home. He risked a glance into the foyer again and saw a tall man with heavy looking wooden leg. The man had a gashed nose that had seen better days and an eye that whizzed here and there, even peering into the back of his skull. His eye darted towards the wall as Tristan hid himself again.

"Minister? He's over there." Moody barked.

"Over where?" Fudge replied confused.

"Behind the wall."

Tristan panicked and didn't know whether he should run or wait to see what the men wanted. He decided that he could not leave Bimpy alone with these men. He swallowed hard, and revealed himself.

"Tristan, no!" shouted Bimpy. "Leave. They have no right to question you."

"Silence." Fudge ordered. "I wish to talk with the boy."

"You're going to take him away! You want to use him like you used his father!" Bimpy screamed at Fudge, but he showed little interest in her words.

Tristan looked up at Fudge and then the man with the wild eye. Both of his eyes were focused steadfastly on Tristan, and his hand was in his traveling cloak.

"Minister. Look at his hair. It's starting already, just like his father." Barked Moody.

"We don't know it's his son, Alistair." The Minister retorted.

A third man spoke suddenly. He had a gruff, unkind voice. "Don't we? Graying hair? The use of uncontrollable dark magic? Minister, without a doubt, that is Martin Bellwether's son. He looks just like him."

"What is your name, boy?" Fudge asked.

Tristan hesitated and then answered. "Tristan-"

"No! Tell them nothing!" Bimpy interjected.

He knew that there was no longer any point of secrecy because they were already convinced of who he was regardless of his answer. "Tristan Bellwether."

Though they no doubt expected confirmation of their suspicions, they still had expressions of shock when Tristan spoke true.

"Minister, if I might add-"

"No, Barty, you may not. You are no longer an auror. Your advice has lead us to this place, but I think that's enough for now."

The minister softened his demeanor. "Tristan, you'll be coming with us. We have questions to ask you."

"I don't want to go." Tristan answered.

"Just grab him so we can leave." The fourth man, who had seemed disinterested till this moment, spoke in the long drawling voice of one who is bored. Despite his calm demeanor, he reminded Tristan of a lion waiting to pounce.

At that moment, several more wizards walked through the front doorway with their wands drawn.

Bimpy moved in front of Tristan with her arms raised. Tristan could tell that she was preparing to use any magic possible to defend him, but he knew that she would be no match for a room full of aurors. He rushed, in front of her.

"Fine," he spoke resigned. "I'll go with you." He directed his question towards Mr. Fudge. "Where are we going?"

"Azkaban! Where you belong, boy!" shouted Alistair. He pounded his walking stick empathically against the hardwood flooring. "We have it on good authority that you attacked two wizards leaving them severely injured."

"They kidnapped my friend!" he shouted in his defense.

"We have two eyewitnesses that say you provoked a fight with them over a perceived transgression." Scrimgeour shot back. "They described a child of Hogwarts age with an ability to wield a curse so dark, than in half the world it's an unforgivable curse. Thought you would bend the rules, did you?"

"No! Cliona needed me. She can tell you!"

"Why would we believe the word of a death eater's child?" growled Alistair.

Several things happened at once; Alistair, who was in a rage reached for Tristan, Tristan who was very much on edge, unintentionally found that his hands were alight in small blue flames, and a large, invisible barrier materialized in front of him. Alistair stubbed his fingers on the barrier as he swore loudly.

Tiny blue flames danced up and down his arm and fed themselves into the swelling flames growing in his outstretched palms.

Suddenly a spell hit the barrier causing it to fall away with a blast that sent Tristan and Bimpy flying backwards and distinguishing Tristan's flames. Scrimgeour, who had blasted away the shield, cast his eyes down upon Tristan. His wand was aimed between his eyes. Tristan noticed that there were at least a dozen more wand tips pointed at him.

He climbed to his feet, anger boiling inside of him. He wanted to hurt them. All of them. He could feel his level headed thoughts fading away, and he turned to face Scrimgeour and anyone else ready to jump into the fray.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" A new voice yelled.

A man with long hair draped down his shoulders stormed through the front door, pushing the aurors aside. His shiny gray cloak billowed behind him as he rushed forward to stand between Tristan and the half dozen wands aimed at him.

"Have you lost your minds?! This is a child!" he yelled angrily. He turned to Fudge. "Is this your idea of justice? Locking up a child? This child belongs at Hogwarts!" His voice echoed louder still. "By some mistake of the Ministry, he has been charged for protecting a squib girl from two of your former aurors! Or did you forget that?" the tall man was scanning the eyes of every auror in the room that wasn't too ashamed to look at him.

Tristan, who was slipping into a blind rage, suddenly came to his senses and turned to check on Blimpy who had been knocked to the floor. His worries were misplaced. She had barely missed a beat, her arms were spread, and Tristan could tell she was summoning some deeper, ancient magic. He had seen her do this only once before, when a wizard tried forcing his way into what he thought was an abandoned house.

The room fell into silence. The Minister stepped forward speaking in a restrained tone. "Lucius, this child has evil inside him. We have to try- If we allow him to develop, he could be even stronger than his father- Who knows, he could become another… another you-know-who."

"Minister, I assure you that the Dark Lord is dead," Lucius glanced back at Tristan, "and so is his father."

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you Malfoy. You were loyal to both of them." Chided Alistair.

Scrimgeour also spoke up, though he seemed as if he had gone back to being bored. "Minister, it appears that he hasn't got any parents. Wizards are required to be raised by humans. By some perverse twist of fate, he is being raised by a house elf who's loyal purely because she is a slave. " Scrimgeour chuckled under his breath.

"She's not a slave!" Tristan spat out. "You wizards think you own the world because you have wands! You're nothing but-"

"Quiet boy!" Malfoy warned.

Scrimgeour met Tristan's eyes and did not look away. It made Tristan very uncomfortable. He envisioned a wild beast ready to pounce.

Fudge addressed Malfoy. He leaned in closely so that the others couldn't hear. "He belongs in a muggle orphanage. Regardless of what we decide, he can't stay here. Not without a human guardian. It is best if he comes with us."

"Are you blind, Fudge? Alistair screamed. Look at his hair! The gray hair is spreading much faster than it did with his father. The time to act is now."

"I assure you Alistair, I have the best interest of Ministry at heart. It is settled, the boy will come with us and await further instruction from the Wizengamot." Fudge announced.

"No!" screamed Blimpy. "You can't take my boy."

Lucius once again raised his hands as a calming gesture. "Minister, may I have a moment alone with the boy?"

"Of course."

Lucius grabbed Tristan not so gently by the arm and dragged him down the long hallway till he reached a door. Lucius muttered under his breath and the door opened to reveal a hidden staircase.

"How did you know?" Tristan asked.

Lucius didn't reply. He continued dragging Tristan along, up the stairs, down another hallway, and into Tristan's room.

"Pack your things."

"Why, I'm sure they'll just take them away from me."

Lucius did not respond, he pulled a wand from the cane he carried in right hand and waved it around slowly while muttering a spell under his breath. Random objects around the room flew into Tristan's school bag, which was lying open on the floor.

Tristan reluctantly picked up the bag. He then walked over to his bed and pulled a small picture of 4 people in it and packed it away in his bag.

"Is that everything?" Lucius asked.

"No, I don't think I'll have be-"

Tristan's words were cut off as Lucius tightly gripped his shoulder. Tristan felt the familiar pulling sensation coming from the center of his being, and he knew that it would be a long time before he saw Bimpy again. His room distorted and his vision turned from gray to black and all that was left was a spark in his mind, the spark that was him. And then, as suddenly as it disappeared, it all began again.

Lucius and Tristan arrived in the middle of a crowded village with a loud crack that rattled his own ears. He hated that this was the first sound one heard after apparition. It was early evening and crowds of people on the old cobblestone streets were shuffling into restaurants and pubs. Not one person turned around to acknowledge their presence. Perhaps they were wizards, Tristan thought.

Lucius again grabbed him by his shoulder, and rushed him along. "Come on, boy. We mustn't delay. There is someone I need you to see."

Tristan shrugged Lucius's hand off his shoulder defensively. "Sorry, Sir. I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't know who you are!"

"Don't know who I am?" Lucius asked incredulously. "Did that elf never tell you about me?"

Tristan stared back at him angrily but did not reply.

Lucius appeared as if he was searching for more delicate words. He cleared his throat. "I am Lucius Malfoy. I knew your father." He paused and his eyebrows tensed as if he was fighting back emotion. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and continued. "I owe your father more than my life. That is why I am taking you somewhere safe, where the Ministry won't be able to lay a hand on you."

Tristan searched Malfoy's face and suddenly he recognized him. This was the young boy in the picture with his father. Tristan understood for the first time how severe his circumstances were. He thought back to his home, and how many wizards had been sent to bring him in. He shuddered to himself.

"Come with me." Urged Mr. Malfoy.

Tristan nodded and followed closely behind him, keeping pace with Lucius as they passed through the crowd with little to no resistance. At the sight of Lucius, the crowds parted to let him through. He walked with the arrogant swagger of someone with money and power. The people he passed either looked at him with fear or respect.

They were half of the way down the street, when a small feeble voice called after them. "Nnn-mm-mister Malfoy. Nnnn-w-what are you d-d-doing here?"

Malfoy sneered and rounded on the man. "Surely, my business is my own and I need not explain it to you, Quirrell." Malfoy spat.

The man, Quirrell, peered at Tristan inquisitively, but then thought better of questioning Lucius further. He backed away in fright and disappeared into an old creepy looking pub with a low hanging sign that read, The Hog's Head.

Mr. Malfoy continued to walk, this time at a faster pace and Tristan nearly had to run to keep up with him. They made the rest of their way down the street, which rounded and lead up a steep hill. Tristan was gasping for breath when what he saw next took the rest of his breath away.

There was an enormous castle which looked to be more than a thousand years old. There were spires, towers, and large stone pillars. The castle grounds were beautiful as well, there were trees that looked as if they were ancient and barely in view were the banks of a gigantic lake. Tristan was unaware that he had stopped walking. He was staring in utter bewilderment. Mr. Malfoy was more than 40 paces ahead of him and had not noticed Tristan lingering at the crest of the hill. Tristan thought for a second of running away. As strong as the idea was, he knew that Mr. Malfoy had quite possibly saved him from a miserable fate had he been arrested by the Ministry. He also saved Bimpy, because she would not have let them take him while she still stood matriarch of Bellwether Manor.

Tristan sighed as he walked up to the large iron gates that lay open. He could now see Malfoy approaching the front doors of the castle. He had a bad feeling about this castle, as beautiful as it was, and he whispered words of encouragement to himself.

Before he could commit to following the path to the castle doors he felt a firm hand grab hold of his backpack. He whirled around to find that there was no one there. The invisible hand grabbed a tighter hold upon his backpack and began yanking him backwards at an increasing speed. His shoes dragged against the paved footpath as he was tugged towards the open castle doors. He tried digging in his heals, but the path was much too solid and smooth for him to gain any traction. He thought about removing his bag, but as he was likely an outlaw, these were the last of his possessions, and he didn't want to give them up without a fight. He had resigned to remove his bag, when the tugging ceased and he was standing face to face with Mr. Malfoy. Who had once again drawn his wand, but was now putting it away.

Tristan gazed up at him with startled anger, but Mr. Malfoy grabbed him by his shoulder and turned him around without speaking.

Tristan audibly gasped. The castle was even more majestic on the inside. There were stairways lined with portraits, giant suits of armor, and ornate hanging tapestries. A slimy looking man with balding hair approached them at a run. He had a malicious look in his eyes when he saw Tristan and he made to approach closer, but he had forgotten about Mr. Malfoy.

"Students is supposed to be in the great hall. And why is ye dressed like a muggle?" sneered the man.

"Excuse us, Filch, I do not have time for what I'm sure would be an interesting lecture on following rules. We need to speak with the headmaster, where is he?" said Mr. Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir!" Filch bowed low. "They're all in the great hall. It's dinnertime, you see."

Mr. Malfoy started to walk off, but stopped, and remembered to grab Tristan by his shoulder. He walked Tristan through the castle and to a pair of large wooden doors that were closed. Tristan could hear the muffled voices of children laughing gleefully as their metallic knives, forks, and spoons, clinked on porcelain plates.

Mr. Malfoy addressed Tristan, at last. "Listen to me, if anyone aside from the headmaster questions you, do not say anything. Let me do the talking. Do you understand?"

Tristan nodded.

Mr. Malfoy took that as his que to push through the heavy doors and Tristan followed at his heels. Tristan was surprised to see how great this hall was. There were four long tables that stretched nearly the length of the hall, each lined with students of varying ages. All of their eyes were on Tristan. The ceiling seemed as if it was not there, and where there should have been a roof, Tristan saw clouds and a ray of sunlight peeking through. He continued to follow Mr. Malfoy till they arrived at the other end of the hall at a table that sat above the others, elevated like a long podium. Several older wizards sat at the table looking curiously at Tristan and Mr. Malfoy.

"Father?" shouted a voice from one of the tables.

Mr. Malfoy did not turn to acknowledge the voice. Instead he directed his attention to an older wizard with long gray hair that draped down his shoulders and a long full beard. The wizard had sparkling blue, eyes that gave off the semblance of kindness and wisdom. He peered at Tristan through a pair of half-moon spectacles that sat on his crooked nose.

"Professor Dumbledore," began Lucius.

The elder wizard nodded but when he looked at Lucius, his eyes showed signs of cautiousness and distrust. Tristan knew that the two must have been on bad terms with one another.

"Ugh, well you see… I submit to you that this was a student that was missed. He did not receive a letter- an offer for a place at the school, which he is deserved."

A stern looking witch with tight lips, brown hair, and an authoritative demeanor, addressed Mr. Malfoy with incredulity as she glanced down at him through the frames of her thin glasses. "Our system is never wrong. If he were a wizard, he would have received a letter. All wizards have the trace."

"I assure you that he is a wizard, Minerva. It is his blood right." Replied Mr. Malfoy.

"What proof do you have of his magical ability?" asked Minerva.

Tristan felt awkward having to stand there and hear them argue his worth in front of an entire hall filled with students that he didn't know. What was worse was that Dumbledore was studying him, and it was giving Tristan the uncomfortable feeling that he could read minds. Tristan whispered a spell of calming to himself that Bimpy had once taught him to control his temper. He immediately felt the pressure of Dumbledore's gaze subside, and Dumbledore stared at him in awe.

"His father was a wizard, and I know that he would not give birth to a-.

a squib." Mr. Malfoy insisted.

"Lucius, perhaps you should allow the boy to introduce himself before we continue to talk about him as if he isn't present with us." Dumbledore said with polite authority.

Every eye in the room was on Tristan.

"Well," Dumbledore continued, "Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

Tristan's mouth was dry. He knew that he could not lie because his secret was already out. He drew in a long breath and spoke in voice that was barely louder than a whisper.

"My name is Tristan, Tristan Bellwether… My father was Martin Bellwether."

Gasps and shouts of disapproval came from across the room from the students.

"His father killed my mother!" yelled the voice of an angry boy.

Tristan did not turn to look at him out of shame.

"His dad killed both my father and my uncle!" yelled another voice, this time one of a young girl.

Even some of those at the teacher's table looked down on him with disapproval.

Tristan heard the doors of the great hall swing open again and there was a marching of footsteps. He glanced over his shoulder and saw, Fudge making his way down the middle isle between the tables with Scrimgeour and a large, bald, black wizard at his heels.

Tristan began to fight back the urge to panic. "Mr. Malfoy, sir. I would like very much to leave here now. I don't need to attend this school. I was happy the way things were. With the ugh… muggles, as you call them. I'll be taking my leave now." Tristan turned to run but Mr. Malfoy grabbed him by the arm. Not meaning to do so, the sleeve of Tristan's jacked erupted in small blue flames. Mr. Malfoy quickly drew his hand back and the flames subsided. Tristan spun on his heals but before he could sprint towards the doors to leave, he heard a large booming voice.

"Silence!"

He turned to see that Dumbledore had his wand pointed at his own throat.

Fudge approached the teacher's table. He nodded toward Dumbledore. "Dumbledore, this boy incapacitated two former aurors. We have reason to believe that he is dangerous, and we're here to take him with us for questioning."

Dumbledore considered him for a moment, and when he spoke, his words were measured with thoughtfulness. "Tristan is our newest student here at Hogwarts. As such, I will seeing to this matter. Any further communication about this case will come through me."

Mr. Malfoy let out a sigh of relief.

Fudge's face went pale. He made to argue with Dumbledore, but thought better of it.

Scrimgeour was outraged, as were many of the students. Scrimgeour growled something into Fudge's ear, but Fudge shook his head. Both Scrimgeour and the black wizard walked out of the great hall leaving Fudge alone with the teachers. As Scrimgeour pulled the doors open to the great hall, Tristan could see several of the aurors from earlier standing at the ready outside.

"Dumbledore, I urge you to think of your career. Think of your position on the Wizengamot. Is it really worth it for the spawn of Bellwether? When the parents hear about this, there will be an uproar." Fudge insisted.

"Hogwarts is a home for any student who wishes to learn." Dumbledore replied. "Now, if you excuse me, Minister, there is a matter of a sorting that we need to attend to." He turned to one of his fellow professors. "Professor McGonagall can you bring me the sorting hat, I will see to the Minister, in case he has… other matters he wishes to discuss with me."

"Of course." Professor McGonagall hurried out of the great hall.

"He doesn't even have a wand, Dumbledore, how is he going to fit in here?" asked Fudge.

Mr. Malfoy interjected. "I will see to his supplies, Minister." He approached Tristan and pulled him off to the side. He leaned closely to Tristan so that the others couldn't hear him. "Minerva is bringing back something called a sorting hat. It will place you into one of four houses. He pointed to the table that looked like it was in near mutiny; that's Ravenclaw, he then pointed to the next table of students and identified them as Gryffindors, the next as Hufflepuffs, and then the final table as Slytherins. Listen closely, you will not get a fair shake at this school unless you are in Slytherin House. Remember that. No matter what that hat tells you, you go to Slytherin, you hear me? They are the only students that will protect you."

Tristan nodded.

Professor McGonagall came back into the great hall carrying an old musty looking hat. She stood in front of the teachers table, pointed her wand, spoke a spell, and a chair materialized on the spot.

"Have a seat, Tristan." She said.

The students fell silent. Tristan nervously sat onto the large wooden chair. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as Professor McGonagall placed the hat upon his head. The hat was so large that it fell down over his eyes.

"Ahh, what a wonderful mind we have here!"

Tristan started at the sound of the soft, jovial voice echoing inside his thoughts. He tried his hardest to shut out the voice but it only grew louder and surer of itself.

"Yes. You have the mind of a Ravenclaw. You would be a great Ravenclaw, possibly the greatest to ever pass through that house! It is all right here in your mind." The hat proclaimed.

"No!" Tristan shot back. "I am a Slytherin. That is where I belong."

"Slytherin? I don't see an ounce of Slytherin in you. Perhaps a hint of Gryffindor but even that would be unwise. Bravery isn't everything. You sir are a Ravenclaw."

"No! I am a Slytherin!" Tristan confirmed. It was at this moment that he felt another presence within his thoughts.

"You have a brilliant mind that could change all of wizarding kind if you only cultivated it. Slytherin will not do that for you. My boy, the choice is surely Ravenclaw." The hat insisted.

"Get out of my head."

"But Tristan-"

"Get out of my head. Get out of my head. GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Tristan bellowed within his own mind, trying desperately not to shout out loud.

The hat fell limply on his head as steam emitted from it. A moment later, Professor McGonagall was pulling the limp hat from Tristan's head and stared at it confused.

Tristan noticed that Professor Dumbledore was not taking his eyes off him. It made him uneasy.

Fudge broke the silence. "There you have it headmaster, he does not belong at-"

Fudge was interrupted by the strange sight of the limp hat sparking back to life in the hands of a startled Professor McGonagall. A long mouth opened along the brim of the hat and bellowed, "SLYTHERIN!"