A/N: Thank-you for the support, iluvdanrad!
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Orion looked around his room. He was staying in an old bed chamber, presumably of one of the founders of Hogwarts, in this case, Rowena Ravenclaw. He took delight in the colors, and even greater content in the large, soft bed. He had slept for some hours, waking up on his own accord. He had bathed and dressed in a set of robes he found laid out for him, and then enjoyed a small breakfast. He now looked out the window, seeing the Quidditch Stadium and the mountains beyond.
He sighed. Although he was a free man, for a time, he had been confined to the Tower until Anestrothea came for him. He sighed, deciding to explore all over again.
There was a study, a small library of old books, a bathroom, bedroom, sitting room, and a small kitchenette. Orion took comfort in the books left for him, finding them old and fragile, but savory nonetheless.
He had been enjoying a novel when there was a gentle call of bird: someone was at the door. Rising Orion answered, and heaved a sigh.
"Grandfather, won't you come in?"
- - -
Kingsley grumbled incoherent obscenities as he finished getting his things from the Floo Network. He had arrived at the Three Broomsticks, and Rosemerta, through her laughter, and given him a glass of fire whiskey to calm his nerves.
"Oh, Kingsley!" she gasped through her mirth; "Never seen a man come through that fireplace as you just did!"
Frowning Kingsley drowned the glass and handed it back to her; "Yes, well," he said, wiping his lips; "It's this or the street."
Rosemerta finished laughing, her face red and merry; "Well, Albus sent you a carriage to take you to the school."
"Bullocks…" Kingsley grimaced, and Rosemerta began laughing again.
He gathered his things and left the tavern, seeing the Carriage waiting for him. He saw the strange, ethereal horses standing patiently before it. Kingsley placed his things inside the carriage then climbed in himself, unhappy that he could see the thestrals drawn to the carriage. With another sigh, he settled back to wait for the ride to be over and done with.
Harry and Brenna went with Ron and Hermione to the Gryffindor Common Room, where they were all bombarded with questions. Hermione and Brenna escaped up to her room, while Ron and Harry fended off the crowds.
"Harry, Harry!" Seamus and Dean shouted in unison, grabbing Harry's attention.
"What?" Harry asked them.
"There's a guy in our dorm!" Dean said; "He won't speak to us!"
"He's really odd," Seamus added; "All he said was, and I quote "I am Tristan Gastolph. I vill only speak to 'Arry Potter'. His English is rather sketchy."
Harry nodded, and he and Ron quickly evacuated the crowded common room and to their dormitory. When they arrived, they saw Tristan standing by a window, with arms crossed and a sad lookin his otherwise dark eyes.
"Tristan?" Harry asked, and the teen's head snapped up in his direction.
"'Arry Potter?" the boy asked, and Harry nodded.
"We didn't think you'd be situated so soon," The Boy-Wonder said.
Tristan gazed again out the window; "Neither deed I," he said; "Dee… dee 'ouse elves are very kind, especially dis von… Dobby?" he looked at Harry again with a look of inquiry.
Harry nodded. Ron rolled his eyes, and said; "I'm getting the girls, mate."
He left, leaving the two alone. Harry continued to study Tristan, who paid him no mind for a time. Then, the teen spoke.
"I deed not vant to come," Tristan said with a sigh; "I mees Bulgaria."
"That where you're from?" Harry asked as he walked over to sit on his bed, the one nearest to the window Tristan was gazing through.
"No," Tristan said; "I am frrom Estonia. I vas schooling een Bulgaria," he looked at Harry; "Mein English eez poor," he said earnestly.
"That's perfectly fine, Tristan," Harry said with an easy laugh.
Tristan smirked; "I ahm sooposed to vait for Dumbleedore to bring me a translatorrrr," he stumbled on the words, bringing another smirk to Harry's lips. But Tristan frowned; "Eez not funny!" he said; "I try!"
"I know, I know!" Harry said, holding up his hands; "I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sorry."
Tristan seemed ready to curse Harry, but then, he smiled; "I only keed!" he said, laughing; "Ooh but you ver sorry, veren't you?"
Hermione and Brenna ran into Brenna's quarters, collapsing on the sofas. "Phew!" Hermione said with a light laugh; "That was crazy!"
"Aye, I'm woozy noow," Brenna groaned, rubbing her head.
Hermione sat up; "How are you feeling, anyway? She asked, quiet and subdued.
Brenna looked at her; "Like hell, honestly," she replied; "Buh, 'tis the way of things, I s'pose…"
She laughed halfheartedly, then shook her head as she sat up; "'Mione, what will Ah do?" she asked, and Hermione reached out for her.
The two girls sat together, and Hermione took Brenna's hand in hers; "You will get through this," she said firmly; "And we'll help you all along the way."
Brenna nodded, tears brimming; "I know," she said, sniffing.
Hermione sighed, and then continued; "Brenna, I won't lie to you," she said; "The next few days, months, years, they're going to be extremely dangerous. Not just for you, but for everyone. But it's our choice whether or not if we make it, no one else's. You alone have the power to control whatever it is that's so…so… overwhelming," she could find no better word, indeed Brenna had no gift, but a condition.
"And here is your quarters, Professor Shacklebolt."
"Don't call me that, Minerva."
"Well, that is what you are, officially, Kingsley."
Kingsley shot McGonagall a hot glare, and she only chuckled; "It's too easy," she said as she closed the door.
Kingsley looked around. There was a fireplace, a bed, a desk, a small study, a kitchenette, nothing much else besides the windows, which only overlooked a courtyard. The room was attached to his knew classroom, one that Remus previously taught in. Kingsley took the time t
"So…"
"So…"
They sat in the sitting room, sipping on tea that had been procured earlier. Opposite each other, they would not meet gazes, only quick, awkward glances. Decades of built up defiance and regret separated the two men, one old, the other, in his prime.
Anestrothea sighed; "We must talk, Orion," he said in the ancient language.
Orion finally looked at him after that statement; "I know," he said in English, sipping his tea.
Anestrothea flushed a shade of red, but quickly it was gone as he did the same; "Now, about this trial," he said; "I will be able to convince the Council to postpone it indefinitely, but I'm afraid that until then, you may need to revert back to your prior state."
Orion's eyes narrowed, quite like the cat he had impersonated; "I've not the strength yet to return to such a form, nor the mindset."
Anestrothea sighed a sigh that declared his age and stamina for such drama; "Orion, it is that, or you shall be killed in one way which would bring shame to your name."
"Oh, no martyr's death for me?" Orion asked, setting his tea down and getting up. He walked over to the window, huffing as he crossed his arms.
Anestrothea lowered his head; "Orion, please," he said, causing his grandson to turn around in surprise; "Do this, and your sins shall be of no countenance."
Orion looked away; "Nay," he said, looking up again; "I shall not run and hide again. I have seen, heard, and lived far too much to do that."
Ron entered Brenna's room to find Hermione and her deep in conversation. They stopped though before he could leave; "Oh, hey Ron," they both said in unison, voices blending eerily.
"Er, 'Ello," Ron said, approaching; "You alright, Brenna?" he asked, worriedly looking at her before glancing at Hermione.
Brenna nodded, rising; "Yeah, Ah'm fine," she said, and then, graced them with a weak smile; "Let's meet this Tristan fellow, eh?"
"Sure you want to?" Ron asked; "He was a bit queer, like Seamus said."
"Aye, 'e's prolly Bulgarian," Brenna said under her breath, and she then left the room.
Ron and Hermione were slow to follow; "She's takin' it hard, isn't she?" Ron asked.
Hermione nodded; "She could die, Ron," she said, looking up at him; "and she's fully aware of that. I don't know what to do."
Ron wrapped an arm around her; "Stick by her, I guess," he said; "That's what friends are good for, right?"
In an effort to incorporate Tristan, the four of them along with the new comer had been given the day off from studies. Dumbledore had deduced that it was beneficial for the quartet, anyway, that they have a day of peace after the past night. So, they took lunch in a shady clearing on the outskirts of the Forest.
Tristan proved to be an entertaining individual. With his translator spell intact, he was able to communicate fluently, while he was able to understand those that spoke to and around him. It was supposed to wear off every week or so, but Hermione had learnt the spell. He was the king of jokes and story telling, entertaining the others with wild stories, mostly of Estonian lore and vampirism.
But when Vampirism came up for topic instead of entertainment, Tristan grew steadily quiet. "Tristan," Hermione said; "I know this may be very personal to you, but, I wish to know… are you…?"
"Like my father? No," Tristan replied; "I am just… gifted with magic he's passed along to me. I can, for instance, change my form, as long as I know the animal, or thing. And… I'm good with plants," he said, resting his hand on the ground.
When he lifted his hand, a vine followed his palm, arching and whipping up, leaves and flowers sprouting. Tristan removed his hand with a proud look on his face.
Brenna was flabbergasted, for lack of a better word; "Ah… how…?" on her hands and knees she crawled over and touched the plant, recoiling as it writhed at the sensation; "Great Gods!" she gasped, retreating to Harry.
The group laughed, Tristan the most amused; "I've given it animation," he explained; "It used to be hard, but… I've perfected the art."
"It's impressive," Hermione said; "Do you recite any certain spell?"
Tristan shook his head; "Oy, Tristan," Ron said suddenly; "You say you went to school in Bulgaria?"
"I did…" Tristan replied slowly.
"Went to Durmstrang, did you?"
"For a time…"
"Do you know Krum, Victor Krum?"
Tristan blinked; "Who doesn't know him?" he asked; "The guy's a Quidditch prodigy!" Ron looked at him flatly; "But personally? No. Too much of a jerk for my liking;" and thus he waved the subject off with a flick of his wrist.
The little vine jumped, the petals of its flowers ruffling.
Ron looked at Hermione smugly, who reached over to shove him.
Harry laughed, taking Brenna in his arms. It was moments like this that he liked the most, moments where he was just Harry, and nothing else. Ron drilled Tristan with questions about Durmstrang, and Hermione pulled out a novel she had brought. Brenna quickly fell asleep, and Harry leaned back against a tree trunk, watching the conversation.
Yes, this is what he lived for.
And then, a though occurred to him; No, this is what I fight for.
Harry glanced down at Brenna. Between the two of them, they were powerhouses and the most sought after people. He more so than Brenna because she had remained lucky enough to stay under the radar, but nevertheless, it really was up to their doing. If anything, their love was tragic, or soon to be.
Nothing good could last, no gold can stay.
So was Harry's sardonic train of thought.
Eventually, Tristan tired of the inquiry, and jumped up to his feet; "So, why is this forest so forbidden?" he asked nonchalantly, venturing to the edge of the clearing and peering in.
"Oh, just the odd dangerous animal, centaurs, dementors, werewolves…" Ron said lazily, waving his hand to and fro with no effort.
"That it?" Tristan asked, looking at them all in turn; "Well, not very frightening…" he again looked at the forest, and then turning he stretched; "So, what are you all doing for the holiday?"
Harry blinked. Christmas was on the rise; "Er, that's a good question," he said, looking around as he thought.
"The Burrow, I suppose," Ron said; "MY home," he explained to Tristan.
"Ah," Tristan said, nodding; "Well, sounds fun, being with family…" His voice, though pleasant, hinted with melancholy.
"Are you going to stay here over holiday?" Hermione asked.
Tristan shrugged; "I don't know," he said; "Papa said I'm to stay here until he comes for me…"
"What's got you here, anyway?" Ron blurted our bluntly.
Hermione shot him a look, but Tristan found no offense; "I… there was an accident," Tristan explained; "My father… he had our clan have been found out as Vampires by the Ministry. I am safe from persecution for I am not a vampire, but, my father, grandfather, uncles and cousin are in danger. And besides, You-Know-Who has already tried to kill my father once, long ago. And now, he's trying again."
"Voldemort's placed a price on Gastolph's head?" Harry asked in shock.
Tristan nodded; "Yes, and a hefty one, so I hear," he said; "But, I don't mind the solitude my stay here will offer."
Harry realized that he was going to enjoy DADA a lot more for some reason or other, most likely his grotesque fascination with watching Kingsley squirm. The powerful man had never been seen as disturbed, or uncomfortable, but now he was at the head of the class, fumbling. Finally, he threw a cluster of papers down, and addressed the class.
"Alright, I'll be honest," he said; "I was called to this position on short notice, and I haven't had time to adjust, or find out where you all are. This is the sixth year, right?"
A chorus of "yes" was his reply, and he nodded; "Good, good. Now tell me, have you all gotten past… yes?"
Neville, who had raised his hand, no slowly lowered it; "W-where has Professor L-Lupin gone?" he asked shakily.
"Professor Lupin was called away on an urgent matter," Kingsley said shortly. "Now, have you all gotten past chapter… yes?" he was speaking through gritted teeth, now.
Lavender lowered her hand; "Are you an auror?" she asked.
Kingsley coughed; "Yes, I am," he replied.
"What did you do before this, then? You don't seem to be the teaching type." Oh but she could be painfully obvious.
Kingsley rubbed his temples; "I hunt…hunted, down criminals." He replied; "Alright, does anyone else care to know anything about me and my personal life?"
At least ten hands shot up into the air. Kingsley groaned inwardly. He was likely to die before the end of this.
Harry just sat back and covered his grin with a hand. Oh, this was going to be good.
One of the most memorable moments of Tristan's arrival happened within the next three days, during a double dose of Herbology. The class was in the midst of "review", but really, Professor Sprout needed supplies. Now, Tristan, Ron, and Harry were instructed to retrieve mandrakes from their pots and then repotting them. They had been placed in a separate greenhouse, to avoid any other students being exposed to the mandrakes' obnoxious and crippling screams.
The three boys were surrounded by at least ten pots, the leafy plants within them wiggling at odd intervals. "I hate this," Ron groaned, watching a plant move forlornly.
"Oh well," Harry sighed.
"Oh, pish posh, just a couple of mandrakes," Tristan said as he ran his fingers through a plant.
Ron snorted; "Yeah, just a couple;" he said disdainfully; "So Harry, remember when next Quidditch game is?"
For a time, the two talked about Quidditch. Tristan, who had no apparent interest in the game, turned his attention to the mandrakes. They were rather easy creatures to tame, he wagered, what with his little advantage. He began stroking this leaf and that leaf, feeling the plant shake and vibrate. He could have sworn he heard a purr-like exclamation.
Harry watched, out of the corner of his eye, Tristan's fascinating routine.
"Tristan…" Harry said uneasily; "what are you doing?"
Ron looked as well; "Blimey, mate, don't try to get it off, then," he said, and Harry couldn't help but smirk.
Tristan looked up; "Oh, what sorry?" he asked; "Oh, this," he said, not taking his hand away; "I think I've just figured out something…" he grabbed the stalk.
"Don't!" Ron exclaimed; "You… Tristan…"
Tristan looked at them flatly, one hand on the on the stalk, the other bracing against the table; "And…?" he asked, eyebrow arched smugly.
"NO!" Ron and Harry exclaimed.
But, he pulled.
Ron and Harry dropped to the ground with their ears covered. They sat huddled close together, afraid to move. But, when nothing happened, the stood up, and saw Tristan holding the mandrake free of its pot, stroking the back, just below the stalk. The mandrake emitted a high-pitched buzzing sound, but nothing more.
"Damn you," Ron seethed; "Gave us both heart attacks!"
"Hmmm," Tristan mumbled; "Had he screamed, you wouldn't've died," he looked at Ron expectantly; "Well, get me another pot! I can't keep this up forever, what with nine others still to go…"
Harry shook his head as Ron left to get some empty pots; "Can you teach me how to do that?" he said, looking at Tristan.
"I'm afraid, Dear Harry, you lack the key to this success," Tristan said; "Besides, if I told you, I'd have to kill you."
Harry laughed, but saw Tristan looking at him and wondered if he was being serious.
The following evening, at dinner, another oddity appeared to the quintet. Hermione and Brenna were deep in conversation over astronomy, both attempting to do homework that was due the following evening. Ron and Dean were talking of Quidditch, and Harry was oddly quiet, content with watching his housemates. Tristan was talking with Ginny about types of candies, most of them he did not know of. The two were getting along rather well, Harry noticed.
Most of the chatter was about Kingsley being the newly-appointed DADA teacher. Harry saw him sitting up at the staff table, talking with Sinistra but looking otherwise disgruntled. Harry had to smirk; Kingsley was going to have a hard time of things if he didn't lighten up.
Then, Filch entered the Great Hall, causing all closest to the door to freeze in slight panic. It seemed every time the Squibb entered during dinner, something was amiss. Tucked beneath his arm was a crate with holes, multiple stickers, and a small latched door.
"Think one of Hagrid's side-projects was delivered to the wrong place?" Ron asked with a snicker, Harry joining him.
After searching the room for the owner of the crate, Filch made his was over to Harry. Harry froze, not knowing what to do, and Filch shot him a grimacing glare. But, he bypassed Harry, and set the crate down in front of Tristan, on top of his plate, and knocking his goblet over.
"Here," Filch said; "And this;" he threw a tattered scroll on top of the crate.
Tristan watched the man go, then looked at Harry, pointing at the crate. Harry shrugged. The Great Hall returned to normal, though talk had shifted slightly. Tristan took the scroll, unraveling it and allowing Harry a gander, but he found it to be written in Estonian.
"What's it say?" He asked.
But Tristan ignored him, and smiled as he tucked the scroll away in his pocket. He turned the crate around, saying; "Minu sõber?" My Friend?
He opened up the crate, and a black furry ball spilled out into his lap. It turned out to be a cat, with large honey eyes and oddly colored ears. Inside the ears, there was a white, then yellow, and finally an orange stripe.
"Hah! Katmavilli!" Tristan exclaimed with a soft laugh, stroking the cat's head. Earnestly he leaned into the affection.
"What the…?" Ron asked, having risen to lean over the table, along with Hermione, Brenna, and several others.
"Tristan, what kind of cat is that?" Seamus asked.
Tristan looked up; "I don't know, honestly," he admitted; "but, he's been my companion for four years now. Haven't you?" he asked the cat, taking it up in his hands and setting him atop the crate.
The cat yowled, a low, agreeing sound. He stretched his lean limbs and dragged his claws against the wood, then sat down once more in Tristan's lap.
"No to do away with this crate…" Tristan grumbled, trying to ignore the attention the House was giving him.
Hermione, wordlessly, held out her wand and tapped it twice. There was a spinning hiss, the crate disappeared.
Orion and Anestrothea had bickered for the better part of four hours, neither willing to back down or stand up. Orion was adamant about remaining in his current state and staying at Hogwarts, to better protect Brenna, but Anestrothea would not have Orion staying on Dumbledore's doorstep, seeing as how the man had offered up his house to so many already. They had ignored the arrival of Tristan, leaving the vampire's affairs to vampires, for they had their own.
Finally, Anestrothea sighed. He was weary of arguing. "Then come back to Delgrishire, won't you?" he asked finally.
"I'd be killed," Orion replied; "You know that."
Anestrothea nodded; "Orion, there is no way for you to walk out of this on two feet."
Orion rolled his eyes, but sighed. He had given it his very best, he supposed, though most often being the best meant succeeding.
"What of Brenna?" he asked finally, after a time.
"She's coming home, of course," He said; "After… after…" he couldn't find the words; "She will be coming home."
"She will cripple under the stress," Orion quipped; "Take her away from here and she will no longer be Brenna."
"What else have I to do?" Anestrothea asked; "Do enlighten me, if you have any suggestions."
"I have one;" Orion said; "Let her stay."
"She cannot, it is too—"
"Too what, too dangerous?" Orion cut him off sharply; "No, safer. Albus has more defenses than you care to admit, grandfather. Brenna will do well here, regardless of what she has." It hurt him that they spoke of Brenna as if she had a disease. But was it not a crippling condition, being the Torch?
He did his best to oversee it.
Anestrothea was quiet. Rising, he stared up at the unmoving portrait of the Ravenclaw, admiring the detail. He was a fool for art, but it did little in helping him focus and come to a conclusion. He turned and looked at Orion.
"Fine," he said; "And you may stay, only if you return to you feline form."
Orion would have become enraged, but his anger had waned to the point he could only be slightly annoyed. "When I have the strength, I will," he finally said; "Though I will talk when I see fit."
"Only in front of those who know you are capable of doing so," Anestrothea instructed. "Orion, Brenna must be watched at all times, especially now."
Orion nodded. After a time, he said; "Any word of my brother, or Riddle?"
Anestrothea nodded; "Riddle has once again confronted the council."
Orion nodded; "And… McNay?"
"He was spotted in Wales."
"Damn," Orion said flatly, leaning back.
Later, Anestrothea found Brenna and told her of the goings on. She ended up missing most of Astronomy, as a result. Harry, Ron, Tristan and Hermione waited up for her in the common room, finding it to their own as the hours grew late and the sky dark.
She finally climbed through the portrait hole, her book bag snagging, Harry helped her in, and then they headed over to the group situation around the fire.
"So… what's going to happen next?" Hermione asked.
"Et looks like Ah'm stayin' wit' Tristan an' 'Arry ovah break," Brenna said with a sigh.
"Oh… that's good though, isn't it?" Ron asked, looking at Hermione for confirmation.
Brenna shrugged; "Mah brothah was spotted in Wales," she explained; "an' Orion's going to stay, as Crookshanks."
"Oh that's splendid!" Hermione said, clapping. She had missed her cat, even though it was all a ruse. Besides, Orion was a very intelligent conservationist.
Brenna smiled at her enthusiasm, then, she looked at Harry; "M' Grandah wanted ya t' know he's got an eye on ya, as well, 'Arry," she said; "McNay's in roon with Vol…Voldemort, anyway…"
Harry held her hand for support, then looked at the group; "So Ron, you're going to the Burrow?"
Ron nodded; "I might come early, though," he said; "Mum and Dad want to visit Charlie again, and I hate Romania."
Tristan laughed at that; "It's a very nasty place," he commented.
Katmavilli came down the steps then, with a small ball of yarn in his delicate ivory fangs. He dropped it at Tristan's feet and curled up in the teen's lap, idly swatting at the ball with his oddly grey-tinted paw.
"That has got to be one of the oddest cats I've ever seen," Ron said before he could stop himself.
Tristan laughed again; "I know, right?" he asked, glancing up at the redhead. He took the yarn and tossed it. With a small yowl, Katmavilli bounded after it.
"Hermione, are you visiting our parents?" Ron asked.
Hermione nodded; "Mom's got a bout with the flu, I'm afraid; "She said; "So I'll have to be there to at least help with cooking dinner!" she laughed lightly then, quietly though.
Silence reigned for a time. The only relevant sound was the crackling of the logs, and the jingly sounding purr Katmavilli emitted when he found his yarn. Each teen seemed deep in thought. Hermione over what she still had to find out, Ron about everyone, Tristan about his father, Brenna about herself and Harry, and Harry, well, all of the above.
They turned in soon after, the tension too much for bearing.
TBC
a/n: please review!