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To Die For by TheHeirOfSlytherin
Chapter 2 : Reminiscence
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 10


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loonylove @ TDA.

***


August, 2022. 
New York City, New York.


Tristan flicked through an old magazine lazily until his driver opened the door. He pushed his Armani sunglasses up his nose and stepped out of the sleek, black limousine. The wind had picked up and Tristan pulled his designer coat closer to him, lifting the collar up to cover his neck. The cold air didn't bother him, but he still felt it. 

The sun was mostly hidden by the clouds, but peeked out in places; he kept to the shade. He listened to girls giggle and turn while they walked past and couldn't help but smirk. 

Tristan pulled back the door and stepped into the university. Everyone he walked past ignored him, used to him being around the campus as he had been during the summer, whispering comments that he walked around like he owned the place; he heard them all. Only when he reached the library, did he remove his sunglasses, swinging them back and forth in his hands. The librarian pointed to the corner, knowing who he was looking for; the same person he'd been talking to last month. He nodded once, acknowledging her, and made his way to the corner of the library he needed, to the history section.

Tristan dropped the glasses on the table, causing the professor waiting for him to jump, and took off his coat. 

"Mister Chase," he stuttered. Tristan raised an eye-brow, taking in his appearance; his hair was messed up, from running his hands through it one to many times, he assumed. There were dark circles around his eyes and they were dull and tired. He shook slightly, almost unnoticeable, except Tristan was looking for it. Added to his stutter, the man before him was terrified. 

Good.

"I told you not to contact me unless you found it," he spoke low and soft, with a clear threat hidden in his tone. "I take it you have, Beaker." 

Beaker nodded his head quickly and pushed the book in front of him to Tristan's line of sight. He turned the book around and skimmed over the words on the pages in front of him. "What am I looking at?"

Beaker coughed, clearing his throat. "I-it's about the blue stone you were talking about. It took time, but I managed to trace it's whereabouts to here in a remote part of Scotland." 

By the time he had finished, Beaker seemed calmer. He still shook and was unable to look him in the eye, but he had stopped stammering; Tristan gave him points for effort. But he still didn't like what he was hearing, and showed it in his expression and tone. "Scotland?" He growled. "Where in Scotland?" 

Beaker let out a small squeak, fearful, and pulled the book back slowly, hoping he could find the answer. "I don't know, it's so remote I can't find a name. I tried to find details, something that could provide a location, but I got nothing."

"But it's here?" Tristan asked, pointing to the page. "You're certain?" 

The professor nodded his head earnestly, his glasses falling from his nose. He pushed them up. "I'm certain. Though I wish I could provide a name for you now, I can keep looking."

Tristan waved a hand in front of Beaker's face lazily, cutting him off. He absorbed himself into the pages of the book provided to him, taking in every detail of the place so remote that a name couldn't be found. Isolated, a place no one could find, no Muggle anyway; Tristan was sure he knew where he needed to go. 

"Hogsmeade," he muttered quietly to himself. 

"I'm sorry?" Beaker asked, not hearing what he had said. 

Tristan lifted his head, a look of mild surprise on his face, as though he had not noticed he wasn't alone. He stood up straight, a small smile graced his features, something Beaker had never seen before; it unnerved him. And Tristan could tell; his features changed to one of amusement. 

Tristan held out his hand. "Because of you, I know where I need to go, thank you." The professor glanced down, scared. "I'm a man of my word, Beaker," he assured. "You've done as I've said and you've got me the information I need; you're fine."

They both knew exactly what he meant by that; he was safe, he'd live. Beaker took his hand hesitantly and shook once, before letting go. Tristan put his coat and sunglasses back on and handed the professor the history book, then proceeded to walk out of the library without another word. 

"Mister Chase!" Beaker called. Tristan narrowed his eyes at being stopped; every delayed moment was interrupting his plans. He faced the man, willing him to speak. "What is so important about these stones that would would willingly travel the world to find them. Do they mean anything to you?"

"Not a damn thing," he admitted. "But I need them to reach my goal, one I've had for the longest time. The next question you cannot ask," he said, seeing the professor's mouth reopen. "It's personal and if I tell you, I'd have to kill you." 

He continued to walk away. "How old are you?"

"Older than you can imagine," Tristan called back, never stopping his steady pace back to his car. The driver was ready with the door open as soon as he was close enough to be seen. "Home," he said, getting in. 

The drive to his apartment was a quiet one; he spent the journey planning his preparations for his departure in his head, ready to do so once he was home. Once again, the door was opened for him, the same with the door leading to the lobby. He took the elevator up to the penthouse, taking in the information he had gathered. It wasn't what he would have hoped, going back home had not been on his list of priorites. As long as no one recognized him, he would be fine. He doubted they would, whether they remembered his old names or not; they had been so long ago. 

The elevator opened into his living room and he stepped out, removing his glasses and jacket. The floor to ceiling glass windows were UV protected and the sun was no bother to him. Tristan came to a halt at the bookcase nearest one of the windows and pulled out a small mahogany box, covered in protective enchantments and engravings. He whispered an incantation softly, his hand over the lid, and lifted it up. Sitting in the middle of the couch, Tristan put the box on the coffee table and admired the three stones he currently had in his possession; one clear, one green, the final a deep red. One more, one bluer than the sky, and his collection would be complete. Then he could go after what he really wanted, the reason he needed the stones in the first place. 

"Soon." 

Tristan scanned over his home, barely taking in the riches, the culture, things he had that others would kill for. He was leaving it all behind anyway. He decided to keep the apartment, rather than sell it, thinking it may come in handy if he needed a place. He owned it anyway. He picked up a stone and stood up to admire the view from the window, though he preferred it at night, thinking the sight more wonderful. "I think I may actually miss it here," he said to himself. 

Tristan threw the stone in the air, catching it easily, and held it up to see which one he had chosen; the clear one. The first stone he had found. It had been the most difficult to get a hold of and even harder to get away; it had almost killed him. But it had been a means to an end and if his plan succeeded, it would be worth it, he knew. Leaning against the window, his mind went back to that night...

***

December, 1612. 
Paris, France.
 

He hid behind the cart, outside of the gate. Snow covered stones dug into his knees, ripping through the thin layer of cotton, but he ignored it. A figure came up from behind and crouched beside him. "You can go around back, Simon. The wall is not that high and the path is clear; everyone is in the ballroom at the party and the guards are here at the front of the house." 

Simon gave a curt nod and allowed the boy at his side, only a year or so older than himself, to show him the way. They stopped at the wall. He was right, it was low enough for him to climb over with little effort and no noise. "I will wait for you in the trees, just pass the front gate. Good luck, Simon."

"Luck?" He asked, smirking. "Will I really need it, Henry? Do you not think I will get in?"

Henry scoffed halfheartedly. "I believe you will get in just fine, it's getting out I'm worried about. We don't know what magic they have protecting the house. You, my friend, are going on blind luck." 

Simon took a step back. "Everyone must at some point." He saluted the boy, ran to the wall and jumped, just managing to reach his hand over the top. He pulled himself up the rest of the way easily and dropped down to the ground without a sound. He made his way across the garden silently, not wanting to attract attention, and pressed his back to the wall, concealing himself from possible onlookers. 

When he saw that the room was clear, Simon pressed his hand to the door carefully and whispered the incantation that would open it. He prayed that whatever wards the family normally had were down for their guests and held his breath as he took one slow step inside. 

Nothing happened. 

Simon let go of the breath and walked in, closing the door behind him; if someone were to walk past, he did not want them to suspect anything was different. The pathway to the staircase was empty, he could hear music coming from down the long and narrow hallway. His friend was right once more; everyone was enjoying the party, paying no attention to anything beyond the ballroom doors. 

Simon took the stairs two at a time, not wanting to waste a second; any time that could be shed from getting what he wanted would be time added to getting out. He followed the path, remembering the route Henry had told him. He only wished Henry had been strong-willed enough to get it when he had the chance; Simon would have been long gone by now. 

He shook his mind of those thoughts; it couldn't be helped, so it didn't matter. He stopped suddenly, sensing the magic coming from just around the corner; he had found it. Simon turned and stopped in front of the large oak doors, placing his hand against the door frame. It took every bit of strength he had, but he did it; the wards fell down and the door swung open. He took the same caution as before and felt relief flow through him when nothing happened upon stepping inside. 

He didn't need to look far; there in the middle of the extravagant room was the stone he had been searching for. After all this time, it was almost in his hands. Simon side-stepped every other valuable in the room, making his way to the small pillar which held the stone. The jewel rested on a silk white cushion, kept still and safe. He ran his hand over the top, hovering, and found out that no individual charms was protecting it. The fool of a man downstairs had obvivously believed the magic around the door was protection enough. 

Simon picked up the stone quickly. 

Then the alarms sounded.

He pushed the stone into the pocket of his pants and spun around, checking every part of the room for another way out. There was none; it was all wall. He ran out of the entrance quickly and down the hall, the opposite direction to the way he came in. He heard voices and footsteps coming up the stairs and then the unmistakeable sound of Apparition and suddenly the voices were not that far behind. 

He turned the other corner, coming to a window. He knew what he had to do. The voice shouted for him to stop, then a spell was fired at him. It missed by mere inches, red light hitting the wall, then green. Simon covered his face with his arms and leapt through the glass. The fall seemed to last forever, but he landed onto the ground. His body twisted awkwardly and he fell on his side, rolling onto his stomach, and scrambled to his feet. 

He was met a few second later by one of the guards. Simon tried to knock him out of the way, but the bigger man was quick and moved to the side, lowering his body, and dug something into Simon's stomach. He let out a pained scream and hit the man, knocking him to the ground. He continued to run until he reached the metal gates, each step a muffled groan as his wound began to burn like fire. 

He made it to the top and fell to the ground. Barely able to stand, he just managed to make it to his destination, before Henry caught him. "What is it?"

"My side," he whispered. 

Henry looked down. He saw it, just to the left, sticking out of his friend's body. "You've been struck by a blade," he informed him, but Simon was barely conscious. He tried to grab it, but pulled back, burned. "An iron blade."

Henry pulled down his sleeve so it covered his hand and pulled it out quickly, before tossing it aside. He rubbed his hand on his pants, hoping to be rid of the stinging sensation, and held the boy up. "Simon! Simon, look at me."

Simon opened his eyes with great difficulty. "Help," he whispered. "I... I need..."

"I know what you need."

He lost all consciousness. 

When he awoke, he recognised it as the run down house that Henry had been living in. He pulled himself up from the small, uncomfortable bed, gritting his teeth in the process. 

He heard the door open and Henry whisper soft, calming words to an unknown woman. Her scent found its way to him and he almost imagined his mouth would water. He could feel his teeth come through; they were ready for her. 

Henry stepped through, holding her by the throat, shushing her. "Good. You're up. What little I had, I gave to you while you were out, but it wasn't enough. You need her."

"Thank you," Simon said sincerely. "You are a good friend, Henry. I hope we meet again soon after tonight."

Henry ran his hand down her pale white neck, feeling her shiver at his touch. "Did you get what you wanted?"

Simon dug into his pocket and pulled out the clear jewel. "A rock? You almost died for a rock?"

"I told you," he replied, standing on shaking legs. "The object is not the goal, it's -"

"A means to an end, I remember," he said. "Feed and be gone, Simon. You broke into the house of the Minister for Magic and stole from him; they may already be looking for you."

He held her out at arms length, pushing her Simon's way. He grabbed her by the arms, caressing his way up to her shoulders. "Look at me," he whispered to her. And she did. "Relax." She did and he moved closer, wrapping his left arm around her waist, while his right hand pulled her hair back, exposing her neck. He tilted her head to his right and revealed two razor sharp, pointed fangs. 

He bit into her skin, clinging to her as he fed. 



A/N: Hey, all. Authors note at the bottom this time. By now, I'm sure you all know what Tristan is. And Henry. So, yes, Tristan was Simon. You'll only see one more name change in this story. Maybe two. As he was Simon at the time, I put "Simon did..." "Simon said..." instead of "Tristan", but I don't want anyone to get confused. Second, I got iron being bad for Tristan from The Vampire Diaries (I think. I watch too many. LOL). Finally, I made up the university for this story. Hope you all enjoy this. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. :)

Edit: I changed the yellow stone to its real colour; green. I have no idea why I put yellow.

Sam.


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