And History Repeats Itself

[Tristan Drage]

Tristan had his guard up as he stepped through the doors of the Leaky Cauldron. He hadn't been to England in years and hadn't been at this pub- which he had once frequented on a weekly basis- for even longer. The man felt bad for leaving his wife to deal with three children on her own, but he had promised to return as soon as he possibly could. He knew that she was incredibly nervous, considering what had happened the last time he agreed to meet someone over a letter. He had made promise after promise to keep check of his wand and not to drink or eat anything given to him.

The large man took his seat at a table in the far corner, making sure his back wasn't to the door. Hopefully Sarah would recognize him, because he was certain he wouldn't recognize her. Tristan didn't know who she was, what she looked like, or where he had met her. The only thing he had a pretty good inkling about was what had occurred over the course of their 'association.' That wasn't exactly difficult to guess.

 

[Sarah Reine]

Sarah Reine exited the taxi with a quick flick of her grey eyes around the area of London. The Leaky Cauldron stood out plainly to her. She replaced her overly large fashionable sunglasses on, smoothed a stray wisp of hair that had escaped the tight bun on the back of her head and reapplied her red lipstick. Her suit was flattering to her long legs and lean body, designed by Chanel and if it meant the boys would have to share a broomstick at home, well then that was alright by her.

Entering she looked around the darkened establishment before her eyes rested on the large, darkly attractive man in the corner. Hello handsome. And he was, surprisingly so. She thought he would have maybe gone bald or grown a bit of a paunch. But no, the bastard had kept his dark hair and good looks. Walking to him on stiletto heels that had cost her husband dearly she stopped at his table and spoke.

"Tristan?"

 

[Tristan Drage]

Who wouldn't notice the bombshell that strutted through the door as if she owned the place? Oddly, Tristan didn't feel anything for her. He knew that not so long ago, he would have seen her as a piece of meat. The rush of competition to beat the other males in the room to the chase was practically non-existent. He trailed a thick finger over his wedding ring as the woman approached the table. He opened his mouth to ask if she was Sarah, then common sense gave him a swift kick in the rear. Yes, it had to be her.

Instead, he said, "That would be me." He gestured for Sarah to join him, measuring her up as he stared at her. Nothing. Hers was obviously one of those many who had fallen into the category of faces that he didn't recall. He must have been pretty wasted that night- if it was just one night. He had probably downed the whole bottle of firewhiskey and munched on the glass, too.

 

[Sarah Reine]

Sarah didn't want for him to offer her a seat and instead sat across from him, setting her purse aside. She crossed her long legs, the rasp of silk against silk empowered and comforted her, as did all things of high quality. Her eyes flicked across the large man across from her and she felt a brief stirring before it was gone. She might have taken him up on an offer of drinks and maybe more if she hadn't a score to settle.

After the waiter came by to take their orders and set down drinks, she regarded him coolly over her dry sherry. "I won't beat around the bush, Tristan. We had a bit of fun 17 years ago and surprise," she slid a picture across the table to him, "it's a boy." She watched his reaction with vague interest as she sipped the liquid.

 

[Tristan Drage]

Tristan observed the woman with mild amusement. He didn't touch his drink, remembering his promise to Julie. His lip quirking upward, he crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned into the table. "I won't beat around the bush, Sarah. Whoever he is, he's not mine."

 

[Sarah Reine]

Sarah shrugged, setting her drink down but not aside. She noticed his drink remained untouched. Prude. "I didn't expect you to start passing out cigars. I have a pensieve of that night, if you and your," grey eyes glanced off his wedding ring and back to his with cool challenge,"wife would like to view it. Otherwise, I'd suggest you meet the boy. See for yourself."

 

[Tristan Drage]

Tristan regarded Sarah coolly. He was accustomed to being threatened. He wasn't accustomed to being threatened by women he had slept with, however. Of course, there had been Thorine, but she was a special case. The Dolohov woman was in a league of her own. Or so he had thought.

The large man pulled out a cigar, but he had no intentions of passing them out. Sharing was not one of his many admirable traits. He paused as he formulated some sort of response. "A b1tch who blackmails... I must say, I'm a bit surprised." His eyes burned with amusement. He drew in, tendrils of smoke twisting out of his mouth. "I guess I will have to meet him, then. Tell me this." Another moment of hesitation passed. "If this kid is really mine- which I'm sure he isn't- why now? Seventeen years is a damned long time to keep a secret from someone. I can't imagine he'd be your biggest fan."

 

[Sarah Reine]

The smooth scent of his cigar made her crave a smoke so she palmed a cigarette she pulled from a thin leaf gold case. She lit it, snapped the case shut and tossed it on the table. Leaning an arm across the back of her chair, she inhaled and gestured with her hand. "Insults won't get you very far in this world, Tristan. Any man, especially a reformed slut, should know that." Tapping the ashes against the glass ashtray, she leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"He would have never known about you, about our mistake, had...circumstances not presented themselves. He found your picture, the very one I took that night as we laughed our silly little drunken heads off." Her smile, while beautiful with lips painted a dark red against pearl white teeth, was brittle. "After our fling, I found out I was expecting. But you," she pointed with the two fingers that clasped the cigarette, "were nowhere to be found. My parents found out and made me marry, to save their public face."

Sitting back, she stubbed out the cigarette and picked up her drink. She looked at him with hardened eyes. "Look, this isn't about me. It's about our son. Ever since he found out, he's been getting into fights at school and he's making my rebellious years look like a Shirley Temple film." Slinging back the drink, she set it carefully back on the table. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. "Please," she bit out, "if you could just meet him. Maybe it will help him somehow."

 

[Tristan Drage]

Tristan gave the woman an actual grin as he extended his arm, tapping his cigar against the side of the ashtray. "Reformed slut. Now that's one I haven't heard before." The guilt that usually accompanied him with such a revelation was completely absent. Possibly because he knew that the kid wasn't his. Hell, he was certain. The large man was mostly silent as he drew on the cigar, trying to think this situation over. He wasn't sure how to break it to the kid that he wasn't his father. That said, he had already made up his mind on the matter of meeting the kid.

He did not comment on her sob story. It was kind of shitty that she had to marry, but he probably would have ended up telling her off for listening to her parents. "Well, what's his name? I take it he goes to school here?"

 

[Sarah Reine]

"Sumner," she spat. Sarah had hated his name but his stepfather had insisted. To her it was much too alike some conquering folk hero instead of the well rounded boy she had attempted to raise. Violin and piano lessons hadn't tempered the boy. He had taken upon his namesake's visage and rough demeanor. "Our son's name is Sumner Reine and yes he does attend school locally." She grabbed her purse and put her things inside. "Brightstone weekend. I'll arrange for him to owl you a time and place." Snapping the purse shut with a resounding click, she stood.

"Thank you," she grudgingly said, then ruined the effect by ending with, "for not being a complete arse. Ciao." With that she turned on her heel and left him to foot the bill.