Tristan was tired, tired, tired. After months of putting up with his housemates at Beauxbatons, he was finally ready for some much-needed respite. However, things had started to look up for Tristan. He had been working hard for the past few months to ensure his internship at the French Ministry of Magic’s Department of International Magical Cooperation would be approved, and it finally had. He would be training under freshly-certified diplomat, and friend, Chantal Garnier. He was really looking forward to his opportunity and what else it might bring for him. While he had told his mother, father, and sister that he had been applying for the position, he had yet to tell anyone that he had been accepted. He was waiting to tell everyone all at once.
Tristan was very excited for his new position, and he was hungry to begin to help people. Gone were the days of summer school and play, and it was now time to get serious. In some ways, he was torn about returning to school in the fall. On one hand, he wasn’t sure he was ready to be on his own. It was probably a good thing that he had some time left in school to prepare himself for having a career. He worried that he might be out of his depth and need a little more time to study the language and skills he needed to succeed. On the other hand, he was eager to get out and help people, and create a positive change in the world. He was truly a humanitarian and loved the idea of making life better for as many people as he could through politics. The fact of the matter was that often time internships turned into jobs. He thought that, perhaps, had he not been returning to Beauxbatons in the fall, he might be able to go straight into a real job there. In fact, he had been deliberating between going directly into the department after graduation and going into international magical law, but this was something he would need to discuss with his father.
Tonight had not been the time. Though dinner was nice, Tristan found he had little time to get a word in edgewise as his father spoke to him about politics and business and his work, and Tristan eagerly listened. He loved hearing his father talk, but sometimes it made his head spin a little bit. Sometimes it was more complicated than he was used to hearing, and he struggled to keep up. That was certainly intentional. His father liked to test him, challenge him. Of course, Tristan perked up when he realized that his sister Christèle was waiting for him at home. He had missed her so.
Tristan had always been closer with Christèle than with his other sister, likely because his other sister was quite uptight and inflexible. All in all, Tristan and Christèle were very similar. Both were more progressive, despite their traditional upbringing. They had similar interests, too. Had Tristan not been groomed for politics his whole life, he thought that he might have enjoyed playing his cello for a living. The life of an orchestra musician seemed interesting to him, and he didn’t blame Christèle for taking that route in the slightest. She got to do something she loved, travel, make a decent living. It was good for her, and Tristan supported her in her endeavor.
He had heard about her budding relationship in the papers, and was withholding judgement. He looked up Hefin Howell, and had seen that the man had a reputation for being a ladies’ man, but he doubted she would succumb to those charms alone. No, there was almost definitely something else at work here. He trusted Christèle’s judgement, and if she was interested enough to be in a relationship with him, he must have treated her well. While Tristan was wary of him, he was giving him the benefit of the doubt. He doubted he would have cared for anyone that Christèle chose as a partner, unless the man was a perfect specimen. Additionally, Tristan had never been in a relationship and didn’t entirely know how they worked on an emotional level. The only girl he had ever had an eye for didn’t seem all that interested in him, really, so he doubted that would go anywhere. Maybe there was more at work than met the eye.
As the car pulled into the driveway, Tristan felt himself grow even more excited. He exited the car and allowed his bags to be brought inside. His house was comfortable, familiar. He missed it. It was something he was savoring while he still had it, as his future apartment was unlikely to be as private or cozy as home. He followed them in, and smiled widely at Christèle as soon as he saw her. He went in for an embrace.
“I missed you too.” He promised, “Though I feel like I know everything you’ve been up to. You’re famous in the papers.” He teased, tongue-in-cheek. He pulled out of the embrace. “Let’s catch up. I’m sure we both have plenty to talk about.
