Dissindere Temporalis

So here we are! Chapter 11. These are coming out pretty steadily! I'm actually a bit proud. We're breaking the 50,000 word mark with this chapter, so applause for all of you!

Easter was wonderful and relaxing but I was still thinking about this fic and plotting away.

This chapter is a foray into the head of one of our 'new characters': Sebastian "Bash" Rosier. I hope you enjoy his thoughts. He was very fun to write.

Also if you want AI art from any of my stories you can find me on insta at miss dot m dot cricket. With the dots being fullstops.

Enjoy!

Libra Est Omnia

'Olde magic' is based on the philosophy of balance, much like nature is. For every world changing power there is an answer, and it may not be what you expect.

Modern magic often defies this principle, such as with transfiguration, changing something alive, with a soul and agency, into an object lacking in this, like a rat to a vase. Olde magic would never attempt such a perversion of the balance of the world. Vanishing objects also defies the balance of the world. To make something non existant. It must go somwhere, but where? No one is sure.

What we do know is that powerful wizards in history always come in pairs. There are the pairs of legend, that fight against each other to the end if needs be, like Merlin and Morgana. Or there have been pairs in history where the path of history has been changed by the influence of another.

When one balance is removed, either through death, destruction or calamity, there will always be another, rising to take their place.

Balance. If it is maintained. Greatness will follow...

- Gladhorn, The Old Magic and the New

Life had always kind of come easily to Bash.

Okay that was a bit arrogant to say, but it was kind of true.

He had been born to privilege, to a family that loved and supported him, who valued the Olde ways and the deeper magics that were slowly being bled from the world. He'd been taught about his history, his long bloodline to a sorceress from mythology itself, Medea.

A maligned figure, passionate and furious. History had shifted, both Muggle and Magical, obscuring the truth of a woman who had tried to hold her own in a world of men.

The first creator of the Philosophers stone, his family records whispered, for it had been she who turned the fleece to gold. But she had also been the first to destroy her stone, unnerved by its power. And so the family had kept the secrets, along with other ties to many legends such as the Sleeping Beauty. It was how they'd gotten their name, Rosier, rosebush in French.

But those ancient myths and legends were murky, the records thin, and all from someone's frankly rather biased perspectives.

Still, he came from a lineage he was proud of, from the ancient magics of the world.

Along with his venerated bloodline, he also had the blessing of being a rather handsome boy, and his sister a celebrated beauty even as young as she was. As such they'd been raised as almost royalty, but had also been held to those standards.

Arrogance had not been tolerated. You could be proud but not arrogant, refined but not rude, proud but not prideful. He was expected to do his best, to do their family credit, but if he acted like a Black or a Malfoy he'd be reprimanded for it.

"Anyone who has to declare themselves better than others, is lacking in an essential quality to be better." His father had told him once, voice soft, but warm, "You are not great because you declare yourself to be."

"So, how do you become great?" He'd asked, wide eyed and curious, Druella nodding beside him.

"You simply are." His father smiled softly, seeing his confusion and the little frown on Druella's face, "Power needs no introduction my children. Money, political influence, those can take you to power, but true power, magical prowess, a presence that makes someone take note. That is something that simply is."

He hadn't understood then.

He did now.

He'd known the first time he saw them. Potter and Riddle.

Like two sides of the same coin.

Potter was like fire, burning bright. He wasn't charismatic, or particularly charming but there was something engaging about him. He cared, he cared deeply, and there was something sad about him. Something tragic and heroic, almost like the men and women in the sagas. Even though he'd never heard of anything tragic happening to a Potter, sometimes he watched Harry and he saw a depth of sadness in his green eyes that made his own chest ache in response.

He didn't ask.

If Potter needed to talk, he would. But he knew he wasn't the only one to notice. Druella had also noticed of course, very little slipped past his brilliant sister, but the Hufflepuff girl, Tierra, also sometimes watched both Potter and Riddle with concern.

Empathy. A forgotten art, but something that should never be lost.

There wasn't a mean bone in that 'puff's body. So he wasn't concerned about her.

As for Riddle…

If Potter was fire, Riddle was water. Like a river, running deep, with hidden depths. Sometimes his gaze was so cold it felt almost like ice, and there were times that he saw the boy shift away from physical contact like it was unpleasant. If Harry was the feeling of poignant heartbreak, keenly felt, Riddle was the sharp edge of revenge best served cold.

And both of them radiated power.

Different from each other.

But power nonetheless.

Tom wore his like a crown, wielded it like a sword.

Harry, like a cloak, like armour, a shield.

They simply were.

In the days after he was released from the Hospital wing, Sebastian noticed things had changed.

Tom was a little warmer, a little more relaxed. He was still Tom of course, still prickly and moody and prone to rolling his eyes and clearly writing them off as morons, but he was also just a touch more open.

And Bash had found himself falling in step with him more often.

It was like their ordeal had bonded them, as though by sticking with Tom, not leaving him to be hurt, he'd proven himself.

Harry and Hermione had always been Tom's favourites, and they still were, but now Bash realised that he himself had also been elevated to this status.

It was a heady feeling, and a pleasant one too.

He and Tom had a lot in common, a curiosity about the Magical world, the deep and rich histories and mysteries that had been lost through the ages. Hermione was also passionate about the topic, so many evenings, when Harry was playing Quidditch and Druella was having time with Victoria and Aurora, the three would claim a nook in the Library and research, debate and soak in each other's knowledge.

Sometimes the little 'puff would join them too, ambling in and working quietly beside them. She would always listen, though, despite doing her work, and any insights she gave were always interesting. Bash had always grown up with Slytherins and Ravenclaws, all of whom had a more…analytical or calculating view of the world. They looked at it with reason, with a dispassionate gaze. Tierra looked at history through a lens of deep empathy.

It made him think.

He liked it when he had to consider things from another point of view.

Hermione too, made him look at the world in a different way. She was passionate, intelligent but with a drive to her that couldn't be anything other than Slytherin. In her he could see what Shafiq had said on their first night, that sometimes Gryffindor traits were close to Slytherin. Hermione was clearly both. Fiery and passionate, brave and determined, with a ruthless drive to prove herself. And she was surprisingly open to the idea that myths and legends, folklore and stories might have roots in reality, especially since she did have a tendency to be literal, or bound by convention.

Tom, of course, was fascinated by it all.

"You've mentioned Olde magic a few times," Hermione murmured one day and both Tom and Tierra, who had joined them that day, looked up, "The books are a bit vague as to what that is."

Bash smiled at her and leaned back in his leather backed booth seat. The four of them were tucked in a back corner in a booth, bookshelves on either side and an oak table between them. Hermione was opposite him, Tierra beside her, with Tom beside him.

"That's because some people don't believe in the two being separated. Many believe they are one and the same."

"But you don't." Hermione cocked her head to the side, "Why?"

Bash smiled, "When you look back to the tales of magic, throughout history, there is a point where it sort of changes. Changes from this deep, primal power to something, well, tamer."

He chewed on his lip, considering how to explain, "Your wand is a conduit for you and your power, the latin spells assist you in almost visualising to the magic what you want it to do. Same with wordless spells. It's still the same principle but you're not using your voice. Wandless magic starts veering closer to Olde magic."

Tierra put down her book, "My mother always told me there was a time, before wandlore, where magic was entirely based on the witch or wizards magical energy pool. The principles were there were three tiers, wizards by incantation, hand wizards and wizards of pure thought."

Bash nodded, giving the 'puff a small smile, "That's right. Your mother comes from another ancient bloodline that has deep roots in this history."

"So…why did wands become the norm?" Hermione frowned slightly, tapping her quill against her parchment.

"Let me guess," Tom murmured, drawing all three of their gazes to him, "Wizards of incantation became the norm, and so magic shifted to them."

Bash nodded, "Partially. They were always common, but after the time of Merlin they became almost exclusive. The reason is unknown but there are theories. One was that at the time before, staves or staffs were very commonly used as a means of channelling power, of enhancing what was already there. Early wands were in fact, staves. But beyond that, wizards by incantation were always the more numerous. It took great power and study to become anything beyond that. Merlin, and the others, were all wizards of that final stage."

"The theory my mother always had was that after the time of Merlin and Arthur, after the battle that happened…" Tierra sighed softly, "It was a magical battle, muggle and wizards fighting together and against each other. In the aftermath Merlin vanished, or was killed, no one knows, Morgana too and Nimue. Arthur as well. The four most powerful magic users of their time, gone just like that. The Muggles fell into anarchy and magic started to shift into the background, hidden. Wands became easier to hide and witches and wizards lived amongst their muggle neighbours."

"Hated and reviled," Tom's lip curled, and Bash shivered. That look was cold, so cold it burned.

"As many in the magical world hate and revile Muggles," Tierra pointed out calmly, seemingly unphased. "Differences breed fear. Like the stupid fifth years attacking you, Tom. They see you as a threat to their narrow world view. They don't see beyond that… much like their parents don't see past the term muggle. They just immediately assume it means bad."

Tom looked over at the 'puff speculatively, and then turned his gaze to Hermione, "And you? What do you think?"

"I agree with her," Hermione sighed, "I think what everyone forgets is that we're all human, and prone to fearing what is different. It's why wars are fought, why religions exist. We all seek a tribe, and then seek to protect it by keeping out things that are different."

Tom tapped his lips, "Interesting. Or Muggles fear that which is superior…"

"I've always been told that Muggles are no better than common beasts," Bash shrugged, "That they fear the superiority of magic."

Hermione's knuckles and cheeks went white, "Superiority-"

The soothing voice of the 'puff broke in, "What makes magic superior? That we can wave a wand and things occur? That we channel powers?" she leaned in, drawing all their gazes to her, but Bash saw Hermione's colour slowly returning to her cheeks, "Tom, if you have any knowledge of the Muggle world you know that technology is advancing so rapidly that soon they will wield power almost akin to magic. How can that sort of knowledge, drive to improve, ambition… how can that be inferior?"

Tom stared at her, face shuttered, "I have seen bitter ignorance and fear. Fear of magic. They will never accept us if they know of us. If they do know of us, they'll want to kill us, or leash us, and there are more of them than there are of us."

Hermione leaned in now, eager, "The problem then isn't the Muggles, don't you see Tom? Wizards are the same way, we fear them and so we lash out. It's exactly the same. The problem… The problem is that we're living right on top of each other. We're constantly having to hide ourselves, constantly forced to restrain the magic to avoid detection. That makes us bitter…"

Bash blinked at her, surprised, "So your solution is what?"

Tierra chuckled softly, "Build a magical kingdom?"

Hermione laughed at her and Bash shook his head, scoffing. Slowly the conversation drifted to other topics, but Tom remained quiet.

When he looked over he realised that Tom, rather than concentrating on his work, looked thoughtful.

"Can you learn Olde magic?"

Bash looked up as Tom slid into the seat opposite him in the common room, those dark, infinite eyes fixed on his own. It was almost unnerving to be the object of those eyes, it made your pulse race a little faster. But they weren't cold today, the dark, almost indigo, seemed softer.

He was lucky, few saw this Riddle. Oh he was charming with everyone. And he certainly seemed relaxed. But once you saw him being truly relaxed you realised that the other was merely a facade.

"Pardon?" he blinked, "Learn Olde magic?"

"Yes," Tom leaned in, "There is so much more to magic, so much potential. Everything I read just confirms that the books are just scraping the surface, you could spend a lifetime studying it. Several lifetimes even…" discomfort flickered over his face, "I want to learn it all."

Bash felt a small thrill, "Tom you're already the best in our year, barring Hermione. And Olde magic, well it's barely chronicled. A great many people in the modern magical world don't even think it exists. Others just think it's dark. If you learn it, you're going to get tarred with that brush."

"Magic isn't light or dark," Tom's lip curled, "It's how you use it."

"The wielder is what makes it light, or dark."

Both of them looked up as Harry joined them.

Potter's green eyes were shuttered as he considered them, "What are you two plotting?"

"Plotting?" Bash affected insult, deflecting him, "I am wounded, hurt, crushed even. My soul is a desert drear."

Harry gave him an expression that was drier than a pharaoh's tomb, "You're a bloody faker, Rosier." and then he turned to Tom, "Tom?"

Riddle hesitated for a moment, and something flickered in Harry's eyes.

Hurt? Worry? Betrayal? Bash wasn't sure, whatever it was, he didn't like it.

But he stayed quiet, watching them closely.

"I want to learn Olde magic."

Tom's voice was quiet, but something about it felt almost monumental. Riddle was notoriously private, he tolerated them, was potentially even fond of them, but guarded. Out of everyone, he seemed to consider Harry the closest to an equal he had, Hermione too. But he was still guarded with them.

This felt… like something. He wasn't sure what.

Harry's face relaxed, and his emerald green eyes softened.

"Olde magic?" He took a seat and listened through their explanation with a thoughtful look on his face, "It's very powerful, Olde magic. But dangerous too. Strongly linked with… emotion. Hate, Sacrifices, Love…"

Tom scoffed again quietly, "Love again, Potter?"

Harry turned to look at him, "Trust me, it's real. And it's more powerful than any other magic out there."

There was something haunted about the way he said it, something that ached in Bash's chest. Like loss…

Harry was speaking from personal experience.

Tom however scoffed again, "It just seems ridiculous…"

"Tom," Bash shook his head, and Tom gave him an affronted look.

"You can't possibly…"

Harry glanced between them, and Bash knew he was a second away from getting up and storming away, so he sighed, "Tom. Harry is saying this because he's experienced it."

The green eyes widened at him "What-?"

Tom too gawked at him and then at Harry, "You cannot be serious."

Bash gestured at Harry, and the boy paled a little, "Am I wrong?"

Silence for a long moment and then the boy said, very quietly, "No. You're not wrong. But I… I can't tell you about it."

The other two nodded, Tom still looking a little surprised, but then thoughtful.

"Just, you know it's real?"

Harry's mouth twisted, "I wouldn't be alive without it. Love."

Bash glanced at Tom, and hesitated before swallowing the question burning on his lips.

Tom looked a little lost, a little uncertain.

Like he'd truly thought love wasn't real.

Had Tom never felt love? Been loved?

He couldn't imagine it, being unloved.

His entire life he'd had Druella. They were born 10 minutes apart, slept in the same bassinet, the same cot.

Before they'd come to Hogwarts they'd still sometimes climbed into each other's beds for comfort. He'd do anything to protect her, and he knew that in his bones. He knew he could do the unspeakable, the darkest of magic, if it meant keeping his sister safe, and happy.

The thing was, he knew she was exactly the same.

The fifth years were going to suffer when she exacted her revenge.

His parents had also never failed to show just how much they loved them too. Material possessions yes, but it was more the time spent. His father teaching him about Wizards Chess, and the long evenings spent in front of the warm fire in his study. So many conversations about anything and everything…and he'd always encouraged questions.

"To question the world, and your understanding of it, is to understand more." he'd always said.

His mother too had always been attentive, deportment lessons of course, but also time in the garden, the kitchen, the small observatory his father had constructed. His mother had always given him and Druella the same lessons, about manners and about house spells, and his father too had taught him and Druella the ins and outs of business and negotiation equally.

They loved them. He'd never doubted it.

He tried to imagine growing up unwanted, or alone, or without love.

He just felt empty at the thought.

Tom looked thoughtful again, considering Harry's words, "You can't… make yourself experience it, can you? It simply is, or isn't."

Harry's lips quirked up slightly, "No you can't. That's what makes this Olde magic so… well… unstructured and undocumented I guess? From the sound of it? It's so tied to emotion and self and…well I guess the earth itself right?"

Bash nodded, "From what I've read, yes. Most scholars think that the Druids of ancient Celtic and Britonic mythology were ancient wizards. Wise men, learned men, the ones who presided over their rituals and festivals. Or at least… some of them were. Enough to keep the myth alive but still not so common…"

Tom frowned, "It's not going to be as easy as finding a book on Olde magic and learning it like our coursework, is it?"

Both Bash and Harry shook their heads.

Their retribution on the Fifth Years was swift and brutal.

A small distraction in the Great Hall, Weasley managed somehow to orchestrate a fifth year Gryffindor couple to have an explosively emotional fight in the middle of Breakfast.

While everyone was gawking, the first years used their recently learned and perfected wingardium leviosa spells to float a few drops of a potion into each of the offenders goblets.

The potion came courtesy of Malfoy, the Ravenclaw one, and Weasley himself. The two had eerily similar smirks on their faces when they gave them the vials.

Then they waited.

The next day the boys looked discomforted, the day after they looked deeply in pain.

"What was in that vial?" Aurora murmured, fascinated, chin propped on her hand and dark eyes glittering delightedly, "They look deeply uncomfortable."

Weasley shrugged, but his lips quirked up at the corner, "A little invention made by… my brothers. Before they passed." he sighed, "They loved to cause havoc…I think they'd enjoy that a little bit of them is here helping me with this."

"They definitely would," Harry assured him quietly and the two shared a small smile.

"So, what exactly is it?" Druella nudged Weasley gently, before wheedling, "Please tell us, please please please please…"

"Oh my god, anything to shut you up," Weasley snorted, but there was something pleased about his expression too. He liked the attention. "It's called… U-No-Poo."

"You No Poo?" Aurora wrinkled her nose, "What?"

"Wait…" Druella stared at the fifth years and then she began to giggle, "Oh my god you made them constipated?"

Weasley grinned, and her giggles turned into full blown laughter, "The best part is," he chuckled, "The longer you leave giving the antidote…"

Bash saw where he was going and began to snicker, earning him a grin from Weasley.

"The longer you leave giving the antidote, within the time limit of the potion…well. It suddenly stops the issue, right? So as soon as the antidote kicks in, the constipation will stop."

Aurora frowned at them all, "I don't get it."

Druella cackled, before getting herself under control, "Right now their… business, is getting bottled right? Pressure building. What happens when the cork is removed, so to speak?"

Aurora's eyes widened, "They'll soil themselves, wherever they are."

The others nodded, and then all of them dissolved into helpless giggles.

They administered the antidote the next breakfast.

In the end Bash was the lucky one to be there when the antidote cleared their systems.

One moment the corridor of steadily moving students was flowing normally, the next there were yells and screams of disgust and a truly heinous smell filled the corridor.

He pushed forward and the sight made him want to laugh out loud.

The fifth years who had fought him and Tom were desperately clinging to their robes, awash in their own excrement which was running down the back of their legs like a river. It stank to high heaven and was slowly spreading across the floor, as the embarrassed boys tried to cover themselves and limp away, leaving a trail.

Jeers and laughter followed them. Mockery and humiliation.

Bash watched them go, and felt nothing but pleasure..

Naturally they were questioned, but since no one really knew of any products like this out in the wizarding world, they were quickly dismissed.

Professor Merrythought gave Tom and Harry little sidelong looks, but both of them gave her a look of pure innocence, which made her smirk like the Slytherin she was.

In the end people put it down to a bad dish they'd shared.

Wherever they went, people pinched their noses, and sniggered.

It was beautiful.

Three days later however found Bash, Harry, Tom, Abraxas, Hermione and Druella sitting meekly in the Common Room, the fifth years on the other side as Shafiq, the Head Boy, read them all the riot act.

"What is the rule?" he scolded them, voice icy with disdain.

All of them shifted.

"Come on, one of you." he ran his gaze over them before turning to Hermione, "Come on Granger, you always have the answer."

She winced, "Any bad blood… we keep it in-House. Outside these doors, we're a united front."

"Exactly." he stopped in front of both sides, "This stops here. I mean it. No more retaliations, no more shame brought on Slytherin House." His black eyes turned to the fifth years with contempt, "Especially you lot. Getting beaten and humiliated by first years? Attacking them and injuring them so badly that parents get called in? Oh yes I know about that…"

The boys squirmed.

"We were teaching the Mudblood a lesson," Parkinson's nasal voice suddenly spoke up, and Bash's head snapped up to look at him in shock, "You know as well as we do that dirty blood doesn't belong in Slytherin House-"

"Ten points from Slytherin for your language, Parkinson." Shafiq's voice was disdainful, "I don't care what ideology you are beholden to, you will not use that term again, am I clear?"

Parkinson's mouth curled mulishly, but he subsided.

"Get out of my sight," The Head Boy sneered, flicking a hand with all the contempt of an Arabian prince, "Not you, firsties." he pointed and they sat back down. The fifth years sloped off, looking sulky as they went.

"Officially I can't say this, but I'm going to anyway." Shafiq informed them, before his full mouth curved upwards, "But I was very proud of you lot. Defending yourselves, holding your own… that ingenious revenge. You will be a credit to Slytherin, I know it. But you've made enemies there… enemies for life. Are you ready for that? They may have to wait, but they will strike again."

"We'll be ready," Tom nodded, somehow looking just as regal, and Shafiq smiled slightly.

"Good. I wish you luck little snakes. Oh and…" he smiled at Hermione, "50 points for your correct answer Miss Granger."

Hermione blushed and thanked him, all flustered.

The boys didn't stop making fun of her for days.

"So what do you think of it all?" Bash asked his twin.

It was close to Christmas, or Yule as he'd always known it, and everyone was heading home on Saturday for the Holidays.

Or rather, mostly everyone.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and the Ravenclaw Malfoy were apparently all going to Harry's parents' home, a castle in Ireland. Potter had also invited Tom, which had pleased the other boy.

But he'd already accepted an invitation to the Rosier estate for the holidays.

His mother had insisted, but frankly Bash had already been thinking of a way to ask even before she suggested it.

Out of them all, barring Druella of course, he was closest to Tom, and to Hermione. He enjoyed the other boys' company, something he was pretty sure was reciprocated.

Druella shifted, considering his question.

The pair of them were sitting, snug and warm in one of the Greenhouses, watching the snow fall on the glass outside. It was strangely soothing being so comfortable and warm and watching the cold outside. And the greenhouse was so spacious, with little bench seats with plush cushions.

"It's different from what I expected." Druella admitted quietly, "I honestly kind of thought we'd fall in with Malfoy, Lestrange and the others and just…begin our climb to the top from there. I didn't expect… well. I didn't expect Riddle. Nor did I expect Granger and Potter and all the others from the other Houses either. But, honestly? It's better."

He nodded, "I know what you mean. Looking back, I mean it would have been alright but now…just sounds boring."

Druella laughed, a soft throaty sound, "Exactly. There's something about them all." she hesitated before saying softly, "Draco, particularly."

Bash blinked and then looked down at her head in his lap. She looked pensive, thoughtful.

"Malfoy?" he cocked his head to the side, "Don't tell me you have a crush…"

"No!" she punched at him playfully, "Merlin no, nothing like that. He just… he feels familiar. Safe. Like you do. It's strange, but I know he'd never hurt me."

Bash considered that. He'd never really particularly noticed the Ravenclaw Malfoy apart from his participation, and skill, in some of their counter offences. He was quiet, less gregarious than Abraxas. But he'd won him over with his Blood status speech a while back.

"And the others?"

"Tom? He's a born leader," she smiled, "But you know that. Harry… Harry is a strange conundrum, but I trust him completely, which isn't something that I ever thought I'd say of our fellow Slytherins. Ron…" her smile softened a little, "He's interesting."

Bash stared at her, "Weasley? He's a gluttonous… Gryffindor!"

"He's got something." Druella arched her eyebrow at him, "You asked my opinion, brother dearest. Now, your turn"

Bash grumbled, and she nudged him.

"Tom is exceptional, and frankly… I think Harry is too. The difference is that Harry doubts himself, where Tom doesn't."

"We'll have to help him with that," Druella mused, "I've noticed it too, there's something holding him back."

"Hermione… well she's brilliant," he shrugged, "The 'puff is alright."

Druella rolled her eyes, "Tierra you mean. We grew up with her, Bash."

"Only when we weren't being darling little pure-bloods." Bash reminded her, "No matter her mother, she wasn't considered 'good enough' for that society."

"That changes now," Druella reminded him quietly, "Now we're all at Hogwarts they'll all be invited to the Galas and such. The Marriage Market is going to be stepping up its pace…"

"And you're going to be the grand prize for every Pure-Blood prick with a point to prove." Bash sighed, "I'm not letting you marry someone who'll hurt you. Once I would have said… status, blood… those were the important things too but…"

"Not anymore?"

He shook his head.

"No, not anymore."

She smiled softly, "I know what you mean. I grew up examining Family Trees, I was eyeing the Blacks before we went to Hogwarts, you know there's a couple just a bit older and younger than us… but now."

He stroked her hair, "Now, we know that's not power. Not real power. Not like Hermione. Not like Harry. Not like Tom."

"We're going to change the world," Druella mused dreamily, "I'm not going to settle for anyone."

Bash smiled, "I couldn't agree more," he murmured, thinking of their group. The 'puff bleeding heart. The calculating Aurora. The ballsy Gryffindors. The sharp Ravenclaws.

Harry, with his sorrow and his strength.

Hermione, fierce and fascinating.

Tom. His friend.

If Tom grew up to be half the man Bash thought he could be, well.

I've made my choice, he thought, running his fingers through his twin's silky hair, Power is Potter and Riddle. Light and Dark, Fire and Water.

Balance.

Together, they were going to change the world.

And Bash would be there by their side when they did.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Your reviews make me write more and faster! The inspiration it gives me is real!

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Reviews

Shiara - I'm glad you liked this chapter. Tom is both easy and difficult to write. Because I don't want to fundementally change him, just have a slow nurture effect on him. I'm also someone who trends towards optimism so there's that. You are correct though, he has no idea that he cares for these people, that if they were hurt it would hurt him too. He will slowly come to realise however.

amk - Hopefully not... I'm not going to spoil how his possessiveness unfolds.

Doreene - Aw Doreene! I am a big fan of second chances, or allowing characters the chance to change or tell their stories. So I'm glad you like.

Smithback - A bit of public humiliation in this chapter, but hopefully not too graphic. There's a bit of a tug of war behind the scenes. Harry keeping it to retaliation and Tom wanting to destroy people who hurt those he sees as his. And no...I wouldn't kill off people this early. Later in the story though... no promises. Don't rush yourself to talk in the Discord, we'll love to talk to you when you're comfy. No pressure.

LunaLuna - I'm so glad you're enjoying it!