Dissindere Temporalis

So here we are again, chapter 12. This is a lot more delayed than I wished. I have been injured now for over a month and unfortunately this has stymied my creative time. This chapter was a bit of a struggle to get out. I knew what I wanted to say, it just resisted coming out how I wished.

Hopefully Chapter 13 will be easier.

Thank you for your reviews. Remember a long review is like catnip for writers.

If you ever want to find me outside this you can check out my discord, or my insta for ai art from this and other stories miss dot m dot cricket.

Love you all.

Enjoy!

Nullum Beneficium

"No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted."

- Aesop

DRACO

Yule had once been one of Draco's favourite times of year.

He'd always loved the colder weather, had often walked through the manors' immaculately kept ornamental gardens and simply enjoyed the feeling of the cool air on his face. Naturally the biting chill was warded off by the expensive cloaks that his parents gave him, subtly spelled with warming charms.

It was a time of year where his father was at his most relaxed, where his mother's tinkling laugh filled the manor's halls. As a child it had felt like nothing could ruin Yule, that it was truly a magical time of year.

Then… everything happened.

The Chateau Fidèle was pleasantly situated in Provence, France, near the lovely muggle town of Menerbes. As such the weather was cool but not cold, with only a rare chance of snowfall. It couldn't be less like Malfoy Manor, if it tried.

In some ways that hurt. In others it was a relief.

Armand and Genevieve were kind, giving him freedom and space, but also ensuring that he knew if he wished for company he could have it. At first it was awkward, the three of them gingerly trying to navigate around each other. But slowly, bit by bit, they fell into a pattern.

Draco found himself beginning to enjoy his time with Genevieve as she tended to the Chateau's expansive gardens. They were well cared for, but unlike the manor's tightly tended to ornamentals, Genevieve had grown a garden that was a potioneer paradise. The grounds had been separated into biomes, with simple and beautiful spells to create a different climate in each. They weren't like the Hogwarts Greenhouses. This was a masterwork of subtle and expensive magic.

That Genevieve was willing to spend such sums for something that was both practical and a passion, endeared her to him.

So the two of them worked together in the gardens, and slowly Draco grew more of an appreciation for Herbology, and how it worked hand in hand with Potions. The rest of the land was dedicated to magical creatures, and Draco was delighted by the herd of Abraxan horses that Armand took such pride in breeding.

"A horse is a proud creature," he murmured to Draco in smooth French, his deep voice strangely soothing, "'They choose to work with us. It is a partnership. This is even more true of Abraxans, the kings of all horses. They are creatures of legend, of ancient magic." His hand smoothed over a golden coat with reverence and the mighty beast lowered its head to gently lip at his sleeve. "To be chosen by such a creature is a privilege. Not a right."

Armand was also keenly intelligent and had a wonderfully political mind. He wasn't like Draco's father, who always looked to advantage, but rather understood more about the landscape and the relationships between all the parties from a more dispassionate and distant perspective. It made discussions fascinating, sitting in the warm parlour in the sunset light, playing wizards chess.

The pair embraced both the new traditions of Christmas, but they also kept some of the old Yule traditions.

But the primary one was the burning of a Yule log. They had gone to a local magical wood merchant, who had had a store full of wood, both magical, mundane and spelled.

"You'll know." Genevieve told him softly, a warm smile on her red lips, as he asked her about choosing, "It's rather like choosing your wand. You'll know the right log."

Slowly Draco moved through the huge store, wood logs piled left and right as he wove slowly through the stacks. What wood? Which was the encapsulation of his year, the washing away of it, into a new one.

And then he felt it.

Something was humming against his magic.

Slowly he headed over to the pile of logs that called him, and ran his hands over them until he found one that felt, "right", there was no other way to describe it.

"Birch." the wood merchant said, nodding slowly, "A strong but interesting choice. It is associated with rebirth, renewal, second chances. And speaks strongly to those more aligned to water and air."

It was perfect.

As he rested his hand on it, sitting before the fire in his chamber, he could feel something like peace washing over him, as his magic slowly trickled into the wood in his hand.

Then he placed it in the flames.

For a moment he saw:

He saw a flickering shape of a woman, the flash of a crooked smile, and a soft voice in his ears.

"You must let go of your fear." the voice was like satin whispering over stones, familiar and yet when he reached for who it could be, it stayed elusively out of reach, "Your life is ruled by fear. Fear of him." Dark, fathomless, indigo eyes, "And fear of failure."

"I have reason to fear him."

"You fear a shadow, a ghost. A future that is now gone from your reach. Soon he will know you fear him, and he will not understand. He will take it poorly. And in that moment, your fear will make the failure real."

He felt ice slide down his spine, "Who are you?"

"Your heart's desire." the woman's smile flickered, somehow he could see her, but there was nothing to recognise, nothing definitive about her, other than a feeling, "I am a future that could be yours."

"What-"

"Let go of your fear, Draco." her voice rippled, flowing away, "Let go of your fear of him. You are not so different. He doesn't understand love, you fear it. Learn to love Draco… learn to let go of your fear."

And it was gone, the log consumed by the flames and embers left in the grate.

Draco went to bed, feeling both peaceful, and thoughtful.

He had much to consider.

A part of him had wanted to ask about it in the morning, when the three of them, him, Armand and Genevieve gathered in the sitting room with all their gifts, but somehow it felt like betrayal to speak of it.

So he stayed silent.

Genevieve gave him an exquisite rare text on potions and powerful ingredients, as well as clothes and a plush winter cloak.

Armand however took him to the stables in the afternoon and the two of them watched as an Abraxan colt was born.

"He is yours," Armand murmured, "Or at least, the chance to bond with him is yours."

Draco's head snapped around, eyes wide.

"What…?"

"You may not be my son, not by blood, by birth, but you feel like… you belong here." Armand didn't look at him, and his voice was gruff, "You brought life back to my Genevieve. And… to me. I know we are not your parents… nor could we ever replace them. But you are… you are not a stranger Draco. Nor are you a burden. You are a blessing."

Draco's throat closed, and he felt his eyes sting.

"I don't know what to say,"

"It will not be easy. Abraxans are notoriously difficult." Armand smiled, giving a little cough, and neatly sidestepping the emotion, "But then so are Malfoys no? The opportunity is yours."

ABRAXAS

"Boys," Mr Tarquin Malfoy greeted Rexton and Abraxas as they came downstairs after their first term at Hogwarts. Abraxas' mother sat at the other end of the table, her gaze sharp as she ran them over her pride and joy, and the boy they'd long ago decided should be their precious son's closest companion, "How was your first term at Hogwarts?"

"Informative," Abraxas answered politely and shot a look at Rexton, who stayed mutinously quiet. "Instructive."

"Indeed." Rexton's lip curled into a sneer, "There was far less suitable company than I expected."

Abraxas felt annoyance sting through his veins but he kept his face impassive.

Draco's intent face flashed through his mind, and he felt the same mix of confusion, rejection and hesitation.

Purity.

It was the one truth his family had always espoused. Rexton was his cousin and he was a son of two of the purest of bloodlines in Wizarding Britain.

But then there was Tom.

And there was Draco.

And there was Kara.

And there was Harry.

And…there was Hermione.

He'd always heard of the deceit of Muggleborns, how they stole their magic. How they were hell bent on the destruction of his world.

Kara wasn't like the stories he'd heard. She was awkward, gangling, with that unsightly weasley red hair. But she was smart too. She stood up for herself but she didn't demand attention.

He'd always been told Squibs were a terrible shame, but here was Hermione, from a quality bloodline. The daughter of squibs. The smartest witch in their year.

She was interesting.

"Oh?" his father folded up the Daily Prophet and considered them thoughtfully, "I had heard that a great many of the great families were sorted into Slytherin."

"They were," Abraxas conceded, taking his seat and shooting Rexton a look, "Are. Rexton is referring to some of the top in our year."

"Your little mudblood friends."

Tarquin's head snapped towards his son, "Abraxas…"

"I thought it prudent to befriend the students with the best grades and the most power." Abraxas winced internally, wishing he could curse his cousin, "Tom is exceptional."

"Riddle." Rexton sneered lightly, "He is something indeed, powerful and a Slytherin. But Riddle isn't a magical name."

"He's in Slytherin." Abraxas' chin tilted, "No Mudblood could be sorted into Slytherin."

There was silence for a moment before Tarquin nodded, "My son is correct, he must have some magical blood. Mudbloods would never be Sorted into Slytherin's most noble house."

Rexton's mouth turned mulish, "He's not Pure."

"He's the most powerful. In our entire year." Abraxas argued back, determined to do his friend justice, "I'm not going to marry him for Merlin's sake!"

His mother coughed delicately, "Abraxas, please. Not over breakfast."

"My apologies mother," he inclined his head in her direction, and Rexton did the same with a low murmured 'aunt'.

The rest of breakfast was silent.

"Why did you do that?" Abraxas asked his cousin later on, after breakfast, grabbing his arm to stop him as they walked out to the field that was shielded for flying, "You like Tom."

"He has potential," Rex sighed and turned to face him, dark eyes mutinous, "It's not him that's the problem. It's the company he keeps."

"The company-" Abraxas paused, "Kara. You mean Kara."

"The Gryffindor mudblood?" Rexton sniffed, "Yes she's a problem. But even the others are… well… less than ideal."

"What do you mean?" Abraxas frowned, "Potter is Pureblood, hell a lot of them are, Greengrass, the Rosiers, Selwyn, Weasley, Malfoy…"

Rex sighed, like Abraxas was an idiot and he was exasperated to have to explain it and, again, Abraxas felt irritation shiver along his limbs.

"Look at those names. The creme de la creme of Pureblood society. Those names are the next ministers for magic, the next Wizengamot members, the next generation of wizarding society. The next generation to preserve our world. And they, and you, are choosing to hang out with Mudbloods and Halfbloods and blood traitors."

"We are choosing to align with someone who is going to do things." Abaraxas insisted, stung again, "Tom is powerful. He's strong. What, would you prefer to align with your cousin and his idiot friends."

Rexton yanked his arm out of his grip, "I remember what my duty is. Tom is a powerful pawn. He may go far, do things. But he will never be Pure. He will never be like us. Treat him as an asset Abraxas. A powerful piece on the board. But he's not equal. He will never be equal."

The next few days passed quietly, his father being busy and his mother being endlessly entertained with her social circle. He saw them for breakfast each day, and his father seemed pleased with his progress.

Abraxas kept his thoughts to himself.

Sometimes he thought of Tom, remembered the feeling of being near him, seeing him performing the magic that came to him so naturally. Sometimes he thought of Hermione, feisty and fierce and smart.

Sometimes he thought of Kara.

Sometimes he thought of Draco. A Malfoy but different.

He missed them. Everything seemed to make sense when they explained it. When he tried, even in his own head…it got muddled.

So he called the one person he thought would help.

"Brax," Bash's cheeky smirk was visible even in the flames, "If you are calling for homework help…"

"Oh shut it," he couldn't help but smile. Bash had this ready charm to him, a playfulness and dryness that skirted the edge of offence but never really stepped over that line, "You know I didn't call for that."

"I know." Bash's smile was warm, before his expression sobered a little, "What's up? Your parents giving you a hard time?"

Abraxas blinked.

"How did you-"

The other boy rolled his eyes, "Brax, we practically grew up together. You think I don't know you by now? You only look like this when your parents turn the 'Duty to the Malfoy Name' screws."

Abraxas winced, "I'm that obvious?"

"Not to anyone but me, and maybe that arse you call cousin." Bash's face softened in the flames, "What's up mate?"

"Tom isn't pure. Neither is Hermione, or Kara, or even Kel. Weasley is a Blood traitor, and I'm sure if they heard Draco, they'd call him the same…"

"You're wondering what's right?"

"Yes!" He leaned in a little, "My parents are right, this is hundreds of years of legacy we're talking about here…"

"Brax," Bash's smile was rueful, "You're thinking too hard."

"But-"

"When you think of Kel do you think inferior?"

He imagined the slender pale blonde girl for a moment, the serious straight brows, her delicate features. He thought about how she would daydream, and doodle runes in class. And how she always knew the answers when he asked about Astronomy.

"No.."

"What about Kara?"

The gawky redhead, freckles across her nose, her fierce determination that no one see her as less. Brave as a Gryffindor should be, but with a brutal edge that could only be called Slytherin.

"No…"

"Draco… do you think he's a traitor to his blood?"

Grey eyes, a pair of the saddest and most haunted eyes he'd ever seen. No. He didn't think traitor.

He thought… someone who understands..

"See? You don't need me," Bash smiled lightly, "See you at the Ball, Brax."

And he faded from sight.

HARRY

Christmas at the Castle of Linn was unlike any Christmas that Harry had ever experienced before.

The entire place had been decked with greenery in which tiny, lit, fae sprites made their homes. They had tiny squeaky voices, and spoke in cheeky riddles, but mostly kept to themselves, twinkling merrily as their light changed colours.

It was also a relief to spend time with just Hermione and Ron, even if Draco was far away in France. To be with people who knew, understood the world they'd left. Their history…

It was a massive weight off his shoulders, something he hadn't even realised he was carrying.

Charlie allowed him a few days before Harry looked up one morning to find his guardian before him, holding a cloak.

"Walk with me."

The gardens were a wonderland of magic, a paradise of magical plants and creatures within the lines of the castle grounds.

Charlie let him enjoy it before he spoke, "Harry, we must begin to prepare you for the next stage in your task. You and Ron, and Hermione. You must all master Occlumency."

"I can't," Harry shook his head and when Charlie frowned he hastened to clarify, "I mean, I don't. I don't have the talent for it."

"You must acquire it." Charlie's voice was gentle but firm, "Draco told me your would-be foe was a master legilimens in your time."

"Tattle-tale…" Harry groaned, "He might not be this time,"

"If he was as talented as Draco implied, it's in his very bones. He will discover it. And he may feel the urge to rummage in your mind. Which would be a disaster."

That was an understatement, Harry had to admit.

"We will begin now. The earlier we start the better." Charlie smiled at him as he groaned, "I expect to see the three of you in the study after dinner."

And so they did.

Learning from Charlie was different to learning from Snape. He started by letting them very delicately explore their own minds with their magic. Only the upper levels, only the surface, but it was fascinating.

He had no idea how many stray thoughts just drifted out.

Charlie gave them all exercises, and told them to practice, Hermione with fondness, Harry with a long look and Ron with a stern frown.

Ron grinned sheepishly, but nodded.

They received visitors, Kara and Ross stopped by to see Ron, and Druella stopped by to see Hermione, Tierra and Aurora with her.

Harry enjoyed sitting with Tierra and laughing at the others as the three girls debated something hotly and while Ron and Ross played a raucous game of wizard snap.

He saw Kara's wonder at the house, and was surprised when he felt a pang of understanding when he saw sadness on her face.

It felt both familiar, like home, and yet also like something foreign.

He'd felt it too, the strange grief that this world that should have been his, was so strange to him.

So he moved to walk with her, and the two talked quietly about the magic around them for hours as the others relaxed and played around them.

But by the end, Harry felt warm and content.

And Kara gave him a tight hug as she left.

"I'm guessing in your time, none of you were invited to The Years End Ball before, am I correct?"

"What's the New Years Ball?" Harry asked, relieved that both Ron and Hermione looked as clueless as he felt.

"The Years End Ball, Harry, and yes the 'The' must be emphasised, is a gathering of the rich and powerful and their offspring to farewell the old year, and the dead."

"Ostensibly," Dorea chuckled, "In reality it's where all the best people in society bring their children so they can mingle, make alliances and betrothals."

She grinned at the horrified looks on all their faces, "Needless to say, we are not marrying any of you off. But it is a massive social event. And it's important to be seen at these events, especially if you're in the business of changing the world from the inside." She moved to cup Harry's cheek gently, "In this world you are my son, dearest. It is imperative that you take your place."

"But-" he hesitated, "Dorea, it's a lie…my mother was a Muggleborn, and I'm proud of that."

"I know." Dorea sighed, "But the fiction is here to protect you. As my son, as Charlie's, you have status. It will help with the stupid and the crotchety. And you my dear," She turned to Ron, "Are a Weasley. Probably the first Weasley to be invited in many years. And finally sweetheart," her gaze fell on Hermione, "You are a powerful, intelligent young woman. And there will be many young men in the next few years vying for your hand."

"I don't-"

"I know." she held up her hand, forestalling Hermione's passionate rejection, "Believe me, I know. But just because you are not going to accept doesn't mean you don't play the game."

Hermione blinked at her and Dorea sighed, "Children have you learned nothing in Slytherin? Perception is power. You can convince anyone using perception, using what they expect to see and cloaking yourself in it." She smiled softly, "You must play the Game this time around. And I shall help you."

"I am not Pureblood."

"That will only matter for the truly fervent believers." Dorea smiled wickedly, "Fools like my former Family, the Lestranges, the Notts and such. Let no one treat you as being of lesser value my dear. The Game is there to be won."

"Do we have a choice?" Ron groaned, and slumped when Dorea smirked, "Merlin's beard."

TOM

Tom had never liked Christmas.

The Orphanage being as it was, the building was both cold and drafty, and their clothes, while serviceable, had been itchy and at times worn thin.

They'd had to go to long, interminable services and be lectured about their sins.

They'd had to listen to incessant carollers.

They'd never gotten any gifts.

But this Christmas he woke in a warm, plush bed in Rosier manor and sat up to find the chest at the end of his bed, laden with gifts.

He stared at them for a long time, incredulous, until thundering footsteps heralded the Rosier twins' arrival. The two burst in, arms laden with presents and house elves trailing behind with yet more gifts.

"Tom!" Bash grinned at him, "Merry Christmas!"

"What-?" Tom blinked as Druella bounced onto the bed and tucked herself in beside him, Bash hopping up on the other side of the massive structure and doing the same, "What are you-?"

"We're going to open our gifts together!" Druella beamed at him, settling down on his right and grabbing a silver wrapped present. Bash did the same on his left and Tom just… blinked at them.

There were presents.

They were in his bed.

What-

"Go on then," Bash nudged him eagerly, "Open one."

Slowly he reached out and snagged one wrapped in black and green.

The tag, was in messy scrawl that was immediately familiar.

Harry.

Slowly he opened it and sucked in a breath at the beautiful book before him.

"Ancient Magic, the Elements and Balance: A Comprehensive Compendium." Bash read over his shoulder and whistled, "That's an expensive book. Moreland is considered the foremost in that field."

Tom traced the satin and gold embossing in the leather, feeling his chest tighten a little.

Harry had thought about his gift.

He'd gotten him something… amazing.

And he wasn't the only one.

Kara got him a set of beautiful quills, Kel some chocolates that smelled of dark chocolate and mint, Aurora got him another book, this one a guide to potion ingredients, Victoria a kit of more expensive ingredients, Ross a book on Quidditch teams in Britain, Tierra's was a hand knitted scarf in black and forest green that felt warm and comforting when he put it on, while Ron got him his very own wizard's chess set.

Hermione's gift was a History of Slytherin House, but an early edition with notes inscribed within.

Tia sent him dragon hide gloves with soft fleece inside. 'To go with your cloak'.

Druella's gift was an emerald eyed snake pin for his cloak, one that was enchanted to hold the warmth inside the cloak even if it billowed.

Bash got him a Guide to the top 50 duels in wizarding history, complete with spells and how to.

He blinked down at his treasure trove, feeling overwhelmed.

All of the gifts were thoughtful, all of them were personal.

They were gifts for him.

Specifically for him.

"I-"

He felt trapped between them, knowing they could see every emotion in his face, see the traitorous tears in his eyes.

"I didn't get you anything."

Druella rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled close.

Bash planted his arm behind him, a present and strong support.

"You didn't have to." Druella's voice was soft, "We wanted to."

"I…" He coughed, fingers lightly tracing Harry's gift and then caressing Tierra's scarf and Hermione's book.

He didn't finish his sentence, but he knew the twins understood.

They hugged him tighter.

To Be Continued...

Reviews

Shiara - I'm glad that you enjoyed Bash, he was actually highly enjoyable to write. He's got a fun mind to play in, and a unique perspective I wasn't expecting. Its hard for the travellers to realise the impact they have made, but for those native to the time, they'd feel the change in a different way. And yes, the Rosier fates have shifted.

Amk - Don't worry, olde magic is going to have a running thread through this story.

James Birdsong - I'm glad you have enjoyed the chapters so far.

Bakeku67 - Yes I think the twins would very much enjoy, wherever they are, that their legacy was continued in such a way. And yes the U-No-Poo always made me grin a little.

Guest - I very much enjoyed your review. Long reviews are like crack to me. I hope you enjoyed the little bit of Abraxas this chapter. As he struggles with how he feels about his friends vs what he's always been told. It's a rough gig for him. The interactions are all going to become so much more complex as they grow older. Right now there is an element of innocence. But yes I very much do not believe that anyone is born evil. Not even Tom.

Eadlyn I - I'm guessing that name means you're a fan of the Selection series. I'm very glad you enjoyed this so far.

Smithback - After being restrained to one perspective in my Hunger Games stories its refreshing to consider the world from many angles. I hope all the future chapters will continue to be refreshing and interesting.

Guest - This story makes you want to yell Yahoo?

Tulsa x - Here is your update, I hope you enjoy it!