Dissindere Temporalis
So here we are again!
Important Note:
The Pairings are not set in stone!
I am not locked in one way or the other. I am easily swayed by you, my readers. Currently I have votes for Tomione, Herbastian, Tomerra, Tiarry, Ronella... and particularly... Drarora
I honestly don't know which way it will go. I am very much want to go with the flow, for it to be organic, so I very much want to hear your opinions my readers.
Let me know!
Enjoy Tom's chapter.
Ludum Finis
Nothing is concealed from the wise and sensible, while the unbelieving and unworthy cannot learn the secrets.
- Cornelius Agrippa
The years he'd been at Hogwarts had made him soft.
It was a familiar thought for Tom, one that had popped into his head from time to time over the last few years, but had never stuck around for too long.
Hogwarts was home, in a way that the Orphanage had never been. It felt warm and familiar and there were people in these halls that he actually liked, respected and wanted to spend time with. He had belongings that were his, and that couldn't be messed with, especially once Weasley had taught him some useful protective charms.
He wasn't a monster here.
He wasn't a demon.
But he was still…
He'd experienced it before of course, having gone to a state school with all the rest of the children of the poor and desperate. Unfortunately there was a far more fancy private school across on the other side of the Underground, as it was newly called. The kids who attended that place were the rich, the elite. Children who had never suffered privation, or had never known a world where they weren't cherished, adored, and lavished with their heart's desires.
To them, Tom and his school companions were trash.
Less.
Their poverty, their lack of good breeding, family names and family connections to the aristocracy meant they were inherently unworthy.
Tom had hated them.
He hated them. He hated the religious figures who ran his school. He hated the Orphanage.
They all saw him as less. As nothing. As worthless.
He knew, he knew, he wasn't.
And then Tia had come, offering him the way out he'd always dreamed.
But the shadows remained. There were still some, many, who saw him as less.
Yet again, for his lack of good breeding, family name and family connections.
One could almost laugh at the irony.
Except this time he had people at his side.
He had Tia. The mother he'd always dreamed of. Surely someone as exceptional as he, deserved parents that highlighted that greatness.
His own mother had died giving birth to him, and he'd honestly thought, those first three years, that his mother had to have been a Muggle. Surely a witch wouldn't have died that way?
Tia had rescued him from the Orphanage, but unlike so many other adult figures in Tom's life, she hadn't come in with empty promises, and left him to the mercy of others. She'd seen his potential, seen his circumstances, and had put his interests first.
She refused to let him go back to the Orphanage, and when that useless fool Dumbledore had tried to insist that he return to his original 'home', she'd taken the issue to the highest court she could, claiming him as her own. She'd fought, and paid golden galleons, and yelled as legally and loudly as she could until his custody and care was placed in her hands.
He'd never known his birth mother.
But Tia was as much a mother as anyone could be. He knew he could rely on her, he knew she would stand with and behind him, and he knew she would teach him anything he needed to know.
He had his friends.
It was still strange to use that word, and to truly mean it.
For so many years he'd had people who aligned with him for certain things, a school project, or opposing a bully. But once that unifying reason ended, the bond too dissolved.
He'd never cared one whit for those people.
He cared about what happened to his friends.
Ross was a jokester, fun and cheeky and silly. Tom regularly was exasperated by his inability to look beyond his present desires, but he also found himself chuckling at the curly haired boy's jokes. Sometimes he even envied Ross' zest for life, and ability to wholeheartedly enjoy.
He'd never experienced it, and a part of him, a very small part of him, sometimes wished he had.
Kara was continually underestimated. She was smart, but better at practical tasks than parroting facts. She was determined and fierce, and had no qualms about fighting to be taken as seriously as anyone else. She was muggleborn, and had endured the same sneers, the same disrespect as he had. He respected that she didn't yield to their narrow view. That she fought.
A true Gryffindor, and a worthy ally.
It also made his blood seethe every time those Pure-Bloods sneered at her, every time they called her Mudblood. She was worth so much more than any of them.
At first he'd overlooked Weasley, too focused on Potter and Granger to look behind at the third in their trio, but the longer he'd known them, the more he appreciated him. Weasley was brave, as a Gryffindor should be, and where he wasn't as savvy as the others, he had a different way of considering the world.
It was soon after the boy started teaching him Wizards Chess that Tom started seeing the truth.
The game was both simple and complex, with patterns and strategy and rules, but it required a certain… something to be a master.
Weasley was a master.
He would never be booksmart, in fact he wasn't even close to a scholar. But there was an intelligence there. No one expected anything from him. But everyone seemed to respect him too.
Tom had overlooked him at first. But now he appreciated him.
Victoria was interesting. She chose to be unexceptional, chose to be one of the pack. She was smart, she was shrewd, she was savvy with people, but she had no wish to be elite, to be at the top of the tree. He could respect that, it was a wise tactic for survival, and after all, not everyone could be exceptional, otherwise the exceptional would be mundane.
He wasn't foolish enough to think her choice to be so middle of the road meant anything other than a sign of her intelligence. She was with them, and they had her full support, as well as her carefully considered advice.
He could respect that.
Kelanna intrigued him. Sometimes she looked at them all and there was something about the way she did that piqued his curiosity. She knew more than she shared, and whatever secrets she knew, she kept. Her presence was soothing, calming, like a breath of fresh air. And for all that she was quiet, she was still very present.
Sometimes she looked at him, and he felt the weight of it.
Sometimes he thought she could see the darkest secrets, his darkest thoughts and wishes and urges.
But she never said anything.
And she never treated him any differently.
So when people called her odd, or weird, he always felt a prickle of irritation.
Aurora.
She was fascinating.
He could feel her darkness. He knew that if he chose to punish Walburga secretly, Aurora would be the one he'd take with him as backup. She was wickedly smart, and he suspected, quietly, that she was as ruthless as he was. Oh she could, and would, play nice without concern.
But if her world was threatened, he knew that she would be viciously dangerous.
He liked that, he appreciated that.
He understood that.
The Ravenclaw Malfoy…
Malfoy had always confused him.
He could feel his natural darkness, knew that the other boy had knowledge in that world that children their age should not. But there was something almost conflicted within him.
Malfoy was wary of him.
He always had been, and wasn't that interesting?
Tom suspected that Malfoy knew what he was capable of, but the boy hadn't chosen to avoid him. He had stayed, had gotten to know him, but he still suspected that there was an element of wariness there.
He suspected Malfoy stuck around more for Potter and Granger, and Weasley too though he knew Malfoy would reject that loudly. If they walked away from Tom, he suspected that Draco would follow them.
It was interesting.
Abraxas was a follower, he longed for direction, wanted, no, needed, to be praised and encouraged. He thrived on the Quidditch pitch, in Defence classes, but struggled when forced to make independent choices.
He idolised Draco, and Tom himself. He also seemed to highly regard Granger, and his gaze often followed Kara.
She intrigued him, the personification of everything negative he'd ever been told. That she stole magic, that she was dirty blooded, that she was undeserving of magic, and of learning how to use it. That she was filth that deserved to be wiped out.
Abraxas didn't think that Kara had stolen her magic, he didn't think she was unworthy or undeserving of her magic.
He didn't want her hurt, or killed.
He even seemed to like talking to her. But even that confused him. In time, Tom knew Abraxas would come to accept the truth. In time, Abraxas would choose to follow him, and only him.
Bash and Druella were two of his closest friends. The two of them mirrored each other, perfect reflections and yet also a perfect balance. Where Bash was a man of shrewd calculation and action, Druella was a political creature, and manipulated those around her with an ease that Tom found thrilling.
A part of him felt like if he'd ever had siblings, he might feel for them the way he felt about the Rosier twins.
Druella was beautiful, that he couldn't deny. One might think that he should be considering her as a worthy partner to stand by his side. She was the consummate, perfect, Slytherin.
But he didn't see her that way. He cared for her welfare, appreciated her dispassionately, and would rip anyone apart who hurt her. But he did not desire her. He didn't see her in that way, and he knew in his bones he never would. She was like his sister, almost Family.
Bash was the brother he'd never had. Easy going, wicked, cheeky and driven, Sebastian was the one he found comfort in. Bash hadn't hesitated to stay at his side and fight when the odds weren't in their favour, had almost paid a heavy price for it too…and it had cemented the boy as precious.
Bash was his.
Tierra was the strangest of the bunch. Warm, optimistic and fiercely protective, he was both charmed and exasperated by her in turn. He knew she would never abandon her friends, would fight to the bitter end to protect them, but he also knew that she was kind, warm, loving in a way that confused him.
Too many took her gentleness as weakness. And she didn't seem to care.
She completely baffled him.
And yet she often made him think, to consider the world not just in numbers or grand sweeping measures, but in the simple things too. The people, how they felt, the emotions behind their motivations. She saw the world in emotion, in the currency of empathy, and she made him consider it too.
The world would always see her as weak, because she cared, because she loved, because it was easy to exploit.
Tom would see to it that they would regret it.
And then there was Hermione.
She was intelligent, fierce, protective, loyal and ruthless too. She had a keen sense of justice, but he had also seen a tendency to enact her own sort of justice if the world didn't adhere to her views. She was a heady mix of Gryffindor bravery and ferocity, Ravenclaw shrewdness and research, and Slytherin cunning and ruthlessness.
Her code of ethics and justice held it all in delicate balance, but one good push would send her heavily one way or the other.
He loved it when she leaned into the darkness within her.
He loved it that she was as interested in pushing the bounds of magic as he was.
And then… Harry.
Potter was everything.
Potter was potential, Potter was loyalty, Potter was determination, Potter was goofy humour, Potter was snarky comebacks, Potter was curious debates.
Potter was good to his core.
Potter was a force of Justice.
He wasn't pure. He wasn't an ideal.
Potter wanted to make the world better.
Potter was his balance.
It hadn't taken too long for Tom's research to bring him to the concept of Dimitera. The idea that two people were bound by their magic, and by balance. A perfect foil and a partner.
So many Dimitera had ended in sorrow, with a half of the pair going too far, and forcing the other to kill them.
Gryffindor and Slytherin, that ancient pair, which had ended in such sorrow and conflict.
Merlin and Morgana.
And yet there were others that had stayed by each other's sides.
Tom was determined that Harry and he would be one of these pairs.
Together they would carve out an Empire.
Together they would change the world.
Aurora and Draco's plan was simple, elegant, and political in a way that made his insides shiver with pleasure.
It wasn't brutal.
It wasn't bloody.
It was perfect.
He only wished they could be there to see it though, but unfortunately this event had to be Slytherin only.
Thankfully he would have Harry, Hermione, Bash, Druella and Abraxas at his side, and witnessing.
Walburga had been swanning around for days, preening and flouncing in a way that Tom found excruciating.
She saw herself as having won, as having struck a blow.
She had no idea that he was about to ruin her.
He still wasn't sure how he felt about his heritage. The knowledge that his mother had been a Gaunt, a direct descendant of Slytherin, had shocked him. For a moment he had imagined claiming that name, claiming that title and forcing those who had judged him to grovel at his feet.
But it had been a brief thought.
One that had fled as quickly as it had come. Especially when he'd caught sight of Kara's face, shortly after he'd found out.
She'd congratulated him, but there was pain in her eyes. Hurt. And he'd realised with a shock that while she was happy for him, she was also sad. They'd been a pair until now. The two Mudbloods. The two that were looked down upon the most.
Now she was alone.
Where he had found an unknown link to power and prestige, an opening into the world that had rejected him at first. He was welcome now to an extent.
She was still an outsider, and would always be so in their eyes. She would always be filthy, trash, not worth anything.
Unacceptable.
Kara was worth more than the lot of them put together. Walburga Black wasn't worth the dirt under Kara Thompson's shoes.
He was going to use his new name, his new prestige, to bring her house of cards crashing down around her ears.
They waited for the perfect opportunity, and it came, two weeks after Tom's release from the Hospital wing.
It was a Saturday, and a miserable one at that. It was cooler than average, and pissing down rain outside, which meant that the whole House was stuck indoors.
After dinner, most of the students were back in the Common Room, and after a nod from Tom, Hermione and Druella had managed to get everyone who was in the Library to return as well.
With the room full of Slytherins, relaxing and studying, Tom took a deep breath, held his head high and walked to the centre of the room.
"Walburga Black is a coward and disgrace to this house and the name of Slytherin."
He declared the words in a clear, carrying voice, and all around the room, all the conversations instantly hushed.
Walburga meanwhile had turned around, looking shocked, stunned and absolutely livid.
"What are you talking about, Mudblood?"
"Bully." Tom threw the words at her carelessly, one by one, "Weak. Mad. Disgrace. I could go on Walburga, but I don't have all day."
The witch went white with fury, before her cheeks flamed with embarrassed colour.
"You little worm," she snarled, stalking forward as she drew her wand, "I'm a member of the Ancient and Most noble-"
"No one cares." Tom interrupted her, causing her to splutter with incoherent fury, "Your blood means nothing. You, yourself, not your family, are Weak."
Her eyes bulged with rage, "How dare you! Who are you to talk to me this way you filthy Mudblood!"
Mutters rippled around the room and Tom felt his lips curl up vindictively.
The crowd were with him.
"Serpensortia!" He cast the spell that the Ravenclaw Malfoy and Ron had taught him, flourishing his wand, and out of it burst a beautiful, large white Wyruth. A magical serpent, known for its silvery scales, red eyes and magical properties. As the room flooded with gasps and even startled yelps, the wyruth's large head swivelled as it swayed, unsure of what to do.
Tom smirked and opened his mouth.
"What is your name, my friend?" he asked, and heard the room fall deathly quiet. They all heard the hisses.
They all knew what it meant.
The wyruth turned to look at him, intrigued, "I have no name, I am merely a shadow. You speak my tongue… What do you wish of me?"
"If you would, before you depart, would you wind up my body and hiss at the witch standing across the room? I would appreciate it."
"Such manners," The snake's tone held amusement, "It seems diverting. I shall do so."
Slowly it slid forward and wound its way up one of his legs, around his torso and behind his neck, before it turned its large dragon like head towards Walburga and hissed malevolently.
"Thank you," he murmured, and the snake disappeared into shadows once more.
Satisfied, he turned and looked at Walburga.
The witch was white as a sheaf of parchment, and her hand, holding her wand, was trembling.
"You…how does a Mudblood…?"
"Have the power of Salazar Slytherin?" Tom smirked, sauntering forward, relishing all the eyes watching him, enthralled, "I am his direct descendant."
Whispers broke out, flurrying around the room and Walburga's face took on a greenish tinge.
"You lie…"
"Tom is the grandson of Malvolo Gaunt." Sebastian informed them all from the sidelines, reclining back in his chair with a wicked grin, "Currently his ONLY grandson, as it happens. Making him the last direct descendant, barring the branches where some of the women of the family married outside it."
Tom nodded, thinking of his distant cousin, one of the two daughters of Ominis Gaunt who had married for love, not advantage. She'd reached out to him after his discovery, helping him put together the pieces of his Family history, and to know the dark path the Gaunts had walked. Madness, inbreeding, dark, brutal magic and crippling poverty were his only legacy. Along with the almost maniacal belief that blood was more important than anything.
They disgusted him.
Their legacy disgusted him.
He would restore the name, his true legacy, just as he would restore this world.
Walburga meanwhile seemed to realise that the trap was closing in on her, and her eyes were darting left and right as her allies, sitting near her, edged away.
This was the difficult part.
She needed to be punished, Slytherin needed to know exactly what it meant to cross him. And he had no problem making the wretched and vile witch writhe with pain.
Especially after that curse of hers.
The pain had been excruciating, exquisite in its agony. And he'd been trapped in his body, unable to tell anyone, unable to scream, cry, retch with the sheer overwhelming pain of it.
He'd felt his mind fraying.
Harry's touch had soothed him, washing it away, burning the pain away with light and lightning.
But it had returned.
Tierra's spell on the way to the Hospital wing had stopped it burning, and the warmth had turned from ravenous to cradling.
It hadn't lasted.
But it was enough to tether him, to keep him with them.
They'd saved him.
But that didn't lessen the witch 's crimes.
He wanted her to hurt. He wanted her to suffer.
He wanted to make her pay.
For a moment he was tempted to throw away the plan, to make her scream and bleed before him. To teach her a terrible and lasting lesson.
And then he glanced to the side, looking at Harry, looking at Hermione.
Their eyes were fixed on him, and they were warm. With belief, with trust.
How could he betray that…?
"Beg forgiveness," he turned back to her, hardening his face, making himself cold and unreachable, "Crawl to me and beg forgiveness Black."
Complicated emotions flickered over her face, rage, shame, fury, embarrassment.
And finally cruelty.
He read her intentions before she opened her mouth and her sickly yellow spell crashed against his shield, earning her a room full of disapproving hisses.
Tom had had enough.
Swishing his wand he lifted her up and pinned her back against the wall with a thud, holding her there like a specimen in a museum, like a bug stuck to white card with a pin.
"This is your final warning Black." He declared proudly, voice ringing in the stone room, sinking into the memory of every person there, "Attack me again, attack those loyal to me again, and I will make you wish you were dead. Do you understand?"
Walburga struggled but couldn't move, hissing and spitting silently, his spell rendering her mute.
"A simple nod will suffice."
She writhed, furious and angry and Tom waited.
Waited for her struggles to end in exhaustion. Until her shame made her go limp in his spell's hold.
Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded.
He dropped her unceremoniously to the floor and gestured to his friends.
"Shall we?"
Harry moved to his right hand, Hermione to his left, with Bash and Druella flanking them. Abraxas moved behind them, protecting their flank.
And silently the six left the Common Room, Tom smirking as he heard the room erupt into noise just before the wall sealed shut behind them.
As always the Slytherins kept the incident to themselves, but there was a marked shift in attitudes.
The Ancient Families ended their neutrality, virtually declaring the conflict over, and proceeded to try and weasel their way into Tom's good graces, and the good graces of those he clearly favoured.
The revelation of his blood, his heritage, had suddenly made him worthy.
Tom stayed polite, but aloof.
They had dismissed him when he was nothing, ignoring his power.
He would ignore them now.
He knew who his true friends were.
Tom hadn't given up on his quest to learn, to master, Olde Magic.
When he had a spare moment, he spent his time researching, piecing together bits and pieces to try and form a consistent picture.
Olde magic and Ancient Magic, were throwbacks to the time before Hogwarts, to the time before Merlin and Morgana and the round table. His research seemed to show a direct correlation between the end of that era, the end of Arthur's reign of the magical kingdom of Albion, and the end of Olde Magic. Quite suddenly after that time, magic seemed to fall into chaos, and wands took prevalence, latin becoming the recognised language of spellcasting.
He'd also found a lot of correlation between the Founders of Hogwarts and the artefacts of Arthur's reign. Ravenclaw was famous for a Diadem that would sharpen the wearer's mind like the Fisher King's cursed crown, a locket of Slytherin like so many in the tales. But especially Hufflepuff's cup, echoing the Holy Grail, and Gryffindor's sword echoing Excalibur.
"You think they're the same things?" Harry asked, thumbing through the papers curiously, "Gryffindor's sword is Excalibur?"
Tom shook his head, "No the historical sources seem to be very firm on that, that they are separate things. It's just interesting that they echo each other…"
Aurora tossed her silken hair over her shoulders haughtily, "There are legends of objects like these that echo through history, long before Arthurian myth, long before the Founders."
"Maybe the Founders were trying to make their own copies…" Victoria mused thoughtfully, head tilting to the side, "they were the greatest wizards of their age… maybe they wanted to prove it."
"Must have been an interesting time," Bash noted dryly, "What with Slytherin mentoring Merlin."
Hermione frowned as she looked through some parchments, "I just don't understand what happened. After Arthur died… magic disappeared. Or went underground before becoming the modern magic we know now."
Tierra hummed softly, "Mum always said that the battle that ended that era, left the magical world in shambles. After it European wizards just moved to wand based magic, with very few managing the wandless stuff."
"The Battle?" Kara cocked her head at them.
"Camlann." A few of them chorused before chuckles flowed. Tierra continued afterwards, "Merlin, Arthur, Morgana and such all disappeared after it. The legend says they went to Avalon and that the mists closed behind them forever."
"Sounds fanciful," Ross shook his head at them, "Isn't magic hard enough to learn as it is? Why are we looking into this?"
"Because, Ross," Draco sneered, "The magic we know now is a structured and sanitised version of true magic. Its structure is itself limiting, it curtails people and gives magic a standardised feel that everyone can be held to."
"There's even a very niche theory that the Founders established Hogwarts to teach both, but over time the Olde magic was pushed out. Some say that's actually what the conflict was between Slytherin and the others, Olde and Modern magic, because Gryffindor thought Modern magic was easier for Muggleborns to learn."
Tom glanced over and saw Kel frowning slightly as she looked down at the papers, "Kel?"
She looked up at him, as the others continued to bicker, "Oh Tom, sorry."
He shook his head, Bash had told him about Kel's gift, and he was fascinated by it, and hesitant too. He wanted to know…and also… didn't. What if he failed?
What if he was nothing?
Forgotten.
"You're looking at that very intently,"
Kel blinked, and smiled warmly, "Yes, sorry, I was… absorbed."
"By?"
Kel chuckled, "My mother told me a different story of all this, one that had been passed down to her. That the Kingdom of Albion and Britain used to be the one island. One beautiful, magical island. And when Arthur was dying he, and Morgana, and Merlin, passed through the mists to Avalon, and cast a great magic, which split the two in half. Somewhere beyond the mists, she said, Albion remains. A land of myth and magic. The magic wasn't perfect however, and many magical things remained here. Creatures and people, and some of the olde magic too, which many called Ancient Magic. But the deep magic, the magic of everything… that was almost entirely gone."
As she finished, Tom realised everyone had stopped to listen.
"That sounds like a fairytale," Abraxas snickered, and Hermione threw a ball of parchment in his direction.
"Don't underestimate fairytales, many of them have a root in truth!"
Tom meanwhile, considered Kel's words.
Something about them tugged at him, like an itch at the back of his mind.
"By all accounts," Victoria informed them all, rolling her eyes at Abraxas and Hermione, "Olde magic was heavily inspired by classical thought. You know… elements. That people naturally had certain elemental leanings. The four Houses of Hogwarts are also supposed to be elemental, though they don't seem to align all the time."
"The elements are so…" Abraxas scoffed loudly, "So much new age Druidism tries to hark back to that. Like my elemental alignment would make any kind of difference. Or that it unlocks my magical potential."
He adopted a faux mystical voice that makes Druella snicker at him.
"I think there's an element of truth to it, no pun intended," Bash's wicked little grin disputed the last bit of that sentence, "Mother said our Family is from a long line of Air witches and wizards. That our magic harkens back to those magical trees, like charms."
"Water," Aurora admitted quietly, "it's part of so many Selwyn motifs, to be like water, ever moving, hidden depths…inscrutable."
Her dark eyes met his, and Tom felt a tiny shiver, ripple down his spine.
A part of him recognised that.
On a deep, dark level.
"And you lend this credence?" Abraxas scoffed, "It's complete babble."
"It does sound a bit hippie dippie," Hermione mused quietly, "Surely the world couldn't have forgotten an entire chunk of its history…"
"What's 'hippie dippie'?" Bash's head cocked to the side.
"You know like… hippies?" Hermione paused and then slowly, inexplicably, her cheeks went pink, "Never mind. I'm thinking about something else…my point is!" she emphasised it with a firm tap of her hand against a table, "Chunks of history don't get forgotten."
"Sure they do." Kara shrugged, "That happens in Muggle history all the time… especially if war is involved."
"It was a time of massive upheaval." Aurora nodded, "The years that Arthur ruled Albion were the only peaceful part of that whole period. The rest was struggles and war and blood and horror. Hogwarts was founded to protect the young magical users from the eternal conflict, to try and find a peaceful resolution."
"Until Gryffindor and Slytherin turned on each other," Ross sniggered, "Same with Arthur and his lot."
Malfoy rolled his eyes delicately, "That's because four and three are powerful magical numbers. History finds quartets and trios throughout it. And often they fall apart. Because they are powerful but only in concert. Seven is the most magical of numbers. Four and Three together."
Victoria nodded, "He's right, that is the theory."
"You'll find Magic naturally seeking those numbers," Malfoy expanded, reclining a little now attention was on him, "Even among us you can see it. There are Fourteen of us. Seven and Seven."
"Now hang on," Ross scoffed, "You guys are my friends, not some mystical… twaddle. I'm not friends with anyone because of a mystical connection."
"What about Weasley?" Draco rejoined swiftly, "You follow him."
"Well… yeah but not because of mystical reasons-"
Draco smirked obnoxiously and started humming a tune.
Tom could swear he heard the words Weasley and king in there.
Ross flushed and scowled at Draco.
Ron punched his arm.
They had gotten seriously sidetracked.
Tom coughed, and eyes turned towards him, "Malfoy's views aside," he arched an eyebrow at the blond who arched his back, "Somewhere under all the misinformation and muddled history is the truth. Elements play a part of magic, they are the balance of the magical and natural world, therefore there is likely to be some kind of connection between wizards and them. Olde Magic, and Ancient magic… it's there. I want to know. You don't have to do it with me…but there's something here."
Silence reigned for a moment before slowly conversations sprang up among the group, and everyone splintered up.
Tom sighed softly and rubbed his head.
"You alright?" Harry asked quietly.
He looked over at the other boy and gave him a tired, wan smile, "Yes. I just don't like mysteries."
Harry's smile was warm and private, "Don't worry, we'll figure it out. I don't like them either."
Tom felt his heart lighten a little as he nodded, relieved to know he wouldn't be solving all of this on its own.
The years at Hogwarts had made him soft.
He had more now. Had a family connection, had a name, had a place and a history.
He had more now. Had friends, people who cared about him, people who would stand by his side and protect him against harm.
He had more now. Had people he'd do anything to protect.
Because he knew, he knew there was darkness inside him, something deep and cold and cruel.
He knew he could do unspeakable things if he had to.
Walburga was lucky she'd come after him.
He imagined seeing Harry in pain. Imagined Hermione pale and still. Imagined watching Tierra crumple to the floor, dead.
It felt like a tsunami of ice.
Walburga was lucky.
If she'd touched the people that were his.
She would have paid a far heavier price than her pride.
To Be Continued...
Reviews
Vexinity - Pairings are generally open. Tom x Hermione is a favourite pairing of mine, but I'm not sure it fits in this world... I'm currently open to where it might go... what pairings are you liking right now?
Amk - Yeah it was a rough moment for Kara, she'd felt so connected to Tom, only to realise that really she's the only one out of her friends with that background. Little does she know...
Guest - I don't buy the Horcrux giving Harry parselmouth abilities schtick. Seems like a retcon to me and devalues the idea that abilities don't make you evil.
Astrakahn - Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed, and I hope you continue to!
Smithback - Yes in this story Harry can speak Parseltongue.