Dissindere Temporalis
I have had this chapter in my head since this fic's birth, which has made it all the more difficult to finally write it, and put all those mercurial thoughts to paper.
Also somehow writing in Bash's POV is super easy, so somehow this chapter could probably have been double the length
I hope you all enjoy this chapter, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Thanks everyone who reviews! You inspire me to open my documents every time I recieve one!
Enjoy
Responsum Est Dilectio
Opportunities and choices.
When a person makes a heart wish, that wish resonates through the currents and things will happen to give the person an opportunity to make the wish come true.
Like a hand offered and accepted.
- Anne Bishop
Sebastian had had the theory for a while now.
In fact he'd had it ever since he'd found out the truth about Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco's origins, and their daring jump through time to change their futures.
Because after he'd come to realise what Harry and Tom were to each other, Dimitera, soul-bound, magical balance personified, he'd done his research on the topic.
He might not be a Ravenclaw, but he was smart enough.
And presented with living examples of myth and magic made the lesson even more interesting.
Magic lacked the same concept of time as them. It dealt in broad strokes, long sweeps of the paintbrush rather than the delicate details of it.
It could align, but otherwise it would construct itself in the broadest of senses.
In other words, without another balance, Magic had brought one to existence and set the conditions.
Tom had been Lord Voldemort by this point, a Dark Wizard who was corrupted by his Horcruxes and the magic he used, perverting the natural balance of the world. He was ascendant, at the peak of his power, influence and furious at opposition.
So Magic set the conditions, bringing Harry into the world, setting the trap with a sweet bait. And Voldemort had taken it, solidifying Harry as his balance, his Dimitera, his final enemy.
Magic could influence, it could guide.
True magic, couldn't control, couldn't remove free will, and couldn't force someone down a path.
Choice.
At the heart of all balance was that. Everything is a choice, everything we do. And every choice has a price.
But what about all those decades where Voldemort rose and rose, seemingly unchecked, apart from the most token efforts by Dumbledore.
He didn't know the details… but he knew enough from talking with Draco, with Hermione.
So what about when Voldemort was Tom Riddle, an aspirant dark lord, one in the slow ascendancy. Before he had made the choices that took him down the darkest path.
If Tom had a Dimitera before Harry, who would it be?
There was one answer.
Once he'd wondered what influence Tierra might have wrought on a Dark Lord in his ascendancy. What concessions might she have brought to his cause had she survived past Hogwarts…
Would she have been the Lady to his Lord? The Queen of Hearts to his King of Spades? Would she have been the warmth to Voldemort's biting, cruel cold?
It was impossible to know.
Maybe in one timeline… maybe in another life Tierra would have been enough.
But in this one she had been destroyed before she could reach her full potential.
Which left them in an interesting position.
And with a triangle of power that could destroy… or save the world.
After his grand pronouncement to the group, there had been a sense of fragility in the air.
None of them were really ready for that idea, even he was deeply shaken by it, and he'd had months to form the suspicion and catalogue all the clues that had lead him there. After what they'd seen, none of them were really ready to discuss it.
And so after some stilted conversations, all of them had fled to consider it in private.
The ritual at Ostara had given him a sense of the Coven, and unlike others who preferred for it to take a backseat and not bother them, Bash had embraced the advantage.
At night he immersed himself in the warmth of the collective bond, letting it settle into his bones and into his magic like a warm bath for his soul and his magic.
Each of them felt different. Druella was the easiest to reach for, her magic was almost an extension of his own, she was that familiar to him. She felt like a soft spring breeze, gentle on his skin, not warm or cold, and with an echo of floral scent, like jasmine climbing a stone, garden wall.
Tom and Aurora felt like deep water in the depths of night. Still but with a hint of danger. Placid on the surface, but with currents deep within that would pull in the unwary to their doom. When they slept however it was like a lake. Aurora's like water at the beginning of spring, but still with winter's slight chill. Tom… cool and crisp, but not frozen, a hint of snow in the air.
Potter felt like flying, almost like feathers of fire in the air. The air was freedom, the fire warmth, passion and conviction. It was like inspiration, like hearing an uplifting piece of music and having your heart soar with all the pain and joy that it carried.
One of final two that came naturally was Hermione, whose magic brushed delicately against him like a siren's call. Her magic was rich and vibrant, like a forest, with the scent of sweet fresh earth in his nose. It was peaceful. It was wonderfully alive. And it was beautifully comforting for his own airy magic to brush and rustle through the leaves.
Tierra was the final one. A steady beating heart at the centre. Where Tom and Harry orbited the Coven, forever at balance at the opposite sides of the web of magic, Tierra felt like she was at the heart of it all. She felt like warmth, like a fire at the end of the day, soothing all your ills, all your hurts. It felt like safety, like home, like…balance.
Body, Mind, Soul.
Past, Present, Future.
The Sun, The Moon, The Truth.
Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos.
Instinct, Logic, Heart
Magic was full of powerful triads. In fact it was widely accepted that Seven was the most powerful of magical numbers, followed by three, and then by four.
Witches and Wizards were drawn to quartets, to trios, to seven, it was as natural as breathing. But alone a Quartet would never be as stable as a Trio, or as stable as Seven.
The Hogwarts Founders were a good example of that.
So Tom, Harry and Tierra made a powerful triangle at the heart of the Coven, much like Harry, Ron and Hermione made another powerful trio. There were a number of them in the Coven. And there were quartets too.
But at the heart of it all were Tom and Harry, and unrecognised until now…Tierra too.
So this had become a part of his nightly routine, sinking into the Coven's magical pool until sleep claimed him.
It was deeply relaxing, wonderfully meditative… or rather it had been, until Tom's thoughtless comments had thrown things off kilter.
It was like a small discordant note in the music, a sense of sadness.
And even worse.
Acceptance.
Resignation.
It dimmed the warmth of the fire. It allowed a hint of winter chill to creep along his skin, in his bones.
Their Hufflepuff had believed Tom. Had taken his thoughtlessly cruel comments and had quietly taken them into her heart.
It felt familiar, like an echo, reminding him of another time when Tom had dismissed her until finally she snapped.
It felt a little bit like history repeating.
It also didn't surprise him in the least that the first two to confront him about his theory about the Dimitera were Potter and his little cat.
"You said you'd had this theory for a while," Hermione tucked her thick, curly hair behind her ear, only for it to fall forward again a moment later, "What made you think of it?"
"I've had it since you all told us your origins." He answered her honestly, but his eyes did move to Harry's intent emerald green gaze for a long moment, before returning to her. "I'd always had a little niggle about it, but after that… the pieces began to make sense."
"What pieces?" Potter asked. He looked tired, brittle, and idly Sebastian wondered it Tierra's unhappiness was stronger for him and Riddle, despite her valiant attempts to mask it.
Bash considered him, and elected to be short, sharp, sweet and blunt.
"She can use your wand." He ticked on his hand, "Either with enough power to block Tom at full power, or his magic is less effective against her. Like yours."
Harry considered, and then nodded, "I remember, in the Defence Club. I honestly didn't pay much attention to it."
"He couldn't get through her shields before that, too." Hermione mused thoughtfully, "He's certainly got the greater power level, though she is no slouch at shielding."
Bash nodded, "Dimitera are usually born at a similar point in time," he informed them, continuing his list, "Almost every Dimitera pair in history have been of a comparable or compatible age."
"Harry and Tom are of comparable age."
"They are now." Bash answered Hermione sweetly, and saw her eyes widen, "But in your original time…?"
"Still…" She shook her head, "It's a leap…"
"No." he shook his head gently, "It's really not. The cases of Dimitera where there has been an age discrepancy? Is because they are theorised to be a second attempt at balance. The second Dimitera."
He lifted a third finger, "She has Slytherin's blood." A fourth, "Other than you Potter, she's the only other one to reach him on an emotional level."
"None of this means she's like Harry." Hermione sounded exasperated.
"Maybe not, but with the visions of Kel's we saw?" Harry's voice was quiet, "I saw a lot of memories of him, Hermione. I remember that particular Voldemort…" he hesitated for a moment, "I never saw him like that. Oh he could be charming, engaging…but it was always so distant. He was honest with her. He wanted her to accept the real him. Not the mask."
"Then why wouldn't Dumbledore have known." Hermione huffed.
Harry stared at her with a look of utter exasperation, "Haven't we learned by now that he's fallible? Seriously, Hermione…"
"Most people saw the genial, charming, charismatic, handsome and brilliant young man, and couldn't see the darkness underneath, the rotting corruption." Bash provided, leaning against the wall easily, "Dumbledore alone could. And having seen that initial impression, of a dark wizard, someone to be watched, even feared… why would he consider that he was wrong?"
"He wanted him to have some humanity," Hermione insisted, "If it was there, wouldn't he have seen it?"
"Dumbledore saw too much of Grindelwald in him. The callousness, the good looks, the charm, the ability to attract followers." Harry sighed softly, "His fear of history repeating… blinded him to reality. And I think Tom was very diligent about hiding that little bit of humanity Tierra brought out in him. From Dumbledore, and from his followers…"
"You saw him in that vision." Bash coaxed, "In his mind she was his. And in his world, things that were his could be taken from him."
"So he put his value in objects." Harry murmured, green eyes solemn, "Things that couldn't leave him of their own free will, things that could be controlled. Like the locket…" he looked at Hermione significantly and she paled a little.
Bash looked between them, curious.
"The locket?"
"It was one of his Horcruxes. As I'm sure you've guessed," Hermione added tartly and he smirked faintly. It made her huff, but she continued, "It was the Horcrux we spent the most time with… it was… unpleasant."
Bash frowned, why was she dancing around the point? So he looked at Harry.
Potter sighed and rubbed his face, "The Horcruxes all had different effects on the people exposed to them. Unlike the diary, and the ring to an extent, which coaxed and lured people to their danger and doom, the locket…"
He coughed softly.
"The locket fed on the bad things, all the negative emotions, all the fears, all the insecurities, and magnified them."
Bash considered this, intrigued, "Like a Dementor?"
Hermione blinked, sitting up a little straighter, "Actually… yes. Just like a Dementor." She looked over at Harry curious, "I wonder... I wonder if there's a connection."
Harry stared at her.
"An interesting thought…" Bash considered the idea, fascinated, "Dementors are inherently mysterious creatures, and their evil natures hinder any studies on them. But it's curious that this particular Horcrux had a different effect to the others..."
"The Diary allowed the piece of soul to possess the one interacting with it…" Harry mused, frowning slightly, "But that's because it was supplemented by what Ominis Gaunt used for his own diary, preserving his memories."
"What about the Ring?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Dumbledore put it down to his former obsession with the Hallows," Harry sighed, "But he put it on without testing it. Sounds like a similar allure, with a curse laid within it to kill whoever did, foolishly, put it on."
Suspicion jarred across Bash's thoughts, and he remembered his own discussion about the Deathly Hallows with Tom.
"Why would the ring involve the Hallows?" He asked, and noted how Harry and Hermione hesitated. His mind swiftly considered it, and then he realised,, "The Ring… had the Stone?"
Slowly Potter nodded, and Sebastian sat back, stunned.
"Do you know where the other Hallows are?"
Harry hesitated again, which was as good as flapping a banner emblazoned with YES for all to see.
A quick glance at Hermione, showed him her worried expression.
But she stayed quiet.
"Yes." Harry answered quietly.
Sebastian stared at him, and Harry stared back, concerned.
"Okay," he nodded weakly, brain swirling with thoughts tumbling over each other "Obviously the story isn't wholly correct?"
Harry nodded too, looking painfully relieved.
The Hallows were an obsession for many.
He had a right to be worried.
Slowly Bash let out a breath, putting aside the question of the Hallows for now, which was again, yet another magical trio interestingly enough.
"I wonder if Tom's, Voldemort's, intent mattered when he made the Horcruxes. He had no regrets about the diary… and the ring, yes?" he arched an eyebrow and Harry nodded, "But that locket…"
"He killed the man in vengeance," Harry breathed, "Fuelled by his grief, his rage, and all the other complicated emotions he must have had about Tierra."
"Mmm," Bash mused, "Intent matters in magic, doesn't it Potter?"
Harry's smile was sad, "Indeed it does."
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, "It doesn't change the fact that it's a leap for Tierra to be Tom's first Dimitera."
Harry shook his head slowly, "It's not a leap at all. You remember, Hermione, when Tom and I met on the train? We shorted out the power when we shook hands."
She nodded, confused.
He rubbed his jaw, and met Sebastian's gaze solidly, "I felt it again. The following day when we all met on the lawn. The first time we were a big group. It was the same… but different."
"Different, how?"
Potter licked his lips, "It felt like…like a fire in the common room in winter. Warm and welcoming and inviting… Meeting Tom felt like fizzing, like sparks… like ice chips and frost. I put it down to the fact Tom joined us…"
Here he hesitated and Bash pushed once more, "But?"
"But now… I think it was my magic reacting to Tierra."
He couldn't help the victorious look towards Hermione and grinned as she huffed and crossed her arms.
"This doesn't solve our problem." She snarked, obviously irritated, "Tierra's still hurt, and Tom's still a prig."
That was, unfortunately, true, and Bash could see that Harry knew it too.
This place was both strange to him, and familiar.
The roof curved above him, solid stone and arched, and the walls of the room had large windows that bathed the place in soft, hazy sunlight.
Over every surface, every object, and the roof itself, delicate vines, plants and even trees stood. It rather reminded him of a room forgotten by time, a room where nature had come to reclaim what belonged to it.
The exceptions were the walls of books. Oh the bookcases were traced with the inevitable plant life, but the books within them were protected, the only part of the room free from the soft green and brown foliage.
He was intrigued.
And then he saw her.
She was older, slightly older, more woman than the girl she was now, and her wild, thick hair looked completely at home with the long gown of living plants she wore. She looked like a creature of the woods, like a nymph of the forest.
Her soft pale skin seemed to glow against the earthy tones of the gown she wore and he couldn't tear his eyes away.
There was nothing sexual about it at all, and yet there was a natural sensuality in the air that made something inside him stir with male, primitive, interest.
"Where are we?" he asked, voice soft, and she turned to face him, guarded but also open.
"My library."
He looked around himself again, now with intent interest. It was a personal space, something of her own making.
That was intriguing.
"Why here?"
"I-"she licked her lips, "I don't know… I like to dream of this place… it's safe…"
Slowly he prowled a little closer, each step like the wind rustling through the trees.
"And me? Why am I here?"
"Maybe you're safe too." She whispered.
His lips curved upwards in a slow smile, and she eyed him with careful wariness.
He wanted her to feel safe, because she was truly safe from harm and heartache with him. But he also wanted her to feel that heady rush of danger, the excitement, the heart pounding, body tingling alertness that she evoked in him.
Slowly he stepped into her personal space.
Her brown eyes were fixed on him, and she stayed very still as he moved closer.
"Am I safe?"
Her eyes darted, the only sign of hesitation, but she stayed where she was, and once again that little pink tongue darted out.
"Yes?"
Not so sure now, was she. He smiled slightly, and his hand lifted to brush that riotous hair back from her face, lacing in the curls and tendrils, sliding behind her neck.
Her lips parted instinctively.
"Hermione…"
He leaned in, longing to taste her, aching to finally feel her mouth on his.
And just before their lips finally…
…achingly…
…touched…
He woke.
It wasn't the first dream, and it wasn't the last.
It also wasn't always Hermione.
He'd dreamed of Aurora, deep in the abyss, in a dark well lit by a single beam of moonlight. It was still intimate, even if the sensual edge he'd felt with Hermione was muted with her.
She'd craved a different kind of intimacy.
She'd longed to be held, simply that, and it had felt comfortable, safe, until the dream blurred around them and he woke feeling peaceful.
He dreamed of Ross, and the salty lands by the coast. Ross lacked the wariness of the girls, and his flirtatious charm was on full display, which amused him. He played along and Ross' kiss was rough, cheeky, and mischievous. And it was clear that he thought this was just a fun little night-time, dreamtime, romp.
Bash was no longer so sure.
But it was only when he dreamed of the Hufflepuff that he realised exactly what it was.
The room was the most comfortable place he'd ever seen. Apart from the giant, squashy, impossibly inviting bed, which Bash idly noted would probably sleep all fourteen of them comfortably, there were also large couches by the fireplace, and soft rugs on the floors. The walls were panelled in a rich dark forest green, lit by the soft gleam of candlelight. Windows showed the snow falling outside, but in the hearth…a fire crackled.
It was warm and inviting.
It was… it felt like home.
Tierra stood by the hearth, and for a moment it looked like her hair was aflame, awash with sparks and glowing embers, as was her dress. It was a dark burnt red, with threads of ash grey and black, and soft flowers and it contrasted against the soft pale skin of her shoulders and neck.
She looked lovely.
She looked ephemeral.
She looked… sad.
"Little Puff."
She was surprised to see him, "Bash!"
He shook his head fondly. He'd always had a soft spot for her, and an appreciation for her emotional astuteness, and right now, those feelings were stronger than ever.
"Why are you sad?"
She was flustered by the question, but it didn't occur to him to think she'd lie.
And she didn't.
"He'll never see me as an equal. He only equates power with strength, martial prowess."
"Is it so important to be seen as equal?" he asked mildly.
She nodded.
"I have value." Her voice was quiet, but firm. She didn't demand, but there was no uncertainty either, "Caring for people, thinking of their wellbeing… Love isn't a weakness."
He smiled at her, feeling impossibly fond of her in that moment. "You are his equal in every way that matters Tierra. What was it that you said about Tom?" he moved forward and his hand brushed against her fire-spark hair. It felt like rain that was warm, but not wet, "He doesn't know he loves. Even now. And he fears losing what he does love."
"What he said-"
"Do you think it's true? That Hufflepuff's aren't special. That the Diggory brothers aren't special? Or Rivera?"
The rapid shift of uncertain girl, to fierce protector was so swift he was actually shocked by it.
"No! Loyalty, fairness, determination and hard-work may not be flashy but they are important!"
He grinned at her, and she subsided, a bit sheepish, "Oh."
"You show them that Huffle-power." He teased and she scowled at him, even as her lips curved up at the corners.
"Bash…"
"Soon he'll have Huffle-nough."
"Sebastian!"
"All he wants is your, Huffle-hug?"
She punched him. He couldn't even blame her. Even as it sent him jerking out of the dream, laughing quietly.
Until he saw the red mark on his arm, exactly where she smacked him.
And then the laughter choked in his throat.
There was one person who might have the answers he needed, but he wasn't exactly sure of his Mother's reaction to the news that her children had performed an ancient ritual and bound themselves to 12 of their friends in a powerful coven.
Sure he'd asked her about the elemental thing.
But this was a few steps further than that.
Not to mention… illegal.
Still they needed answers, and the Rosier Library, not to mention his mother herself, were the best asset he could think of.
So he wrote to her.
And waited, half expecting disaster, but hoping for a miracle.
He encountered Draco one evening in a smaller Potions classroom in the dungeons. It was used as a tutoring space, and so only really worked for a couple of people at a time.
Some instinct had pulled him to his door, and now he knew why.
"Hello Sebastian," Draco drawled, very delicately scattering what looked like pearlwing dust in the simmering potion.
"Draco," he greeted, "what are you making?"
"Nothing," was the answer, but it wasn't a rebuke, "I'm experimenting."
Curiosity stopped him from leaving, and he moved further in.
"With what?"
"With a potion… obviously." was the sarcastic response and he rolled his eyes at him, "I'm experimenting… with a potion for lycanthropy."
Sebastian blinked.
Whatever he'd been expecting, it had not been that…
"Lycanthropy?" he asked, very curious now, and intrigued, "Had they cured it in your…?"
"No." Draco frowned at the cauldron, "They'd found, by accident, some potion that could make a werewolf…aware… during a full moon. They could stay in their form, docile until the night passed. But… they would still suffer in the lead up, and after, and the wizarding world still hated them, and treated them like beasts."
He could hear guilt in Draco's voice, and chose not to ask what his personal scars were with this.
"Unfortunately," the blond continued, voice heavy, "The Ministry saw the potion as close enough.. And any assistance for them was limited after that. Never mind that the potion is ridiculously complicated, finicky and expensive to make."
"So you're… recreating it? Or trying to find a better alternative?"
"Better alternative." Draco huffed, "I want to cure it."
Sebastian looked at him, intrigued. It was honestly not something he'd ever considered before, and he was a bit disappointed that he hadn't actually done so.
But he was thinking about it now.
"Can I help?" he asked.
Draco's grey eyes fixed on his, and he took a long moment to consider.
"Yes." The blond moved and handed a sheaf of parchment, "Have a read of this. It's Potter's commissioned research, from before. We've narrowed it down to Lycanthropy being a virus, one that remains in the body and is reactivated by the cycle of the moon."
Sebastian goggled at him, "Like a disease?"
Draco nodded, nonchalantly.
"But… they…" he thought about it more, "So it's less about the transformation itself… but more about the virus?"
Draco nodded again, waving at the parchment in Bash's hands, "Have a read."
He did.
And when he was done, it felt like his brain was tingling.
"Still want to help?" Malfoy asked casually, but his grey eyes were sharp.
"Oh yes," Bash murmured, and was rewarded with a slow smile from the Ravenclaw.
"Then grab that stack of parchment over there, that chronicles my tests so far…"
"Excuse me Professor Dumbledore," Professor Merrythought's voice broke into his concentration in the midst of Transfiguration class.
He looked up, surprised, as did all the students around him, including Tom, who was looking at his adoptive guardian with a small, concerned frown.
Professor Dumbledore too seemed surprised, turned from where he was assisting a particularly hopeless Gryffindor with his spellwork.
"Professor Merrythought," he gave her a genial, benign smile, that made Bash grit his teeth a little. After everything he'd heard of him, he had little reason to like Dumbledore. Yes he'd operated in the best interests of the Wizarding World in the corrupted timeline, but he'd shown little empathy along the way. Not to mention his blatant bias towards Gryffindors and against Slytherins in this lifetime, "How might I help you?"
He'd seen the suspicious looks directed at Harry and at Tom. Two exceptional young wizards. Dumbledore didn't trust them one bit, because of their House.
Not to mention how he'd acted when Bash himself had nearly died…
"Pantalonius Poopicus," he muttered, swishing his wand in Dumbledore's direction.
Not being a real spell, it didn't do anything, but Tom, next to him, flushed pink from trying not to laugh.
"I need to borrow Mr Rosier, please."
Bash blinked and swivelled in surprise, taking in Dumbledore nodding and gesturing that he might go, and Professor Merrythought's hand beckoning him forward.
So he grabbed his bag, ignoring the concerned expression of his sister, and friends, and headed out into the corridor with the Defence professor.
They walked down the hall towards her own office, and once they were a safe distance away, she smiled at him, "Your mother is here. She very much wanted to see you and informed Dippet that it was urgent."
Bash winced, uh oh.
Merrythought's gaze was shrewd, "You've done something haven't you?"
"Sort of?"
"Uh huh." She shook her head at him fondly, "Something she wouldn't want screamed out about in a public place?"
Bash nodded, and the teacher patted his shoulder lightly, before pushing him gently into her office.
His mother turned as he entered and her smile was warm as she moved forward and hugged him tight, "You've grown taller, even in just a few months." She murmured softly before drawing back to cup his face, "Now…"
"I'll just-?" Merrythought jutted her thumb at the door, "Give you some privacy."
"No, no-" His mother assured her quickly, "Tia you may stay. I'd like someone here at Hogwarts to be able to keep an eye on this."
Merrythought's eyebrow shot up, but she closed the door easily enough and took a seat, clearly curious.
"You've formed a Coven." His mother chided gently, forcing him to look at her. Behind him he heard Merrythought make a choking sound, "Darling that was reckless."
She wasn't angry?
"It wasn't a hasty decision," he assured her, gaze locked onto hers. They were on a level now, it was strange to think he'd be taller than her, she'd always seemed so…. Indomitable.
"Mmm…" she tapped his cheek, "And yet you seem to not be aware of all the potential repercussions."
Well, that was true.
"I'm sorry," Merrythought sounded like she was holding back a voice wobble, "You… you all formed a Coven? That's dangerous Sebastian, not to mention highly illegal."
"Most nuanced things are," his gaze didn't leave his mothers.
"It's considered Dark magic!"
"Of course it is," his mother replied tartly, "It isn't easy to regulate. I'll give you some literature on it Tia, don't worry it's not evil."
Merrythought spluttered into silence, seemingly assuaged by this.
"But you have made a binding, lifelong agreement, something that should not have been entered into lightly. And definitely shouldn't have been entered into so young," she sharply tapped his cheek again, "What were you thinking, dearest?"
"It wasn't something we just did overnight…" he reassured his mother, quickly, "Truly we'd been thinking about it for… years. Or rather some of us had. But this year, with everything…" he sighed, realising that he would have to share the secret for this to make sense. It wasn't his secret to tell, but he knew… he knew his mother, and he knew Professor Merrythought would never do anything to hurt Tom.
So he told them, the short version, the broad version, of what had happened, where Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco had come from, and how Tom had become Voldemort.
At the end, Merrythought was pale, and sick looking and his mother looked sad, and troubled.
"Tom had a feeling…some instinct. That we were running out of time…that we needed the Coven." He appealed to her, quietly, urgently, "We all agreed. All fourteen agreed."
His mother nodded slowly and cupped his cheeks, "I am so proud of you. And so angry at you for keeping this to yourself. Darling burdens are to be shared. No matter who you are, or where you go, or what you choose to be; I shall always love you and your sister, and yes even Tom too. Do you understand?"
Feeling his throat close up a little from emotion, he nodded back, and then looked over at Merrythought.
Who was frowning.
"Charlus Potter knows…doesn't he?"
Bash winced again, "Uh…"
Merrythought's eyes narrowed, "That sneaky little-. 'I know a magical child, at an Orphanage. He'll be on the list this year. You should be the one to see him'. That prick!"
Bash's mother huffed, "Well we shall just have to pay him a little visit after this, won't we Tia?"
"Indeed we will," Merrythought's expression promised that Charlus was going to be in a world of hurt, and Bash quietly did not begrudge him the two powerful, irate, witches that were going to descend upon his doorstep.
Both of them turned back to him, and he wilted a little.
His mother's gaze softened and she sighed, "I wouldn't have chosen this for you, my darling boy, but I know that the mysteries of magic should never be ignored. Time travellers, a seer, Soul bonds, warning premonitions… and I do believe they are that, he's powerful enough to get… magical instincts. One might be ignored at your peril, but all of them? You'd have to be a fool to do so."
She moved him to sit, and sat down in front of him, Merrythought joining her after a moment.
"Darling, modern books about Covens and the like are full of warnings, most of which you have deduced are fear mongering tactics to dissuade witches and wizards to attempt what you and your friends have successfully achieved. What they do not contain are some facts that relate to your new life…"
"Since the goal is dissuading you from doing it, of course they're not going to talk about the realities of life within it." Merrythought rolled her eyes and lounged a little.
His mother shot her a small smirk before continuing.
"Coven bonds, the vows you have all sworn, are binding in Magical Law, at least in the eyes of magic. It means that none of you can be forced into a conflicting oath, like a Pureblood marriage contract. In essence, Miss Selwyn is no longer bound to marry Lestrange; that contractual promise made by her parents has been rendered null and void, unless she chooses otherwise. Or rather, unless you, the collective, choose otherwise."
Bash stared at her, stunned.
"It means you all now have an inviolable say in each other's lives. In a loose sense you are all sort of married to each other, in that you all now have a magical right to shape each other's lives and choices."
Married?!
He must have looked shell shocked, or overwhelmed, as his mother's expression gentled.
"It has a great many benefits, Sebastian. You are all now stronger magically, you also have an additional source of power, the elements themselves, and how deep that goes depends on what element you have in your Coven."
He blinked at her in confusion, and she misunderstood, "There was an Earth based coven some years back, that the Ministry were up in arms about, that were excellent at magical defences, but their offensive spell work was dreadful."
"They only had one element?"
"Of course," his mother nodded, "Multi element Covens can be very difficult to form, and balance."
"What if we have all the elements…?"
His mother stared at him, so did Merrythought.
"All?" She asked, and it was now her turn to look shell-shocked, "Well… I don't know love. The last truly elemental Coven was…"
"King Arthur's Round Table?" Merrythought mused. "Can't think of any others. It's been so long since this magic was considered acceptable…and there were unpleasant results when some tried and… uh… failed."
Wait… they could have failed?
Bash felt uneasy, maybe they hadn't been as well informed as they thought they'd been.
His mother smiled faintly, "Darling heart, the Covens were devised as a concept to protect magic, at a time when Magic users were dying in droves. The wars, the territory squabbles… it was all brutal and bloody. And then slowly the Muggles began to turn against the Witches and Wizards they'd lived alongside and even more died. Coven bonds allowed powerful Witches and Wizards to link with others, to create…" she gestured, "a powerful court, in essence. Often a Coven was built around a Clan leader, a King or Queen or Warlord, or even a Druid guiding a community. They formed their court, the men and women who supported and sustained them."
Bash slowly nodded, "That makes sense."
His mother bit her lip, and the way her eyes danced with mirth, worried him, "Yes darling. The martial benefits are well documented. What isn't so well chronicled, or rather has been less talked about, is that… well… the magical bloodlines needed repopulating."
Merlin's knickerweasels.
Bash made a noise vaguely like a tea kettle, but his mother didn't stop.
"Covens were linked, bonded, though the depth depended on the temperaments of the witches and wizards involved, and of course, also their power." She smoothed her hand over her chin, lips curved up, "What I'm trying to say, delicately, my darling is that… uh… you and your friends are magically bonded, and the magic… is going to want you to get close to each other."
"What?" he whispered, feeling like his insides were shrivelling, "What does that actually mean?"
"You're going to be drawn to your Coven-mates," Merrythought looked like she was torn between laughing and wheezing, "Oh it's still a choice… but when the magic is strong, around solstices, or at magical times of year… well… you're going to be drawn towards each other. Intimately."
Oh sweet Merlin…
"We're fourteen and fifteen." His voice wobbled, "Wha-"
"Which is why we would have suggested you wait." His mother shook her head at him fondly, "Don't worry dearest, it's more a case that you will desire the closeness, the intimacy of the bond. You will find yourself being more affectionate, intimate through words, or touch, whatever is natural for you. Not necessarily sexual, but for now… it will be a need to be close."
Well that was a relief…
"As you reach a more…sexual maturity, however," his mother's eyes danced, "That craving will be supplemented with a desire for each other in that way. Some of your relationships won't naturally go that way, like you and your sister." she gave him a look and he shuddered bodily, "or you and Tom. Your bond is familial so it will be more a case of craving each other's companionship."
"And so my dreams…"
"Are you reaching out to these people. Something about them is making you reach out, some need, some concern…"
Interesting…
His mother considered him, softly, "My boy," she cradled his cheek, affection in her gaze, "You have used an old druidic ritual, and the druids… or rather the cultures they oversaw, knew not monogamy. It was natural, encouraged even, to have multiple marriages and partners. Ladies had multiple husbands, Husbands had multiple wives… sometimes there was formality around it… often there was not. So…" her smile crinkled, "Congratulations my darling. You've essentially bonded, married, yourself to 13 of your peers, including your twin sister."
He must have looked distressed because his mother smiled again, "Darling, I mean that in a legal sense. It's more that… you've all become a family. Some of you will form familial relationships, platonic bonds… and others will form romantic attachments. It will depend on the person. But you are all now linked for life."
"Wonderful…" he said weakly, and didn't object when she pulled him into a tight hug, "Not that anyone knows that."
"You won't be able to keep it secret forever," his mother murmured fondly, stroking his hair, "the stronger the Coven… the stronger the bonds…. The stronger the magic."
He groaned, and nearby he heard Merrythought laugh softly.
What had they done…?
He waited until they were in the Chamber, him and Tom, to continue their reading of Slytherin's books, before he spoke to him about one of the things he'd really wanted to talk to him about.
"You should apologise."
His almost-brother stiffened in his chair but didn't look up.
"Apologise for what?"
"You know for what," Bash kept his gaze firmly on Tom, who sat still, like he was carved from marble.
"No. I do not."
The voice was soft, almost too soft, almost with a roll of soft thunder in it. It was a warning to him to back off.
For the first time, he decided to ignore it.
"You can play the disinterested aristocrat with others, but not with me. You know what you need to apologise for."
Dark, indigo eyes slowly lifted and locked onto his.
He shivered, it was like the air had frosted in his lungs, like his bones had frozen.
"I do not need to apologise."
Someone sane would stop, someone sane would back away, yield, drop the question.
Sebastian did not.
If anything, something like hot anger rippled down his spine, warming him up.
"Don't give me that rubbish," he snapped, and saw Tom's eyes widen with surprise and displeasure, the icy air shattering with his shock, "You can lie to the others Tom, but you can't lie to me or Harry."
Tom's eyes narrowed once more, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Bash barrelled on.
"You have lost a lot of things in your life, we know this, and we make allowances for it." he kept his eyes fixed on Tom's face, "We know that having people who know you, care for you, hell even love you, is new and scary for you."
"Now hang-" Tom spluttered.
"But the answer to Tierra being murdered isn't pushing her away and hurting her!"
Tom's mouth twisted, "You don't know what you're-"
"I know." Bash snapped, leaning forward, "She was killed, brutally, and you're terrified it will happen again."
Tom lunged to his feet, walking away and Bash stood too, grabbing his arm, yanking him back to face him, "No… even more. You're terrified how much it will hurt you if it happens again."
He felt a flash of victory as Tom's glare flickered for a moment, and then the other boy wrenched out of his grip, walking to the other side of the study.
"You'd do the same thing if it was Harry." he gentled his tone now, almost coaxing, "Because you love Harry. And you love Tierra too…"
"I don't know what love is," Tom snarled, whirling to face him, "Other than it's some pathetic emotional response people use to crush and manipulate!"
"Bullcrap!" Bash stepped forward, "You're telling me you don't love Tia?"
"She is useful-"
Bash flung his hands up with a disgusted noise, turning away from him.
"What do you want me to say!" Tom's voice was sharp now, and he could hear something in it, "What do you want from me, Bash!?"
He turned back, and walked over to his friend, his almost-brother.
And spoke to him, just as he would to Druella.
"I want you to ignore the Slytherin in you. I want you to think, for a moment, like a Gryffindor. To be brave enough to face this truth that you're using all your cunning and self preservation to ignore."
He gripped Tom's shoulders, "Tom. You are capable of greatness. But you'll never be great until you admit, even if it's just to yourself… that you love people."
Tom stared at him, and for a moment Bash could see the fierce, cold little orphan he'd been, and he could see, briefly, heartbreakingly, his fear.
"Bash…"
"I love you." He gently squeezed Tom's shoulders, and let go, "You're the brother, I always quietly wished I could have. You're my best mate, and even if you lost all your power and charm tomorrow… I'd still love you."
The dark haired boy looked completely stunned, flummoxed and Bash smiled sadly, giving him one last squeeze, before letting go, "That's something you can't control, Tom. But that's what makes this fun."
He stepped away and grabbed his school robe before moving to leave.
"Bash…" Tom's voice halted him at the door, and he turned back to look at him.
He was still impossibly handsome, still guarded and elegant. But Bash didn't think he'd ever seen him look so… human.
"I don't know how…"
He smiled softly, "Maybe I can help you."
Tom's smile was slow, but it was real.
And it was beautiful.
To Be Continued...
So, everyone, there may be a pause here in updating, I do apologise, but that's unfortunately the reality. I'm moving between countries, and that is going to cause a lot of upheaval. Hopefully we'll be back with Chapter 31 in early December 2023.
Please leave a review if you enjoyed, as I said above, they fuel and inspire me to think and plan and write even more!
Review Responses
Bakeku67 - From heartachingly sad to getting whalloped in the feels? That's usually how it goes with my stories. I like whalloping the feeling places. I'm very glad you enjoyed though!
Micksmom - Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy reading this.
Smithback - Well it appears that he now has two Dimitera, similar but different, as one was made to balance Voldemort and the other Tom Riddle.
Amk - I hope you enjoyed this update too!