Disclaimer : I Own Nothing of Tvd or it fandom
I nearly lost around 800 words of the deal between Kol, Bonnie, and her ancestors, but I managed to fix it thanks to a reminder from Tasjuan Hampton.
Shout out to him for helping
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Bonnie's POV
As she regained consciousness, muffled voices drifted up from downstairs.
Groggy but curious, she forced herself out of bed. After freshening up, she followed the sounds, stepping into the room where Caroline, Rebekah, and someone else chatted animatedly. Kol sat nearby, flipping through a grimoire.
Exhaustion weighed on her, making her limbs heavy. Kol glanced up, unreadable, then gestured toward the kitchen. A teacup floated through the air, gliding smoothly toward her without spilling a drop.
Bonnie's drowsiness vanished.
"What the—" she started, but the cup settled neatly into her hands.
The warm, herbal aroma was oddly soothing. Hesitant, she took a cautious sip, expecting bitterness. Instead, the taste was… fresh. Like crisp morning air, earthy yet light. It filled her senses, calming her in a way she hadn't expected.
"What is this?" she murmured.
Kol smirked, eyes still on his book. "A concoction of my own making. You should be thanking me."
Bonnie arched a brow. "Should I? You didn't poison me, did you?"
Kol sighed dramatically. "If I wanted to kill you, little witch, I'd at least make it entertaining."
She rolled her eyes, sinking into the sofa. A groan of relief escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Rebekah, catching on, turned to Kol with a sweet smile. "Kol, darling, can I have some too?"
He gave her a long-suffering look. "You lot are exhausting."
With a flick of his fingers, more cups floated toward them.
Rebekah took a sip and sighed. "Oh, this is lovely. Why don't you make this more often?"
Caroline grinned. "Right? Maybe if you focused on things like this instead of, I don't know, being a manipulative psycho, people would actually like you."
Kol scoffed. "I'm quite likable, thank you very much."
Bonnie watched, amused, until Caroline's next words caught her attention.
"So, Kol, what about teaching Bonnie like you do Davina? Please? Pretty please?"
Bonnie stiffened. Wait… what?
Kol's expression blanked.
He lifted his gaze from the grimoire, locking eyes with Bonnie before coolly stating, "No."
Caroline huffed. "Ugh, come on! She's strong, talented, and already has a connection to the spirits—"
"No," Kol repeated, flipping a page.
Rebekah leaned in, pouting. "Kol, really? She's powerful. Think of what she could learn from you."
Kol's irritation flickered. "Oh, I am thinking about it." He turned to Bonnie. "And you? Are you just going to sit there and let them throw you into my hands like some lost puppy?"
Bonnie blinked. "I—" She hesitated. Did she want this?
The idea of learning magic that didn't depend on her ancestors was tempting.
Kol suddenly tilted his head, as if listening to something no one else could hear. Then, with a sharp exhale, he muttered, "Of course, they'd get involved."
"Them?" Bonnie frowned.
Kol smirked. "Your ancestors, little witch. They're rather invested in this conversation."
A chill ran down Bonnie's spine. She wasn't surprised. The Bennett witches were always watching. Always judging.
Kol's smirk faded. "No. I will not take a Bennett witch as an apprentice."
Caroline groaned. "Oh my God, Kol! Why are you so dramatic?"
Kol snapped his book shut. "Dramatic? Do you want to know why, love?" His voice sharpened.
Silence fell.
Kol leaned forward, eyes dark. "After you outcasted my last Bennett apprentice, we made a deal. A deal that cost me. I agreed never to take another Bennett witch as a student. In exchange, she was allowed to live. I also owed your precious line three favors for her continued existence."
Bonnie swallowed hard.
Kol's voice was steady but cold. "So, no. I will not break that deal."
Rebekah frowned. "Kol… what happened?"
His expression turned distant. "It was the 1500s. Cassiopeia Bennett came to me for guidance. Since her ancestor was once my mentor, I agreed."
Bonnie's breath hitched. She had heard that name before.
"I trained her as I always do—first in self-reliance, then spirits, then ancestors. She was strong. One of the strongest witches I had ever trained. Even I was impressed. When I left her to her own devices for a time, I thought she would flourish."
His fingers tapped the armrest. "But the Bennett coven didn't like one of their own being taught by me. They sent a hundred people after her in broad daylight, screaming 'witch.'"
Bonnie's stomach twisted.
"She survived," Kol continued, "but they captured her. Dragged her back to the coven." His voice dropped, colder than before. "When I found out, I was—ah, how should I put this? Unamused."
Rebekah stiffened. "Kol…"
"I retaliated." His voice was light but deadly. "I slaughtered my way through them without mercy."
Bonnie's fingers tightened around her cup.
Kol's expression remained unreadable. "Then they called for a truce. I accepted—on my terms. They would spare Cassiopeia, let her live as she wished. In return, I would never take another Bennett witch as an apprentice. And I owed their line three favors."
He exhaled slowly. "After that, I left them alone. Didn't interfere. Didn't seek vengeance. But you expect me to take another student, knowing she could turn on me the moment her ancestors whisper in her ear?" His gaze flicked to Bonnie. "No, love. I'm not interested."
A weight settled in Bonnie's chest.
He had been betrayed. And yet, he still honored the deal.
Caroline crossed her arms. "That was centuries ago, Kol. Bonnie isn't like them."
Kol laughed, low and amused. "Isn't she?" He stared at Bonnie. "Tell me, little witch, if your ancestors ordered you to turn against me… would you?"
Bonnie's breath caught.
Would she?
She wanted to say no. She wanted to say she wasn't like them. But the truth was… she didn't know.
She had defied them before. And yet, time and time again, they had forced her hand. If they demanded she turn on Kol, if they twisted her magic until she had no choice—what then?
Kol watched her struggle and smirked, both knowing and bitter. "You see, love? Even you hesitate."
Bonnie clenched her jaw. "It's not that simple."
Kol leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Oh, but it is. Your kind have always been predictable."
Bonnie's hands curled into fists. "I'm not my ancestors."
"Aren't you?" Kol tilted his head. "You share their magic, their burdens, their ever-so-suffocating expectations. The moment they whisper, you listen." He sighed. "So tell me, little witch, why should I waste my time?"
Bonnie's chest tightened. Anger flared. "You think I'm weak."
Kol chuckled darkly. "No, love. I think you're bound. Shackled to a family that dictates your every move. I think you'll always be forced to choose between them and yourself."
Was he wrong?
Rebekah sighed. "Kol, you don't have to be an ass about it."
Kol huffed. "I'm stating facts."
Caroline rolled her eyes. "God, you're such a stubborn idiot. Bonnie isn't some puppet. If she wants to learn, she will."
Bonnie inhaled sharply, regaining control. "You don't get to decide for me, Kol."
Kol's lips curled. "Don't I?"
Bonnie held his gaze. "No. You don't."
Tension crackled between them.
Kol studied her, then sighed dramatically. "Fine."
Caroline perked up. "Fine?"
Kol smirked. "Fine. Prove you won't turn on me, and I'll consider it."
Bonnie narrowed her eyes. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"
Kol grinned. "Surprise me."
Bonnie exhaled slowly. Challenge accepted.
The air in the room shifted. It wasn't just tense—it was alive.
A low hum vibrated through the walls, and the candles flickered wildly, their flames stretching unnaturally high before snuffing out all at once. A suffocating silence followed.
Kol stiffened. "Well, well," he murmured, tilting his head. "They're listening."
Bonnie felt it too—the way the air crackled with unseen power. Her breath hitched as the weight of her ancestors pressed against her chest.
Then, a voice. Not one, not many—something in between. An amalgamation of whispers and echoes.
"A bargain."
Kol's smirk deepened. "Oh? You're willing to negotiate now?" He leaned back, arms draped lazily over the couch, but Bonnie caught the sharpness in his gaze. "I thought I was the untrustworthy one."
The whispers didn't falter. "She is the last of our line. Her survival is paramount."
Bonnie shivered. She had always known her ancestors watched her, but hearing them like this—so present, so clear—made her stomach twist.
Kol hummed, thoughtful. "So what's the offer?"
"You may take her as an apprentice in name."
Bonnie frowned. "In name?"
"You will teach her. But she is not bound to you."
Kol scoffed. "Semantics."
"In return, we will not interfere. We will not hinder her learning, nor force her hand against you."
That made Kol pause. His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he chuckled. "Now that is an interesting prospect."
Bonnie swallowed. "You're swearing an oath?"
The air pulsed. "Yes."
Kol clicked his tongue. "A binding one, I assume?"
"Blood-bound."
Kol grinned, all teeth and trouble. "Well, aren't you just full of surprises. And Esther? I do hope I don't need to remind you of my oath."
Bonnie's hands trembled. Her ancestors—those ever-watchful tyrants who had dictated her every move—were quiet now. Not gone, but distant. For once, they were letting her choose.
"We won't barter with the Mikaelson witch anymore," voices said, voice low but steady.
"So there are still a few rats on your side of the ship," Kol said with a raised brow. "I'll need names. Coven names."
There was an awkward silence. A few muttered words, like a half-hearted prayer or a curse that didn't quite land.
Kol smirked, the expression razor-sharp. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to kill them." He leaned in slightly. "Just pass on a message: Kol Mikaelson is coming for them."
A sharp intake of breath echoed from the other end.
Kol turned to her, smirk intact, but his eyes serious. "Looks like you've got yourself a deal, little witch."
The air in Bonnie's house felt heavy, charged with something ancient. The walls seemed to breathe, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that moved a fraction too slow.
Bonnie sat cross-legged in the living room, a silver bowl resting between her hands. Kol lounged across from her, a lazy smirk on his lips, but his gaze was too sharp. He was taking this seriously.
Rebekah leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Caroline hovered nearby, chewing on her lip, and Davina traced the edge of an old grimoire, silent but watchful.
Then, the room shifted.
The warmth of the candles vanished, leaving an eerie chill. A low, whispering hum filled the space—a chorus of voices from nowhere and everywhere at once.
The ancestors had arrived.
A cold wind brushed Bonnie's cheek, though the windows remained closed. The scent of earth and aged parchment filled her nostrils, and she felt them—dozens, maybe hundreds, pressing at the edges of reality.
Kol inhaled deeply, exhaling like he was savoring the weight of their attention.
"Ah, the Bennett witches," he murmured, smirking. "Always so dramatic."
The whispering swelled.
A voice, ancient and feminine, rang through the room.
"Kol Mikaelson."
Kol tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "That's my name, love."
"You will swear it."
Another voice, male this time, rasped, "You will not corrupt the last of our line."
Kol scoffed, twirling a dagger between his fingers. "Corrupt her? Please. She's already seen more darkness than most of you in your cushy little afterlife. Let's not pretend your precious Bonnie is some untouched innocent."
Bonnie flinched but didn't deny it.
The whispers grew displeased.
Kol rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of—get on with it. State your terms."
Silence settled.
Then, the air thickened.
Bonnie clenched her fists as the presence of her ancestors wrapped around her like invisible chains. Their will pressed into her bones, seeking compliance, submission.
She refused.
"I want this," she said, steady. "This is my choice."
The spirits wavered.
Another voice, softer but firm, spoke. "He will teach you in name, but we will not be silent."
Kol chuckled darkly. "Oh, but you will be." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, dagger glinting in the dim light. "You will not interfere in her training. You will not twist her against me. And you will swear it."
The whispering paused.
Bonnie felt it then—the hesitation.
Kol's smirk widened. "Oh? Do I hear doubt?" He clicked his tongue. "You know I won't back down on so get on with this otherwise I will leave the girl to her own devices. you know you don't have a better option. Bonnie will learn, one way or another. If not from me, then from someone far less… accommodating."
That struck a nerve. The air rippled as the unseen debated.
Finally, the verdict came.
"We will swear it."
Kol's expression turned victorious.
Bonnie exhaled sharply, but it wasn't over yet.
Kol held up his dagger, drawing a shallow cut across his palm. Blood gleamed under the candlelight as he turned his hand upward.
Bonnie hesitated.
She knew this wasn't just an oath—it was binding.
No going back.
She picked up the ceremonial blade at her side, pressing the tip against her palm. A sharp sting, then blood welled up.
Kol reached out.
She met his gaze once before pressing her hand into his.
The moment their blood mingled, the room ignited.
Kol grinned. "Well then, darling. Welcome to the real world of magic."
Bonnie wasn't sure if she wanted to thank him—or run.
Then, the ancestors spoke again, voices in unison.
"The oath must be sealed in magic. A spell of blood and fire."
Kol let it be this would be his would be apprentice first dive in esoteric magics
He raised his free hand, and fire—blue and alive—sparked into existence in his palm, dancing between his fingers like it had a will of its own.
Bonnie swallowed hard.
The ancestors began to chant. Instinct told her to follow.
"Sanguis nostrum, vinculum aeternum." (Our blood, an eternal bond.)
Kol echoed them, his voice rich with something Bonnie couldn't name.
"Ignis sacer, testis foederis." (Sacred fire, witness this covenant.)
The flames expanded, stretching toward their joined hands. Bonnie felt warmth—not burning, not searing, but claiming. Their mingled blood shimmered as the fire wrapped around them like a serpent.
"Magia non frangetur, non deludetur." (Magic shall not break, nor be deceived.)
As the final words left her lips, the fire sank into their skin.
A shockwave pulsed through the room.
Bonnie gasped as something vast and binding settled inside her. The spell held—not just between her and Kol, but between her ,the entire Bennett line and Kol Mikaelson.
The spirits howled—not in anger, but in acknowledgment. The candles flared, shadows twisting wildly. Power surged through Bonnie, ancient and untamed, before settling deep within her.
The whispering returned, this time accepting.
"It is done."
Kol grinned like a cat with cream. "Well, that was fun."
Bonnie flexed her fingers, feeling the residual heat. She was bound now. Bound to this path.
Her heart hammered.
She had no idea what she had just done.
Kol clapped his hands, a chair scraping against the floor as he rose. Stretching lazily, he cast a glance around the room, sharp gaze flickering between them.
"The first lesson is this."
He gestured toward Bonnie, then to Rebekah, Caroline, and even Davina, who had been waiting quietly at the side, her fingers unconsciously tracing sigils on her arm.
"You can all listen in," he added, lips curling into a smirk.
They all took their seats.
Rebekah lit up instantly, eyes gleaming with anticipation. She leaned toward Caroline and whispered, "This will be great. Just watch."
Kol snapped his fingers. A board and a stick of chalk floated into the air, arranging themselves neatly before him. The chalk clicked against the surface, hovering, poised to write.
With a flick of his hand, the lights dimmed; the air itself seemed to hum. The faint scent of ozone filled the room.
then the chalk started to write
Lesson: The Nature of Magic
He turned to them with a casual yet commanding presence. "Magic," he began, "is like gravity—it is always present. Some places have more, some have less. Most mortals walk through life blind to it. But a magically attuned one?" His grin widened. "They always know."
The chalk scratched across the board, forming glowing words in faint silver dust:
Magic = Gravity.
"Magic," Kol continued, "is the lifeblood of nature. It's how the universe observes and corrects itself. It flows through the ley lines, hums beneath mountains, seeps into rivers, trees, and even corpses."
He waved his hand. A faint shimmer rippled through the air; motes of golden light rose from the ground like dust caught in sunlight.
"Even those without power are surrounded by it," he murmured. "You're all steeped in it right now."
With a twist of his wrist, the flames in the sconces flared blue, then shifted back to gold. "Magic has rules, yes," he said, "but those rules—" his smirk deepened "—are merely suggestions."
Rebekah chuckled, folding her arms. "He means cheating," she whispered to Caroline.
Kol's eyes twinkled. "Cleverness, darling. The oldest form of power."
"If you can pay the right price," he went on, "magic will bend reality itself. It will break its own laws for you. But the cost is always proportional. Magic demands equivalent exchange."
Bonnie stiffened. She'd heard that phrase before, but never in that tone — not reverent, not cautious. Kol said it like someone reciting a fact of physics.
"Magic needs energy," he said, tapping the air. "Your will. Your essence. Your soul's vibration—it's the fuel. But it also needs something else: a quota."
Bonnie frowned. "A quota?"
Kol turned, and the chalk began to draw on its own:
Magic → Energy Source → Middleman (Magic Itself) → Result
"Magic is a middleman," he explained. "It takes from you and for itself. Every spell, every ritual—there's a tax. Sometimes that tax is energy, sometimes emotion, sometimes years off your life. The greater the distortion of nature, the higher the tax."
He moved closer to the board. "Witches carry magic through bloodlines. It imprints on their genetic and spiritual code—runic sequences in the soul. But occasionally, magic awakens in someone unchosen, untrained—when balance demands it." He gave Caroline a sly look. "It chooses its champions, and its mistakes, as it pleases."
Caroline raised an eyebrow. "So magic's… alive?"
"In a sense," Kol admitted. "It isn't a mind, but it has will. It is instinct, not intellect."
Bonnie leaned forward. "Then where does a witch's magic come from? The Earth? Spirits?"
Kol's lips curved into a pleased smile. "A good question, little witch."
He snapped his fingers; a glowing diagram bloomed midair.
Spirit → Mind → Body
"A witch's magic flows in this order. Spirit channels it, the mind directs it, the body manifests it."
He traced a slow circle around the symbols. "Disrupt one, and the rest collapse. Too much energy? The mind burns out. Too little focus? The spirit frays. Too much channeling through the body?" He gestured to his chest, grinning. "You explode."
Caroline made a face. "Comforting."
"Think of it as a circuit," Kol said. "When the current flows smoothly, it hums. But when resistance builds—when your will wavers or emotion spikes—it shorts, burns, or consumes you."
Bonnie nodded slowly, fascinated despite herself.
Kol twirled the chalk idly, his voice turning almost lecturing. "Now, witches have a saying: 'Malleable, yet rigid.' Do you understand it?"
He turned back to the board and wrote in elegant strokes:
Malleability = Fluidity.
Rigidity = Conviction.
He tapped the words. "First, you must be rigid in your sense of self. If your identity fractures, so will your magic. You must know exactly who you are before you try to change anything around you."
Bonnie frowned. "But if you're too rigid, you can't adapt."
Kol grinned, approving. "Exactly. That's where malleability comes in. To be malleable is to flow with magic's rhythm. It's improvisation. Adaptation."
He flicked his wrist, murmuring an incantation under his breath—"Vitam Flucta." The air shimmered, and the candle flames began dancing in synchronized spirals, then rearranged themselves into a single continuous ring of fire floating above them.
"One spell may fail," he said, "but a clever witch shifts form, alters words, changes resonance. Magic is language. You can say the same thing in a thousand dialects. The difference between power and failure is knowing when to translate."
Rebekah tilted her head. "So—cheating and improvising. Sounds like you."
Kol smirked. "Adapt or perish, love. Magic doesn't tolerate rigidity without wit."
He pointed to the second word on the board. "Rigidity is follow-through. Commitment. Once you set your course, you see it through. Magic answers conviction. Half-hearted willpower breeds half-formed spells—and half-formed spells," he added dryly, "tend to explode."
Davina winced. "I've seen that happen."
Kol gave her an approving nod. "Exactly. Which is why you build layers of intent into every working. Think of spells as contracts. The universe doesn't listen to pleas—it obeys clarity."
Bonnie hesitated. "You make it sound mechanical."
"It is," Kol said simply. "Emotion fuels it, yes, but structure gives it direction. The ancients—my teachers—called it 'Sympathetic Alignment.' You attune your inner vibration to the desired outcome. Want fire? Raise your inner frequency to heat. Want death?" He smiled faintly. "You still it."
Caroline frowned. "That sounds… ominous."
Kol smirked. "It should." He snapped his fingers; the chalk spun again, writing the final equation:
Magic = Power. Power = Cost.
"Magic is a force of nature," he said, voice lowering. "And nature always demands balance. If you want something unnatural—say, resurrecting the dead, reversing time, bending will—magic will listen. But it will also collect."
Bonnie's voice was quiet. "Collect what?"
Kol tapped his temple. "What it values most—life, emotion, or memory. It's selective. It feeds on what defines you."
Rebekah rolled her eyes. "He's being dramatic again. Translation: don't be reckless."
Kol chuckled but didn't argue. "Lesson one, then," he concluded. "Magic isn't good or evil. It simply is. It answers purpose and punishes hesitation. The only question that matters is: what are you willing to lose to make it obey?"
Bonnie swallowed, eyes flicking to the glowing equations. "And what if I'm not willing to sacrifice anything?"
Kol's grin widened, sharp and knowing. "Then, my dear, you'll never be as powerful as you could be."
For a heartbeat, the room was silent. Even the air seemed to wait.
Then Caroline clapped once, breaking the tension. "Okay! That was sufficiently creepy. What's next?"
Kol chuckled softly. "Next?" He gestured at the board. The chalk twitched, then began sketching complex runes—spirals, triangles, the foundations of a spell circle. "Now," he said, grin widening, "we get practical."
The chalk flared with light, and the smell of ozone filled the air once again.
Lesson two had begun.