A/N – '"As The World Falls Down" A Tribute to David Bowie Performed by Grace Potter' is a song I played on FUCKING REPEAT for writing this entire chapter. Omg I've listened to it a hundred times and I'm still listening to it. I need help.

Thank you for your reviews!

Also, I made this chapter longer to make up for chapter 3 being so short.

Enjoy the drama.

Through The Cyclone of The Phoenix

Chapter 4

The Golden Trio

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Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!"

Emily Brontë

, Wuthering Heights

.

Perenelle gave each of them a magnificent room of their own.

This didn't matter of course.

As soon as they entered Hermione's room all three of them stumbled towards the bed and fell face down.

They were magically exhausted and barely made it up the winding staircases without falling.

Hermione felt a funny tingling sensation throughout her body, and wondered if the Harry or Ron felt the same.

Perenelle smiled knowingly as she extended the bed for them, and quietly turned out the lights of golden chandeliers .

Hermione lay in the center with Ron and Harry draped over either side of her. They nuzzled her neck lazily, leaving a trail of soft kisses down her jaw, neck, clavicles, and breasts.

They basked in the throes of ancient euphoric magic.

She leaned into their electric touch, and felt their magic vibrate on the surface of her skin.

Her eyes rolled back from the magic coursing through her. She could feel her magic humming, see it in waves of color as she closed her eyes. It was thick and rich and powerful.

She could feel her worn skin begin to tighten, her muscles felt stronger, and even her senses heightened.

She could smell Ron's earthy scent like freshly cut grass. She could taste the chocolate on Harry's tongue as he drew his tongue across her lips and bit them.

And their touch!

Oh Gods, she had never felt such a sensation! Just a simple touch of a finger across her skin sent her back arching off the bed!

The power was euphoric.

Their magic harmonized with one another. They felt the ancient blood course through their veins like liquid fire!

Hermione couldn't remember any more than this. One moment they were basking in the throes of their magical high, the next moment it was morning.

Hermione was the first to wake.

She looked down at herself and realized she was naked, not only that but both Ron and Harry were naked as well.

The room was still dark, and the sun had yet to rise over the mountains, but even in her sleepy state she knew something had happened.

This really needs to stop, she thought, feeling a sticky slickness between her legs.

Tiredly, she slid herself out of Ron and Harry's grasps. She could barely open her eyes and ended up stumbling across the room towards the bathroom.

When she entered she was so tired she walked past the mirror and into the most extravagant shower Hermione had ever seen- even to Hogwarts standards.

Everything was made of gold. Except marble the statues, which were white.

She sat beneath the hot shower, leaning against the wall when the door opened.

Ron and Harry had stumbled in just as she had to take a piss. When they noticed her half sleeping form through the steam, which filled the room, they naturally joined her.

They sat, leaning against one another in utter silence. If someone had walked in they might have been mistaken as still being asleep. Their eyes were closed beneath the scorching hot rain of the shower, half asleep.

The best part of all was that the hot water never ran out. They must have sat there for at least two hours before Hermione lifted her head.

She could feel her long hair pool over her hips and around her bottom.

Thick steam filled the room until the three of them were hidden in its comfortable embrace. Showers was one thing they would never take for granted again. When they were on the run; baths, food, water were just a few things

Slowly she moved to stand, detaching herself from the boys who fell against one another, still sleepy.

Hermione smiled down at her two best friends and shook her head.

Just figure it out already, you idiots.

She padded out of the shower and found plush towels by the sink. She dried herself slowly, taking care to twist the water out of her long hair.

When she re-entered her bedroom, she was able to give it a proper study and found, like the bathroom, her room was also decorated in gold and white marble.

Dior Château, indeed.

The floors shined against the sun which illuminated the room in bright light. The white silk drapes floated back and forth against the many floor length archways which lead to a spacious balcony.

She dropped her towel and stood in front of the open archways. The breeze felt good against her skin. She felt sensitive to every sensation and breathed in the deep woody scent of the mountains.

She felt strong and powerful.

"Mione?" a gentle voice whispered behind her in frightened disbelief.

Hermione turned and gasped at what she saw.

Ron and Harry stood side by side with skin as white and illuminated as moonlight. Ron's eyes were no longer blue, just as Harry's eyes no longer held any green.

They were gold.

The lines and scars from war, and being on the run for the last year had smoothed itself out. The dark circles from beneath their eyes had disappeared. Even their nails shined against the light in a pretty translucent color.

Their bodies no longer looked half-starved and half mad.

There was a transformation that happened that both perfected and refined their physical characteristics. Hermione couldn't look away.

Ron seemed taller, broader, and much more defined. Harry on the other hand looked more like an angel. There was a raw innocence in the way his face expressed emotion.

Had the blood ritual really changed them so much?

Ron's jaw muscles tightened. As he stared at Hermione. Harry looked as though he was reeling from lust at the sight of her.

"Bloody hell, Hermione." Ron sighed reverently.

And then Hermione looked down at her own hands. Her nails shined, and her skin was as white and luminous as moonlight. She was reminded of Veela skin, and flexed her hands experimentally, in front of her eyes.

Ron's mouth was still gaping as his eyes raked her naked body from head to toe. Harry seemed to have forgotten how to breath, and sucked in a tight breath.

Slowly she turned towards a wall length mirror near her boudoir and shrieked.

She stumbled back as fast as she could, falling hard onto the white marble floor. Ron and Harry ran towards her, but she held up a hand, stopping them in their tracks.

To her utter astonishment Hermione stared at her reflection. she couldn't believe what she saw.

Instead of a thin, frizzy haired girl with a worn face and sagging shoulders, Hermione saw a tender faced nymphet.

A nymphet with golden eyes, skin as white, and as illuminous as Chinese alabaster. Her wavy hair now hung in layers of thick curls; each tendril perfectly spiraling down her back in a cascade of ringlets, and shined against the morning light.

"Wha- Arry…Ron what- how?" Hermione brought her smooth hands to clutch her face, turning it from side to side.

Slowly she stood, her hair tumbling over her breasts, which held a perk curve.

In fact, her entire body had changed into a fine shape with exquisitely molded arms and breasts. Her hips curved, and her waist pinched tightly under her breasts.

Very slowly Ron and Harry, clad only in a towel around their trim waists, came to stand beside Hermione as she stood in front of the ornate golden mirror.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in their bare feet, as they merely continued to gaze at themselves.

Her scars that Greyback had given her were gone. The whip marks from Lucius had faded as well.

Hopefully, Hermione looked down at her forearm hoping to be free of that hateful word…

But it was not to be.

Mudblood.

The word stood out as angry and red as ever. She looked up and found Harry stroking his lightning-shape scar. He too wore a look of disappointment, then perked up leaning into his reflection without squinting.

"My eyes." Harry gasped, blinking rapidly.

"yeah mate, our eyes are gold too." Ron said obviously.

"No, I mean I can see." Harry squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them.

Hermione gasped, noticing for the first time that Harry wasn't wearing his round rimmed glasses.

Tears filled his eyes as he looked back and forth between Hermione and Ron.

"Is this what it's like? Is this how you see things all the time?" his soft voice quivered.

Ron smirked down at Harry, placing a hand on the back of his neck.

"And do you like what you see?" he asked in a low sensual voice.

Harry's eyes widened, he quickly looked down at his feet, and gave a small nod to Ron's satisfaction.

"Good."

Ron's tentacle scars still marred his body, but he didn't seem to care.

At the moment, he was not looking at himself, but at both Harry and Hermione.

There was a flash of lust and heat in his stare, and suddenly Hermione wasn't so sure that he wanted to let her go, and just be friends.

She felt uneasy, and suddenly very, VERY naked.

He gave Harry the same look who instantly blushed.

Hermione was the first to turn away. She didn't want to look anymore. She didn't feel like herself, nor did she feel secure enough in her own skin to face her best friends.

Funny enough she had more confidence when she had been plain and scarred. She had been torn from the inside out, just as they had been.

And now?

She still felt as torn as ever, but in a slightly prettier body. No, there was nothing 'slightly' about it. She was astonishing, and it made her feel at a loss.

She had always been bookish and boorish. She missed her unremarkable body, her knobby knees, and frizzy hair. Hermione wrapped her hands around her middle and bowed her head. It was as if someone had forced her to walk naked through the streets, while reveling her innermost secrets.

"Hermione, love are you okay?" Ron asked, the lustful look vanished and was replaced with genuine concern.

"I feel wonderful, I look even better…and yet it's wrong. Like someone's peeled back my skin." Hermione said, then noticed a white high collared gown on her bed.

When did that get there?

Another two white robes lay bedside it along with matching white trousers, riding boots, and undergarments for all of them.

Hermione's shoes were white Victorian boots with at least a dozen small buttons along the side.

Quickly, she grabbed her wand to dry her hair, and reached for her silk undergarments.

She felt strange rolling up her stockings and fastening them to a guarder belt. She had never worn underwear like this before.

She could feel the boys watching her and took care not to look their way as they dressed. Still, the blush rose in her cheeks.

She dressed quickly, and pulled her hair half up in a ribbon. She wasn't sure of the appropriate fashion for this time, and didn't really care. Her hair, even in its transformed state was still a handful to deal with.,

Once they were done Hermione still couldn't look up to meet their eyes. She wasn't ready to see them again in all their perfect glory. It was too much.

It was unnatural.

"I think….I think you should sleep in your own rooms tonight." Hermione said so quietly she was certain they hadn't heard her, but they did.

"What?" Ron snapped, taking a step towards her.

Hermione flinched but held her ground.

"We need to stop doing this." She said in a slightly stronger voice, but still didn't have the courage to look up at them.

She focused on tying a silk sash around her waist, refusing to look up to meet their eyes.

"Is this about last night?" Harry asked gently.

She could have hugged him for his soft natured concern, but she didn't.

"Stop doing what, exactly?" Ron asked with more force in his voice. Hermione bit her lip and moved to turn away, but Ron was quicker.

"You know what." She answered, biting her lower lip.

He grabbed her by her shoulders and turned her sharply to face him. She didn't have a choice and looked up into his angry face.

"We belong to each other, Hermione- all three of us! What are you saying, you want to leave us?" Ron demanded, tightening his grip "After everything—"

"That's not what I mean Ron!" Hermione protested pushing him away, but was unsuccessful "and besides didn't you tell me before that you didn't love me that way? Wasn't it you who said we were better as friends?! So, what am I to you? What am I to either of you, dammit!"

Harry stepped forward, his golden eyes wide and pleading. "Mione, please."

"What the hell do you mean? You're a part of us- you, me, Harry! We belong to one another, so don't you dare turn your back on us! No one can understand us, NO ONE! They didn't live though what we have, they don't know!" Ron shouted, shaking her so roughly Hermione's hair began to fall over her eyes "We're stuck in the past with evil incarnate, we need each other, Goddamit!"

Harry stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Ron's forearm so that he was facing him.

"We do need each other, Ron. But you need to let her go, right now." Harry said in a commanding tone.

Ron stared down at Hermione for a moment longer before letting her go.

He stumbled back.

"There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other." Ron said heavily "Once upon a time, it might have been a troll in the girl's toilets… we've fought greater monsters since then, and we'll be fighting another one soon. Hermione, I do love you, and…. Harry. I love both of you. I can't lose either of you. Don't you understand that? You once said you were with us no matter what, do you still mean that?"

Hermione stepped away to sit at the end of her bed, clutching her white hands.

Harry, still standing between Ron and Hermione, looked up desperately.,

"I love you both- you know I do." Hermione said with a quiver in her voice "but I need space. I need a fucking library! I need solitude and silence! I feel like I've lost my senses, and I need to rationalize everything that's happened. Gods, all I'm asking for is space, Ronald! That's all! Your room is right next door and Harry's is across from ours. There's just so much that's happened, and I need time to think and collect my thoughts."

"Fine. Collect your damn thoughts. But just so you know I'm taking Harry to my room tonight and locking the door! No girls allowed!" Ron hissed, grabbing Harry by his upper arm and dragging him out of her room. "C'mon Harry, let's go find some food."

Harry threw Hermione a sympathetic smile over his shoulder, and lifted them in a shrug as he left. The tail end of his green robes followed him out, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts.

Damn Ron for always blowing up over nothing! So, what if I want space? We're NOT a couple, we never really were.

Yes, the three of them were lovers…. In a sense.

There wasn't any other decent word for it.

But in the end, Hermione knew Ron wasn't in love with her. He didn't look at her the way he did with Harry. He didn't blush at her touch like he did with Harry. When Harry spoke to Ron, she could tell the red head saw no one else but him.

Harry and Ron.

Ron and Harry.

It had always been them, from the very start. They had a bond Hermione could never have, and in a way, she wanted to step away before they could hurt her any more.

One day she would wake up and Harry and Ron would be so in love there wouldn't be any room left for her. It was only a matter of time, and they would be gone.

She didn't have a place with them. She would only end up tearing them apart.

If only they could figure it out already, and stop putting her between them.

Hermione always felt like the third wheel with them.

And now?

She didn't know. The way Ron spoke to her and gripped her was an entirely different side of him. He was more possessive, angrier.

She lay back in her bed and shut her eyes. She could smell their scents in her sheets and inhaled deeply.

She did love them.

She just wasn't in love.

Such things only existed in fairy tales, and she stopped believing in happy endings long ago.

Suddenly, Hermione opened her eyes and looked up into the canopy of her bed. The painting of the blonde boy flashed in her mind…

Fawkes.

She had forgotten to talk to Ron and Harry about it, but then quickly decided to get more information about the revelation before going to the boys about it.

She remembered seeing the golden branch connecting Faulques Flamel to them, and the painting that called out for her to discover its secrets.

At the end of the day it didn't matter if it was a Basilisk or a painted boy, Hermione could always figure out a secret if she put her keen and penetrating mind to it.

And she planned to.

.

When Hermione finally ventured out of her room, she was stunned. She must have been completely out of it the night before not to have appreciated the sheer artistry of Dior Château, her new home.

Home…how long had it been since she had a home? Home was with her parents, but that was gone. Home was Hogwarts, but that too had been destroyed. Home was that warm space between Harry and Ron, and soon that would be gone too.

Looking around the golden palace, Hermione wondered what home truly was. She certainly never imagined it looking like this.

The Flamel's had named it correctly. Hermione had never seen such excess of wealth, not even with the Malfoys. The Château was more than a home, it was El Dorado.

Through the halls of mirrors and gold, Hermione explored the many rooms and artifacts.

In one room Hermione was shocked to find it occupied by nothing but statues of gold. It creeped her out ,and she decided to leave instead of exploring it further.

There was a room which held fifty self-stirring gold cauldrons. She was careful not to inhale deeply, and could almost hear Snape taking away points in the back of her mind.

She explored room after room, each one more luxurious than the last. Hermione noted that their rooms were on the fifth floor. The second floor had a ballroom as spacious as the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

Chandeliers hung from a ceiling which bowed with flying buttresses and columns. Opulent stained-glass windows, twenty feet high, lined the entire hall. Her heels clicked, echoing through the lonely silence. She could almost see the men in powdered wigs and frock coats dancing with women in pastel gowns. She could almost hear the laughter that must have once filled the hall. Hermione wondered if it would ever host such splendid life again.

Finally, after over an hour exploring she entered a room, which held nothing but a tall golden mirror. Slowly, she stepped into the room, her footsteps echoing on the white marble.

She shut the door behind her, and curiously stepped towards the mirror.

Engraved in a font reminiscent of old English texts read:

erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi

Almost instantly Hermione gave a chuckle.

So this is the mirror Harry found his First Year, Hermione thought, excited to finally see it in person. She found the magical artifact fascinating, and read everything she could on the subject. Apparently, the mirror had been made as something of a party favor. The wizard who created it intended to have fun with his guests, but instead did the exact, opposite.

Those who gazed into it became obsessed, some even went mad. It was known to lead men to waste their lives in front of it. The Mirror of Desire, indeed. It either brought tears of happiness or tears of sorrow to those who stood before it.

Curiously Hermione tool a step back and centered herself properly in front of the enchanted mirror.

She was always too curious for her own good.

For a moment she only saw herself in her new magnificent form; gold eyes, ringlets of perfect curls, smooth white skin, pink supple lips, soft limbs and curves.

And then the image changed.

Her hair became flatter, messier. Her eyes became dull and her skin scarred. She looked plain and ordinary, but also someone who had gone through hell and back.

And then her mother and father came into view.

Instantly, Hermione jerked around, as if expecting to see her parents standing behind her. She knew it was foolish, and impossible, but half of her hoped that maybe she would see them.

She couldn't help the hot tears that welled in her eyes. Her throat constricted forming a lump she couldn't swallow down.

She looked back to face the mirror again and saw something that made her sob uncontrollably.

For the first time in ages her parents were looking at her… and they recognized her. Her mother covered her mouth with her hand, and her father was smiling down at her with tears in his eyes.

We love you, they mouthed repeatedly.

"I love you too mum-dad…I want to go home." She pressed herself against the glass and cried.

Through the mirror image she could see the two gold scars on her palms, like the stigmata of Christ. Her hands curled into fists.

The realization of what she had done washed over her.

She was a Flamel now, in blood and bond. Hermione felt the ancient blood of the Flamel's inside her as it adjusted to her magic.

She was no longer a Granger, nor did her biological parents even exist.

The tears refused to stop, and couldn't help but press her cheek against the glass, as if desperately trying to force herself through.

Suddenly a warm hand came to rest on her shoulders, pulling her away. Hermione's head snapped up to find the golden Alchemist standing behind her.

Nicholas Flamel, stood looking down at Hermione with such tender understanding that she couldn't help folding into his arms. She wanted to be held just as her father once held her. She wanted to open her eyes and see her father's smile.

"I miss him. I miss mum too." She sobbed like a child, burying her head into the folds of the Alchemist's robes.

"I understand." He muttered into her curls "I have someone I miss too."

Hermione pulled away, remembering the portrait of the boy with the golden hair and crown of flowers. The one that stood above the fireplace, and held a long white finger pointing to a phoenix.

"Faulques," she said, watching the Alchemist's unchanging expression "The boy in the painting?"

The Alchemist considered Hermione and smiled sadly.

"You have a keen eye, child." He said sadly "and yes, that's exactly who I mean. Before I created the Elixir of Life, I married Perenelle and we both had a child. Such a beautiful boy…hair just like mine and a face as lovely as his mothers. He was out only child… but he's gone now."

"Gone?" Hermione questioned.

"Yes." Nicholas said shortly, releasing her from his fatherly embrace. "Losing my only child was the one wound I have yet to heal from… well, I suppose that's different, now that I suddenly find myself with three more children."

"I'm not a child." Hermione said, "None of us are."

Nicholas laughed softly, but without any humor.

"Everyone is a child to me." He said with a small amount of resentment "the whole world is filled with children. At 617 years old I too have seen more than I ever dreamed or desired to. I've lost everyone, except Perenelle. I've seen civilizations rise and fall, I've watched every friend I've ever loved pass from this world, I've been in battle and seen the horrors of war- both wizard and muggle alike… so you see my daughter, to me everyone is a child."

Daughter

"and your son?"

"Gone." Nicholas said simply "And that is all I wish to say on the matter."

Hermione wished to find out more, but saw decided against it when she saw the forlorn expression in his golden eyes.

"and what about…us?" Hermione asked, fearful of the answer she might receive.

"Oh, don't worry, one day the three of you will be gone too. You haven't been made immortal, don't worry." Nicholas smiled sadly "However, since the blood that flows through my veins also flows though yours, there are a few alterations, as you are probably aware of."

Hermione looked down at her pearly white hands and nodded.

"Your appearance has perfected itself, and will continue to do so for as long as you live. You will age slower, so much so that by time you reach seventy years old, you will still have the youthful body of a twenty-year-old. Disease will not touch you, but death certainly can." Nicholas rattled off.

"and the killing curse?"

"Nothing can stop a killing curse, there is no way to block it. If I was hit with it, not even my Elixir could save me." The Alchemist admitted bitterly "but anything else I can withstand. You, on the other hand ,are not so lucky. Which is why, as your father, if I may call myself so, I plan to train each of you. You will train five times a week while at Hogwarts, under my guidance."

"You'll be at Hogwarts?"

"I will apparate there every evening, then return to the Chateau. I don't like to leave Perenelle for longer than I must. It's not our way to be apart from one another."

Hermione smiled, wiping her face of tears. She found Nicholas to be a hopeless romantic, and quite the protective guardian…father.

"But for now, let us leave this room. I had planned on donating the mirror to Hogwarts for ages, if only for further study into its magic." Nicholas commented, taking Hermione's arm and folding it into his elbow.

They walked through the Chateau until they finally came to another set of massive doors.

"I think you might enjoy this room. I overhead the boys at breakfast saying how desperately you needed a library." Nicholas laughed as he opened the double doors, and held out his arms. "Welcome, my daughter, to the Flamel library."

Hermione's knees nearly buckled. She caught herself on the doorframe, staring into what looked like a cathedral of books. Light shinned though glass stained windows; painting the entire library in color and light. There must have been hundreds of thousands of books on EVERY subject and in EVERY language.

Her feet carried her inside, and that's exactly where she stayed for the remainder of the day.

Nicholas sat with her, reaching and writing at one of the many extravagant desks. He ordered his house elf to bring Hermione her meals, which made her feel uneasy yet also grateful. She was starving, and couldn't remember the last time she had a proper meal.

"Here take this." Nicholas offered Hermione a vial of silver liquid.

Hermione looked up to see the Alchemist grinning down at her.

"what is it?" She asked, taking the vial and opening the stopper to smell the liquid.

"You'll be attending Hogwarts under the guise of being my daughter. Therefore, you will be expected to speak and understand French. It will look suspicious if you don't. This little elixir I created not only allows you to understand a language, but also speak it fluently. Perenelle has more- than -likely given young Ron and Harry their vials." Nicholas explained, shrugging as if such an elixir was something he created everyday…which was probably the case.

Hermione began to realize just how extraordinary Nicholas Flamel actually was.

She knew he had worked with Dumbledore to help create a cure for Dragon Pox, as well as the Twelve Uses Of Dragons Blood, and countless books on healing and potions. Even his wife Perenelle wrote several herbology books on the matter. There were books dated back to the 14th century which were still being printed, and used at St. Mungo's Training Academy, and mentioned as a Reference in Moste Potent Potions. Such unbelievable accomplishments couldn't be matched.

And what the public knew was only the tip of the iceburg.

"Incredible." Hermione breathed, but still didn't reach for the potion. She didn't know Nicholas well enough to trust him. For the past year that had been her motto- 'trust no one'. It kept her and the boys alive up until this point and she wasn't about to abandon it now.

Seeing Hermiones reluctance, Nicholas took the vial and tipped half its contents into his mouth. After a few moments he gave it to Hermione, who smelled it again and experimentally put a single drop on her tongue.

It tasted like honeydew.

And then Nicholas began to speak to her in French. And she could understand him.

She knew it was another language, and yet she found herself smiling as his words became clear and understandable.

"Once you take the elixir, you'll always understand the language. It won't ever fade away, so you needn't fear waking up one morning without a clue how to speak it. It will be as natural to you as breathing."

"Brilliant!" Hermione laughed as she took the rest of the contents into her mouth and swallowed.

She didn't feel any different, but she knew she spoke another language!

"Now, next week you'll arrive at school and before then it will be my mission to groom each of you into respectable Flamel's…not that anyone knows much about us to begin with." Nicholas planned, rubbing his gold hands together.

He really did look like King Midas, and wondered if he could turn an object into gold by simply touching it. Hermione didn't ask, feeling it would be rude, but she did wonder.

"So we're at an advantage!" he clapped, as he pulled out a block of cheese from his pocket and nibbled on the corner "Pureblood etiquette, memorization of our lineage, and of course shopping!"

"For school robes?"

Nicholas waved a dismissive hand "Yes, yes. We'll purchase school robes, although whoever designed them obviously didn't take into account that they're entirely boring. What I mean is clothes for when you are not attending classes. You'll need gowns of lace and the finest Persian fashion for young witches we can find! Boots, hats, gloves, handkerchiefs, bloomers, shoes, perfumes- my dear you shall have it all! No child of mine will want for anything, and everyone in that school of yours will know it! Those proud pureblood brats think their blood is so thick, but what can be thicker than gold?"

Nicholas was rattling on and on.

As Hermione listened, she knew this was a man she could easily love as a father. He was doting, and adored talking with Hermione about her dreams and ambitions. He wanted to know her, and asked question after question, no matter how silly or strange.

Later that evening Nicholas took Hermione for a walk in the gardens. He handpicked yellow buttercups, and white chrysanthemums then bundled them with a silk ribbon and gave them to Hermione.

"I've never had a daughter," He said thoughtfully yet sincerely as they walked back into the Chateau "and I know I'm not the father you once knew. I can never be him…but, I would very much like to protect and cherish you as if you were my own. From this moment on I would like to be a father to you, if this is agreeable to you."

Hermione felt her throat tighten. His words held no ulterior motive, it was such a simple request, yet Nicolas looked as if her answer was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Hermione didn't know what to say, so instead she looked down at the flowers he handpicked fort her and nodded with a smile.

"I'd like that."

.

"I don't think this is really necessary." Harry said uncomfortably to Perenelle and Nicholas, as they pulled him through the twentieth tailor shop that day.

Behind him, Ron looked to be having the time of his life. They had been shopping all day in Paris and the Flamel's were completely engrossed with spoiling each of them beyond anything they expected.

Of course, Ron had always worn his brothers hand me downs, and was over the moon with a chance to finally own new clothes. He threw back his head and laughed at Harry's discomfort, pushing him through every shop with sheer joy. For the first time in his life Ron looked the part of the noble pureblood he was.

"frock coats, doublets, wand holsters, dragon hide boots- a dozen pair for each!" Perenelle listed as the shop keepers quill wrote feverishly against the enchanted parchment floating behind her. "The boys will need trousers, breeches, waistcoats, winter cloaks, and tunics- don't forget their undergarments too!"

"And what colors and textures will you be needing Madam Flamel?" The shopkeeper asked with a curtsy.

"White and gold of course." said Perenelle with a hint of humor in her tone.

Her white blond hair was pulled into an elegant French twist, with pearls hanging from her hair and ears.

Hermione watched Perenelle and was reminded of Narcissa Malfoy, but unlike Perenelle, Narcissa was haughty, cold and not afraid to be cruel. Perenelle Flamel was everything a Pureblood lady ought to be, but with tenderness and warmth that Hermione had never seen in anyone but Molly Weasley. Perhaps that's why Ron had become so attached to her.

Although Perenelle didn't; cook, clean, knit, or even look the part of a mother, she was as gentle and loving as one.

Even Nicholas was staring at his wife as if new life was breathed into her. Hermione thought she must have missed her son dearly, but didn't ever bring it up. It had nearly been a week since they bonded, and each day that passed seemed to bring them closer together.

Ron and Harry slept in their own rooms after the third day, but occasionally took naps together. Hermione was the only one who didn't join. Ron was still slightly cold towards her, but she could tell he desperately wanted to hold her.

"But I have more clothes than I can possibly wear in an entire year!" Harry protested as the tailor draped white silk, chiffon, muslin, and velvet fabric over his shoulders.

"My child, you must remember the family you represent. You must never forget your place in this world." Perenelle scolded gently "when the world sees you, they see a legacy. You mustn't give anyone reason to look down upon you, ever. And I promise you, if you let they- they will."

Eventually Harry thanked the Flamels, and took their gifts graciously.

When it came time for Hermione to be fitted, the boys insisted on sitting in and helping pick out the fabrics and choose the cuts.

"She needs clothes that will show off her figure," Harry said, as Ron nodded in agreement "Something modest, yet seductive."

"Her neck is especially long and slender, so maybe something that flatters her. Let's see how she looks in an off the shoulder gown!" Rom smiled at Hermione who crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

Yep, this was his way of getting back at her.

What a bloody git.

"Gowns! Yes!" Harry leaned forward "She'll need some day frocks, cocktail dressed, evening gowns, and a few of those…oh…what do you call them Ron?"

"Baby doll dresses! The ones with the puffed sleeves, and ribbon that ties around the waist!" Ron snapped his fingers, giving Harry a thumbs up "Good choice mate! And could we get the buttons on those to be pearls?"

"she's a size 5 in American…so a size 36 is the equivalent here, right?" Harry asked Nicholas and Perenelle who nodded as they laughed good naturedly.

"Well it seems as though your brothers can handle this one!" Nicholas clapped, taking his wife's hand in his "If you need us we'll be at the bakery across the way!"

"Wait! Don't leave!" Hermione begged her new parents.

She did NOT want Harry and Ron dressing her! Although their taste in clothes was lovely, she didn't trust them not to make her appear like some sort of fairy princess, locked in an ivory tower.

"Don't worry dear! The shop is connected to our account, so when you're done the charges will already be withdrawn." Perenelle reassured as she turned to leave.

"Also, the hairdresser is across the street so when you've finished here you boys might look into getting a more refined cut." Nicholas offered over his shoulder before walking out the shop door.

Hermione defeated as the boys turned back to face her with a wicked look in their eyes.

"Now!" Ron clapped merrily, turning to the seamstress "She's going to need undergarments, bras, and stockings in all the lace and silk we can get! Perhaps she could she model a few?"

"RONALD!" Hermione shouted, causing the seamstress to laugh along with the boys.

She thought her 'brothers' were trying to tease her!

Oh if you only knew, Madam…if you only knew.

After what seemed like an hour of the boys picking out every item of clothing she would wear, Hermione finally understood what Harry had felt. He gave her a sympathetic look as they entered the salon.

Ron wanted a quaffed cut which was shorter on the sides but longer on top. It had an elegant pompadour look about it and made Ron look more elegant that Hermione had ever seen him. It was like he was an entirely new person.

It didn't help the fact that nearly all the female staff had fallen for the boys. Hermione stood off to the side as the girls flirted and laughed with them.

Harry's messy hair had been through numerous washes and treatments until it became tamed and silky. It was a little longer than his ears in a choppy cut that made him look devil-may-care, yet still delicate. His black locks were no longer sticking out at all ends.

He looked like prince charming.

"And what look may we help you achieve today, Mademoiselle?" A tall chic stylist asked, guiding Hermione towards the chair Ron had just occupied.

The boys stood nervously behind her as her tapped her finger against her cheek.

Then a thought hit her, and she smiled sinisterly.

"Could we cut it all off? Maybe to my ears?" Hermione asked happily "It would definitely be easier for me to get ready in the morning, and I wouldn't have to bother with all those curls."

The stylist looked as if someone had died, and both Ron and Harry shouted—

"Over my dead body!"

She wanted to laugh, but kept her face entirely serious.

"You bloody will NOT cut your hair off!" Ron shouted in a panic, turning to the stylist "I swear to Merlin if you het near her head with those sheers, I'll hex you stupid!"

"Please Monsieur Flamel, I wouldn't even if you paid me a great sum!" The Stylist protested, stepping back from the chair "Hair such as this- it's a work of art! I've never in all my years seen hair like this, I would never cut it off, as Madam asks!"

"It's MY HAIR!" Hermione shouted right back, loving how angry she was making the boys.

"Oh Hermione, please not your hair!" Harry cried gripping the sides of his face. "anything but that!"

"You can give her a inch trim- that's it!" Ron snapped, turning Hermione around in the chair to face him "you understand? A TRIM!"

Finally, Hermione couldn't hold it in anymore, and laughed. She laughed so hard that she started crying, and doubled over, slapping her thighs.

"Oh, that was too good!" Hermione laughed hysterically "the look on your faces! Oh, you should see it! HA!"

Ron straitened and gritted his teeth, Harry on the other hand laughed along with Hermione until everyone was in stitches. Ron eventually cracked an annoyed smile and shook his head.

"Also, if I really wanted to cut my hair, there wouldn't be anything you could do to stop me." Hermione said then stuck out her tongue.

"I'm going to get you back for that." He promised to Hermione's dismay.

"But you already got me in the tailor shop!"

"Guess you should've thought of that before scaring me senseless." Ron tugged at her chin affectionately

.

Later that night Hermione knocked on Harry's door and opened it to find both boys lounging on Harry's bed, eating chocolate frogs.

"Hey." She said quietly, stepping into the room.

She was wearing a white lace chemise, with puffed sleeves and white knitted socks. She looked like a doll, and felt stupid, but Ron and harry only smiled in delight. She became painfully conscious of her breasts through the thin fabric, and the swoop neck of her chemise did nothing to cover her clavicles.

"Wanna chocolate?" Harry offered, looking comfortable with his head in Ron's lap.

Hermione nodded and took the offered chocolate. She sat on the edge of the bed, nibbling the squirming treat.

"Sorry." She finally said in a quiet voice "About the other morning I mean."

Ron didn't look up, but she could tell he was listening.

"I just...this body is strange to me. I don't feel like myself. And I know you both haven't ever tried to push me away, but I like maybe…maybe I'm getting in the way." She said softly.

Harry sat up and put an arm over her shoulder, protectively.

"up until five months ago, we didn't know anything but constant fear." Harry said, brushing one of her curls behind her ear "I hated that the both of you followed me. Enough people had already died because of my decisions. Hundreds were killed in a war, and thousands of lives were destroyed. I didn't want to destroy yours anymore than I already had. And then we began to run out of food…we were so hungry…Do you remember chasing that rabbit?"

Hermione and Ron nodded. A haunted look crossed their eyes as they thought of the rabbit.

"We chased that bloody thing for ages. And then when we caught it…well, none of us had ever killed an animal to eat it before. We didn't know how to skin it, and we just sat there petting it for ages." Harry said as tears spilled over his eyes. "God…you were so thin Hermione. I can still remember counting your ribs while you slept. I counted the ridges on your spine too. And I realized what I had done to you- both of you. And then you took the rabbit away. We thought you would let it go, but an hour later you came back with a small pot of soup. You told us you already ate your portion…. I-I was so hungry- we both were that we didn't question you! Only you didn't eat at all. You saved that small portion of soup for us, and went hungry. I remember hearing you cry in the middle of the night outside our tent…"

"Harry please—"

"You had eaten bark off a tree!" He cried bitterly, looking as if he deeply hated himself "You were on your hand and knees throwing it all back up! I watched you rip up roots from the dirt and eat them…but you couldn't keep it down."

"I don't want to talk about that, please harry." Hermione's voice broke, stunned that he vividly remembered that horrible time. "It doesn't matter."

"You thought of us! You always thought of us, even if it cost you your own life!" Harry shouted, leaping to his feet.

It was uncharacteristic of Harry to get so angry, and she couldn't help but shift closer to Ron.

"You. Fed. Us." He said as if he didn't believe what he was saying "You bled for us in Malfoy Manor! We sat in that dungeon…we couldn't see what they were doing to you, but we heard everything! I'll never forgive myself for what Greyback did to you, I'll never forgive myself for not giving you my soup instead of shoveling it down my throat like a glutton! Never! Hermione, you are worth a hundred of me. You're greater than any pureblood I've ever known. Your brave and beautiful and when I look at you here- in that white dress…Mione, this is the way it should be. You've always been our princess. You deserve all of it, and I promise you I'll never abandon you, or see that your hungry – not ever again!"

Hermione's face crumpled. She began to softly cry into her palms, shaking her head.

"But you…you and Ron. I don't belong…I'm not—"

It was Ron's turn to pull her back, all anger forgotten as he pulled her into his lap, and cradled her to his chest.

"After everything you've done for us, do you really think we're that thick, as to leave you?" Ron said quietly, stroking her hair "Forget what I said before, and listen to what I'm saying now. We love you Hermione. We belong to each other."

Harry crawled towards them, pulling Hermione's hair off the back of her neck. He gently laid a trail of kisses down her neck and shoulders.

"You know…" Harry said gently, now calmer "No one will ever understand us. But we belong together, just like this. And now that we've been bonded as siblings, the taboo is even greater, but I don't give a damn."

"Me neither." Ron voiced though Hermione's thick curls "Let the rest of the world fuck off for all I care."

"Language." Hermione whispered, still gripping the fabric of his chest.

They sat together in silence, slowly stretching themselves out over Harry's bed. They stared up into the ornate gold canopy side by side. There was so much gold. Everywhere you looked the Chateau shinned. In the early glow of the morning light Dior Chateau appeared almost heavenly. And it was their home.

"Do you know when I was little, and Aunt Petunia locked me in the cupboard, I would read from this book." Harry explained in a hushed voice "It was a muggle book, and it was the only thing in there I could read. In it there was a man named Abraham and he had a wife named Sarah. They were half-siblings, both children of someone called…Terah. They loved each other and spent their whole lives together…and in the end, they had a child… their legacy populated the world. And their union was blessed by God himself."

A breeze floated through the night and swept through Harrys room. The curtains around Harry's bed danced around them, making a protective cocoon of fabric surround them.

"Maybe…we can be blessed too." Harry whispered, sliding his hand across the bed to lay over Hermione's stomach. Ron reached over to lay his hand over Harry's and sighed happily into her shoulder.

"I like the sound of that." Ron breathed, tightening his grip on Harry's hand.

Hermione looked down at the perfectly sculpted white hands curled over her midsection, protectively. She wanted to tell them it was impossible. That they belonged to each other, but she knew they would have none of it…and a part of her wanted it too.

However, another part of her knew, deep down, that it would never work. But she shut her eyes and refused to acknowledge the truth. For now, it was enough to lay between them; safe and cared for.

.

Tom strode through the double doors of the Great Hall with a bounce in his step, and a pleasant smile on his lips.

"Good evening Tom!" a third year Hufflepuff chirped, waving merrily in his direction.

A Fifth year Ravenclaw patted his back as she passed, "Hey Tom, thanks for the tutoring session last Friday! I passed Professor Slughorn's Antidote exam with an O!"

"See you in Transfiguration Tom! I have the notes I borrowed from you! Thanks so much!" a Gryffindor Seventh year called from across the hall.

"um Tom?" a small voice cooed from his side.

Tom turned to find Nebula Malfoy tugging at the hem of his robes with her tiny hand. She did a small curtsy and tilted her head back to meet his eyes.

"Nebula, is everything alright?" Tom asked in a concerned brotherly voice.

Nebula shook her head then glanced behind Tom to make sure her brother, Abraxas, wasn't trying to eavesdrop.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked delicately "are those Gryffindor girls picking on you again?

Nebula shook her blonde head.

"No, it's not that." She whispered, looking down at her feet "It's just… I think I'm blacking out again. I don't know why it keeps happening, but I have a bad feeling every time I wake up."

"Have you told Abraxas?" Tom asked with little concern.

"Yes, but he says if it keeps happening that he's going to write to father!" she said with a flicker if fear in her grey eyes "I'm scared Tom. You believe me, right?"

"of course, I do. Let's talk more about it after supper. Just you, me, some apple cider and biscuits by the fire." Tom smiled warmly at the blonde girl, straightening out the green bow in her hair "You know you're like a sister to me, I'm here whenever you need to talk. Perhaps we can figure this out together, yes?"

Nebula smiled, making her appear more like a nine-year-old than a twelve-year-old.

"Thank you, Tom." She whispered with a small smile before bouncing past him towards the end of the Slytherin table to sit with her friends.

When he turned to sit Abraxas was watching him closely, but said nothing. The platinum blonde boy sat with his back strait as if he had a pole shoved up his ass.

He hated the posh pureblood. He hated all of them

I'm going to make your children's children grovel at my feet one day, Tom thought as he nodded politely to the pureblood.

"So, what's news on that dolly and her boy toys?" Rostislav Lestrange pounced forward, snatching an apple from the center in the table

Tom loaded his plate with steamed vegetables and steak, not bothering to glance at the long haired Slytherin.

"Good evening Ros." Tom said shortly.

The boy was always giddily exuberant and felt a constant excitement to the point of disorientation.

Abraxas, in all his stiff collared glory, found the pureblood distasteful, but tolerated him if only for his blood.

"Do use a napkin, Lestrange." Abraxas commented as he speared his steak with his cutlery dagger. "as always, your lack of manner and gentlemanly approach leave me at a loss for words."

"I truly am a wizard above my peers!" Rostislav Lestrange let get out a giddy laugh as he took a savage bit out of the red skinned apple, exposing the white flesh within.

"Out of the way Lestrange!" Ursa Avery snapped venomously as he shoved the mad Slytherin down the bench to sit next to Tom.

"But I want to know!" Ros pouted petulantly, his mouth full of apple, pointing to Tom "Tom got to watch them for an entire week! It's not fair! Oh! Hey Tom, did you get a glimpse of that dolly in her knickers? I bet you anything she's a white lace kind of dolly! You know the kind with the small white ribbon over her—"

Ursa Avery growled, grabbing his cutlery dagger beneath the table and pressed it painfully against Leatrange's ribs.

"Do not speak so carelessly to our Lord, Rostislav." Avery's voice was as quiet and gentle as a lambs, but a lamb he certainly was not.

A sharp flash of anger tightened in Toms chest at Avery's slip of the tongue and Leatrange's antics.

He would deal with them later.

Abraxas noted the slurp and cleared his throat, earning a filthy glare from Avery.

"Hey Ursa, Is that a knife in my side or are you just happy to see me?" Rostislav Lestange jokes earning a knick from Avery's blade.

In the six years he had known the Slytherins nothing much had changed with their personalities.

Abraxas had been groomed since birth and refined as his ancestry demanded him to be. He was cold and distant. A perfect ice prince.

He reminded Tom of a character from a book he read as a child. The book was called The Snow Queen, and in it a little boy by the name of Kai had his heart pierced with splinters from the Snow Queen. He became cruel and cold, and his sweet innocent heart turned to ice. In the story he followed the Snow Queen to her palace where he faithfully served her.

Yes, Abraxas was certainly his little, cold hearted Kai.

Tom had never even seen the blonde smile, or express any extreme emotion besides snobbish indifference.

Ursa Avery was another matter altogether. He made no effort to hide his cruelty, and reveled in torturing mudbloods.

A few years ago, he nearly had the entire school convinced he was the Heir of Slytherin, which of course amused Tom to no end.

Ursa even held a toast in the common room to every Mudblood who was petrified. He threw a party that dumpy Ravenclaw, Myrtle Elizabeth Warren, was killed.

If you were not a pureblood, you had no name in Ursa's book. You were Mudblood or animal.

Abraxas felt the same in regard to muggleborns, but at least he had the decency to keep his tongue in cheek.

And then there was Rostislav Lestrange, more commonly called Ros.

Impish fool.

The Slytherin boy wore his hair long and wild, like the clinically insane bastard he was. His eyes held enough amusement that he nearly always looked as if he were about to laugh hysterically.

The pureblood, if you could give him such a title, was completely psychotic.

Inbreeding will do that, Tom thought with a certain amount of disgust.

Apparently, his lady mother and lord father Lestrange were half siblings.

Disgusting as these purebloods were, Tom couldn't deny their importance. They were the spinning cogs in the clockwork of their world. So, he tolerated them to the point where they believed that he too was a pureblood from an obscure line.

But back to the fool.

Ros wasn't unattractive as you might think an inbred ought to be, he was devilishly handsome. had a high-pitched laugh that hurt Toms ears, and a wide grin that yearned to tear and devour.

Apparently, madness not only ran in the Black family, but the Leatrange's line as well.

Ah, and here comes the little Lord himself.

Tom looked up as Orion Black strode through the Great hall looking tired, irritable, yet still formidable to the point where Slytherin boys bowed as they passed and Slytherin girls dropped into a curtsy.

His father Arcturus Black had recently passed, leaving the family estate to him. He was now at the age of 16, Lord Black.

Orion's younger sister Lucretia sat by Nebula Malfoy, looking pale and wretched. Apparently, she loved her father, a concept Tom knew nothing about.

Orion said nothing as he sat next to Malfoy, across from Tom. He merely nodded, as was his custom and began serving himself a salad with extra cherry tomatoes.

Abraxas gave Orion an approving look, and seemed to have developed more respect for the boy since becoming a Lord in the eyes of society.

Orion hadn't the trademark Black hair, but dirty blonde curls which he kept slightly longer than Toms. It was neatly combed to the side and finely tapered around his ears and neck.

The boy wore a bowtie instead of a long tie with his stiff dress shirt, and robes looking equally as expensive as Malfoy's.

Poor, quiet little Orion, losing his daddy and inheriting an entire kingdom all in one week.

What a tragic little pureblood.

How terrible it must be to become one of the most wealthy and powerful individuals in the Wizarding World.

Tom noticed the bluish circles beneath Orion's eyes and sneered.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black indeed.

"All right Ursa!" Lestrange giggled at the knife pressed against his ribs "I'll drop it, just keep it in your pants, yeah?"

"Finish your apple in silence then." Ursa snapped, sliding his knife into the sleeve of his robes.

Even his followers bored Tom these days.

He frowned. Maybe he just needed some…release.

His eyes moved down to table to where Nebula Malfoy sat. The girl lifted her head and gave Tom a polite smile.

Tom couldn't help give a small noticeable smirk.

"Will you be attending Dueling Club this Wednesday, Tom?" Abraxas asked politely.

"I'm not sure it'll be worth it" Tom said, smiling at the blonde "I haven't exactly had much of a challenge for the past four years."

"You know Tom's never lost a duel, Abraxas. Why ever would he keep attending meetings if there's nothing in it for him?" Orion asked with a bored expression on his face.

"Haven't you heard?" Abraxas asked in a patronizing tone "Apparently Professor Gilford will be teaching us to combine dueling with blood sports this year. And only to Seventh years."

Ros finished his apple happily, licking his fingers one by one, then smiled brightly.

"I've already had training with weapons!" Ros boasted reaching for another apple, but getting swatted by Abraxas sternly.

"And what's your weapon of choice?" The aristocratic blonde asked, narrowing his piercing eyes.

"Kahnjali double edge dagger is my favorite! Something like the dirk Avery keeps in his pants and likes to poke me with!" Lestrange laughed savagely. "but if I'm honest, I'm better at inflicting more damage with a sturdy trauma or cleaving weapon! Gimmie a pretty little Morning Star any day! So shiny!"

"You all sound like a bunch of Muggles." Tom sneered, setting down his goblet hard.

The conversation stopped, and Abraxas inclined his proud head for Tom to continue.

"Are you wizards, or aren't you? Perhaps a wand is all that separates you from the filth of this world, but not me." Tom said smoothly and strangely beautiful, the others leaned in hanging onto his every word "The Dáinsleif was King Högni's magic sword that gave wounds that never healed and could not be unsheathed without killing a man. Freyr's sword fought on its own and only served when it was in its masters hand. Anyone else who tried to wield it were instantly burned. Ichaival was a bow possessed by Odin, and when he released one arrow, ten more would follow from its shaft. Or what of Mjölnir the hammer of Thor? Was there ever a weapon as indestructible and loyal as his? Magic is as powerful as we believe it can be. A sword is just a sword in the hands of a muggle, but with enough force he could sever your head from your neck with a single blow."

He had their attention. They hung off his every alluring word with a worshipful look behind their eyes.

"Your magic is greater than you allow it to be, why can't any of you see that? Any muggle can strike you down with a sword…they do it with bullets all the time. Do you know how many bullets they can fire off a minuet? Hundreds. How many spells do you think you could strike at an opponent in a minuet?...We wouldn't stand a chance if they discovered us. And why should we be the ones cowering? Do you know there's a muggle war going on at this very moment? They call it a World War, and the weapons they possess are far more terrible than you can ever imagine" Toms dangerous voice dropped down to a whisper.

"Four years ago, they evacuated muggle London…at least, they evacuated those they deemed worthy enough. Orphans were another matter. I sat in that orphanage under sandbags and broken desks, cowering from the hell that rained down; bombs that demolished entire buildings, tanks that crushed everything in its path, bullets that penetrated flesh and stone, fire and chemical that fell from the sky; blinding, and melting the skin off your bones."

Tom thought of the Blitz, and the apocalyptic destruction he crawled out from. He had never been so afraid in his life. He remembered shaking as the other children screamed. Tom was twelve, but felt like a 5-year-old. He could never forget the whistling before the explosions. He remembered praying like the matrons taught him.

And he remembered no one answering his prayers.

Under those explosions he knew it was all a lie.

As Tom spoke he observed his followers.

Abraxas wore a cold hateful expression. Ursa looked murderous and ready to kill. Ros leaned forward, his eyes wide with both sadistic fascination and curiosity. Orion's lips thinned into a hard line of anger.

"For our world to leave a pureblood in the care of muggles is the ultimate disgrace." Orion hissed through his thin lips "Our society disgraces the name of Wizard with it muggle tolerance. But what of our own? If we don't act soon, our world will burn too."

Tom didn't bother placing a silencing charm around them, and relished the looks of fear from nearby students at what they overheard.

Fear was powerful. It could break a wizard, or make them stronger; more dangerous.

"Orion, your noble family has gone through such tragedy with the loss of your Lord father. But he hasn't left you without provision! You must use your seat on the Wizemgot, and vote representing the Black family to further our ideals."

Tom turned to each of them, studying them with what appeared to be respect.

"Each pureblood has an obligation to use their power to preserve our world." Toms words were "As I told you, your magic is greater than you allow it to be. So, use it well."

His words penetrated them, shook then, burned them.

They broke off and began speaking in hushed tones to one another. Tom listened to their conversation with glee as he sipped his goblet.

Towards the teachers table he noticed Headmaster Dippet rise gracefully from his center seat. He raised a single hand for silence

Instantly the hall quieted, save for a few insolent Gryffindor boys who shrank from the Headmasters pointed look.

"The very best of evenings to you all! As we finish our meals, and head into a most excellent dessert, we have the honor of first acknowledging the arrival of three new students." The Headmaster announced causing excited whispers to break out, even among the Slytherin table.

"it is our pleasure to welcome a trio whose illustrious family has not only contributed to wizarding and pureblood society and tradition, but also to nearly all areas of magic. You may remember them as our friends who quite literally fell from the sky into our laps! So, without further ado, please stand with me as we all make our way towards the courtyard for their arrival."

The was a resounding laugh, and Tom could practically cut through all the excitement filling the hall.

The chatter grew as they stood, leaving their dishes.

Lestrange bounced excitedly and let out a shrill laugh. He walked ahead of Ursa, Abraxas, Orion, and Tom, laughing like a maniac.

Once they filled into the courtyard, everyone was instructed to stand side by side, leaving a giant spacious hole in the center.

Meanwhile, Tom was studying the clear evening sky which was filled with hundreds of stars. The moon was full and round and bright.

As Tom continued to stare he noticed something small fly over the moon. A shadow cast over the grounds, and then suddenly everyone else noticed too.

The school fell utterly silent. All eyes looked up into the sky, which seemed to glow brighter.

And then the sound, which resembled a herd or horses whined in the far distance.

"Ah, here they come now!" said Professor Dumbledore cheerful, pointing to what was seemed to be a flock of white birds in the distance.

But it wasn't.

Tom looked up with the rest of the school. Instantly he knew those were no birds.

They were herd of twelve elephantine- palomino- Abraxan- winged- horses….and they were pulling a giant gold chariot behind them.

The herd of Pegasus had a mesmerizing effect on the students, who began to clap and cheer.

The golden carriage rocked and swooped through the sky until it landed in the center of the courtyard.

The pure white Pegasus reared back, expanding their magnificent wings and flapped them threateningly.

The entire school gasped and held their breath.

Tom stepped forward so that he stood at the front of the crowd, getting as close as possible to the creatures.

And then the carriage door opened.

The first to exit was a towering, hulking figure with hair as red as a flame.

He wore white dress robes, which fit him like a glove, showing off his sculpted body. The sleeves clung to his arms and ended past his wrist. The quality and craftmanship that went into his clothes must have cost a fortune.

Beside him Abraxas Malfoy looked on in awe filled approval, and even admiration.

Tom recognized the muscular boy…what was his name? Ah yes, Ron.

He surveyed the courtyard, as if considering whether or not to get back into the carriage and fly away. Instead, he turned to look over his shoulder and nod.

He held out a luminous white hand, offering it to the occupants inside the golden carriage.

Toms eyes widened as he noticed the red heads eyes were gold, and not just any gold either; a sparkling enchanted golden color.

A fine white hand crossed the threshold and taking the offered hand.

Tom watched the second boy, the one he recognized as Harry, emerge. The boy was just as wispy and soft as he remembered, his hair blacker than ever, and features just as commanding.

He too wore white robes with a regal cape that hung over his shoulders, connected with a golden clasp. His boots came over his knees, and on his hands, were white gloves. A golden ring sat on his middle finger, matching the one Ron wore.

However, he too looked slightly different. His eyes were no longer green, and like his brother, they shinned gold. His posture was straighter and even his gestures held a fluid grace that surpassed even Abraxas. Tom studied their supple white skin with desire and interest.

He wanted to peel it off and examine it.

It was strange, the boy was just as slender and delicate as the moment he had met him…but now he looked like damn God.

Tom felt a pang of hatred in his belly.

There's only one God, and I am he!

Around the courtyard the Hogwarts girls whispered feverishly. They cupped their cheeks and mouths as they blushed stupidly. They had fallen for their beautiful faces just as they had with Tom.

Watching someone else being fawned over was a new experience.

He didn't like it.

The pang of hatred began to grow in his belly.

Even the males had looked at the Flamel boys with admiration and approval.

Harry looked around until he spotted Tom. His gold eyes locked onto Tom's blue eyes, for a long moment before he smiled.

Tom felt a jolt at the warmth radiating from the black-haired boy.

Harry lifted a hand to wave at Tom who inclined his head back in acknowledgement. Other around Tom looked at him with envy that he was associated with the Flamel's.

Even his Slytherin followers looked back and forth between Harry and Tom, obviously impressed.

And then both boys turned towards the carriage door, each extending a hand and each receiving a small hand in return.

Now it was the boys turn to blush.

Even Tom had to force himself not to allow his jaw to drop open at the sight of the third sister.

Her-my-own-eeee

Hermione…

She spilled out of the carriage in layers of thin white silk. She wore small slippers on her dainty feet which were embroidered gold with a two-inch heel.

Her sleeves were sheer and belled out dramatically like a renaissance princess. And like her brothers, her golden eyes reflected the moonlight that reminded Tom of a wild feline.

Her hair hung in thick ringlets and braids which had strings of pearls ornamented throughout it. It was long and reached his hips, which swayed exquisitely as she walked.

And unfamiliar feeling replaced his previous feeling of anger. It burned just as tight in his chest, but it was not anger.

A wicked leer spread across Tom's face before he could stop himself.

No, it certainly wasn't anger.

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Next time! Hermione, Ron, and Harry are sorted (we all know where) and begin their seventh year with Tom!