(Author's note: Yes, I'm new to this site, and with help from a certain person, I've come to understand this more. I didn't include a disclaimer in the first chapter, simply because I didn't know I was supposed to. So here it comes...
I do not own the characters or places in this fiction; all are property of JK Rowling, author of the Harry Potter Series. All I own is the plot.
Also, for reference to any of you who came from FictionPress.net, you're in the right place. *Blush*)
(Also note that most of this chapter had been written, that's why this update is coming so soon. I'm forewarning you all, that they will not be coming this cluttered anymore. I definately don't have enough muse in one night for that... ^.^)
Chapter Two- Decades Beyond
"Lancome!" his mother called from the bottom of the stairway. "Lancome Granger-Krum! Get yourself out of bed this instant!" Hermione trudged up the stairs in a motherly fashion, out of the love for her son. "The train leaves in approximately two and a half hours!"
Lancome snorted, tossing the pillow from over his head. "Mooother..." he whined, turning onto his back and off of his stomach. "...Let me alone for another thrity minutes! Two hours is *plenty.*"
Hermione appeared in the doorway of his room, leaning against the wood frame. She had changed much since she'd graduated Hogwarts. Her figure hadn't always been one to talk about, until the later years, but she'd shaped up rather nicely. Curves were carved into perfect position, and the dips and valleys seemed to make her a unintentional seductress. Her hair had been straitened professionally once a week, giving off a rare shine that one wouldn't find to go with the coloring of it. Her eyes remained plain and simple; But who ever said that was a bad thing? "Now. Or you don't get to go at all!" she threatened playfully, smirking at Lancome. This caused Lancome to spring out of bed in sudden hurry.
He had a muscular build, similar to that of his father. Broad shoulders, and a sexy square chin had kept him up on the social status back at his old school. There was no doubt in his mind that it would be any different here at Hogwarts; and even if it was, Lan was always up for a challenge. Stray strands of his hair fell just above his shoulders, his haircut seeming to be a subdivision of a mullet. It was of auburn color, obviously inherited from Hermione, though much easier to tame. He would slick it back, similar to the war Draco would have in his earlier years at Hogwarts, before allowing it so settle on it's own during sixth year. Lancome's eyes didn't seem to come from anywhere in the family gene pool. His piercing green eyes gave a stir in his peers, a mysterious deepness was held in them.
"I'm up, Mum," he announced, as though she couldn't have observed for herself. He grinned boyishly.
"Good," she replied. "Get your stuff together. Your father'll drive us in an hour. We don't want to be late for the first year, do we?" She winked, and strode out.
"Hogwarts, here I come..." he thought to himself. As Lancome gathered a bunch of last minute possessions, his throughts trailed off to Drumstrang, and his first four years there. Some would think it odd for a fifteen year old to be transferring to another wizarding school. The specific reasons for the move hadn't been disclosed to him, but rumor had it that the dispute between his father and current headmaster at Drumstrang Fresco Mandela had turned 'sour and physical,' so to speak. Which would explain the fat lip Viktor had returned home with a few months ago.
Lancome returned to reality, stuffing an extra pair of socks into his duffle and continuing to pack.
***
Bailey, at ten' o' clock, was out of her already made bed. Glancing down in the mirror, at her feet, she pondered her biggest concern at the moment.
"Ugh... What shoes!" she muttered, mainly to herself, turning to face her closet. She wondered what color would match her current outfit.
"The blue might work, sweetie," Ron suggested, a warm smile placed on his lips. Ron's appearance had changed drastically since he'd last seen his alumni as well. His eyes no longer seemed dull, but reflected light and the image of the person they were set on. As though it was a mirror, you could see yourself while gazing into his eyes. Unfortunately, Ron's hair had stayed the same since Hogwarts; a red 'afro' atop his head, still overpopulated by freckles galore. He'd grown a whole lot, and had Harry still been alive, Ron would be about a head taller. His legs had strengthened up, no longer looking gawky and thin. His smile was, as always, to die for.
"Blue?! Daddy..." she laughed sympathetically, bending down and picking up a pair of black, open-toed sandals. "These'll do," she nodded decisively, buckling them up quickly. "Red and blue don't work well with my skin tone."
Bailey Weasley had inherited the famous Weasley traits; for her phenotype was expressed similar to her Aunt Virginia's. She had a fiery mop of banana curls, and paled skin. Scattered freckles tickled her nose, and her eyes were a brownish flecked with yellow. She wasn't very tall, more on the short side, and always seemed to try to make herself look older with tons of makeup. However, most people wouldn't be able pull that amount off; Bailey managed to look beautiful. Her breasts were smaller, though seemed to work well with her size.
"Whatever you say, pumpkin."
She sighed, letting her hands drop to her sides. "Ready to go?"
"Of course." Ron picked up his daughter's luggage, and leads her out of her bedroom. "Ready for your fifth year at Hogwarts?"
"Naturally," she replied, shutting the door behind her.
***
Lacola was downstairs, in the kitchen, eating breakfast at ten thirty. Her breakfast was warm, orange juice cold, and silverware lined the table. Her hair was tucked neatly into a ponytail, and her gaze was focused on her father.
"Daddy," she said, in an angelic tone, "when will we be off to the station?" She arced a slender brow.
"As soon as you finish your breakfast," he replied, his hands folded atop the redwood table.
"I'm not hungry," she stated, poking at her bacon with her fork aimlessly.
"Just eat a little, then. Please?" Draco jerked his head at her plate, pushing it closer to her. And to no one's surprise, Draco had had little change in his looks since school. His hair had stayed a platinum blonde; as he got older, the gel and hairspray had worn off, allowing Draco to just wear his hair au naturel. His attractive features remained, as he was still a slightly short male. If he had been a bit shorter, or taller, his body would be out of proportion. His eyes still icy, though he didn't use it to his advantage much anymore. Draco had turned soft, for reasons he would never tell anyone except the one they concerned. His chest had bulked out, something he could say he'd worked for. Those countless hours at the gym weren't for nothing, mind you.
"Fine," she grunted, upset that she'd lost another battle with her father, and shoved a piece of bacon into her mouth. She chewed it loudly, making her point, until Draco finally stood.
"Alright. We'll go now."
'Cola stood gleefully, picking up her barely touched plate and placing it in the sink. Her features were flaunted in the particular outfit she had chosen to sport on the trainride. A jean skirt that seemed to show as much skin as possible showed off her legs; long, skinny, and perfectly toned. Her waist had no love handles, though she was *sure* that strip of bacon that she'd shoved down her throat would go strait to reserve for them. Her chest was developed, though her stomach remained flat. Her arms were muscular, though not at all masculine. Draco had given her every positive trait he'd posessed. Her hair shimmered an even whiter blonde than his, and her eyes an even brighter blue.
"Thank you, daddy dearest," she nuzzled his shoulder playfully, and skipped out of the room. Draco shook his head, laughing.
"Mandy," he called to his wife. "Let's go!"
I do not own the characters or places in this fiction; all are property of JK Rowling, author of the Harry Potter Series. All I own is the plot.
Also, for reference to any of you who came from FictionPress.net, you're in the right place. *Blush*)
(Also note that most of this chapter had been written, that's why this update is coming so soon. I'm forewarning you all, that they will not be coming this cluttered anymore. I definately don't have enough muse in one night for that... ^.^)
Chapter Two- Decades Beyond
"Lancome!" his mother called from the bottom of the stairway. "Lancome Granger-Krum! Get yourself out of bed this instant!" Hermione trudged up the stairs in a motherly fashion, out of the love for her son. "The train leaves in approximately two and a half hours!"
Lancome snorted, tossing the pillow from over his head. "Mooother..." he whined, turning onto his back and off of his stomach. "...Let me alone for another thrity minutes! Two hours is *plenty.*"
Hermione appeared in the doorway of his room, leaning against the wood frame. She had changed much since she'd graduated Hogwarts. Her figure hadn't always been one to talk about, until the later years, but she'd shaped up rather nicely. Curves were carved into perfect position, and the dips and valleys seemed to make her a unintentional seductress. Her hair had been straitened professionally once a week, giving off a rare shine that one wouldn't find to go with the coloring of it. Her eyes remained plain and simple; But who ever said that was a bad thing? "Now. Or you don't get to go at all!" she threatened playfully, smirking at Lancome. This caused Lancome to spring out of bed in sudden hurry.
He had a muscular build, similar to that of his father. Broad shoulders, and a sexy square chin had kept him up on the social status back at his old school. There was no doubt in his mind that it would be any different here at Hogwarts; and even if it was, Lan was always up for a challenge. Stray strands of his hair fell just above his shoulders, his haircut seeming to be a subdivision of a mullet. It was of auburn color, obviously inherited from Hermione, though much easier to tame. He would slick it back, similar to the war Draco would have in his earlier years at Hogwarts, before allowing it so settle on it's own during sixth year. Lancome's eyes didn't seem to come from anywhere in the family gene pool. His piercing green eyes gave a stir in his peers, a mysterious deepness was held in them.
"I'm up, Mum," he announced, as though she couldn't have observed for herself. He grinned boyishly.
"Good," she replied. "Get your stuff together. Your father'll drive us in an hour. We don't want to be late for the first year, do we?" She winked, and strode out.
"Hogwarts, here I come..." he thought to himself. As Lancome gathered a bunch of last minute possessions, his throughts trailed off to Drumstrang, and his first four years there. Some would think it odd for a fifteen year old to be transferring to another wizarding school. The specific reasons for the move hadn't been disclosed to him, but rumor had it that the dispute between his father and current headmaster at Drumstrang Fresco Mandela had turned 'sour and physical,' so to speak. Which would explain the fat lip Viktor had returned home with a few months ago.
Lancome returned to reality, stuffing an extra pair of socks into his duffle and continuing to pack.
***
Bailey, at ten' o' clock, was out of her already made bed. Glancing down in the mirror, at her feet, she pondered her biggest concern at the moment.
"Ugh... What shoes!" she muttered, mainly to herself, turning to face her closet. She wondered what color would match her current outfit.
"The blue might work, sweetie," Ron suggested, a warm smile placed on his lips. Ron's appearance had changed drastically since he'd last seen his alumni as well. His eyes no longer seemed dull, but reflected light and the image of the person they were set on. As though it was a mirror, you could see yourself while gazing into his eyes. Unfortunately, Ron's hair had stayed the same since Hogwarts; a red 'afro' atop his head, still overpopulated by freckles galore. He'd grown a whole lot, and had Harry still been alive, Ron would be about a head taller. His legs had strengthened up, no longer looking gawky and thin. His smile was, as always, to die for.
"Blue?! Daddy..." she laughed sympathetically, bending down and picking up a pair of black, open-toed sandals. "These'll do," she nodded decisively, buckling them up quickly. "Red and blue don't work well with my skin tone."
Bailey Weasley had inherited the famous Weasley traits; for her phenotype was expressed similar to her Aunt Virginia's. She had a fiery mop of banana curls, and paled skin. Scattered freckles tickled her nose, and her eyes were a brownish flecked with yellow. She wasn't very tall, more on the short side, and always seemed to try to make herself look older with tons of makeup. However, most people wouldn't be able pull that amount off; Bailey managed to look beautiful. Her breasts were smaller, though seemed to work well with her size.
"Whatever you say, pumpkin."
She sighed, letting her hands drop to her sides. "Ready to go?"
"Of course." Ron picked up his daughter's luggage, and leads her out of her bedroom. "Ready for your fifth year at Hogwarts?"
"Naturally," she replied, shutting the door behind her.
***
Lacola was downstairs, in the kitchen, eating breakfast at ten thirty. Her breakfast was warm, orange juice cold, and silverware lined the table. Her hair was tucked neatly into a ponytail, and her gaze was focused on her father.
"Daddy," she said, in an angelic tone, "when will we be off to the station?" She arced a slender brow.
"As soon as you finish your breakfast," he replied, his hands folded atop the redwood table.
"I'm not hungry," she stated, poking at her bacon with her fork aimlessly.
"Just eat a little, then. Please?" Draco jerked his head at her plate, pushing it closer to her. And to no one's surprise, Draco had had little change in his looks since school. His hair had stayed a platinum blonde; as he got older, the gel and hairspray had worn off, allowing Draco to just wear his hair au naturel. His attractive features remained, as he was still a slightly short male. If he had been a bit shorter, or taller, his body would be out of proportion. His eyes still icy, though he didn't use it to his advantage much anymore. Draco had turned soft, for reasons he would never tell anyone except the one they concerned. His chest had bulked out, something he could say he'd worked for. Those countless hours at the gym weren't for nothing, mind you.
"Fine," she grunted, upset that she'd lost another battle with her father, and shoved a piece of bacon into her mouth. She chewed it loudly, making her point, until Draco finally stood.
"Alright. We'll go now."
'Cola stood gleefully, picking up her barely touched plate and placing it in the sink. Her features were flaunted in the particular outfit she had chosen to sport on the trainride. A jean skirt that seemed to show as much skin as possible showed off her legs; long, skinny, and perfectly toned. Her waist had no love handles, though she was *sure* that strip of bacon that she'd shoved down her throat would go strait to reserve for them. Her chest was developed, though her stomach remained flat. Her arms were muscular, though not at all masculine. Draco had given her every positive trait he'd posessed. Her hair shimmered an even whiter blonde than his, and her eyes an even brighter blue.
"Thank you, daddy dearest," she nuzzled his shoulder playfully, and skipped out of the room. Draco shook his head, laughing.
"Mandy," he called to his wife. "Let's go!"
