Chapter Text
Radux leaned forward, letting the last of the molten slag slide down his throat with a satisfied sigh. The warmth lingered in his chest, pulsing with slow energy that made his fin glow faintly along its ridges. He glanced around the Slytherin table, feeling the weight of curious stares pressing on his shoulders like a lead shroud.
“Since we’re being open,” he said, casually brushing ash from his claws, “I suppose you should know the rest.”
Several older students quieted their hushed whispers. Draco raised an eyebrow. Even the seventh-year prefect looked up from his own meal of roast lamb, sensing something... unusual.
“My lifespan,” Radux began, “isn’t measured like yours. I don’t get seventy years, or eighty if I’m lucky.”
He tapped the table, once, firmly. “I have what’s called a half-life. Like uranium.”
“You’re joking,” someone murmured.
“I’m not,” Radux replied plainly. “Uranium-235. That’s what I was fused with in the Chernobyl incident. My projected half-life is seven hundred and four million years.”
A stunned silence dropped across the table.
One of the fifth years, a pale boy with a pinched nose, scoffed. “That’s not life. That’s… that's geological.”
Radux met his eyes with a calm that made the hairs on the boy’s neck rise. “Exactly.”
He let it sink in before continuing.
“Hermione and Daphne will have the same lifespan. Maybe slightly different depending on how their transformations finish, but… close enough.”
Several students glanced over toward the empty seats where the girls should have been. The prefect swallowed.
“What happens if they don’t finish changing?” one younger Slytherin asked quietly.
“They will,” Radux said with certainty. “The bond ensures it. It’s... instinct. Survival.”
“And… there’s a third one, isn’t there?” Draco asked, arms crossed, brow furrowed with suspicion and curiosity.
Radux nodded slowly. “Yes. One for each part of me: strength, flame, and spirit. The bond isn’t complete without the third.”
“And you don’t know who it is?”
“I’ll know when I meet her,” Radux said. “Just like I knew with Hermione and Daphne. It’s not love yet... but it’s something older. Deeper. Like gravity pulling everything together.”
He paused, eyes softening for a moment.
“They’ll live as long as I do. That’s the truth. They’ll change like I have. They’ll eat what I eat. Sleep in the same safe room. And when I vanish from memory, centuries from now, they’ll still be at my side.”
Several students stared at him as if he were already a myth—something ancient wearing the skin of a boy.
“You’re mental,” muttered a sixth year, but there was no bite in it. Just awe.
Radux simply leaned back against the wall, arms folding behind his scaled head. “Yeah. But at least I’m not boring.”
----
In the softly lit hospital wing, the air was heavy with the scent of sterilizing potions and ozone. The two girls lay on enchanted beds that creaked under their increasing weight, their mothers watching helplessly as more of their daughters' transformations unfolded.
Hermione whimpered first, her fingers twitching as the bones inside began to thicken. She held her hand up shakily, eyes wide. What had once been the delicate, slim hand of a girl who turned pages more often than she ran was slowly stretching, changing—each finger elongating subtly, joints reinforcing with dense cartilage and a lead-like bone structure beneath her skin. Her nails darkened, sharpened, and then calcified into thick claws that shimmered faintly with a metallic sheen.
Next to her, Daphne hissed through clenched teeth, trying to stay stoic but unable to stop the low gasp that escaped her throat. Her own hands mirrored Hermione’s transformation—once soft and well-manicured, now turning dense and powerful. The weight of them felt foreign, like they didn’t belong to her, like they could crush something fragile without effort.
"Mum..." Hermione choked out, her voice strained. “They’re… heavy. I can’t move them the same…”
Mrs. Granger leaned in, tears in her eyes, brushing hair that was no longer there from Hermione’s ridged forehead. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
A sudden wet noise filled the air—a muffled thump—and both girls jolted. Their tails had grown several inches more, thick reptilian appendages twitching against the sheets as muscle and scale formed around the new limb bones. They hadn’t realized how much it would hurt, the way their hips popped and reformed with new purpose, adjusting their body alignment to accommodate the tails and shifting weight distribution.
Daphne, panting now, looked toward Hermione with tears welling in her eyes. “We’re… really changing,” she whispered.
But her words were interrupted by a sharp clatter—a scattering sound across the stone floor. Both girls gasped again, this time with raw surprise.
Their teeth.
One by one, their old human teeth had begun to fall from their mouths and collect in a small, unnerving pile at the bedside. Madam Pomfrey rushed to gather the fallen teeth, but froze as she saw what was taking their place.
Diamond. Clear and glinting even in the low candlelight. Thick, sharp, perfect.
"Dear Merlin," she muttered under her breath, peering into Hermione’s open mouth. "They're not even magical proxies. These are real crystalline structures. The bite force alone…"
The girls could feel it too—new weight in their jaws, more muscle mass forming around their cheeks and necks to support the increased force their new teeth would require.
Daphne tilted her head, feeling the strange pressure behind her jaw relax as it clicked into its new form. “I can feel it,” she murmured. “I could bite through stone if I wanted…”
Hermione nodded weakly. “Radux… this is what he meant. He said… we’d be like him. We’re becoming…”
She trailed off, unable to say the word. But it hung there anyway.
Lizard. Dragon. Mate.
Not human.
Their mothers looked on, caught between heartbreak and awe. Watching their daughters reshape into something no spellbook had ever prepared them for.
Pomfrey stepped back, her wand now scanning the growing density of their bones, her notes compiling mid-air. "They’ll pass 300 kilograms by sundown. At this rate… they may double that before the end of the week."
There was no turning back.
Not anymore.
A sudden, sharp fit of coughing gripped both girls at once—Hermione and Daphne convulsing as their chests heaved violently on the beds. The sound of it wasn’t normal—it echoed, deep and distorted, almost metallic. Hermione gasped, clutching her throat as her body seized again. Daphne tried to speak, but the only sound was a garbled rasp, her lungs working overtime to pull in air that now felt foreign.
Their mothers rushed to their sides in panic.
“Hermione! Breathe, darling, please!” cried Mrs. Granger, voice cracking.
Daphne’s mother was white-knuckled on the bedframe, whispering her daughter’s name over and over like a prayer.
Pomfrey was already there, wand sweeping with urgent arcs. “Vitals are fluctuating—lungs are changing structure—hold them steady, now!”
The girls’ ribcages rose and fell erratically, their skin flexing strangely at the sides of their necks. Then the next wave hit. Both girls arched their backs as something beneath the skin burst forth—not blood, but tissue. Slits opened along the sides of their necks, three on each side. Not gaping wounds, but new organs forming. Gills. Smooth, dark, and twitching wetly as they adjusted to the outside air.
“Merlin above,” Pomfrey whispered, stepping closer to observe. “Just like Radux… Adaptation to irradiated aquatic environments. These aren’t surface traits. This is deep biological integration.”
Hermione whimpered again, this time the sound rasping through her throat, but less painful. A strange whirring, filtered quality touched her voice. She could breathe again—but her breathing was now mechanical in tone, deeper, like air filtering through metal.
Mrs. Granger looked shaken. “What’s happening to her lungs? Why does she sound like that?”
“Her entire respiratory system is being restructured,” Pomfrey said, focused, calm despite the tension. “They’re growing what Radux has… a biological filtration mask. An in-built ABC unit. Airborne threats, smoke, radiation—none of it will matter soon. They’ll breathe through anything.”
Daphne's breathing was stabilizing, but the sound was now alien—soft hissing tones, echoing from deep inside her chest with each inhale. She blinked up at her mother with glossy eyes, still wet from pain, but lucid.
“I… can breathe,” she whispered. “But it feels… like metal…”
Mrs. Greengrass nodded shakily, brushing a hand over her daughter’s warm, scale-touched brow. “You're alright now. You’re alright.”
Both girls lay there, exhausted, chests rising with new rhythm—no longer human in form or sound, their bodies stabilizing for the moment, though the change was far from over.
Pomfrey jotted notes with a flick of her wand. “The transformation is progressing as expected. Radux’s biological imprint is reshaping them down to the systems that keep them alive. This isn’t mimicry—it’s inheritance.”
The two mothers stayed close, hands clutching those of their daughters, even as the warmth beneath their palms felt less like skin… and more like metal wrapped in heat.
And both girls, for the first time since waking, closed their eyes… breathing easy.
---
Over the next two days, the medical wing of Hogwarts remained quiet but tense.
The beds that held Hermione and Daphne were reinforced now—enchanted with stabilizing charms and silently monitored by the matron’s magic. But the girls hadn’t woken. Their bodies were still, cocooned under heavy blankets, the faint rise and fall of their breathing the only sign that they were alive. But even that wasn’t quite the same—it was slower, deeper, a different rhythm than human.
Madam Pomfrey worked tirelessly through the hours. So did the mothers, never leaving their daughters’ sides. Mrs. Granger sat stiffly on the edge of Hermione’s bed, brushing a scaled lock of what might once have been her daughter's hair from the girl’s now reptilian snout. Her hand lingered there, warm and gentle.
“Sweetheart,” she whispered. “It’s Mum. Can you hear me?”
Hermione didn’t stir. Her body was subtly different again—hips widened and more grounded, shaped for a new center of gravity. Her legs were thicker with power, her tail now fully formed and curled under the blanket. There was no sign of a belly button left; her abdomen was sealed with strong, scale-armored plating. Even her chest was smooth, sculpted differently—no longer feminine in the traditional sense.
Mrs. Greengrass leaned over Daphne, whispering her name softly with growing desperation. “Daphne. Please. Just give me something. Move your hand.”
But there was nothing. Both girls lay in what Madam Pomfrey had reluctantly called a reproductive stabilizing coma. Their internal structures—organs, muscles, glands—were still adjusting to a form capable of handling the radiation, density, and physical power that came with being one of Radux’s mates.
The diagnostic parchment floated beside Pomfrey, listing changes in slow but relentless detail:
Ovarian structure transformed: non-mammalian reproductive system detected
Secondary uterine development completed
Pelvic density nearing full adaptation: Lead-bone signature detected
Body mass increasing: Est. weight 710 kg and rising
Limb growth stabilized
Tail and spinal extension complete
Every hour, Pomfrey checked their heartbeats. Steady. Strong. But distant, like drumbeats echoing through a long tunnel.
“This isn’t sleep,” she muttered aloud. “It’s biological suspension. Like metamorphic stasis in dragons or deep-sea magical creatures. Their systems need time to fully… settle.”
“But why haven’t they woken?” Mrs. Granger asked, near tears now. “You said they'd be alright.”
“They will be,” Pomfrey said, as gently as she could manage. “But their minds must adapt, too. They’re being re-patterned to survive as what they’ve become. It’s not only physical—it’s psychological. Magical. They’re sleeping off the pain of becoming something new.”
Sergei and Mirova arrived at the door just then, entering quietly. Mirova stepped in first, taking one look at the sleeping girls and then at the parchment hovering above them.
“It’s almost over,” she said softly. “They just need more time.”
Sergei folded his arms, voice low. “They’ll wake when their bodies no longer see this world as a threat.”
Two more days passed. Their breathing never faltered. Their scales hardened. Their masses increased.
And then—just after dawn on the third morning—Daphne stirred.
A clawed hand twitched. A tail shifted beneath the blanket.
Hermione followed, only moments later, letting out a deep, slow breath from her nostrils—no longer soft and human, but low and hot, like steam escaping a pressurized chamber.
Their mothers froze.
And their daughters opened their glowing eyes.
Hermione blinked first, her vision clearer than it had ever been before. She saw every detail in the room—every shimmer of magical energy, every beat of the hearts around her. But when she opened her mouth to speak, her voice came out… strange.
“Ssss—sseriously… what happened to my voisssse?”
Daphne let out a sharp exhale that sounded more like a hiss, then grimaced. “Oh, not jusssst me then…”
Their tongues flickered without conscious control, the thin, forked tips briefly tasting the air as they spoke. Every s stretched into a serpentine hiss. It made them sound like something out of a Parselmouth's nightmare.
Mrs. Granger blinked, caught between concern and disbelief. Mrs. Greengrass simply sighed, though her expression was clearly one of deep internal panic masked by aristocratic grace.
Hermione shifted her weight to stand, and as her feet—three-toed, thick-scaled, and tipped with dull black claws—hit the stone floor, the impact cracked a visible fissure in the flagstone.
Crack.
“Oops…” Hermione’s cheeks flushed violet under her new facial ridges. She looked down at the stone, then quickly back up. “I didn’t mean—”
Daphne took a step forward too, her heavier frame moving with surprising grace, only for her clawed foot to crack another tile near Hermione’s. She winced, her scaled tail twitching with embarrassment.
“Ssssso… we’re a little heavier now, aren’t we?”
Sergei gave a short laugh and waved off their apologies. “Don’t worry about it. Radux broke four steps the first day we brought him home. You're just becoming normal. For your kind.”
Mirova stepped up behind him and nodded warmly. “We’ll teach you how to control it.”
Hermione looked down at her hands—no longer hands, really, but powerful reptilian claws tipped with talon-like nails. “This… is a lot to process.”
“It will be,” Mirova agreed, stepping forward to gently brush Hermione’s scaled shoulder. “But you are still you, even with a different body. Just stronger. More resilient. And bonded.”
Daphne took a deep breath through her nostrils and nodded slowly. “I feel… weirdly good. But also like I want to eat… metal.”
Sergei raised a brow. “That’s the radiation craving. Let’s not delay breakfast, then.”
Pomfrey sighed and made a mental note to reinforce the floor of the infirmary. Again.
Both girls stood upright now—taller, bulkier, transformed completely into something between dragon and lizard, wrapped in lead-lined flesh and heat.
Their mothers stood nearby, struggling to accept what they were seeing.
And outside the window, Hogwarts continued its slow, ancient rhythm—unaware that two new legends had just awakened.
The heavy sound of clawed feet striking stone echoed down the corridor outside the infirmary, followed by the creak and clang of reinforced doors being pushed open.
Radux entered in a blur of movement and heat, the air shimmering faintly around his tall form. His glowing fins flared slightly with joy as his eyes locked onto the two figures rising from their beds.
“Hermione! Daphne!” he called, his deep voice rumbling like thunder through the ward.
Both girls turned, eyes wide—but smiling.
The floor groaned as Radux barreled forward, the sheer weight of him making every step a low, vibrating thud.
Mrs. Granger and Mrs. Greengrass both instinctively stepped back, startled by the sheer force of his approach. The sound of his claws against the stone was like metal scraping metal.
And then he was there, arms wide, tail swinging in excitement. He enveloped both Hermione and Daphne in a powerful, warm hug. The metal scent on him was stronger now—like hot copper and iron blended with a faint, ozone bite of radiation. It wasn’t unpleasant to the girls—in fact, their snouts twitched, tasting it with interest.
“You look… incredible,” Radux said, his voice full of awe. “I can smell the metal on your scales. You’re glowing.”
Hermione blinked at him, eyes flicking between his glowing fins and his beaming face. “We… look like you.”
Daphne gave a snort of amusement, her sharp new teeth catching the light. “We smell like breakfast to each other.”
Radux chuckled, the sound deep and slightly reptilian. “That’s because the transition’s still tuning your senses. Soon, it’ll settle… mostly.”
Mrs. Granger, her voice tight, muttered, “This is going to take years of therapy.”
Sergei leaned in toward her, speaking in his calm, scientific tone. “Or a few barrels of uranium pellets and a well-padded room.”
Mirova smirked, crossing her arms. “They’ll manage. They’re strong. Our kind has to be.”
Radux finally stepped back a bit, his tail giving a lazy sweep. His claws were still gently brushing the thick new scales along Hermione’s arms and Daphne’s shoulders as if making sure they were real. His expression was soft—surprisingly tender for a creature of such size.
“I missed you,” he said to them both. “It wasn’t the same.”
Hermione and Daphne both leaned slightly against him, tails coiling around each other’s in a quiet, unconscious echo of trust and bond.
Behind them, the infirmary lights flickered once as a magical pulse passed through the air—three cores, once separate, now in tune.
Hermione tilted her head slightly, the new weight of her scaled crest still strange but no longer uncomfortable. Her hand—now tipped with thick, obsidian-colored claws—lifted, examining her reflection in the polished brass tray Pomfrey had handed her earlier.
“I… feel everything,” she murmured, voice raspier now, deeper and touched with a faint rumble. “Not like before. My heartbeat’s stronger. I can smell everything. Taste the air. It’s… it’s overwhelming, but not in a bad way.”
Daphne flexed her hand and stared at the slight shimmer of her dark violet scales catching the lantern light. “I feel heavier. Grounded. As if gravity pulled at me more—but I like it. Every step feels like it means something.”
Radux grinned with a proud little tilt of his snout, watching the two girls find comfort in their new forms. “You’re more aware of everything now. Your instincts are louder, more vivid. That never goes away. You’ll learn to trust them.”
Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat as she scanned the final parchment being filled in by her diagnostic quill. “The changes are complete,” she confirmed. “No further mutations or biological shifts detected. Their magical cores have stabilized, and vitals are within the expected range—for… well, whatever this species is becoming.”
The doors to the infirmary swung open with a gust of air and clicking boots. Dumbledore stepped inside with his usual serene expression, followed closely by Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape. Behind them, two robed officials from the Ministry of Magic entered with clipped urgency. And then, a moment later, Hermione and Daphne’s fathers returned—expressions grave and tense, though now tinged with resignation.
“Ah,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling faintly behind his half-moon glasses. “I see our young ladies are well and—rather magnificently—changed.”
Hermione’s father gave a strangled sound in his throat as he laid eyes on his daughter again. His gaze flicked from the horns on her brow to her forked tongue, now slipping out briefly between her fanged jaws as she tried to greet him.
“Dad…” she said softly, the s hissing slightly.
He hesitated, then stepped forward and placed a shaking hand on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch. “You’re still my Hermione,” he whispered.
Daphne’s father stood tall, eyes unreadable. “We’ve… filed the bond at the Ministry,” he said stiffly to Dumbledore. “It is official.”
“As is your daughters’ biological classification,” added one of the Ministry officials, holding up a sealed document. “They are now registered under new magical species protections, thanks to their bonding with the being known as Radux. Legally, this bond cannot be undone.”
McGonagall looked to Pomfrey. “Are they cleared for classes?”
“They are,” Pomfrey replied. “Their minds and bodies have stabilized. They may attend lessons, but I recommend a lead-lined bedchamber be prepared within Slytherin. Their body heat and internal radiation levels, while not dangerous with Radux’s shielding, could affect other students in close quarters.”
Radux looked between the adults, then back to Hermione and Daphne. “You two… ready?”
Hermione’s fin gave a small twitch. “Ready or not, it’s our first day.”
Daphne gave him a soft smirk, brushing her scaled fingers against his. “Let’s make sure they never forget it.”
Radux shifted slightly on his feet, his thick tail curling once along the floor before thudding quietly behind him. His deep-set amber eyes flicked toward Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, then over to the two Ministry officials, before finally settling on Hermione and Daphne.
"If it's allowed," he began, voice low and steady, "I’d like to ask something. Not for me—well, not only for me—but for them too."
Daphne looked up, brow cresting beneath her horns, and Hermione tilted her head curiously.
Radux exhaled slowly through his nostrils, the air warm and tinged with that ever-present ozone-like tang of his internal energy.
"The bed I use in the Slytherin dorms... it's a slab of tungsten, ringed with lead. It shields the others from my radiation, and the heat helps me sleep. But…" He paused, glancing briefly at the girls again. “They’re going through what I did. The changes are disorienting. Everything feels strange for a while. The strength, the weight… even just how you feel when you breathe.”
The girls nodded slowly, silently confirming his words.
"I thought," Radux said, voice softening, "maybe we could expand the slab. Let them sleep beside me. Not for anything else. Just to help them settle into their new bodies. I know what it feels like to wake up disoriented or afraid. If I’m near, it might ease that. Instinctively."
Hermione glanced toward her mother, who seemed on the edge of protest. But Pomfrey stepped in first.
“Medically, it’s sound,” she said, glancing down at her notes. “The girls are no longer human enough to regulate temperature like they used to. Their bodies will produce heat, but sleeping near a constant source—one biologically aligned with them—might stabilize their recovery.”
Daphne crossed her arms, claws tapping her scaled forearm. “It makes sense. I’m not sleeping on a feather mattress anymore. It’d catch fire.”
Mirova stepped forward, nodding at her adopted son. “He offered the same when he was younger. Always careful. Protective. He won’t push them.”
The Ministry officials exchanged uncertain glances. “As long as there is no misconduct,” one of them added, “and it is medically necessary—we’ll approve a temporary accommodation within the Slytherin dormitory. The slab can be expanded by the Hogwarts staff.”
Professor McGonagall sighed but nodded. “Very well. We will see to the necessary arrangements. However, boundaries are to be respected, and curfews remain in effect.”
Radux bowed his head slightly, a ripple of power pulsing softly from his chest. “Thank you. I just want them to feel safe. I know what it’s like to become something the world wasn’t prepared for.”
Hermione stepped up beside him, resting one clawed hand against his arm. “We appreciate it, Radux. Really. It’s… a lot. But we’ll figure it out.”
Daphne gave a sharp nod, her long tail giving a faint lash behind her. “Together.”
And with that, the trio stood—not just bonded by magic, but by something deeper now. A shared truth. A shared form. A new species stepping into the future, side by side.
Hermione glanced down at herself—at the sheen of her new lead-colored scales that wrapped around her hips, stomach, and chest. Her once-delicate fingers now ended in dark, razor-edged claws. Her tail flicked gently behind her, and the horns crowning her head were cool to the touch, yet strange in their weight. She was still adjusting to how her body moved—how heavy it felt, how powerful and different.
Still, something lingered in her mind. A sliver of her old life. Her upbringing.
“Radux,” she asked carefully, tilting her head to one side. “What about… clothes?”
Radux blinked once. His diamond-sharp eyes flicked to hers, then to Daphne, who also looked mildly self-conscious as she brushed her claws over her scaled thighs.
“Clothes?” he echoed, as if the word had never truly settled into his world before. Then he gave a short shake of his head. “Unnecessary.”
“But—” Hermione hesitated. “We’re not exactly… covered.”
Radux took a step forward, his heavy frame causing the stone beneath him to creak. His voice came calmly, without shame.
“I tried it, once. Back in Moscow. Special fiber-reinforced jumpsuit. Tailored by Mirova with shielding thread. Didn’t last more than five minutes before it burned off. Or melted.”
He glanced down at his own glistening torso, every muscle corded beneath the armor-like scales. “Our bodies produce internal heat. Radiation. Static buildup. Fabric would either decay, ignite, or fuse. The Ministry deemed it too dangerous. Even the cloaks we wear now are only for travel, not comfort.”
Hermione flushed slightly, but not from embarrassment—more from the realization of just how different things truly were now. Radux didn’t speak with discomfort. This wasn’t defiance. This was simply their nature.
“So…” Daphne ventured, arms crossed under her chest, “this is permanent, then.”
Radux nodded. “We don’t need clothes. Our scales are stronger than steel. They protect our organs, shield our radiation, and shed waste heat. Why wrap that in something fragile?”
Hermione sighed. “Old habits, I suppose. I guess I just thought I’d wear a uniform.”
“Your form is the uniform now,” Radux said gently. “You are not less without fabric. You’re more.”
Daphne’s mother, still lingering nearby, made a strange noise in her throat. “They’re not going to be walking around the school completely exposed, are they?”
Professor McGonagall, now fully caught up with the situation, answered in a clipped tone. “For public settings, Professor Flitwick and I are developing shielding cloaks—strictly for decorum and crowd safety. But in the dormitory or between classes, it will be discretionary. As their physiology stabilizes, comfort and safety come first.”
Sergei chuckled from the back of the room. “You’ll get used to it. Took me weeks before I stopped reacting to Radux walking around like a dragon god in training.”
Radux rumbled a small laugh at that. “Clothes are for those who burn. We are the fire now.”
Hermione and Daphne exchanged a look—an uneasy mixture of understanding and disbelief—but in the end, both girls gave quiet nods. The past had shed with their skin.
And from here on, they would walk the path unarmored by cloth… but shielded by something far stronger.
Daphne examined the sheen of her scales in the light filtering through the hospital wing windows. They shimmered like brushed metal, each one fitting perfectly into the next, glinting faintly with a violet and silver hue. Her claws tapped lightly against the stone floor as she turned to Radux, brow furrowed in thought.
“Is there… something we should be doing to take care of them?” she asked, gesturing to the smooth plates running along her arms and hips. “To keep them this… polished?”
Radux grinned, his snout twitching with amusement. “Scale maintenance?” he echoed. “Ah. That’s easy. When we get the chance, we’ll take a dip in the cooling pools of a nuclear power plant. It cleans off buildup, smooths imperfections, and boosts our internal temperature regulation.”
Hermione blinked. “Wait—you bathe in nuclear reactor cooling pools?”
From the side, her mother went pale. “That’s insane,” Mrs. Granger stammered, eyes darting between them. “Those pools are—are radioactive! Even a short exposure to the coolant could kill a human within minutes!”
Radux tilted his head, calm and unaffected by the alarm. “We’re not human anymore,” he said simply. “Radiation doesn’t harm us. It’s nourishment. The fission particles, the heat, the residual isotopes—they scrub our scales clean from within and outside. It's like a spa treatment. A hot spring.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped slightly. Daphne raised an eyebrow. “That sounds… horrifying. But also strangely luxurious.”
“It tingles,” Radux added with a deep chuckle. “In a good way.”
Sergei chimed in from behind them. “It was the first thing we tested after Radux grew too warm from a buildup. Took him to a decommissioned plant near Minsk. Dipped into the reactor pool and came out gleaming like polished chrome.”
Hermione muttered something about needing to reevaluate her idea of skincare routines forever.
Mrs. Greengrass whispered to Mrs. Granger, “Our daughters are radioactive lizards that bathe in nuclear waste. This is real life now.”
Mrs. Granger simply stared ahead, dazed.
Daphne, however, glanced down at the subtle glimmer running along her thigh. “Alright then. Cooling pool trips. Noted.”
Hermione sighed and folded her arms. “First thing I’m doing is writing a paper on this. For future metamorphic cases.”
Radux beamed. “Welcome to the club.”
Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands once as the reinforced weighing platform hummed softly in the corner of the hospital wing. “All right, girls,” she said briskly, gesturing them forward. “It’s time for your final checkup. Let’s see what we’re working with now that your metamorphoses are complete.”
Radux stood off to the side, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching closely. His own weight had been recorded long ago—825 kilograms of scaled, reinforced muscle and bone—but now it was the girls’ turn.
Hermione moved first, claws clicking on the stone as her powerful legs carried her to the enchanted scale. Her tail gently swayed behind her, balance carefully adjusted for her new form. She glanced back, slightly hesitant.
“You’ll be fine,” Radux said softly. “Just breathe.”
She nodded and stepped fully onto the platform. It groaned faintly under the load, the runes flickering and glowing with a soft crimson light as the scale stabilized.
“Six hundred and seventeen kilograms,” Pomfrey announced after a moment. She scribbled the number into her log. “Perfectly within projected density range. That’s a solid skeletal conversion. Excellent.”
Hermione blinked. “That much? I don’t even feel heavy.”
“Because you’re designed for it now,” Radux replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “Your weight is strength, not burden.”
Daphne stepped up next, her own movements more confident and fluid, her scales catching the light with a dull glimmer. As she stood beside Hermione on the platform, the device whined just slightly and then settled.
“Six hundred and thirty-two kilograms,” Pomfrey confirmed. “More mass around the hips and tail base. Possibly a specialized adaptation—could be reproductive. We’ll monitor it.”
Daphne raised a brow and glanced over her shoulder. “So that’s why my tail feels heavier.”
Radux chuckled. “Told you they’d be strong. I can already tell those tails are going to leave dents in the floors.”
Madam Pomfrey tapped her quill against her log. “You two are officially stabilizing. Weight is consistent with Radux’s physiology, though individually adapted. I’ll be sending this data to the Ministry and your families. For now, you’re cleared to return to your dorm—though we’ll need to make sleeping arrangements appropriate to your size and biological needs.”
Hermione nodded, still blinking at her number. “Six hundred… wow.”
Radux smiled warmly. “Beautifully efficient,” he said. “Both of you.”
Daphne smirked. “If you’re trying to flatter us, it’s working.”
“Wasn’t trying,” he replied with a grin. “Just being honest.”
---
The late morning sun glinted off the castle’s many towers as Professor McGonagall escorted the trio across the courtyard toward the grassy expanse near the broom sheds. Students were already gathering on the field for their first flying lesson, chattering with excitement and nervousness. A few had their school-issued brooms in hand.
Radux walked calmly between Daphne and Hermione, his heavy footfalls leaving faint impressions in the worn stone path. The girls matched his stride naturally, the weight of their new bodies evident in the soft thuds of their claws against the ground. Though they moved with confidence, the occasional glance from passing students was unavoidable.
McGonagall led them with her usual strict efficiency, though even she glanced back now and again, watching the trio with a flicker of unease and awe in her eyes.
As they approached the edge of the field, Madam Hooch turned toward them. Her whistle paused halfway to her lips as her golden eyes narrowed at the approaching figures.
“Ah, Professor,” Hooch said cautiously, “are these the new arrivals?”
“They are,” McGonagall said. “Miss Granger, Miss Greengrass, and Mr. Mirova have completed their medical evaluations and are cleared for participation—within reason.”
Radux looked across the field to where the brooms were lined up on the grass. He frowned immediately.
“No chance,” he said flatly, stepping forward. “There’s no broom in the world that’ll lift any of us now. I weigh over eight hundred kilos. They’d snap like twigs.”
Hermione and Daphne nodded in agreement.
“We’d destroy the bristles just standing over them,” Daphne added, her tail swaying with the thought. “We’ll sit this one out.”
Hooch raised a brow but said nothing. The other students, however, turned in their tracks. Some jaws dropped. Others stared openly.
“Is that… is that Hermione Granger?” one Gryffindor whispered, wide-eyed.
“She changed,” another said, unable to look away from the gleaming scales and pronounced horns curving back over Daphne’s crown.
“That’s what happens when you get too close to that lizard boy,” someone muttered.
Radux’s eyes scanned the crowd. His long pupils narrowed as he heard it. He didn’t respond—he didn’t need to. The shift in air temperature around him was enough to make a few of the students step back instinctively.
“Enough,” McGonagall said sharply, turning on the rest of the class. “These three will observe the lesson from the sidelines for today. If I hear one more comment like that, you will find yourself cleaning out hippogriff stalls without magic for a week.”
She turned to Radux, Hermione, and Daphne.
“There’s a bench just there. Observe for now—we will look into alternatives for flight later, perhaps enchanted gliders or something of sturdier construction.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Radux said politely, leading the girls toward the edge of the field. He sank down onto the reinforced bench with a sigh, the metal groaning under his weight.
As the flying lesson began, Radux leaned toward Daphne and Hermione and whispered with a small grin, “Good thing we don’t need brooms. I’m pretty sure the last one I tried back in Russia is still smoldering in a crater.”
Hermione stifled a giggle. Daphne smirked.
“Let them stare,” she said. “We’ll be flying in ways they couldn’t dream of one day.”
Radux nodded. “Exactly. We were born to soar… just not on twigs.”
As the lesson progressed, the trio sat off to the side on the specially reinforced bench McGonagall had conjured earlier that morning. They watched as first-years lined up along the brooms and followed Madam Hooch’s instructions to extend their hands and shout, “Up!” Most of the brooms either twitched or refused to move altogether, to the amusement and frustration of the class.
Hermione and Daphne sat with their claws folded in their laps, long tails curled beneath the bench. The soft glow of their dorsal fins shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Radux lounged beside them, resting his scaled arms along the back of the bench, occasionally making a quiet observation about broom balance or posture—things he remembered from the thick manual Sergei had once made him study on British magical customs.
Before long, a few students from other years, who had free periods or curiosity burning in their bellies, trickled in and hovered nearby.
A Hufflepuff third-year, a girl with wind-tousled hair and wide eyes, hesitated before speaking. “Um… is it true? That you—changed? That you used to be normal?”
Hermione gave her a dry look. “I was never normal.”
Daphne snorted. “What she means is yes. We were human. And yes, we changed.”
Another boy, a Ravenclaw with ink stains on his cuffs, asked, “Did it hurt? It looked… well, from what people are saying—bones snapping, scales forming. Was it bad?”
Daphne glanced at Hermione. Hermione gave him a blank stare and said flatly, “Let me ask you this—have you ever thrown up so hard you think your stomach was going to climb out of your throat? Then done it again for three days while your skin cracked and your hair fell out?”
The boy paled and shook his head.
“Then no,” she said, “it wasn’t pleasant.”
Daphne nodded with a similar expression. “And don’t forget the dizziness, the weird cravings for radioactive sludge, and the tail growing out of your spine. Or the fact you can’t wear clothes anymore without them disintegrating.”
The students around them backed up a little, glancing between one another with nervous smiles. “Er… right. Well. Thanks for the, um, honest answers,” said the Hufflepuff girl before they stepped back and returned to the watching crowd.
Radux leaned over slightly and whispered, “You two are natural public speakers. You should hold a seminar. ‘So You’re Becoming a Radioactive Lizard-Girl.’”
Daphne flicked her tail at his knee.
Hermione just rolled her glowing amber eyes. “Maybe after we learn how to write without snapping a quill every time we hold it.”
“Small victories,” Radux said, watching as one of the brooms finally rose into the air under Neville Longbottom—before shooting off into the sky like a rocket. The entire field collectively gasped as the boy screamed and clung for dear life.
Hermione muttered, “At least we can’t be dragged fifty feet in the air by a rogue broom.”
Radux chuckled deeply. “Yeah, but if I flew off like that, I’d leave a trench in the ground on the way down.”
Daphne gave him a look. “Please don’t test that.”
He raised his hands. “No promises.”
The three of them sat there—massive, scaled, visibly out of place—and yet strangely content in the soft sunlight, surrounded by the low hum of broomsticks and the occasional shriek of a student defying gravity for the first time.
Radux shifted slightly on the reinforced bench, his heavy tail curling around the base as he scanned the training field. His golden, slitted eyes flicked down to the ground and spotted a decent-sized rock—dark, smooth, and about the size of a clenched fist.
With the casual grace of someone used to odd habits, he leaned forward, plucked the rock up in one clawed hand, and brought it to his mouth. There was a sharp crunch as his diamond teeth bit clean through it like it was brittle toffee. Dust and small chips scattered across his scaled jaw as he chewed lazily, the cracking echoing faintly across the quiet bench.
Hermione and Daphne turned their heads at the sound.
“Radux,” Daphne said, narrowing her eyes, “Are you eating a rock?”
He didn’t answer right away. He simply nodded, swallowed the last of the gritty mouthful, and broke the remaining half of the rock in two more pieces with a sharp press of his thumb and palm.
Without hesitation, he offered one half to Hermione, the other to Daphne.
“Try it,” he said simply. “This one’s got a nice chalky core. Tastes a bit like unsalted crisps.”
Hermione stared at the chunk of stone. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I joke about food?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, glanced at the stone, then—out of curiosity more than anything—reluctantly took it from his clawed hand. Daphne did the same, though her expression was less skeptical and more… intrigued.
The two girls examined their halves for a moment before cautiously lifting them to their mouths. Hermione licked hers first, frowned, and then nibbled one edge with her sharp new teeth. It broke apart like compressed biscuit.
Daphne took a bite outright, her jaw clenching once, twice—and then she blinked. “That’s… actually not terrible.”
Hermione made a face, but not a disgusted one. “It’s not good, but… it’s edible. Sort of like very dry toast.”
“Exactly,” Radux said, leaning back against the bench post, tail thumping softly behind him. “Some stones have minerals that make them taste like old mushrooms. That one’s limestone-heavy. It’s mild. Easy on the throat.”
The girls exchanged a look, equal parts bewildered and accepting. Their bodies were changing, their diets already unrecognizable. Maybe this was just the new normal.
Daphne finished her piece and dusted off her claws. “We’re becoming lizards, eating rocks, and might sleep in a fireproof tungsten slab. I guess I can’t be surprised anymore.”
Hermione exhaled slowly. “I miss tea and toast.”
Radux gave a sympathetic nod. “Same. I used to love lemon tarts. Now the taste makes me nauseous. But I ate a streetlamp once, and it tasted like hot custard.”
Both girls stared at him for a beat.
“You’re impossible,” Hermione muttered, but she was smiling as she said it.
The three of them sat in silence for a long moment after Radux’s last comment about the streetlamp tasting like custard. The crisp breeze rolled across the field, and other students continued practicing on brooms in the distance. Hermione and Daphne exchanged a glance—one of those looks that silently asked, Are we really going to talk about this?
Daphne gave a small cough and leaned in slightly toward Radux. Her voice dropped, hesitant but serious.
“So… um… we’ve been meaning to ask something. It’s a little awkward, but…”
Radux tilted his head, fins along his spine flicking upward in curiosity. “Go ahead. I’m used to weird questions.”
Hermione looked down at her scaled fingers and then up at him, clearly wrestling with the words. “It’s about… bodily functions. Like… how does it work now? Peeing. And… the other thing.”
Daphne gave an apologetic shrug. “It’s just—our digestive systems are different now, and we haven’t really had to go. Not even once. And if we’re eating rocks and metal…”
Radux blinked slowly. Then, to their surprise, he nodded like this was the most natural question in the world.
“Ah. Yeah. That took a while to figure out.” He tapped his scaled chest with one claw. “Our bodies process material differently now. Almost nothing goes to waste. It’s all broken down into pure energy or harmless residue.”
“So… you don’t…?” Hermione trailed off.
“I don’t excrete waste the way humans do, no,” he replied calmly. “Radiation and heavy metals are absorbed, converted into energy for my core. Trace leftovers? I shed them in vapor or very small crystal deposits through special glands.”
Daphne raised her brows. “Wait—so your waste is… vapor and crystals?”
He nodded. “Kind of like mist or flakes. No smell, no mess. It’s slow and passive. Mostly through breath, heat, or sweat. It’s why we don’t get bloated or feel… pressure. The systems work constantly.”
Hermione frowned in thought, then touched her belly gently. “That explains the lack of activity. I was worried something was wrong.”
“Nope,” Radux said, relaxing again. “It’s just more efficient. You’ll never need to use a toilet again—not the old way, at least. If you’re sweating or breathing heavily, it’s probably your body shedding waste through heat or radiation.”
Daphne looked down at her claws, still processing. “This is going to take getting used to.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “At least we won’t need to excuse ourselves awkwardly during class anymore.”
Radux chuckled, his golden eyes warm. “Perks of being nuclear-blooded, I guess.”
They all shared a quiet laugh, and for the first time since their transformation began, the girls looked genuinely relieved. The unknown was terrifying—but with answers, it became manageable.
---
The trio made their way through the winding corridors of Hogwarts, the stone halls echoing under the soft but weighty footfalls of Radux and the slightly lighter steps of Daphne and Hermione. The rest of the first-years whispered and glanced at them—still unsure what to make of the newly changed girls walking side by side with the massive reptilian boy whose claws clicked faintly with each step.
Radux, draped once more in his lead-lined cloak for safety, walked between them. His frame hunched slightly to keep from scraping the archways. Despite the quiet whispers, the three looked calm. There was something oddly dignified about them now, like a trio that didn’t quite belong anywhere—and therefore commanded attention everywhere.
They arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom just as the door creaked open. Professor Quirrell stood there, nervously adjusting his purple turban.
“H-h-hurry along now. T-take your seats,” he stammered, giving Radux a particularly wide-eyed glance.
Hermione and Daphne moved to sit beside each other near the back, where the reinforced bench had clearly been added for Radux. He lowered himself onto it carefully, the stone creaking a little beneath his weight.
Quirrell glanced at his notes, fumbling with the chalk, which clattered to the floor. He bent to pick it up but didn’t dare approach the trio too closely.
“W-welcome to your first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson,” he began, voice uneven and barely rising above a whisper. “We’ll be starting with some basic identification and avoidance of—of minor hexes and jinxes…”
Hermione leaned over to Daphne and whispered, “I don’t think he’s used to teaching anyone who can chew through concrete.”
Daphne snorted lightly, flicking her tail under the desk.
“Now,” Quirrell continued, glancing up briefly, “who can t-tell me the difference between a j-jinx and a hex?”
Hermione’s clawed hand shot up instantly, gleaming slightly in the torchlight. Her transformation hadn’t dulled her hunger for knowledge.
“Y-yes… Miss… Granger?” he asked hesitantly, trying not to stare.
“A jinx is usually a minor curse intended for annoyance or mischief,” she said clearly. “A hex is more harmful, with the intent to cause discomfort or pain.”
“V-very good, five points to S-slytherin,” Quirrell said, nodding quickly.
As the class continued, most students remained focused more on their reptilian classmates than the content of the lesson. The flickering torchlight reflected faintly off Radux’s scales and the newly grown ones on the girls' arms, their claw-tipped fingers gently turning pages of their textbooks.
When Quirrell attempted a demonstration spell, he dropped his wand twice and never got through the incantation. At one point, he asked a student to stand and cast a harmless jinx—but no one volunteered.
Radux raised a claw.
“I could try,” he offered calmly, though his voice held a subtle warning undertone.
Quirrell paled. “N-no, thank you, M-mister… Radux. Let’s not… try anything too… destructive today.”
Radux gave a slight nod and settled back. He understood. The cloak over his broad shoulders shifted slightly as he leaned against the wall, tail curling underneath the bench.
The bell rang a few moments later, and Quirrell nearly jumped out of his shoes.
“T-that’s all f-for today! Homework… r-read pages five to t-ten!”
As they filed out, Radux heard another student mutter, “At least he didn’t explode anything.”
He smiled faintly. Not yet, he thought—but didn’t say it aloud.
As they left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Radux cast a backward glance at Professor Quirrell. There was something about the man—something off. It wasn’t just the stammer or the constant twitching. It was a scent, barely there, beneath the layers of cloth and perfume the professor wore. Radux’s nostrils flared. The scent reminded him of something wrong. It was cold, unnatural, like oil over rotting flesh.
But there was no time to ponder it further. Their next class was History of Magic.
They followed the others into a lower classroom with worn, grey stone walls and long rows of desks. At the front hovered a pale, translucent figure with a pair of small spectacles perched uselessly on his nose. The ghost didn’t acknowledge the students as they entered—he simply began droning, his voice echoing as flat and lifeless as the rest of him.
“…and so the International Confederation of Wizards convened for the thirty-seventh time in the year 1752…”
Radux settled onto the enchanted bench reinforced to hold his weight. Even so, it groaned faintly beneath him. He tucked his tail under and rested his arm on the desk. Hermione and Daphne took seats beside him, their newly formed claws clicking faintly against their wooden writing slates as they tried to keep notes.
Radux blinked slowly, eyelids heavy. The ghost’s voice was steady and dead-flat, a tone that somehow erased the concept of time altogether.
“…followed by a failed attempt by the Transylvanian delegation to insert a clause regarding vampire representation…”
Daphne was slumped in her chair, eyelids drooping. Hermione had propped her chin on her clawed hand, eyes narrowed in what might have been intense focus—or near sleep. Radux’s glowing fins dimmed slightly as his body relaxed. His head lolled for a moment before he caught himself, tail twitching with irritation.
“I think this is how I’ll die,” Daphne murmured under her breath. “Not by radiation. Not by fire. Just… this ghost. Slowly.”
Hermione gave a tired snort of agreement. “I don’t think he’s even aware we’re here. He hasn’t blinked once.”
Radux’s eyes narrowed again, shifting to the ghost. He considered lifting his hand and asking a question just to test the theory—but decided against it. If he broke a desk or startled the ghost into a panic, he might get another lecture from Dumbledore about restraint.
Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to remain upright, listening to the endless stream of dates and treaties and council meetings as the monotone rolled on like a fog creeping over the sea.
When the bell finally rang, it was as if someone had unclogged a drain. Students stood in a rush, gathering their things in desperate relief.
Radux stood slowly, bones creaking, and looked to the girls beside him. “I think… we survived.”
Daphne dragged her claws down her face. “Barely.”
Hermione blinked a few times, rubbing her temples. “I’m going to read the entire textbook later. That ghost made every word sound like it was dying.”
As they made their way out, Radux glanced back at the hovering Professor Binns and murmured, “You know… I’d rather face a rogue radioactive beast than sit through that again.”
The worst part? They had him twice a week.
---
As they stepped out into the corridor, the oppressive weight of Professor Binns' droning still hung in the air like a fog that hadn’t quite lifted. Radux groaned aloud, his glowing fins dimmed in annoyance, and then muttered under his breath in Russian, voice low but sharp.
“Старый пыльный призрак с голосом мертвой картошки…” he growled.
Hermione’s brow twitched. “What was that last part?”
Daphne glanced sideways at him. “Did you just call him a… dead potato?”
Radux didn’t answer immediately—he was still grumbling in Russian, stringing together a particularly creative mix of curses that sounded more like industrial equipment failing than language.
Then a familiar voice sliced through the hallway like a dagger dipped in frost.
“Mr. Mirova,” came Snape’s voice from the shadows ahead, his black robes already halfway into a swirl. “Would you care to translate that last phrase? Preferably before I find a dictionary and do it myself.”
Radux froze mid-step, his tail curling tightly behind him. Hermione went rigid beside him, and Daphne’s eyes widened, clearly both appalled and thrilled at the situation.
Radux slowly turned, eyes glowing faintly. “I… was simply expressing my dissatisfaction with History of Magic,” he said carefully, his thick accent curling over each word.
Snape’s eyebrow rose. “By likening our professor to a deceased tuber?”
Radux’s tail flicked once. “Yes.”
For a second, the corridor was silent. Then, Snape’s lips twitched. Just faintly.
“I’ll let it pass,” he said dryly. “This once. But if your grievances with staff escalate to botanical slurs again, Mr. Mirova, I’ll be forced to assign you detention with a dictionary and a pail of potatoes.”
He turned on his heel and vanished down the corridor.
Radux blinked. “What… just happened?”
Hermione gave a sigh of relief. “I think… I think he let you off because he agreed with you.”
Daphne leaned closer. “Still, maybe don’t swear near the staff. Unless you’re prepared to peel something.”
Radux huffed, shoulders finally relaxing. “I’ll save the Russian for private.”
And with that, the trio turned the corner, heading for their next class—Radux still quietly fuming about floating ghosts and their obsession with treaties from three hundred years ago.
---
As the heavy doors of the Great Hall creaked open, Radux led the way in his usual stride—heavy, deliberate, and marked by the faint thump of claws meeting stone. Hermione and Daphne followed just behind him, both still adjusting to their longer strides and heavier footfalls. The hall was already full of morning chatter and clinking cutlery when the trap was sprung.
With a sudden pop and a soft hiss, three shimmering clouds exploded above them, showering Radux, Hermione, and Daphne with a burst of glittering blue powder that shimmered like starlight. It clung instantly to their scales, fins, and claws—highlighting every jagged edge, every contour, and, to the Weasley twins’ credit, somehow glowing even brighter when it hit radioactive material.
Laughter erupted from the Gryffindor table—especially from Fred and George, who were already halfway to their feet, mock bowing and grinning like madmen.
“A glitterbomb designed for maximum surface coverage,” Fred said proudly.
“And magically safe for non-humanoid use,” George added. “We think.”
Radux stood stock-still for a moment, his shoulders tensing visibly as he looked down at the glowing sheen covering his scales. His tail twitched once.
Then, slowly, his glowing eyes rose and locked onto the twins.
The voice that followed was low, guttural, and brimming with wrath as Radux let out a sharp string of vicious Russian profanity.
“Сыновья обезьяны, вы только что подписали себе смертный приговор!” he bellowed, loud enough that the ceiling itself seemed to vibrate.
(“Sons of a monkey, you have just signed your own death warrant!”) Radux translation.
The glitter on his chest pulsed like a heartbeat.
The hall fell into stunned silence. Radux took a step forward, claws clicking loudly against the stone, and then his voice shifted back to English—cold, sharp, and deadly calm.
“I will remember this,” he said, his accent thickening with intensity. “And when I do… you’ll be glowing in the dark for a week.”
Fred blinked.
George’s smile faltered.
“Revenge glitter?” George offered weakly.
Radux bared his diamond teeth in a grin that was anything but friendly. “No,” he replied. “Liquid lead. Poured into your shoes.”
Hermione folded her arms, still covered in radiant blue sparkles. “You two are cleaning this off.”
Daphne simply growled. A low, vibrating sound that made Seamus Finnegan nearly drop his toast.
The Weasley twins exchanged a quick glance—and then bolted out of the Great Hall.
Radux huffed, brushing some of the glowing dust from his shoulder, though it shimmered defiantly against his dark scales.
“I hate glitter,” he muttered.
“Everyone hates glitter,” Hermione replied, eyeing her claws. “But now I know it clings to radiation like a curse.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “We’re going to be glowing for days.”
“Let them glow,” Radux said with a deep, reptilian growl. “Next time, I glow back—with teeth.”