Author's note: Hello again to those of you that have followed me, and hello to those of you that are new! It's been a few months, I've been getting settled into my new home with my hubby and have taken a little break to come back fresh! I liked the idea of staying with the fairy tale theme, not to mention go with a completely different pairing. While I'm a die-hard cannon shipper there are some pairings that totally work for me and this is one of them. I almost did another rewrite of a sort of Moulin Rouge story but it fell apart, which is why it really didn't work the first time. I'm sure some of you Emma Watson fans out there (if not most) know that she's currently working on the live action version of one of my favorite fairy tales. If you don't know the translation of the title you soon will! Please enjoy!
La Belle et la Bête
Chapter One
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a widowed king lived in a shining castle. Lucius Malfoy ruled over his magical kingdom with an iron fist. Those that had money to appease him were favored, while the poor in the villages were treated with severe injustice: overtaxed, overworked and hardly anything to eat to make up for it all.
One cold winter night, a haggard wench appeared at the castle doors. A visitor passing through, she begged the king for refuge from the harsh winter storm, offering a single rose in exchange for his kindness. When the king, unmoved by her plea, refused her any help, the woman transformed before his very eyes, changing from the once withered form into a beautiful enchantress, wearing robes made of the finest silk, skin as pale as alabaster, a silvery sheet of long flowing blonde hair with a crown of roses atop her head. The world, it seemed, had completely lit up around her, the glow of it blinding the king, striking fear into his very heart. A single eyebrow was arched as she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the king, bringing him to his knees before her.
"Lucius," her voice thundered, beautiful and terrifying all at once, "I have seen your heart and it is dark. I've watched for many years, have seen the injustices you have dealt to your hard working subjects, your selfishness . . . your greed. . . . Now is the time for you to pay for your crimes."
The king begged for mercy, promising to become a better man, to change his ways, but the Enchantress knew better than to trust him. She cursed the king and his family, casting a great darkness upon the castle. She told Lucius that unless he could change his ways, his own heart would wither and die.
Though he was an accomplished wizard himself, try as he might he could not break the spell that the Enchantress had cast. A proud man, he instead squandered nearly all of his fortune to pay expert potions masters and curse breakers from realms far and wide to break the spell cast on his heart. A year of failed attempts went by, in which he shut himself into the castle further, his rage consuming him. Eventually, just as the Enchantress had promised, he became the victim of his own selfish ways, leaving behind his only son and heir, Draco.
Alone in the world, the prince shut himself and his servants away, abandoning his birthright and responsibility to the throne. Accepting the eventual fate that would befall him, having never known love or a kind gesture since the death of his mother when he was very young. The kingdom suffered further, became even poorer, abandoned by their allies and enemies alike for fear of falling victim to the curse. For no one believed that a beast could learn how to be kind and to love.
In the wake of abandonment, the villages carried on. Without the choke hold of their former king they had found ways to sustain themselves. From baking to wand making, potions brewing and broom making, they found a way to make it work, and though they were still, by the standards of other realms, poor villages, they found a way to survive and stay together.
In the smallest of these villages lived a maid by the name of Hermione, and her father Gregory, the poorest residents. Hermione's father was a Squib, shunned by -most of his fellow villagers for not having any magical powers, thus not being of much use to them. Though brilliant, clever, and magically gifted, his daughter was regarded in the same way because of who her father was. And so the two kept to themselves, for the most part.
While Gregory was a laughingstock to his peers, by becoming a peddler to muggle villages he'd had some small successes. He would bring inventions of his own to sell, along with a small stock of potions his daughter would make in secret for common ailments. Every time he returned from his trips, his cart would be laden with all kinds of muggle devices to tinker with, along with second-hand books to add to his daughter's ever-growing library, and a little gold in his pocket to make ends meet.
One bright and crisp morning, just as summer was giving way to fall, Hermione left her father to do the shopping in the village. The journey from her home to the town square was a little long without a horse, so she brought a book with her to keep her company. While most of the potions in this current book were still out of her range of skill, the applications of some them were fascinating. She could hardly believe the new things they'd come up with.
Her good mood was quickly dampened upon entering the busy town square, she did her best to ignore the catcalls from three maidens she'd aptly named The Bimbette's: Lavender, Romilda and Parvati.
"There she is again," Lavender was saying loudly to the other two, "her nose buried in a book rather than trying to better herself for a husband."
Back when they were children, the four of them could call themselves friends. But when Hermione chose to rely on smarts rather than on looks, the three of them turned against her. While Hermione didn't think herself very attractive, she'd somehow landed the attention of the most popular, handsome and stubbornly available head hunter Viktor Krum. That's when the three of them made it their personal mission to make her life miserable. Hermione could hardly waste to energy to care; Viktor didn't understand her, nor did he make any attempts to know her better, but he pursued her relentlessly for her hand in marriage.
"Good morning, Hermione."
The sound of some friendly words were enough to tear her attention away from the book. Hermione looked up to catch the eye of the bookseller Remus Lupin, opening his shop for the day. Nearly as poor as Hermione and her father, he was one of the people in this village that they could truly call their friend. Remus took pity on Hermione's circumstances, letting her borrow books from his shop as long as they were returned in a timely matter.
"Time for a new read already?"
Hermione smiled brightly at the man beneath a mane of chocolate brown curls, closing the book and promptly handing it over.
"For now," she told him. "I'd like to borrow the one about Hogwarts again. It's always such an interesting read. I'd love to see it someday. . ." she sighed sadly. "If only I were born a man, able to do whatever I pleased in this life; learn spells beyond the typical household duties of a woman and make something of myself."
She followed him into the candlelit shop, running her fingers along the spines of books lining the shelf of the nearest bookcase. Seeing the written word so carefully organized and lovingly kept always brought up her spirits. A few small tables had been organized inside of it, laden with books of every size, color and language imaginable. Bookcases took up every inch of the walls, with four placed in rows in the center and all had been magically extended to reach from floor to ceiling, with ladders on oiled rollers to access the topmost volumes. In the very back of the shop, nestled between the two center cases sat a table laden with quills of assorted sizes, ink pots in multiple colors, what seemed like hundreds of rolls of parchment and handmade blank journals.
"Well, it is good you came to me today," Remus told her, retreating to the counter at the front of the shop. "Since it is so close to your birthday, consider this an early present." He returned with a worn copy of Hogwarts: A History.
"My birthday isn't for two months, Remus. I couldn't accept that."
"But you can," he assured her, pressing the book into her arms. "Marcus Belby borrowed this one and sold it back to me, though how he managed to damage it as much as he did in a month, I'll never know. I've repaired it as best as I can but I will never get the full price for it. I'd like for you to have it. In fact, I insist that you have it before another word is said."
Feeling a tear well up in the corner of her eye, Hermione bowed her head, running a hand along the cover of the book. "I'll take great care of it, Remus. I promise. And t-thank you."
"And hopefully one day you'll be able to see that great castle with your own two eyes, because I've never met a witch quite as skilled as you. It'd be a shame to see it go to waste."
Feeling her face grow hot with blush, Hermione hugged him, setting his pointed hat askew. A warm chuckle rumbled in his chest.
"Say hello to your father from me."
A little while later, with Hogwarts: A History and a newly borrowed potions book tucked neatly into her basket, Hermione made her way over to Madam Puddifoot's bakery to pick up the order of bread her father had sent her with.
While Madam Puddifoot made herself busy with wrapping up an assortment of loaves, rolls and biscuits, the bell above the door jangled, bringing with it the unwelcome company of the village's most popular hunter and bachelor, Viktor Krum.
He was a rather large man, a whole head taller than her, taking up nearly all the space of the door frame as he crossed his muscular arms over a powerful, broad chest. A smile curled the lips under that sat beneath slightly crooked nose, broken from many dangerous hunting trips, the hair atop his head all but shaved off. He wore robes of the finest material over a three piece suit and breeches made from leathers, silks and the softest cottons. The stockings that graced his thick calves were a pristine white, the leather of his shoes shining brightly in the light of the shop.
"Herm-own-ninny," he said in his deep, accented voice. "Vhat a beautiful day for a beautiful maiden."
Biting her lip to stop the rather unladylike answer that sprang to mind, Hermione instead handed over payment for her order, giving Madam Puddifoot a strained smile as she thanked her.
"Viktor," she said, meaning it as both a greeting and a goodbye, ducking beneath the arm that was propped against the door frame. To leave the her dismay, he followed, though it wasn't surprising.
"I come bearing gifts, Herm-own-ninny," he continued, turning to walk backwards before her, producing a rose from a pocket inside of his robe to present her with.
"Viktor, while I appreciate the sentiment, the answer still remains the same," Hermione sighed, brushing past him yet again. "And it is pronounced Her-MY-own-nee."
"It is my belief that von day you vill say yes," he said, following after her. "You vill make the best vife. Can you not see it? The grandest hunting lodge in all the realm, pelts from my many kills to keep us varm, children, and hunting dogs to guard us - ve vill have many of them-"
"Dogs?" Hermione arched an eyebrow.
"No, boys, to carry on my bloodline." He grasped Hogwarts: A History from her basket, eyeing it with dismay. "And the best of all is that you vill have no need for any more books. Not vith several children to look after."
"I like my books, Viktor," she snapped, snatching it away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get home, my father needs help."
"You know vhat vill be best for you, Herm-own-ninny," he called after her, puffing out his chest proudly. "If you have me for a husband, you vill not have to vorry vorry about being the odd maid in the village. If you marry me, all your troubles vill cease to be. And you vill no longer have to rely on a crazy man to put scraps on the table."
"Don't talk about my father that way!" she spun around, a hand on her hip as she glared at him. "He's a brilliant man!"
"Of course he is," he gave her a curt bow, his voice dripping with sarcasm as a devilish smile turned his lips. "But can he give you the best of everything? Everything that you deserve? Von day you vill see, and vill make the right choice. Until next ve meet, my maiden." He placed the rose in her basket, kissing her knuckles chastely before, with the swish of a cloak, gone.
She glared after him as he disappeared into the crowded square, her mood the worst that it had been in a long while.
Upon seeing the shabby cottage she called home, Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. She let her shoulders relax and an easy smile part her lips as she heaved her basket of shopping and books up the steps. As soon as she entered the house, the familiar sounds of her father's tinkering carried up to her ears, along with the smells of some recently brewed tea.
The small sitting room was warm and inviting: two chairs sat in front of the fireplace, with cozy blankets and corn husk stuffed pillows for company. On one wall stood a large bookcase with shelves that were slightly askew. Having run out of room on the shelves, she had taken to stacking her new finds on top, though she'd still put them in alphabetical order. Moving a few of the titles starting with the letter H, she placed Hogwarts: A History third from the top. On the other side of the room sat a small table, a battered board of wizards' chess atop it with a game still in progress. While she had inherited her mother's magical abilities, she hadn't gotten as good as her father was at playing the game.
"One of my few triumphs," he would say teasingly, for which he'd earn a scolding. Even though he couldn't do magic like the rest of the residents in the village, he'd found his way in this world just as she had. And that made him special, no matter what people said about him.
Moving into the kitchen, the sound of a metal tinging below her feet grew louder. The door leading into the basement stood ajar, the murmurs of her father floating up to her. Placing the basket on the small dining table in the corner, she poured herself a cup of tea before she made her way down the steps into the basement where she found him, an odd sort of fork in his hand. He struck it against the counter of the workbench, making it produce a clear tone from the vibrations of it. Since returning from his last trip, he'd brought home quite a few muggle inventions and knickknacks, many of which she'd didn't even know the names of yet. Bowls and chamber pots were stacked in the corner, and in another corner stood a table with several objects called Leyden jars; artwork covered a good portion of the walls, and there were scores of candles and tools strewn about. Their home wasn't much, but it was cozy and it was theirs, and she loved it as if it were a castle.
"Poppa?" Hermione asked, making him jump in excitement. "What is that?"
Gregory Granger was a tall, thin man, whose hair was just beginning to bald. Most of it had started graying but what little color was left was just the same as Hermione's. Identical light brown eyes met hers, his toothy smile infectious.
"Music!" he told her enthusiastically, a huge smile on his face. "I got a set of them in exchange for some of those new cleaning potions of yours! I've also gotten something called a piano. It makes music, but it's rather heavy. I thought that maybe you could use your magic to help me get it down, once it get's dark." He set down the forks, placing tender hands on her shoulders as he looked at her levelly. "We'll need to do it tonight, as I need to leave in tomorrow."
"You've hardly been home for a week!" Hermione crossed her arms indignantly. "And now you tell me you must leave again?"
"If we plan on eating next month, I must," he told her regretfully. "But I'm not going far, I'll be back as soon as I can. And then I think old Crookshanks needs a break for a little while."
"He hasn't gotten that old," Hermione admonished.
"Well, despite that, why you insisted on a silly name of a cat for a Clydesdale horse I'll never understand," her father chuckled.
"I was hardly ten, you can't blame me for that," Hermione pointed a finger at him. "If you had gotten me a cat like I asked for then he'd have a better name. And his markings reminded me of one."
He laughed again, removing his work apron. "How was your visit in the village today?"
"Wonderful," she told him, though she felt her face fall a little. "That was until I ran into Viktor Krum again."
"Viktor's a nice man," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Well . . . nice enough."
"He can't even pronounce my name right even though he's known me for five years," she said, a hand resting on her hip. "It's just . . . do you think I'm odd, Poppa? For loving books and knowledge rather than obsessing over finding a husband like Lavender, Romilda and Parvati?"
"I think your a wonderful girl, my love," he told her gently. "And while I'd like to see you married before I die, I know you'd like to do it on your own terms. And I know your too smart to settle for a man like Viktor when there's the possibility of real love and acceptance waiting for you somewhere out there."
Her shoulders relaxing in relief, Hermione patted his cheek. "You always make things better when I'm feeling down."
"That's what I'm here for," he said, puffing his chest out proudly.
After supper and removing the piano from the cart down into the basement, they both went to bed early to wake up before the sun. Hermione helped her father load the supplies he needed into the cart. As he bathed before the journey, she set about making him a hot breakfast to take with. She wrapped it in cloth, and after making him drink a cup of tea to fight the cold of the oncoming fall, she cast a warming charm on his cloak before he wrapped it around his shoulders. Just as the sky began to turn pink, he was ready to leave.
"Though I've never been there before, I've heard this village isn't far," he assured her. "Just about a day's journey. I'll be back soon, I promise."
Hermione stood in front of Crookshanks, running a hand along the black and white markings along his nose. He was a glorious horse, standing about fifteen hands high, pools of an inky black marking the pristine white of his flanks, his white made fluttering slightly in the early morning breeze. She gave him an apple before she turned to her father.
"You'd better be," she told him sternly, though it was with a smile, "I've a list of things that need repair here."
He pulled her into a warm hug, kissing the top of her head. She laid her head against his chest, squeezing him for a moment longer.
"Come back safe, Poppa," she told him, something she always said when he went on his journeys.
"Take care of yourself while I'm away," he told her in turn.
With that she bid him farewell, waving at the fence post of the yard until the cart disappeared into the forest down the winding road.
Though it was nearly noon, the rising of the sun didn't bring much warmth this morning. And to make matters worse, he could see a storm approaching through the canopy of trees on the road. Thankful for the warming charm on his cloak, he stopped his horse at an approaching fork in the road, consulting his map.
"Well Crookshanks," he murmured, shivering slightly as the wind picked up, "it looks like we have a shortcut if we go left."
Lifting his head to see down the road, he noticed that it seemed to be a road less traveled. The vegetation surrounding it was thick and unkempt unlike the long route. Though if it started to rain, the thick canopy of trees would at least keep him a little more dry. Glancing at the sign posted at the head of the fork, he was a little dismayed to find the sign pointing down the darker path was illegible. Finally deciding he would be better off in the long run, lest he come home sick to an unhappy daughter, he decided to take the road less traveled. Lighting the candle inside the lantern that hung on the attached post beside him, he clicked his tongue at the horse, driving him to the left.
Crookshanks' flanks quivered nervously as it began to grow dark. The sky above them cackled with electricity before it opened up and rain came pouring down, wind causing the trees to groan in protest as they fought against it. Screeches of birds fleeing the branches startled him as he nervously urged the horse further, their pathway becoming darker and darker. The lightning, thunder and wind became relentless. Crookshanks began to shake his head back and forth nervously in his reigns, stopping dead on the path out of fear. Feeling it would be safer to guide the animal by hand, Gregory dismounted, stroking his neck soothingly as he led the way.
Suddenly out of nowhere came a blinding flash, followed by a loud cracking and breaking. Near directly above them, large tree branch crashed into the pathway, scaring Crookshanks onto his hind legs as he squealed in fear, knocking Gregory onto his back as he broke free from the bonds of the cart. With another squeal, he took off as fast as his legs would carry him, back down the pathway and out of sight.
The warming spell all but gone from the cloth, Gregory wrapped the cloak tighter around himself. The wind was nearly lifting him off his feet as he stumbled down the path, the air becoming colder and colder, the rain pounding mercilessly against his back. He walked on and on, for what seemed like hours. The downpour hardly gave up, creating huge puddles of mud along the road, soaking his stockings all the way up to his knees.
He groaned out loud in relief as a pair of wrought iron gates came into view up ahead. Stumbling towards it, he found the strength to push on when he spotted a pair of double doors. He all but ran to them, pounding mercilessly against them, shouting for help.
Accompanied by another crack of thunder, he fell unceremoniously at the feet of a stranger, sighing in relief. An explanation hurriedly tumbling from his lips, he found himself being helped up by a pair of strong arms and ushered away from the door before he could finish.
"What in Merlin's beard were you doing out there in a storm like this?" the deep voice of a young man asked demanded, ignoring how hard this new visitor was shivering from the cold.
"I-I was traveling to a nearby village when the storm came along, and it spooked my horse," Gregory said more calmly, willing himself to calm down with deep breaths. "My cart is still out there but the storm is too strong, I just needed a place to wait it out."
The boy was tall and lanky, taller than Gregory who thought himself a tall man. A mop of ginger hair covered his head, a smattering of freckles along his nose as bright blue eyes peered at him from beneath the fringe of his bangs. A plump woman appeared at his elbow, her kind face stretched into a smile as she looked on at their new visitor. Her hair was the same color as the boy's, and Gregory noticed young maid in the corner of the room with the same hair and features, silently watching the exchange.
"Then you must leave, before the master hears," the boy began, while at the same time the woman said over him, "Well then you might as well stay with us until it's passed."
She led him through what he now realized was a vast kitchen, placed in what was starting to look like a castle. There was no way a kitchen of this size could be for the average family. "My name is Molly. This is my son Ronald and my daughter Ginevra."
"Gregory," he answered shakily as Molly took him by the arm.
Ronald retreated to a corner with Ginevra, whispering urgently to her as Molly sat him in a chair placed in front of a roaring fire. She quickly produced a blanket to wrap around his shoulders and a cup of tea to warm his hands.
"Are you hungry, dear?" she asked once he was more settled.
"Mother," the young man warned fiercely in a low voice, "he cannot stay."
"I-I won't be here for long," Gregory assured him. "Only until the storm passes, then I'll be on my way. I need to make it to a village by the end of the day."
"What happens if he finds him?" Ginevra asked, ignoring Gregory. "You know what he'll do to us. The master will be unforgiving."
"He won't find out," Molly dismissed with a wave of her hand, removing his cloak to hand beside the fire. "The master will only find out if you two don't calm yourselves and stop being so nervous. This man needs help and I won't turn him away, not in a storm like this. You stay as long as you need, dear."
"Well, I am hungry," Gregory admitted. "My daughter gave me some food for the trip but it got ruined from the rain."
"You poor man," she said as she busied herself with something to eat. "Ginny," she beckoned to her daughter, "start up another pot of tea. Ron, use that drying spell I taught you and dry his clothes, he must be freezing under all of that."
Though reluctant, the two obeyed their mother and set about their tasks. They soon had him dried off with a plate of hot sausages, rolls and cooked oats. He devoured the food quickly, hardly saying a word as he quelled the great hunger that had overtaken him after his run.
While Molly made small conversation with Gregory, her children anxiously watched the door, exchanging nervous glances every few minutes but never saying a word. Gregory told her all about Hermione and how brilliant she was, about what he did for a living and what business he had in the nearby muggle village.
While telling Molly all about muggles, for she was quite curious about them, a sudden ruckus at the door caused him to nearly jump out of his skin. A boy with a rather untidy head of raven hair and bright green eyes had appeared, causing Ginevra to knock over a copper pitcher. She was blushing furiously as she bent down to retrieve it and place it back onto the counter, while the new visitor looked nervously between the four of them.
"Who is that?" he whispered. "Molly, you know we're not to let anyone in here."
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," the woman answered, placing her hands on her hips. "Now keep quiet, the storm has almost passed."
"Harry!"
A sixth person had joined them, bringing a commanding presence into the room. The other four bowed their heads, afraid to meet his eyes.
"Harry, I need you to . . ." the young man's sentence died off as he took in the sight of the unexpected visitor.
He was a tall young man, pale skinned with a head of sleek white-blonde hair and cold grey eyes. While his clothing looked older, his was dressed in the finest suit and robes Gregory had ever set eyes on. The way he held himself was much prouder than any man Gregory had ever seen, and that was saying something since he knew the likes of Viktor Krum. The very air seemed to grow cold around them as he stared the older man down.
"Who are you?"
Author's note: Please review and let me know what you think!