Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The plot is from Disney's version of Beauty and the Beast and any other things specified and I'm not making any profits from this fic.
A/N: Due to summer vacation, I'm writing at an unbelievable speed. YAY, SUMMER. Originally, this was only half of an actual chapter, but I'm getting impatient and want to update some more. So here you are.
A/N EDIT: 7/23/11. Slight edits!
Enjoy.
Chapter 4: First Impressions
"Now," She said. "For my last warning." She looked at the doorway. "I should tell you that the curse was different for our master." She said this hurriedly, for the footsteps were almost to the room. Hermione thought she heard a slight clinking noise along with the footfall.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.
But she never received an answer.
The lights had gone out.
The fire was out in a sudden gust of wind, causing the room to go as dark as the inside of the forest. Blaise hadn't ducked as he felt the oncoming breeze and gave himself the trouble of re-lighting his flame, leaving the room completely pitch black until he could do so. Hermione gasped softly as she felt the cold air brush past her skin. Someone had entered the room. Their master, Hermione thought with trepidation.
"Master," she could hear Blaise speaking timidly. Such a stark contrast to the confident, wise guy disposition he had sported only a few moments before... Hermione preferred the laid-back personality over this frightened one. "Lovely evening, sir—"
"Silence," a deep voice cut through.
Hermione tried to swallow, but a giant lump had formed in her throat. It seemed that their master was probably going to be less welcoming than his subjects.
"Midas," the voice said. Hermione's eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark and she could barely see a flap of wings off to the side. "You're responsible. We'll discuss this later."
Hermione wasn't exactly fond of the bird—she was still sensitive about the whole ordeal in the forest and her less than dignified dance routine at the edge—but she felt some sort of protectiveness for the owl against this Prince. But his aura was overwhelming, so for now, she kept her mouth shut and her breathing as quiet as she could.
"You, peasant."
At first Hermione wasn't quite sure whom he was addressing; peasantwasn't exactly a name she answered to regularly. As she ignored the rising force of her indignation, Snape and McGonagall meanwhile lamented their master's behavior. It looked as if it was taking everything McGonagall had to behave herself.
"I meant no harm!" Hermione told the voice suddenly, feeling her indignation being overtaken by her confusion. "All I wanted was a place to stay, a place to rest before I returned to my village. I didn't realize the castle was still inhabited, and I swear that I intended no one any inconvenience. If you will just please excuse my mistake, I can leave immediately—"
"Silence," He said quickly. "Those who have entered this castle do not leave." Hermione looked up.
"What?" She breathed.
"Too many times has an unwanted visitor taken what he has seen of our lives and used it for his personal gain. You have entered my territory without permission and are therefore a trespasser. You know too much and cannot be trusted; therefore you are prohibited from leaving the castle, and are now my prisoner." An awkward silence followed.
"Prisoner?" Hermione whispered, her mind reeling. "No, please!" She exclaimed hurriedly, wondering how everything could already be crashing down around her when she couldn't even fully realize what was happening. "I promise I won't tell anyone about any of this—I swear it! But I can't stay here! I need to go back home!" Hermione ran her hands through her hair, getting caught in tangles, but she didn't notice. Wake up, wake up.
"Your promises mean nothing," the voice said impatiently, indifferently. "This is where you live now."
"Please!" Hermione whispered. Wake up. "I can'tstay here—let me go!" She looked around frantically in the darkness but saw nothing.
"You're wasting your breath," he said, as if that settled the matter. "McGonagall," he barked.
"Yes, my lord?" Her voice was strained.
"I take it then that you'll be informing the girl of her new arrangements, then?" Hermione sank back into the couch with her head in her hands; hearing but not hearing the voices as they discussed her fate.
Just wake up.
But by now Hermione had realized that she was anything but fast asleep in the comfort of her bed.
There has to be some way out of this, She thought. There has to be, I just need time to think.
The master gave an impatient cough. Hermione looked up in the direction of the voice. I need more time.Lowering her head in defeat, she gave a tiny nod. There was nothing she could do until she came up with a plan.
"Come," it ordered. There was a rustle of fabric and the clinking sound of a cauldron moving along the floor. Hermione reluctantly obeyed, slowly standing up from the couch and taking a step forward.
The door opened on its own accord, gradually allowing light from the corridor to filter into the room. Hermione glanced toward the spot where she supposed their master should be, but he had shrunken into the shadows. She paused, unsure of whether or not she was supposed to go first or not.
But her silent question was answered when she heard a soft noise to the right. Her head instinctively turned in that direction and her eyes instantly searched for any source of movement. There was another pause, one that seemed almost hesitant to Hermione, before she heard the rustling sound of a cloak and a footstep against the floor.
A small gasp escaped her dry lips. Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't take a step backwards; her feet seemed to be stuck to the floor.
Towering over her was a creature like nothing she had ever seen before. So tall was he that she was practically facing the ceiling to see his head, which along with the rest of his body was covered in thick, dark golden fur. What with the two short ears perched upon his head, a long wolfish snout and teeth sharper than any blade in any butcher's shop, she barely noticed that the feet and hands were paws equipped with claws only slightly duller than the razor-sharp teeth. When she had recovered from the initial shock, she was instantly reminded of a dog or a wolf—some canine, only this creature was capable of standing on two feet. She subconsciously began racking her brain for information about this creature. Where have I heard of something like this before?
The beast did nothing but glare at her with his cold, gray eyes. Hermione felt her breath hitch in her throat at the hatredwithin them; they were saturated with blame, with accusation, as if she were the sole bane of his existence, as if he were using every ounce of his energy to searing his loathing onto her soul. A little voice in the corner of her mind frantically searched for any explanation—what could she have done to deserve this unavoidable, scorching gaze? Surely this could not be the result of such a simple misunderstanding as getting lost in the woods. But his eyes…
What an extremely strange pair to belong to such a creature. The eyes didn't seem to fit the form of the beast, although they certainly seemed to suit his personality. Bluish-gray spheres of ice that burned like fire.
As Hermione found her breath again, the beast—the creature, whatever he was—turned and faced the door with a swish of a black cloak that she hadn't realized he'd been wearing. Hermione watched a small black cauldron follow his master out the door and although she was no longer surprised at its ability to move, she had forgotten that there were others in the room besides the creature. A few short moments later, Midas soared out after them. She stood there for a few seconds in a shocked silence, half covered in the light coming in from the corridor, and oblivious to the anxious stares she was receiving from the rest of the supposedly royal subjects.
"Miss Granger," Madam McGonagall spoke softly. She slowly inched her way to where Hermione was looking out into the corridor, watching their master make his way down the hallway. "There is much to explain—I'm afraid too much for tonight, but I promise that all of your questions will be answered soon." Blaise and Dean made their way over to Hermione's feet as well. "I imagine how tired you must be, and I'm certain beyond all measure that this confusion cannot be aiding your state." Hermione finally tore her eyes away from the beast's back and looked down at them. Unspoken apologies were clearly written across their solemn faces.
For a split second, Hermione had the irrational thought that when she would have finally come up with an escape plan, she wouldn't have the heart to leave them. What kind of life have they endured? She knew so little about them. She had to help, somehow.
But the others…
Images of Ron and Harry and Ginny swirled mercilessly in her mind, and the determination returned full-force; there were others who were counting on her. She wished to help these newfound acquaintances, but hadn't Ron been the one to tell her just a few short weeks ago that she should stop focusing so intently on looking out for other creatures, and focus on taking care of herself? Her lips dipped downward grimly as she thought of Auror's masquerade through the forest. Oh, Ron… If only I had listened to you.
She would have to leave at the first opportunity, no matter the consequences. If she could help these melancholy creatures she would, but she hadto concentrate on getting out first. She knew almost nothing about any of them. What if this was some kind of trap? Was that even possible? Were these small, dismal beings really capable of doing something like that? And what would their motives be for such a plot?
But her mind wouldn't have any more of it. Her headache was doubling in pain and was throbbing with such a consistent rhythm that Hermione felt the need to push the heels of her palm into her temples until her brain squished out through the top.
"I saidto follow me," the beast ground out from quite a distance ahead. He was waiting at the end of the hall, but not too patiently. His furry arms were crossed and his scowl had grown none the more pleasant.
"Come along then, Miss Granger," Madam McGonagall told her quietly. "You may visit Mr. Zabini and Mr. Thomas tomorrow, if you like." She turned in their direction and gave them a silent order to behave themselves as much as possible after they left, for she knew that asking them to go to sleep at the moment was futile. With a small nod and a "Goodnight, Hermione" from each, they turned around headed back to their sleeping areas, no doubt planning to discuss the night's events the second they were sure that the others were out of earshot.
"Goodnight to you both," Hermione whispered without feeling as she took a step out of the room.
Hanging her head and looking at the carpet, she wordlessly made her way down the corridor with McGonagall. Hermione didn't fail to notice, however, the almost inaudible scoffs and sighs the creature was making as he impatiently waited for her to catch up. But she was so tired…
"Move along, peasant," he snapped, now obviously annoyed. She was only five feet or so away from him. "We don't have all night, you know."
Her head snapped up so fast that she was sure that she had heard it crack. She wasn't as surprised to hear the insult the second time, but the indignity had now returned with a vengeance; apparently, sleep deprivation was a great alleviator of fear. As her eyebrows furrowed in unbidden anger and her mouth opened slightly in protest, Hermione immersed herself in a fierce staring contest between the Princeand herself.
He was glaring daggers at her, that was for certain, but he seemed to be searching for something else simultaneously. Perhaps he was just waiting for her reaction; watching her for any signs of fear or an urge to run away. Whatever it was, she didn't like the feeling of such scrutiny, and so she rose to the challenge. Hermione stared up at him, trying to make herself as tall as she could—which obviously didn't come as much of an advantage—and, unblinking, Hermione told him just what was on her mind.
"I'm moving just fine, considering," Hermione rasped, affronted and irritated. If the cauldron or the hat seemed surprised, they didn't show it; they merely shared a small wary glance.
"It's all a matter of opinion," he spat, his lips curving up into a sneer.
"Then perhaps—"
"I think," he cut in smoothly, his raspy voice taking an alarming tone. It was becoming extremely difficult not to strangle her, after all, he noted. "That there are a few things that I need to make crystal clear." He took a step closer to her and the sneer grew. Hermione made no attempt to speak, but held her ground. "You are a prisoner. Prisoners are not often asked for their suggestions, nor are they without stipulations and rules." He took another step, emphasizing his height more than ever, but Hermione managed not to flinch.
"Firstly," he snipped impatiently as Hermione glared. "You are to do what you are told the second you're told to do it. Why don't we make this understanding a little bit easier on you with a simple demonstration—here is a perfect example. I'm ordering you to follow me. You are to walk no more or no less than five steps behind me at all times. Understand? Or am I going too fast for you?" Hermione's mouth was open in outrage. She was suddenly very awake, adrenaline filling her blood with power, her lungs with air, and her mind with plenty of perfectly-constructed angry retorts that she—
"Good. Secondly, you'll eat when I eat. If I don't feel particularly hungry one day, then you won't eat until I sit down at a table and I'm satisfied. You, however, will be eating in the kitchen with the servants so I won't be forced to endure your ill-bred table etiquette." A turn to the left.
"Thirdly, Since you're planning on escaping…" Hermione burning eyes jumped to his as he turned his head to look at her behind him. "Oh, please, girl, I know you already are." His voice came out icy and bitter as he turned back to look ahead. "It might be a good idea for me to warn you that if you domanage to make it out of the castle without my notice," he scoffed. "Then you won't have the same protection against the forest creatures as you did tonight." Hermione was listening intently. "I don't know what possessed Midas to help you," he looked nastily in the owl's direction, which shrank back and swooped down on the opposite side of Snape, using the cauldron as a shield from his master's piercing gaze. "But I can guarantee that it won't happen again.
"Fourthly," he continued. Hermione briefly turned her attention away from him to look around; her head had started throbbing more painfully if possible. With an overwhelming sense of helplessness, she realized that she had absolutely no idea where she was in the castle. She hadn't been keeping track of where they were going and didn't know how to get back. A lump formed in her throat. How can this get any worse?
But Hermione didn't come up with any appropriate answers because she noticed that the creature was no longer talking. Instead, he was whispering something harshly to the cauldron on the ground. Her brows scrunched together as she desperately tried to hear what they were saying, but their voices were extraordinarily quiet.
Hermione pretended be greatly interested in some vase off to the right while watching the trio out of her peripheral vision, but the fierce expression on her features made it impossibly difficult to look innocent. Although she couldn't fully make out what was being said, she did hear little bits and pieces like "room" and "insane" and "cheesecake."
But maybe she had misheard that last one.
"The fourth," he continued, more crossly than before. "Concerns your allowed locations in this castle. There are limits." She thought she heard McGonagall give a tiny little sigh, which was confirmed by a small twitch of the creature's short wolf-like ears, and a short glare that he sent back in McGonagall's direction. The hat paid it no mind. "You are allowed in the following areas: all of the corridors leading directly to the kitchen and all of the chambers along your quarter's corridor, the floor directly above your room—"
"Room?" Hermione couldn't stop herself. "You're not putting me in a dungeon cell or an ominous tower?" He went very still as she mentioned the dungeons, but it was so brief and so slight that Hermione nearly missed it.
"Would you prefer it there?" The beast ground out through clenched teeth, seemingly angry at the interruption.
"No."
"Then shut up." He said, annoyed. Hermione began making not-so-nice—yet subtle—faces at his back. "And finally, the Entrance Hall." They had come to a staircase. "If I find you in any place other than the ones mentioned," he paused and turned his head to look at her—who had noticed the movement just in time to stop her most recent rude gesticulation at his back. "There will be a price to pay." His voice was dangerously low; this creature was serious.
"And the fifth," His voice resumed to its normal, superior tone. "If you don't bother me, I won't bother you. There is no curfew, but if you disturb me in anyway, expect a punishment." He threw a threatening glare in her direction. "Stay off my nerves and your stay will be a semi-comfortable one."
The cauldron gave a small cough—which could have passed for a fake, and Midas slapped his feathery head with his wing. They reached the top of the stairs.
"My servants are here to assist you," It seemed to pain him to say all this. "They'll be showing you the way to the kitchen and wherever else you want to go—that is, of course, an acceptable location." He took a deep breath as if he was mentally preparing for what was to come. "Your stay at my castle will be a long one, so I suggest that you try to stay on good terms with me." He turned around to glare at her. "I'm not too congenial when I'm angry." It took a lot for Hermione to keep her expression neutral and to stop herself from commenting. They took another right. I wonder if he calls this congenial…
They walked in silence down a high-ceilinged hallway, which was carpeted with the same red rug as the hallways close to the Entrance Hall. The walls and floor were made of stone and at the end of the corridor was a window that practically matched the height of the wall, through which you could see that the snow was still gently falling to the ground. She couldn't see the moon for it was probably all the way on the other side of the castle, setting and waiting for the arrival of the sun…
That must mean that my room is in the East Wing... She noted, adding this to a small mental list of useful information. Also on this list was the number of floors she had traveled and some basic "left-right" directions from the spot where she'd realized that she didn't know where she was. I'll have to learn more about this castle later.
Looking back out the window she could also see the very tips of those mysteriously large trees expanding out into the vast forest, only to come to an end at a line of snow-capped mountains that Hermione could still never really remember seeing from her house.
Home.
The lump was back in her throat, larger and trying to make it difficult to breathe more than ever. She could feel the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes and for one terrifying moment, Hermione was sure that they'd spill down her cheeks and crash to the ground in outrageously loud splashes, splattering herself and filling up the corridor until she drowned in them. But before she could flood anything, the creature began to speak again.
"This," He said, stopping in front of the set of doors closest to the window. "Will be your room."
Swallowing the lump and looking up, Hermione saw two elegant doors made of cherry wood, glossed and stained for a shiny finish. The brass door handles were simple enough, but the whole effect was rather luxurious.
The creature quickly turned one of the handles and held the door open for her impatiently. Upon entering the room, Hermione found that she no longer had the power to walk. Frozen to her spot just a meter away from the door, Hermione stood in complete awe at her surroundings, lips parted in wonder.
This was definitely something that no one in her village could ever hopeto afford.
Everywhere she looked was opulence. Tasteful and ornate furniture with refined and courtly matching bed curtains and comforters. Fresh white linens peeking out from under the feather quilts and pillows that looked fluffier and fuller than any she had ever seen before. And as for the pillows - there were more pillows on that bed than she had ever seen in a shop! Some even looked like she wasn't supposed to put her head on them.
Scratch that. Not even the entire village put together could afford this!
The floor was a lighter wood than the doors, but suited the room and all of its cherry wood furniture nicely. The ceiling and the walls were of the same stone that she saw in the corridor. To her right was a large bed, big enough to surely fit at least ten people in it, and beyond the bed was a room, which she assumed to be the washroom. At the wall opposite of her, there was a large red seat below a large window. The window above cushioned bench allowed her to barely see the tops of the trees and the mountain off in the distance. She was on a fairly high floor. Hermione subconsciously added that to her list.
"And a tip," the creature, who had been watching her reaction from his place in the doorway with his paw still on the handle, broke her from her reverie. "You may want to wash up, that stench of yours is disgusting." His nose scrunched up in displeasure, further proving his point. Hermione turned around, bristling with resentment, and exhaled sharply as her brows scrunched together while she formed a reasonable reply.
But yet again, before she managed to respond, the creature had cut her off. He slammed the door with enough strength to make the door shudder in its frame, and all was silent except for Hermione's ragged breathing… and the resounding echo of the Prince's exit.
Taking deep breaths, Hermione closed her eyes, trying to think of anything—anything—else.
With a cry of fury, Hermione thrust her fists into the air and made her way over to the bed.
"That jerk," Hermione mumbled. "That overbearing, arrogant, egotistical prat!" She grumbled on, quite enjoying the satisfaction of finally voicing her thoughts. "Smug, domineering git! That conceited, stuck up bastard!" And with another groan of anger and frustration, Hermione plopped down onto the bed ungracefully and savagely ripped one of the pillows from their neat arrangement near the head.
Burying her head into the pillow, Hermione suddenly felt grateful that no one had been there to witness her lack of control. Feeling ashamed and more homesick than ever, Hermione bit her bottom lip, wincing as its soft skin brushed up against the scratchy material of the pillow. She had the sudden need to cry.
"I'm not usually this—well, violent back home," she spoke quietly to herself, shamefully. "Even during rows with Harry or Ron-I'm not like this at all. Sure I'll yell and throw a few deserved barbs, but it's never like this…" But this shame was quickly replaced by sadness and homesickness. "None of them have any idea where I am," she whispered, hollow. "Auror most likely went back," she said, feeling the pang of hurt she felt at the fact that it was all his doing—unintentionally, for certain—that got her here. "I don't understand what he was doing, but—even if Auror's there, the others wouldn't think of anything like this. It may be a while before they even notice I'm gone." Hermione started to talk rapidly. "It could be days until they need to talk to me again!" She suddenly panicked, gasping quietly, and covered her mouth with a hand.
"Mr. Weasley's birthday dinner!" She said, horrified. "I promised that I'd be there!" She ran her hands through her crazy mop, tangling the curls even more. "Oh no! They'll think I'm mad at them or—and Ron! Ah, Ron!" She dropped her head into her hands. "I can only imagine how he's going to reason out my absence. Or they could think I'm sick. Then they'd come to check up on me and find that I'm missing… but then they'll automatically assume the worst and have no clue as to where I really am…" She closed her eyes and laid down on her stomach, holding onto the pillow for dear life. "They'll think I've been kidnapped by bandits or something." She chuckled mirthlessly at the absurdity of her actual situation. "When I'm really being held prisoner by a creature who's basking in the nonexistent rays of his superiority in a cursed castle beyond a mystical forest which lies right in my backyard!" She spat, the volume of her voice gradually rising.
"But it's not like I wanted to stay in this castle!" She told the pillow angrily. "It's not my fault this Prince —" Her brows furrowed in thought for a moment, deflated. "I don't even know his name." With a sigh, she shook her head to clear the thought. "It doesn't matter what his name is—he's nothing but a stubborn prat with a royal scepter shoved up his—"
"Now, now, I think that pillow has suffered enough."
With a small cry, Hermione instantly dropped the pillow she hadn't realized that she'd been tearing apart. She glanced around the room for the female voice that she'd heard.
"Who said that?"
"Me!" The voice spoke again. "Over here!" Hermione watched in growing amazement—but not with so much surprise, she was getting used to this by now—as her cherry wardrobe just walked over to her, using each of its four wooden legs while eyes and a mouth appeared above the cabinet doors. "My name is Parvati Patil, but you can just call me Parvati." The armoire giggled.
It giggled. Hermione had a wardrobe that giggled.
Oh, dear.
"And I'm Lavender Brown! Who are you?" Asked a voice from the left. Looking over, Hermione saw her matching bureau join Parvati at the bed.
"Uhm, Hermione," she answered, suddenly finding herself dumbfounded. "I'm Hermione."
"Well," Parvati said, not missing a beat. "I'm sure you have much to talk about!" Parvati exclaimed. "So go on! How did you get here?"
"Why'd you come? Where do you live? Was it scary in the forest?" Lavender chirped in.
"Have you met Blaise yet? Have you seen the courtyard? What do you think of our master?"
"How old are you? What's your family like? How do you feel about wearing the color green?"
There have only been a few times in Hermione's life during which Hermione had felt that people were truly, unnecessarily invading her personal space. This, Hermione decided, definitely qualified as one of the times where people were uninvitingly entering her proverbial bubble.
"I—"
"Ooh!" Lavender bounced up and down, though careful not to break her giant mirror. "I'm so excited! We finally have someone to dress up!"
"Eh?"
"Yes!" Parvati agreed. "Hermione—" But she stopped herself short and sighed. She looked Hermione over carefully, taking in her dirty and disheveled appearance. Hermione didn't often feel self-conscious around others, but under Parvati's analytical stare and disapproving look, it was difficult not to. "Lavender?"
"Yes?"
Hermione sensed that the two seemed to be having an unspoken conversation with one another. They were plotting something evil, she was sure of it. And Hermione was growing more and more afraid of their evil plans the more she watched the expressions on their faces. With mounting horror, she saw their eyes start to look almost predatory, and quickly tried to think of what terrible things they could be planning for her.
"I think our first target should be the hair," Lavender announced, lifting her face to stare at the brown mess residing atop Hermione's head.
"My hair?" Hermione asked worriedly, reaching up to protectively grab a clump near her face. She was somewhat bothered by the number of twigs and leaves entwined in it, but didn't have much time to think about them.
"Oh, I definitely agree," Parvati told her, ignoring Hermione's question. "What do you think? A braid maybe? That should tame the frizz a little, don't you think?"
"A wonderful idea!" Lavender's smile returned. "And then—for formal occasions— a bun, perhaps? A chignon? An upswept French knot?"
"I—"
"Brilliant, Lavender!" Parvati was also smiling. "And for tomorrow I think she should wear this." Instantly one of her doors popped open and a large display of different dresses in various colors and styles appeared before their eyes.
"But—" Hermione tried to cut in desperately.
"Oh, wonderful choice, Parvati!" Lavender cooed. "I love the color! It will really bring out the base tones in her complexion!"
"I thought so," Parvati said as she held up a pretty green dress. "It should fit, I think." She held it up in front of Hermione to get a clearer picture in her mind of what it'd look like.
"Now wait just a—"
"Good evening, ladies. I'm afraid we're going to have to interrupt."
With an overwhelming sense of relief, Hermione turned towards the door to find Madam McGonagall—and Midas perched on the door handle—there, both looking tired and ready for a nice long nap.
"Madam McGonagall," Hermione breathed with such gratitude that it was barely believable.
"Miss Patil, Miss Brown," she addressed them as she neared the bed. "I'm going to have to ask you to hold off for tonight." She reached the bed. At first Hermione thought that she was going to jump up onto the bed, but then she realized that it was much too high for her. She found it slightly amusing when Midas came swooping down, picked McGonagall up by the tip and dropped her clumsily onto the bed.
"A little more gently, next time," McGonagall said, somewhat annoyed while Midas somehow managed to look sheepish. After taking a moment to compose herself, McGonagall cleared her throat and began to speak.
"I believe we owe you an explanation," She said quietly, her voice taking on a more somber tone. Lavender and Parvati's excitement, which had died down considerably since McGonagall entered, had completely diminished at the sight of her grave expression. McGonagall quickly glanced at the two girls. Asking them to leave would be futile; they'd merely eavesdrop, she thought. I'll just have to make do, I suppose. "I know you must have many questions—all of which cannot be answered in one night. And I know for a fact that you will have many more by the time I leave you to rest tonight, but for now, I'm afraid that you'll have to be satisfied with what information I can give you." She sighed. "I think you need to hear our story…
"Just three years ago, this castle—this cold and empty shelter that you are now in, was a magnificent palace surrounded by a grand and peaceful kingdom. And the royal family, the Malfoys—"
"Rest their souls," Parvati and Lavender said in unison. McGonagall nodded solemnly, her fabric lips tight.
"The Malfoys had been in control of the kingdom for generations. For centuries and centuries the Malfoys had reigned over our people, and all was well." McGonagall paused to let this information sink in. Her eyes turned to the designs in the comforter on the bed. "All was well—or, at least, we thought it was.
"Without war, famine or conflict for years, we were happy and content with what we had. But it seemed that years of inexplicable peace had made us naïve and unaware. We were oblivious to the treason being conducted before our very eyes. Even now, I still find it difficult to believe that such a traitor could come from the one that the Malfoys trusted the most." She sighed. "But the one who was hurt the most," She closed her eyes in remembrance. "Was Master Draco Malfoy, our current Lord and Master—who you met tonight."
"Draco?" Hermione asked quietly, letting the word sink in. It's an odd name, she mused, thinking of her own.
"Oh," McGonagall looked slightly embarrassed. "I beg your pardon, child, assumed that you had been informed of his name by perhaps Dean or Blaise."
"Ahh!" The girls squealed loudly, catching Hermione off guard and causing her to jump two inches off the bed. "So you have met Blaise! What do you think?"
"Ladies," McGonagall's warning tone quieted them some, but it was her stern look that did the trick. Hermione had gotten the impression over the course of the night's activities that Madam McGonagall was not someone to cross.
"As I was saying," she coughed and gave the two another look. The girls giggled in response, and Hermione had a very hard time trying not to roll her eyes. "It was Draco that was hurt the most by the betrayal." She said quietly and as before, the girls suddenly become quiet and serious.
"But," Hermione began. "What happened? Who betrayed the royal family?"
There was a moment of complete silence and for a second Hermione thought that she had said something terribly offensive by the looks on their faces.
"You must know, Miss Granger," McGonagall whispered so quietly that she had to strain to hear her. "That we do not speak of this betrayal. Ever." She looked Hermione directly in the eyes. "It is forbidden."
"The Prince forbids you to talk about it?"
"He has never directly told us to never speak of it, but we know what it would mean for any of us to openly converse about the matter. No one ever dares to mention the ordeal in his presence and during the few times that must be mentioned, it is discussed far out of his hearing range. And above all, Miss Granger: we do not say his name." Hermione found that even if she had wanted to, she would not have been able to tear her eyes away from McGonagall's. "Instead, we refer to him as 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or 'You-Know-Who'." Her whisper was still extremely quiet. "Do not ask me to speak his name because you will find that I'm now physically incapable of speaking it. It certainly pains me to even think it," she said earnestly. "In fact, if it were not for this curse, I'd have removed his name from my memory years ago entirely."
"But what isthis curse?" Hermione couldn't refrain from asking any longer. "Who put this spell on all of you? And why?"
"I think," McGonagall spoke. "That I need to continue on with my story to fully answer your questions. Or at least, answer them the best I can for tonight…
"We were not yet aware of his great betrayal even as his plans were unfolding. So careless were… we didn't even realize what was happening even while we were in the midst of it all.
"A few months before we were cursed, the King and Queen, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, grew deathly ill. They passed away not a month after."
"Rest their souls," they repeated again in unison while Midas bowed his head. Hermione watched in somber silence.
"Rest their souls," she repeated. "As expected, the kingdom was in turmoil. But not as much as their son, Draco."
So his parents are dead… Hermione thought. We have something in common. She felt a pang in her chest at the thought of her own parents, but her snarling features made it difficult for him to consider him with sympathy. Not when he acted like such an arse.
This Prince. What was he exactly?
"For days he wouldn't leave his room," McGonagall broke Hermione from her thoughts. "He'd barely eat what we brought to him and he wouldn't speak to any of us—not even Sir Snape. You've met Severus Snape—not properly of course, but you've seen him. He was the black cauldron that accompanied Master Draco to your room. You'll soon learn that if there's anyone who can get Master Draco to do something, it's Sir Snape. I won't go off on Sir Snape for too long, for I know that Blaise and Dean will surely explain and introduce you to most of the castle tomorrow, but I will tell you what I think you should know.
"Sir Snape, although only a chef in the kitchen and technically considered a servant, has always had a soft spot for Master Draco—and everyone in the castle can see it. However, know that if he were to ever hear anyone voice that out loud, there would certainly be punishments dealt." The rip in the hat that served as a mouth threatened to curl upwards in an amused grin, but McGonagall quickly caught herself and continued. "Just as Snape has some paternal feelings for Master Draco, Draco has a great deal of trust for Sir Snape."
McGonagall paused, unsure of how much she should tell. Looking at Hermione, she could tell that the girl was confused... If she should tell just how attached her Master was to Severus, she'd mostly likely end up telling Hermione at some point about the intense attachment Master Draco had once felt to Riddle…
Closing her eyes and pushing the painful memories away, she looked back at Hermione, who was still regarding her with a curious expression. Deciding not to tell Hermione everything just yet, she continued on.
"Our master," she started, choosing her words carefully. "As you can see, isn't exactly fond of—" She searched for the right word, but found no acceptable euphemism. She just hoped the truth wouldn't push Hermione even farther away from liking him—let alone getting her to love him. So, desperate and tired, she chose one of the less impolite words. "Well, he isn't fond of—commoners, in general, you might say." She sounded a little sheepish.
Hermione resisted the urge to snort.
"I figured." It took a lot for Hermione not to be sarcastic with McGonagall. She didn't want to vent her anger at the beast on Madam McGonagall, especially when McGonagall was being so kind to her.
"Yes, well," McGonagall sighed. "It's been a bit of a family trait, from what I've heard. Despite that, he's very fond of the our executive chef, Sir Snape. Our master will follow Snape's will over anyone else's. So while Master Draco can be cold and arrogant sometimes," She said, once again choosing her diction precisely. "He can very unsure and insecure at others. And as hard as it is to believe," She said with meaningful glance at Hermione—who, whether she knew it or not herself, was hanging on to Mcgonagall's every word. With a tiny triumphant smile, McGonagall continued. "He can be very caring when he wants to be." Ohh, what he would do to me if he heard me say any of this… McGonagall thought with a shudder.
"Caring?" Hermione asked incredulously, an eyebrow rose inquisitively. McGonagall nodded.
"I know." She continued to nod. "But you'll see soon enough. Yes," she stopped nodding. "You'll see."
Curious about McGonagall's suddenly wistful tone, but more curious about the other questions floating around in her mind, Hermione spoke.
"So the betrayal really happened during his parents' death?" She asked quietly. "Or was it after?"
"Actually, dear," McGonagall said, sad and tired once again. "I rather think that he had something to do with their deaths." Her eyes narrowed. "Not that there's any evidence of course, but… you can imagine." She sighed. "I don't know how he could've done it, but I just have to believe that it was his doing.
"Master Draco was heartbroken. Completely isolated himself for days and days. The King and Queen were dead, and the majority of our population thought that it wasn't worth staying. Only those truly loyal to the Malfoy family remained. But now with the Queen and King gone, we needed another ruler. But Master Draco was still only on the brink of young adulthood, and certainly not old enough to rule an entire kingdom by himself.
"Slowly and gradually Master Draco began to emerge from his room, at first only roaming the corridors and still silent to all he passed. Then little by little, he started to become his old self again. First speaking to—well, You-Know-Who, then to Snape and myself, and occasionally to a servant he was particularly close to." Hermione realized that her resolve was weakening—she almost felt bad for the beast. Almost. He was still an offensive rascal—one that needed to show her a slice of respect before she went around showing him sympathy.
Come on, her mind argued. Show some compassion. Look at all he's been through.
Look at all I've been through! Another voice argued. Look at everything that I've had to do on my own!
But did you have an entire kingdom resting on your shoulders? Did the fate of hundreds of people lie in your hands at such a young age? Her mind countered.
That's no excuse for his arrogance! He's my age and he hasn't done anything extraordinary!
Not that you know, anyway.
Oh, please. He was born into royalty! So he's rich, struts around his big empty castle and rules a bunch on cursed royal subjects—now that's an accomplishment!
But she suddenly felt ashamed of her earlier thoughts about the Prince and the lack of sympathy she felt for him, even if he was an arrogant git and didn't deserve any sympathy from her. She still thought of him as a prat, that certainly hadn't changed, but she felt bad that she hadn'tfelt bad for him…
"The curse was placed on us on the eve of his coronation," McGonagall began to speak quickly. "We were all preparing for the ceremony that was supposed to have taken place the next day, painting and cooking and cleaning like normal." Hermione heard one of the girls sniff to the left of her. She had forgotten that they were in the room with her.
"We were content," she said simply. "We were still mourning the loss of our King and Queen, but we were healing. His coronation was supposed to be a celebration, despite the fact that it only reminded us of his parents' deaths. We were trying.
"The majority of the servants had been in the grand ballroom at the time… you most likely saw it as you came in. It's large and beautiful and absolutely wonderful with the right atmosphere, but there won't be a single time that I don't step into it and not remember the events that occurred there on That Night." She looked at the designs in the comforter, finding that they were much safer to look at than the sad faces of her fellow servants or Hermione's confused one.
"It was late; the exact time escapes my memory," she went on in monotone. "The master barged into the ballroom, looking lost and confused. We tried to go toward him as he went to the center of the ballroom, but before anyone got near enough—he grabbed his head in pain.
"The next thing we knew," McGonagall became very, very quiet. "He was a werewolf."
"A… werewolf?" Her brows furrowed as she let her words sink in. "But how can that be?" She asked finally. "I've read about them, and if he isone, then why isn't he—I mean, how is that he can speak and walk like humans? Wouldn't a werewolf just be running around and…" She couldn't bring herself to finish. McGonagall nodded.
"That Night, he was not like he is now," she went on. "He was a real werewolf."
"You mean…" Hermione breathed. She nodded again.
"Countless people died. The entire kingdom was chaos; people everywhere were in a panic. The rest of the kingdom left out of fear, losing whatever respect they had might have had for the family.
"Finally, after hours and hours of running and hiding and tending to those who still had a dying chance, the sun began to rise… Master Draco had somehow made his way to the ballroom again when the moon went down over the horizon. I had been in the kitchens earlier with Snape to retrieve some more of the injured and tend to their wounds when we heard. We were going to run for our lives when suddenly everything became silent. We looked on from a crack in the door. Master Draco was grabbing his head, and our master returned, but… he didn't change back.
"The creature swayed and tottered because he was unused to his feet and looked more confused and lost than ever. I think I remember that he almost vomited at the sight of the dead and torn bodies littering the floor… the scent must have been driving him crazy as well. And yet—all he did was stare at the blood on his paws.
"And then," Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Hermione was shocked by the sudden change in her tone. "You-Know-Who arrived out of nowhere, and he must have been insane… He demanded to know why he wasn't dead," she spat venomously. "At that time, Snape and I came out from behind the door as quietly as we could. We didn't know what we could do to help, but I remember that we were willing to try anything…
"And then completely out of nowhere there was this—this puff of green smoke and this woman appeared out of thin air." She looked at Hermione somewhat sheepishly. "I kid you not. I remember that when I first saw her, I couldn't believe my eyes. Her magic was merely trickery to me; all of it was nonsense. But it had appeared that this gypsy, Sybill Trelawney… she and You-Know-Who had made a deal of some sort." Her eyes were narrowed again. "You-Know-Who demanded to know why he wasn't dead.
"When the gypsy spoke, we were all suddenly in—well, a dream-like trance, you could say. She told us all that killing him was never her intentions; rather, she wanted to teach him an important lesson. She just repeated what she had said earlier, going on about what You-Know-Who had hired her for—calm the entire time! Like she knew things would work out… she went on and on about the good in Master Draco"—she couldn't resist sneaking a glance at Hermione, but the girl was staring at the comforter—"and the grudges that You-Know-Who was carrying.
"You-Know-Who tried to attack the gypsy, but Master Draco was quicker and went after him." She sighed at the memory. "It was all very confusing—we didn't know what to believe.
"Master Draco grabbed the knife… I suppose it seemed more human, as terrible as that sounds, for him to use the knife rather than his bloodied paws… but You-Know-Who was already dying from the impact of having been thrown to the floor and the master's weight crushing down on him.
"You-Know-Who said something to him then, but we couldn't hear what it was." She whispered, shaking with rage. "But whatever it was, it hit a nerve. Master Draco stabbed him, then stood up unsteadily and dropped the knife… he just stood there, shaking and staring for what seemed like an eternity."
Hermione couldn't speak.
"I'll never forget the scream that echoed throughout all of the castle's walls… and during all this, the gypsy hadn't moved one bit. He turned his attention to her then…"
She paused.
She couldn't tell her what would break the spell. Not yet.
"Then what?" Hermione asked, finding herself terrified that she'd stop at a place like that. "What happened?"
"I don't remember the exact words that the gypsy said," she started again. "Severus wrote everything down as soon as he could, word for word... Though, I do know that she did apologize for everything that had happened." Another sigh. "And then she placed the spell on us. The gypsy was aware of Master Draco's great… dislike for those beneath him, and claimed to teach him a valuable lesson in humility before more people were hurt. Master Draco was to remain in the body of a werewolf… and we were to keep him company as the objects that we knew best.
"Eventually Master Draco will turn into a true werewolf, as he was on That Night." She sighed again. "And the rest of us will really turn into our respective objects forever."
"What?" Hermione asked, aghast. "Eventually? But there has to be some way to break the spell!" McGonagall had to hide her small smile.
"Let me continue," she said gently and Hermione at once felt bad for interrupting. "We were all suddenly being pulled into the ballroom—all of us. The gypsy had left in another puff of green smoke, but we barely even had time to reflect on what had happened. We were floating in midair, surrounded by green sparks of light and being blown about by a sudden gust of wind. And before any of us knew it, we were what we are now. The change was quick and without pain so none of us knew what was happening until after it had happened. The gypsy also chose one of Draco's most loyal subjects and trapped her in a mirror in his quarters. He can see anything he wants in that mirror, even if it's thousands of miles away." She paused to take a breath. A mirror in which he can see anything? Hermione added this to her list, as well, worrying her lip. She was going to ask what this girl's name was, but McGonagall continued.
"But as one last parting 'gift,' the gypsy gave us a messenger, someone who could help us communicate with others beyond the forest, which is something that the girl in the mirror cannot do. It was he," McGonagall said with a small smile. "Who helped to bring you here in the first place." Instantly Hermione glanced in the owl's direction.
"Midas?" She asked, turning back to McGonagall. "You were the gypsy's?" The bird nodded, drawing a pattern in the comforter with his wing rather sheepishly.
"But why did you help to bring me here?" She asked him edgily, verycurious.
"You would've died out in the forest, Hermione," McGonagall cut in smoothly. "You would have frozen in the snow." Hermione nodded slightly and looked out the large window to her left. The snow was still falling and the sun would rise in just less than an hour. And now I'm frozen in here, instead.
"So how can it be broken?" Hermione asked after a moment's silence. She knew, deep inside, that against her better judgment she desperately wanted to help them… as soon as she found a way to get home, of course. McGonagall merely gave her a small sad and knowing smile.
"The gypsy had said: 'This curse is irreversible.' Only one thing can break it, but what that was, she did not say…" After seeing that Hermione was staring out the window, she gave small warning looks to the girls at the edge of the bed.
"What?" Hermione turned back to McGonagall and couldn't help but sound appalled. "She didn't say?" Mouth open in abomination, Hermione shook her head. "But—there has to be some way to break it! Surely you have already tried?" McGonagall shook her head.
"We'll save the rest of this conversation for tomorrow," She feigned a small yawn, but Hermione followed suit, too tired not to. "I'm afraid I talked much longer than I had wanted to. You must be tired, and you need your rest." At the word rest, Hermione gave another wide yawn.
"I amtired…" She breathed sleepily.
"Miss Patil, Miss Brown," She nodded to each of them as Midas picked her up and set her down on floor—being more gentle this time. "Miss Granger needs her rest." The girls nodded in agreement, though each of them looked equally disappointed.
Parvati and Lavender returned to their spots against the wall as Hermione took off her shoes.
"Would you like something else to sleep in?" McGonagall asked, indicating Hermione's dirty dress.
"No, thanks." Hermione yawned as she undid the clasp of her cloak around her neck. She dropped it next to her shoes… "I'm too tired to change." She said drowsily.
"Alright." Madam McGonagall told Hermione as she slipped beneath the covers.
"Thank you." Hermione managed to whisper. She closed her eyes.
She could hear McGonagall quietly swishing her way to the door, and her whisper: "Come, Midas. You can visit tomorrow," and then the flap of wings accompanied by the turning of the door handle and its soft thud as it closed in its frame.
Hermione fell asleep to the drone of the many voices in her head. Some sounded like her mother and father, while others sounded uncannily similar to various members of the Weasley family, and Harry. Madam Pince was talking about sword fights while McGonagall- and Mad-Eye-like voices were both telling her stories about a serious betrayal that caused the downfall of an entire kingdom. But the majority of the inquisitive voices sounded like her own:
Why would Sybill go through such drastic measures just to teach the Prince a lesson? Was he really that terrible? If tonight had been any indication… There has to be a way to break the spell—but what? What about those who left the kingdom? Why didn't they ever say anything about the castle? Did they forget about it, somehow? But it has only been three years… is that another side effect of the curse? Or is Mad-Eye to blame, what with his tall tales? Did he really frighten people off? I can't remember what I was doing three years ago… where was I when this happened? Will I be seeing Mad-Eye here soon? Why is McGonagall a hat? Why am I in such a comfortable bed when I'm a prisoner?
She turned on her side.
And what about the Prince—how was he going to rule a kingdom when he supposedly hates the people he rules? Is that part of the reason why the people left in the first place? Did they think that he'd rule them unfairly? Did the people know that he hated them? Did he get it from his parents? Did they feel the same way about commoners?
How long will I really be stuck here?
And before she knew it, Hermione was fast asleep.
Author's Notes: Thank you all for reading! I'll be sending e-mails out to personally thank all of you who left me their e-mails! Enjoy the next chapter when it comes out – which will be soon!