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.

AN: 4/1/2011. I've got so many plot bunnies for this story, it's hard to keep them all straight! This story is certainly writing itself with ease... now it's just a matter of transcribing all that into chapters! For all of our sakes, I think I'll forgo my "incredibly-long-chapter" habit and keep to the shorter chapters instead. Thank you so much for your patience and support!


"You poor dear, you'll fall ill if you go down to the dungeons now! Why—you're not even fully dry yet!"

"Surely the master will make an exception, someone needs to talk to him, where's McGonagall—"

"No," Hermione said slowly, rising to her feet. "You'll all be punished if I go anywhere else. I've already done too many careless things tonight, and I won't allow any of you to suffer for my mistakes."

"But Miss Granger!"

"It's Hermione," she corrected. "And please, let's just go before he comes to check on any of you."

"Hermione, this is madness," Blaise argued. He looked to Hermione's determined, exhausted face, and gave a quick, defeated nod.

"We'll make sure to equip the dungeons, at least." Madam McGonagall appeared from the side, straightening her brim. She turned about and started shouting orders to the other servants to bring blankets and warmer clothes.

"He can put you down there, but he won't bother to check on your comfort level," Blaise explained. "He rarely ever goes down to the lower floors himself."

"That's right," Madam McGonagall said briskly. "And what he won't know, won't hurt him."

"Thank you," Hermione said, staring at the objects at her feet. "I don't know how I can—"

"Don't worry yourself about it, Hermione," said another servant. "Just stay warm and we'll be down to visit when we can."

Hermione watched the servants move about the room with a newfound sense of organization. As Blaise and McGonagall escorted her farther and farther down into the depths of the castle, she couldn't help but wonder what the rotten Prince was doing in the floors above.


She could hear him before he even rounded the corner in the hallway.

"Mindless, brazen, out-of-line—"

The door, still so precariously balanced on its single, abused hinge, finally gave way to its ceaseless torment and fell in defeat with a crash as the Prince plowed through the entrance.

"Draco, what's wrong?"

"An impudent, senseless, insignificant—"

"Draco!"

"Insubordinate rural trash—"

"Draco!"

And finding no other word sufficiently adequate for his cause, Draco emitted a mind-shattering roar. When Pansy removed her hands from her ears, all she saw was his shuddering body half-encased in shadow in the middle of the room, trembling with rage.

What did that girl do?

"Draco, are you all right?"

"Does it look like I'm all right?" Draco spat. His vocal chords were still affected by the sounds that had ripped through his throat just moments before, and his voice was perforated with the rumblings of a primitive warning growl.

Stupid, Pansy thought to herself, as she watched him rake his claws through an already torn curtain. Why ask questions you already know the answer to? Just say something worthwhile for once!

"Draco," Pansy started, reaching to him through the glass pane. "I didn't see what happened. You need to tell me. What did she do?"

"What did she—what she did—"

Draco clawed his way through another set of upholstery. Pansy waited, knowing that he would provide further explanation once he calmed himself. It took patience, and by the time Draco had returned to a more controlled state (as well as dissected a great number of throw pillows), the moonbeams had already begun to withdraw from the window.

"What did she say?" For all her knowledge and intuition, Pansy could not bear to wait any longer. Draco seethed in place.

"She insulted me," Draco hissed, curling his claws. "In front of the others... when I showed her mercy, after she'd touched me."

She'd touched him?

"She—she what?" Pansy's eyes bulged. "So she's dead?" Draco snapped his head toward the mirror.

"She's in the dungeons." Draco's scowl became more pronounced as paced the room.

"So," Pansy said, trying to follow the story. "She's in the dungeons while she awaits her sentence?"

"No!" Draco huffed, his breath visible in the cold of the room. "She's learning a lesson in the dungeons. She all but offered the idea herself."

"My," Pansy remarked. "She is rather an idiot if she told you to put her there." Draco appeared unsettled by this statement, but she continued. "Did she think it would be more fitting to keep her accommodations here in the castle familiar to that of her own on the other side of the forest?" He scoffed.

"She's a fool. She thought she was standing up to me after what had happened, and she thought that by showing a small display of force, I might taker her earlier words into consideration." Draco laughed mirthlessly at the thought, but this caused Pansy's concern to prickle the back of her neck.

"What earlier words?"

"Idle chatter about gratitude," Draco huffed again. "She made the pitiful mistake of ostentatiously trying to transport my body back to the castle after I'd been shot down by—"

"What?"

"—a rag-tag troop of wayward, gun-happy farmers, no doubt. I would have been fine, and the stupid girl would have had the perfect opportunity to flee, but she insisted that Midas return for aid while—"

"Draco, you were injured?"

"Pans, enough, I'm fine." Draco sent her a look of annoyance, which only translated into a primitive rage when sprawled out across his features. "The bullet would have dislodged eventually. She didn't need to go sticking a knife in me." All of a sudden, Pansy laughed derisively, and Draco looked at her in surprise.

"How barbaric," Pansy snickered. "I wonder if she often carries a blade on her person for just such occasions." Draco shifted his gaze elsewhere.

"Possible," he muttered.

"But I still don't understand the whole story," Pansy whispered as her brows knitted together. "You told her she was your prisoner, so she tried to escape? But then you were wounded while hunting her down? And then she tried to save you, her captor? And then she tried to make you grateful, but you weren't, so she insulted you, and you threw her in the dungeons?" Draco faltered.

"Pansy, it's not like what you just said." He advanced toward the mirror, gesturing to the doorway, constrained. "She undermined my authority by escaping—"

"So she did escape," Pansy nodded. "But how?" Draco steeled himself.

"I underestimated her," he said with finality, shifting uncomfortably. "It won't happen again."

"So... she's not as dumb as you thought?"

"Hardly. I should just know better than to leave doors and windows open when holding a prisoner." Draco shook his head, and collapsed into his nest. "I can just hear my father's voice now." Pansy looked out to him, and felt her heart squeeze.

"Draco, it's not your fault," she pushed. "It's not as if you've held a prisoner before! How were we supposed to know what she would be capable of?" Draco glared.

"This entire predicament is impossible," he spit out, and she could hear the young boy in him once more. It almost made her smile to see him so like him old self, after all that had just happened.

"Of course it feels impossible," Pansy said softly. "You're not meant to hold prisoners, Draco. It's not you." Finally, she thought. She had something consoling for once.

But instead, Draco's eyes narrowed and his brows creased. "Then what am I doing, Pans?"

She hesitated, feeling her breath hitch in her throat. What was she supposed to say?

"Well, just think of what your father would say. You're the Prince, and this simple commoner disobeyed your orders and escaped! It is all within your right to hold her captive. The whole act goes against your nature, but it's what you're supposed to do! And you're doing it." She smiled softly. "Think of the boundaries she crossed when she t-touched you. Think of the message she sent to the whole castle when she questioned your authority! This is what needs to happen."

Suddenly, Draco didn't look so sure about the whole situation anymore, and Pansy felt with desperation that he was gradually slipping away from her.

"But for saving my life, Pans?" He whispered. "Stupid bint she may be, but..." He shook his head, unable to finish.

"Her actions were inexcusable," she persisted. "Your reaction was warranted, and you acted according to the station of a Malfoy Prince." Draco remained quiet for a few eternal moments.

"My father had always warned me to keep my emotions in control," he said with heaviness. "Proper Malfoy heirs do not invite the outside world to know their thoughts, to witness their feelings." He turned his head away. "I am not the son I should be."

"Draco, don't be ridiculous," Pansy pleaded. "If anyone would be proud tonight of how you handled that silly, peasant girl, it would be them." Draco sat with the silence once more, pondering something beyond Pansy's reach. "Draco, what is it?" He didn't answer at first.

"I still don't remember her name," he stated simply, looking to the window.

"You don't have to have a name to get what you deserve," Pansy said, feeling frustrated with this confusion separating them. If only she could know what he was thinking.

"The fate of this kingdom," he began. "The fate of my kingdom... or what little I have left of it, is resting on my shoulders, and I'm already screwing it up. Just like I've done with everything else."

"Draco, that's not true." She pressed herself against the glass. "You are a good royal with a good heart—"

"Then what did I just do, Pansy?" He snapped. "If I had been that girl, I would have gotten myself out of here just as fast, only I would have left me in the snow. She was free, but she came back to prevent the soldiers from finding us. And what do I actually do?—I throw her in the dungeons."

"You have feelings for her," Pansy said, stunned.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said with a snarl. He looked as if he might retch. "She is an ugly creature, disobedient, and self-righteous, and twice as stubborn. I have to see a single admirable quality within her. Even that quality which saved us tonight—her naivete—is a weakness, and a disgraceful trait that only—" He cut off, but Pansy knew what he was going to say.

That only reminds me of myself.

"So what now?" Pansy asked.

"Now," Draco said. "I have to get her out of the dungeons. I'll release her in the morning."

"In the morning," Pansy repeated slowly. "But I thought you just said that—"

"I know what I said, Pansy," Draco interrupted. "But she still needs to be taught a lesson. I am the Prince of this castle, and if she thinks she can just waltz in and take over, then she has another thing coming."

And with a flourish of billowing curtains as Draco retreated through the glass door to the outside balcony, Pansy knew that she had been dismissed.