Chapter One
The Curse
"She warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within."
-Disney's Beauty and the Beast
The curse spread throughout London. Its enchanted snow blanketed cars and taxis and turned the dirty city streets into an unseasonal Winter Wonderland.
For most.
When it reached the luxurious neighborhood of Knightsbridge, its winds picked up, upending a car and snapping a telephone pole. It was late at night, and the streets in such a well-to-do area were empty.
Finally, the storm's wrath settled on the home of one Edith McNair. Edith lived alone now. After the war, her husband and sons had been tried and convicted. They were now serving lifetime sentences in Azkaban for their crimes. Edith, however, had only been found guilty by association and had been let off with a one-year probation and wand check.
Edith sat in her drawing room, taking in her evening cup of tea. She stared down at The Daily Prophet's society pages and was horrified to see the headline, "Ginny Weasley, a survivor of the Battle of Hogwarts and the daughter of heroine Molly Weasley who ended the killing spree of Bellatrix Lestrange, has committed to tryouts for the Quidditch Minor Leagues."
A Weasley in the society pages! What was the world coming to? She withdrew in horror, tossing the paper in the wastebasket.
Just then, a vortex of wind and snow appeared in her drawing room. It dissipated, and a bent, old woman was left standing in front of her.
Quicker than should have been possible for a woman her age, Edith was at her feet with her wand drawn.
The bent woman smiled but not kindly. Her eyes flashed with white hot anger. "I think not."
Edith's wand was incinerated to ash in her hand. She let out a terrible scream and stepped back from the woman.
The woman advanced upon her. "Edith McNair, you are responsible for the death of a young muggleborn girl and her parents. You were also present at the heinous torture of the Longbottoms. You will answer for your crimes."
Edith drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster with her back pressed against a glass case of antiques and family memorabilia. "I was found innocent. I don't know who you are, but you need to leave my-"
"You have been found guilty. You burned the body of the girl. Your judgment shall follow the same."
She snapped her gnarled fingers, and fire sprung to the expensive silk curtains and the oriental rug at their feet.
"No! No!" Edith shouted, trying to move to put out the flames. But her feet would not move as her home turned into a blistering inferno of smoke and flame.
The woman held her gaze. "Goodbye, Edith McNair."
After finishing its work in London, the curse and its executioner moved on to the wizarding prison, Azkaban, a feat no one would have believed possible. The facility was heavily warded with centuries of enchantments plus a battalion of guards. No one, without authorization, should have been able to get in or out.
Yet, the curse visited each cell, punishing the guilty and passing over the innocent. The guards slept deeply through this terrible storm.
The next morning, half of the prison population would be found dead in their cells. The guards would remember nothing.
Finally, the storm picked up steam, moving into the countryside. Its icy tendrils searched for its next victim. No matter how well they were concealed, no matter how spectacular their use of magic, each surviving Death Eater was found. One by one.
Malfoy Manor stood, as it always had, in the gorgeous farmland of Wiltshire, England. Not too far from the legendary Stonehenge, which was rumored to have been built by Draconius Malfoy as a joke on the local muggle population. Most of the more deadly enchantments had to be removed by the Ministry in the later centuries as the relationship between muggles and wizards became more cordial.
The extensive grounds covered over a thousand acres and had been in the family's possession since they had stolen it from the "ignorant" locals. It was one of the most warded wizarding homes in all of England, which was, perhaps, why Lord Voldemort had chosen it as a base of operations during the war.
The curse itself was dark magic, built on the bitterness, grief, and anger of those who had lost more than they were willing to give. It swept easily over the tall, iron gates of Malfoy Manor, gaining strength with each dark enchantment it untangled. The storm turned from a light snow to a deadly blizzard. The enchanted topiary froze solid and unmoving as the winds made their way across the grounds.
Inside, the clueless inhabitants slept in blissful ignorance. Only house elves stirred in the kitchens.
The front doors, once heavily spelled with protective enchantments, blew open with a tremendous gust of air. A vortex of ice and rain tore through the manor, ripping down silk curtains and ancient tapestries until, at least, it found its target. Its last target of the night. The spoiled heir. The youngest Death Eater of them all.
The hinges of his bedroom door turned to ice and cracked.
The sound of an earth-rattling thud woke Draco Malfoy from his slumber. His door had been blown off its hinges, and a swirling tornado of ice and fury was moving toward him. It stopped in the center of the room.
He flew into a sitting position and felt around for his wand on the bedside table. He clutched it in his hand and pulled his bed covers toward his chin. How many nights had he woken with a start and a hand on his wand during the war? More than he could count.
Even in his half-wakened state, he could sense the tremendous amount of dark magic in the air. He hadn't encountered anything like it in over a year. Not since Lord Voldemort had been defeated.
Even when he had lived in the manor, it had only happened a few times. On those occasions when he called his innermost circle for clandestine meetings. Ones he hadn't been allowed, or wanted, to attend. To this day, he was unsure of what had gone on during them. He hoped he would never know.
The winds died down, leaving behind an eerie calm and a bent, old woman. She moved closer to his bed. "Draco Malfoy," she said in a low greeting.
"Um, hello," he managed. Who could this woman be? A servant of Lord Voldemort? A relative worse than Aunt Bellatrix?
"Do you know me?" the woman asked.
He didn't want to show fear. His father had often said to him as a young boy, "Draco, you are a Malfoy. You bow your head to no one." So, he answered in as cool a voice as he could manage, "I'm not sure. I don't remember asking someone to blow down my door in the middle of the night. But then again I hear it's easy to forget things as we age."
The many lines on the woman's forehead creased. "So, the stories are true then. That you are an arrogant, self-serving coward. That you are indeed," she lifted his arm with a cold, vise-like grip, "branded with the dark mark."
Draco had enough. He launched from his bed and raised his wand. "Let go, you old hag. I'll ask the questions."
It was a mistake. Icicles began to form on the hairs of his arm and travel toward his hand.
"Inferno," he shouted. His wand sparked and emitted only the tiniest flame.
The ice was relentless. Within seconds, it claimed his hand and the wand. Frozen.
"One more step, death eater scum, and your body will resemble your hand."
He stopped. As much as he loathed to admit it, he knew he had been outclassed. This woman had made it through their wards, his bedroom enchantments, and had frozen his arm into a block of ice. His voice shook as he asked, "What do you want?"
"It's not about what I want. I am merely a chosen ambassador for the assembly."
"Assembly of who?" Maybe, if he had more information, he could find the right thing to say to get himself out of this situation.
"Muggleborns, people who lost family members, maybe even a few members of the Order of the Phoenix. There are many who believe ones such as yourself got off too easy. That your money and your influence saved you from Azkaban."
Draco tried to take a step backward but found his feet were frozen in place. He tried to reason with the old hag. "Listen, I never wanted the mark in the first place. I had no choice."
She was not moved. "Everyone. Had. A. Choice."
"Death isn't a choice!" he insisted, feeling his temper rising. What did this old hag know about it? How could she know what it was like to have the Dark Lord living in your house?
"Yet, you chose death for others. Think on that in your final moments, Draco Malfoy." She raised her wand, and the ice claimed his bare feet, inching slowly up to his ankles.
He was feeling desperate. His wand was unavailable to him. His father was in Azkaban. He had no friends. No one to call to his aid. He was powerless. "I didn't want anyone to die!" he tried to explain. It was true enough.
"You have already been sentenced. All who took the mark must be punished. An icy tomb seems fitting for someone so cold hearted."
"No! Please," Draco begged, grabbing at the sleeve of her robe with his unfrozen hand. "I can change. I can be better."
To his surprise, she paused for a moment to consider him. "Hmm. Can you, really?"
The ice had now reached his kneecaps. "I'll donate enough Galleons to open a whole wing at St. Mungos!"
It traveled still higher as she gave him an unforgiving glare. "Your money will not be enough this time."
"Fine! Whatever you want. I'll do it. I'll change."
The ice stopped. After a long moment of hesitation, the woman hissed, "Never let it be said that we are the ones without mercy. You are young still. You might be redeemed, although I very much doubt it. You have one year to change. One year to show that you care about something more than your own comfort, money, and status."
He had no idea what she meant. He didn't care. All he could think was that the ice had stopped spreading. "I'll do it. I swear," he gasped.
"If you fail to do so, this manor and its grounds will become an icy crypt for all who inhabit it."
He nodded, breathing hard. His pulse pounded in his ears.
She turned as if to leave but whipped around once more. "And Malfoy, do not attempt to leave these grounds. It will cost you most dearly." She drew a finger across her throat to denote the consequences.
She disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived. The ice encasing his feet began to melt. He shivered but not from the cold.
A/N: Hello! It's been a very long time since I've written fanfiction. You can also find this crossposted to AO3. Hopefully, you've enjoyed this first chapter of Beauty and the Beast of Malfoy Manor! This story more carefully mirrors the animated movie version. The original short story is actually quite different. For instance, in that version, Belle starts off very rich but her family loses its wealth. Anyway, I have a rough outline sketched out and know where the story is headed. Please take a moment to leave a review. Also, I'm not great at naming characters. Any suggestions for house elves? :)