[summary] Hermione&Fred [Beauty and the Beast] Hermione raises the knocker again, ready to release it once more for good measure, but a crackle on the outdated intercom system halts her hand. "There's a buzzer, you know," a gravelly voice crackles over the speaker.
A/N — For VanillaAshes, our newest sacrifice to QL!
And thank you so much to Amber for putting up with my 2am questions about vestibules (it was a very important detail) and for giving this a readthrough :)
Warnings: The cat was only very mildly injured, but he thought he was going to die.
epilogue i
"Once upon a time, there was a dashing young man," he will say, his voice lowered in the manner of one imparting a secret they should not be telling.
"Was he a prince?" a small voice will ask.
"Was he brave and smart and beautiful?" a second will say, the words running together with the kind of excitement only a young child can hold within themselves.
At this, he will chuckle. "No, he wasn't a prince," he will say, "and he certainly wasn't the smartest, but he was clever in his own way. An inventor, of sorts."
"But he must have been brave and beautiful," the second small voice will say, petulance colouring each word.
"Well, I don't know about beautiful," he will say, "as that's really all rather subjective, but his bravery could never compare to that of the woman who came knocking on his door one fateful evening."
Not wanting to be outshone, the first small voice will ask, "And was she a princess?"
"To him?" he will say, the corners of his lips quirking up into a sly smile. "She wasn't a princess by birth, but she will always be the smartest, bravest — and, yes, the most beautiful — princess to him."
Both children will perk up at this, for they will be at that age where a story is never quite a story if it doesn't involve something fantastical, and to them a princess is the most fantastical thing of all. Their excitement will split across each of their faces in a beaming grin, and they will settle more comfortably into their beds, eager for the story to begin.
They will each ask variations of the question, "And how did the story begin?", and he will smile a fond smile at each child in turn; he will tuck each duvet up to each small chin, and he will settle into his chair, book closed upon his lap, for he will not need it to recount this particular tale.
"It all started," he will say, a conspiratorial gleam to his eye, "with a …"
.oOo.
beginning i
Bang!
"Motherf-"
The rest of his words are drowned out by the wail of the fire alarm blaring throughout the building, red lights flashing on and off from the detector. Noxus grey clouds billowed from the cauldron, a burning orange visible through the smoke where the potion had once been a deep shade of blue.
"It's not even that bad!" Fred complained, coughing and waving smoke away from his face.
"Yeah, totally manageable," George gasped, choking as he struggled to inhale. "I just — just need some air," he sputtered, each breath escaping on a wheeze. "I'll leave this," he said, waving a hand vaguely to encompass the entire situation, "in your capable hands."
"Yeah, you go," Fred said, waving his brother to the door despite George already hurrying in that direction. He can't blame his twin; despite how much they both loved to mess around, asthma really wasn't a joking matter, and his brother needed to look out for his own health.
Besides, the situation really wasn't that bad. Fred had it completely under control.
Belatedly, the sprinklers went off, water falling from the ceiling and soaking all their notes and designs, leaving Fred dripping and irate, all in an attempt to suppress the fire Fred absolutely had in hand.
Another bang followed, though this one was considerably less volatile, which Fred chalked up to his handling of the situation rather than the fire preventative systems the building manager had put in place.
"You've just got to let it burn itself out," he muttered to himself, nodding his head as if that made the statement correct. "It's like a toddler," he said, "you just gotta let it do it's thing and then it'll go to sleep."
Admittedly, Fred did not have much experience with young children. Or any children, for that matter.
"This is fine," Fred said as smoke billowed up from the extinguishing fire. "Everything's fine."
.oOo,
beginning ii
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Hermione raises the knocker again, ready to release it once more for good measure, but a crackle on the outdated intercom system halts her hand.
"There's a buzzer, you know," a gravelly voice crackles over the speaker, and Hermione glances up, squinting through the pouring rain to see the red flashing light of the camera recording above.
"Sorry, I didn't —"
"You need to press the button," the voice interrupts her, somehow managing to sound incredibly annoyed through the static of the intercom.
Flushing a deep red that she hopes the camera can't pick up, Hermione diverts her attention to the plastic speaker. The yellowed plastic casing only has one button, a raised oblong that doesn't appear to have been used much if the grimy residue it leaves on her index finger is any indication.
"Sorry," she repeats.
"No, you need to hold it."
"Like this?" she asks, reluctantly holding the button down for two seconds before releasing it.
"No, you need to keep pressing —" There's a shuffling sound, muffled through the connection, and what might have been a sigh. "Hold on," the voice says, resigned, "I'll come down."
"Thank you, it's raining rather hard," Hermione says. And then, remembering, she holds down the button as she says, "Thank you," once again.
.oOo.
meeting i
"How's everything going with the new product, then?" Mr Peterson, the building manager, asked, eyes darting between Fred and George as if he wasn't quite sure who to address. Fred couldn't work out if he was being sarcastic or not.
His eyes finally settled on George, greying eyebrows raised expectantly, and so, of course, Fred answered.
"Great!" Fred enthused, ignoring the pointed look their building manager gave to the chaos the room had become. "Even bad results are good results!"
"Well that's … nice," Mr Peterson said as if he meant anything but. Fred doubted the man had any real interest in their business besides how it affected him.
"We have a prime example of what not to do next time," George continued, following Fred's lead.
"And we're sure those results will be much more favourable," Fred finished.
"Lovely," Mr Peterson said. "And you do understand that you have broken the terms of your lease?"
"That might be the case, yes," said George.
"More than likely it is," agreed Fred.
If Mr Peterson was thrown by their easy acceptance, he didn't show it. "And so I am well within my rights, per the contract you signed, to ask you to leave immediately."
"That's perfectly understandable."
"Honestly, it's fair enough."
To say the room was in a bit of a state would be putting it very mildly indeed.
Mr Peterson sighed, rubbing his temples with a large, calloused hand. "Two weeks," he muttered. And then, more clearly, "I'll give you two weeks. Two weeks to find somewhere else to work and clear out all your things."
"Really very generous of you, sir," said Fred.
"And very appreciated," added George.
Mr Peterson shook his head, eyes trailing over the mess they'd made of their rented room, taking in the burn marks on the walls and ceiling, the large hole in the middle of the table. "And make sure you clean the place up," he said. "Looks like a baby dragon was let loose in here."
"Which is something we would absolutely never do." The look the twins' shared was anything but reassuring.
.oOo.
meeting ii
The door swings open slowly, the hallway beyond dark. Hermione pauses a beat, waiting to see who she'd spoken with, but it really is raining rather heavily, and despite the charm she's used to keep herself dry and warm, she doesn't want to be out in this weather any longer than necessary.
It's only as she steps through the doorway that she realises it might be a little suspicious that she isn't soaked.
She needn't have worried.
The hallway's empty, save for the small house spider making its home above the grimy window. Really, this place is in desperate need of a cleaner.
"Hello?" Hermione calls, eyeing the dark corners of the room warily. There's a staircase directly in front of her, the kind used in most public buildings with cheap carpets and dirty handrails, each step worn from years of use and very little care. This building could be any residential block of flats, if not for the eerie silence.
Hermione was beginning to feel as if she'd walked into the start of a horror film, and that was not something she found acceptable.
Despite the feeling that eyes are lurking in the shadows, watching her every move, Hermione pulls out her wand and casts, "Lumos," under her breath. If anyone asks, she can always say it's a novelty torch.
With the soft glow from her wand illuminating the room — more of a vestibule, really, the space barely a fifteen foot cube — highlighting each crack in the walls, the dust coating the banister, and the distinct lack of doors.
"Well, if the only way is up …" Hermione mutters under her breath, resigning herself to climb the stairs for lack of better options. It was either that or return to wandering around, lost in an unfamiliar part of muggle London in the rain.
The block of flats —
.oOo.
epilogue ii
"Why can't it be a castle? Or a magical forest?" a little voice will say. "Where the furniture comes alive to dance and sing?"
At this, he will laugh, a fond smile lighting up his face, and he will say, "We could put a film on, if you'd rather? I know just the one you're thinking of."
"No!" a second small voice will say. "I want to hear the rest. Please tell us the rest!"
"If it's alright with both of you?"
"I want magic in this story," the first voice will be muffled now, by the duvet pulled up to hide a tiny face.
He will stand from his chair, and he will pull the blanket down, placing a kiss atop the child's unruly hair. "Magic, I can give you," he will say, "for there is plenty of magic in this story! You've already seen a little."
"But not very much," the first voice will whine. "Where's the daring adventure and savage beasts?"
"That," he will say, "is just about to come."
.oOo.
meeting ii cont
Upon reaching the first landing, Hermione stops to listen. There are four doors, presumably leading to four flats, but there's no noise coming from any of them and no lights shine through the little glass windows.
She heads up to the next landing, and it is much the same. Four doors to four flats, each with that eerie feeling you can only get from a room long abandoned.
"This is getting quite ridiculous," Hermione huffs, for of course there must be someone here. She'd spoken to them on the intercom; they'd opened the door, although they had promptly disappeared after doing so.
But then, she hears it. A noise, like the soft chime of silverware on crockery or the tinkling of a bell, heading up the next flight of stairs. It is not a sound that heralds much danger, and so Hermione doesn't hesitate in following it to the third landing.
Here, one of the doors is ajar, as if the occupants of the flat had left in a hurry, or simply trusted their neighbours enough to leave their front door open. Hermione had done it enough times, with her own flat; leaving her door propped open whilst she ran down to grab the rest of her bags from her car. But then, Hermione's flat had magical wards, so it probably wasn't the same thing.
"Hello?" she calls as she pushes the door open. There's that noise again, followed by an odd scuffling sound. "Is anyone home?" she asks. "I'm terribly sorry to intrude, but —"
She is cut off by a terrible, earsplitting yowl that seems to reverberate through the entire room, causing her heartbeat to race and her hands to clench into tight fists.
Sharp teeth bite into her ankle, causing Hermione to let out a rather undignified yelp and she is about to cut her losses and try her luck with the rain once more when she glances down and sees —
"Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry!" she cries, picking up the cat whose tail she has inadvertently stepped on and checking it for signs of injury. "You're okay, darling," she coos to the creature, who appears to have forgiven her with all the fuss it is now receiving as it has begun to purr. "You're very friendly," she murmurs, brushing to spot between its eyes with the pad of her thumb. "Do you have a name?" she asks, checking the cat's sparkly collar for an identification tag.
"Could you please put down my cat," a gravelly voice asks, startling Hermione so much that the cat jumps from her arms. "He doesn't like to be held."
Dread welling up inside her with such an intensity that Hermione can't explain, urging her to run, run, run, Hermione slowly turns around to face the owner of the cat.
And she looks up, and up, and up, swallowing thickly as she finally meets eyes of the blackest black surrounded by thick, orange fur. The creature — for she cannot claim it to be a man — snarls, its lips parting from its teeth to reveal huge, yellowed fangs as long as her fingers and a thick, blunt tongue.
Now, Hermione would love to scream. Everything inside her is telling her that she should. But in times of extreme duress, Hermione has always fallen back on one thing and one thing only. Manners.
"Hello," she squeaks, "my name's Hermione Granger. You have a lovely home."
.oOo.
incident i
Once the building manager had left, Fred and George stood in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say to the other. This wasn't the first time they had been kicked out of somewhere — pubs, flats, even their old school — but still, it was a blow. Admittedly a well deserved blow, but a blow nonetheless.
George furrowed his brow, his lips pulled down in a frown, and said, "Do you smell that?"
Fred was about to shake his head, but then it hit him all at once. A smell so horrendous Fred couldn't even place it. Not quite like rotten eggs or wet dog, but not quite not like them either. A smell so awful it confused the senses, made the eyes water, and —
Fred gagged. "Oh, Merlin, I can taste it."
"Over there." George pointed to the mess on the ceiling from their failed experiment, to where the potion had dried into a substance like hardened lava. Only now, it bubbled once more, and released such a putrid odor Fred could hardly see straight.
George was already heading for the door, the smell too much for him, but Fred had always let his curiosity get the best of him. And this was no different.
Slowly, he approached the remnants of the potion, craning his neck up to look at the ceiling. It was strange how it seemed to defy gravity, but not the strangest thing Fred had ever seen. Maybe he should be taking notes, writing this down as research for future experiments.
But then the potion remnants were suddenly very much not on the ceiling.
A drop of the slimy liquid lands on the very tip of his nose, and before he could move the rest of it had all come down at once, somehow managing to stick to every inch of Fred's body.
It felt like it was moving, squirming and stretching, until it had reached every part of him, coated every part of him. Fred couldn't move, he couldn't breath, but the panic hadn't quite set in yet.
Only when he started to feel his body stretching, growing, changing, that he really felt fear.
.oOo.
incident ii
The creature stretches its mouth wide, its huge chest expanding with the depth of its inhale. And then stops, frozen, holding its breath.
Air escapes the creature's lungs in a loud huff, and it just stares at her quizzically. "You aren't frightened?" it asks in that gravelly voice.
"Oh, yes," says Hermione. "I'm sorry, I can't help it." At this, the creature looks even more confused. It has a surprisingly expressive face, given its lack of humanoid features.
"Well why not?" it asks, sounding oddly petulant. "I know what I look like," it says. "I'm very frightening."
"Yes, you do look quite frightening," Hermione says. "But I've learnt that appearances can be very deceiving." The creature opens its mouth, as if to contradict her, and so Hermione continues quickly, "But your cat looks healthy and well cared for, and I think that's the strongest measure of a person. How they treat their pets."
When the creature continues to stare blankly at her, Hermione asks, "What's the cat's name?"
The creature scratches behind his large, pointed ear, his canine-like nose wrinkling, and growls, "Nibbles."
"That's a lovely name," Hermione says. "And thank you for letting me in out of the rain."
.oOo.
resolution i
An ear splitting shriek rents the air, and Fred turned to squint and George through swollen eyes.
"Do you mind?" he muttered, his voice sounding oddly distorted. "I have a killer headache."
George stood there, his mouth hanging open, before finally he said, "Fred?" in the most hesitant voice Fred had ever heard from his brother.
"Who else would it be?" Fred muttered, wincing as his back twinged and his legs cramped. "What happened?" he asked.
George, mouth still hanging open, only shook his head.
"What's wrong?" Fred groaned as he stood up. And up, and up, and up. Why was he suddenly so tall? "George?" he asked, fear tightening his chest. "George what's wrong? What's happened?" he begged.
Fred reached out to his brother, perhaps hoping to console him in some way, or merely to shake some sense into him. But he never got that far. For he'd seen what had become of his hands.
How his fingers had twisted into long, sharp claws; how the light peach fuzz on the back of his hands had turned into thick, orange fur.
"Fred," George managed to say, finally coming back to himself, "what happened?"
"I don't know!" Fred gasps. "I don't know. Maybe it was the potion? It must have been. It landed on me and then it went all …" Fred performed a hand motion that pre-incident might have been funny, but post-incident was mildly terrifying to say the least.
"Don't ever make that gesture again," said George. But then he added, "There must be some way to fix this. To reverse whatever happened."
Fred felt only a brief moment of elation before his heart immediately plummeted again, a sour taste filling his mouth. "With only broken wands?" he asked. "How?"
"I don't know," said George, "but we'll find a way. We always do."
.oOo.
resolution ii
When Fred — for she now knows the creature's name, and he's not so much a creature as an incredibly unfortunate man — has finished telling the tale of how he came to be here, alone in this abandoned apartment building, Hermione can't help feeling quite sorry for him.
"And your brother?" Hermione asks as she pets Nibbles, who is curled up contentedly in her lap, while she sips at her cup of tea. "What happened to him?"
"You're taking this very well," says Fred.
"I once accidentally turned myself into a cat." Fred's eyes widen at this, but Hermione is already following another train of thought. "Perhaps we could ask Madam Pomfrey …" Hermione trails off as Fred adamantly shakes his huge head no.
"Saying she's not our biggest fan would be putting it incredibly mildly," Fred mutters by way of an explanation.
"Well, she was never overly fond of Harry, Ron, and I either, but —"
"Did you say Ron?" Fred seems oddly surprised, and it takes Hermione a moment to realise why this might be.
"You're not Fred and George Weasley, are you?," she asks, a bewildered smile twisting up her mouth. "What a small world!" And then, "Wait," she says, her burgeoning smile quickly turning into a frown, "weren't you two expelled from Hogwarts?" she asks. "What were you doing making potions?"
Fred fidgets in his seat, somehow managing to look like a small child being scolded by their teacher. It's a strangely amusing look on someone who's physical appearance has been altered into that of a savage beast.
Hermione sets her teacup down on the coffee table with a clink.
"You mean to tell me you were practicing illegal magic?"
Fred squirms, trying to sink lower into his armchair.
He is saved from having to answer by his formerly identical twin brother opening the front door.
.oOo.
epilogue iii
"Don't you have an identical twin?" a small voice will say.
"Yeah," a second voice will add, "Uncle George looks just like you!"
At this, he will laugh. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about your uncle George," he will say.
"It's a really good story," the first child will say through a yawn.
"You said you didn't like it!" the second will counter, voice filled with child-like indignation.
"No I never!"
"Come now," he will say, "Don't you want to hear the rest? There's not much to go."
.oOo.
resolution ii cont
Hermione cringes at the loud slurp George takes of his tea. He swallows slowly, running his tongue along his lips, brows furrowed in thought.
"So," he says eventually, "this Hermione Granger, who just so happens to be one of our baby brother's best friends, stumbled upon our flat and your … condition, and is more than happy to help?"
"Well, when you put it like that," Fred says, "it does sound a little coincidental."
"More than a little," says Hermione, "but it is what it is."
"And you'll really help us?" says Fred with a hopeful glint to his monstrous eyes.
"Yes," says Hermione with an amused smile, picking up her and Fred's empty teacups and heading into the kitchen. "Let's get started, shall we?"
.oOo.
aftermath i
"Well, that's Mrs Simmons gone," George said casually as he opened the front door. Fred remained silent, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. It would have made anyone else look small, defenseless. With Fred's new appearance, he doubted it was possible for him to appear as anything other than menacing.
"She forgot her cat," George said, trying to push past the silence.
But Fred already knew she had left, and in a hurry, too. Fred would never forget the sight of Mrs Simmons' face turning ashen, her lips parting and only a strangled noise emerging. He'd thought she was going to faint, she had looked barely able to stand.
He was glad she hadn't; he wouldn't have known what to do then. He didn't know what to do now. Because instead, she had turned on her heels, dropped the post she had come down to collect, and ran from the building with nothing but her dressing gown and slippers.
Fred doubted she'd ever return.
How George had found out, however, and how much he knew, Fred couldn't tell, and he didn't want to ask.
"So we have a cat now," George said, dropping an angry, furry ball onto Fred's lap. The cat promptly jumped to the floor and ran to hide underneath the sofa, yellow eyes glaring out at them as it growled low in its throat. "Meet Nibbles." Nibbles let out a loud hiss.
Fred let out a laugh; more of a deep exhale of air, really, that even to him sounded somewhat threatening. "How many people are left?" he asked warily.
Georged winced, shrugged, and said, "What with the theory that the building's haunted? Or some sort of monster's lurking in the halls? Not many."
"Some sort of monster is lurking in the halls," Fred said. Nibbles yowled, as if in agreement.
"Fred," George said, standing in front of his brother so they were at eye level, "get over yourself."
Fred was momentarily stunned, eyes widening as he stared at his twin. "Well that wasn't a very inspirational speech," he said.
"It wasn't supposed to be." George shrugged. "But you don't look quite so … mopey now, so I guess it worked." Before Fred could respond George continued, "I don't know how we're going to fix this. It might take years. You might be old and just as ugly by the time we manage to change you back, but —" here, he paused to glare at his brother, and made sure to enunciate each word "— we will fix this."
Fred felt like he could cry or shout or sing. And he was sure each of those would be equally as terrifying. So, instead, he floundered for a moment, staring at his brother with a mixture of shock and awe. That is, until George added, "And as thanks, you can clean up after the cat."
.oOo.
aftermath ii
It's a strange sight, Hermione cannot help but muse, to see a giant monster scooping out a cat litter tray whilst the cat in question tries to attack the little plastic scoop. It even, briefly, makes her forget why she had abandoned wizarding etiquette rules and Apparated directly into Fred and George's flat.
George was out; they still needed to pay rent, after all, and so someone had to work, even if the rest of the building was entirely deserted. And, despite the loud crack of Apparition, Fred hadn't turned round at her entrance.
Hermione clears her throat.
Fred methodically rakes the scoop through the cat litter.
Hermione coughs.
Fred sprinkles a fine, pleasantly scented powder over the litter and mixes it in with the scoop.
Hermione coughs again, much louder this time.
"There are potions for that," Fred says as he runs his massive, clawed hands gently down Nibbles' back. Nibbles purs contentedly, arching into the touch.
"Don't be an arse," Hermione says with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at the back of Fred's furred head until he turns around.
"My apologies," Fred says with what once might have been a charming, roguish grin, but now looks more like the vicious baring of teeth. "Forgive me for wanting to prevent contagion in my own —"
"I might have it!" Hermione interrupts, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. After months of looking, they might finally —
Fred stands slowly, as if the movement pains him. It very well might; Hermione has no idea how the physical transformation might have affected his joints, particularly over such a long period of time. "You might have what, exactly?" Fred asks, his words slow and deliberate, as if he wants to make absolutely sure there can be no misunderstandings.
Hermione can't really blame him, they've had setbacks before. Which is why she says, "I can't know for certain, but I've been speaking to Madam Pomfrey —" At George's alarmed look, she quickly adds, "All hypothetically, of course! I told her I was writing a paper on the adverse effects of Polyjuice, and using my experience as examples. Which, of course, she helped with. And then I managed to get her onto a tangent, of other mishaps which could lead to similar transformations, and then —"
"Hermione, you're over-explaining," Fred says with fond exasperation.
"Right, sorry." Hermione's face flushes a deep red that seeps all the way down to her neck. "Anyway," she clears her throat, "I think we might have a cure." At the doubt in her tone, Fred's expression falls. "But either way, it's a step in the right direction!"
The beginnings of a smile curl up Fred's lips, showing the slightest hint of yellowed fang. "Yeah, I suppose it is," he says.
"So," Hermione asks, "shall we give it a try?"
.oOo.
epilogue iv
"Does it work?" a small voice will ask.
"And then they get married and live happily ever after in a castle with lots of cats?" a second will say.
He will laugh at this, and kiss each child in turn atop their curly hair. "They aren't quite there yet," he will say, "but their story hasn't quite finished, either."
"Is there more?" The first child will sit up, disgruntled, and pout until he tucks the duvet back up around small shoulders.
"Why didn't you finish the story?" the second will ask.
"Not all stories start and finish where we would like them to," he will say. "But I will be sure to give you a suitable ending once it has happened.
At this, both children will perk up.
"Does that mean it's real?" one will ask.
"All stories are a little bit real," he will say. "That's what makes them so great."
"But is this one?" the second will say.
He will set his chair back against the wall, dim the lights, and with a mischievous smile, he will say, "I think I'll leave that up to you to decide."
