If Hermione had at any point considered teaching the Beast how to waltz, she put those thoughts hastily aside one afternoon while they walked through the snowy gardens. While not precisely clumsy, the Beast was very ungainly, owing in part to the enormous upper body he was forced to carry around on rather small, almost catlike legs; he avoided walking on all fours whenever he could help it. The damp paths and the slippery nature of snow only added to his difficulties, and when he had fallen for the third time she suggested they go inside and warm themselves at the fire.
She wasn't sure exactly when she had started to think of the castle as "home," but she was discovering more and more things she genuinely enjoyed about the place. One of her favorite aspects was the fact that she and the Beast chose a different room in which to spend the afternoon each day, and they never seemed to run out of options. Once they had weathered a blustery snowstorm by reading Spenser's Faerie Queene in a formal sitting room hung with rose silk curtains. Another time, when it was sunny and cold, the servants had built up the fire in a huge drawing room filled with tapestries of great battles. The Beast had been terribly uncomfortable, though he tried to hide it, on the day they had occupied a long gallery filled with portraits. Most of them seemed to be of a family, all red-haired and freckled, bearing various degrees of resemblance to the young man whose shredded portrait she had discovered on her first night.
On the occasion of the Beast's clumsy stroll in the snow, they went to settle themselves at the fireplace of a small room on the second floor. The walls were paneled in a rich, dark wood that made the chamber seem deliciously cozy and warm. Two large wing chairs sat opposite each other at the fireside, and between them rested a table bearing an elegant chess set. The pieces were carved of two different shades of wood, their bases ornamented with gold, and these caught the firelight and gleamed.
The Beast cast a bemused look at the game. "I haven't touched chess pieces in ages."
"You play?" Hermione looked surprised.
"I used to. Do you?"
"No, not really. I mean, I've never learned how." The Beast, delighted at the opportunity to teach Hermione something, ushered her into a chair and began explaining the pieces.
She lost her first game, of course. This didn't go over very well with Hermione, and she crossly challenged the Beast to a rematch. He accepted, and the afternoon flew past. Each day thereafter, they would find the chess set ready for play in any room where they intended to spend time.
"You've been here for two months," the Beast remarked casually one morning at breakfast.
Hermione glanced at him over her bowl of porridge. "I know."
"I just thought...I mean, I wondered...would you...would you like to celebrate this?"
He's doing it again, she thought. If he weren't so hairy he'd be blushing. "What did you have in mind?" she asked finally.
"I thought maybe...uh..." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, we can have dinner like we usually do, and uh...maybe play chess?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "How is that different from any other day?" Her voice was not skeptical, but gently puzzled.
"It's...oh. I guess it isn't." He dropped his gaze.
She relented. "Maybe we could dress formally?"
"If you want..." He glanced up again, his blue eyes not quite daring to be hopeful.
"Okay, when?"
"Tonight?"
"All right."
Hermione surprised herself by agonizing over what to wear. Up in Gryffindor Tower, she had a whole closetful of beautiful dresses from which to choose, but she usually opted for simpler attire out of habit. On this night, however, she had left the Beast early in the evening and, after her bath, spent a good hour trying to decide on the perfect gown.
I must be mad, she thought. It's only the Beast, for heaven's sake. And yet that was almost the point, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
She finally settled on a dress of soft periwinkle blue, sewn here and there on the skirt with tiny winking diamonds. The invisible handmaid who helped her to dress combed some kind of oil through her hair, making it shiny and sleek instead of bushy, and twisted it up on the back of her head in an intricate knot.
As the grandfather clock chimed seven, she left the tower and descended the grand staircase, carefully holding up her skirts so she wouldn't trip. The Beast was waiting for her on the lowest landing, and she could hear his breath catch as she approached. He was also dressed in blue, to match his eyes, and his velvet coat was accentuated with white lace and gold trim. A blue ribbon tied his mane back away from his face, and he smiled broadly as he gave her his arm.
The long banquet table was laid with the usual gold and silver as they entered the dining room, and dishes of every description began to appear. Soft music wafted from one corner of the chamber, where invisible musicians were no doubt playing their invisible instruments. The Beast pulled out Hermione's chair for her, then seated himself and, to her great surprise and delight, began to eat with the utensils beside his plate. He still couldn't wield them with tremendous grace, but his efforts touched her.
When they had eaten all that they could, and the table had been cleared away, the Beast escorted Hermione to a smaller table near the enormous fireplace, where the now-familiar chess set was ready for play. Hermione, taking the seat behind the light-colored pieces, made the first move. The music grew even softer around them as they began to concentrate on the game.
The Beast took an early lead, capturing several of Hermione's pawns and one of her knights. She began to fight back, with stealth and strategy, and soon began to capture just as many of his pieces as he had taken of hers. The weeks of play had increased her skill, and she stared at the board in determination.
And then the Beast made his fatal move.
It was quite his own fault, really. Hermione had been studying the board, the tip of her pink tongue poking out of one side of her mouth in her concentration. The Beast had made the mistake of looking up at her, and found himself unable to look away. She was radiant in the firelight, an angel in periwinkle blue, but it was that little bit of tongue that he found irresistibly endearing. Watching her more than the board, he put his bishop on the wrong square.
Hermione, her own attention not failing, caught the error at once. With a soft cry of triumph, she slid her queen across the board. "Checkmate," she said, looking up at last with a grin.
The Beast chuckled. Taking his eyes from her face for the briefest moment, he took his king and laid it down in a gesture of defeat. "So I fall to the white queen," he said quietly, gazing at her across the board again. They stared at each other, blue eyes locked on brown, for a short eternity.
They were brought back to reality by the scraping sound of the table as it moved away from them. The invisible servants were carrying it away to leave them in privacy. Hermione fussed absently with the skirts of her gown, and the Beast shifted his weight on the chair so that he was close enough to take one of her hands in his own.
"Are...are you happy here, Hermione?"
"Oh, yes," she replied without hesitation, but then her face fell. He watched her with concern.
"What's wrong?"
She sighed. "I just wish I could see my brother again. I miss him so much."
He paused, trying to think of something that would comfort her. Suddenly, he thought of the very thing to make her feel better. "Come with me."
They went up to that forbidden third floor chamber, where the Beast picked up the mirror. Under the glass, the rose was growing steadily weaker, and losing petals daily.
"This mirror will show you anything. Just ask it. Anything."
Hermione took the offering, looking dubious. "I'd...like to see...my brother. Please." At once the calm reflection began to whirl with bright colors, and when it settled again, she was horrified to see Harry lying on the ground. He was evidently somewhere in the forest, undoubtedly searching for her, and by the look of things, he was very ill indeed.
The Beast watched the color drain from Hermione's face as she stared into the mirror. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "Harry's sick. He may be dying. He's lost out there, somewhere, and he's all alone." She watched the Beast as he turned to stare at the rose, running one great paw over the glass dome. The expression on his face as he turned back to her was one of excruciating pain.
"You must go to him, then."
"What??"
"You're free. You're no longer my prisoner. You have to find your brother, I set you free." He turned away from her again, trying not to let her see what the sacrifice was costing him.
The blood rushed back into Hermione's face as she stared at him in disbelief. "Oh...oh, thank you!" She looked at the mirror again. "I'm coming, Harry!"
She tried to give the mirror back to the Beast, but he shook his head. "Take it with you," he said, "and remember me."
Hermione smiled gently. "Thank you for your understanding," she said softly. She lifted one small pale hand to stroke his face tenderly, then swept out of the room. He watched her go, then watched from the window several minutes later as she mounted her horse and galloped through the castle gates.
"I love you," he told the retreating figure.
Coming up: Draco turns Slytherin-green with envy, and the Beast may pay the ultimate price for it
