2. A Most Peculiar Mademoiselle

Hermione sank to the floor in dismay. She had been examining the mirror for the last half-hour, and even resulted to pounding on it when she saw Harry and Ron on the landing in an attempt to get their attention. Unfortunately, they hadn't seen her, and if Belle had tried to push her way through and failed – Hermione reasoned – then she had no doubt that she would fail too. Trying to remember what she had been doing when she had fallen through the mirror, Hermione scrunched up her face and squatted by the mirror. She had tried to hear what Belle had been saying, and then she leaned over into the mirror, falling out on the other side. It was worth a try. Determined, Hermione rocked onto her heels and leaned towards the side, falling towards the base of the mirror. As she approached, Hermione grew frightened by how solid the glass looked and closed her eyes. Sure enough, she heard a dull thud and felt her body press into the glass. Well, Hermione thought, trying not to cry in frustration, I guess I'll try again later. It was pathetic how just a few minutes could change her afternoon so drastically.

"If I'm going to be living here for the time being," Hermione said, "I might as well get some clothes on that won't be as heavy as my robes." Carefully, Hermione removed her charcoal cotton work robes, still wearing jeans cut-offs and a pink tank top. She laid the robes on the bed and opened the armoire to the right of the mirror. Inside were simple dresses in a variety of hues. A few were obviously work dresses – made from cheap calico and adorned with patches, most of them were identical to Belle's blue dress – varying only in color, and the last dress was a modest party dress, emerald green with a square neckline and a few ruffles. None of the dresses was particularly stylish, but that suited Hermione just fine. Hermione selected a forest-green dress similar to Belle's and put it on, pulled her hair into a high ponytail with a matching ribbon, tied an apron around her waist, and looked for a mirror where she could examine her appearance. Finding none in Belle's room (the mirror that had brought her here only showed the inside of 12 Grimmauld Place after all), she traipsed down the stairs into a small living room. To her right was a small vanity, and beyond that stood a modest dining table. A bookcase stood against the opposite wall, but to Hermione's dismay, most of the shelves were empty. Sighing, Hermione turned to the vanity and examined her appearance.

"Why, Belle! Don't you look pretty in that green dress," a phlegmy voice behind her said in French, "Spin around for me so I can see." Hermione twisted around slowly, fear freezing her to the spot. In front of her stood a stocky man, his white hair telling of his age. Hermione's eyes widened and she swore under her breath; she left her wand in her robes upstairs.

"Monsieur, I'm sorry to intrude," Hermione told the man in French. "I'll be going so I don't bother you." Before she had gone back up the stairs, the man stopped her by placing a hand on her forearm.

"Non, I'd like to hear what you're doing in my house and wearing one of Belle's dresses no less, if you don't mind." His dark brown eyes, which had been friendly when he thought Hermione had been Belle, were now flat and slightly menacing. Although Hermione towered over him by at least six inches (which was unusual since she was only five and a half feet tall), she nodded and sat down quietly on the sofa. She felt the blood drain from her face.

"Well, monsieur," Hermione began, twisting her hands in her lap, "my story sounds unbelievable, but I promise it's true." She gave the man a nervous smile and continued, "This afternoon I was at my friend Harry's house and I saw a mirror. After I cleaned it, I saw that it showed not the inside of Harry's home, but the inside of yours. Somehow, I crossed through to this side of the mirror, Belle through to the other side, and neither of us knows how to return to our own world. Since I figured I might be here a while, I thought I should blend in."

The man stroked his chin and looked at the girl across from him. "That's rather difficult to believe, don't you agree, mademoiselle? If you don't mind, I'd like you to show me this mirror you found."

"Oui, monsieur. It is your house after all." Hermione stood up and walked up the stairs, the master of the house right behind her. Once they were both inside Belle's bedroom, Hermione pointed out the oval mirror, and the man rushed to it. He began murmuring excitedly, tapping the glass and examining it closely. After a few moments, he turned towards Hermione with a genuine and friendly smile.

"I see now that your story was true, and until you discover a way to return to your world, I'd like you to stay as a guest." A look of sorrow crossed his features, and he hung his head. "I hope that your friends take care of my daughter, and it's the least I can do in return." He brightened up a little, though he still seemed weary, worn out by the knowledge that his daughter was in a strange land.

In comfort, Hermione placed a hand on his arm. "Merci, monsieur. I appreciate your kindness very much, but I'm not a charity case; therefore, while I'm here, I'd like to help in any way I can as repayment."

"Very well, you may do Belle's chores. She usually takes care of any cooking and cleaning, and she feeds the chickens and our horse, Philippe." He looked at Hermione with a frown. "I don't think you told me your name, my dear."

"Hermione, monsieur."

He smiled again. "Please call me Maurice." He narrowed his eyes, deep in thought, and then surveyed her critically. "People will begin to wonder what you're doing here, Hermione, so I think it's best that we tell everyone you're my niece visiting from London – that will explain your accent. You and Belle look enough alike that no one in town will question that you're cousins."

Nervous, Hermione bit her lip. "Won't someone notice Belle's disappearance?" She didn't want anyone to start asking her questions about the missing girl, especially if she didn't know how to respond to their curiosity.

Maurice shook his head after a moment. "Belle doesn't socialize in town much. She keeps to herself, reading most of the time. If people do say anything about her absence, tell them that she's visiting some old friends near Paris. At Hermione's confusion, he added, "That's close to where we used to live."

"I see." Hermione processed this for a moment – she would pretend to be Belle's cousin from London, and if someone questioned Belle's whereabouts, she would explain that her 'cousin' was visiting old friends in her hometown. It seemed simple enough to her, and if other problems arose, she would deal with them as they occurred. She would tuck her wand into the folds of her dress in the event that she needed a form of defense, and she would continue her attempts to get home. After barely a minute of reviewing her role, Hermione nodded to Maurice. "Right then, I think I can do this, mons–" A sheepish smile crossed her lips as rouge tinged her cheeks. "I mean, Oncle Maurice."

Maurice nodded in approval, and then took his leave as it was getting dark, and Hermione needed to get ready for bed. They agreed to meet in the morning to check that they had their stories synced, and Maurice would explain Belle's chores in more detail so that Hermione knew what to expect. With a gentle wave, Hermione bid him good night, shutting the door as he left. She flopped back onto Belle's small bed, and in the dim light found her wand, clutching it tight to her. The final connection she had with her world and its magic besides the mirror, Hermione clasped her wand to her chest and fell into an uneasy sleep.