7. We're Not Safe Until She's Dead
As Hermione watched the house before her burning down in the darkness of night, she couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. This was her fault. If she had not come to France, this would not be happening right now.
Her eyes widened, and gathering her brown curls at the nape of her neck, Hermione doubled over and retched onto the grass. The bile seeped into the ground, and Hermione tried not to be sick again. She leaned against the lamppost and reflected on how this all started.
Yesterday afternoon, Gaston had followed her to Maurice's cottage, knocking on the door only minutes after she returned 'home,' and when Hermione tried to shut the door in his brutish face, the hunter demonstrated a rare moment of cleverness, placing a black-booted foot in the door to prevent the English witch from closing it entirely. Reluctantly, Hermione had let him in, and he smiled at her. To Hermione, it looked like he was leering at her instead.
"Well, Hermione," Gaston had said, puffing out his chest. "Today is the day your dreams come true."
Hermione raised her eyebrow in disbelief. "What do you know about my dreams, Gaston?" she asked. "We only met yesterday."
Gaston laughed and slapped his knee. Hermione's face became devoid of all emotion as he chuckled, "I know plenty about your dreams. You are like all the women here in Molyneux – you want a husband who can provide for you, and you want to have lots of children. Especially if they are strapping young boys, like me." Gaston put his foot upon a chair, and with his hands on his hips, grinned at Hermione. She tried not to laugh at his arrogance.
"Actually, Gaston," Hermione said, biting her cheek, "I don't want to be married, not now, anyway." And especially not to you, she added silently.
"Of course you want to be married. Look Hermione, I want you to be my wife – you're the most beautiful girl in town –"
"Wait," Hermione interrupted, putting a hand out to stop him. "I thought you said that Belle was the most beautiful girl in town."
"I changed my mind."
Hermione threw up her hands. There had to be a way to use logic to convince Gaston that this was wrong. She thought for a moment. "If you change your mind that quickly about who you want to marry, how can I be sure that you won't change your mind after we marry?"
"You're the most beautiful girl in town, and I only want the best. You're the best, so I won't marry anyone else." Gaston's stare became uncomfortable, and Hermione looked away. Damn, this was going to be hard. Anyone with normal intelligence would be able to see the logic in her argument, but not Gaston.
"What if there's someone else that becomes the best?" she asked, her voice beginning to quaver, wringing her hands behind her back.
"There won't be," Gaston said, his patience wearing thin. "So, Hermione… what will it be? Is it a yes, or is it: Oh, YES!" Gaston had now walked towards her and he was only inches from her face waiting for her answer. Hermione closed her eyes and gulped, and in the instant that it took to compose herself to answer his question and reject him, she felt him grab her waist and in one rough motion, shove his lips on hers. Oh, bloody hell.
Hermione tried to twist from his grasp, but he was too strong. He only clutched her tighter, and she began to feel fear prickle the back of her neck. Eventually, he let go, and she could see the lust and thirst for domination in his malicious eyes. Oh, fuck. Hermione gripped her wand.
"So, Hermione… is it a yes, or is it: Oh, YES!" Gaston repeated, a threatening edge to his voice. Hermione shuddered in terror.
"Actually, Gaston," she said, trying to keep the shake out of her voice, "It's a no." Defiantly, she lifted her chin higher. "I won't marry you. I can't marry someone as cruel as you."
"I will marry you, Hermione," Gaston hissed, and he grabbed her left wrist. "You will be mine."
"Never," she said, fire in her brown eyes. "Now, Gaston let go of me, or I will make you, so Merlin help me."
Gaston sneered, his eyes turning black with his dark humor. "How is a pretty little wench like you going to make me do anything?" He laughed derisively. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm much stronger than you. I'm the one who can make you do anything." He sidled up to her, and unconsciously, Hermione stepped back until her back was against the wall. Gaston stepped over her and she glared at him, unwilling to admit defeat when Gaston grabbed her upper left arm. Withdrawing her wand, Hermione narrowed her eyes with determination and unadulterated loathing.
"Let go, Gaston," Hermione said in a deadly tone, holding her wand up to his massive neck. "I'm warning you. Let go, or you will regret it, I swear you will." She held her wand up to his massive neck.
Gaston smirked, his eyes alight with mockery. "You're going to seek revenge using a wooden stick? Honestly Hermione, that's the dumbest thing I've ever seen."
"Stupefy!" A bright jet of red light burst from the end of Hermione's wand and hit Gaston square in the shoulders. He flew backwards against the wall near where the door was located, but he didn't become unconscious. Hermione supposed the great brute was too enormous for the stunning spell to affect him fully, even from such a close range. Shit.
However, the spell had the desired effect: Gaston's eyes widened in fear, and he slowly stood up, backing out the door. "Witchcraft!" he shouted as he left. "This girl is a witch!" Hermione shut her eyes and put her face in her hands. She had only hours, maybe only moments before the whole town came after her. She was in seventeenth century Europe; they believed in witches and were extremely superstitious.
"What have I done?" Hermione whispered. Not only would they come after her, but also Maurice would be a prime target. He lived here with her, and the townspeople would suspect that he had known about Hermione's abilities. No matter what, she would ensure Maurice's safety – she had promised Belle that. Running to the cellar, Hermione found Maurice underneath his contraption, muttering about how the blasted machine refused to work.
"Maurice!" Hermione said urgently, "You have to leave – now!" Confused, Maurice slid out from underneath his invention and stared at the girl. She simply stared at him, waiting for him to react.
"Why?" he asked as he put away his wrench. "What's the problem?"
Hermione tried to slow her breathing down and keep her rational mind. Panicking at a time like this would not help anyone. "I'm a witch. Gaston proposed to me, and I… I thought he was going to… to… to rape me. To defend myself, I uttered the stunning spell, but he wasn't knocked out – he was too massive." Hermione paused to gauge the old man's reaction. Nervous, he was paying attention. She swallowed. "The worst part is, he left here shouting that I'm a witch, and I think that he's going to incite the town against me. I have a feeling they'll burn me at the stake, or come here and try to harm you. That's why you have to leave immediately."
"Where will I go?" Maurice asked, his voice small. "Will I ever see Belle again?"
Hermione felt hot tears stinging her eyes. This was all her fault. She should have known better than this. Silently, she cursed herself. "You should take Philippe and go as far away from this town as you can – go to the next town or Paris if you're able. I'll take the mirror with me, and I'll meet you there. I'll figure out a way that you can travel through the mirror and see Belle. Maybe it would be better if we all went to England," Hermione whispered, the tears rolling down her cheeks now. She looked at Maurice, and she felt a painful tug in her chest. "I'm so sorry."
Maurice wrapped the crying girl in a hug and patted her back gently. "There, there," he said. "Don't worry. You didn't mean to cause this – you were only protecting yourself. We'll both be fine, Hermione." She wrapped her arms around him, squeezed him once and let go, wiping her tears with her hand. She needed to compose herself.
"All right," she said, suddenly businesslike, "Maurice, if you want to take your inventions, you need to pack them up right now. Take some clothes and food, and any prized possessions." He nodded as Hermione continued. "I'll take Belle's books and clothes with me, and I will also take the mirror. I'll saddle up Philippe so that he will be ready for you. I'll help you get ready to leave, and then I'll make my preparations." Then, she left Maurice as he began gathering his tools and half-made machines and carrying them to the wagon.
Running to the nearby stable, Hermione gathered Philippe's grooming materials and put them together on the wagon outside. She placed a blanket on the horse's back and placed the saddle on top of him. Leading him by the bridle, Hermione hitched him to the wagon and began lugging his food – mostly hay – out to the wagon. She then helped Maurice load his inventions, clothing, and food and said a quick goodbye as night fell. With a loud 'yah,' Maurice left the cottage, and Hermione was alone. Dashing upstairs, she began to gather her own items for the journey.
Maurice had left some food for her, and wrapping it up in her apron, she slipped it into the pocket of her dress. She then transfigured one of Belle's dresses into a satchel and began placing the other dresses and clothing in there. She sprinted downstairs and grabbed the books, shrunk them with her magic, and packed them as well. All she had left unpacked was the mirror.
As she tried to detach the mirror, Hermione saw the mob beginning to form outside the cottage. Torches glinted in the dark, and Hermione could see Gaston, his face set like flint, cold and uncaring. Hate flickered in those eyes, and even from her spot by the window, she could see his humiliation and terror. Biting her lip, Hermione tried more desperately to detach the mirror from the wall, muttering every incantation that she knew. Finally, in a final effort, she created her own spell.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall
Detach yourself and save us all
If here you remain, you will burn
And Belle's mercy, I shall not earn
Belle will never her father see
Nor England see Hermione
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Leave this house and prevent this all."
In one last attempt, Hermione twirled her wand and shut her eyes as she cried out her spell. She felt magic surge through her, and cracking her eyes open, she saw that the mirror was loosening itself from the wall. Relieved, Hermione muttered a shrinking charm and inserted the mirror into the satchel. She took a deep breath, placed the satchel on the bed and walking to the window gazed on the scene below.
"Fellow townsfolk," Gaston bellowed, "Inside this cottage live a witch and her caretaker. When I came to propose to Hermione this afternoon, she cackled and nearly killed me with her magic. We're not safe until she's dead!"
The town murmured in agreement, and one short man with black hair shouted, "Hear, hear!"
"And so," Gaston said, quieting the crowd by raising his hands, "I say we burn down their cottage and leave them to die!" The mob roared with excitement and agreement, and Gaston threw his torch onto the house; it reached the second-story, very near where Hermione stood.
"Let's kill the witch!"
More townspeople threw their torches onto the house, and soon the flames threatened to overtake the house. Hermione began coughing from all the smoke, and grabbing the satchel and her wand, she shut her eyes and prepared to disapparate to the edge of town. She felt the familiar pulling in her stomach, and when she opened her eyes, Hermione gasped. The cottage that she had called home for the last three days was ablaze and beginning to fall down. Hermione, watching the scene, vomited onto the grass and slid down the light post to rest for a moment.
In the excitement at burning the house down, no one noticed that Hermione was on the outskirts of town, and she preferred it that way. She didn't need them to come chasing her; let them think that she died in the fire. She closed her eyes and saw Harry and Ron. They were standing beside her, urging her on.
"Bloody brilliant, Hermione!"
"There's nothing Hermione can't do…"
"… the cleverest witch of our age…"
Hermione opened her eyes, and the brown glinted with firm determination. She would see her friends again, and Belle would see her father again – Hermione would see to it. She was a clever witch, and as she had proven many times in the past, anything she set her mind to, she would accomplish.
Grabbing her wand and the satchel, Hermione faced the forest at the edge of the town, took a deep breath and entered it. She would find Maurice, and she would take him to see his daughter someway, somehow.