A/N: I apologize for the delay in updating; I have a good reason, I promise! I was doing lots of research (i.e. I reread all seven Harry Potter books and referred to the Harry Potter wikia site). As such, I have made minor alterations in the other eight chapters, but I strongly recommend reading the end of chapter seven, as I changed it quite a bit.

Just so that everyone is aware, I altered the timeline, so the story begins in late March 2000. According to wikia, Victoire wouldn't have been born until May 2, 2000 or 2001 – so I pushed everything back two years… not that this really affects anything, except everyone's age.

Also, before I let you read, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed, added this story to their favorites or has put this on alert. I have been amazed by the response this story has received, and I'm glad that you guys like it. Please continue to review; I like hearing from my readers! :)

9. My Heart Keeps Singing

When Hermione awoke, a bright white light filtered through her doors. Yawning, she stretched her back, her fingers extended, clawing the air. As her body settled, she glanced around the room, and her eyes landed on an ornate, slightly ajar, white door that she had missed that morning in her exhaustion. Standing up, Hermione walked over to the east wall and pushed the door open.

Inside, a large stone chamber pot sat to the left (Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust at the very sight of it), and an enormous porcelain tub with bronze, clawed feet stood against the opposite wall. At the very back wall, a basinful of cool water perched on top of a white, wooden stand. Small lavender hand towels sat to the right, as well as fluffy washcloths and bath towels. With a small smile, Hermione closed the door behind her, and dipping a washcloth into the basin, she brought it to her face and sighed with contentment.

As the cool water tickled her face, Hermione's brain started functioning more fully, and she looked up suddenly; she had something important that she needed to do… and the anxiety that had attacked her the previous night now came in waves upon her. Maurice was in a strange town, all alone, without proper housing. The knowledge threatened to suffocate her as she stood there in the pristine bathroom, but Hermione fought against cloaked, black Guilt, retrieved her wand from the bedroom and conjured a Patronus to send to Maurice with the message that she was safe in the castle and would come for him shortly.

Sitting down on the colossal bed, Hermione sighed as the silver otter swam off through the open window. She wished she could leave the castle right now to search for Maurice – in theory, she could disapparate to the edge of the castle and never return – but Hermione, if nothing else, was faithful, and she had promised Lumiere that she would dine with the master. As a result, Hermione thought grimly, she would need to pass another night in the castle before she could begin looking for Maurice.

The door to her left opened, disturbing the train of Hermione's thought. Upon a silver cart sat a porcelain teapot and a chipped teacup along with a sugar bowl, a small container of milk, and a plate of scones.

"Hello, dearie," the teapot said in French, though her accent was clearly British. "I thought you might like a spot of tea." A black coat-stand wheeled in the silver cart over to Hermione.

"How very kind of you," Hermione replied in English, slightly uneasy that a teapot was talking to her. "Thank you very much."

The teapot tilted its head to the side. "Well, if English is your native tongue," she replied, "We've no objection speaking it to you as it's our first language as well. My name is Mrs. Potts, dear, and this boy here," she tapped the cup beside her with her spout, "is my son, Chip."

"Hiya!"

Hermione frowned, pursing her lips as she looked at Chip and his mother, finally deciding to ask a question that had plagued her since the previous evening. "Pardon me, but how is it that you are even able to talk? I've seen complicated magic before; I've even performed some of it myself, but never have I seen humans transfigured into household items that could talk, nor have I seen household items charmed with the ability to talk."

Mrs. Potts looked taken aback. "Well, dearie, you certainly are intelligent. I never imagined that someone would deduce that we were enchanted objects so quickly."

"Well, I mean, it's obvious, isn't it? Even in the wizarding world, teapots and clocks don't talk… so it must be a very powerful enchantment. It's just something I've never encountered."

"So, you're a wizard?" Chip asked. He seemed to be hopping up and down from excitement.

Hermione smiled. "I'm a witch," she corrected gently.

"Oh, neat," said Chip, his eyes growing wider. "Can you do magic? Can you break the spell?" His eyes were blue marbles now, alight with hope.

"Of course I can do magic," Hermione said. She picked up her wand and tapped Chip so that he grew larger. Tapping him once more, he shrunk to his usual size. "As for reversing an enchantment, I'm not sure I can; it depends on what kind of spell it is and how powerful the caster was."

Chip's grin faltered.

"Would you like your tea, dear?" Mrs. Potts prompted. "It's getting cold."

Hermione looked at the teapot. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Setting her wand aside, Hermione poured Mrs. Potts into Chip, added milk and sugar and sipped her tea. It was slightly disconcerting, she found, to drink from a cup that had spoken to you only moments before. It was even more disturbing, she realized, to drink from a cup that kept trying to talk to you while you were enjoying tea from it.

"So, Hermione," Chip asked as she drank her tea, "do you think you could reverse the enchantment on the castle?"

"Chip!" his mother reprimanded. "Hold your tongue! Miss Hermione is trying to enjoy her tea, and that's hard to do without you speaking out every five seconds!"

Hermione put Chip down. "Oh, I don't mind," she said, a bit untruthfully. "I think I've actually had enough tea for now. Thank you, Chip."

"You're welcome. So, Hermione-"

"Well, we best be off," Mrs. Potts said loudly. "C'mon, Chip. Let's head back to the kitchens."

"But, Mama-"

"Not another word, Chip." Mrs. Potts cleared her throat, and the coat-rack, which had been standing right inside Hermione's room while she drank her tea, now walked over to the silver cart and pushed it out of the room, shutting the door behind itself. Hermione could still hear Chip whining to his mother, and Mrs. Potts' adamant replies that they 'would discuss this later' as the coat-rack rolled them down the hall.

As Hermione sat alone in her bedroom, she couldn't help wondering about what Mrs. Potts and Chip had been talking about. Obviously, they were under some enchantment, and Hermione was willing to guess that someone had transfigured them from humans into household objects. The same must be true, then, for Lumiere and Cogsworth…

A knock on the door disturbed Hermione's ponderings, but she called out, "Come in!" The black spindly coat-rack entered, followed by Lumiere, Cogsworth, and a feather duster.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," said Lumiere. "Dinner will be served promptly at six this evening. It is half past four right now."

"Yes, thank you," huffed Cogsworth, glaring at Lumiere. "I do believe as Head of the Household, it is my duty to inform our guest about dinner?"

Lumiere shrugged. "Then by all means, Cogsworth, tell the lady what she already knows."

The hands of his clock, which served as his mustache, started trembling in annoyance. "Anyway, Mademoiselle Hermione, the master requests your presence half an hour before we serve dinner if that will be suitable."

Hermione nodded, looking down at her dirty and wrinkled green dress. "Well, I'll change into one of my other dresses then."

"Did someone say dresses?" The heavy wardrobe waddled from the opposite side of the room to where Lumiere, Cogsworth, the coat-rack, and Belle were; she trilled the last word in a high soprano.

Staring, Hermione nodded. Even after seeing Lumiere, Cogsworth, Chip, Mrs. Potts, and the feather duster, she still found it upsetting to see a new object that could move and talk.

"Oh, well, then you'll simply have to borrow one of mine! Back in the day, I used to be the Royal Opera Singer, and I used to wear all the latest fashions when I performed. But now, my vanity has turned me into a vanity." She chuckled at her joke. "And now, none of these dresses will fit my figure. In fact, I can't even get through the door."

"Merci," Hermione said.

"Oh, and I am Madame Grande de la Bouche," the wardrobe said as she fluttered open her drawers, only to reveal several moths. She blushed. "Oh, how embarrassing… well, here we are… I think this would look ravishing on you!"

Madame Grande de la Bouche withdrew a pale raspberry silk dress with a velvety crimson skirt and matching sleeves that would end at her elbows. Hermione lifted a hand to the material, and it was so soft. She smiled up at the Madame, who returned the grin.

"Well, then," said the feather duster, "we must get you ready for dinner. All the men must leave! Out Lumiere, Cogsworth… and you too," she said, glaring at the coat-rack. "We will call you back when she is ready for her hair to be done."

It was 5:36, and the Beast paced up and down the smooth marble floor of the parlor. For the occasion, he no longer wore the tattered pants that he'd worn for the last nine years, not that the girl was likely to notice.

Stopping in the track he was wearing on the floor, he saw Cogsworth enter, waddling quickly to him. He raised his eyebrows and bared his fangs, and his servant quivered.

"What is it, Cogsworth? Where is the girl?" the Beast asked, his eyes narrowed. Cogsworth continued to shake.

"Ahem… the ladies are running a bit behind schedule… so it will be... er… a few…"

The master growled. "She's not coming, is she?" he asked. He put his face in his hands. "I'm hideous. Of course she wouldn't want to come down to dinner," he muttered sullenly. A mirror hung on the wall, reflecting his coarse hair, long, twisted horns, and cruel teeth. With a loud roar, he picked up the mirror and smashed it on the ground.

"Now really, sire, you shouldn't say that… Mademoiselle Hermione will be down here in a few minutes..."

"You're only saying that to placate me," the Beast growled as he picked up an armchair and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall and smashed to pieces. "It's nine years into this foul enchantment, and not once has a girl ever come across the castle. The occasional traveler has always been male, and old, and ready to die. Can you even imagine how I feel?" he roared as he picked up another armchair.

"Sire, I must insist that you think rationally!" shouted Cogsworth. "Mademoiselle Hermione will-"

At his words, the door creaked open.

Hermione entered the parlor, her head held high but looking wary, especially as she surveyed the damage of the mirror and armchair. The Beast lowered the second chair fractionally and stared at the floor.

"I thought you weren't coming," he muttered as he placed the chair back on the marble.

With a curtsey, Hermione said, "I'm sorry. My hairstyle took longer than anyone anticipated." She felt so awkward – was she even supposed to curtsey? She had supposed that he must be nobility of that time since he was the master of the castle and the enchantment must have transfigured him too (unless he was simply a magical creature that could speak French, Hermione realized).

The Beast finally looked up at her, and his heart entered his throat – she was gorgeous. In the glow of the firelight, her hair shimmered golden, auburn, and warm brown. A ribbon held part of her hair back, and the rest of her hair floated around her shoulders in large, smooth curls. The raspberry silk accented her slim waist and her pale skin. Her wide brown eyes made her look innocent, and if possible, even more beautiful. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Would you like me to repair the mirror and armchair?" Hermione asked politely after a few moments, still standing in the doorway. Having the Beast stare at her without saying anything made her extremely uncomfortable; she preferred to be doing something.

"I don't think that's possible," he replied staring at the floor again and still muttering, so low this time that Hermione didn't hear him.

Taking his silence as a 'yes,' Hermione casted a silent 'Reparo!' and both the broken mirror and the armchair reassembled themselves. The mirror flew back onto the wall over by Hermione, and the chair scooted itself over by the Beast.

Staring at her, flabbergasted, the Beast asked, "How did you do that?"

"Oh," Hermione said, matter-of-factly, "I'm a witch. Since it's only the mid-eighteenth century, I doubt the French Ministry of Magic is strictly enforcing the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, so I think it's allowable that I perform magic here. Besides, I don't really think you're Muggles, since you're all under some kind of enchantment already – and, anyway, if the Ministry didn't prevent this kind of large-scale enchantment, I doubt my Reparo charm will cause any problem."

She said this all very quickly, and the Beast's head began to spin; he hardly processed any of the information that she had told him. With a grunt, he sat down in the armchair that she had just repaired. Hermione crossed the room and joined him, sitting across from him in the other chair.

"So, monsieur," Hermione asked, after she settled in her armchair, "What shall I call you?"

"Beast will be fine."

"No," Hermione insisted, "I want to call you by your name."

"My… my name?" Ever since the enchantment had fallen upon the castle, the Beast tried not to remember his name – it was a painful reminder of his past, and he was simply amazed that this had been the first question out of his guest's mouth.

"Yes," she said, a touch of exasperation in her tone. "You must have a name, even if you are a beast… and if you were a human transfigured by the enchantment, then it's a pity if you don't still use your given name."

Suddenly the Beast grew stern. "How do you know about the enchantment?" he growled, his blue eyes piercing Hermione. She seemed unfazed.

"I'm a witch," she reminded him. "I know what magic looks like, and in all my years of study, I've never seen a talking teapot or candelabra, forcing me to conclude that your castle is under some kind of an enchantment, and a very powerful one at that."

The Beast grunted.

"My name," he said after several moments, "was Adam. I lived here with my mother and father but they passed away when I was very young, so the servants had to raise me. I became spoiled, and on my eleventh birthday, an old beggar woman arrived at the castle, asking for shelter in exchange for a red rose. I rejected the offer and shut the door in her face. She became a very beautiful enchantress and turned me into this hideous beast for my selfishness. The entire castle's staff became objects since I had treated them as such growing up, and even the castle became a gloomy place. I have been 'Beast' ever since," he ended bitterly, glaring at the fireplace.

Staring at her lap, Hermione thought about what the Beast had just said. It seemed like a horrible curse. "Isn't there any way to break the spell?" she asked.

"Yes," the Beast replied darkly, "there is, but the enchantress made it explicitly clear that I was not to reveal how to break the spell to anyone besides members of my staff. If I go against those orders, I will be stuck like this until I die."

Hermione bit her lip. The Beast may not be able to reveal the counter-enchantment to the castle's curse, but she was clever, and she would figure it out; then she could help Lumiere, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, Chip, and the Beast. Hesitantly, Hermione reached out her arm and placed it on his.

"I will help you break this enchantment," she said. "I don't know how yet, but I will."

The Beast looked up at her, hope in his eyes. "Merci, mademoiselle. That means a lot to me."

"Please," the brunette said, with a nervous smile, "call me Hermione."

"Hermione," the Beast said, smiling back, his fangs protruding. "That's a beautiful name."

Before Hermione could make any reply, however, the doors behind them opened, and Cogsworth entered, clearing his throat. "Dinner is served," he said, before waddling out of the parlor and closing the white doors behind him.

"Shall we?" Hermione asked as she stood up, careful not to trip in her gown.

Nodding, the Beast stood up as well, offering his arm to her, which she took, though it was slightly awkward as he was so tall and furry. As they walked to the dining hall arm in arm, the Beast felt the flicker of hope that had lit in his heart swell and shine with song.