A/N: Please note that this chapter has undergone revision as of August 17, 2011. This may affect future chapters, so I strongly recommend that any old reader re-read the end of the chapter at the very least. Thank you. :)
12. Just a Little Change, Small to Say the Least
"My dear Belle, have you forgotten me?" The words echoed inside her brain every time she slept and the wind rushed past her ear, every time she sat on the sand and the waves lapped at her toes.
You… have… forgotten… me, the wind and the waves accused decidedly, and in those tense moments salt water ran down Belle's face as she pictured her father that she had left behind in France.
Where was he? Was he still safe at home? Belle longed to return to 12 Grimmauld Place to check – she hadn't thought in the whirlwind of planning for her to stay at Shell Cottage, but now she would be here for two weeks. Fleur needed her here, and Belle had only been here a day. With resignation, she wiped away her tearstains, stood up and walked up through the sand up to the house.
"Oh, Belle," Fleur said gaily in French as she opened the back door, "I was wondering when you would be coming back to the house. I am glad to see you."
Kissing her friend on both cheeks, Fleur urged her inside and began talking about what she had heard on the news. Belle nodded attentively, but as the minutes wore on, she began daydreaming, and a fierce youth with pale blonde hair had a starring role.
"Belle?" Fleur asked, waving her hand near the girl's face, "are you all right? You haven't been answering me for the last couple minutes."
Blushing, Belle nodded. "Je suis désolé, Fleur. I had my head in the clouds."
Fleur smiled. "It happens to all of us, mon amie, but Bill will be home soon, and dinner is almost ready, so let us prepare the table."
Bill soon arrived, pecking his wife on the cheek, and the three sat down to dinner. The couple flirted throughout dinner, glad to see one another again, and Belle – feeling uncomfortable – asked to be excused as soon as she had finished eating. Granted permission to do so, she headed into the chill evening air, the whitewashed door to the cottage squeaking shut behind her.
The sea spray and the dense humidity formed a thick fog around the cottage. Cautiously, Belle walked down to the ocean and sat in the sand, her knees against her chest, and closed her eyes. The image of her father swam before her, and the familiar tears stung her eyes before the torrent was released.
Moments, maybe even hours passed, but darkness had crept around her in any case. Belle still sat, staring into the ocean as though nothing had happened. Slowly, she stood up, stretching her back, and she began walking along the beach, mist clouding her path. Too saddened to panic, Belle continued wandering along the ocean's edge, the faint moonlight her only guide.
After a few moments, Belle still couldn't see the cottage. Worried, she began walking the other way – faster – following the contour of the ocean. She had simply chosen the wrong direction the first time.
Nearly ten minutes later, Belle saw a shape looming out of the mist, but she quickly realized it was too large to be Bill and Fleur's modest cottage – no, this was a mansion.
The large stone-grey house sat atop the cliff, and black, wrought iron gates stood in front of it. Rain began to descend, floating in the sky, but it came faster and faster as Belle hurried up the small stone path up to the manor. As Belle approached, she could see lights glinting from the inside. Someone must be home – maybe they would be kind enough to let her stay the night.
Pushing her way through the gates, Belle ran to the stoop of the mansion and pulled at the large brass knocker. Clang, clang, clang. Clang, clang, clang.
After a couple minutes – by which time Belle was rather wet – the door creaked open to reveal a small creature with bat-like ears.
"'Ello," Belle said, grimacing, "I en-tare?" She rubbed at her arms, indicating it was cold outside. With a frightened look, the bat-like creature shut the door with a quick click.
As the minutes passed, the air became colder, and Belle's shivers grew more violent. She knocked again, and the strange creature answered the door yet another time.
"P-p-pleeze," Belle said, wrapping her arms around her slender frame, "p-p-pleeze… pear-meet me en-tare?"
"Oh, Batty is getting in trouble, Batty is having to iron her ears…" the creature said, but she opened the door wider, and Belle stepped through, only to sink to the marble floor in cold and exhaustion. As she fell, she knocked over an end table, and a vase crashed to the ground.
"Batty," a stern voice called from inside the manor, "What is that loud noise?"
"Mistress' vase, sir," the creature replied, voice wavering, as she wrung her hands.
Footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor, and out of her fading vision, Belle could see a man with a shock of pale hair. Shaking her head, she looked up and saw Monsieur Malfoy.
"Batty," he said, "I thought I told you not to let the beggar woman in?" He raised an eyebrow. "She's probably a witch looking to scam the Malfoys with a sob story. Well, it won't work. Take her back outside."
He turned to face the opposite direction, when Batty spoke up, pointing to Belle's bedraggled and soaked form. "But, sir," she squeaked, "Batty was seeing this cold woman, sir, and was having pity on her."
"I really don't care, Batty," he said in a bored voice. "I don't want her here, and neither would my parents."
Trying to ignore the black at the edges of her vision, Belle shook her head and began speaking in French, "Je suis désolé, Monsieur Malfoyde l'interruption… mais je suis froid et humide et a perdu. Puis-je… s'il vous plait… passer la nuit ici?"
Malfoy's indifferent and cruel mask broke for a second, and his eyebrows rose slightly. "Belle?" he asked. He crossed the entryway and bent over for a moment. Realizing what he was doing, his back stiffened and he stood erect, the image of power and authority.
Shuffling to the side, his servant interjected meekly, "Master, Batty is not minding preparing a room for this woman. Batty is not minding in the least." The young Malfoy began to raise his hand, and Batty squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating pain – but it did not come.
With a sigh, Draco lowered his hand and began to extend it toward Belle, only to withdraw his assistance as she crawled to her knees and began to stand. Once she had climbed to her feet, she stared at him, anger glinting in her dark brown eyes.
"Monsieur Malfoy, I was outside… for nearly t-t-ten minutes, knock-k-king and shivering." Belle, now standing straight, looked at the man expectantly. Inside, a storm of emotions swirled in her heart, her stomach, and just as many thoughts swirled in her mind, but she locked the confused and hurt thoughts far away so that the blonde-haired man could not see.
Draco raised a single eyebrow before speaking in French. "Well, Mademoiselle, it is rare to have visitors at this hour, and I was in the study. I regret ordering my servant not to open the door, and I apologize for my rudeness. You may stay for the night, and Batty will show you to your room."
Turning around, he sighed and resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands. Naturally, the one person that had to come visit him late at night was her. He peered behind him and saw that Belle was still looking at him, even though Batty was tugging at the hem of her dress, urging the visitor to follow her.
He met her gaze, feigning indifference, and after raising her nose slightly, she looked away and walked after the house-elf. Draco listened to their footsteps on the stone, only moving from the corridor when all he could hear was the rain beating on the roof of the manor.
Walking toward his study, Draco began to process what had just occurred: Belle, of all people—of all women—had arrived at the Malfoy summer house. Damn, he needed alcohol. Draco pushed the door to his study open and found an unopened bottle of Firewhiskey – just what he needed.
Plopping down on the dark leather sofa across from the stone fireplace, Draco uncorked the bottle of liquor and poured it into a nearby crystal shot glass.
As he swirled the Firewhiskey in the glass, he could hear his mother chastising him for the way he had acted earlier – not like a gentleman. His mother – hell, how glad he was to be away from her at the moment. Pursing his lips, he downed the entire shot glass and set it on the table beside him. Uncorking the bottle of Firewhiskey once more, Draco leaned the opening against the shot glass and poured the clear liquid into it. He emptied the glass once more, tipping his head back so that his blonde hair fell around him.
Belle. What was it about her? He didn't know. Heaven forbid that he should find a Muggle woman, not even a Muggle witch – and a French one no less – the least bit attractive. His father would sooner kill all the pure-bloods than permit that, and even his mother had repeatedly said since his graduation from Hogwarts that he should date a 'respectable young pure-blood.' Belle and him… They were too different. Damn different. Draco emptied the shot glass a third… a fourth, a fifth time, and after setting it on the table, slumped on the leather couch where he sat. Blinking slowly, the flames shifted and bathed the room with a dim golden light, growing dimmer and dimmer. Draco's eyes closed, and within moments, a passerby could hear light snores that they might have mistaken for the rain still pattering on the roof.
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Bong! Draco squeezed his eyes together and compressed his body further, pulling his knees into his chest, rumpling his robes. Again the noise sounded, and with a groan, Draco covered his ears. If he heard the noise again, Draco suspected his temples would begin throbbing.
"Master! Master! Batty is asking you to wake up, sir! The girl is awake and is wanting to go home! Batty promises to burn her fingers for bothering you, sir. Please wake up."
In response, Draco groaned and rolled over, his face against the leather back of the couch. "Can't you just apparate her home, Batty?" His hangover had begun to set in, and Batty's urgency rolled over his brain, grinding at his skull.
Batty paused, the two pans she had in her hands dropping down to her sides. "Batty could, sir, but Batty was thinking that maybe if sir took the girl home, last night might be forgiven."
"What?" Draco mumbled, pushing himself to a sitting position, fumbling in his hung-over state. "What do you mean?"
Batty had begun wringing her hands, the pans forgotten, sitting next to her on the floor. "Well, sir," the elf said, "when Batty was showing Miss to her room, she looked hurt. And last night, sir, Batty was hearing her say your name and she sounded upset." Batty said this last bit in a whisper so that Draco had to lean forward to hear from his position on the couch.
With another groan, he stretched out his arms and legs, pulling himself to stand in front of the elf. "You think she's that upset?"
Batty nodded earnestly. "Batty is having been in love before, and Batty knows when someone you care about treats you badly…" Batty's eyes suddenly widened and she went over to the bookshelf, grabbed a thick volume, and proceeded to hit herself over the head with it. "Bad Batty! Bad Batty! Speaking about young Master Malfoy as though he were… Bad Batty! Bad Batty!"
"Batty, I order you to stop!"
The elf paused, the book held high over her head. "Yes, Master Malfoy?" she asked weakly.
Draco sank back into the couch and rubbed his hands across his eyes. "Your screeching is making my headache worse."
Batty dropped the fat volume onto the floor. "Sorry, sir. Batty will burn her toes later then."
Rubbing at his head, Draco waved a hand at his servant. "Whatever. Batty, I want you to tell Belle that I will personally escort her home to Potter's. Tell her again that I am very sorry for my behavior last night and that I will make it up to her."
Nodding, Batty prepared to disapparate.
"Batty!"
"Yes, Master Malfoy?" the elf said, pausing.
"While you're at it, grab me a hangover tonic. Everything's so bloody loud this morning."
"Yes, Master Malfoy," she replied, disappearing with a loud crack. Grabbing his head, Draco groaned again and shut his eyes.
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"Miss?"
Belle was sitting on the bed in her undergarments staring out the window. A torrent of rain continued to attack the house, so perhaps she would have to stay here. If that was the case, Belle thought with an inward groan, perhaps Monsieur Malfoy would acknowledge her presence for more than ten seconds.
"Miss?"
Startled from her thoughts, Belle began looking around the room for the voice.
"Oh, eet eez you, Batty," she said once she noticed the elf by her knees, holding a pale pink dress. Belle frowned – the dress she had been wearing yesterday was her customary blue and white one.
"Batty… zis eez not my dress."
The elf sighed. "Master Malfoy should deliver his own messages since poor Batty is not speaking French," she murmured before placing the dress on the bed next to Belle.
Taking a deep breath, Batty began slowly and clearly in her squeaky voice, "Miss, this is Mistress Malfoy's dress. She is not needing it anymore, so you may have it."
The young woman nodded in reply, and Batty hoped that meant she understood. Wringing her now empty hands and rocking back and forth, she prepared to deliver the next part of the message.
"Miss, Master Malfoy was telling me again that he is feeling sorry about last night. He wishes to escort you home today himself."
Belle stared at the creature with bat-like ears, her face impassive. "Merci, Batty, but I do not undair-stand. Do you speek French?"
With a sigh, the elf shook her head. "No, miss. Batty only speaks English, but Master Malfoy will see you shortly." A loud crack sounded; Belle looked around to see what the noise had come from, and she couldn't see Batty anymore.
"C'est tout simplement parfait. ¿Maintenant que dois-je faire?" Her eyes fell upon the light pink dress. Perhaps that was what Batty had told her to do.
Belle held the dress in her two hands, and the satin shimmered like water. She was admiring it when a knock came at the door. "'Oo eez zair?" she asked, letting the material slide once more through her hands.
"It's Dr—I mean, Monsieur Malfoy. ¿Puis-je entrer?"
Her eyes widening, Belle quickly slipped the dress on. "Dans un moment."
Finishing the clasps was a bit of a struggle, but as soon as she thought she had the garment on correctly, Belle bounded to the door and opened it without ceremony. There, an amused, well-dressed, and clean-shaven Monsieur Malfoy stood, leaning against the door frame. Belle suddenly felt self-conscious about her own appearance, which she was sure was not so tidy.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Malfoy," Belle said, a bit breathless from her effort to hurry. "Eez zair some-zing zat I 'elp you weeth?"
Draco bit back a chuckle at Belle's horrendous pronunciation and grammar, and instead raised an eyebrow, maintaining an indifferent – or at most, polite – façade.
"Oui, mademoiselle," he said, switching the conversation to French, "I had hoped I could make amends for the discourteous way I treated you yesterday. Since there is still a torrential downpour outside, I thought perhaps it would be best if you remained here as my guest for the rest of the day – or longer if need be – and I will send word to Potter for you so that he need not worry. Once the rain has slowed, it would be my pleasure to personally escort you home."
Blinking in surprise, Belle felt her brows knit together in confusion. "Excusez-moi, monsieur, but I don't think I heard you correctly. You wish me to remain here, as your guest, when last night, you barely spoke with me or even wanted me to stay? I don't understand."
Draco couldn't help it: he winced at Belle's statement, and it didn't help that her voice had increased in volume as she spoke. He glanced at the mademoiselle to see her with her arms crossed, and her brown eyes glinting with anger and confusion. How warm and passionate she was, how different from him, the aloof and cold aristocrat! He unfolded his own arms and placed a hand gently on her elbow.
"Belle," he said, "I am truly sorry for the way I acted last night, and I want to make it up to you." He looked at her, begging her to meet his eyes; he had his wish, but she looked away almost immediately.
She was silent for a moment, and when she responded, her voice was devoid of any warmth; it was as cool as his had been last night. "Très bien," she said. "You can make your amends by teaching me English as long as I remain with you – and I am not staying with Harry at the moment; I'm visiting Ron's brother and sister-in-law, Fleur and Bill Weasley."
Shaking her arm free of his grasp, she proceeded to shut the door, but Draco impulsively stuck his foot in the way before the door clicked shut. An annoyed Belle looked at him. "Oui, monsieur? What else do you wish to say to me?" she asked, sarcasm lightly coating her words.
"Have breakfast with me this morning," he said, the first coherent sentence that entered his mind. He wiped his face of emotion. "And while you're here, you might as well call me Draco."
Surprised once again, Belle bit her lip. "Very well – I'll have breakfast with you this morning… Draco." With a small smile, she closed the door, and it clicked shut. Outside, in the hallway, Draco could feel the corners of his own lips turning up, and from within the bedroom, he could hear someone humming a gay little song.
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"This is a 'knife,'" Draco said, holding up the metal utensil, "and this is a 'fork.'" Using the fork and knife, he began cutting at the meat in front of him. Belle nodded slowly and followed suit.
"Zis eez a 'fork,' and zis eez a 'knife,'" she repeated before tearing the cut Canadian ham off the fork and chewing it. As they ate in silence, Draco thought back to earlier that morning. According to his promise, he had sent an owl to the Weasleys and to Potter, asking that they permit Belle to remain at the Malfoy summer home until the weather improved. He had since received a speedy note by owl, which while it contained a few choice swear-words from Ron, was on the whole rather civil. Draco had explained in his note that travelling by broomstick or apparition might disconcert Belle, and so, travelling on foot back to the Shell Cottage would be the best option. Harry and Fleur had agreed and gave their permission for Belle to remain at the Malfoy summer home until it stopped storming.
Still chewing thoughtfully, the wizard could feel a pair of eyes on him. Glancing up with a blank expression, he saw that Belle was looking at him, a faint blush on her cheeks.
"Zank you, Monsieur Malfoy. Zis eez.. 'ow you say… a lovely breakfast."
Taken aback, Draco covered his surprise with his condescending drawl. "You're welcome," he replied.
Belle's mouth was still open, as if she wanted to say something, so Draco raised his eyebrow and moved his head forward slightly, encouraging her to speak. When she didn't, he cleared his throat and asked, "Is there something else?"
Shooting him a grateful smile, Belle said, "Oui. I… 'ow you say… sorry? Eez zat it?"
Draco struggled to keep his face impassive. "What are you sorry for?"
"I was angry avec vous, zis… morning."
Though Draco was tempted to tell her that her apology was unnecessary, he merely replied with a curt nod and the two of them finished their meal in silence.
Once Batty began cleaning the dishes, Draco jerked his head forward, indicating that Belle should follow, and he began walking up the wide marble staircase to the second, third, fourth floor of the mansion. As they walked further and further, Belle's mouth opened wider and wider in surprise and awe.
"Zis eez magnifique," she said, trailing her fingers along the banister. "Your family eez reech, no?"
A wry smile crossed her companion's face. "We do well enough for ourselves."
"Zis eez your… 'ow you say… parents' 'ouse?"
Draco nodded. "The manor is in my parents' name. When they die, I shall inherit this 'house' and our manor in Wiltshire."
Belle paused on the step. "You 'ave two 'ouses?"
Sighing, Draco nodded again, trying not to snicker at Belle's disbelief. He still needed to tread on glass around her. As long as the weather was horrid, she would remain here, and if they disagreed at all, it would make for an uncomfortable living environment. While Draco was thinking this through, Belle continued to speak aloud.
"But 'oo needs two 'ouses? Why one no eez… suffisante? Een France, Père and I 'ave one 'ouse… one small 'ouse, and zat eez suffisant."
This time Draco paused on the step and looked at Belle, who was a few steps below him, and mentally prepared his counterargument. Noticing he had stopped, she hesitated too. "Why 'ave you stopped?"
Belle's hazel eyes seemed to see through him and his pure-blood bullshit, and for a moment, Draco swore she saw him – not the prat he had been around her, not the asshole Potter thought he was, but him.
"What?" he asked, still looking into her warm eyes.
"I… 'ow you say… asked… why you stopped," she said, narrowing her eyes in confusion. "Why 'ave you stopped?"
Draco tore his gaze away from Belle and began climbing the stairs again, his posture stiffening. "I don't remember."
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When they finally reached the landing of the fourth floor, Draco tapped Belle on the shoulder. "This way," he drawled, pointing to his left.
Silently, Belle followed. "Where are we going?" she asked after a bit, as the hallway grew darker and gloomier, absent from the presence of any windows. She began to tail Draco a little more closely, even bumping into him.
"It's a surprise," said Draco coolly as he continued to lead her through the house. Belle remained silent, after that, and Draco regretted acting so coldly toward her.
Finally, after about ten minutes, Draco faced the girl. "Close your eyes," he ordered, switching to French.
Belle looked suspicious. "Why?" she challenged.
"So this doesn't ruin the surprise."
She raised an eyebrow but complied. Holding out her hands so that he could lead her, she looked a little condescending, even with her eyes shut. Draco gently grabbed her wrists and led her toward the edge of the room where two French doors stood, filtering in a large amount of light.
"Wait here a minute," he said. Belle did so, placing her arms at her sides. Waving his wand, the doors opened and again grabbing Belle's wrists, Draco led her out onto a stone terrace then released her. "Open your eyes," he said. She did so and gasped.
Below her were beautiful, lush gardens, and white peacocks dotted the landscape. Even from here, Belle could see that gorgeous flowers were beginning to bloom, and hedges formed a maze down below. "It's gorgeous," she said in French, turning to Draco.
The rain had begun to lighten up, but Belle could feel the dress dampen as they stood out on the terrace in silence. "Perhaps we should go inside," she said finally, touching his elbow. Draco turned to her and saw her damp hair curling around her face, and without a second thought, lifted his hand to her face and pushed back the locks of her hair.
He looked at her, and Belle could feel her face flush under the intensity of his gaze.
"Ladies first," he said, gesturing with his arm.
Nodding, Belle smiled at him, and then swept past him inside. Once they were both in the warm darkness of the manor, Draco shut the doors behind them. "You're welcome to come up here any time you like," he said, as he locked the French doors. "All I ask, is that while you're here, you remain away from the West Wing of the manor."
Belle's face turned up quickly. "What's in the West Wing?" she asked.
"It's forbidden," Draco snapped. He didn't want to explain what was there—it might frighten her. But as he saw an angry flush come to Belle's cheeks, he realized he should have answered differently.
"Very well, monsieur," she said coldly, "I will return to my room in that case."
And as she walked away from him, Draco felt his temper rise, but he bit his tongue until he could see her no more. Once Belle was out of sight, Draco hissed, "Batty!" With a loud crack, a confused house-elf stood in front of him, holding a bowl and a rag.
"Master was calling for Batty?" she squeaked.
"Yes," Draco said, shutting his eyes. He pinched his nose as tried to let his frustration subside. "Yes, Batty. I would like you to attend Mademoiselle Belle this afternoon and inform her that dinner will be served promptly at seven o'clock this evening."
Nodding, the elf disapparated, and alone, Draco leaned against the wall, his chest aching in an unfamiliar way. The storm could not end soon enough.
I did all my translations on Google Translator as I do not speak French. I apologize for any French grammatical errors in this or any other chapter that I should post.
Je suis désolé = I am sorry
Je suis désolé de l'interruption mais je suis froid et humide et a perdu. ¿Puis-je s'il vous plait passer la nuit ici? = I am sorry for the interruption but I am cold and wet and lost. May I please spend/pass the night here?
mon amie = my friend
merci = thank you
C'est tout simplement parfait. ¿Maintenant que dois-je faire? = This is just perfect. Now what do I do?
¿Puis-je entrer? = May I enter?
Dans un moment = Just a moment/In a moment.
Très bien = Very well.
oui = yes
avec vous = with you
suffisant(e) = sufficient