A/N: Five months I've gone without an update, and I know that is WAY too long, so I apologize. As you have probably realized by now, my updates are very erratic. I wasn't happy with Chapter 12, and it took me multiple revisions to get it right, and that stilted this thirteenth chapter. I actually had most of it written before today, but I wanted to post the revised Chapter 12 first.

PLEASE RE-READ CHAPTER 12 (or at least its ending)! I changed it significantly, and that will affect your understanding of the future chapters that involve Belle and Draco.

Again, I apologize for my lack of an update, and I hope I can get another chapter up before school starts in September; just know that it might take another year or two before I do finish this story, but I firmly intend to see it to its completion.

Thank you so much for all your support, reviews, alerts, and 'favorites,' and I hope you enjoy the next installment of Hermione Granger and the Magic Mirror. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are deeply appreciated!

13. Cold and Driven to this Sad Conclusion

This rose is the timekeeper of my curse – when the last petal drops on my coming birthday, the enchantment becomes permanent.

With the gravel and dirt crunching beneath her feet, the long road stretched out before her, and nothing to occupy her mind, Hermione found that Adam's words kept repeating themselves, over and over in her head. He had one year to break the curse. She had one year to help him. One year before things could not be undone. She had to find Maurice, and soon, so that she could return to Adam and help him.

Oh, how foolish she had ever been to think she could live here in Belle's world! What had changed in history as a result of it? Hermione had read Muggle and magical books alike on the topic of time, and she had once owned a time-turner herself… she knew the horrible consequences of meddling in time, and here she was, doing it anyway!

Hermione sighed, blowing back her bangs and placed her hands in the pockets of her dress. She held onto her wand in case she needed it; granted, it was late morning, but the forest outside the Beast's castle was dismal as ever.

The young witch thought back to her departure from Adam's castle; after they'd strolled in the gardens some, he'd taken her back to the West Wing.

"I realized that you don't know where you're going to search for that man," he said gruffly as he lifted a silver object, glinting in the light the rose emitted. "This mirror will show you anything you ask it to… take it with you. It will help you on your journey."

Delicately, Hermione had lifted the object from the Beast's paw. "Adam, are you sure you want me to take this?"

He smiled, then nodded. "I trust you'll be back… you can return it then." And Hermione had hugged him, tightly, taking the mirror to her room with her as she retired for the evening. She'd tucked it away in her knapsack then fallen asleep. Then, this morning, she had eaten breakfast with Adam, said her goodbyes to him and the castle's staff and had set off.

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Hermione continued to trek along the road the entire day, pausing to eat some bread from her knapsack when she grew hungry. After what seemed like hours, the trees began to thin, and she could see some sparse sunlight. A path emerged with wheel tracks, and Hermione even saw a battered wooden sign indicating it was five miles to the next town. Five miles – she could walk that before sunset.

As she continued walking, Hermione couldn't help but imagine Adam, alone within the castle. Upon her departure, she had heard a loud roar filled with despair. She would return. She had to.

Hermione's thoughts then travelled to her friends at home – Harry, Ron, Ginny – and she wondered how they were. How was Belle? Were they taking good care of her? How was Ron? Granted, they'd only been on a couple dates, but she'd had feelings for him since she'd been thirteen… even though they argued and seemed to get on each other's nerves, Hermione cared about Ron deeply. And, she noted wryly, it was in a way that she had never cared for Harry, despite the fact that they were brilliant friends. No, she just needed time to get over her latest anger with Ron, and this visit to France had done that.

How though, would a marriage ever work between them? Ron was so hot-headed, and while Hermione balanced him out since she was practical and rational, it was so difficult to stay calm and collected around him sometimes. Often, he brought out her temper.

Not that marriage was anywhere near on the horizon at this point… but, still, she had to consider it if she thought about pursuing a serious relationship with him. She didn't want to marry someone who she'd end up yelling at every day because he irritated the bloody hell out of her for some reason – and she and Ron had yet to develop good communication skills when they got into arguments. It was something she was willing to work on with him, but sometimes she wondered if he felt the same. Would he be willing to improve himself so that a relationship between them would be possible?

Daylight was beginning to fade, but she had reached the edge of the forest, and the path broadened ahead of her. Hermione readjusted her knapsack and continued forward, relieved when she saw lights ahead of her.

"I'm coming, Maurice," she whispered, and she began walking more quickly.

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Once she had reached the hamlet – Lezoux – she began searching for an inn. "Bonsoir," she greeted the people, "do you know of a place I can stay for the night?" The first person she came across who responded pointed her toward a shabby little place that said "Hôtel de Lezoux." Darkness continued to encroach, so with a sigh, Hermione entered the inn, pushing the heavy oak door open.

A little foyer greeted her with a small table; at this table sat a handsome middle-aged man with piercing blue eyes.

"Bonsoir," Hermione said, walking up to the table. "I'd like a room for the night if you have vacancies."

The man looked up sharply. "Do you have any money?" he asked with a frown. Subtly, Hermione pulled out her wand and murmured a summoning charm. No money came to her hand.

"Je suis désole," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I don't have any money with me. I had hoped to work while I'm here to pay for my room."

"No money. No room," the man said, returning to a stack of papers in front of him

"No, please… I'm here looking for my uncle, Maurice. He's about so tall," Hermione held out a hand at the height of her shoulders, "and he has white hair. Have you seen him?"

The man sighed. "No, I haven't. I'm sorry." Frowning again, the man peered at Hermione. "Where is your husband? Are you travelling alone?"

With a nod, Hermione replied, "Well, I don't have a husband, so yes, I'm here by myself. I'm searching for my uncle. We were travelling together, but we became separated." It was true enough, she thought.

"Where are you headed?" he asked. "It's dangerous to be travelling alone as a woman."

"My guess is he's headed for Paris," Hermione said, ignoring his latter comment. "That's where I told him to meet me if he could travel that far."

"I see. Where are you travelling from?"

"Molyneux. I was lost in the forest for a while, and I was heading toward the next city on my way to Paris; maybe Maurice is there."

The man frowned. "You call your uncle by his Christian name?"

Damn. This would require quick thinking. "See, I've lived with him for a few years now, so we're closer than uncle and niece, really."

"Very well – Mademoiselle…?"

"Herm – Hermia."

The man smiled grimly, standing up from his desk, extending his hand. "My name is Jacques. I'll show you to your room."

"But sir!" Hermione protested, "You haven't let me pay for my room!" Jacques chuckled.

"As long as you promise to assist around the inn, you're welcome to stay as long as you would like. We almost never have all the rooms full at any given time, and if you're travelling alone to Paris, I'm not going to rob you of your few coins. My wife Marie will come for you early in the morning so that you can help with the breakfast time chores, so I suggest getting plenty of rest tonight."

Jacques had begun walking up the stairs, away from the lobby, and Hermione had to jog to catch up to him. "Thank you so much," she panted. "I truly appreciate this."

He looked at her over his spectacles, his graying eyebrows raised. "Well, I couldn't very well leave a woman travelling all by herself out in the streets. I am a Christian, Mademoiselle Hermia, even if I am a businessman."

With that he continued walking, his long legs forcing Hermione to practically run to stay even with him, and that was a difficult task, considering how steep the stairs were. At long last they finally reached the landing, and Jacques handed Hermione a key to the door and wished her goodnight before returning down the stairs.

As she heard his footsteps fade, Hermione shut the door, locked it, and began to undress. Her head hit the pillow and she fell asleep immediately, though she tossed and turned, thinking about Maurice.

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The next morning, just as the sun was rising, Hermione was jolted from her sleep by a loud banging on the door.

"It's time to get up, Little Miss Princess," a boisterous contralto yelled. "Did you think you were going to sleep in all day? I need help with the chores, and they said you have to help otherwise you get chucked out."

Groaning and holding her head, Hermione walked to the door and opened it. "What time is it?" she asked groggily, facing the source of her headache, a rotund and red-faced woman. Hermione wondered if this is what Harry's Aunt Marge looked like – he'd once described her as more man than woman. That description fit this woman perfectly.

"It's sun-up, girl, that's what time it is. Now get dressed all proper and we'll head downstairs and start preparing for breakfast." Clomping away, the woman muttered something about lazy good-for-nothings and not being able to pay a night's stay. Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled on one of Belle's dresses that she had packed for the journey. Placing her wand in the pocket, the young witch stepped downstairs where the round woman waited.

"I'm Madame Dubois – my husband said you met him last night at check-in?" The woman looked displeased about that fact.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting Jacques last night. It's nice to meet you finally, Madame."

Narrowing her eyes, the Madame's lip curled ever so slightly. "Follow me to the kitchens," she barked, and she began walking so quickly that – like last night – Hermione had to run to keep up.

Madame Dubois led her down yet another flight of stairs until they reached a small wooden door; the heavy woman pushed through the oak door unceremoniously and Hermione slid in so that the door wouldn't swing in her face. Having dodged one potential danger, the young witch examined her surroundings.

Pots clanged as women scrubbed them and dirty fumes of cleaning baked-on food contrasted with the sweet smell of freshly baking pastries. Hermione felt her stomach rumble, and she was suddenly reminded of how little she had eaten yesterday.

"Well," Madame Dubois barked, "Don't just stand around! Do something and be useful!" With a shove, the older woman pushed Hermione toward a girl with sallow skin and small, listless eyes who was peeling carrots.

"Sophie, this one's here to help you. Those carrots better be peeled and sliced by mid-morning!" the madam shouted. "If they're not, God help you!" Storming off, she left the two girls with a large pot of unpeeled carrots.

"Dig in," the girl said, offering a peeler and a carrot. Sighing, Hermione began to work.

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Hours later climbing the stairs to her room, Hermione stretched her fingers and hands. It was late afternoon, and although she didn't wish to stay another night because it would mean having to work for Madame Dubois again tomorrow, she had no energy to travel. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Jacques had agreed to this, knowing she would remain here more than a night.

Undressing, Hermione rummaged through her knapsack until her hands felt the mirror that Adam had given her. Thoughtfully, she pulled it from the bag and murmured, "Show me Belle."

A bright light emitted from the mirror, and a second later, it showed a young woman in a pink dress, her wavy hair down, lying on a luxurious bed. She looked frustrated and upset, but what upset Hermione more than anything else was the fact that she didn't know Belle's surroundings; it certainly wasn't Grimmauld Place, it wasn't the Shell Cottage, and it certainly wasn't the Burrow. So, where the hell was Belle? Hermione puckered her lips; more importantly, why wasn't she with Harry and Ron?

The image soon faded, and Hermione flopped onto her own bed, the mirror against her chest. At least Belle looked relatively safe, and she was alive. "Show me Maurice," she said, raising her head off the bed.

Again the mirror glowed before showing a white-haired man walking through crowded streets in an attempt not to be trampled. Behind him, she saw a massive building—the Notre Dame Cathedral! Maurice was in Paris! And since Hermione had been to Paris before, she had toured the Notre Dame de Paris—certainly she could apparate there?

As the light from the mirror faded, Hermione again dressed, re-laced her boots, and grabbed her things, shoving the mirror in her knapsack. She clomped down the stairs to find Jacques sitting at the front desk.

"Yes, mademoiselle? Is there something I can help you with?" he asked, not even looking up from his bookkeeping.

"I would like to check-out. I no longer require housing in Lezoux," Hermione said.

Finally, the man looked up. "Very well. My wife will be sad to lose you in the kitchen, though, I must admit. She said she never saw carrots get peeled more quickly." He smiled at her.

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. Toward the end, she had used a bit of magic to make things go faster—but of course, she couldn't tell Jacques that.

"Well, yes… anyhow," he said, seeing Hermione's discomfort, "it was a pleasure having you stay here with us, Mademoiselle Hermia. I wish you luck finding your uncle."

"Thank you. I'm relatively sure he's in Paris, so I'll need all the luck I can get—Paris is a big city after all," she said, chuckling humorlessly, before glancing outside. "Well, monsieur, I must be off before all the daylight fades. Thank you again for your hospitality."

With a final smile and wave, Hermione left the inn, and walked to the edge of the town—near where the forest began and disapparated, her focus on the looming Parisian cathedral. In fact, she was so focused on her destination that she failed to notice a hulking form in the early evening shadows. The man, riding a tall black stallion, exited the forest and urged his horse toward the spot where Hermione had stood only a moment earlier.

"That little wench didn't die?" the man murmured as he examined her footprints. "Well," he chuckled darkly, "I guess I'll just have to kill her myself." Riding into town, Gaston's black laugh filled the air, as a single lightning bolt crackled in the darkening sky.