A/N: Hello, again! My update was within a far more reasonable time frame this time (I can't promise that for the next chapter, sorry), but this chapter is also a bit on the short side (2,500 words).

Oh, and btw, as motivation to review this story, the first three people to review this chapter will receive a cameo appearance later on in this story. Please include your real name (first name only… or pseudonym… whatever floats your boat) when you submit your review, along with your age, gender, and description of your physical appearance. Thanks and enjoy reading!

14. Then Somebody Bends, Unexpectedly

That night at dinner, the air was thick with tension as the wind and rain continued to howl outside. Belle, at Draco's instruction, wore an emerald silk gown, and Draco wore his customary black dress robes. They sat in the formal dining room, each at an end of a long, oak table that in Belle's estimation, could easily seat fifty people. Sipping the soup in front of her, she tried not to glare at her host.

He had yelled at her, for no apparent reason. So, yes, she'd had the 'audacity' to ask what was in the West Wing, but she hadn't expected him to snap at her in reply. And every time she caught him looking at her, he would adjust his gaze to his food, or the table, or a nearby tapestry. It was as though he was ashamed of looking at her. What, Belle wondered, was so detestable about her appearance that he couldn't look at her? Finally, she set her spoon down with a clatter and broke the oppressive silence.

"Draco, this is ridiculous," Belle said finally, as she stood up, her hands on the table. "What are we doing?"

Her host looked at her, a sneer on his face. "We're eating, Belle," he replied in French, as he took another bite of soup. Belle waited for him to continue, but the silence settled on her once more.

Exhaling heavily, she grabbed her bowl of soup and spoon, and practically stomping, sat down immediately to Draco's right. He raised an eyebrow at her in annoyance.

"And pray what," he drawled, "do you think you are doing?"

Belle considered him a moment. "Eating," she said as she dipped her spoon back into her soup.

"Like hell you are," Draco muttered in English, knowing Belle couldn't hear him, and that she wouldn't understand him even if she could. He continued eating his soup in silence, but he could sense Belle's anger, just as he imagined she could sense his irritation. The quiet continued for another couple minutes before Batty arrived with the next course.

"Batty brings Caesar salad, Master Malfoy. Batty is hoping you enjoy it." With a little bow, Batty snapped her fingers and the plates settled down before them. Belle realized belatedly that her place settings were at the other end of the table.

"Batty," Draco said, bored, "Bring Miss Belle's things down here please since she clearly has no intention of returning to her appropriate place."

As the elf caused the silverware to hover mid-air before settling in front of her, Belle looked over at Draco. "Well, you could at least ask her nicely."

"Who died and made you queen?" Draco retorted. "She's my servant and I'll treat her any damn way I want to."

"But she has feelings too!" Belle cried passionately, looking at him. "And you're just ignoring her until you need her—treating her as though she were dirt!"

Draco felt his back stiffen. "I'll have you know," he hissed, setting aside his napkin and leaning toward Belle, "that Batty is treated better here than in many other households, and you shouldn't criticize how I treat my servants!"

Glaring, Belle leaned further forward. "Well, that doesn't make your treatment of her any better."

They both glowered at each other for a moment, until Belle set aside her napkin as well and stood up. "Thank you for dinner, Monsieur Malfoy," she said, anger laced in her tone, "but I really should retire for the evening."

As Draco heard her fading footsteps across the stone floor, he sighed and raked a hand through his perfectly gelled white-blonde hair. Damn his pureblooded pride. "Batty," he called, "I'm no longer hungry. Take away the food."

"Yes, Master Malfoy," Batty said, cracking into appearance. "Is you needing anything else?"

"No… but… thank you, Batty."

Batty's bulbous eyes grew wide. "Master is thanking Batty?" Immediately she latched onto Draco's feet and began to sob tears, staining his robes with mucus and salty water. So this was his reward for appeasing Belle?

"Master is so gracious… so kind… Batty is never saying another bad word about Master Malfoy… Bad Batty, bad Batty!" At her admission, Batty had removed herself from Draco's robes and began beating her head against the wooden leg of the table. Draco tried to smooth the disgust from his features.

"Batty, please remove the food from the table—now. And," he said, looking at his now-stained robes, "clean my robes once you've cleaned up dinner. That is all." Standing up, Draco headed toward his room to change. If he was going to apologize to Belle, he needed to be clean, at the very least.

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

Dinner had been disastrous.

Admittedly, Belle thought as she changed out of the silk gown and pulled the pins from her hair, she would have agitated Draco less had she kept her mouth shut—but really, he was so… so… infuriating! Making them sit miles apart at the table when it was just the two of them, so they couldn't even have a normal conversation, and then they way he treated that poor creature! She couldn't stand it.

As she pulled her hair into a ponytail with her blue ribbon and put on her customary blue and white dress, Belle sighed. Now that she wasn't eating dinner with Draco—despite her stomach's grumble—she might as well find something to occupy her time. She could go to the terrace… or out to the gardens… but if she was going outside, Monsieur Malfoy really should accompany her.

Well, he was currently downstairs, eating dinner—maybe now would be a good time for exploration…perhaps—and Belle rushed out of her room, closing the door behind her at the thought—she could find the West Wing and see what Draco was hiding.

She wandered around the manor for nearly an hour before she reached a wing on the third floor that looked promising—it was dark and gloomy, and Belle smelled something a touch dank. The sconces on the wall flickered casting eerie shadows, and she could taste the dust in the air.

This neglected corridor must be the West Wing.

At the end of the hall, one door stood open just a crack, and Belle approached it carefully, removing a candle from one of the sconces to light her way. Once she'd reached the end of the wing and the open door, she gently pushed it more ajar with her foot.

Only blackness greeted her.

Stepping into the room, Belle could feel her heartbeat quicken with adrenaline. Although her instincts told her to leave, the French woman's curiosity and stubbornness damned that option; she would see what was in the room, or die trying. And as Belle walked further into the room, she saw that it was larger than her bedroom and had tables every few feet; piled atop were objects. Reaching the first table, Belle brought the candle—which had now begun to melt onto her hand painfully—down to see the objects and what she saw horrified her.

Gruesome skeletons and black wooden crosses stained with blood and iron boxes with gargoyles perched on top glared up at her, but among all the hideous relics sat a beautiful opalescent necklace. Belle felt her breath catch as she saw the piece of jewelry: it was gorgeous. Her heart now pounding, she brushed the edge of her finger to the necklace, to feel the surface. Immediately, she felt a fiery pain race through her body. Dropping the candlestick, she tried to retreat—hitting a grandfather clock. It grinned at her mischievously before beginning to screech.

"STOP IT! STOP IT!" Stop the pain, stop the sound. Other horrid noises joined the mix, and Belle covered her ears. Her sight failed her, and she fell to the ground. "STOP IT! STOP IT!" she cried hysterically. The hideous voices only taunted her—louder, louder, louder—until she felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her and drag her from the room.

Then, as her vision had gone, so did her consciousness.

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

When Draco had first reached Belle's room to find it empty, he'd frowned. He hadn't yet showed her much of the manor, so where could she have gone? He wandered around the East wings, looking for her on the third floor, when suddenly, he heard screaming.

He couldn't think of enough curse words to shout as he ran down the hall to the West Wing.

Finally reaching the end room—the door wide open, Draco saw Belle lying on the floor in a mad frenzy, screaming, covering her ears with her hands. A candle lay on the floor—the flame threatening to overtake the room—and Draco extinguished it quickly with his wand before picking the girl up, exiting the room, and locking the door magically. He then proceeded to walk to her room, walking faster when he saw she'd begun to convulse, despite having fainted.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, Belle?" he demanded of the girl, angry, but more importantly concerned. He told her not to go to that wing, because he knew something like this would happen. Now, by the looks of it, she had touched a cursed object.

At last he reached the guest room, laid her on the bed, and tossed Floo powder into the fireplace, calling up St. Mungo's. A young, round-faced blonde witch smiled at him. Draco scowled.

"Hello," she chirped brightly, "and what can I do for you?"

"My guest wandered into a room full of dark magic, and she fainted and has been convulsing for the last couple minutes. I request that you send a Healer over immediately." Draco tried to keep his tone professional, but he could feel the frustration seep through. Damn.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the blonde woman said, a huge smile on her face, "we don't permit house calls. Perhaps you could bring your guest to the ward dedicated to curses so he or she could receive a full-body examination?"

Draco gritted his teeth in frustration. "She's a Muggle and I had rather hoped to avoid the fanfare so she wouldn't be frightened—and she could be dying, don't you care?" Maybe the pity card would work on this imbecile.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the Welcome Witch repeated, a grin still in place, "but we don't permit house calls. Perhaps you could bring your guest to the ward of Curses—"

"Fine," Draco hissed. "I'll bring her over and stop the Ministry from complaining about your policy on one condition—"

The girl had the good grace to look nervous. "Yes, sir?" she asked.

"This woman's not family of mine, but I am not to be separated from her. Pass that along to the Healers, and tell them to have a bed waiting for her. Thank you." With that, he pulled his head out of the fire, hoisted Belle into his arms and practically ran back to the fireplace, tossing Floo powder into it unceremoniously.

A moment later, Draco arrived in a crowded room, facing the blonde witch, who just looked at him, smacking her Muggle gum.

"Excuse me," he said coldly, "but where do I go?"

"Cursed artifact? Straight ahead into that ward," she said, pointing. "I called the Healers right before you came. They should have an available bed." With that, still smacking her gum, the Welcome Witch picked up a Muggle romance novel titled One Passionate Night in Venice and resumed reading. Gritting his teeth, Draco hurried to the swinging doors the witch had indicated, only to find utter chaos—shivering, broken, vomiting people in the waiting room, and a few brats running around screaming at the top of their lungs. Fortunately, a receptionist sat at a desk toward the front of the room, not smacking gum or reading low-quality literature; instead, she looked up with concern when she saw that Belle had gone into a seizure. She stood up immediately and rushed over to him.

"You must be Mr. Malfoy. Belinda at the front desk said there was a cursed artifact. Follow me." Dashing down a hallway behind her desk, she stopped a woman wearing simple white robes.

"Healer Berkery!" the receptionist said, "We have an urgent situation—victim to a cursed artifact. She needs immediate attention." The man in the robes saw Belle in Draco's arms, and his eyes widened. He murmured 'Levicorpus!' and 'Mobilicorpus!' so that Draco found his arms empty. Belle floated to the first open room, and the Healer laid her on the bed neatly, immediately muttering spells.

"How long ago did she touch the artifact?" he demanded. "She's in bad shape."

"Ten minutes ago at most." Draco looked at Belle, then averted his eyes quickly. She'd begun to foam at the mouth, and her eyes were rolling in the back of her head. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Sonorus," the Healer muttered, pointing to his throat. "I need four Healers in here, stat. Experienced in Dark Arts and charm work. NOW!" Then he bent back over Belle, still muttering and waving his wand. Within seconds, the other Healers had apparated into the room, and pushed Draco out of the way, measuring potions and casting spells. Knowing he'd be more helpful in the hallway, Draco stepped outside Belle's room and conjured himself a chair.

All he could do was wait.

It felt like it was hours before a Healer at last exited the room, closing the door behind him. He stared at Draco, and the blonde-haired wizard looked away, staring at the tiled floor.

"She'll be all right, you know," the man said, now looking at Draco kindly. "She's tough. She's still in critical condition, but she's stabilized at least."

Draco could feel his heart beating quickly. "Will she make a full recovery?"

The Healer shifted nervously. "Now, that… I don't know. She's still unconscious, but her body has stopped seizing. A curse as nasty as that one might have done some permanent brain damage, especially considering it was in her system for a good ten minutes."

"There must be something you can do!" he retorted, standing up. "I don't care about the cost—whatever it is, I'll pay it. Just make sure she has all the attention she needs so that she can recover."

Sighing, the Healer shook his head. "We've done all we can do for the time being. We stopped the curse from spreading, identified it, and cast some powerful charms to assist with the pain and the symptoms. Right now, she's drinking a potion that should help as well."

"Why not reverse the curse?" Malfoy spat, glaring at the man. "Surely you simple-minded fools can do that?"

The Healer's blue eyes flashed before he composed himself. "The curse was very dark magic, and while the curse itself is hardly known, the counter-curse is even less widely known. So, sir," the man added icily, "unless you would like to perform the unknown spell yourself, that's all we can do for the time being. Once she comes out of her coma, we can tell how much damage the curse caused. For now, we wait." And his robes billowing behind him, the Healer stalked off, leaving Draco alone in the ward hallway, his eyes shut, cursing the entire Wizarding world under his breath, praying to a God no wizard believed in that the girl in the room behind him would recover.