A/N: So, it's been awhile. Three months or four months, I believe? We do, however, have the second of three cameos here, so read on to find out which one of you appears!

Thanks for continuing with this fic even though it's been so long in-between updates. I promise I will finish this (I want to write the sequel after all!), and as I have renewed dedication to it (though we'll see how long that lasts), I hope I can finish it inside of a year.

Without further adieu, please enjoy! And review! :)

16. Out There

"Fresh hot bread! Pastries! Come and get your pastries!" a man shouted. Hermione passed him neatly, clutching her rucksack.

For nearly two days, she'd been running around Paris, trying to find Maurice. She knew he was here—he had to be here somewhere. She'd begun her search near the Notre Dame de Paris, since she had landed there after apparition, only to have two lewd men approach her in the alley. After Stunning them, she'd modified their memories, duplicated some of their coins, and hurried to a nearby inn to stay the night. Everyone that she'd asked hadn't seen the stocky old man, and Hermione's hope was beginning to flicker. She'd searched all of what would become downtown Paris yesterday, and so, at risk of drawing attention to herself, Hermione had sent another Patronus, asking Maurice to meet her at Le Fleur de Paris, an inn near the heart of the city. He still hadn't arrived a full day later, so during the day she kept searching for him, asking the locals if they had seen him. Hermione feared that in the last two days he had run into trouble.

At last, with a sigh, Hermione returned to Le Fleur de Paris and pushed open the door to the dimly lit alehouse attached to the inn, found a stool at the bar, and ordered a large mug.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle."

Sipping from her glass, Hermione twisted around on the stool to see a young man smiling at her, his dark blue eyes twinkling. "Bonjour," she replied, taking a drink from her glass.

"Are you new to the area? I don't think I've seen you here before," he said, grabbing his own pint and taking a swig from it.

"Yes," Hermione said. "I'm from Molyneux. I'm in Paris for the week, visiting my father. He was supposed to meet me here last night, but he never showed. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

The young man frowned, his brown hair flopping into his eyes. "What does he look like, mademoiselle?"

"Well, his name is Maurice, and he has white hair, kind brown eyes, and he's rather stocky. He's in his mid-sixties, and he's an inventor. Have you seen anyone around Paris that matches that description?"

Shaking his head, the man finished his pint. "No, it doesn't. My apologies, Mademoiselle...?

"Herm—Hermia. Mademoiselle Hermia." Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitch up. "Do you have a name, monsieur?"

"Griffin," he said, a smile crinkling his eyes.

"I see. Well, thank you, Monsieur Griffin, but I really must be going. I should go look for my father." Downing the rest of her ale, Hermione placed the mug neatly on the counter, paid the bartender, and left the alehouse, climbing to her room, her rucksack clutched in her fist. Once she unlocked the door to her room using her wand (she didn't trust keys), she surveyed her room. The mirror that Adam had given her sat on the small, quilt-covered bed; a washstand stood in the corner, sandwiched between the wall and the bed, and the wall opposite the one with a door held a small grubby window, which looked out on the Parisian street below.

She wanted to find Maurice—find him, and then return to Adam's castle. She was a powerful witch; she could help him break the curse. And there was something about him, something tragic, but, at the same time, hopeful. She picked up the small oval-shaped mirror. "Show me Adam—please," she said.

A howling Beast with a ripped shirt and pants filled the glass—he was in the West Wing, clawing at the already-broken furniture and the remnants of his portrait. Hermione felt hot tears prickling her eyes and she laid the mirror face-down on the bed. He was in pain. Adam was in pain. She wished she could contact him somehow... her Patronus! Just as she'd sent one to Maurice, she could send one to him. The thought cheered her considerably.

"Expecto Patronum!" she cried, and a silver otter slithered out of her wand, waiting for the message she wished to relay. She sent it and turned back to the mirror. "Show me Maurice."

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They finally met up in a bar a short distance away from Le Fleur de Paris. Maurice was sitting at a table, drinking a tankard of ale, and Hermione stood next to the table, looking down at him. Her cloak concealed her face, so for a moment, Maurice didn't even notice her presence, absorbed completely in his ale.

"Maurice," Hermione said quietly. "It's me, Hermione." The man below her straightened up, and his eyes widened.

"Hermione?" he croaked. She pulled her hood down, and Maurice smiled. He stood up, embracing her. "I thought I might never see you again."

She gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry that it took me so long to find you, but now we can return to the prince's castle, and I can-"

"The prince's castle?" Maurice asked. "You mean in Versailles? Is that where you were?"

Hermione shook her head. "It was a castle near Molyneux, from the outside it appears abandoned, but it's under a heavy enchantment. The prince has been turned into... well, he calls himself 'Beast.' And his servants are... well, one's a teapot, and another's a candelabra." She chuckled. "And the tense head of household is a clock. Ironic, since he was so concerned about time before the curse."

Cracking a smile, Maurice then downed the rest of his ale before grabbing his rucksack. "Shall we go?"

"Yes," Hermione said. She bit her lip. "We could do side-along Apparition, but I'm not sure how it affects Muggles..." She glanced around. "I don't suppose you still have Philippe?"

"No," Maurice said, looking crestfallen. "I had to sell him about a few days ago. I was running low on food, and I couldn't ride him in the middle of Paris anyway."

Humming sympathetically, Hermione headed toward the door, pushing it open for Maurice. "Well, we'll find a coach then, and we'll travel back to Molyneux that way. We'll be there in less than a week. And then," she added with a smile, "we'll reunite you with Belle."

Maurice cheered considerably at that, practically skipping as they headed outside. "How I've missed Belle," he sighed, readjusting his rucksack. "It's been hard to spend these last couple weeks alone. She's always been there... my little reminder of Annabelle, her mother, and she always brings me such comfort and companionship."

They walked in silence for awhile after that, heading to the main Parisian square with all the inns. They reached Le Fleur de Paris, and walking through the alehouse to reach her room, Hermione saw Griffin. She smiled at him, and he waved enthusiastically back before turning back to face his friend, a handsome-looking bloke with blonde hair. Shaking her head, Hermione continued up to her room, Maurice following behind her, and unlocked the room, undoing the enchantments so that they could enter. Only a skilled witch or wizard would notice the presence of magic on sight, and it made her feel so much safer knowing that people wouldn't rifle through her room. She opened the door and immediately became business-like.

"Now, I imagine you'll want to bathe," she said to Maurice after closing and re-locking the door. She conjured a bathtub, water, and heated it. Then, transfiguring a towel into a screen, she gave Maurice his privacy, handing him the soap, another towel, and the water pitcher before she turned her back. She heard a splash into the tub. "Everything all right?" she asked.

"Yes," he gurgled back. More water splashed, and Hermione turned from the screen, sitting on the bed. Remembering the mirror she had saved from the cottage, she withdrew it from her rucksack, and after enlarging it, placed it on the floor experimentally. It showed the inside of Grimmauld, still, and it appeared much the same: grey and empty. But then again, this was the third floor, Hermione conceded.

"Maurice," she asked, "do you remember the mirror that was in Belle's room?" She heard a gurgle in response. "Was it always there?"

After another loud splash, she heard Maurice's heavy breathing. "Yes, as long as I remember. Belle and I moved to Molyneux shortly after her mother's death, but when we moved in, the mirror was already there. We tried to move it, but it wouldn't budge."

"It wouldn't have," Hermione said, tapping the mirror with her toe. It remained solid. "It was attached to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm. It's a miracle I was able to remove it at all."

She heard another splash, and Maurice poked his head out from behind the screen. "You know, it's quite handy that you can make a tub appear out of thin air," he said. "Can you do the same for clean clothes?"

Hermione nodded, removing her hair ribbon. In a matter of moments, she'd transfigured it into a set of men's clothing, and using Wingardium Leviosa, caused it to levitate over toward Maurice. She was still dangling her feet over the mirror absently, as though it were water, and suddenly, she felt her toes dip downward, below the floor. She looked up to see the glass of the mirror rippling slightly, as though it were water, and her toes were indeed beneath the surface.

"Maurice!" she cried, pulling her toes back quickly. "Come here! I think I've discovered how to send you through the mirror!"

After a long moment, Maurice appeared, his eyes wide. "A way to send me through the mirror to be with Belle? Wouldn't it make more sense to fetch her and bring her here, and for you to go back to England?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I suppose," she said doubtfully. "I mean, I promised Adam I would return to help him lift the curse on the castle, and after that, I intend to return... but nothing's here for you anymore, Maurice. Your home has been destroyed, you've sold your horse, and if Gaston finds you... well, I'd rather not think about that. You'll be safe in England; Harry will see to that."

"All right then," he said. "Let's try it."

Hermione, using her wand, moved the mirror so that it was temporarily attached to the wall. "Close your eyes, Maurice, and pretend it's water, Maurice. You're walking through a waterfall."

The white-haired man walked forward stiffly, but he did as Hermione instructed. The glass of the mirror rippled as he passed through, and then suddenly, his back was visible through the mirror. He was on the other side. He was on the other side. It had worked!

Excitedly, Hermione ensured that all the wards around her room (including multiple locking enchantments) were in place before approaching the mirror and closing her eyes. She felt a slight tingle and then nothing. Opening her eyes, she realized she was in 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Harry! Ron!" she cried, clapping her hands together. Silence echoed back. She turned to look at Maurice, who only looked confused. "I don't know where they are," she said. "Maybe Fleur knows." After indicating that Maurice should follow her, Hermione dashed down the stairs toward the fireplace, tossed some Floo Powder in, and stuck her head through.

"Fleur? Bill?" she called. "Is anyone home?" She heard a shuffling of feet, and then she was facing the French, and very pregnant, witch.

"Hermione!" Fleur said, her eyes wide. "You're back! Oh, 'Arry will be so thrilled, and Ron, too!"

"Yes, that's actually why I'm calling," Hermione said impatiently. "Do you know where they are?"

Fleur looked guilty. "I imagine they are at St. Mungo's. Belle fell victim to a curse a few nights ago, and she's awake and cured now, but they're keeping 'er for observation. Ron and 'Arry 'ave been there all day, I think."

Hermione felt her heart stop. "She was cursed?"

"Yes, at the Malfoy summer home," Fleur said. "She was staying with us, but she was lost, and it was raining, and so 'e informed us that she would stay there until the weather improved. According to 'Arry, she touched a cursed necklace, and the doctors could do nothing. But then this morning, suddenly she was better. Weak still, but awake. And now they are seeing how much physical and mental damage the curse did while she was in a coma."

"Merlin's beard," Hermione breathed. "I... I can't..." She sighed. "Thanks for telling me, Fleur. I'll meet them at St. Mungo's then. I'm sure Maurice will want to see his daughter." Then withdrawing her head from the fire, she turned to glance at Maurice, who certainly looked anxious.

"Where are they?" he asked in French. "Where's Belle?"

"She's at the hospital," Hermione said, avoiding his gaze. "Oh, Maurice, I'm so sorry! We can Floo over there right now, if you'd like. She's awake, and I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."

Then, before Maurice could ask her any other questions, she put another pinch of the green powder into the fireplace. "All you have to do is step into the fireplace-no, the flames won't burn-and say 'St. Mungo's!' But do tuck in your elbows, otherwise you'll get horribly banged up."

With a nervous glance, the older man did as she said, and once the grate was clear, she followed, closing her eyes at the extreme sensation of vertigo.

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The waiting room was busy, as always, but Hermione and Maurice managed to get vague directions from the blonde receptionist at front. They made their way to the appropriate corridor, and then, from the hallway, Hermione could see an untidy mop of black hair, and a shaggy coppery one. She steered Maurice into the room and immediately launched herself into Harry's arms.

"My goodness I've missed you so!" she said, after hugging Harry, and latching herself onto Ron. She could feel his body stiffen, so she pulled away quickly and stared at the ground, chewing on her lip.

Her two friends were just looking at her, their mouths open. "How in the name of Merlin," Ron said, "did you get here?"

"The same way I left of course," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I came through the mirror. But, oh, Belle how are you? I hope I didn't wake you."

The brown-haired girl looked weak, but she smiled. "Non, I eez... fine, you say?"

"Belle?"

The girl's eyes widened as her father moved into view, and after she blinked, Hermione could see her large brown eyes were glistening. "Papa?"

He approached her bed, and leaning down enveloped her in a gentle hug. Hermione gave a pointed look at Harry and Ron (who were still slack-jawed) and the three of them left the room to give Belle and her father some privacy.

"Hermione," Harry said at last, breaking the silence. "You figured out how to use the mirror?"

She nodded, turning her gaze from Ron. He was pointedly avoiding looking at her. "It's simple, really," she said. "It's a matter of mind over matter; all you need to do is see the mirror for what it is, a portal, or something easily traversable, and you can cross through quite easily."

Harry looked thoughtful. "Well, that's good. When Belle's healed, she can go through the mirror with her father, and of course, you'll stay here. Everything's resolved, and everything will be normal again."

"It's not that simple though, is it?" Ron asked quietly, finally looking up at Hermione. "There's something you haven't told us, isn't there?"

Biting her lip, Hermione nodded. "I... well, I promised someone I would help them undo an enchantment of sorts. I don't know how long it will take, but I can't go back on my word, you understand that, don't you?" She knew without looking at Harry that he was shrugging in indifference, but when she looked up at Ron, the hurt was all too plain.

"So you're leaving again," he said roughly, staring at her reproachfully. "Well, go on then. We've been fine without you these past weeks, and we'll be fine without you now."

"Ron," Hermione said, feeling water prickling her eyes. "Ron, it isn't like that! I'll be back, it's just that I made him a promise!"

"Oh, it's a him, is it? Well, that's bloody fantastic, isn't it then? You're gone in some fairytale world for a few weeks and you fall in love. When's the wedding, 'Mione? Got that one planned out yet? Think we'll be invited, Harry? I'd sure love to meet this Prince Charming of hers."

The tears started falling. "Fine, then," she snapped. "I was going to invite you to come with me, but never mind that offer now." And with a silent apology to Harry, she stormed out of St. Mungo's and took the Floo, swallowing her sobs.

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She was back in 18th century France before she knew it, reducing the size of the mirror, packing her things, and preparing to leave the inn. After returning her key, she walked once again through the alehouse, and she felt a warm hand on her wrist. Turning, Hermione saw that it was Griffin, a smile on his face.

"Mademoiselle Hermia!" he said. "You're not checking out already, are you?"

A tight smile graced her lips. "Oui. I just handed in my key. I'm headed home... to Molyneux," she added quickly. "My father... well, he's well, and I really must be going. But it was good to see you again!" And pulling away, she dashed through the alehouse, found a dark and empty alley and Apparated back into the forest, just outside the gates.

It was darker than she remembered. She pulled out her wand, murmured "Lumos," and began walking through the dense forest, making her way up to the black iron gates. She tapped them with her wand and they sprang apart, creaking. A sense of foreboding prickled at the back of her neck, but she brushed it away, walking up the stone steps and knocking on the door.

Just like the gate, the door creaked open, revealing the dim interior of the front hall. Closing the door gently behind her, she lit her wand and crept around. At last she found a candelabra, lit it, and tucked her wand back into the pocket of her robes. She climbed up the stairs, heading to the West Wing; somehow, she knew Adam would be there. But when she reached the corridor, the dust was thick, and even with the candelabra, she could hardly see. She treaded carefully along the path and eventually reached the door at the end of the hall. It was open, the door nearly ripped from its hinges, and in the gloom, she could just make out a hulking figure standing at the far end of the room, gazing out the window. She entered, still stepping carefully. "Adam?" she called, trepidation in her voice.

The figure turned to face her, and as she continued to approach, she could see it was indeed him. His pants were tattered to rags, and his chest was bare of clothing. Hermione felt her cheeks warm and she looked down at the floor.

"Hermione?" he asked, incredulity in his voice. "I... I thought... I didn't think..."

"I promised you I would return," she said. "And I have. Maurice is staying with my friends in London, and now I'm here." She set the candelabra on the table, next to the glass dome containing the rose. "And I won't leave until the curse is broken. We'll find a way to break it, I just know it. Research never fails."

Somehow, her words seemed to upset Adam. "You won't find the answer in books," he growled. "I know how to break the curse, and it's not something you can reverse with your magic wand. It doesn't work that way."

"Then tell me what I can do!" she cried. "I can't just sit here, helpless, while your time runs out!"

"Just stay here," he said simply. And though Hermione wanted so badly to protest, saying that she ought to be doing more, she bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.

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The next few weeks passed quickly. Hermione enjoyed spending time with Adam, and it was nice to be away from Ron; whenever she thought of his comments, she still felt a wave of hurt. But Adam was so kind and gentle toward her, that she hardly thought about Ron at all.

Sometimes, for brief spells, she would wander over to Grimmauld Place to check in on Belle and Maurice, but they seemed to be adjusting well to living in modern England. Belle seemed a bit... listless, true, but Maurice was fascinated with magic, with all the modern Muggle inventions, and he was enjoying his lessons in English with Fleur. And Fleur was due in just three weeks' time. Hermione wished she could spend the majority of her time there, as this was an exciting time for her friends, but she was determined to help Adam break the curse. And despite his pessimism that his library would be useless, every night once he'd retired, and for an hour or two in the morning before he woke, she would peruse any book that seemed even the least bit relevant. So far she hadn't turned up anything, but she knew the information was out there, somewhere. It had to be.

During the day, Hermione and Adam did a variety of different things. Sometimes they would go to the garden and walk around, talking, and sometimes they would spend time in the library. Hermione would read aloud to Adam, and after she learned that he remembered very little from his primary education, she began re-teaching him how to read and write in French. He'd made incredible progress in the past weeks, and soon, she was sure he'd be able to read more than simple children's books. Then, of course, they would explore the castle, arm in arm, touring the dungeons or looking for secret passages. Hermione told him all about Hogwarts, about the trick stairs and the portraits that talked, and Adam told her what little he remembered of his parents, and his life before they had died.

"They were very kind," he was telling her one day, as they were walking in the ballroom. "My mother told me that treating people with respect was the most important thing you could do, and my father would say that in order to be respected, you needed to give respect... or at least the appearance of respect," Adam amended. Hermione looked at him in amusement.

"Your parents were very wise, it seems," she said, and she smiled at him. He smiled back at her, tentatively, and glanced away. Hermione frowned. Ever since she'd returned, Adam had been acting a bit strangely, but she had no idea why.

"They were, I think," he said. "Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth always speak well of them. Lumiere doesn't remember them much, as he joined the staff only a few months before they passed, but he's never had anything ill to say of them either."

They'd reached the end of the corridor, but they just stood there, Hermione with her arm lightly on Adam's, and she glanced up at him. He was looking at her, his sapphire eyes so intense, and she found herself breaking eye contact. Her stomach felt warm, as did the back of her neck. "Shall we go down to the gardens?" she asked, looking askance at him.

"In a moment," he said. "Hermione... do you... do you like it here?"

She looked at him once again, and she noticed he seemed nervous, as though something depended heavily on her answer. Blinking, she nodded. "Of course I do," she said. "It's very nice spending time with you, and Lumiere, and Cogsworth, and Mrs. Potts..."

"No," he insisted, shaking his head. "Do you like it here... do you like it here with me?"

Oh. Hermione suddenly felt very confused; even though Ron had insulted her more times than she cared to count, he was special to her. But then again, so was Adam. "I don't know," she said quietly, at last. "I do care about you, Adam. I care about you a lot, but I don't know in what way. I..." Merlin, this was hard. "I'm confused about what I feel."

He was pulling away, not looking at her. "I see," he said, his voice detached. "Well, you're welcome to leave then, if you see fit." And he walked down the stairs without another word. And Hermione, all alone in the corridor, slumped to the floor, burying her head in her lap.

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She was out there, somewhere. He knew that. Searching Lezoux had told him that; a young woman named Hermia had stopped at the one inn in the small town, and she'd arrived under unusual circumstances, claiming to be looking for her father, heading to Paris if she had to. Since then, he'd been riding his horse, Jean-Luc, in the direction of the large city. So far, only the innkeeper in Lezoux had been helpful, and so he spurred Jean-Luc on, hardly stopping to sleep, and eating the crusty bread and dried jerky in his saddlebags.

If someone had asked him why he was so obsessed with finding the girl, Gaston would have punched the poor soul in the face faster than he could shoot a buck with his rifle. He was not obsessed; he was intending to rid the world of a monstrosity, a witch that should have died weeks ago. He was doing Molyneux, and the rest of France, a favor! And he knew that when he came back to the tavern with the witch's head in his hand, the whole town would call him a hero, award him a golden plaque in front of the mayor (maybe even the king), and he'd be even more popular with the ladies. It was too bad that Belle still hadn't returned, he mused. Since her cousin Hermione was a freak, he'd have to settle and propose to her. But then again, perhaps he would meet some enchanting girl in Paris, a girl who was beautiful above the rest, obedient, willing to serve him in every way imaginable. Gaston smiled at the thought.

Paris was large, Gaston realized once he arrived. And so, in order to get acquainted and in order to rest Jean-Luc, he stopped at a boisterous inn near the heart of Paris, Le Fleur de Paris. He paid the stablehand handsomely to look after his steed before walking into the alehouse and sitting himself down for a drink. A mousy, brown-haired kid was sitting next to him, staring. Well, Gaston preened, the kid had probably never seen someone so handsome before. Naturally, he couldn't help staring. And normally, he wouldn't talk with such a kid, but he was on a mission.

"Hey, kid!" Gaston barked. The young man turned to look at him, his eyes wide. Gaston grinned. Oh, the joys of being powerful.

"Yes?" he answered tentatively. "What do you want?"

"Was there a girl in here? Brown hair, slender, creamy white skin, looking for her father? Might have told you her name was Hermia?"

They boy shook his head quickly and he got up to leave. "Uh, no. There wasn't." But Gaston could sense his nervousness, and he knew he was lying. He grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

"Tell me the truth," he hissed in his ear. "When was she here? Where did she go?"

"Okay, fine! She was in here about three weeks ago, just for a couple days. She told me she'd found her father, and after visiting with him, she planned to return home to Molyneux. That's all I know, I swear!"

Gaston, hearing the innocence and panic in the man's voice, dropped him roughly on the floor. "She left for Molyneux, eh? Hmm." He stroked his chin. "She didn't say anything more specific?"

The kid shook his head, his eyes still wide with fear. "No, that's it." And then, he dashed away before Gaston could grab him again, out of the alehouse and out of sight. Gaston smirked as he watched him leave. He too left the alehouse, found his horse, bullied the stablehand into giving him his money back, and saddled Jean-Luc up once more. They wouldn't go far tonight, but he needed to head toward where that blasted wench was, and now. And he dug his heels into his horse's sweating sides and leaned into his black mane, cantering off into the night.