A/N: I'm so sorry that this chapter has taken so long—having a full-time, salaried job where you're doing technical writing (not to mention, you also have a new, long-distance relationship…) really puts a damper on the whole fanfiction thing. However, I am committed to seeing this novel through to the end: by my estimation, there will be twenty-three chapters plus an epilogue that leads into the sequel. Since I'm between jobs at the moment, my goal is to have everything posted by the end of 2015 so that I can begin posting the sequel in the New Year.

Thank you all so much for being supportive of this piece—I'm very grateful for your positive feedback, and it was your reviews that made me decide that I do need to see this through to the end, no matter how long it takes. I appreciate your kind words, even if I don't always respond. I hope this chapter satisfies your curiosity, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts!

Best,
Kelly

19. I Know You

Since the evening she and Adam had danced together in the ballroom, Hermione had been confused and flustered. Every time her brown eyes met Adam's blue ones, he glanced away quickly. Their conversation was stilted, and Hermione had no idea what to say or do to resolve the situation. So, she continued doing what she did best: she researched, still determined to find a way to break Adam's curse.

Having read through the majority of the Wizarding volumes in Adam's library, Hermione now traveled through the mirror to Flourish and Blotts and the Hogwarts library during the day; after all, being a war hero afforded her certain perks. One day, she even spoke with Headmistress McGonagall to see if she had heard anything about such a curse, but that turned out to be quite fruitless as well.

"The only thing that I've heard of that is even remotely similar to this case that you're researching," said Professor McGonagall, "is a Swiss legend of a Muggle huntsman who was turned into a boar for his cruelty of animals. The wizard who transfigured him vowed that the huntsman would remain a boar until he was hunted down or until he had learned his lesson." Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "Somehow I imagine his fate was the first, rather than the latter."

"I see," said Hermione, closing the cover to the volume of Transfiguration Trickery Through the Ages. She sighed; that volume had been completely useless, too. "There's nothing more detailed than that, professor?"

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "Unfortunately not, Miss Granger. I have to say, I'm at a loss."

And so Hermione had left Hogwarts empty-handed and despairing. She crossed through the mirror, making sure that it was still before 3:00 p.m.; that was when Ron left Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Harry had informed her, and Hermione had no desire to see him. She Apparated from Hogsmeade to 12 Grimmauld Place and began heading up the stairs toward the mirror. As she did so, she heard a familiar male voice.

"So, thought you'd stop by and visit?"

Hermione turned around, closing her eyes. Dear Merlin, why was he home early? "Ron, do we really need to do this right now?" she asked. "I need to get back to Adam."

"Oh yes, your precious Prince Charming. Well, by all means, don't let me stop you."

She opened her eyes and glowered at Ron. "You have no right; you don't know what it's like... he's a good person trapped in a beast's body, and if I don't figure out how to break the curse in less than a week, he will remain that way forever."

"And that's all it is, right? You don't secretly want to stay in this fairytale land forever, do you? With your prince?" Ron spat, his voice growing louder. His freckled face had turned red.

"That's none of your concern, Ronald," Hermione snapped. "And it is not a fairytale land... it is 18th-century France, which is a very real place. Honestly, I don't know why I thought it was ever a good idea to even entertain the thought of dating you... your pettiness and closed-mindedness is so unattractive."

He stared at her intently. "You don't mean that," he said. "You don't mean that."

She looked back at him, unblinking. "I need to go. Goodbye, Ron."

And before he could even think to move at all to even grab her wrist and beg her to stay, Hermione was darting through the house, running back to France and running back to Adam. And Ron, when he'd finally gathered his wits, just sat down on the sofa and placed his hands over his face, his head limp.

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Meanwhile, for Belle the couple of weeks since she and Draco had kissed seemed to crawl by. Although she was upset with how things had gone with Draco, she forced herself out of bed every morning and found something to occupy her time. One day with Fleur's help, she ventured into Muggle London and purchased suits and more casual outfits. Another day she read Don Quixote in English; a third she went to Diagon Alley with Harry and Ron; a fourth she toured the Muggle countryside; a fifth and sixth she applied for jobs. Belle found she needed to be in a constant state of movement; otherwise, the very moment she stopped, she felt a painful squeezing in her chest.

"Why don't you sit still just for a minute?" Maurice asked her at last, two weeks after she'd begun acting so strangely. "You must be tired."

Belle shook her head. "Papa, je suis bien. I'm headed over to the Shell Cottage to help Fleur get the house ready for when the baby comes. She's due any day, you know."

"I know," her father said, "but it's the end of the week, and didn't you say that Harry and Ron were going to visit Andromeda over in Diagon Alley? Don't you want to join them?"

"Non, Papa. I need to help Fleur. I was going to Floo over there now." She smiled, placing a hand on his cheek. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

As she walked toward the fire and placed the powder in, Maurice sighed after her disappearing form. "If only I could believe that."

Once she had arrived at Shell Cottage, Belle was still moving nonstop. She would pop her head into Fleur's room every five minutes to see if she needed anything, she made elaborate three-course dinners for herself, Fleur, and Bill, and she cleaned the house from top to bottom. She did nothing that didn't require her full attention, and even reading was dissatisfying. Whenever she tried to sit down with a book, her mind would wander to Draco, and she would have to busy herself again. A few times she walked along the beach near the Malfoy summer home, but any time she could see it too clearly, her heart ached, and she would head back to Shell Cottage.

"Belle, you really should slow down," Bill finally told her when the three of them were in the living room after lunch. "You'll get a heart attack from working too hard. You've only been here two days, and yet you've done more for Fleur than we all have for her during the rest of her pregnancy combined."

Shrugging, Belle continued to dust the bookcase. "I do not mind," she said. "Eet eez calming, 'aving somezing zat I can clean." Rising onto her tiptoes, she dusted the top of the shelf.

"Really, Belle," Bill said again from his spot on the sofa, "I don't think you need to clean the top shelf of the bookcase. Even when she wasn't pregnant, Fleur was never that ambitious."

Belle made no reply but continued reaching for the top of the bookshelf, swiping the rag across the dark wood. At long last, Fleur sighed and patted her husband's hand. "Bill, would you excuse us for a moment, s'il vous plaît?" she asked. "I would like to talk to Belle alone for a moment, woman to woman."

Once Bill had left the room, Fleur continued, "I know it is difficult, losing the one that you love, but that doesn't mean-"

Belle turned around quickly to face Fleur. "I am not een love weeth Monsieur Malfoy, Fleur. Een fact, eet eez ze complete opposite. I... 'ow you say... detest ze man."

The older woman simply smiled and shook her head. "If you insist, Belle. Nevertheless, I know your father and even 'Arry and Ron are worried about you. Before you came here, 'Arry told me zat you were not your usual self, zat you were always on ze go. You cannot sit still as you could before."

Belle hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to Fleur on the sofa. "I don't love him," she repeated, this time in French. "At least, I don't think I do. But I do care about him, and when he said he couldn't be with me because his father forbade it... well, it hurt. It hurt a lot."

"Have you talked to him since that day?"

Belle shook her head. "Non, I have not. Any time I walk near his house, I wonder what I would say, and then I think better of it and return here." She smiled sadly. "There is nothing I can say to him that would change his mind."

And then, without another word on the subject, she stood up and resumed dusting the bookshelf.

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"What are you looking at, mate?"

Draco turned from the window to glance at his good friend Blaise Zabini. Since he'd last seen Belle two weeks ago, he'd finally let his friend in and had asked him to keep him company. It was better than facing his parents or having them beg Belle to talk to him. Draco glowered at the windowpane again, continuing to watch the French Muggle walk up and down the beach as the sun began to set. Merlin, she was maddening. "Nothing, Blaise. Nothing at all."

"Come on, mate, you're not still hung up on that French bird, are you?" Blaise asked, approaching the window. "What, is she outside?" He glanced down at the beach. "I really don't believe it; she's just pacing back and forth outside the mansion, and she's not coming up. Well, that's a bit loony. Good thing you missed out on that one."

"Yes, Blaise," Draco said coldly, "you would think it's loony. But when you tell a woman that you would rather have wealth and good standing than be with her, she often doesn't take kindly to that and sees it as rejection."

Blaise looked at him, raising his eyebrows. "You said you'd rather keep your social status than be with her. Yet you're mad about her, and she fancies you as well."

"Essentially," Draco said, his mouth pinched as though he'd sucked a lemon. "Is there a problem?"

Shrugging, Blaise turned to leave the room. "You tell me. You're the bloke staring out the window at a woman he could have had." And then, shutting the door, Blaise left Draco alone to his thoughts.

The Malfoy heir supposed it was silly when he really thought about it; yes, his father had threatened to write him out of the will, but his mother would make a case for him, and even if she were unsuccessful, couldn't he just as easily find some other way to supplement his lifestyle? He'd studied for a bit as an apothecary immediately out of Hogwarts, and he had a number of contacts from his brief apprenticeship in Diagon Alley. And though Draco hated asking for favors, he knew that he was always welcome to stay with Blaise and Madam Zabini. They even had a guest house with two bedrooms. Then, of course, sitting on his nightstand there was still the money that he had offered to Belle; it was probably close to five hundred galleons, and he had several hundred more in his room at Malfoy Manor. Though it wasn't much, given what he was used to, it could last him for a bit on his own if he budgeted conservatively. It was all so very doable. So then why was he so hesitant to take such a course, to leap into this life?

Draco looked back outside where Belle was pacing up and down the strand. She was barefoot and wearing her customary blue dress with the white blouse underneath. And as she walked along the beach, she pulled the ribbon from her hair, and her long brown waves began floating in the wind. Draco's chest ached just watching her.

The permanence of such an action scared him. If he walked down to the beach and kissed Belle, she would want him to commit himself to her fully. She might not want to get married right away, but eventually she would. And he could not give her the life she deserved without his inheritance; they would be poor. They would live in a small windowless flat filled with rats, and Belle would have to work in the Muggle world... Draco shivered. No, he could not pursue such a line of action. It would spell disaster for him and for Belle.

A loud knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. "Batty," Draco shouted, "pray tell, who's at the door?"

With a loud crack, Batty materialized in front of him, biting her lip. "Master is not wanting to speak to Miss Belle, Batty is thinking. Miss Belle is being at the door, and she is looking angry."

Draco's heart rammed against his ribcage. "Miss Belle is here? In that case, please show her into the sitting room. I'll be down shortly to speak with her."

Nodding, Batty bowed and disappeared with another crack.

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Belle had no idea what possessed her to have come into the Malfoys' summer home. Well, she did, but rather than meeting Draco at the door as she had half-expected and giving him a piece of her mind, Batty had greeted her and ushered her into the sitting room. So now Belle was sitting on a very uncomfortable sofa with a tea tray before her, waiting for Monsieur Malfoy. With a sigh, she grabbed a tea cup, filled it with tea, and raised it to her lips.

"Belle?"

Surprised, Belle jolted at the sudden voice, spilling the tea all across her lap and on the carpet. To her left, Monsieur Malfoy stood at the entrance of the sitting room, a broad smirk on his face. Belle was torn between embarrassment at having spilled the tea and anger at seeing Draco look so self-satisfied. The anger won out, and after setting the tea cup carefully back on the tray, she stood up straight, walked over to him, and slapped him across the cheek.

"That's for being a fool and a coward," she said, nearly shouting, in French. Then she slapped him again. "And that's for being... well, as Ron would say, a prat."

Draco placed a pale hand against his cheek and looked at her with cool disdain. "Are you rather done now? Your childish temper is quite off-putting, you know."

"No, Draco, I'm not done. You drink yourself to death and let your house go to ruin because you can't be with me, but when I come to visit you and tell you that I have feelings for you, you still can't be with me. And now, when I have the courage to come visit you after being rejected, you make me feel like a fool. And don't lie and tell me you don't care about me, because I know you do."

She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling, and instinctively Draco placed the hand he'd held against his cheek along her jaw. Belle pulled back as if she'd been burned, wincing.

"No," she said. "That's not an answer. You can't do that, not again."

"Fine," he said coldly. "I'm sorry I'm not some damn Gryffindor like Potter or Weasley, but I consider the consequences of my actions. I'm ambitious. I want to have a comfortable lifestyle, and I want to have influence over the politics of the Ministry."

"And that's why you don't want to be with me," she said. "You're scared that if you give up your inheritance, you'd be doomed to a life of poverty? Draco, I'm not afraid of working hard for what I want. Why are you? All great things in life require work and require effort. Why do you give up so easily? Why are you so scared?"

"I'm not scared," Draco snapped. "I'm just thinking rationally; someone should since you refuse to do. Do you always act on your feelings?"

"Do you ever get out of your head and follow your heart?" she countered, her voice rising. "You'll never be happy if you don't."

"I'm perfectly happy. How can you be happy, as you say, without money and influence? That's what matters."

Belle folded her lips together, pausing a moment. "Oh, Draco, you have it so wrong," she said. "At the end of your life, those things mean very little. When you're on your deathbed, you will not reflect upon how much money you earned or how much power you had-you will look back and remember those that you have loved and those that have loved you."

She became silent. Then, with a soft sigh, she finally added, "I can't keep watching you torture yourself because it tortures me, too. I want so much for you to feel free from your father's influence, but unless you want it for yourself, it won't be enough.

"I should go. I'm staying with the Weasleys, and I'm sure Fleur's waiting for me." She began walking to the entrance, moving past Draco and crossing the foyer. Then turning her head, she glanced at him. "And don't worry. I won't come by again. I see now that it's truly useless to change your mind, but I hope you find happiness, Draco. Au revoir."

She gave Draco a sad smile before opening the door and shutting it behind herself. Not a moment later, Blaise strolled into the foyer, shaking his head.

"I can't believe you let her get away again, Malfoy. After all the pining you've been doing, and how many bottles of Firewhiskey I've still had to hide from you, you really are a fool. She may be a Muggle, but you fancy her, and you generally go after people you fancy, not shove them out the door."

"Shut your mouth, Blaise," Draco snapped. "No one asked you your opinion."

Blaise grinned cheekily. "Course not, but doesn't mean I won't give it," he said as he headed up the stairs, leaving Draco to stare at the closed door.

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When Belle returned to Shell Cottage, she found Bill in a state of panic. Immediately her own heart started to beat faster; seeing the normally laid-back wizard dashing around made her more anxious. "What eez going on?" she asked. "Where eez Fleur?"

"She's upstairs. Her water broke about half an hour ago and the contractions have begun. I thought we should get her to St. Mungo's, but she's still adamant about having a medi-witch come here or a midwife."

"'Ave you contacted anyone to come 'ere?" Belle asked.

Bill's eyes grew wide. "Bloody hell." He dashed outside the cottage, and Belle climbed the stairs to the bedroom to check on Fleur.

Though the mother-to-be had the sheen of sweat on her forehead, she looked rather peaceful. "Bill seemed to be quite concerned," Fleur said in French, sounding tired but amused. "This is nothing compared to what it will be in a few hours."

But as she said that, another contraction began, and Fleur pressed her hand against her abdomen, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Her toes gripped the sheets, and she gasped in pain. After half a minute, she began to release the sheets and her breathing slowed.

Belle remained by Fleur's side for the next several hours as the contractions intensified and became longer. Eventually, a medi-witch arrived and gave Fleur a potion that eased the pain. Bill was still darting around—holding Fleur's hand for a moment, then sending a Patronus to the rest of the Weasley family, then … For a man who was normally so relaxed, it was strange to see him so worked up. Then again, Belle thought, he loved Fleur so much, and it made him anxious to see her in pain.

Soon, the medi-witch was encouraging Fleur to push. "The baby's almost there," she said, at the bottom of Fleur's skirts, near the stirrups that she had conjured onto the bed earlier. "One more good push—there we go—one more! I can see the head—keep pushing, dearie. I know it hurts… grab your husband's hand, there's a dear—almost there…"

The sound of crying began to fill the room, and Fleur collapsed backward, her feet falling from the stirrups. The medi-witch was holding the newborn infant and began cleaning it off. Fleur's silvery-blonde hair was clinging to her reddened face, but even as tired as she clearly was, Belle thought she looked beautiful with the glow of new motherhood. Bill was sitting next to Fleur now, holding her hand, wiping her brow, rubbing at her arm.

After just a couple moments, the medi-witch returned with the infant. It was swaddled in a small pink blanket ("a newborn's robe," Bill corrected gently), and it was sleeping. The medi-witch handed the little bundle to Fleur and smiled.

"Congratulations on your little baby girl, Mummy. What would you like to name her?"

Both parents were silent for several minutes as they looked at their newborn with awe and fear and love. Finally, Fleur spoke. "Do you know what today is?" she asked. "It is ze second anniversary of ze Battle of Hogwarts, when we triumphed over ze Dark Lord."

"Oh, wow," Bill said, scratching his chin. "You're right."

"Victoire," Belle murmured, from her spot on the other side of the bed.

Bill looked up. "Sorry?"

"What eef you named 'er Victoire?" Belle said more loudly. "Eet eez a respectable French name and will remind 'er of ze special day she was born."

Fleur nodded. "I like it, mon cherie," she said, looking at Bill. "It is a perfect fit."

"Victoire it is, then," Bill said, and Fleur handed him their little infant girl, their little Victoire. From her spot on the other side of the happy family, Belle smiled.