A/N: Hello, all! Sorry for the delay. It's my New Year's resolution to finish this novel, and we're almost there! One more chapter (started), and then the epilogue (already written). I also have a prologue that I've written, so I may go back and revise a few things after this one is complete.

Thanks, and enjoy this long chapter!

23. New, And a Bit Alarming

The next day, things were chaotic. Several villagers attempted to speak with Prince Adam, especially if their friends or family had been imprisoned the night before, and many of them were raving about witches and beasts. The prince's guard kept the gate secure, and Adam made it clear that he would not be speaking with any of the villagers until the following day.

"I don't know what to do, Hermione," Adam said. "It's clear that these people don't believe that I am the crowned prince of the province, and that some of them saw my servants turn from objects into humans. How do we keep them from revolting?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Your subjects are scared and confused," she said. "But when Gaston incited them to come here, very few of them had seen me in person, and none of them had seen me perform magic. If we can remove their memories of last night's transformation, and of me, it will be easier to convince them that Gaston led them astray and to discredit him."

"I'm sure someone has sent an envoy to Clermont-Ferrand," Adam said. "Once that news travels, it will be harder to stop it."

"Perhaps, but if I can make everyone forget today, there will be no evidence and no recollection of magic. It will be much harder to prove that the curse ever existed, and it will be difficult to prove that there is a witch if she is no longer remembered."

"Then go," said the prince, gently touching her face. "I'll be waiting for you here. But do be careful, Hermione."

Heeding Adam's words, Hermione went through the mirror to make preparations in Wizarding England. Once she had made the necessary potion and corked it, she cast a glamor to change her appearance, making her brown curls blonde and her brown eyes blue, and plumping her figure up. In the mirror, she winced. "I almost look like those blondes who chased Gaston," she muttered. "At least the men will flock to me."

Then, going back through the mirror, she changed her dress to the simplest that Madame Grande de la Bouche had, put on a cloak, and grabbed her rucksack, sliding her wand up her sleeve. She walked outside the castle and toward Molyneux. The last thing that she needed was to Apparate to the edge of town, only to realize that someone was there. As the forest began to thin, Hermione placed her cloak into her rucksack and conjured a large jug of ale. She gently tipped half the potion into it, re-corked it, and tucked that into her rucksack, too.

It was evening by the time she reached Molyneux. A handsome black-haired man looked her up and down as she entered the village. "Here, let me help you with that, miss," he said.

"Merci, monsieur," Hermione said. After a second's hesitation, she batted her eyes for extra effect. "This ale is my livelihood, and I was almost too tired to carry it. They say it is brewed using water from the Fountain of Youth, but it is, nonetheless, delicious ale."

"In that case, I must have some of this ale. And I'm sure the tavern would be happy to serve it if they could keep a portion of the profits."

The tavern agreed to serve the ale until it was gone, and word quickly spread through the town about the magical drink. Everyone lined up to try it, and mothers even spooned a small amount to their children. Soon the ale was gone, and nearly everyone had had a taste.

"More," the villagers shouted. "We must have more of this magical ale!"

"I do not have any more with me," Hermione said, "but I will return with more if I can. But before that, I have a question to ask of you… I heard on my way walking into town that there were a witch and a beast who live near here. If I am to return, can you assure me that I will not be harmed by them?"

"A witch? There's a witch?" people asked, looking around. Their eyes were wide.

"You know, I remember Gaston saying something about that last night, or maybe it was a dream," said LeFou. A couple people nodded in assent, and a few people began whispering.

"Perhaps it was only rumor," Hermione said. "In any event, I will return the day after tomorrow with fresh ale."

As the villagers continued to carouse at the tavern, she quietly slipped away, satisfied that their forgetfulness was nearly complete. She returned to the castle, removing the glamor when she reached the gate.

"Hello, Hermione," Adam said, greeting her at the front entrance. "I take it that your day was fruitful?"

"Yes," she said. "The forgetfulness potion seems to be working. I brewed it differently so that the potion would remove only memories pertaining to me, to magic, and to the castle, and that the effects would be long-lasting. Now we simply need to give it to the prisoners."

"What about Gaston?" Adam asked. "Should he return to Molyneux like the others?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "It seems wrong to keep him prisoner, but I also would hate for him to terrorize others."

"I agree," said Adam. "Is there some way that we can release him without him being dangerous?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Human transfiguration is very complex, especially if it is to be predicated on changing Gaston into a different form until he learns his lesson. But perhaps there is some other way."

And as she mulled this over, she went to the dungeons and poured the forgetfulness potion (along with some sleeping potion) into the prisoners' evening stew before sliding it under the bars. Once the prisoners were asleep, she inserted new memories into their minds and levitated them to the prince's carriage, which would carry them to the edge of the woods. When they woke up, they would remember only that Gaston had encouraged them to join him on a fruitless hunt for a beast. Hermione was certain that they would not remember her or seek the castle again. But when she reached Gaston's cell, which was separate from the others, she paused.

He was standing in the corner when she approached. "You think you've won by locking me up," he sneered, walking toward the bars, "but the people of Molyneux know the truth. They know there's a beast in this castle, and they've seen the witch you really are."

"Monsieur, I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said as she slid his soup under the bars with her foot. "I am not a witch, just a humble servant girl. There is no such thing as magic."

"No, you're a witch—I've seen you attack me with that red light, but you haven't killed me yet! There's no defeating the great Gaston."

She looked at the ferocity in his eyes, and she took a deep breath. This was no time to be nervous. "Well, they do say that pride goes before the fall. So maybe your day is coming." She tossed a small flask onto the floor, kicking it into Gaston's cell. "This is a gift from the prince; he thought you might like something stronger than soup."

And then she walked away, to watch and wait.

The next morning, Gaston awoke outside the tavern, an empty mug in his hand, as the dawn light began to awake the village. He spun around, looking for the bars, the beast, the witch, anything to explain why he was no longer in his cell. He ran to his home, opened the door, and grabbed his best hunting rifle. Then he dashed to Le Fou's and banged on the door.

"Le Fou," Gaston called, his voice booming. "Get out here, now. We have to go after the beast and the witch."

A moment later, Le Fou appeared at the door, his hair sticking in all directions and his eyes bloodshot. "Where were you, Gaston? You missed the magical ale yesterday. The woman who brought it, too. She looked like the twins, but more beautiful."

"Never mind that. We have to go after the beast and the witch!"

Le Fou frowned. "What beast? Were you out hunting the other day?"

"No, I was at the castle with you—I led the whole village there, and we fought the beast and he had servants who were objects, and there was a witch there, too."

Le Fou's frown grew even greater, and he shook his head. "We were here, I think. The last couple days are a bit hazy, but I definitely don't remember a castle or a beast or a witch."

Gaston grabbed Le Fou by the collar and shoved him up against the door. "Of course you do!" he bellowed. "YOU. WERE. THERE!"

At this particularly loud yell, villagers from a couple nearby houses began opening their doors, many of the men half-dressed and the women in their nightgowns. "Is everything all right, Gaston?" one red-haired man asked. "We heard some yelling."

"No, Francois, everything is not fine," Gaston spat. "This idiot doesn't remember when we charged into the castle the other night to defeat the beast and the witch."

Francois looked at Gaston blankly. "Guess Le Fou must have hit his head or something, then."

Gaston puffed his chest out. "Exactly what I was thinking, Francois. Clearly, you remember."

"I think you're mistaken, Gaston. I wasn't part of any attack on a castle. I've never seen a castle in my life."

Gaston dropped Le Fou and approached Francois, pressing him against the wall of his house. "YOU'RE WRONG. We all went into the woods two nights ago to attack the witch in the beast's castle, and a few of us were imprisoned, and then this morning, I ended up here."

"Please let me go, Gaston," Francois said. "I really don't remember anything about this."

A few more villagers were approaching now. "Gaston, let him go," said the blacksmith. "Francois didn't do anything to you."

The hunter was about to protest but saw the axe in the blacksmith's hand. Fuming, he dropped Francois. "Don't think this is over," he growled. "Either of you," he said, turning to Le Fou. "You'll see. You'll all see that I'm right!"

As Gaston stomped off, Cerise, Celine, and Celestine approached, pulling their dressing gowns closed. "Is everything all right with Gaston?" Cerise asked as she fluffed her curls. "He seemed upset."

"That's the understatement of the year," said the blacksmith. "He was talking about how a beast was at a castle… and there was a witch we were all hunting. Madness."

Celine's eyes widened. "Gaston's gone mad? Oh, the poor dear!"

Celestine burst into sobs. "Poor Gaston!" Her two sisters hugged her, and soon all three were in tears.

"They really are three silly girls," the blacksmith said, shaking his head. "Beautiful, but too silly to make good wives. I'm glad I've got my Lisette; she's practical and grounded, never chased that Gaston."

"What do we do about Gaston?" Le Fou asked, trying to ignore the triplets' wails. "I know I've made him upset before, but I've never seen him look at me like that… murderous, almost."

The blacksmith and Francois exchanged a look. "I think," the blacksmith said, "we need to call Monsieur D'Arque."

Le Fou's eyes grew wide. "No, we can't do that! Gaston doesn't belong in Maison de Lunes."

"Well," Francois said, "maybe we can just get his thoughts over some ale. Maybe there's something else we can do to help Gaston. Just think of it as a consultation."

"Okay," said Le Fou. "If it will help Gaston."

At the castle, Hermione was putting the final touches on the Muggle-repelling spell. Once they knew Gaston's fate, she would lift it, but in the meantime, she wanted to make sure that everyone was safe. As twilight approached, Hermione unleashed the last jet of the spell's white light into the sky. A sheer curtain of light descended around them, before fading into an invisible force-field. She walked back toward the castle entrance where Adam was waiting for her.

"I'm glad the worst of it's over," she said as she gave Adam a hug. "I just hope we're doing the right thing."

"Me too," Adam agreed. "I believe in you, so I know you'll make the spell work."

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Over the next couple days, an enraged Gaston was seething. He returned to the forest to attack the castle, but he kept losing his way, always ending at the same stump where he had seen the witch sitting just a week ago and never seeing the castle. He tore his trophies off the walls of his house, used a blunt axe to hack at trees in the woods near his house, and drank pints of ale at the tavern, tossing his pint glasses into the fire at the end of the night. He heard people whispering behind his back, but he ignored it. He would show them that he was right, somehow.

And then, one night, a hunched figure entered the tavern as Gaston was brooding alone. The crone hobbled in on a cane, wearing a cloak and Gaston turned his attention toward the bartender. "Another pint," he said roughly, throwing the metal tin at the man's face.

"Good evening, sir," the crone said, removing her hood. He grimaced at the woman's appearance. Her eyes were covered with cataracts, her white hair was wispy, and her skin was wrinkled and spotted. "Are you the great Gaston?"

Gaston puffed out his chest. "Yes, that's me."

"Then I have a message for you," the crone croaked. "They are words of advice and warning from one far wiser than myself."

The hunter scoffed. "I don't need advice," he said. "I don't need anyone's help."

The woman shook her head. "I am sorry to hear that." Gesturing to the bartender, she pulled out a gold coin and handed it to him. "Please leave us," she said quietly.

Nodding, the bartender left so that only Gaston and the old woman remained. The dying embers of the fire crackled in the background.

"I would like to give you one more chance," she said. "Would you hear the words of advice and warning I have to give you?"

Gaston sneered and pushed the woman off her chair. "I don't need anything from you. I'm the great Gaston, the best hunter in the whole world." And he turned to leave the tavern.

Before he could reach the door, a white light filled the whole building, blinding him. He fell to his knees and covered his eyes. When he finally uncovered them, he saw a beautiful woman, glowing in white light. There was something oddly familiar about her.

"You!" he snarled. "I've been waiting for this moment, to hunt you, to kill you and your beast." He reached up to touch her, but before he could touch his dagger, his hands were bound with a red cord of light. "Let me go, witch!"

"No, Gaston. You have been egocentric, selfish, and full of greed. You have hurt others to get your way, and you must learn the lesson of humility. An old woman offered to give you advice, not once but twice, and you cruelly rejected her help, saying that you knew best.

"As punishment for your vanity and using your physical prowess to intimidate others, you will be disfigured. You will only regain your true form if someone falls in love with you and agrees to marry you." And with another flash of light, Gaston felt his body shifting, the bones and muscle rearranging themselves.

As the light faded, Gaston looked at his hands. The red cord of light was gone, but his hands were scarred, he felt duck-footed, and now he was hunched. His vision was also blurry and felt lopsided. "You… you can't do this!" he cried. "I'll kill you! The town will kill you."

"I'm sorry, Gaston," Hermione said. The white light faded from her, too, now. "I have done what I can to ease the curse; you will not age until you break it, and you have no time limit in which to break the curse. Use it as an opportunity to change your life."

The former hunter opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, Hermione had Disapparated.

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Over the next couple weeks, things returned to a new normal. The citizens of Molyneux seemed had completely forgotten about magic, the battle, and Prince Adam and his castle. A party from Clermont-Ferrand arrived in response to a message about a witch and a hideous beast, but no one remembered anything, so the matter was let go. Gaston had disappeared, too, but everyone was more relieved than anything, glad that they didn't have to consider putting their friend in an asylum, and hoping that he was doing better elsewhere.

Shortly after Gaston's departure, Prince Adam sent a letter to the King in Paris to explain his desire to reintroduce himself to French society. He visited Molyneux and Lezoux and Clermont-Ferrand to meet his people, and every time, Hermione was at his side but lingered in the back. She dressed simply so that no one would mistake her for a princess, and each time someone asked, he introduced her as his Royal Historian. From the looks that he gave her, though, Hermione could tell that he wished he could say something else.

When she wasn't at Adam's side helping him prepare for his reintroduction to society, a large part of her day was spent in Wizarding England, trying to recapture some sense of normalcy from before she had fallen through the mirror the first time. Before leaving, she had been writing an important piece of legislature that she wanted to propose to the Ministry, but she had to admit that now her enthusiasm about S.P.E.W. was limited—any progress she had made after the war had been lost in her absence. Granted, Professor McGonagall had decided to pay all the house-elves in service at Hogwarts, and they were given better lodging, and vacation time, and Hermione knew that such an act would be influential in making additional progress. But it still seemed that so many witches and wizards were closed-minded about treating the species with more respect and dignity.

Hermione's lease came up, and rather than re-signing it, she moved out of her flat. Most of her things ended up at the castle, but she did keep a small trunk at Harry's in a spare bedroom. Ron moved in with George in his flat, citing that he wanted to be closer to the shop, but Hermione knew it was because he couldn't stand to be near her. She had tried to mend their friendship, had even drawn him a small image of his favorite player from the Chudley Cannons and magicked it, but when Harry's new owl Anderson returned, there was a small piece of scrap paper that simply said, Stop owling me, Hermione. She only knew how Ron was doing because Harry still saw him a couple times a week and gave her reports, and her heart ached that her friend was being so distant. In those moments, she would often travel through the mirror back to France and spend time with Adam and the castle staff. Mrs. Potts was particularly kind and understanding and offered her words of comfort.

"There now, dearie," she said one day a couple weeks after the battle. "I'm sure he's just hurting. It's always hard to discover that the person you love doesn't love you… doesn't want to be with you."

"I suppose," Hermione said. "I just wish that things could go back to as they were when Harry, Ron, and I were the Golden Trio. Best friends for life."

Mrs. Potts smiled sadly and placed her hand on Hermione's. "But things are rarely very simple, Hermione. Look at your own situation here with the prince. He's putting on a brave face, but having you gone so much is hard on him. Why, last week you were gone for five days straight, and he spent most of his time brooding in the West Wing."

"I know. I just—it's a lot to think about. I'm only 20 years old and I never imagined leaving England or becoming royalty or even getting married at this age! And it's important to me to remain connected to the magical community, and I think I would feel isolated if I lived here full-time."

"All very valid reasons. But just think about today. I'm sure Prince Adam would love it if you spent the afternoon here with us, had tea, and maybe walked with him in the gardens."

Hermione sighed. She could hardly say no to such a simple request even though she was increasingly behind on work for S.P.E.W. She had been avoiding Adam since their official trip to Clermont-Ferrand, and it would be nice to spend time with him. "All right, but I'm staying dressed as is," Hermione said, "I'm not changing into some ball gown."

Mrs. Potts chuckled. "As you wish, my dear. I'll go let the master know."

As the older woman stood up to leave, Hermione put her head in her hands. For all her book learning and cleverness, she felt so lost.

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Back in England, Belle and her father were continuing to adjust. Belle had returned from Shell Cottage a couple days ago, and Maurice was engaged in trying to understand the complex components in electronics.

About a week ago, Harry had taken Maurice to the heart of Muggle London to begin looking at flats, and they had stopped into a store that sold televisions, computers, and gaming consoles. Maurice had become instantly fascinated with the moving pictures that weren't created with magic, and he eagerly plunked down the Muggle money Harry had given him for a security deposit for a flat so that he could purchase a small TV. Though Harry told him the TV would be worthless at 12 Grimmauld Place because too much magic negatively affected electronic current, Maurice was insistent. The TV came home with them, and Maurice had been tinkering with it ever since—first to understand its components, and then to see how magic affected it. He noticed that the closer a witch or wizard, especially a wand-bearing one, and especially a spellcasting one, stood to the television, the more static was introduced to the picture. Though it puzzled him at first, Maurice had begun altering the TV's wiring to reflect the cores of the wands.

It was simple, he explained to Belle, who translated. Once he had a unicorn hair, a phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring woven into the TV's wiring, the electrical energy in the TV should be channeled the same way as a witch or wizard channeled magical energy through a wand. After all, magical energy that a witch or wizard produced, he hypothesized, was a form of electrical energy since a synaptic impulse would originate in the brain, the energy would travel in the nervous system to reach the hand to move it in a certain manner, and the wand would focus the energy and transform it into magical energy.

Thus, if the TV's wiring integrated the three most common wand cores, it would be immune to the interference of magical energy produced by wands with dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, and unicorn tail cores because the modified wiring should neutralize the magical energy and either dissipate it, or convert it into electrical energy once again, which the system could use.

Harry and Ron both looked dumbfounded, so Belle spoke up, again translating for her father. "'E 'as been going to ze internet café during ze day, and 'e 'as learned very much about ze…form of humans and 'ow zey work. And machines." She looked at her father with a fond smile. "'E very much enjoys working with ze machines."

"Blimey, that's apparent," said Harry, still staring, though Maurice had now returned to tinkering with the TV set. "But he doesn't have those ingredients, does he?"

Belle shook her head. "'E was 'oping we all could go sometime after lunch to get ze ingredients."

Ron muttered something about needing to get back to George's shop for the Saturday lunch rush before Hermione showed her face, but Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Fine with me. Kreacher?"

The wizened old elf popped into the room next to them. "Master called?" he said dutifully, with a little bow.

"Could you please make us some sandwiches for lunch?"

"What kind of sandwiches would Master desire for lunch?"

"Err…" He always felt so uncomfortable when Kreacher was so deferential. "Err… you know what Belle, Maurice, and I all like, right?"

Kreacher bobbed his head. Ron coughed.

"And Ron?"

Kreacher gave Ron a distasteful look. "Master Weasley will eat anything set in front of him. Kreacher will prepare Master Harry's favorite kind of sandwiches along with lemon and ginger tea. Would Master also like his favorite soup?"

"Er, no, that's all right. Just the sandwiches, thanks."

"Very well. Kreacher will begin preparing them immediately." He bowed again and disappeared from the room with a loud crack!

Once Kreacher had left, Harry turned to Ron, looking confused. "I thought you said you had to leave for George's?"

"Well," Ron said slowly, "I always have time for food."

Belle and Maurice shared a look and tried not to laugh.

After lunch, Ron said his goodbyes and Disapparated, and Harry, Belle, and Maurice travelled to Diagon Alley. After they had purchased the necessary ingredients, they stopped in Flourish and Blotts at Belle's request.

"Zair may be a book about ze wand cores or ze properties of ze elements. Such a thing might 'elp you, Papa," she said, and began looking through the piles of books around the store. She stroked the spines of the books along one shelf. "I weesh I could work at a bookstore like zis one. But when I asked a place in London about working zair, he asked eef I had passed ze GCSE examination. When I asked 'im what zat was, 'e said zat no, zey were not 'iring."

Maurice gave Belle a sympathetic look. "Désolé, ma petite fille." He clasped her hand and squeezed it. Belle gave him a grateful smile before wandering off to another section of the store, looking for fiction. Maybe a novel or two would distract her from her misery and frustration.

She began browsing, picking books off shelves as they struck her fancy. One cover featured only a woman's face, zooming in on her intense green eyes. She added this book to the large pile she'd started in her arms, and the books teetered and spilled on the floor. Belle sighed and began picking up the books to recreate her stack.

"Here, let me help you with that."

Belle looked up to see a kindly man. He looked older than her, but younger than her papa, with slightly lines in his forehead and around his eyes. "Zank you," she said.

"You're welcome. I'm just glad someone's finally taking some of these old novels off my hands; no one seems to come in for fiction these days, just school textbooks and professional reference books." The man looked at her, frowning, as he handed the remaining books. "Have I seen you before? I do remember most people that visit my shop."

"No, I… I am… I am still new to zis world. I am 'ere with my friends. I seemply love books and thought zat a novel or two or per'aps five would 'elp me pass away ze time until I find a job. I wanted to work for a bookstore in London, but zey said zey were not 'iring when zey realized zat I 'ad not taken zair tests."

The man scratched his chin. "Yeah, Muggles can be prejudiced against our kind like that. You know, I've been meaning to hire an assistant, at least for the summer. The Hogwarts rush is awful in August, and I was putting in sixty-hour weeks last year. Would you be interested?"

Belle stared at the shopkeeper. "You are offering me a job?"

He nodded. "Come in on Monday at eight, and I'll have you help me until lunch. If you do a good job, I'll keep you on for the rest of the summer, at least part-time. I can pay you ten Galleons a day, five for a half-day. That's more than minimum wage in Muggle London, that is."

She smiled. "Zank you, monsieur. I'll look forward to seeing you zis Monday."

And then, after selecting the four most promising books from her stack, she rejoined Harry and her father to continue looking for volumes on technology, wand cores, and magical wiring. Though no book appeared to cover the subject comprehensively, a few books alluded to tangential subjects, and Maurice deemed them useful. They checked out, and as the shopkeeper rang up their purchases, he winked at Belle.

"See you Monday," he called as they left the shop.

Monday came quickly, and Belle made sure that her dress was neat, her hair was pulled back, and she looked respectable. Since her initial meeting with the shopkeeper, she had realized that he might know she wasn't a witch. She had expressed her concern to Harry as he accompanied her to Diagon Alley, but he told her not to worry.

"Most witches in that position probably would have levitated their books," Harry said. "Besides, I have to imagine that most of what he wants you to do won't require you to use magic. And if it doesn't work out on Monday, I'll help you find something else in Muggle London. I'm sure there has to be a job for you out there."

Belle nodded, but her stomach still hurt. "I suppose zat you are right," she said. And with a nervous glance back at Harry, she took a deep breath and strode through the door.

The bell hanging on the door clinked as it shut, and the shopkeeper looked up. "Ah, you're right on time. Perfect." He put down the stack of books that he was organizing and gestured to her. "Follow me," he said.

He spent the first hour leading Belle around the shop, showing her the different sections, the checkout counter where purchases were made, and the employees-only area in the back where orders were filled. There were mounds and mounds of books back there, with slips of paper scattered throughout.

"I'm afraid it's a bit of a mess," the shopkeeper said. "I started accepting mass orders via Owl Post last month, and it's only going to get worse once Hogwarts sends its lists to the students at the end of July. Chaos, really."

Then he led her back to the front. "I'm going to work on filling orders, and I'd like you to face the shelves and re-stock them, as necessary. All table displays should have at least five copies available, sometimes as many as twenty." He pulled out a list. "Here are the titles, and to the side, I've marked how many copies should be available for customers on the floor. Start in the Charms section, and then make your way through Potions and Transfiguration. If a customer wants to purchase something, let me know. I'll walk you through the first transaction. There's an Anti-Stealing Spell on the shop, so you shouldn't have to worry about watching whether someone is taking something for which they haven't paid."

He paused. "Any questions?"

Belle shook her head. "Eet seems pretty straight-forward, monsieur. I'll let you know eef I 'ave any questions as I go along."

And with that, she began facing and restocking the shelves, humming as she worked.

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Meanwhile, Prince Adam felt his head was spinning at all the responsibility that had suddenly been thrust into his lap. In the last few weeks, he had met with other neighboring nobility, had countless meetings with Cogsworth and Lumiere on how the castle was to be run, had introduced himself to numerous villages in his region, Auvergne, and still felt like there was much to do.

Since he would only be ruler of his province and was eleventh in line for the throne of France, Adam had far fewer pressures on his mind than he knew he could. Instead, it was his duty to act as a liaison between Auvergne and Paris, focusing strictly on the needs of the people in Auvergne. He would relay news of his region to the King of France twice a year, and should any dire situations arise, the king's advisors could choose to call him to Paris. Adam rather detested feeling like a middle man, and complained of it to Hermione on a near nightly basis.

"It's like I have no power even to create legislation that will benefit my people," Adam said one night when he and Hermione were in the library. "I have to adhere to any of the edicts and laws set by the king, and it is my duty to carry out his will, even if I disagree with it. How can I do such a thing, especially when it's not in the best interest of my subjects?"

Hermione closed her book and looked at Adam pacing in front of her. Strands of hair were floating about his face where he had pulled at it, releasing it from the bow at his neck, and his face was flushed. She stood up and placed her hands on his shoulders.

"I know you'll do what's right," she said. "You've proven yourself to be a just and caring person, and I know you're trying to right the mistakes you've made in the past. If you bring the same compassion to your leadership, you will do well."

Adam looked at Hermione, saw the sincerity in her brown eyes. "This is the closest we've been since the curse was broken," he said, as he brushed a curl away from her face. Hermione withdrew her hands from his shoulders as her own face flushed. Adam grabbed one of her hands and held it in his own.

"I love you, Hermione," he said. "You are beautiful, but more than that, you are clever and kind and loyal."

"Adam, I–"

He smiled. "It's okay. I know you feel torn between your homeland and being here. I'm just glad when you are here. Being around you, being with you has made me a better person, and I'm grateful for the time that I can spend with you. I'm grateful to you for breaking the curse."

"Adam, I know you're grateful," Hermione said, pulling her hand away. "But I don't want you to feel obligated to make me your queen because I broke the curse. I know you have responsibilities, and probably a duty to marry a noblewoman."

"Cogsworth can easily draw up a lineage for you. We could make you my third cousin. No one would question it; after all, I'm eleventh in line for the throne. And I don't feel obligated—I want you to be my queen."

"Adam, that's a lot of pressure."

"Why? You already advise me on domestic policy," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Hermione gave him a stern look, before letting a giggle escape. She coughed, and her face became sober. "In my world, though, it's customary for a man and a woman to court for multiple years before they become married."

Adam lifted an eyebrow. "How long?"

"Three years, give or take."

"That is a while," he admitted. "But if that's how long it would take for you to feel comfortable with the idea of being my wife and queen, I'm more than willing to wait. But it's more than that, isn't it? You've been cautious with me even touching you."

"Well, I know that you and your subjects will see anything non-platonic as being a serious commitment, as us declaring that we are betrothed. And honestly, Adam," she said, "that is what's a lot of pressure. That's what scares me. I'm scared of making a commitment that I'm just not ready to make. And we've gotten to know each other in these emotionally charged moments, and I don't know what that means when we would live together in the daily world."

Adam was silent for a moment. "How does courting begin in your world?"

"It's called dating, but it starts when a person, usually the man, asks the woman out on a date. They go out to dinner or they see a movie, or maybe they just walk in a park or gardens and talk. And maybe they hold hands or kiss."

"Hermione, I don't know what a movie is, but we've done all those other things." Adam paused. "I guess that isn't entirely true, at least not since I've become a man."

He closed the distance between the two of them and brushed his hand against her cheek. "Just think of me as the man who is… what did you call it? Dating? The man who is dating you."

He moved his hand to her hair and gently brushed through it with his fingers, before trailing it once more down her cheek and along her jaw. Then he bent his head and gently kissed her. At first, Hermione just stood there, but after a moment, her body softened, and she brought her hand to his cheek and kissed him back.

The kiss became more passionate, and Adam wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist as he pulled her closer. Their tongues danced as they kissed, and Hermione lifted herself onto her toes and put her hands around Adam's neck. She guided him blindly through the library, only by memory and feel, until they reached an empty space of wall. She pressed him up against it, and his hands grazed lower and lower, until they sank past her hips. And then he pulled back.

"Hermione," her murmured into her ear, "we should stop, love."

"What?" she said, reaching to kiss him again.

He pushed her back slightly, but then cupped her face in his hand. "I'm very excited that you want this to go further, but I want to protect your virtue. As you're not my wife, or even my betrothed, I think we should stop here."

"Oh," she said. "I suppose you're right." She lowered herself so that she was standing flat on the floor.

"I'll walk you to your chambers."

She smiled. "Merci, Adam."

"Du rien, ma petite."