A/N down below, so please read.

As always, enjoy.

.~.

Beauty is Beast

Chapter Two

.~.

~*.*~

Disheartened by words so cruel

Stained by the ink plays the fool

Follow a girl who tides the hand

Whilst trying to find a sorrowed coo

~*.*~

London, England

Saturday June 30, 1742

Come the beginning of the following week, all was but forgotten. Darren no longer seemed to hold any grudges against the girls and was thrown back into his detestable wickedness that everyone has come to adapt to. He had not forgiven Hermione and Elizabeth for what they had done, and only continued to antagonize them. Luckily, however, his delivery never came because of the watchful eye of their Master and Mistress. t was another victory for the girls that did not come without celebration. The children of the Orphanage were busy with their studies. And, the lessons were just as cruel.

By the middle of the week, everyone was physically and mentally drained. Lessons happened four times a week with the exception of examinations and etiquette lessons, which were given at three o'clock to five-thirty every day. They were taught how to walk properly, with their heads held up high, mannerisms in the dining room, and so much more. Although the girl's adored their lessons with their Mistress, which were given and aimed to increase their chances of their respective futures, one of them could not be bothered to learn something as basic as curtsying, the correct line of forks and knives, and how to address the individuals that may meet their acquaintance.

Hermione let out an unnoticed sigh. She was undoubtedly aggravated. History was one of her most favorite subjects, she just could not concentrate on what Mrs. Cole was discussing. Time seemed to stretched on endlessly. All the children in her grade were drawing close to their breaking points, as well. This lesson was just so dreadfully boring that even the smartest of her year found it hard to find gratitude in the shaping of Europe and vigorous economic expansion. She simply did not care to learn about any of this useless rubbage. As of late, she was not up for much of anything.

"Today, as we have done during last couple of weeks preceding this one, we are going to explore the unknown. First, we are going to go over several dynamics of the Renaissance and what may have contributed to the revolution in art, literature, and scholarly achievement."

Everyone took a quick glance around, and for once looked relieved that Hermione couldn't provide an idea to their Mistress' introduction to their History lesson. With a collective sigh, they turned their attention back to their notes and began copying notes from the pages of their tomes onto pieces of parchment. While their Mistress lectured them, she randomly called on one of her students to answer a question.

"Ms. Cummings, what say you?" she asked, the discussion hinting more at a simple answer.

A small girl named Jullian Cummings sunk into her chair, afraid of what their Mistress would say. Evident as the waters from spring rain, she did not want to answer, knowing that her peers were sure to explode into raucous laughter if she produced an uninspiring answer.

"I do not know, Ms. Cole."

Their Mistress' eyebrow arched sharply. "Why do you say that?"

"I do not know how to answer," she mumbled, embarrassed.

The children snickered around her and she sunk further into her chair.

"If you do not know, then I shall ask someone else as to allow them to enlighten you." She smiled, calming the child down. With the years of experience she had with children she was able to calm any troubled soul down with just the right words and gestures. "Very well, then. Can anyone spark the innovations of this conversation and deliver to us a valuable opinion?"

Her peers looked around and looked to Hermione to provide an answer to the topic but none came. Not because she did not have one, but simply she was tired of providing the drive that the conversation needed to flourish. With an unsettling progression of anger and confusion, the children turned to face their Mistress. She did not say a word, but continued on with the lesson. To their relief, no one was asked to answer another question.

The children around her grew animated. Class was always well received, though Hermione couldn't help feel that something was off. After an hour passed, the History lesson ended, and they immediately moved onto grammar and spelling. It was just as boring as their other lessons, but at least no one was allowed to talk. Hermione could use peace and quiet in the horrible hour of the early morning.

"You have thirty minutes to go over your vocabulary words. Do not forget you will be quizzed on them this Friday. "

Ms. Cole then set off and went around to ensure that her students were doing as she asked. With her help, some of them were able to pull through the list of words that she gave them and memorize them better than any of them could have wished.

"Harold, can you help me with this word?" Jullian asked under her breath as Mrs. Cole made her rounds in the front of the fifteen-student classroom.

Class was normally held in the second room off the landing in the building but today they were having class in one of the unoccupied rooms in the far north of the second floor. All the younger children were off somewhere else, perhaps on the main floor and having their lessons there. Hermione mused quietly until the girl next to her asked for the same vocabulary word again. The entire building was being renovated for the coming week. Hopefully, as it has been in the past, the ruckus would not disturb anything else that had been planned the week prior to adoptions.

A sickening feeling began to turn inside her stomach. As always, she was left to inquire alone about the prospect of this month's adoption being the answer to her prayers. She had not given up hope, at least to all that took pity and view on her. As she sat there, the children began to whisper.

"Purgatory." he whispered under his breath, then proceeded to help her spell the word.

Hermione scrunched up her face. What an awful word, she thought as she, too, became writing down the word, though without the aid of his equally atrocious spelling. How he was able to progress this far into his education was beyond him. Not that she could complain. Some of the these spelling words can be hard! Mastery of knowledge was an art form of its own, she supposed musingly.

With a sigh, she grabbed her quell and began scribbling the words that she had already set out to learn upon the clean surface of her parchment. What she would rather be doing did not reside in the humid room of the Orphanage; it was days like this one that she could be found in the garden, picking up weeds and ridding the back terrace of the nuisance of vines. Yet, she found herself there in the classroom filled with children who were doing everything in their power to distract her while distracting themselves from their own work.

"I am so terribly tired of these words!" Jullian huffed, storing her parchment underneath her book. She snapped her head to the side and quipped with the boy beside her. "There are so many of them and the additions are endless."

"You must not let Ms. Cole know, then." Harold conceded. "I am growing tired of this useless subjects. Who care if we cannot spell these horrid words?"

"It is not like we will be tested by an adult in the near future," she mumbled, agreeably.

The children murmured their approval as Hermione continued to write. As she dipped her quell back into her bottle, Harold voice disturbed her.

"At least one of us finds enjoyment."

"What is gotten into her?" another asked. "First poor Darren, now she won't even answer the questions for us. Has she deserted her post?"

"I say we mess with her."

"No," Harold said under his breath. "I have a better way of toying with her. You shall see."

Most of the conversation had been blocked out simply because she had no interest in what they were planning. It became very evident that it involved her, and by the time she realized she should say something to them, one of the boys decided against her actions.

"Pssst!"

Sounds of soft scribbles filled the air, but unfortunately for the caller, his message was unheard.

"Pssssst!"

Hermione continued to focus on her work until the annoying noise became too much to bear. With alacrity, she turned, glaring at the intruder of her most precious thoughts.

"What?" she hissed.

Harold chuckled and nodded his head in the direction of what he was holding underneath his desk. There, she found something disturbing.

Somehow, he had gotten hold of one of the few possessions she owned. The first edition to a history book that she had saved for countless years was lying on his lap, the tip of his quell only inches from the front page. A gleam chased across his green eyes while her eyes sparkled with unshed tears; she prayed that he didn't do what he was promising to do. What she couldn't understand was how Jullian got the book. How on earth did he get it when she literally kept the precious tome under lock and key. The only way he could have gotten it was if he stolen her key.

Hermione's hand tried to catch the chain in which that held said key but found that it wasn't there. Mounting with anger, she turned and glared at the boy.

"Give it back," she mouthed, shaking.

He chuckled, shaking his head. With the words 'never' gracing the unpronounced air, he turned his hand downward and allowed the first drop of ink to sully the page. If her heart could stop at this moment and end her misery, it did not. With each addition drop, her anger rose and without realizing it, so did her tears. The children around her must have her pathetic whimpering because they too joined in the torment.

"Look, she's crying!" one of the boys closest to her proclaimed.

"Oh, what is she crying about now?" another asked, genuinely taken aback by her ungraceful behavior.

Hermione reached up to dry her tears and as she did, Jullian stood from his desk and smeared some of his ink onto her cheeks, laughing along with the rest of the class. The only one who did not find amusement in the torture of the young girl was Jullian and Mrs. Cole, who had put an immediate stop to the lesson to help Hermione and reprimand the boy.

"Harold!" she cherished the air with her harsh voice. "Why on earth did you do that?"

The boy snickered, and before she could stop, he reached out and grabbed the ink bottle and tossed the contents at Hermione. The ink blessed her skin, the front of her skirts and breast. What used to be a content girl now stood one with regret. Just as Harold had done with the ink bottle, Hermione escape just before Mrs. Cole could even get a word. As she did, the boy's cruel words haunted her like possessed ravens.

His words seemed to chase after her. When she could no longer bear the hurtful announcement of his thoughts, she tuned them out. She ran. As fast as her short legs could carry her. There was but one destination in mind, one where no one, she was certain, would not find her. Its discovery had been a marvelous mistake.

Right off the front entrance was a secret door that lead up to a mysterious attic with a high ceiling and a dusty dream. The stairs were old and likely to break underneath the right amount of strain. For years she has come to this haven and as a wishful picture settled into a home, still with no mother and father. She liked to believe. And, with the addition of two unlikely guests, she was able to.

As soon as she was cleared to do so, she searched underneath the carpets and produced a single nail. With it, she pried open the secret door, silently marveling at the stairs. The moment she squeezed through the opening, she closed the door and was welcomed with resounding darkness.

It was fitting, somehow. Whilst she climbed, she entertained the boy's nasty words. It was clear that no one but the adults liked her. She could not understand the animosity towards her, but she was very much aware of it. And, while most tried their best to hide the fact that the hated her, some chose to make it apparent. Harold and Darren were two perfect examples of such intolerance. Why the children hated her was a question she has been asking herself for years. Sure, she was the eldest. She had not been seen by anyone who showed the least bit of attention to her, and would not likely be adopted at all. Not that she minded staying at the Orphanage until she found a suiter or moved on. It just hurt to know that not even the children that she played with and attended lessons with did not want her there. She was a piece of trash that they all wanted to get rid of as soon as humanly possible. For some reason, she believed it because who would want a freak like her?

Why was it so hard to fit in with the 'gift' that her Mistress always praised? As unnatural it was for her to be able to move objects, make things appear and disappear, and force the voice from one's throat, why did it have to happen to her? Was she no suffering enough as it was, and if not, why this curse? Out of all the children on earth, why her?

Hermione made it through the tight tunnel and was covered with more than just ink. Dust and tiny bits of glass glittered her skin and clothing. Her sanctuary had been part of an elaborate design and a cellar of liquor of some sorts. One had to be careful when treading its short distance.

She fussed with her dress until cleaning herself become too much of a burden. As of now, she simply did not care what she looked like and was very much content of keeping her appearance as evidence to the boy mistreatment. As she looked around, taking in her small surroundings as she has done so in the past, she vowed to get her book back. The vengeful spirit that resided within her wanted retribution, but she could not deliver. Harold was due to be picked up by his adoptive family within the next week and she did not want to do anything that would damage his chances of going home with them. Unfortunately, London was not safe at this present moment and she feared it would not be for some time. War was breaking out subtly around the world, and with a kindred heart, she prayed that everything would eventually settle back it what it once was. With that thought, she prayed that Harold would find enlightenment as she tried to find forgiveness in his actions.

A tiny ray of hope seemed to illuminate the dank room. Hermione took it as a sign that all would be well, so long as her positivity remained high. That was all she could do now. She knew anything less than what she has been doing would not prevail; sometimes, that is all one can have.

"I cannot give up hope," she murmured to herself as she discarded her apron and looked around. "One must not give their adversaries reason to abuse."

With a well-practiced swirl, she embarked on a safe and serene journey.

If it was one thing that could calm her, it was the inexplicable musings of her artwork.

Hermione was always a quiet, studious child. From early on, she showed exquisite talent in many forms. Her gift, her magic had been proven to be an outlet she desperately needed. She could not wield it as well as she had hoped, but it served as a tight barrier from the outside world and the one she created for herself. Born from the swirls that still bewitched her to this day, her providence found the light.

Motley of colors exploded around her. Visions of colored orchards, reverie waters, and beautiful fields began to be the muse of her inspiration. At the calling, Hermione hurried around the dust, old room and collected every color of paint that had bene lying about when she first discovered the secret room. The walls had become her canvas, the floor the streets of her power, and the furniture, in juxtaposition to her longing, her outlet in which she strived. Once she found the last remaining bit of space that she could reach, she set to work, opening up to the last thing she was not able to forget.

The branches of her misfortune carved into wooden structure. Her soul bled as the fingers stretched out from their long rest. Dead leaves were strewn by the trees grave, embellishing the decrepit piece whilst drawing the eye from the natural order. Her heart was brought forth from the haunting artwork, and as the paint dried to patchy splotches, the wooden wall began to crumble. Unbeknownst to her, Hermione anger had finally come to manifest from inside her and became a powerful residential to what she could not control. A single crack sliced the tree in half, thus proving to her once and for all that her enemies could not be saved and that she was fated to roam with the smear of ink that stained her skin for the rest of her days.

She was cursed. Unconditionally, undoubtedly, and eternally cursed. Forever branded with the mark bestowed upon the darkest, proclaimed figure, she felt herself beginning to waste away like the art that she just created. She would live without the rays of love, the dalliance of friendship, nor the patent admiration that comes with decadence; she would not know what it would feel compliant to the feelings of others.

Without acceptance, she fell to the ground and wept. To her, she had not been her but for a friend who knew more about the hurt she was faced with had.

"Hermione," came the voice of her one and only friend.

She turned apathetically to Elizabeth, whom grounded herself strongly in her place. Tears stained her own cheeks as more came to cascade down the rounded curves. Her hair, tossed into her decorative bun was unkempt. How long had she been searching for her and how long had she been there? With these questions, she grew angry. How dare she feign concern. Even if she was her best friend, she could see past her lies. "Why?" she asked, her voice no higher than a whisper. "Why does this keep happening to me?"

Elizabeth continued to stare at her, her eyes filling with tears. She grabbed her paintbrush and began to splatter the corrupted hue of black upon her masterpiece. The blood of the dying trunk leaked out from the deep grooves and collected in a pool around their feet. They sunk as if drowning in the clearest waters. It took every bit of the younger girl's strength to stop Hermione from ending it all. Neither of them deserved, nor wished, to end their lives in a deserted attic when no one knew of its existence. With all her heart, Elizabeth did not wish to see her friend go and made a point to stop her foolishness once and for all.

"You must stop doing this!" she reached out and grabbed her arm.

"No!" she shrieked, letting the dam of her tears go. "I cannot! Do not try to tell me otherwise!"

"You are hurting yourself, 'Mione."

"I do not care," she cried. "I do not care because they are right! I'm worthless. No one wants me and no one ever will!"

"That is not true!"

"Yes, it is. And, you know it!" Hermione sobbed. "You know it to be the truth.

With this last statement, Elizabeth broke down along with her. Not because she knew it was the truth, but for she did not understand what was real or not."

They stayed there as long as time would allow. Inside the forgotten plane of Hermione's despair, the girls were able to find some evolvement. Elizabeth truly was a blessing in disguise. Though, was it time that really allowed such a development to occur, or was it some mystical powers within her younger friend that caused the transition? One could on speculate.

The girls shared in several quiet activities, and through the looking glass of the broken roof, they were able to find peace with the sunshine and whimsical bird that sung in perfect harmonization. Paper bird flew around, chirping and chasing one another as the two of them danced the landscape of the creaky floors. It was a wonder that no one was able to find this place because of the noise that pierced the air and shook the walls. Elizabeth was the only one besides their mistress that was not scared of her gift and Hermione remained forever grateful of their giving hands.

Time pressed on, and it came apparent that they could no longer spend their time in the arms of their dream.

"We must leave soon," Liza whispered, turning from the destroyed tree and looking at Hermione.

She nodded. "I know."

"Where will you go?"

"I do not know," she sighed. "I am not leaving you, Liza."

Elizabeth smiled. "I know. I was only asking, that is all."

The older girl looked at her and said," I would never desert this place. It is the only home I have." Then she looked away. She did not want to even entertain the idea of what the young girl was insinuating. One thing was for sure, thought. She would never leave. Ever. No matter how awful the taunting became, she would never lose hope. But, sometimes it was fine to lose some of it. It only meant she was strong enough to last this long before she able to realize how much further she wanted to go.

"I meant, what are you going to do about your stupid bullies?" Sometimes, she forgot just how young she was. Hermione giggled at her boldness, though.

"I am not sure." It was the truth. She knew that Ms. Cole must have done something to discipline them. Even with knowing her and how she operated, she could very well say it just was not enough. No one would ever be able to get across to them that treating anyone with such hatred with frowned upon. Maybe they truly hated her.

"Oh, nonsense."

Hermione frowned, wondering what she was talking about. Elizabeth elaborated for her.

"They do not hate you, silly!"

Her frown deepened before realizing she had spoken out loud and she blushed. The younger girl laughed musically as her easily embarrassed friend.

"If they hated you, Hermione, they would have drove you out years ago and we would not be lying her today in dust and scattered rubbish."

"Very true," she agreed, motioning to stand. "Well, I think it is best that we leave."

"Why is that?"

"Our classes. Were they not still in session?"

Elizabeth bit her lip, indicating that there was something that she was not telling her.

"Was is it, Liza?" she asked, her voice coming in a soft piece. She tried her best to remain calm, but it was hard not to be angry at what she was keeping from her.

"Ms. Cole… she got really angry at Harold. She went to my class and asked us all to go back to our rooms and that was when I knew something had happened."

"What could you have possibly learned from her proclamation?"

"I knew that it had something to do with you. Ms. Cole was dreadfully distressed and could not come up with more than a few words. Ms. Gretchen went hysterical and so did some of the other children. Your leave has caused such a disturbance. They think you ran away!"

"Good," Hermione stated as she stood and went to clean up her paints. "Maybe they will finally leave me alone. I can live here, restore this room and live off my artwork. All I ever wanted was to be accepted and lead a simple life! Why should they ruin that chance at normalcy by pretending to care?"

"You think they are pretending?" grossed Liza, saddened. "That all their concern was for naught, that they truly wish for you to be gone and forever lost?"

"You would not know by the way the treat me and some of the other older orphans…"

Elizabeth shook her head and walked over to her. "They love you, Hermione." She told her. "They look up to you and see you as a mother they never had. Granted, you are the oldest, but you are the wisest and most cherished of the orphans. Without you, I daresay, some of us simply would not have the inspiration to stay positive."

It was so hard to stay true to herself whilst listening to her words. As hard to believe, somewhere deep down in her heart she knew it to be true. Not all the orphans hated her, just the ones who have been there with her since infancy. They were traumatized with bitterness; they all had been abandoned in one form or another and would love nothing more than the companionship that came with having a family. Alas, that was a wishful dream. Sometimes, all the could afford was each other and it seemed to her that the eldest orphan among them was the most treasured one at that. Deep down, they could not lose her as she could not lose them.

"I did not think of it in that way," she confessed, overcome with sadness once more. "They were so cruel…"

"Cruelty hides what the heart does not want to confess." Elizabeth told her. "Have you ever hidden something that you could not even begin to explain?"

Of course, she wanted to tell her. What held her back was the fact that her gift was not something of legacy, but of fright. Even if she was a beloved idol of her younger peers, the simplicity of the matter was that she was different and if anyone were to find out what she truly was their image of her would forever be tainted.

"Even if you are hiding something, you can still be looked upon with respect."

The girls shared one uninterrupted moment before a voice pulled them away from one another.

"How very touching," Ms. Cole said from the spot in which she stood.

With a gasp, Hermione and Elizabeth pulled away and cowered underneath their Mistress' unemotional glare. In an instant, she strode over and hovered above them, eyeing them both contemporarily. Several seconds of this silence passed before she knelt down and embraced the missing girl.

"I thought you had gone," she said, her voice forgiving as it shook. "You were so upset and I- I did not know what to do! I am so sorry, Hermione."

"It is me who should be sorry, Ms. Cole." she assured her. "I shouldn't have ran away!"

"Any sensible individual would have in any given situation. I fear that it did more harm than good, but you are safe and that is all that matters."

Hermione wrapped her arms around her Mistress' neck and sighed into her breast. Another pair of arms joined hers and they three stood just like that for quite a few minutes before pulling away.

"You shall never do that again. Do you hear me?" she scolded her. "Nearly gave me a heart attack, but thank goodness I know all your little secret hiding places."

"I will never desert you again!" she promised before asking. "What shall happen to my sanctuary? You won't board it up, will you?"

"I believe it is time for you to leave." Ms. Cole told the younger girl. "Inform Mr. Filch and Ms. Gretchen of Hermione's retrieval. I shall be there shortly to escort her back to her lessons with the other girls."

"But-"

"Leave, Elizabeth."

She turned to Hermione who gave her a pleasing smile. The younger girl tried her best to return it but found no comfort in knowing that her friend would be alone in the same room as Ms. Cole.

When she did and the door snapped close, the older woman turned and stared her down. There was a fiery vengeance in them, bringing the most admirable sentence from her young learner. They did not scream punishment, but held onto a softer clarity.

"I am not mad," she finally said, reaching out to tuck a disobedient curl behind her ear. "However, I do wish to discuss this with you."

"There is nothing to discuss, ma'am."

"Yes, there is." Her voice was gentle as always. "I am afraid there is nothing you can do about the matter. We will discuss this, but on other terms. We shall not talk about it tonight. For now, let us adjourn to our next lesson and put this vile experience both behind us.

Before her beloved Mistress pulled away, Hermione clasped her hand and looking searchingly into her eyes.

"You heard, did you not?"

"Heard what, my dear?"

"About the other children. Them loving for me but being too afraid to admit it and some taunting about not being able to fit in. I know you heard."

Ms. Cole looked at her and a smile slowly formed on her lips. "I always knew you were brilliantly observant, Hermione. Just as I always thought you would be loved by anyone who had the privilege to be graced by your presence."

"How long have you known the true nature behind their cruelty?" she asked, scared.

"I have known for quite a while," she confessed. "Though, their taunts are not entirely from the truth. They have been bred from their fear of being alone, as well as their undisciplined understanding of your extraordinary gift."

"Elizabeth said they are scared. Are they scared that I will hurt them as other's have done?"

Ms. Cole considered this for a moment. "I believe that could be one possibility. Though, I must ask. Would you intentionally harm the ones that caused you pain?"

"Not intentionally, ma'am. Though, I would not rest unless I see some retribution for what they have done."

"Then I see no reason to believe such nonsense." She smiled. "The other children are scared of your ability, Hermione. But they must learn to come to terms that it is a part of you as the rest of your characteristics make you whole. I do believe you would not be knowledgeable without your brilliant mind, now would you?"

She giggled a 'no.'

"Then, without your gift, you would be just like everyone else." She concluded. "And, without these adherents whom asked to remain anonymous, you would not have made it this far without giving up. You have not given up, have you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, ma'am. I have not."

"Good, then." Ms. Cole looked at her before pulling her into another hug. "I do not wish for you to waste your remaining youth wishing upon a fallen star. You were created in the image of God, and you should not take His blessing for something to hate. You will find your beauty, child. You just have to be patient."

"What if I cannot be patient? What if I truly am tired of waiting for someone to come around to accept me for who I am?"

The question she had been dying to ask for as long as she could remember was on the tip of her tongue.

Instead of wanting to know who she was, she wanted to know what she was and if there was anything in God's plans that would save her from the turmoil that sparked within her.

That night, even then her mind was plagued with that one question that her Mistress just could not answer.

A/N: Good evening. I do hope that you all had a splendid weekend because I know I did. I found out this past Wednesday after getting drunk that I am the wild, crazy, bearing all secrets drunk and that it only takes two shots of peach Vodka do get me hammered, lol. I am under-aged and won't be 21 until October of this year. No one rat me out, alright?

Firstly: I did not edit this chapter as much as I should have. I do promise you a fully edited chapter will come Monday morning.

Secondly: There may be a change in the date/year of this story. I do not make a habit of changing things such as that, but there is a possibility that I might have to. Initially, I wanted to follow a documentary that I saw on the years that some of these events take place but found that the information I needed was hard to come by. I am more familiar with the 1700's+, anyway. I will let you know. If I do not change it by Chapter Four, then perfect. I did, however, change the date for the first chapter. It was accurate, so I apologize. The website I used was not good and I would rather use a good and resourceful website for dates and historical references than just write blindly. Again, I will let you know.

Thirdly: I want to address the update schedule :) Updates will occur every Sunday, unless postponed. I am in my third semester of my Cosmetology course and I am totally excited :D I will be on the floor fucking up people's hair and doing a lot of finger waves. (Yippee!)

Anyway, I shall see you all soon!

-Ann10155