A/N down below

As always, enjoy

.~.

Beauty is Beast

Chapter Five

.~.

~*.*~

Drawn to the light of sacred glass

A captive rose kept in hand

Found by a heart so pure

Though existence bane,

Captivation is found.

~*.*~

London, England

Thursday July 5, 1742

Lucius entered the Orphanage with a darkened expression. It was not every day that he ventured into Muggle London, and certainly would not be the last. At least it would not for long. He knew that his family was restless and that they had spent more than adequate time within the confines of the town to satisfy the needs of their holiday for years to come and that the arrangement was closing to an end. With this little transaction, he planned to steal the Orphanage back with all its benefits by night fall and have his family well rested before their departure early tomorrow morning. If everything went accordingly, he hoped, he would be able to sell the building for twice its fortune.

He cared not of the orphans, the employees, the lives that were pending to put into the arms of the streets. His eyes were solely on the currency that the building was still worth. Expenses these days, the lavish parties, the kissing arses, and everything he has done thus far, he was desperate for a boost in finances, even if that meant taking back something he generously gave to the town all those years ago.

Things have changed; he has changed.

If anything was certain, Lucius could bet that his viewpoint of the world, the cruelty of it, was defiantly present. Persistently taunting, even to someone who believed he deserved far more than what he has been giving thus far. That is why it was so important to get the Orphanage. He would be able to reap the benefits of not just that, but the hidden troves of treasures he has left inside. Perhaps then the curse that has settled upon them would be lifted. That damned enchantress would no doubt be satisfied, or so he thought.

Large cerulean eyes stared at the expanse that was laid out before her. The moment that had been delivered to them was upon them as they were promptly greeted by a production of individuals and escorted through the large, wooden door. Narcissa Malfoy continued to conceal her mounting woes. A little hand held onto hers with everything they had. Whilst her Lord greeted the employees of the Orphanage, she was left to her own destructive thoughts, and the concern of her child.

For months she has felt this strange, unexplained hand. Although she could not place it then, it was in this very moment, walking through the short corridors and into the first floor drawing room where they were asked to meet the mistress of the orphanage, she knew that she would find out the identity of the phenomenon.

It was not as a strange occurrence, noting who she was and what her clean blood represented. She was gifted with many talents, one of which a six sense that allowed her to reach into the void of the unknown. It would be very strange not to have an extraordinary gift in the supernatural form, especially with her background.

Narcissa was a Pureblood woman, of course. Promised and married to one of the most well-known men of their generation. They were a part of the Sacred Twenty-eight, a highly prestigious group of individuals that rules the surrounding land. Even the name Malfoy evokes some sense of dread, almost calming allure. As the wife of a Malfoy, it has become her duty to act a certain way, and give up certain ideals all to please her Lord. Wealth, blood, status, all the things that ought to matter to her just did not occur once to be nothing more than the hideous notions of those who believe Purebloods was God's answer to everything. A part of her cared deeply, having been conditioned throughout her childhood, another did not.

Her heart gave out on her.

She could not bear this sense of foreboding. Whatever doom that was nearing them had already come. Narcissa squeezed her son's hand but said nothing. He was able to sense any sudden change in her. A reassuring smile was flashed, and he instantly calmed as well.

Her child was her world, her boundless escape. If anything were to happen to the only heir, she did not know what she would do.

Secretly depressed, the Lady followed obediently behind Lucius has he made a statement by arriving as he did. His eyes combing every corner, person, and object; nothing was out of his scrutiny. Every now and then he would mutter under his breath along the lines of 'Filthy Muggles', or 'Horrid little creatures'. Narcissa paid him no mind, her own expression hard, and her elegant eyebrow quirked.

She had to agree with him, however. Despite their early arrival, one would think they would gain from sweeping more and wiping down antiques.

A loud 'bang' exploded from somewhere down the hall. Children of all ages came rushing towards them and she had to brace herself with a hand upon her breast, her breathing coming in uneven pants.

Goodness, these children were loud!

A pandemonium of commotion grew to a crescendo after that. She winced. She was not quite used to such loud noises, the hurry of the afternoon day. Even though her schedule was always hectic due to her role with her husband and statues, she always made a point that calmness was imperative to everything and anything that she did. The Lady if the Malfoy estate did not believe in the perception of disaster, especially when said disaster could always be prevented by the means of always being prepared and mindful.

As her son's grip on her hand tightened, so did the muscles in her jaw. Though her Lord's presence prevented her from speaking, he could not control her thoughts or her inquisitiveness. Even the little details had eluded her.

"Mother," her son asked out of nowhere," must I stay with you?"

"Of course, Darling." Narcissa smiled down at him. "Where on earth would you go?"

Her son's eyes trailed longingly at the children that scurried past them. There was a glint of want in those beautifully tragic gray eyes, something that she just could not grant him. Not since the day he had been changed, she could not risk someone being conflicted by the same mark that has touched his skin. Narcissa was incredibly protective of him, as her husband was as well. Just thinking of the sort of horrible outcome that can come of contact was enough for her to finalize her words, her voice never meaning to sound harsh.

She pursed her lips. "I see." Narcissa motioned him to stop and she knelt down, spraying her skirts around her. "We cannot allow it, my love. I am so terribly sorry. You know the rules."

The look in his eyes was more than she could handle.

If not for the rules, or his mother, he would never listen. It was in his eyes that made her heart swell phenomenally. She lived for him as he lived for her. And, it was that moment that her husband chose to disrupt them.

"What does the boy want, dear? Can you not see were are on a time limit?"

Narcissa looked between their son and her Lord. "I am terribly sorry, my Lord! He only wished to have a moment of my time before we were introduced to the Mistress of the Orphanage."

Lucius quirked an elegant eyebrow before turning his attention to their son. "Is that true, son? You wished to speak to your mother in private?"

He nodded.

"Very well." Malfoy all but said sharply. "You may speak to her if you so wish. I ought to speak to the employees of this building. Filth everywhere, children running about without addressing either of us. No wonder no one has visited to gander at the children. How can they in this mess?"

"Lucius, please." Narcissa begged him. Her eyes sparkled in the same fashion that he has come to love, and her voice was all but sweet liquid honest. Smooth, enticing. No wonder it was not hard for his features to soften and his voice to shake.

"My darling, tis but an observation."

"Observation or not, it is incredibly rude for you to say such things in front of children. Have we not taught our son better than to belittle people in such a way? If not for the children here, then at lease for Draco."

"I would have to agree with Lady Malfoy on this one, Master Lucius," came an older, strained voice. A voice that was restricted by the regulations of their independent statues. Rules that made it nearly impossible to express cruelty in words, but did not prevent her entirely to keep her thoughts where they were more appropriate- to herself. "As for the accommodations, I am very sorry that you do not find the arrangements to your taste. Perhaps, there is a more suitable location that you wish to convene to? The Drawing Room on the third floor has always been the least favorite among the children, and I do know for certain that no one will tempt us with distractions there."

Lucius removed his steady gaze away from his family, and to the heated stare of the mistress of the orphanage.

"Ms. Cole, presumably?" he asked, not at all smitten by her lack of respect, choice of dress, and at the very least tone of voice. "I am afraid you got the wrong impression of me. Allow me to make it up to you." He smiled pleasantly.

Ms. Cole did not submit to his charm at all. Instead, she tilted her head as if she did not hear a word he said and carried on in a way that made it seem that she never even seen him.

Eyes darkening, pulse quickening, Lucius stared at the grey-haired woman for some time before motioning for his wife and son to follow after him.

Like a clap of thunder, they ventured down the corridor after the mistress to whom the children seemed to fear.

Ms. Cole knew all too well the sort of expression that Lord Lucius was making to the back of her head but chose to ignore. Childish, she would think. Certainly caused by her rude suggestive tone.

It hardly concerned her if Lord Lucius did not want to extend the same gracious gesture that they have extended to him. Thus far, their welcoming has not been any less that satisfactory, in her humble opinion. The children have no made a scene, not spoken out of term. Not a single stain coated the pristine wooden floor in which they walked on. Everything was clean, or was being attended to by one of the employees or an older child. She knew of several who have busied themselves in order to appeal to their Lord and Lady's greater sensibilities.

A sudden thought did come to mind.

Perhaps it was not entirely her fault after all. Recalling the conversation with Mr. Filch not two days prior, she recovered that a letter had been given to her stating their early arrival to the Orphanage.

From the front window, Ms. Cole could see everything. Almost every corner street venders, produce shops, and supply stores were available to her eyes. In the distance, the sun hung lazily in the air, suspended by a single thread. The Mistress of the Orphanage exhaled deeply. It was in these moments that she wished that she had a better control on her emotions. Though, she could care less if the other's saw her in such a state, she could not afford to allow her precious students and children see her so distraught.

Ms. Cole excused herself from the window and walked back toward her desk.

"What do you wish for me to do?" Mr. Filch asked, his voice shaking a bit.

Ms. Cole was startled out of her thoughts and immediately turned to look at him. "What we can do, I suppose. It is not like we can leave the Lord and Lady waiting." She stood, careful to walk over to the window without having a drastic meltdown. "You shall send a letter to the estate that they are presumably staying at. If all goes well, we will be able to receive them by the end of this week, if not sooner if they choose to take us on our offer."

Oh, yes. That had been prior to the arrival of Lord Lucius' letter. Inside, they learned of his voyage from some far off country. He had arrived without warning, without so much as a letter in several weeks' advancement. This little indiscretion certainly had everyone on edge, seeing that the Orphanage was not only being looked at potential parents of the orphans, but owners of small business and companies. She could not retain just how many have come to inquire about the building, how many she has sent away before any of the children found out about their presence.

The last thing she wanted was for them to know.

The Orphanage would be their last home if she could not convince Lord Malfoy of thinking over the clause. A six-month renewal on their agreement would be an answer to her prayers. If only he would listen to what she had to say.

The terribly frightened face of the little boy did not come unnoticed, either. Something told the old woman that this journey had taken a particular toll on him. She wondered briefly if he would fare well with the children. At least until they were done discussing the future of the establishment.

"Lady Narcissa," she looked over her shoulder, and as a show of respect, she slowed her pace and walked alongside her reigning mistress. "I must say, you have a darling little boy. Perhaps it would be best if he met the children?"

"He does not play well with others."

"I am only-"

Narcissa stopped abruptly, causing Ms. Cole to walk several steps ahead, stop and turn.

"Forgive me, but I stand by my statement. Draco does not play well with others."

"Has he not known human interaction?" she asked her voice soft, low, and questioning. Surely a boy his age had friends, companions?

One would think that, but…

"Perhaps," she begin, a courteous smile springing to her lips," the gardens would be more suitable for you, yes? A rose exhibit has been installed recently by a charitable donation provided by the residents of London."

Just like a crowned rose encrusted with thorns, Lucius's eyes darkened into a threatening hue of macadam.

Hermione had braced herself long before the old wooden door came into view. Its ancient knobs staring angrily at her as if any second they would turn and something would come out and strike her. Hermione stood in front of the infamous drawing room, the room where the children would see someone go in, but rarely see come back out. In fact, every time they did, they would always either be crying and their cheeks flushed with the brightest shade of red they've ever seen. It's safe to say that anyone who went in never come out unscathed or without tears. That was guaranteed by Ms. Cole.

Fortunately for Hermione, she's never been disciplined in that atrocious way. She knew how to act, how to talk to an adult, and everything else that was expected of them. The other's tried to warn her, some pleading with her to not go. However, she did not heed their warning, or listen to their heart's secret content. She knew not of the consequences of venturing in the forbidden room that the Lord and Lady were said to convene, and she did not care.

"You must not go there!" the younger children had begged her. Their voices had been drowned out by her own stubbornness and her penchant to form a task to the very last detail.

While she still hugged the cleaning supplies given to her tightly against her chest, she was by no means scared. Even if she was, she had buried that down deep before arriving to the room. Show fear, and anything you are facing can smell it. What a philosophy to abide by.

Taking a deep breath, she centered herself the same way she has been doing for the last several years.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

If that was true, then why did she feel so uncertain?

Hermione bit her lip, her knees trembling slightly from underneath her skirts. Though brave as she was, having faced the hatred of so many people, she felt relatively calm. Frightened, but calm. She knew she could to it. This mantra played in her mind as she found the courage to open the door and venture into the forbidden.

As she suspected, there was no light. Nothing had penetrated the natural darkness that seemed to circulate that a revolving mirror of glittered smoke. As she squinted her eyes, she could just make out the landmarks of the drawing room. A large chandelier with an estimated fifty candle holders hung above her, a fireplace marking the middle of the east side of the large room. Several chairs were placed strategically along the walls, as well as several small tables meant to keep a book or two safe. In the center of the room was a large sofa. Its white pelt covered in various spots. Red walls with golden enhances embraced her; she spun around, trying to take in the entirety of the room the best she could with so little available light.

Taking to her instincts, she found and lit several candles, placing them back alongside the small tea tables and any other place that she felt needed an extra flash of light. Her eyes travelled attentively around the room. Now, she was able to see.

On the west side stood a small library, related more towards the adults she suspected. Two levels made out the makeshift paradise, and surprisingly that was all to it. No elaborate design, no flashing array of lights, or flickering presentation. Books were all she was worth, and more. But, something about them just did not provide her with the same, familiar feeling of possessive belonging.

As Hermione's eyes lost their light, she turned on her heel and busied herself with cleaning. She gravitated towards where a large mirror sat above the mantle. Though far too small to reach up and clean it properly, Hermione made use of her supplies. Only equipped with a dirty duster with a rag on its end, some water, and a broom, she set out to accomplish more than anyone would ever think possible. Even with the misbehaving deities that followed her.

"Stop that," she ordered, watching one of the small creatures that she had found lurking in the gardens poke its head inside a vase.

A swarm of five fairies fluttered over to her, each of them giggling to the sound of their own amusement. One thing was for certain. They hardly came across someone who could see them, let alone someone who would allow their exceptional needs for exploration to flow away from their own environment. Hermione adored them, as they have come to adore her. Granted, there was a language barrier, but little by little they have been able to move past that and develop their own sense of communication through gestures and eye movements. Tones and sounds, colors and foolery, nothing was out of bounds.

Fairies.

That was what she deemed them.

It had occurred to her sometime after their first meeting when an old woman walked through the back gardens of the Orphanage, when the wooden fence had yet to be put up. She remembered her clear as day, too…

White hair, eyes that pierced the soul. It was no wonder that the woman had found joy out of talking to her, though Hermione could hardly stand the thought of the old woman coming to the end of her days. She did not pity her; she pitied they idea that she was not able to live a life that would have truly made her happy.

Hermione was smitten with inquisitiveness to even bother with her impudence. She had asked the strangest questions, inquired about things that ought to be left untouched. Topics that served her no purpose whatsoever since the individuals in question were simply not with her. How could the woman know that, though? To inquire then correctly state something about her life that even she could hardly believe sometimes?

The old woman was entirely strange, though. It has been some years since she's seen her. She didn't know how she faired now, if she faired anything at this point in time. Wherever she maybe now was unbeknownst to her, but she hoped that she traveled the last remaining steps towards the path she wanted to take. She had asked the most heart-stopping questions, and when it did come time for her to depart, she muttered something intelligible under her breath and carried on down the path towards the forest.

Has anything ever happened that you could not explain? Came the old woman's voice like a soundless melody from the past.

Well, yes. Loads of times. However, that was not the lesson she wanted her to learn.

Even now the question eluded her, especially the one that came after it.

You are destined for a great many of things, girl. Out there is your true calling. Bound by magic, hearts so true. He will come for you. A soul to claim.

Right after she muttered those words, a brilliant light lit up around them and she was gone. Never to be seen again.

Much like before, a light did indeed ignite around her, and it was not because of a strange occurrence on heeding words.

It came from the door in which stood an image she has never seen.

As it had done then, the light morphed tragically into a depleting figure. A flower, she had concluded. Crimson with thorns and swollen with life until the woman waved a hand over the bud, it withered, leaving behind a scattering array of petals and broken thorns. Its steam, once sturdy and true, had bent at an odd angle, forcing the flower to bow its head in eternal servitude.

Much like the one she remembered in her most venturous dreams.

The fairies scattered like darkness did that the brink of dawn, leaving Hermione behind to stand her ground, her eyes glistening with pure fascination as she stared at the object lying on the floor. She walked closer,

It was a book.

Encased in glass on its cover was a single rose.

True to the Orphanage's mistress, the gardens were a sight to behold. Various foliage followed suit behind them as they strolled around the stoned pathway leading away from the building and to a beautiful covering. That too was decorated in the children of summer. Narcissa was truly pleased and blessed with unbinding emotion. She only wished that her husband would find it in his cold heart to allow them to keep the sanctuary that they have been able to create for the children.

"Ms. Cole," her husband's voice broke through the peaceful surrounding. "I do not think it is appropriate to bring us out here, especially under the circumstances that have brought us together."

"I beg your pardon?" she gasped, astonished.

"You are distracting us from our true reason of seeking each other's company."

"Company you have sought out under last minute pretense, my Lord," reminded the older woman gravely. "Need I remind you that it was not my decision to have this meeting this day? I planned on sending you a letter before today. Unfortunately, you beaten me to it and requested my presence at the last minute."

"Was my arrival that much a strain on your precious Orphanage?"

"If I may be so bold, then, yes. Your arrival came as a surprise to us all. No one knew of your current situation, or the time you have spent in London. If it was not for the adoptions, I would not have bothered."

Lucius let out a horrid sound that resembled that of a bear. This threat did not deter Ms. Cole. In fact, it seemed to spur her on.

Of course she knew that he did not care about the children. Any fool had to be blind or dumb to see and under that. She had only been looking out for the children. Their best interest was always at heart, no matter how strict and insanely smitten she was with their education, their progression through the stages that are entitled to. She would not bother with him if the situation was not as detrimental to their survival; she needed him to understand, needed him to see the beauty in a world that he used to be so fond of. Ms. Cole did not know what happened so many years ago, but she was assured that he was only looking out for his family. Even so, he need not be so cruel with other's just to ensure the survival of his family when so many others were struggling with the simplicity of nourishment and shelter.

How can someone with so much already be so cruel as to take something from a child with nothing. A single hand that held nothing more than the earth in which they walked upon, was he really about to take away the only thing that had left?

A/N: I apologize for the late update and short chapter. I'm going back today to clean all five of them up. Updates will be posted tomorrow. Don't know when. Stayed home today. Was not feeling like going to school, plus I'm catching a bit of a cold -.- It's summer, alright. I can escape the clutched of winter, but not the clutches of summer.

Anyway, next two chapters will be long. If I don't add anything to the previous five chapters, then everything should be fine.

Talk to y'all soon.

-Carolare Scarletus