A/N down below

As always, enjoy.

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Beauty is Beast

Chapter Six

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~*.*~

A tale of two

Coming together by fate's untrained hand;

One being a flower

The other being the captor

Beauty meets beast.

~*.*~

London, England

Thursday July 5, 1742

There was an old tragedy that their mistress used to tell them at night. A story that involved a girl of the most beautiful of sort, and a beast that was too hideous to be given a name. They came from two different worlds, but were drawn together as fate's guidance. The girl, a simple, yet truthful of bearing souls, and a man that had been stripped of everything that used to be worth grieving. Through the tale, as she had gathered when she was nothing more than five years old, was that the beast was not the most pleasant creature to be around, and it took the kindness of one girl to change him, thus giving him back the beauty that had been taken from him through mistaken ignorance.

The man fell instantly in love with her. By her naturalness, her pureness and poise. But it was not the kind of love that the captor of his beauty wanted him to claim. He loved her on the notion that anyone could be loved, and not because of who and what she was and has grown to be. Instead, this feigned love grew until one day the true nature of his curse came into the light of a single rose, which was on its last blossom. The girl was beyond herself; she didn't know what to think of the beast after such a tragedy was revealed to her. Had she been plucked just like the flower for the sole purpose of being replanted, or was she destined to be held captive and wither away as all the others? Soon after this discovery, the girl became ill and all hope appeared to be lost.

The beast, fearing for the girl's departure, for she was more than just a pawn to regain what was lost to him, went to the drifting soul that had taken his treasures and demanded that that the girl remained protected, watched over.

Of course the deceased witch refused, knowing what the beast was trying to accomplish by asking such a thing from her. To run away from true destiny made the coward. And it would be entirely selfish of him to even consider demanding such a thing. What she did not foresee the underlying agenda of the beast for his next words shocked and amazed her.

He asked to use his last petal to save her from her fate.

And it was through this selfish act that saved the beauty but destroyed the beast.

But, that was not what she remembered from the tale.

The story started innocently enough. A little girl about her age, who was fond of the world around her much like she was and holding a secret too good to be true. The secret was never revealed; surely, though, it would have been obvious but it had not. The girl was an enigma and so was the item that seamlessly fell from another world and revealed itself to her.

So, when she saw the rose, she did not remember just the story, but what the story represented within the pages of the narrative.

Hermione looked at it with trepidation. For something so fragile, so small, it appeared to her to be so fiercely powerful and strong. She could not tear her eyes away from the pretty flower. As she stepped closer, the bottoms of her best dress shoes scarping noisily against the wooden floor, the flower responded and slowly opened up for her.

Its petals were small, delicate and smooth. Even in the magnified encasement of the glass, she could see every little detail. Tiny veins wrapped around it in suspended dance; as her eyes lingered on the crimson skin, she saw that miniscule orbs of sparkled dust were revolving around the blossom, providing the most well-placed illusion of displaced light puncturing through the thin layer of glass whilst protecting the encased flower. Hermione was immediately drawn to this wonderment, as she has never seen something to magnificently beautiful that it shocked her and brought an abnormal palpitation to her heart. A cold hand reached out to her, and she shiver involuntarily.

She stared at the lovely bud, admiring its delicate attributes. Wishing almost silently that it would reveal its secrets. Alas, it did not. For something so haunting tragic, nothing good could come of it as long as it existed.

Although nothing more than aged pages of a book, Hermione felt a connection that she could not say she has ever felt. For a beauty was always drawn to a flower in the same enchanted making.

As she sat down, the blossom fluttered, her fingers brushing against the petals as she drew it from the cover of the tome.

For quite some time they stared at each other. Neither of them seemed to move, or appeared to be breathing at all for that matter. Acting on the shared anger that had planted within them during the first few minutes of their introduction, both Lord Lucius and Ms. Cole stood with static expressions that matched that of the darkened entrance to the underworld. Both were fuming but neither of them had the audacity to act upon the truest form of the macabre. As the air around them sudden dropped, it was up to the lady of their hearts to appease the tension and send her son away as to allow them to all talk in a more reasonable expression.

"You must refuge somewhere in the building," Narcissa told her son. "It is not safe for you here."

"Where must I go?"

"Anywhere but here," she sighed, at her point of foolish annoyance with her husband and the Mistress. "Mazy will accompany unannounced. Once you are safe in the library and I have sorted out this mess I will come and find you."

"I do not wish to have Mazy accompany me. I want Dobby."

She smiled fondly at him. Of course he would want the little elf that has been his companion since he was but a newborn. Mazy was one of the few House Elves they owned, but she did not come close to the rightful position that Dobby has been able to earn for himself.

"Very well, my child." she breathed. "Your wish is but my command."

As the elf was summoned, her son's eyes lit up with astonishment.

Draco was a very gifted boy. So much so that he astounded everyone that came in contact with. His magical ability was superb; it was to be expected of an offspring of two excellently qualified Purebloods. Anything else would bring shame to the newly developed family, reaching back across generations on both sides of the ancestral spectrum. But, that was not why she loved her son and why she felt the immoderate need to protect him. It was what lied within him that was the deadliest secret of all.

He was indeed hostile in a sense. And it was for that very reason that she had to keep him from harm's way. She trusted the little elf, so much so that he allowed him to play escort wherever her little boy ventured off to. This time, however, she needed his absolute word that he would make sure to watch and him and keep him safe.

Once Dobby appeared she was able to let out a sigh of relief. The scrawny little thing always brought warranted happiness to her son and it was so good to see him in such high spirits especially after the true reason of travelling all the way to London on such short notice. A call to a family friend had been in need, and Lucius want not take no for an answer. After countless weeks, they were able to be spared the time for their dear friend to see them. Unfortunately, the cause of their journey was of a lighter note. The scene before her was not.

Severus Snape was his Godfather, a man of many experiences years of Potion making and Dark Arts. It was his years of study that they found themselves drawn to his intellect and insight, for he knew of their son's uncanny dilemma. He had been administering the potion's for almost ten years, keeping what lied beneath the surface at bay and locked up. However, she could see that the potion's that have been given to him faltering right before her, and it took a lot of self-control to remain calm. If he sensed that she was not, it could prove disastrous in time.

It was best to send him a way for a while as to allow her to sort out the mess her husband unknowingly placed themselves in.

All for protecting their son, she assured herself.

"Mother," her boy said, inviting her attention back to him. "May I go?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, you may."

With a wave of her hand, Dobby was placed under a veil of transparent deception, while her son was given a veil of protection.

Narcissa watched as her son walked away, through the garden and back into the safety of the building that her husband was so determined to take.

Narcissa gave the landscape one last sweep of her eyes before drawing her attention back to the play before her.

The Mistress' inner thoughts were absolutely right. How can one man be so cruel as to allow so many orphans be thrown to the streets? She knew not the answer, but the events that led up for such cruelty to conjure.

She knew that night all too well not to dwell on it too long lest she forget where she was and break down in unadulterated sadness.

Her own son had almost been taken from her, marked with illness, a curse, and plague that came with the new and full moon each month. How unbearable it was to witness! How corrupt the souls of misfortune to be locked away from civilization for six nights of a months all to set the beast that resided within to rest. Oh, she could no longer let her heart break from worrying; she let the dam of her sorrow wash away with the uncertainties that she has faced thus far.

For her heart did go out to them. To have to watch such a young child such as theirs suffer at the hands of some unmerciful being; she could not bring herself to even see the end of that image. It was all too heartbreaking for her to bear and if she did not stop, she would indeed find herself in a place that she could not run away from.

Narcissa threw her attention to her Lord, whom taken it upon himself to reprimand the Mistress of the Orphanage and all that she was worth. She could not hear the words that so generously spewed from his ungrateful mouth until she rose herself from the ground and hurried over to the canopy to whence they conjured.

Ms. Cole looked him dead in the eye with a naturally trained expression. Her lips were pursed in the same fashion as they had been during the early day of their encounter, and her stance was remarkable stable for someone as old and feeble as her. It was in her eyes that Narcissa found a spark of revolution; the woman was strong and would not put up with her husband ludicrous nonsense any longer. The spark grew exceedingly fast until it burst from her eyes and Lucius took a daring step back, grounding himself as Ms. Cole erupted like a fully mature firework.

This was the image she foresaw before the spark ignited. A fortune for what was to come through the eyes of her magic, she could see the outcome before it even arrived.

"You have taken care of the land as I have asked," he told her with a pleased grin. "I must say, I was greatly surprised by how well you have kept the land in my absence."

"Yes, well, we have you to partly to thank. The children love their home and would do anything to keep it attended to."

"Nonsense," he chuckled lightly. "I merely keep up with the expenses and send gifts when it so pleased me."

"And the children cannot be anymore thankful!"

"Speaking of the children, I have not heard them all day."

"They have been told to stay out of the way." Ms. Cole squared her shoulders importantly as Lord Lucius came to inspect the newly painted gazebo. A single finger touched the wooden frame, his eyes inspecting it as if to find a speck of dirt on his digit. He found none. "Shall we retire to the drawing room? I must say that-"

"You shall not bother yourself with such a menial task." he said sharply.

Ms. Cole looked up and found Lord Lucius looking at the building with enrichened greed. She drew a breath in and continued to stare at him with unmarked awe.

"W-why, I w-was merely."

"I am saying that we both know that neither of us want to speak in front of the presence of the children. You do know why I have sought out your attendance, yes? It is about the arrangement we made during the renovations of this estate."

"Yes, yes I remember." She placed a hand on her breast and the side of her body, bracing herself firmly for the topic she was dreading to discuss. "I-I must say that this is most tragic and sudden."

"What is sudden about something that you have known about since agreeing to my terms?" He asked, raising a slender eyebrow. "I provided you with a building to do with what you wished, which was raising a bunch of orphans who were too unfortunate to have any living relatives to take care of them. I dare say, it is not something I would have done, and I applaud you for trying. Not many can say they have saved an orphan or two from certain death."

If his previous statement did not anger her, this one surely did.

"You vile, evil man! How can you be so cruel, so condemning?" She yelled angrily, pointing her finger to him, her eyes glossed with tears. "I have raised these children, taught them, watched them excel and grow- I will not allow you to speak of them as if they are nothing more than rubbage, do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"What is this nonsense!" Lucius spat at the old woman as they spun around in an endless dance. "I will not be talked with such disgrace and rudeness. I am the owner of this estate, and I will do whatever I damn well please with it!"

"Does that include taking the only home these children have known away?" she asked. "I do not care if you used to own the building, Lord Malfoy. The contract has been signed under my name."

Evidently, the conversation had progressed fairly quickly by the time Narcissa arrived back at her husband's side.

"You," he hissed," how dare you even speak to me with such a tone. You knew damn well when you signed the agreement that this was the sort of thing that could have happened. That I could go back on my word, and-"

"Oh, yes," she said pleasantly, even risking a smile as she bashed him with her words and excellent entail," going back on your agreements is the sort of things that you are notorious for, yes, Master Lucius? Need I remind you of the agreements that you have made with Spain, or the one that you made with France just last summer? I should have known that your words were nothing but venom and that eliciting your help would only result in an argument."

"Then why bother?" he bellowed, trying to drown out her needy words with his own fire-filled ones. "If you sense my disloyalty, my scheme to take back that was once given, then why did you proceed with it in the first place!"

Ms. Cole stopped mid-sentence, providing him with the same sadden expression that he has come to know. One of pure pity, one that he wished would stop rearing its ugly head.

"I believed in the wrong source." She said softly. "I trusted that you would come to your senses after seeing the happiness that this land brought to the children. Oh, do no look at me like that Lord Lucius! I know of the enchantments that have been placed on this land, as you say. All to appease some-"

"Do not dare!" he hissed. "Do no dare speak that harlot's name. It is her fault that we find ourselves in the situation that we are in."

"I dare say, it is because of you that were have found disagreement." Ms. Cole shrieked lowly, her voice nothing more than a raw whisper among the garden.

Narcissa turned to the woman and let out a strangled gasp. Not for her current appearance, but for the sadistic gleam that she found in her husband's eyes.

She could not warn her of what was to come for her voice had been stolen from her. All she could do was let the tears come to her eyes as she watched her Lord's fingers inch towards his jacket and touch his breast.

"See here, Lord Lucius, I have had enough of your foolishness!" she snapped with a harsh tone, almost crawling like a disfigured spider towards him. "I have spent the entirety of my early years looking after children less fortunate than me, and I will not tolerate such arrogance any longer! Your profanity toward the children, your reckless drive for power and gain is nothing more than a sick prayer on death ears. If you wish to take the only home that these children have, then you will have to go through me. I will die before I see these children be thrown to the streets to starve and die."

"Ah," his fable voice pronounced, his hand coming to draw something from his robes that resembled a long, wooden stick. Smooth and topped with a silver serpent with its mouth drawn open and its fangs ready to sink into awaiting flesh. Ms. Cole looked upon it with curiosity.

Before she had time to react, he raised his hand holding the wand and flash ignited around them.

Dobby the House Elf followed obediently behind his master's pride. His little master had not spoken a word since his mistress relinquished them from her presence, finding the scene in which was about to unfold most unpleasantly before them too much for either of them to witness. He was not a conversation type, so it came to him as a surprise when his little master stopped and turned to speak to him.

"Dobby," he said with a small drawl. "Find me the library and come back to me once you do."

"I-I…"

"It is alright, Dobby. Mother will not know if you leave me unattended for a few moments. What she does not know will not bring harm to her. Go, now. I will wait here, I promise."

While his little master appeared to be capable of watching himself for a few moments, Dobby looked like he was not so sure about the idea. But, he agreed anyway. What was he to say no to his little master?

Draco watched with unhurried eyes and a bored expression as the elf vanished into thin air in search of a library that he knew did not exist. Why his mother insisted that he go into the Orphanage that his father was about to tear down was beyond him; he found no amusement either way.

Why he wanted to was a mystery to him. All he could think about was the treasure that would be waiting for him at the end of the tunnel.

Whilst he left his elf to find a room that could not be tracked down, he was left to temporary abandonment. For a boy of almost fourteen, he has seen the world with closed eyes. As he walked, he made a statement to keep them wide open. He had sensed something before coming to the Orphanage that he was determined to find. It was only a matter of time before he did.

As he walked, his fingers grazed the old wallpaper experimentally. For a building as old as this one, it was holding up remarkably well. All his life he has bene surrounded by luxury, golden plates, platters, expensive toys, and dressings that he sometimes wished he could escape and live a life that was not his own. He could not blame his parents for wanting to give him everything; he would wish for the same thing for them if he was in a position where he could gift them with anything they wanted. It is just that he did not wish to be so spoiled, no matter how much his upbringing influenced his daily lifestyle and decisions.

Old portraits welcomed him on either side of the hallway. Murmurs of children sounded all around him and for a brief moment he felt like he belonged. Like he was not different and strange and forced into seclusion as he has been all his life. His heart hummed like the beat of a hummingbird, coming alive as he approached a small room where a group of small children sat and played with what little toys and trinkets that they possessed. It was this sort of anticipation that he dreamed to find, that he lived for secretly underneath the protective gazes of his parents. He wanted, no desired this interaction that it drove him to incredible lengths while it crashed him down back to the ground. This whirlwind excitement could only turn into heartbreak; no one would want to meet him.

"Hi," a little voice said.

It came from a girl no older than four. She was dressed with a simple Georgian inspired dress accompanied by frilly sleeves and a light blue sash that was tied comfortably behind her back. The boy tilted his head, examining her as she remained still and quiet. Something that was taught at an early age, presumably by their Mistress.

"Good evening," he said the little girl rather sharply. No one has ever come right up to him and spoken to him without preamble. What nerve the little girl had! "Nice to meet your acquaintance."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

He stared blankly at her before answering. "Visiting."

"Oh," she said, shifting from one foot to the other. "Wanna play?"

"No thank you."

The little girl frowned at this. He did not mean to be so rude, but he really had to be going. It was his intention until the next words that came out of her mouth stopped him from doing so.

To say that it stunned him would be an understatement.

"Are you here to take the house?"

"T-the what?" he stuttered, his words coming out of his mouth in a great rush.

"The house," she squeaked almost like a little mouse. "This is our house." The girl stretched out her arms, indicating that the building that they were in was her house.

"Yes, were are in your home."

"Are you here to take it?" Again, the question took him by complete surprise. "I hope you are not here to take it…"

"Why on earth- "

"I heard her say that he was here for our house…" Tears began to collect in the corners of her eyes. "I do not want him to take my house."

"No one is here to take it," he assured her despite the mounting regret from promising such words. He could only stand there and allow the guilt flutter around his stomach like a nervous butterfly; how in the world was he supposed to tell a four year-old that what she was saying was true? That she could possibly lose her home in a matter of hours because of the selfish man that he had as a father? No one in their right mind could bring themselves to tell a child, even her, of the inevitable decision that has come to pass.

His father was an evil, cruel man. Damn him for even wanting the building back in the first place!

"That man is here, y'know. The one with the long, pretty hair? I know he is here to take our house. He already has one, right? So why does he want ours?"

"I cannot answer that," and before the little girl could inquire about the issue further, he excused himself and hurried back down the hall, turning sharply at the intersection. From there, he found the staircase and ascended to the second floor where he stopped at the landing to catch his breath.

It was in that moment that he sunk to the floor and brought his knees to his chest.

He could not say that he did not understand what the little girl meant by what she said. He knew very well what his father's business here today was, and it was not to take note of the surrounding land in any organizes preparation. No, it was to survey the damage that has been inflicted upon one his oldest estates. He did not know much about it, but he knew enough to form an opinion about it. What his mother had told him could not be further from the truth, even if she let her tongue slip and she was punished verbally for her indiscretion.

His father was taking the building back for his own nefarious needs and no one was strong enough to stop him. Not even him, his own flesh and blood.

When he looked up, he found the same girl from earlier staring back at him with wide, curious eyes. Green as emerald, her eyes opened the gates of his soul and awakened another part of him that he wished to keep buried.

"Go away," he demanded instantly.

She did not. Instead, she stepped forward, the friends that joined her urging her to stay away. While Draco glowered at the little girl, she did not falter as she sought the ground and wrapped her small arms around his neck. She cooed at him like a mother would do to their newborn baby. Even with something so small embracing him, he felt so incredibly large. Great because of the sheer difference in age and height, but so very vulnerable due to the simple fact that even he could not escape being open to harm.

He drew his arms around her for a moment before she helped him up and straightened up his jacket.

Just as he was about to step out of her way, he looked down at her and looked deeply into her eyes. Though he could not very well promise the world, he was certain that he can promise something else that she could take with her for the rest of her days, and that was everything would be alright, even if that meant she and her dear friends would struggle.

Slender fingers continued to caress the painting. Brown eyes lingered over the worried words as little puffs of annoyance brushed the air.

Hermione had been sitting there far longer than she imagine. It was mid-day, and she had yet to clean the remaining shelves and sweep the floor, yet she could not bring herself to let go of the book that she had found and busy herself with useless chores, even if her Mistress implored her to finish them.

She was tired. Tired of sitting there on the dirt floor, mostly. While the sun came rushing in like a stampede of ponies, illuminating the room with rays of golden light, she made up her chose and stood. Brushing her skirts, she let her eyes scan the place where she placed the book. Not a second passed before she lent down and picked it up, hugging it tightly against her breast. It was a treasure, and like any treasure, it should be treated as such.

As Hermione looked around the room with the gloom that only came with exerting herself to no end, she came across a decision that was sure to lighten up her mood. She knew not when Lord and Lady Malfoy were due to arrive, so acting upon the clandestine burial that she has kept surely would not be a threat, could it not? Surely playing with the magic that was in her would not bring about mischief?

One could only hope, she supposed as she waltzed around the drawing room like a lonely fairy and placed her book on the crimson and golden sofa near her place.

She could not place a single misdeed to what she wished to partake in; no one was around, and again she found the opportunity all too inviting. As soon as she tried to summon the magic that she knew she possessed, something caught her eye.

Her little friends saw the opportunity and came out once more to play.

"Oh, there you are." She giggled. "Where are you all gone to, hmm?"

None of the little creatures answered, looking warily around her instead of answering her question. She met their curious gazes, realizing that it fell upon the sofa where she left her book.

"Pretty, is it not?"

They all looked at her with wide eyes.

"It is a story, silly!" she laughed girlishly again. "It is about a beauty and a beast that loved her. Very beautiful, if you ask me. Sad, but very beautiful. Do you wish to listen?"

Her little friends nodded frantically, some looking at each other with smiles upon their tiny faces.

Hermione smiled aspiringly at them before grabbing the book and sitting down to tell them the tale. All the while, her magic blossomed out around her.

He walked until he could no longer hear their amused voices. Although it was not the children he could not stand, it was the sort of happiness that they have come to expect from everyday living that he had grown to loath. He endeared it through the time he spent with them before he had to depart. As short-lived as it was, he was grateful for the interaction he was able to obtain, and he would treasure it forever.

Draco walked for quite some time until his meaningless wanderings took him down the hallway, and away from where he met the little girl from his previous voyages.

While he was perfectly content on making his way back to where he was supposed to wait until his elf's return, he found wonderment elsewhere. It came as a symbolled voice.

Soft, yet airy. The voice carried a tune untraveled, unhurried. There was a musical composition hat he could not place, which was quite strange since he was able to extract and convince even the smallest of details to come to mind. The song was completely foreign to her; even to his ears, it sounded as if it came from some far off land across great open waters. Never in his life did he hear anything so appealing, so stunningly perfect. Even his mother's voice could not compare to hers.

As he marked this occasion, he strolled slowly to the open door of what had to be a dedicated seating area. If it came close to being a library, he supposed he would not be drawing away from the freedom that his mother bestowed to him.

Just a peek, he justified his reasoning by his curiosity to know and to see. Just one glance, and al will be forgotten.

But it was not.

Nothing could have prepared him for the scene that unfolded like a ballet before him.

A/N: For the most part, it's edited. There may be some errors in the narrative, but I'll take care of that later. It's been a long week and I would much rather deal with that later.

Until next time,

-Carolare Scarletus