A/N down below

As always, enjoy

.~.

Beauty is Beast

Chapter Seven

.~.

~*.*~

A flower blossomed to corrupted ore

Be plucked like enchanted lyre

Gentle is the hand that grazes the leaf

Eyes that hold onto popular belief

Beauty has been taught to fight

While awaiting Beast among the night

A flower and her captivator.

~*.*~

"Would you like to dance with me?" she whispered to the little creatures that had swarmed around her. They came to witness what little experience she had in the art of dance and to accompany if her need for a partner overpowered the joy to teach. Draco watched and listened through the crack of the open door. His eyes scanned what they could see and found that the girl was quite beautiful. With light freckles that kissed her beige skin, dark brown eyes that did not draw away from her natural elegance, and a curly hair that he longed to touch and feel. Yes, she was quite stunning. For a little girl, she had to be the most gorgeous little pixie he has ever seen. To think that she could gain the trust of her little friends was an achievement on its own and longed to see and hear more.

The creatures looked up at her in awe as she swirled around the room, her hair flowing behind her in the wind. Her skirts brushed against her heels, and the small ribbons of her clothed elbows moved like a soothing wave. The girl moved gracefully on her feet from one side of the modest library to the next. Her eyes casted above while her fingers drew together and her hands rolled in small circles. This dance was hypnotizing; every time she dared to jump, his heart soared, hoping that she would not fall. The last thing he wanted was for her fall flat on her face, or worse, get hurt. A bruise upon her flawless skin would be a sin; he could not bear if she was marked.

Of course, it was a boyish dream of his. If this little girl came to him not as a figment of his imagination, she would surely see him for what he truly was. She would not see the care in his eyes, the thumping of his blackened heart, the way he longed to move just as she moved. He knew what she would see him as.

A beast.

Who in their rightful mind would consort with him, anyway?

Not her. Definitely not her.

There was little hope from where his wandering musing took him. Escaping from these awful thoughts, Draco entered the room, sticking to the wall, firm with his belief that the girl could not see him as he pressed further into the room. He drew close to a coffee table where he took it upon himself to make sure he did not bump into it.

"Why not join me, hmm?" he heard her giggle and he could not help lean in closer for a better look.

Dressed in light pink, she danced around as if she had been dancing all her life. She was a vision, an absolute wonder. It was as if the waltz came as naturally to her as every ounce of her magic. The girl soared like a bird, dropping down until her legs tucked beneath her. This little act was remarkable; he had never seen anyone so prone to flying except for the small cases in which his world was valiantly known for. That sport was nothing compared to what he was witnessing at this very moment. Nothing could come close to how marvelous she was, or how she was able to ease her magic passing through the usage of well-fitted movements.

That intrigued him. How was she able to control it so well and not reap the horrific consequences if it were to go wild? For someone who was painfully deprived, how could she be so balanced with herself and her surroundings?

"Come on, you lot!" she laughed as she twirled around to a soundless tune. "I cannot be the only one to enjoy this!"

Indeed, she cannot.

Draco found fond amusement in the way that she moved and the way she spoke. Terribly unethical and unladylike as it was, there was a kind of trance to it that he could not pull away from. Try as he might, however, he was becoming more and more smitten by her by the moment.

He particularly enjoyed her easy-going persona. The way she spoke, articulated her words, the hidden world of her knowledge. How can anyone be so mesmerizing? In all his years, he has never come across someone so unbelievably true than her.

Where has she been, he wondered to himself. That was what he would like to know. The answer did not come until the elf that he ran away from appeared beside him with a loud pop, having spent the past hour or so searching for him in the fairly large building. He was clearly distraught and it was up to the young master to assuage his fears.

He stepped through the small space of the door, minding his boundaries as he edged inside and kept to the wall. When he finally made it inside the drawing room, the elf immediately went to firing all his little voice could muster.

"M-Master." he whimpered, keeping his eyes glued only to him.

"Dobby," he acknowledged, prematurely ruining his good mood. "You have found me."

"Master should not have ran off!" squeaked the little elf. "M-master should have stayed where he said he would be!"

"I know, Dobby." Draco could not help smile at the little elf. "But, I found something far more tempting and I had to capture it."

Draco raised his hand, pointing at the girl.

The elf followed his guiding finger, his eyes widening at what he saw.

"A-a girl, Master?"

He nodded. "Yes, but not just any girl, Dobby. I fear she may be the one…"

Draco's eyes burned with the intensity of an opened flamed as he watched the girl twirl about in undisrupted dance.

He watched her.

She remained ever oblivious to her one and only attendees.

His wand was still pointing at her was still raised as his eyes dissipated the brightness behind a short flare of green. With wide eyes, Ms. Cole met the onslaught of magic completely unprepared. The wind kicked up atrociously around them, bringing the dirt to rise and fall around them. While the ostentatious light died away to nothing more than a small, unyielding bit of a spirited form, it was upon the figure behind the uneventful save that had Lucius under the wing of conscious dread. When her life flashed before his eyes his skin pricked with tension. Just as it was certain that it would hit her a spark of vibrant purple shot out in front of her, shielding her vulnerable form from the flash of lightening that was so close to colliding with her. A figure emerged from the colored smoke; she lowered her wand slowly, her eyes meeting that of Lord Lucius. As her face became clearer and a flash of recognition rushed across his features, causing his already pale skin to a hue akin to paper. Docile grey eyes blackened as his magic engulfed him in unfathomably rage.

Lucius knew the woman all too well.

As tall and unmistakable as she was, Madam Maxime was notorious among the Wizarding World, having been the Headmistress of Beauxbatons for as long as his memory served him. She was of absolutely reign; her astounding perseverance and doctrine was something to admire. Her business intrigued him nonetheless. Why she had decided to come to the Orphanage of all days was extremely puzzling; for a woman who tended to one of the largest schools in France, she ought to be there and not in London. She was cunning, stealthily foreboding. Even he was a bit deterred by her massive presence, not to mention the call in which she had acted on. It was rather odd to see her among the normal-sized citizens. He questioned her position as well as her reason for saving the old Muggle woman.

It was not of his concern why. Maxime's alliance had always been solely on those who held true, and that was not her Lord.

The blasted woman thought she could get the way of the line of fire. She was deathly wrong. As mad as he was, someone had to pay and it would be of the foolish woman to even raise her voice at him and throwing accusation upon accusation at him in return. He drew his wand back, mentally casted another spell that would send both of them to the ground and hopefully for good. His eyes ignited like the fire within, and he pointed his wand in their general direction only to have his spell rebound, fly across the field, over his shoulder, and to a tree. It lit up with fury of green. The scent of burnt wood was strong in the air.

Maxime straightened up, fixed her short black hair quickly before throwing her arm out in front of Ms. Cole. She stood quivering in her place; her eyes looked right at the tree as it fully caught fire. It was as if she lost a loved one because she looked at it in shock while she watched it whither and crumble to the ground. The charred remained caught the wind and it was gone.

"'T, 't." Maxime said tersely, drawing her attention to the wizard before her "one would assume that you learned how to address a woman without, how do you say, losing your temper Lord Lucius?"

"Madame Maxime," he drawled a bit too politely for his liking. "It is good to see you. May I ask why you have come here on such short notice?"

It was obvious that Maxime did not want to tell him her business. When she spoke, it came as a surprise that she mentioned anything at all. Even for Narcissa, her betrayal was immensely perplexing.

"I am 'ere on an urgent call."

"To save a worthless Muggle, perhaps?" hissed her Lord.

The French woman raised a delicate black eyebrow, torn between hexing him or answering his question.

"I am 'ere perhaps to save more than just one life, Lord Malfoy." Her implication was not lost.

In that moment, Lucius drew his wand up and tried to cast another spell in which she reflectively shielded herself flawlessly with her graceful hand. This went on for several minutes and as Narcissa watched the scene unfold right before her, she turned her attention to Ms. Cole, who had bene reduced to a fit of frightful tears. Sparks of deep red flew between and around them until they lit up with the other's fury. It was then that all hell broke out, and they were truly at a loss.

Ms. Cole stammered to form a coherent sentence and it was up to Narcissa to pull her away from the line of fire that sparked between the two of them. When she came up to the poor, defenseless woman, she wrapped her arm around her shoulder and ushered her to take a spot away from the two feuding differences. It was just not safe for a Muggle such as her safe to go wandering into something that ought to be left alone.

"W-why I never!" she cried. "In all my years dealing with your sort of people, never has anyone tried to pull… pull their wands on me! If I should tell the police- "

"The police would be no use to you, my dear woman," Narcissa whispered as she gallantly persuaded her to the other side of the garden. "Let us get you away from them. I shall answer any questions you may have then."

She looked around. There was much land between them and the Orphanage, but it struck her hard that there was even the slightest chance that someone by come and see the forceful fight between her Lord and Headmistress. Neither of them seemed the least bit concerned about the openness of their quarrel, or who may see.

Oh, the amount of trouble he could get into!

If only her Lord was obvious this fact. Then he would be able to see the error of his ways and refrain from any more attacks. But, no. He was now wise to listen to her desperate, quiet pleas.

Silence, woman! His voice echoed in her head. Only I will make the calls; you are to stay out of the way.

"Why on earth are they acting so viciously?"

Although she could not answer that particular question, Narcissa responded with the best choice of an answer that she could.

"Perhaps, it is upon Maxime's belief that something was to go astray? Has she spoken to her in the last several weeks at all?"

The two women hurried over to the other side of the feuding Lord and Headmistress.

Ms. Cole nodded. "Yes, yes she has to be perfectly honest."

"About what, I may ask?"

They stopped suddenly. Narcissa stared into Ms. Cole's eyes, searching for an answer.

"She came to speak to me about one of my girls." The older woman responded with reminiscence. Her voice was quiet, measure. As if she was afraid to bring up anything in regards to the visit from the woman. "Yes, she visited not too long ago upon my request. You see, I have a child here that has been exhibiting some extraordinary bursts of… of magic."

"O-of magic?" Narcissa whispered.

She nodded. "Oh, yes. Magic. And she has quite a talent for it. A talent, though unstable."

Narcissa opened her mouth to speak but was silenced by a loud bang that resonated from the thunderous scene. Maxime pulled her arm back and casted another powerful spell, which Lucius responded with another equally impressive spell in return. The two continued on with battle of magic until one of Maxime's spells hit Lucius right in the chest, sending him flying backwards in the air and sprawling onto the floor and coughing up bubbles of green mucus.

As he struggled to take deep, sustaining breaths, Maxie came around. She towered above him like a mighty tree. Her black eyes growing hopelessly dark, if that was even possible. Under the circumstances, it was her anger that could achieve that distinction and it was Narcissa who heeded that warning.

The Pureblood woman turned to the shivering Muggle. Her eyes looked pleadingly into hers, hoping for her to catch onto her subtle little entrance.

"I must ask you," she began, her voice hoarse, her eyes stricken with grief," Which of your girls is in possession of this unstable magic that you have spoken of?"

Ms. Cole looked at her with saddened eyes. Just as she was about to answer, which lingered almost like a reflective image in her eyes, Lucius stood and pointed his wand back on Maxime.

"Tu es monstre!"

He seemed perturbed by her declaration for he gripped his wand tighter, his eyes glowing a steady shade of ice.

Far from being dreadful, she knew instantly what the woman said about her husband. It was her bond with him that forced her to not agree with the accusation. No matter how much she liked to believe that her Lord was pure in heart, it was the opinions of others that made her realize the truth was quite in fact in front of her.

He was a monster. Reduced to this sniveling form. The years were not kind to him, as it was not to her. Their youth was measured more by the time they spent locked away rather than the time they spent enjoying it. Lucius was evil; anyone with a rightly placed mind could see. It was with that evil that shook her very core and gripped her in a painful grip.

"Je ne suis pas monstre," he grinned wickedly at her as he struggled to stand. "It is every other bloody person that walks this forsaken earth!" He spat, some of his blood splattering into the grass.

" 'ow can you be so selfish?" the Headmistress cried.

"Selfish is not the correct word, unfortunately. My dear woman, surely you can see?"

"See what?"

Lucius did not give the woman a second to act; he threw his arm back behind him, his mind gathering a motely of incantations to use on the poor helpless defenses. She was much older than she appeared, it would only take one fatal blow to finish her off. Before his chance was met, however, the sweet sound of his wife's voice called to him and he had no choice but to comply to his more suitable temperament.

"Lucius, please," Narcissa pandered to his better nature imploringly. "I beg you. Resign from this hatred."

Her Lord's head turned slowly and she was met with smothering steel. Gulping, keep herself in check, she tugged her chin in and looked quietly to the ground. It was not until his fingers brushed against her cheek that she felt that she could relax.

"Oh, 'e is l'ing! You cannot cure what 'e is!" Maxime bellowed. "'ow can you be so forgiv'n?"

"And what is that my dear woman?" chuckled Lucius as his finger skimmed his wife's cheek again. "As I have said, it is not I who is the monster. Perhaps you ought to look at yourself or someone else for that matter? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it should be the same with the Beast, yes?"

Her brows drew together. It was her eyes that sent sparks of anger to fly out and land like fire upon his person.

Hermione twirled around until deep aches settled in the hard muscle of her feet. She did not care and proceeded to clean and entertain her guests as if nothing was wrong. She did not want them to think that there was a cause for alarm when really it was her body's natural instinct to take rest when it was tired. That she could not due, so she continued. And they were not complaining. They were appreciative for her commitment to the art.

She spent the last hour or so washing, sweeping, and mopping that it was high time that she settled down. The only thing she could be guilty of was enjoying her hard work, and if that was a crime, then she should be locked away until days of old. She still could not see the wrong in it.

There seemed to be another viewer among her and she immediately stopped her dance to take a look around the room. As she caught her breath, throwing her skirts around her so they covered her vulnerable form and patted her hair so it was not a disgraceful mess, Hermione was able to calm down long enough to find a boy some years older than her standing by the entrance to the drawing room, his back pressed against the wall, his steel eyes looking right at her.

She was accustomed to people gawking; she got it all the time when people visited the Orphanage to pay respect to the orphans during adoption week. Although she was one of the ones that never received the time of day, his unashamed interest made her feel more becoming than she has ever felt. She felt wanted, desired, and most of all noticed. Those eyes, ah those eyes, they spoke to her soul.

"Hello," she decided on a simple greeting. "Are you here to see one of the other orphans?"

What a stupid question, but she had to ask. No one really saw her, much less came to her unless she was needed or was in trouble. Regardless, it was always polite to ask what sort of business a person had before assuming the worst. If anything, he was the boy who delivered the groceries. She has never seen him before so the story seemed plausible.

When he shook his head, pushing himself from the wall and greeting the ambient light, Hermione found herself face to face with one of the most beautiful boys she has ever met.

Appropriately long blonde hair, icy blue eyes, pale complexion. Oh, yes. He was quite the creature. And with character to match! Not that she would think any less of him if he were not so handsome, of course. She just found his unique attributes and fair skin remarkable, that is all. Not to mention is alluring demeanor…

…Hermione quickly looked to her friends that she was sure he could not see. They did not seem to be bothered by his presence, which granted her to sigh in relief. She would not know how to handle such a situation if someone other than herself came to witness them and what their magic could invoke. She hardly believed that a boy such as he would even have the ability to see them, or that was what she thought until he spoke to her for the first time.

"I can see them," he told her calmly, approaching her slowly, careful not to startle her. As to assure her that she was not insane at all.

She caught onto this and frowned. What could he possibly do that would startle her, though? Was he afraid of some malevolent force, or was it the physical manifestation of his worst fears at play?

"They are lovely, are they not?"

Hermione lifted her hand and let the small fairies to play with her fingers. She resisted the urge to giggle. Oh, how atrocious that would be in front a boy she just met! So she remained silent, impassive. That was her true motive until the boy spoke again, this time his voice as soft and careful as ever.

"Yes, they are."

"Are you aware they are the Summertime Fae?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. "Of course, they come out whenever they please, but only if one wishes for them. They tend to the foliage, hiding behind and around springs and the soft canopy of the forest, you see."

The girl stared at him with noticed speculation but he paid her no mind. "It is said that their queen is the most beautiful of all. Surely, you know of her?"

She shook her head and proceeded to back away from him as if not wanting to be caught by his attempt to sway her.

"I cannot say that I have." The girl murmured. "These fairies are small and have not spoken of a queen."

"They must be waiting, then."

"Waiting for what?"

"To measure your trustworthiness." said the boy. "Fae are beautiful creatures, but there are many who have tried to exploit their powers. They trust only themselves, and the ones they do trust outside their kind are few."

"How would I know if they have accepted me?" she asked in a whisper.

The boy looked at her and said," When they have seen inside the chambers of your soul." He paused. "That cannot be. I can sense they are hesitant."

"Why would they be hesitant?"

"They are because I am with you."

The girl looked at the fluttering fairies. Their tiny faces were marked with dreadful expressions. There were only but five; each of them were wary. Why, though? How can they be so judgmental? The girl gasped. It appears she was doing the same thing as they were. Judging without preamble.

"Why would they be?"

"I cannot be trusted."

She was just within his reach, and the fairies knew that.

Draco observed her carefully. Wishful thinking overwhelmed him. He had to ask, had to know.

"What is your name?"

"I do not see why it concerns you."

"I asked you nicely," he said, narrowing his eyes on her. "I assume you know what manners are. Why not use them?"

"Why you," she gasped, twirling around, her hair flaring around her like a threatening halo of fire. Her amber eyes glowed intensely, her hands curling into fists. "You are being very rude!"

"You dare speak to me like that?" the boy hissed. She could easily see that his anger was rising as well, and she could not allow him to order her around like some common maid. Instead, she stood her ground, her friends flying around her in defiant support. The boy looked between her and the creatures before his eyes settled back on her frame. His eyes glittered with unadulterated rage.

"It is customary," when she spoke this time, she was determined to subtly demonstrate to him his mistake. It was not her misdeed, but his, "to give your own name first when introducing yourself to a lady. Did your mother ever teach you that?"

"That is amusing," he smirked, something awful and tricking playing in his eyes. "My mother did teach me that, but I do not see a lady here."

He then turned, hiding his utter delight to the more delivering nature that came from her bewilderment. As he had suspected, she was easily swayed. Even a single negative account would spark such envious fire. Gods, how he wished to continue to fuel that burning wrath. Then he would truly have sought enlightenment. He would very much like to know what else set her off.

She was a natural phenomenon. How can some little girl spark such positivity within his soul and alit him with the flames of a thousand wishes? Surely, she was lying about her life because he could not see anything but the astounding notion of beauty and grace. If the Beast could find the Belle, surely he had some hope after all.

Yes, he believed he has found her.

As the girl slowly simmered down, he walked around her in slow, tantalizing circles. He analyzed her like one would analyze art or fine wine. He carefully peeled away her soft, yet tough exterior layer until he found an appealing nudity of her form that he could feast his eyes upon. Yes, it was that rawness that he was searching for, craving to find. And, one he found it, he wanted to let it go. She was like a small fire. Yes, a small fire that could be fueled so easily, so wildly with scorn and passion. He liked how her frizzy hair jolted out like lightning bolts when provoked, how her eyes seemed to darken as her anger grew, the way her body tensed as if it was not built for such extreme pressure of dissolved exercise. Every bit of this girl was exquisite, and if he were true to his aesthete nature, he could spend hours just watching her until his musing brought him back to the break of dawn. She was a masterpiece that he would very much like to obtain.

This realization only grew as he continued to explore her. Unbeknownst to her, his eyes glowing the unmistaken shade of the follower of The Shadows. Always there, always hidden. He knew that she did not come from nobility; if where she lived had anything to say. It was her thirst for knowledge that intrigued him, as well as the lack of wealth in the same regards. With glowing amber eyes, he stepped back into the shadows of the room and set about exploring the other sides of this Goddess of Enchantment.

Something strange came from watching her. She moved about like she had done when she was not aware of him watching her. There was a kind of stiffness that he could not place. Like her magic was locked away in a dark, cold cellar, wish greatly to be set free. It was convulsing wildly within her. He could see it. How it rose and fell in her tiny body. The way it lashed out and about her pores and sunk down like morning dew upon the unsuspecting floor. This manifestation bewildered him greatly; she was in danger of collapsing under the sheer power of her own spirit.

Draco moved about the room in small increments. He first garnered a looked, watching the Fae carefully. They were watching him too; they did not take their eyes off him. He strolled around silently. His eyes landed on every dully space, gathering an equally dull musing of his environment.

He was waiting. Waiting patiently for her to do something, say anything. It was rather annoying and gnawing to have to wait for her to speak.

"Hermione."

His hand dropped form the shelf, turned, and looked at her bewildered and she elaborated.

"You asked for my name." There was a sting of torn resentment and biting betrayal in her voice. "It is Hermione."

"Hermione." he murmured, testing her name out slowly. As if making sure he was pronouncing it correctly. If he remembered correctly, her name was deprived for a daughter orally taught through the myths of Greece. "Daughter of..."

"…King Menelaus of Sparta and Helen of Troy." offered the girl. "Yes, I know. I am quite aware of the origin of my name."

"Who told you?" His hand came to caress the spines once again. Each of his fingers making different marks and swirls upon their skin.

She shrugged, her eyes landing peacefully on the fairies, indicating to him several things that he did not believe he would learn.

"How long have you known?" he whispered, this time not wanting to disturb or frighten her. His full attention was on her. Forget the useless material that he has read so many times. His real treasure was her. Only her.

"That I was different?" she asked, equally ashamed of the volume of her voice.

He nodded and she bit her lip.

"Do not be afraid."

Hermione.

Gods, even her name was a beautiful thought. He regarded her carefully. He stopped himself by coercing her through brute force to speak. Draco craved her free will, her free spirit. The last thing he wanted was to take that away from her.

"F-for quite some time." Although her voice wavered, there was conviction in the way she spoke. Like she was proud of who she was, even if she didn't know exactly what she was.

Draco adored that.

"I have known that something was different about me. Something the children of this establishment have been so kind as to remind me."

"You have been bullied?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"By whom exactly?" His eyes flashed gold, much too quick for her to even notice. "Someone such as yourself should be ridiculed."

"Someone without parents, you mean?" she spat bitterly. She suddenly became angry by what he said. "I am in no mood for your rudeness. Leave now, or I will call someone to escort you out."

Hermione was certainly a temperamental little thing. He would have to be more cordial from now on, lest he serve to upset her.

"I mean no harm by what I said." It was then that he realized what he had spoken. He did not want her to feel insignificant.

She moved so that her little friends formed a small barrier between them. Their aeviternal light glowed around her in a protective veil. If they wished it, he would not come any closer to her until they deemed him worthy of her attentions.

"You clearly do not know what you said." she said sadly. Hermione touched one of the fairies and sighed. "It is enough for me to have lived the last eleven years being pushed aside and derided. Of course, I do believe you do not know what it is like. You must live in a grand chateau or in a lavish establishment; you do not know what it is to be without a family, a place to call home. Why, it is the very foundation of basic human needs! So, do not say that I should be ridiculed."

"Please accept my deepest apologies." He begged. "I did not mean for the words to come out like that. I have misspoken."

"Clearly."

"Allow me to make it up to you."

"I do not think-"

"Please," he reached out and grabbed her hand. "It would humble me greatly. I upset you. I need to rectify that immediately."

"What you said really hurt…" she mumbled, casting her gaze downward.

"I know." His voice was just as pained as the expression that graced her features. "Allow me to make it up to you."

"You are sorry?'

He nodded.

Hermione let out a staggering sigh. It was as if she had poured her heart out and cried. No tears were present; Draco was pleasantly surprised by her quickness to turn her spirit around.

"Then you are forgiven."

Draco grabbed her hand and walked her over to the other side of the drawing room. They walked in silence. He wishfully hoped that she would speak but was disappointed when she made no noise that would indicate her interest in light-hearted conversation. Instead, he chose to enlighten her. He must have misspoken, and wanted to fix that before anything else came between them.

"You seem quite fond of them."

"Pardon?"

"Books." he corrected. "For someone who lives in an orphanage, you surely have an impressive collection."

"They are not mine."

"Oh?" he did not allow her the pleasure of elaborating. "How much of these books have you read?"

The girl looked at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"All of them." she whispered.

Draco walked over to the nearest bookshelf and lovingly touched the spine of the first one his eyes landed on. It was then that he noticed a singular book sticking out from the masses. He wanted to reach out and pluck it like the little flower it was but he held himself still. He could not, would not pluck it for it may die in his hands.

"The Fae seem to enjoy you as well." He spoke with measured control. "Is it often you partake in dance?"

"No, not often."

"Is it something that is forbidden in your establishment?" he asked, wanting to know more about her. Seconds passed but she did not speak.

"Surely, it would be fitting he did not seem to notice the growing anxiety that fell upon Hermione's face. He was treading very thin waters, stressing his vision of stay and the expanse of what was deemed appropriate to express. "It seems that you are very restrained, very well kept here, no? You are sheltered, and it is high time that you are given an opportunity to see what is out there, waiting for you to discover."

Hermione immediately dropped his hand form hers and stepped away from him.

"I hardly think it is proper of you to speak to me like that." She said. "I am not something to own, something to use, either. I am free to do whatever I wish."

"Do you always treat your guests with such welcome, girl?" Draco was growing bored of this reversal of the wits. She was a tough little thing, was she not? All the more reason to break her, to evaluate her further. "Or, is this how you usually act?"

"How dare you," she hissed, her hair becoming wild again along with her eyes. "Are you naturally this rude? I can ask you the same questions, too!"

"No," he drawled slowly. "I do not act like this normally. Only with you do I lose my temper. You are aggravating." Hermione looked at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"Then leave." she hissed.

Draco frowned. She really this nasty! "Allow me to finish before you open your mouth to retort, girl. No wonder you are stuck in this place. No one want- "

Something distinctively hard slapped him against his cheek, causing his head to whirl quickly and painfully to one side. The slap was loud, resounding, and uncalled for. As he held his head there, Hermione waited for him to turn around and try to reprimand her for slapping him. She held her breath, regretting instantly for raising her hand to him but he had to know what he was going to say would have hurt her more than anything else.

Just because she had no family did not mean she was not wanted.

Slowly, he turned his head and Hermione's voice hitched and became lost on her throat. Eyes that once were steely grey were now a storming sea of gold and falling amber. They glowed violently in the darkening embers of the room.

A storm was coming and she had invoked it.

A/N: Although it has been over a month or so since I updated, I am so glad that I can finally come back to this particular fic! I've been very busy with school work that it's put a constant rift between the time I put aside to write and what needs to be done. I passed all my classes (YAY!) so now it's time to get back to my passion and love :)

This chapter is unedited, but it was awfully fun to write. I must say the exchange between Draco and Hermione are just darling!

I have to say, I'm very displease and saddened by the lack of reviews. I'm not a greedy person, but the fact that I write this and make no profit from it and no one doesn't even write simple review for it is disheartening to say the least. I'm at a point where I'm beginning to question why people even bother to favorite and follow it. They don't leave any review or PM me or anything. I would LOVE to hear from y'all. I love the reception I've gotten so far, and would love to hear what y'all think of it as the story progresses. Do not be afraid to tell me how you feel! I don't understand how other authors can receive such great reception but others are left in the dirt. I firmly believe that encouragement is the greatest gift that anyone can give a writer.

Please, please, PLEASE leave a review. Let me know what you love, what you hate. What is just right, and what needs improvement. This doesn't just go for Beauty is Beast; this goes for all my fics. I don't if I can handle not getting to feedback I want for much longer.

With that said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

-Carolare Scarletus