As always, enjoy

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Beauty is Beast

Chapter Nine

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~*.*~

He stares into uncertainty,

caught between what is right

and what is terribly wrong.

Beauty is Beast

~*.*~

A heartrending numbness spread through him. Beginning in his extremities, the coldness penetrated to the very core of his being, stopping him where he stood. It was upon her marked words that a single feather could have been dropped and the whole world could have stopped churning upon hearing it. In that very instant, Draco's heart ceased beating; the blood in his veins stopped spilling and there was a deathly glow about him that even the Fae did not trust. His eyes became dilated and a disembodied growl issued from the thin protruding air. Permeating and becoming as rustic as the nightly terror that possessed them, the boy turned into an unholy creature. His eyes remained on her, his mind surely playing some sort of sick, horrendous game on him. She had not said what he thought she did; it was just his mind playing a game. A game that he has played so often that it was instilled inside his psyche to win. If so, then why did he feel so betrayed and known this kind of misery?

Time suspended between them. Her eyes blazing, the air between them heavy and experimentally stalled. It was a potent mix of steady anxiety and furnace by mutual agreement. A hard expression crossed her features; she had balled her hands up and was now facing him with all the unadulterated hatred and resentment of years of unnoticed justice. She became rigid. Firm in her standing and the proclamation that she made seconds prior, she was lost to her words and the knowledge of years of indescribable suffering.

For a moment, he believed that she was gone until what she said came back with a degree of defying sentiment. Foreboding anger was being born from the words that she spoke. It threatened to crack his very existence. He tried to push them away and retain some dignity in the dark of his subconscious; his beast threw itself against its iron cage, desperate to get out. He has heard the words before, but never has it be so distinct, so crystal clear. The spirit of the woman stood before him, anticipation evident in the way that she positioned herself. The Fae lined up, ready to strike; he kept his ground, eyes searching hers.

'You have done enough, you beast.'

He looked at her, anger rising like a blaze of glory.

Why these words were sparking such fury, he would never know. All he could convey was that he hated her. In that moment, he hated her for what she said, what she was insinuating.

Memories of what he saw circulated around him in a haunting dance. From meeting them and their child to the indefinite source to which allowed him to pay witness to what would eventually unfold, he was aware of every little bit of sorrow that this woman was unfortunately exposed to. Who had committed such a terrible act? What had become of this beast that she spoke of? Surely, it was not him? No, it could not be. He could not be the beast. She was not thinking with the purest of thoughts, much less speaking clearly. The horrid joke of it all was that she was to never tell her tale, but she was so willing to do so at all costs.

Years of a sheltered existence came crashing down; he was beginning to be familiarized how cruel the world truly was and see it for what it was.

Scornful, repulsed.

It was as if the taunts of his childhood were playing back to him; he was to live his life thus far through the verse of this woman's poor lineage.

He began to lose what little control he had.

"You are just like him," she finally said, eyes glimmering. She shifted slightly where she stood, but those eyes remained on him. Cold, distant but at the same time so presently there. Draco's eyes gravitated to hers, curious as to what she was saying. "The magic inside you resembles that of the beast that took our lives, which drove us away from our home and chased us to the end of the world. He took what was most precious to us and now he resides in you. You are a monster."

In all his life he knew not when the words rang so true. His whole life has been lived in recluse; he has lived in a sheltered, protective company and for what? The monsters that believed that he was the cruel one, that he was capable of all the wrong things they accused him of. Images of his past flashed predominantly before him. It was through this window of visual escapades that he was able to pinpoint the exact moment of anger, of hopelessness. Children were afraid of him, adults scorned him- the only love that he ever known came from his parents and the few mentors carefully selected to keep his secret. But, what secret were they keeping? That he was born Beast, and was never given the chance to really explore, to grow? Like so many of the others, he was tossed into oblivion, only to be spat back out. Rejection was the foulest of commodities and he has been rejected far too many times to know what it tasted like.

His head snapped sharply. He was acutely aware of the magic that was starting to collect between them like some heavy fog. This early morning excursion was turning into one hell of a storm, and he was its conductor, its commander. It has been years since he has felt such a powerful drive. Last tasted such strength that he did not know what to do with it. All in all, he felt disgust, torn and ashamed. No boy his age was supposed to feel this way, and he was sane enough to know who was to blame.

It was the girl's fault. She was to blame. Whoever this brat thought she was, she had another thing coming. To elicit such reactions from him without even having a cause had him completely taken aback, completely vulnerable and he did not like it one bit. She was the martyr of his anguish and the deliverer of his end. If it had not been for her accusations, he had not have awoken and he would not be in the middle of total recall and breakdown. She must be disposed of.

There wasn't much to gain by closing his eyes and letting the tides of his mind sweep him away from the unforgiving reality except for finally letting go of everything that ever held him back. What he left behind could not compare what he had gained; what he discarded was the treacherous hands of fear, of anger and anxiety; depression and loneliness soon lost the war that waged inside of him for years; the shackles of the iron chains that once kept him captive rotted away, allowing him to break free and roam his subconscious as a tourist and not a prisoner; even the beast did not dare present himself during the time in which he was awake. For once he was not tainted, but were filled with peaceful images the likes of which he has never seen, the serenity of the night, and the twinkling of the stars, a fabrication of his own mind.

He opened his eyes, something that he had not realized he had done and was welcomed by a sharp pain in his chest where the girl's words had pierced his skin. Sweating profusely, eyes widened in complete terror. He tried desperately to calm himself, to bring himself back from the clutches of the nightmare but he just could not. The images remained ever fresh in his mind, reminding him of just how much control he did not have and just how sick the demon within him could truly be. He had no concept of the passage of time during his time in lucubration when he was constantly shifting between consciousness and feign reception, never remaining in either for too long but the only thing he knew he was aware of the presence inside him that time, or anything else for that matter, were nothing but ancillary to him.

He could not escape the reality of his world no matter how much he tried. The collision of the two worlds was almost too much to bear and he soon found himself more shaken than he had ever been. The Drawing Room was spinning, forcing him to his knees. His hands reached out and he spread his fingers in an attempt to draw himself out of the nightmare that had been fixed for him. Books flew above him; the floor shook violently and the walls seemed to have taken it upon themselves to crack under the force of him losing control.

Then as sharp and unexpected as her words came out, he began to change.

At first, it was his eyes. Once grey and the contributing pigment of the hollow moon, they turned into the ghastly hue of extinguished coal with the slightest intimation of gold. A roaring fire burst through the ring of his irises, consuming his gorgeous orbs and bringing forth feelings previously unknown. Claws tore from the tips of his fingers while his body contorted into a painful shape. The smooth contours of his blossoming body was now jagged, shifted into impossible, rigid forms. It was like watching an innocent animal become tainted by disease and feral. A boy who once travelled the world in a listless manner was now a tangible representation of every folklore and nightmare. The words in which people spoke of were exactly what he became- a monster, a beast. Nothing was covered and nothing was thrown without vain.

He became that of legend himself. In a world where witches and wizards ran amuck in tailored reclusiveness, beasts like him and every other creature was something that truly was the epitome of terror. He lived in the darkness, was the moon and the shadows. He was everything that he was always told he was not. They had lied right to his face! Upon the epiphany, a burning rage began to consume him as he became one with instinct. Draco stepped closer, his eyes drawn into an unimpressive glare. His features were hard and stabbed with bitterness. A deep growl issued from whence the boy once occupied. Now, as he looked at her, his heart taking course with the supply veins in his arms and neck, he, as well as the beast, spoke of what happened during that fateful night.

Magic swirled around him, lashing out and hissing at even the smallest of movements. It became his anchor, something in which he fed upon that kept him sane. Though, it was the very thing that he wished he had not done. His magic was unstable, much like the girls as she maneuvered behind the Fae, eyes wide with shock, shaking in fear. They were so much alike, and she did not even know it. So much so that it startled even him. She feared it, whereas he craved it. So much alike, but oh so different, indeed.

The girl looked around her, caught and ensnared by an unseen foe. Her features became hard as she formed the words that she was so longing to convey. Just as suddenly, they died on her lips. She watched with horror as the boy that she had seen through the eyes of her vessel as she remained in blissful slumber twist and painfully from one form to the other; no words could adequately describe the sight of it. Bone on bone, blood draining and refilling with enriched nourishment; it was very much like those pictures of their kind… slow and fast at the same time he began to change and she felt her body quiver involuntarily at the thing that she brought to the surface.

Just as quickly as he was there, he was gone.

The spirit looked around, frightened.

"Where are you?" she demanded, dead set on forcing him to make his presence known. "Why do you hide?"

He fell between the earth and the beyond, watching the transpiring scene unfolded right before his very eyes. Fae of all sizes and troubles came to protect her; his fell on them, trying to seek out a weakened vantage point but found none. He would have to wait.

"Everywhere," came an echoing whisper."

"Why do you not present yourself?"

"You are unworthy."

"You know not what you are missing." The divine spirit proclaimed. "There is so much more than what you saw."

"Why do you care that I know?" he said in a deep, inhibited voice of valor. It seemed to be coming from every direction, never once settling in any specific avenue. She was alarmed by his sudden response, but nonetheless defeated in her commands. "You have shown me everything. You have said enough."

"There is more." she pleaded. "So much more."

If she thought of him as beast, then why try to bargain with him? He was supposed to elicit fear with his prey, not try to reason with it.

"You are afraid of the truth, Beast." she said, voice strong as ever. "It that the reason you run and hide? Are you that much of a coward?-"

"I am no coward." A disembodied voice called out to her.

She felt his breath fan across her cheek first, followed by the dominant presence of the feline beast. He towered over her, his eyes filled with hatred and disgust, much like the same jeers he would get from everyone else.

"Yes, you are."

"I am not like that man." He told her as calmly as his beast would allow.

"Then why do you not face me?"

She felt him shift behind her, though he remained silent.

"You are aware of them, are you not?" she asked, her voice weak and vulnerable. Where had her bravado ran off to? "That the one I speak of is not man, but beast."

Draco tilted his head sharply to the left, his eyes burning. "What if I am?" he asked, voice deep, unwelcoming. "I am aware of a great many of things."

With a predatory step forward, he took into consideration of their situation. The Fae had once again formed a barricade. Their weapons drawn, ready to attack. He looked at each of them slowly, taking into account their uniqueness and vulnerability. They trembled in his almighty presence but their formation never wavered.

"Then you are just like the others." she whispered, magic conjuring around her and lashing out like a whip attempting to train the air that surrounded her. "Just as conniving and evil as all of them!"

A bolt of magic shot out as her hair and eyes became emblazoned with years of built up anger. Draco flew backwards, landing on his feet with expertise, his hands resting on the ground. His eyes make quick work of analyzing his surroundings. He found that the girl had disappeared, but her legacy had lived on. All around him chaos broke out. Books and china flew from the walls and landed where he waited, adding to the miraculous pile that had formed around him. Paint was been torn from the walls, and the chandelier grabbed by its gorgeous rings and dropped to the floor. It shattered into a million pieces upon the deafening impact.

Draco moved with the clarity of a monstrous statue. His movements were fluid and bled marvelously into one another. It was like watching water run from a stream and clouds bring nourishment to a long drought. The spirit cared not. In that moment, she was only focused on the pain.

"I came to them in need! I trusted them when I could not even trust myself, and what for? To have them betray me in the end! You are so much like them!"

One by one, the glass of the drawing room began to break; it was hell on earth as material and furniture were ripped to shreds, books tossed and burned, their pages falling like burning ember of rain down upon them. Draco looked up,

He couldn't say what compelled him to it, but before he was able to stop himself, he lunged forward and attacked the poor girl. Be it her words or the simple fact that the urge to hunt was neigh, her screams were a symphony that fell upon his ears in cherished caresses that he fed on in order to live. The only thing that made him feel close to human was just that- becoming the thing of nightmare and revealing what true terror was. As he recoiled back and watched the Fae come back into formation.

They had protected her, as to be expected.

Why, however, was it a complete and utter mystery? Why would these creatures go out of their way, risk dying all for some girl they barely knew. Unless… oh, yes…Unless there was a reason to protect her. With a deep growl, he disappeared into thin air, confusing the creatures of nature and the spirit that had taken over the girl's body. She was unlike any spirit he has encountered, and he has attended one of the most ambitious schools in England. Hogwarts was practically drowning in the dwellers of the land, those lost to the sea of death. In all his years, he has never met a spirit who has been able to communicate through the usage of vessel, and to atone for a mistake or forewarn an event was something he has never heard of, either. He watched the girl through the veil of existence and the in between, eyes still glowing the burning passion of embers.

The Fae formed together, flourishing their weapons as if forming back together once more. They were so ready to draw when their lady held up a hand and looked at him. He could feel her inquisitive mind work like a towering clock clicking with atrocious knowledge. Time did not escape them, but it surely felt like it did. Their tiny faces were chosen for repulsion. They lined up together, protecting their mother giver and becoming an alliance that would never have seemed possible. As he pulled back, ready to strike another blow, his eyes became wide with wonder and for a moment he was held suspended in time. The girl had drawn her left hand up and was now chanting some ancient runic words that fell to his unknowing ears. Whatever she was saying had cause a significant stir to shift through the Fae's ranks. She was now glowing, balancing on a single nacreous orb that kept her from falling.

The lot of them bared their weapons, brandishing them as they fell forward in formation. Just as quickly, Draco pushed backward to analyze their movements. There were so many of them that it made it very difficult to know when and where they would strike next. As he watched, a group of them disappeared only to reappear right before him, firing their mystic powers in front of him. He flew back, landing on all fours, his head snapped up and he let out a deep, feral growl. He had not been expecting that, and he was not pleased to have been fooled.

He thought back to his first lesson early in his studies. There had been a forming coalition that took place within him as well. Recognition if it were possible. A sort of divination drawn from the mouths of the Three Sisters themselves, it dawned upon him the reason behind their protectiveness and readiness to seek death as if it were an old friend. They were obviously ready to do so, even at the cost of their own lives they would fight because she held something far greater than every one of them put together.

Once he discovered what he believed was the missing piece, he appeared before her once again to wreak havoc on her perfect world. His watchful eyes shifted from the girl to the Fae. He wondered about their possessive nature, their drive to protect her.

He found the connection.

The startling resemblance, the fiery captivation; he could have been blind not to see it sooner. She was the spiteful image of her daughter, an uncanny replication of what she used to be- wild, brown hair, deep dark eyes that, in the perfect lighting, turned amber. Orange and red within one concept, they were the exact variation of wood. She stood in front of him in all her celestial glory, the retelling of her tragic ending playing in her eyes, taking residence in the walls, pulling the secrets and depth of their conviction from the books that surrounded them. Her story was a sad one, and needed to be told. There was indeed an aged old story that was desperate to get out, and by Gods he would let her tell it.

She was as breathtaking as she was unstable.

The spirit looked at him but did not say a word. This seemed to disturb her protectors. They were acutely aware of his quick mind as he processed the information that was unwillingly given to him. She appeared to know exactly what he had found out, and immediately drew her arm up to ward off the Fae as they tried to attack again.

"Do not harm him," she looked to friends of formation. Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. "He has done nothing wrong. I am to blame for misreading him and leading him astray."

"You say that now, but only moments before you were accusing me of a crime that I could not have possibly committed."

"That was before I got to see the real you."

"How would you know about the real me?" He then accused her with a growl. "What you said was perfectly adequate; I am a beast and must be feared."

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." She murmured thoughtfully before her attention was brought back to him.

There was something uniquely intriguing about him.

"Very clever," he observed, narrowing his eyes in the most condescending way. "I suppose that the years apart have not only clouded your judgment, but have allotted you the time to observe which that cannot be replaced?"

"I have had a lot of time to reflect."

"Need I enquire?" He asked bravely. "Do not waste my time with trivial things. There is a reason you have shown yourself and I want to know why."

"Find composure and we will talk about what I have come to reveal."

Draco was not able to place what she meant into words, but it soon became clear that she meant for him to calm down. His beast was rattling inside him like it was trapped in an enclosed cage. It might as well have been because he felt suffocated.

He had not noticed then, but there was an air about him that was a bit too frightening. They were in the middle of war; the battle had yet been won, and they were holding fire until one of them chose to call their move. Everything about it was a whole big chess game, and he was winning. She did not know then, but the chances of checking mate were incredibly low. He was to win this God-forsaken game.

As the space between them became calm, the object that had been levitated into the air found peace and shattered upon hitting the floor. The books that were plucked from the shelves were dropped and the glass that was lay like little crystals at their feet stood still. The Drawing room was indeed left as it had been as they consoled each other and she opened to tell her tale.

"I was but sixteen when I met him," she told him in a low voice. "We knew each other through our families and grew up with each other as many betrothed do. I did not know then, probably not until later in my life, that I was born for greatness. Born to take care of something so beautiful that it quite literally became a means to an end."

She told him of her birth, how she met her husband and the responsibilities of her family and the gift that was accidently bestowed to her even before her arrival. It was through trials and tribulations that she was able to harness the powers of her bringing; as she stated, it was not an easy task but she learned to love and adore it. Nothing made her prouder or more in tuned with herself than doing what she has done. Then, her tale turned darker. It was upon meeting Cummings, the man that she showed him, that things started to go black. She knew from the beginning that he was not a man to be trusted and that his reason for sticking around was nefarious if she was reasonably truthful with herself. She told her husband, but he did not listen. They died saving their daughter. It was only now that she learned the truth of where she ended up.

"Someone saved her." she whispered, remembering what happened so long ago. "The house went up in flames; I had been knocked out by some great beast and my husband... he did not suffer for long. He died trying to save our daughter." She lifted her vessel's hand up to indicate a deep longing before dropping it lifelessly to her side. "You can see why I do not trust you. There are so many things left that no amount of parchment or ink could ever relive the tale. I am afraid that I am at my last breath."

Draco looked at her with the look of concern. A resounding part of him wanted to know what happened during those last faithful hours and what it could possibly mean for him.

"Now, you are aware." she said, crying after some time. Her body shook with inconsolable sobs, forcing the walls to bend down toward them. Her heartache was having tremendous effect on their surroundings for everything that had been thrown at him was starting to sizzle into ash. The Drawing Room turned back into the image that it once was. Fire had caressed the room and engulfed it in a cloud of smoke. The smell of it lingered as if it had been burning for the past eleven years, waiting for him to see. "They took my life and my husband's and left our child alone in a world full of hate. A man that we trusted. A man that owed us his very life and that is how he repays us? By loitering with imbeciles and greed?"

"Surely, he had his reasons?"

"That man defiled the sanctum of our trust!" She screeched, objects flying around once more and crashing against the fragile walls. "The bastard was hungry for more than we gave him! In all my life, I have never met someone so greedy."

It was sudden, and before he had time to reflect, the words came stumbling out.

"You are the mother." He deadpanned through the haze left between them. He could see the sad expression of the truth as his voice came to rest in her vicinity. As it did, it became all too clear. "You are the spirit who showed me the memory."

She was the Protector.

This spirit had been given a chance to protect something so precious as the beginning of Magic. She let out a startled gasp, her adopted eyes growing wide with fright. She held her breath, and again said nothing.

When she looked at him once more, a shimmering veil surged between them and he stepped in.

"Yes," she whispered, pained by her own execution. "I am."

"What is your business here?" he asked, driven to know she choice him to revel herself to. "Why do you see it important to tell me of your woes? What am I to you?"

"My daughter is in danger." She told him simply. "I need a vessel to pass it on."

Draco became enraged when she did not elaborate. "Pass what on?"

"She is in danger."

"Danger," he tested the word ruefully. "Who wants to cause her harm?"

When she did not answer, he chose another power.

"Allow me to see," he asked for her permission to see. "Let me see for myself."

She looked to him. It was not her who showed him.

He breached her line of comfort, all the while the full force of it falling down on him heavily at what he did.

The Beast betrayed the Beauty.

He walked down a treacherous hall and came across a scene all too familiar. What had been left untouched had gracelessly been presented to him on a platter of mischief and unreason. In the shadows stood several figures, their eyes gazing up at the window, watching, listening. He could feel his spine tingle from the sense of dreadful comings. Something was to happen tonight. A part of him thought it insane, but it was a legitimate thought nonetheless.

Death was pungent in the air.

It was riddled with his presence.

Murmurs arose like fog, and with careful steps, he was able to follow them. He arrived at a door. As soon as he stopped in front of it, it swung open to reveal a rather queer looking room. A table sat as the main focus with men of different statues seated around it. As the host, the man that he had was introduced by the spirit during his first glimpse into the past, sat at the head of the table.

Alan had his arms folded before him, his expression dark. Apparently, he had just been told something that he was not too thrilled to hear.

"There is reason to believe that there will be an attack tonight," his council member said.

Alan drew his hands to his face and was thinking with the upmost contempt. In the next room, his wife and child slept, unaware of the potential hazard that the world was about to forge. He was consumed with so many emotions that he found himself losing interest in what his men were saying and focusing on the men behind the attacks wanted. If they did not find out soon, he worried that they would have to relocate yet again.

His wife's words came back to him. Just as she was not keen on having to be moved, he was not either. He looked at his men and nodded.

"What evidence do you have?"

His attending men spoke all at once until he lifted a hand to silence them.

"Schuster was the one to scout them out, my Lord." said one of his men at the far end of the table.

"And, what did he find out?"

"I am not sure you want to hear."

"Whatever it is," their Lord said as he tried to control his voice," I can take it. I need to know in order to protect my wife and child. Not to mention to protect every life of the men and women who elected themselves to our care. Their lives will not be out of vain."

The same man shifted in his seat, fixed the buttons of his coat, and proceeded to inform him of what they found out. "Cummings, my Lord. We have evidence that Cummings is behind some of the attacks."

"Why on earth would you say that?" he asked quietly.

"Cummings is not a trustworthy man-"

"He has protected me and my family ever since this whole ordeal came into fruition!" he yelled, standing and knocking over their glasses of scotch and whiskey. "I have had enough of your deriding nature! Ever since he had been promoted, you all have been testing my patience. If you have reason to believe that he is not loyal, then please come forth with some valuable information in that regards. Otherwise, do not waste my time with such trivial things."

"But, my Lord-"

"Enough," he snapped, motioning to leave. "I am exhausted and must rest. Keep watch and we shall talk more about this tomorrow morning. Goodnight."

The threat of the inevitable was heavy. Draco could feel his advisor's worry. Their words were not getting to him, and it looked like a lost cause as he made his way to the door and left them without another word. He travelled down the corridor and to a separate wing of the estate where he knew his wife and child lay.

Silently he waited.

Jeanevere was reading soundlessly to her daughter when she first heard the distinct howl of the beast. It was her nature to believe in such ludicrous things and to find that her mind was fond of trickery, but none such trickery came from only a handful hours of sleep and only a wooden door to protect them. Nothing has, as it has always been since their discovery and their arrangement. She found no such arrangement as cruel and unforgiving as allowing some ravenous fiend to protect her and her family other than Cummings. Her heart betrayed her. Slowly, she walked away from the picturesque painting and toward the scene that was sure to slay them all. The woman knew that she was daring more than she ever bargained for; it was only in her truest content that she wished to see what was causing such a ruckus and investigate the possible lead to finding a solution.

It is hard to decipher just how long they have been running. Years, for certain. Ever since she became betrothed to her husband some years ago, she has always been on the run. It was a metaphoric illustration that has only come into fruition in the last few months. The weeks leading up to the birth of their daughter have been the hardest and most strenuous. She could only pray that things got better.

Silently, she took another look at the glowing embers in the hearth, mesmerized by the bewitching beauty. If she not known any better, she would have fallen into such warm and never returned. She wished she could, however. To escape, finally, from years of seclusion. All to appease some hopeless dream that her world was not filled with the monstrous beasts that were after her and her daughter. What she would do to give the powers that were bestowed upon them away, just to live a single day of normalcy. Even that was selfish because who would want to give up such powers? Not her, that was certain.

She stood from her comfortable chair, gathered her sleeping gown closer to her body and walked over to where her daughter lay. Her tiny form was huddled into the most peaceful of positions. Her hands were curled up and drawn underneath her chin. She looked pleasantly calm, undisturbed, without a care in the world. Oh, how she wished to keep her that way. Her daughter and husband were her entire world and if anything were to happen to either of them, she did not know what she would do. The budding experience within her would surely take strange advantage of her deplorable state and destroy everything that she has worked so hard to conceive. That would not happen. Not as long as she was the Keeper.

Ever since being given the gift, she has been targeted by many.

In the silence, she could hear the betraying wind and the fortifying whispers of her foes as they came together to transpire against her. Again, she knew not if it was her hysteria misguiding her or if what she was supposedly was hearing was true premonitions. All she could rely on was what she felt in her heart and the subtle prophecy she has yet to decipher.

"What are you thinking, wife?" lips found their voice in her throat. A breathless ache swept through her as she felt the arms of her husband wound themselves around her form. She became lost in his embrace, hopelessly so. The only comfort she had was in him. They watched in silence of their sleeping child.

Jeanevere leaned back against him, "Nothing, husband."

"Liar," he chastised. "Do you know it is a sin to lie?"

"I was not aware." She turned and was gathered into the arms of her loving husband. "If I am lying, my Lord, so are you. I sense your trouble. Now, tell me what it is."

"Nothing," he began to tease her with light strokes of his thumb. Nimble and exploring, they found themselves touching her in places that ought to be left to the bedchambers. "Shall we adjourn?"

"Do you not want to say goodnight to your daughter?" she asked in a distracted manner. With a small chuckle, she looked down at their child and said," She has been waiting all day for her father to answer to her. The sweet darling fell asleep."

"Ah," he corrected himself quickly. Wanting to please his wife and wish his daughter a night full of slumber, he leaned over the bassinet and gave their child a loving upon her forehead. To the touch, she shifted in her sleep, reaching for that warmth that plagued her dreams. When she found it, she settled back down, her tiny fingers wrapped around her father's large one. "How can I forget?"

She let out a merciful giggle, something unknown for her to do. While she turned around to face her husband, Jeanevere's arms found home around his waist. He brought her forward and embraced her so.

"Thank you," she whispered softly.

"For what, my dear wife?"

"For loving me." She looked up with approving eyes. "For giving us our daughter."

"Any fool would have given up upon the first obstacle." He murmured begrudgingly. "Not I."

"Not you." She agreed with a smile. "And, that is why I love you so. You have shown such compassion to me despite my many flaws. Have come to terms with what I am and along the way, you have made a great many of enemies."

"An enemy is indeed an enemy of mine."

"How do you find the patience, my love?" Her inquiry would definitely be the death of her. "What is your secret to being so blessed with such reservation and calmness?"

Her husband thought for a moment before the answer shined its blinding light in front of him. Quite literally so. She was standing right in front of him, an image right out the words of the scripture. How can she not see the significance of their union, the love that was bestowed upon them both and the gift that the Gods blessed them with? After so many years, was his wife that significantly deprived not to know?

It was evident in his eyes that her question caused some discomfort. She never meant to disturb him; then again, she never meant for the question to ever come out at all. She supposed she was only trying to calm her mind. His words against her own. And it has been showing her some nasty details to which she would like to forget. She leaned into him, finding him the soundless passage that she knew he could be. Their breathing melted into one solid platform and their hearts synchronized into one harmonious lullaby.

"I suppose it comes with the territory." He told her finally, a whisper, an unsettling truth. "Now, what to do with my wife… I have yet to bestow you with five years of marriage and the beautiful child that you gave me."

His wife giggled as she felt his wandering hands graze her stomach then move upward to palm her supple breasts. He inhaled, committing her floral scent to memory in case there would ever be a time that he would momentarily forget. It was the usual play; thus, their predicament now. She was completely smitten by him. His touched did things to her body that would be too dishonorable for a woman of the time and age to speak of. But, she did not care. She turned then, pressed herself against her husband and claimed him over and over again with the sweet pull of her lips. He claimed her too, just as powerful as she.

"I love you," he grunted from the sensual pleasure she was conjuring. "Gods, I cannot say it enough!"

"Then show me," she said pleadingly.

He looked at her, finding them both had pulled away from the enclosure of their daughter's bassinette. They stood in their bedchambers with only the layer of their night dresses keeping them from one another.

His eyes betrayed him and they become lost to each other.

The hours were too kind to them, however.

Night waned blissfully slow, and Jeanevere soon found herself drawn to a call that she had not heard in some time.

She rose from the bed that she shared with her husband and proceeded to get up. After securing her night gown around her body, she walked over to the door that connected their room to their daughters. A soft glow immigrated from the small enclosure. She smiled.

Lost to wanting to see her one last time, she quietly opened the door and stepped in. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

An ungodly creature stood in the middle of the room, hovering over her, its relentless form a great smudge in the canvas of the room. A deep growl emitted from somewhere deep, and she soon came to realize that it came from the creature. In the moonlight, his image became clearer. His flesh was covered with scars and layers of fur. He appeared dirty and contaminated by something foul.He was looking at her daughter with the most awful of expressions, the pure lust evident in his eyes as he turned and greeted them with a nasty grin. They were round with golden delight; he was no man of God. He was a beast.

Her body shook with the intensity the likes of which she never felt as she gazed at the beast. Her eyes became wide and her body frigid. As she stared, petrified, the beast turned and welcomed her with the most illustrious expression.

It's eyes illuminated by the moonlight, it spoke." You have a beautiful daughter." It leaned toward the babe and sniffed her. He released a pleasured breath. "So pure and untainted. I want it."

Jeanevere gave the beast the purest look of disdain that she could muster before the door to the adjoining room jostled open and her husband came rushing in. In his hand was a fully loaded rifle. He looked ready to kill.

"Step away from our child!" bellowed Alan as he stepped forward to hoard off the creature before it got too close to their daughter.

The beast looked at him distantly before turning his head back to the sleeping baby. "I do not think I will." It told him. "She smells divine. I am curious how she will taste."

"Get away from her!"

A loud bang sounded on their chamber door. Calls erupted from behind the seemingly locked escape. Alan looked to the door with a look of discernible concern. If he had done something to it, then there was no way that he could save his daughter and wife and find a way out of the room. There was the option of jumping from the window, but the risk of someone getting injured, or Lord forbid, dying from the height was far too high. The only thing he could do was wade off the beast for as long as he can so his wife and daughter could leave. It would be an honor to give his life to save theirs; he hoped that he could.

"What is it that you want?" he asked instead.

He tilted his head and began to snicker. "Oh, how incredibly kind of you to ask!" He began to laugh wildly at his question.

Alan took a step forward.

"Stay where you are," the beast said in a deathly low voice, the time for playing gone. "Take one step forward and I kill the babe. Then, I will take your wife. Your choice."

He stopped where he was and gulped. Looking behind him, Alan could see the look of shock and terror on her face. Jeanevere looked to him pleadingly, her eyes brimming with tears. There was nothing that he could do at that moment that he could not promise her; though, he nodded at her reassuringly. They would save their daughter, but it would take some time. Hopefully, the creature he was dealing with of intelligence. Negotiation would become a dear friend.

Slowly, he looked back at the beast, becoming aware of the look that his wife gave him, having mistaken it for him being near her. He had moved and was now holding their daughter in his arms as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. He grinned at him.

"You moved," he informed him.

"You instructed me not to take another step."

"I changed my mind," he said in a whisper. "Now, you will leave me to take her. I do not want any funny business, either."

"Do not dare, you-"Jeanevere started but was quickly silenced.

A long claw produced from its grimly finger and was now pressing against their daughter's throat, the beast sporting the look of meaning. He was dead serious about harming their child; there was no bluff anymore.

Alan watched his wife shake where she stood, fall apart and retreat back behind him. They were to play his sick, twisted game no matter what sort of foul he committed. He made the rules, and he expected them to abide by them. He turned back around, cursing himself for looking at his wife. The beast had drawn their daughter more closely in his arms and moved. With his reflexes and agility, he was more than half way to the door, eyes glowing. The moon was growing in power in the middle of its phases; it was calling to him and he was listening.

"It has been a pleasure meeting you, my Lord." He said, still grinning. "Madame," he growled, looking at Jeanevere like she was something to eat. Alan did not much care for the lustful way he was looking at his wife; he did not move.

The scent of burning wood began to circulate in the air. It alerted their deepest concern. Alan's eyes widened, almost daring to look around to see where the scent was coming from but was too preoccupied by the state of his daughter that he did not bother. The beast still stood in front of him. He feared that even in a blink of an eye they would be gone and he would never see his daughter again.

"Ah, that will be the cue." he said quietly. "I must take my leave.

"Where are you taking her?"

"Would you not like to know?" he said with a rapturous laughter. "It would do you well to know. Right, Master?"

Something shifted from their vision, coming into the brilliance of the candles that were placed around the room.

"You," Jeanevere hissed. "What are you doing here?"

Cummings laughed as he walked to where they stood. A masterful smile laced his lips and there was a recognizable sting of triumph. He nodded at his lady before taking a look at the infant in his follower's arms.

"Excellent, Greyback."

The beast now had a name.

He grinned. "Master."

"How dare you!" bellowed Jeanevere, taking a step forward without a care that they could disappear. She was so terribly lost to her rage and distrust that she did not care if she broke the unspoken promise of not moving. A devastating sense fell over her as her world fell apart; she was lost to the ambitions of some greedy, evil little man that she did not notice that the room had ignited into a river of fire or that her husband was trying to calm her down.

"Jeanevre, you must collect yourself!"

"He has taken our child!" she shouted back, her eyes turning the variation of manifested anger. They were red and brimming; she could not control the magic that she had neglected for so long.

Cummings looked on with amazement. "Brilliant," he seemed to whisper under his breath. "So, this is the spectrum of your wife's power?"

"What do you want with our daughter?" Alan asked, the wind whipping around him and becoming a roaring eruption of small debris and string of fire. "What is it that you want?"

"What I want?" Cummings asked, tapping his chin. "Would you not like to know? I have only been serving a more important presence for the last several months, Granger. He told me to do this, and in return, I get my prayers answered.

"What man do you speak of?"

"Man?" the foreign fellow asked. "Not man. No." He shook his head. "You are so blind Granger that it bothers me. He is not a man, but a creature of absolute power. He has promised me riches beyond my wildest dreams if I were to kill you and your family. That was the deal until he made me aware of what lie within your daughter and the gift that your wife passed down to her.

"You see, outwardly appearances can be the most deceiving. One must look deep within to find what lies below."

"What does that have to do with my daughter?"

"Master!" A voice called from the other side of the door. Everyone's heads shifted to the heated door as flames engulfed it in its hateful task of consumption. "Master, can you hear me?"

Alan looked to the door but did not call out. He then turned his attention back to Cummings.

"Everything," he murmured the single word like his life depended solely on it.

In that instant, Cummings pulled a dagger from his coat and threw it straight at him. He would have dodged the attack had it not been from some invisible force keeping him locked in position. There was a distant scream and the sound of shuffling as his rescuers tried desperately to stop the bleeding.

Alan feel to the floor with the look of complete shock and distrust ghosting over his face. His eyes reached to his once most trusted adviser, a light shining with question.

He been wrong. So entirely wrong not to heed his advisor's warning. As he sleep from the state of the living, the last thing that was brought to him was the faint memory of his wife's tearful cries and the words that he could barely evoke.

'I am sorry, my love.'

The entire house had gone up in a blaze of fire. Terrified screams filled the night air, all except one. He had seen the beast, watched it as it poke a gaping hole right through Alan's chest the moment he hit the ground and rip out the mother's throat and eat the flesh that he tore. He watched as Jeanevere collapsed to the floor and was raped and maim. The child, though a fragile and most precious little jewel had miraculously been saved when time was truly of the essence. They essentially bathed him in their spilt blood. As much as they fought, it seemed too inadequate to say that they had not given it their all. He had arrived just in time to win them over, but not to save their lives to which they gave willingly.

Someone had gotten the child, reflected whatever curse that had been hurtled his way. As soon as the curse that had been aimed for him bounced back and hit his attackers, he Disapparated out of sight, only to reappear on the hill just outside his master's home. Within minutes, the roof caved in and the windows were smashed inward. The home was completely unrecognizable. The only thing left to do was to inform the Head of the Aurors and report back. He looked down at their child. Lost to the sublime sleep, she had not witnessed a thing. His heart clenched and he bit his lip from calling out in a horrid scream.

Draco found himself on the outskirts of some land, the house but a small, extinguished blaze in the middle of the horizon. Several groups of Aurors, townsfolk- Muggle and Wizard alike stood in the abyss of the night, all contemplating what had just occurred. One by one, the Muggles began to retreat, their faces glazed over, a charm performed to send them all back home and back to safety.

"Secure the area and look for survivors." Called a man with a heavy Irish accent. "I want a report on my desk my tomorrow morning."

"Aye, but I-"

"I do not care what you think!" growled his superior officer. "That report better be done."

"Moody!" someone called out from the chaos. "I have something you might want to take a look at!"

In an instant, the bearing man wobbled his way over to one of his lower ranks civilians and came across something that he truly did not wish to see.

The Auror from earlier stood there with the child cradled in his arms, his expression sad. "She is the only survivor." He informed his captain. "I am afraid there are no others."

His captain looked down at the bundle and nodded, his one good eye shifting over the fabric that kept her warm and the other moving backward in its socket. Within seconds it righted itself. "I need to get the Head of the Department. He will know what to do with her."

"Where are they going to take her?"

Moody did not dare to answer right away. "They will be taking her to an orphanage after we check her vitals." Before his lower rank could protest, he bit out a growl. "That is all we can do at this time. I do not wish to see her go to some filthy orphanage any more than you do, but it is all we can offer."

Draco looked at the child one last time, a mixture of male judgement playing precariously inside his heart.

The moment he pulled back from her mind, he knew that what he had done was nothing more than cowardly. There was nothing heroic in what he had done. He had betrayed her, torn into her mind and forced her to relive the last night of her life all for his selfish need to know what she had bene through and what had eventually happened to her daughter.

The spirit looked at him with the urn of mortification. No one has ever dared to step over her boundary of trust; the last person who did had destroyed her family. And, now for what? Knowledge was a hideously vile thing. She was seething with rage.

She stepped back behind the Fae, her eyes glistening. "You know not what you have done." She said blankly and without conviction.

"I am sorry." He pleaded, taking a step forward.

The spirit shook her head. "No, not the memories. I care not for the memories as you care not for my respect or comfort. No, it is what you touched that troubles me."

"What do you mean?"

She looked up at him and whispered," You have no inkling? Why, how else are you supposed to protect her?"

"Protect her?"

She ignored his cluelessness and came right up to him, grasping his hands in hers. "It is your destiny." She told him, her eyes becoming a dull color. "What will you make of it?"

In that instant, she fell and he reached out to catch her.

A/N: This chapter needs to be edited badly. I had a reviewer (can't remember who) that pointed that out .. After this update, I'm going to go back and edit all my chapters. Hopefully they'll be done by Tuesday. School just started back up and work has been a bitch. I don't know which I hate more- work or school. Definitely school because of my classmates. Although it's our last semester, they still don't respect me. I've had it up to the fucking moon with them.

Anyway-

'Looks can be deceiving', if anything else.

What I really mean is that no one is how they seem, even Hermione. Even Belle, actually. She was so incredibly different and considered strange that it's refreshing and exciting to play on how someone looks and how much you know them and then what they do in return. One's outward appearance does not reflect how they feel or really think on the inside.

Harry will most likely be the hero, as he has been. Draco, unlike in the books and movies, will be a hero within his own right. There will be some hardships for him and Hermione; people will arise, and situations will ensue. Overall, you're looking at a very long ride and I do hope you are all okay with that :)

Important Note: The events that take place in the original Beauty and the Beast will occur within the narrative and I do not own any content replicated in my work. I didn't want a word for word replica of the movie, so do not bash what my mind has come up with. I have every right to play on what I want. So, nugh! :"P

-Carolare Scarletus