Can A Phoenix Love A Lion? (Hermione Granger x Male Reader)

48. Harry's Anger

Sunlight streaming across his bed woke Y/N out of a deep but restless sleep. He pulled a pillow over his head, but it did not really shut out the light, and he did not really want to go back to sleep. There had been many times he had jerked up convulsively, pain in the neck. He could not really remember them, but he knew he wanted no more.

With a sigh he tossed the pillow aside and sat up, wincing as he stretched.

The other beds were empty. Light poured in through the window at a steep angle; the sun stood well above the horizon. By this hour back at home, though, he would not have been awake, or he would have been but still lying in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He felt better today, though, and he scrambled out of bed. A house to see and everyone to talk to; he could not lie in.

Still in his pyjamas, he walked out of the room and crossed the hallway to the bathroom. But just as he cracked the door open, he heard a horrible, half-sucking, half-moaning sound that came out through the half-open door. He stopped dead, and looked cautiously inside the bathroom.

A few feet away from the door, asleep in the dark with its large mouth open, was . . . something. It was human in shape and size, slimy and bald, naked. A ray of light wove its way into the bathroom and fell onto the thing's face; the number of spots sickened Y/N. A ghoul.

It opened its eyes. Y/N looked, transfixed, as it yawned and stretched, rolling on itself. It got up on its feet and looked at the door, spotting him. And he knew he had to change plans now.

The ghoul groaned and hurled itself toward him. He shut the door at once and tried to lock it, but there was no key and his wand was still in the bedroom.

The ghoul pressed against the door, and he tried to keep it shut, pushing his back against it.

And then, out of nowhere, a house-elf edged into the hallway.

Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it, and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery grey, and its fleshy nose was large and snoutlike.

The elf took absolutely no notice of Y/N. Acting as though it could not see him, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, along the hallway, muttering under its breath all the while in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's. "Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but they're no better, nasty old blood traitors and their brats messing up my Mistress's house. Oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do . . ."

"Hey, you!" Y/N called, still pushing hard against the door—that ghoul really wanted to taste a bite of him. "Help me!"

The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise. "Kreacher did not see Young Master," he said, turning around and bowing to Y/N. Still facing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"What?" Y/N said.

"Kreacher said nothing," the elf said, with a second bow, adding in a clear undertone, "and hard of hearing it is."

"Y/N? What are you doing?" It was Hermione, coming up from down the stairs. She looked alternately at him and Kreacher.

"Oh, Hermione, hey," he said, and he lurched as the ghoul hammered on the door. "P-perfect timing. I need a hand. Could you—" BOOM; he almost fell flat on the floor, but managed to keep onto his feet. "—close the door!"