AN: Some swearing in this chapter, but rather amusing in my opinion anyway. Please review, to help me convince the original author it does take talent to rewrite Beauty and the Beast Harry-Potter-style.
Please enjoy the next chapter!
Beauty and the beast by Mrs Skinner
Translation by SnapeSeraphin
Chapter 7 Awakening
It was quiet.
No, not entirely: besides his own, somewhat unsteady breathing there was someone else breathing, or more accurately, snoring.
He had awoken after a couple of hours of restless sleep and had ascertained with relief that this dictatorial female had finally left. He had wanted to get up, since his stomach was rumbling and what was more, he was freezing. Somewhere on the ground floor, there had to be a woollen blanket laying around. He fumbled around looking for his clothes in the darkness, failed to find them however, cursing as he kept bumping into the furniture. The though to light the candle on the bedside table didn't even cross his mind. Frustrated and weakened after his fruitless search, he returned to his bed without clothes or wool blanket. He huddled beneath the thin blanket as best he could and tried to fall asleep again.
It didn't matter one way or the other if he died today instead of in a couple of weeks. Apparently not even this blasted patron saint of house-elves could stand to be in his presence...she had walked out on him just like everybody else in his life nowadays, he thought.
He had spent endless hours slumbering and caught in fevered dreams. At some point, a small female hand had smoothed a damp cloth over his face and made him sip water again and again. He hardly noticed. But his fever had abated now and he was growing more aware of his surroundings.
He was reluctant to leave the darkness, which enveloped him like a protective cocoon, but his curiosity to find out if Miss Granger was really here after all, was stronger. Slowly, needing a staggering amount of willpower, Lucius opened his eyes and blinked against the blinding light that at first hurt his eyes. After a little while he could see more clearly, even if he hadn't discovered the source of the light snoring yet. A slightly louder snore was heard then and with difficulty he turned his head in the direction the sound had come from.
He wasn't really surprised to see the person that was sitting in one of the two large, tattered wingback chairs. Her head was laid somewhat awkwardly on the once beautifully carved, wooden armrest, her long brown hair covering her face and apparently she was sleeping the sleep of the just.
It really was Hermione Granger, only a meter away, almost within reach of his arm. The one, whose parents' deaths he was partially responsible for. The one whose life he, in a merciless and vicious fight against the creatures of the forest, had saved. The one, for whom he had risked his pathetic life and the same person who appeared to have taken care of him, if not even saved his life.
Amazed, he watched the sleeping girl. He couldn't understand why she had returned, conveniently forgetting the bitter thoughts he'd had the day before when he discovered her gone.
While he was pondering all this, an exceptionally loud and impressive snore was heard and Hermione was rudely awoken from a sleep that had been very peaceful up until that moment. Confused, she looked around until her gaze met that of the – now awake – Linus Manley.
Immediately she got up and moved to his bed. She placed her hand on his forehead without hesitation, smiling as she realised his fever had broken. Without conscious thought, she brushed a few strands of hair away from his face before she pulled back her hand.
His mystification about the matter of course way she touched him, outweighed his revulsion of the mere presence of this female. She had touched him – without aversion. She had smiled... It had been such a long time since any female had smiled in his presence.
Well, it wasn't as if it meant anything, he told himself sternly. She had to go: he didn't want her near him. He didn't want anyone near him, but especially not this pushy Mudblood.
"Where are my clothes?" he croaked.
"In the dustbin, where they belong." Hermione gave him a scrutinizing look and took a step back.
"You've thrown them into the trash? Are you a few sandwiches short of a picnic?" Manley sat up as well as he could on his pallet and stared at her lividly. "I should bend you over my knee, you ignorant woman! Those were my ONLY clothes, what am I supposed to wear now? Get me something to wear, IMMEDIATELY!" he yelled at her, his voice breaking.
"Come off of it already! You don't really think I would throw away your so-called clothes and not bother about getting you new ones?" Hermione endured his accusations calmly. "Besides the fact that your clothes were so torn that you couldn't have worn them because they consisted of nothing but shreds, they were also so filthy you couldn't have gotten them clean even by bringing them to the dry cleaner's. So I brought you some new ones.
She rummaged through the considerably larger backpack she had brought this time and pulled out a pair of jeans, a couple of shirts and some underwear. With a flourish she dropped them into his lap. "You don't have to thank me," she told him loftily, "I know someone at the local charitable society – the father of one of my students. He has given me these in exchange for a small donation: I got them practically for free."
"That would be the day. Why would I want to thank you? If it hadn't been for you, I would still have my clothes, not to mention my health and what's more, some peace and quiet!" Manley growled crossly, but notably calmer.
He held up the shirts approvingly and noticed with the look of a connoisseur that, although they might not comply with the latest fashions, they were by far the better than any he had worn in years. She even appeared to have chosen the right size for him.
He started to laboriously pull one of the shirt onto his heavily bandaged upper body, since he was dressed only in a tatty pair of pyjama bottoms, but he failed, if only for the fact that Miss Granger seized it with ease and with one pull wrenched it from him.
"You don't need to wear that, I have several more pieces of casual clothing."
Triumphantly she held up a black tracksuit and in her other hand he spotted a pair of striped pyjamas. "You're not seriously suggesting I wear that?" Manley's bushy eyebrows moved upward.
"Of course you will. Because you'll be spending the next couple of days in bed; you need some more rest, otherwise your wounds cannot heal properly, they'll be ripped open again and..."
Testily, Linus interrupted her flood of words. "There's no reason for you to care about any of that. I'm not going to let you tell me when to stay abed and when to get up. Besides, I need to eat and I can only get my hands on some foot outside of my bed."
"It's not necessary for you to get up. I'll bring you food."
Hermione didn't wait around for his answer, which was sure to be a rejection. She bustled out of the room, ignoring his resentful mutter with respect to her patronising attitude. She had decided to help him and she wasn't going to let his rejection keep her from doing exactly that. Swiftly she moved a couple of floors down, where she had discovered the kitchen shortly after arriving here. Of course it was just as neglected as everything in this house, but it worked just fine with respect to keeping the provisions cool. After she had cleaned one of the cupboards, she used it to store different kinds of foodstuffs. She had ascertained, after a short survey of his cupboards, that this impossible man didn't have any provisions apart from a few bottles of liquor and a mouldy loaf of bread. She was glad she brought decent food. Quickly, she arranged a couple of sandwiches and some pieces of fruit on a disposable plate and moved back upstairs.
He had actually stayed in bed, she noticed with satisfaction, even though he was still sitting upright. He gave her a dark look as she re-entered the room and deposited the food in front of him with a flourish. She also saw with a little amusement that he had donned the tracksuit. The ugly man scrutinized his food thoroughly.
"Just start eating already, I didn't poison anything," Hermione had to suppress a grin; she knew that if she showed any levity in the face of his mistrust, all hell would break loose and he'd probably throw the food at her head. He needed to eat though: as she was treating his many wounds, she'd had the opportunity to take in his gaunt and grimy body. She comforted: "If you eat well and rest, you'll be back on your feet all the sooner and then you'll be rid of me."
This must have tipped the balance, for Manley reached for the bread and took a bite with gusto. Despite the fact that he controlled his ugly features expertly and forbid himself to show any emotion, Hermione could see a small, blissful smile. He probably didn't get a properly prepared meal very often. Ardent pity flowed through her at the thought and made her turn her head away; she didn't want him to see her compassion, it would only serve to anger him once again.
Manley enjoyed his food in silence, looking out of the window and appearing to watch the trees that swayed gently in the wind. Only when he had finished the last bite, he turned back to face her.
"Why?"
Hermione shook her head briefly: she didn't understand what he was asking her.
"Why are you still here?" he specified.
"You need help; you were gravely injured. I will return a couple more times, until you are well again," she stated firmly.
"You should have just left me here to die." Resigned, he closed his eyes and sank back onto the pillows; he was tired of keeping up appearances. She just wouldn't disappear and he could bear her worried countenance no longer. He didn't want pity. Least of all from her. She should just leave him be, let him live his god-awful life. It was no use, either way; the five years were almost over.
"You cannot be serious, sir! Did you really expect me to leave you to your own devices, badly injured as you were? After all that has happened?"
She added quietly: "I am to blame for your condition."
"I should have ignored your screams and minded my own business. I didn't follow my own rules, therefore I am responsible for what happened to me. I have gotten my just deserts and I should have died." He shared these insights with eyes closed and face averted. He wanted her to go and leave him alone. Alone with himself, this horrid, loathsome caricature of a man, which he would remain for the rest of his miserable life. Alone with his self-hatred, which seemed to be eating him alive...There was nothing at all likeable about him...nothing whatsoever...! Quite the contrary: nobody would ever even think of feeling anything for him but pity at most. Once again he succumbed to the well-known depression, which he had been afflicted with these four long years.
A small tear made its way down his deeply grooved face. That's all he needed: he was starting to cry in the presence of this girl now! He was a snivelling wimp; it was unbearable. He hated himself! Dumbledore should have killed him right off the bat, rather than subject him to such torture.
With difficulty, he moved, turning his back towards her as well as averting his face.
"Just go. Go and leave me alone," he murmured quietly, but loud enough for her to hear. He had no more strength left, he just wanted to stop thinking, wanted to close his eyes and escape this world forever.
She misunderstood him. Of course he wanted to be alone for a while, have some private time...
"I'll go into the kitchen and maybe clean up a little. I can stay a little while more, before I have to go. If you need anything..." Hermione turned around and wanted to leave the room.
"JUST FUCK OFF! I WANT YOU TO LEAVE MY HOUSE. GO AND NEVER RETURN! GET THE HELL OUT!" he roared furiously from behind her, mobilizing all of the strength left to him.
Hermione cringed in light of these rancorous words: she had never, in her life, met a man so bitter and stubborn, that you had to practically force good luck on him.
Resolutely she turned around and stepped up to the bed. She wouldn't leave just like that. Even when he believed that he deserved nothing more and maybe even rightly so, she would feel guilty for the rest of her life, for leaving a person in need to fend for themselves. He had saved her life and she owed him this at least, no matter if he saw things entirely differently.
He had turned back towards her and she could see the tears in his eyes. Bright as little lakes they glittered. For the moment, however, she ignored his obviously shaken state of mind: she had gotten rather worked up herself because of his unexpected attack. She would give him a piece of her mind once and for all.
"I will not go and leave you alone right now, under no circumstances! Whether you want me to, or not, I am staying, at least until you are recovered, so you better get used to that. You're still weakened by the injuries you sustained and it is foolhardy to get this worked up. You're expending strength you simply don't have at the moment. You're going to have to endure my presence for a while longer, so get over yourself!"
He took a deep breath and she could tell he was about to give her a piece of his mind, good and proper. She didn't want to let it get that far. With a dismissive gesture she nipped his unspoken sentence in the bud and instead bend over, so she could look straight into his eyes, which were now glittering with fury.
"I will now go and take care of the filth in the kitchen: after that I'll change your dressings and you will sleep. I advise you to listen and do as I say, you'll get well all the more quick for it. As soon as you're more or less healthy, I'll leave, but not before. It's up to you, therefore, to determine how much longer you'll have to endure my presence here."
Again, she didn't wait for his reply: under no circumstances would she let herself be dragged into a discussion by him. Abruptly she turned and left the room with her head held high, closing the door behind her with a bang. She hadn't gotten far when she heard a clattering noise: he must have given expression to his anger in the only way left to him, even if it meant destroying some of the few functioning items he could call his own.
She sighed and continued on her way into the depths of the mansion. Sometimes it would have been really practical to still have her wand; if she did, she wouldn't have to clean up the mess the Muggle way.