Value and Worth, chapter 9
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Hermione had tried just returning to her bedroom, but had made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as she came upstairs. Somehow, just vanishing the blood felt like it wasn't enough.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub harder, for Merlin's sake!
Hermione held back a gasp as she pressed her towel even more firmly to her face. The white was stained red and as she kept going her face reddened more and more as well. But was it blood? Embarrassment? Or simply the cause of constant friction from the fabric?
Eventually she put it down and washed her face once more, the cool water needed after what she put her face through. It calmed her, made her wake up. All at the same time.
What the hell was happening?
I kissed him. I liked it. Why did I like it?
She swallowed. She knew why. She just didn't want to admit it.
To admit such a thing would mean she would have to face a very dark part of herself. The part that hid behind Prefect Hermione, proudly presenting her badge to her peers. To admit to feeling such things would mean that she'd no longer be able to claim being Hermione the Golden Girl, who helped save them all.
She was all those things, but . . .
She was also the girl who'd trapped a woman in a jar for months. She was the girl who permanently disfigured Marietta Edgecombe. She was someone who stole from the supplies at school, who lied to teachers, who lied and forced her parents out of the country against their wills.
Bend the truth as much as she tried to do among her friends, in the dark of the night, Hermione sometimes drowned in the shame of all her actions. That's not what a hero did. That's not what a girl who claimed to be good did.
Barty showed her a version of herself she tried her best to hide. A dark part that wished for dark things. Who believed she deserved so much more than what she'd been given.
A part that wanted to take. Take what should be hers.
Barty had taken. Barty always took.
And Hermione was jealous.
She sighed and looked into the mirror. The water was still going and her face was cold still, droplets making their way down her face. Hermione Granger's face.
Who was Hermione Granger nowadays, anyway? The rebel youth had been pushed aside to make way for rule abiding Ministry Worker. What had she accomplished since Voldemort? What positive change had her research done? What did she have to prove for her hard work, except snogging a former Death Eater?
What a joke she was.
"Argh!" An explosion of magic created cracks in the mirror in front of her and her reflection was distorted. There was two of her now, two sets of brown eyes looking back.
The illusion is shattered.
Much like the mirror in the bathroom.
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She'd closed herself off again.
Barty watched her intently for minutes, his eyes not blinking, no matter the burn he felt. After a while tears came, but he ignored them. Because if Hermione would look at him, he didn't want to miss it.
But no. She just sat there. Reading her book.
Barty was jealous of the book. He hated it, he wanted to walk up to her, throw it away, out of her hands. Anything to get her attention.
She hadn't been herself since the kiss. It was like a dementor had sucked the life and soul out of the witch and Barty couldn't understand why if she refused to look at him. He was tempted to make her, but what little logic he had left in him urged him to let it be. To be patient.
"Fuck off," he told that patience.
Hermione startled at the sound, but kept on turning the pages. She was used to his mumbles by now. Even able to distinguish between mumbles directed at her and the ones directed at nothing.
Later, when she leaves again, Barty isn't even angry. If what it took for her to gather her thoughts was to go away, he'd gladly endure the torture he was in when she was gone.
Let her return with her mind in order, let her realise that he was right for her. That he belonged to her as she belonged to him.
And, Barty thought, as soon as she does, I'll kill the Badger.
Oh, how sweet it would all be.
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Hermione stared at the ceiling. She knew she should be enjoying her time outside, back at home, in her apartment and her own bed, but . . . it doesn't feel the same. Crookshanks was curled up at her side and she stroked him absentmindedly.
There's something in the back of her mind, begging to be remembered, but she doesn't have a clue of what it could be and for the past couple of days she has done everything she could to find out what it was. She had spent all her time reading and avoiding Barty, knowing if he got an opportunity he'd distract her. Surprisingly, he'd let her.
That was the worst of it, when he showed moments of sanity, rather than insanity. She had no idea what to make of it and it almost seemed like he hid behind his crazy tendencies to disguise his cleverness and calculating nature. Because it all seemed very calculating. He was waiting for something, that much she could deduce, but what?
The more she thought about it, the less sleep she got and here they were, with her exhausted and wondering why she should even bother going to work when she had nothing to show for it?
"What should I do?" she asked her cat. He didn't answer, simply purred at her touch.
Hermione nevertheless rose from bed and soldiered on to work. Once there, she made an immediate dive for the elevator, needing to stop it from going before she had a chance to jump on. "Wait! Oh, thank you so much I—"
There was only one other person in the elevator and out of all the people she'd expected to run into, her best friend isn't one of them. The door closed behind her.
Harry smiled. "Hi!"
Hermione tried to hide her surprise and placed a rogue strand of her short hair behind her ear, attempting too smooth out her robes as well. "Hello, Harry. What er, what brings you here?"
He realised as well what a stupid question that was but decided to be nice and ignored it. "Are you all right?" he asked.
She waved him off. "I just ran over here, that's all."
"Still not the athlete?" Bless her friend for trying to joke right now.
"Afraid not," answered Hermione.
"What floor?"
"I . . . I don't know. I was thinking of going to my office but . . ." She sighed. "How's Ginny and James?"
"They're fine," said Harry. "We all miss you, though. You said the project will be a year at most, right? "
"Yes, I did." One year to understand how Barty was back. One year left for him to live. Now only a few months . . .
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine, Harry. It's just work. I can't seem to find any answers . . ."
He grinned. "Maybe you should have a look in the library, like old times."
She tried to smile with him, but something about what he said stuck. She suddenly gasped. "Actually, I think I will! Thank you, Harry!"
She re-directs the lift and at her floor she left Harry looking more confused than before.
"Cheers?" he called out.
Hermione grinned to herself, a sense of victory at last. She reached the archives, not bothering to greet Mulligan (who was hiding behind a cover of Witch Weekly anyway) and darts right for Barty's file.
As soon as Harry said it, something in her clicked. Something that had been nagging her brain for the past weeks. How come Barty could be so clever and still not try to get out? She knew he was clever, she'd seen proof of it in his records. So why hadn't she witnessed any attempts to escape?
There.
Hermione let out a breath. Her heart was thumping and blood rushed to her ears, but she didn't care. There it was, at last.
Student
Bartemius Crouch Jr.
Subject
Ancient Runes
Grade
Outstanding
Outstanding.
Outstanding!
Hermione could have wept. This explained so much. While she'd been distracted by her own morality, Barty had walked around disabling the runes, weakening them, and having her believe she . . . that she actually cared for him.
Instead, she had just been the subject of a Death Eater's manipulation.
She had to tell someone, she had to tell Croucher!
Hermione hurried to her boss' office, knocking not once or twice, but five times, before the door opened.
"Unspeakable Granger? What is the meaning of this, I was in the middle of my morning tea." Croucher grumbled and set aside his cup, clearly disatisfied. But Hermione couldn't be bothered.
"Sir!" she tells him, closing the door behind her as she walks in. "There is an urgent matter! I believe Barty Crouch Jr could be attempting his escape! I am not there to supervise him and so I need a portkey immediately—"
He waved her off. "There is no danger."
"Sir?"
"There are people in place to watch him whenever you are absent, Unspeakable Granger. You know this."
"You mean the Aurors?"
There was am moment of silence. It unnerved her.
Finally Croaker sighed. "I don't mean Aurors, they are only to be alerted in case of immediate danger. The point is, there is no cause for concern. Now, should it be for the experiment, we will prepare a new portkey for you this evening."
"Thank you, sir."
Croaker then summoned a patronus, a shimmering and soaring crow that perched itself on his shoulder. He whispered his message but Hermione managed to catch some of it.
" . . .Zacharias. . . return."
Zacharias?
And that's when it clicked for her.
Zacharias.
Zacharias Smith.
Hermione swallowed. Badger.
Could it have been him Barty was talking about all those times? Why was he there? He wasn't an Auror. Unless . . .
Unless he was performing an experiment of his own.
It all felt like pieces of the puzzle were coming together. The details, the things Barty wouldn't share with her, the things he alluded to. All those shadows under his eyes, the lashing out he did when she returned. It had all been because of Smith. Her stomach grew cold. What exactly was going on?
She kept quiet however, pretending she never heard the words that changed everything— yet again— and accepted the pincushion portkey Croaker handed her.
Hermione excused herself, feeling nauseous the entire time.
She waited in her office until the time came for the portkey to activate. When it did she prepared for the pulling sensation and prayed she'd keep it together until she arrived. She had no idea where the sick would go while traveling with portkey.
Hermione pushed through it and when she arrived she rushed through the door.
She found the place quiet and eery. Like it had been the other times she'd left.
Now, she suspected the worst. They had hurt him. She knew they must have. But at the same time, Barty had lied to her. He had made her believe she was starting to care for him by messing with the runes. How else could he have got so close?
He had manipulated her and Hermione had been stupid enough to fall for it.
She walked with light steps into the house, further through the hallway. "Barty?" She had so many questions. She thought she had got her answers but there were still things that needed explaining. "Barty? Where are you?"
A creak and Hermoine looked up.
"Hello." His voice was raspy and he looked like he'd been through the Cruciatus curse again. He clutched the railing and Hermione wondered if he had been upstairs when they'd tortured him or if he had crawled his way up afterwards.
She swallowed. "I . . ."
"You're back early," said Barty.
"Y-yes." She trembled. She didn't know why. "I found some information. I thought I should share it with you."
Understanding flashed in his eyes. But his knees gave in when he tried to walk down to her and he collapsed onto the steps. She tried not ask him if he was okay.
He sat up and laughed. It came out hysterical like always, sending a chill down her spine. Like always. "Finally." He looked up and met her eyes, his grin mad.
Like always.
"What?" asked Hermione.
He didn't say anything, he just sat there, grinning. He looked at her like she was something to be eaten. A meal done and ready. A piece of meat, fully cooked. It didn't help that his tongue darted out to lick his lips.
Hermione swallowed. "Barty, tell me about the badger. You meant Zacharias Smith, didn't you? What have they been doing to you? Why was Zacharias here?"
He chuckled. "The same reason you are here."
"I'm here for research! That's what we agreed to, everyone . . ."
"Please, Hermione, you really think they wanted a Death Eater to eat and sleep and live in peace? Use your head! They had to see what would be most effective to get my secrets out! You were the positive. They, the negative."
"So, I am to be the postive influence and once I leave, they come in and torture you? That's barbaric!"
"That's government," said Barty. "I've seen it all my life, the ways of the old and decrepit. They will never change, Hermione. You saved them all from us and they still treat you like an inferior. A mudblood. Did they once tell you about their plans? No doubt they worried you would protest and go tell the Minister of Magic."
She didn't know what to say. All her life she had thought she'd always stand for what was good. What was right. She had been on the side rules and teachers and Harry. But she had always broken the rules and lied to teachers when she thought they were in the wrong. She had naively hoped that it all would change after the war, that her contribution to the war efforts would show them all that a muggleborn could do anything a pureblood could. But perhaps Barty was right . . . maybe they'd never change. Maybe it was all rotten to the core and the only way to truly change things was to change the foundation.
"No," she said, out loud. Her eyes met Barty, blazing. "This is insane. I am listening to a Death Eater about morality! Stop getting in my head!"
He cocked his head to the side. "I'm in your head?"
"Stop! You know you are!" She ran a head through her hair, the short hair that she had only cut because of him. He'd been in her head since they met. Seeing him like that, behind bars, his half-starved body and fully mad eyes, something in her had snapped too. No person should be treated like that under their care, not if they were to call themselves heroes. The good guys.
But it wasn't just him. That would give him too much credit. No, Hermione had seen the good and the bad of the magical world and there was room for improvement. Like any society. She just thought she had a chance to add some good. She just so desperately wanted to be good. He made her question all that. What even was good? The Ministry had gone bad once before and teachers could be evil and hide the Dark Lord under their turban. Who was to say what had to be what. Zacharias had been a Hufflepuff, yet simultaneously one of the worst people she had ever met.
And Barty . . .
"What did they do to you, Barty?" she asked.
"What didn't they do," he answered, hate obvious in the way his jaw flexed and his eyes grew steely.
"I know about the runes." Hermione took a step closer. He tensed up, but she figured it was his turn. "You probably could have escaped by now. Why didn't you?"
She could see the wheels turning in his head and when he looked her in the eyes she made sure to paint a clear picture. That she was done with the games. She had played and she was done.
It was time for the truth.
She took another step, her eyes never leaving him, no matter how exposed she felt. He could rummage through all sorts of things in there, but maybe . . . now that she was willing . . . now that she was ready, ready to hear the truth. Maybe . . .
Barty let out a quick breath. It was small and sounded almost like a sigh. He answered, simply, "For you."
She stopped.
He rose now, hand on the railing, and towered two steps over her. "All I've done has been for you."
Hermione had to look up to meet his eyes, those dark pits of greed. But his voice was so soft now. She felt like the victim of a snake. With the way he peered down on her and she was fixed on the spot, helpless to do anything but watch him back. She could scarcely breathe. For her, he said. He had stayed for her. He had let himself be tortured. For her.
"W-why?" She hated the way she sounded. Like a child again. Not like a woman, a war-veteran. Not like a muggleborn confronting a Death Eater. But like a girl asking a boy why he liked her.
His smirk grew crooked and she could tell he was enjoying her like this. "You have never been able to accept it when people care for you, have you? When they value you?" He descended, one step at a time. "You, the brilliant witch who helped topple the Dark Lord. A mudblood. A nothing. Potter had a prophecy and that Weasley child had a pureblood lineage, no matter what the likes of Malfoy would claim. But you, you were nothing. And yet, I doubt that without you Potter would be alive today. I doubt the war would have been won on your side, if not for you, Hermione Granger."
He came face to face with her now, his breath was warm against her cheeks. Hermione didn't back away. She was still afraid to move. Afraid to break this spell. He was finally telling her all she had wanted to hear. The only thing was, she wasn't sure if it was the plan he had that she wanted to hear or the praise he offered her.
Barty lightly trailed his cold fingertips against her throat. "They were all idiots for underestimating you, Hermione."
He's not wrong, a voice inside her whispered. A dark, seductive voice she'd heard before. After all that you've done, don't you deserve recognition? Don't you deserve to be treated with respect?
"Ever since I came back, since they told me the Dark Lord had lost, I was without hope. It was a new sensation for me," Barty continued. "But then, there you were. And when you told me about the war, the ones responsible for my master's downfall, I realised I had found a new purpose. You."
This time, Hermione shook her head. "No. I am not what you're looking for. I don't want to enslave anyone or hurt anyone, I—"
"I could care less for your agenda," said Barty. "The one thing that matters, you have. I am willing to spend my life persuading you regarding the other things. I have endured unspeakable things for the sake of staying here, by your side, and guide you to this point. You see now, don't you? You see what needs to be done?"
Her mind went against her will to the darkest place of her soul and Barty could see it.
His lips spread wide. "You do. You do see."
"It's only . . . It's only when I think about the way the have treated people, like House-elves and Werewolves and— and . . ."
You.
When the people in power abused it and kicked at those below, what use were they anymore? If they couldn't even protect those most vulnerable, what was the point of them anymore? And what was the meaning in her constant denying that she had grown to care for him? How did one deny the person who could hear her darkest, most selfish desires and make her feel proud of them?
Barty's fingertips travel to linger over her heart. "We both have known the feel of a boot pushing us down. I say it's time to put a stop to that."
He inched closer and Hermione's pulse quickened and grew unsteady. She managed to get one last question out of her lips before they met his. "What is it you want from me, Barty?"
Her eyes remained open when they kiss. She saw it all. They way he hungrily devoured her, the way his eyes would watch her as she watched him, like a sick twisted game none of them was sure on how to win. Was it the last one to withdraw? The last to close their eyes in passion?
Well, to hell with that.
He withdrew and hissed sharply, clutching her hard by the shoulders, squeezing. But she couldn't bring herself to care. Because his lower lip was bleeding. She had done that.
His features are annoyed at first, but it was quickly followed by a slow building chuckle. A rumbling that she could feel against his bony chest. She raised her chin defiantly, and to her horror discovered she was smiling along with him.
"Ah," Barty said, his bleeding lip staining his teeth with red. "There it is."
The kiss that followed tasted of metal and Hermione savoured it. The taste of him. The taste of her.
The taste of power.
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A/N: Oooooohhhhhh, dark. One more chapter and then that's it, lovelies! Thank you for being patient and for the support you've given this story!
Hope you enjoyed!
Until next time!
/Primrue