Author's Note - Couple of housekeeping items to address before there's any further confusion (or complaints). Harry is only a minor character in this story. There's a very valid and stylistic reason why his sections aren't as long and detailed as Hermione's. That will not change. This is a Hermione story, not a Harry story. His bits are only there to enhance her story as will become more evident in future chapters. We are still only in the very beginning so maybe wait a bit longer to see how the story unfolds before suggesting another way I should write it. Or maybe just trust me as a storyteller. I've been told I'm not bad.

Also, I would encourage everyone to return to the first chapter to reread the definition of the story's title to understand what this story is about. If you're looking for a fluffy, uncomplicated story that doesn't address the various types of depression that this story does, you should seriously read another story... or open your mind to something different. No character is perfect in this story (or in any of my stories) so please stop expecting that. You'll be very disappointed. Pay close attention to the story genres in the summary. I didn't choose "Action and Adventure" for a reason. ;)

Chapter Five

Eight months had come and gone since the last time Harry stepped foot on his native soil. He couldn't say that he missed it. When there was nothing left to delay him in Greenland, he reluctantly grabbed on to the old boot that promised to take his entire team straight to the Ministry of Magic. The other men chatted incessantly of the first thing they were going to do when they got home. Two planned on kissing their wives, locking them both in their bedroom, and getting started on expanding their families. The single wizards thought of nothing more than heading straight to the Leaky Cauldron where they expected the other patrons would keep them in fire whiskey all night long.

"What about you, Harry? With a name like the 'Dementor Destroyer', you'll have the entire country begging to know all of the details of your adventures."

He knew that Rupert was only teasing him, but it didn't sit right in Harry's gut. Each one of them were right next to him as the dementors were destroyed. They'd fought every bit as hard as he did. All he'd done was learn how the monsters could be defeated. Without them by his side, he would've been dead months earlier. Would their names be lost to history in favor of his? Not even a decade had passed since Voldemort died in the Great Hall of Hogwarts and already Ron and Hermione were nearly forgotten. Sometimes little more than footnotes in the historical accounts, how long before his former best friends' contributions to the war were either struck from the record or worse, attributed to him instead? Being the hero wasn't as grand as it was all made out to be.

"Maybe I'll invite Rita Skeeter out for drinks. She can tell the country a far more interesting story than I could ever dream of."

The men all laughed. Even Harry managed to force a grin on his own face. They all knew how he felt about the horrible reporter who somehow still had a job after telling lies for decades. One night around a campfire following a particularly gruesome and violent battle, Simon surprised them all with a copy of Skeeter's latest book about the last war. His wife somehow managed to owl it to him when they were on the move. Knowing that at least eighty percent of it was false, he read several pages out loud to the weary warriors. Just as he did waiting for the international portkey to activate, Harry forced himself to smile and laugh with his comrades even as he was seething inside.

He was grateful for the sudden pull behind his navel. For at least a few seconds as they hurtled through time and space, no one could ask him any other questions he didn't want to answer. Once the squeezing and spinning stopped, his feet landed on the marble floor of the Minister's office.

"Welcome home, gentlemen. We've been anxiously awaiting your return."

Harry smiled at Kingsley. When his hand was offered, he shook it dutifully. Whatever was asked of him in the coming hours, he would do it. The Minister had done so much to help him complete his mission. Already back just a couple of minutes, his face hurt from the false grins. How much longer would he be required to keep up the show?

Hermione wasn't exactly worried about Barty being gone, but she was annoyed. Not least of all because he'd left a sink full of dirty dishes and the kitchen table still had a plate with half his lunch still sitting on it. If he was going to be stuck in her house any length of time, they would have to come to some sort of understanding or agreement. He wasn't a child who couldn't pick up after himself and she for damn sure wasn't his mother. Briefly, the thought of contacting Winky at Hogwarts to see if she would be interested in moving in crossed her mind.

No, Barty was an adult. He would have to learn how to be one. As far as she could see, he'd never really been free to take on the responsibilities required to be a productive member of society. At seventeen he was seduced by his Dark Lord. He was in Azkaban convicted of helping the Lestranges before he was out of his teens. After being smuggled out of the prison after only a year, he moved into a new prison in his childhood home under the watchful eye of his stern father. Only the months after he managed to escape from his father's control to masquerade as Professor Alastor Moody offered him any amount of freedom in his life. Before the end of that school year, he was Kissed by the dementor and left for dead. When would he have been able to learn the lessons that every other adult simply took for granted?

The book about the war was left behind. It looked as if he'd finished it before wandering off. It was impressive that he was able to keep enough focus to finish the entire volume. For being so informative, it didn't make for the most exciting reading. Perhaps that was one of the main reasons why it had not sold well. She supposed there wasn't much else for him to do over the previous twenty-four hours than read. If she taught him how the television worked, maybe he wouldn't have had the necessary boredom to power through the rather dry text.

Though she didn't really want to, Hermione stepped back inside her home to put her cloak back on. The rain was only falling harder. If she was going on a search, she refused to get sick in the process. Properly protected in her cloak, she returned to the back garden and started to walk. She lived in a fairly rural area. A lot of distance existed between her home and her nearest neighbor. When she left Hogwarts, she tried living in the city again, but it was too loud, too cramped. After being at Hogwarts, she longed for space and peace.

There was no sign of Barty anywhere near her house. For all she was aware, he had been gone for hours. He could've gotten a ride from some kind, unsuspecting stranger who hadn't the first clue what a dangerous monster he was. One owl to the Auror office and she knew she could find out where he wandered off to, but she stopped herself from immediately jumping to that route. She didn't want to have to admit that within one day she'd already lost control of her house-guest. The thought of Auror Savage lecturing her about being more careful put her off that idea as well. He was a respected Auror who also just happened to make her uneasy. She didn't know why. Every time she was in his presence, she felt like she was annoying the wizard just by breathing. If she could avoid him, she would.

The more she considered it, the more she was sure she knew where he'd gone. They were too much of a draw even to those who lived nearby and saw them all the time. After only a few minutes at a leisurely pace, she approached the massive cliffs that overlooked the ocean down below. Stunning in their grandeur, she never grew tired of the area. It was the biggest reason she bought her house where she did. When she needed to think, she would wander towards the edge of the cliffs to watch the crashing waves down below. The cliffs were the main reason she couldn't imagine moving back to the city. Where could she stand in the city and be in awe of the natural beauty?

A figure in the distance grew larger the further she walked. The closer she got, the more obvious it was Barty. His back faced her as he stared out at the vastness of the ocean. Hermione relaxed slightly. At least she wouldn't have to be berated for losing him yet. Would anyone care if she just pushed him over the edge instead? There was no way a person could survive that fall. Not only was the drop too far, there were jagged rocks below and violent waves to pull a person under.

The cold early December rain picked up. It was freezing outside. Why was he standing out there so still in such horrible weather? Where was the brand new cloak Madam Malkin sold them just the day before? Barty didn't even turn to look at her when she stood next to him. His attention was too fixated on the landscape.

In silence they both stared at the crashing waves. Hypnotic in their own way, she could feel herself calming down after a frustrating twenty-four hours just listening to the familiar sound. When the weather was better, she slept with her bedroom window open just so she could hear the waves. It was a much cheerier place when it was warmer.

But Hermione preferred the cliffs when it was dreary and depressing. She found comfort there even as she wished it could be a little bit warmer. The cold that went straight to her bones was hard to shake.

Despite all of her efforts to focus her mind on other thoughts, she couldn't help but think about Harry and the mission he'd just completed. How cold was it where he was? Up at the very top of the world, he must have dealt with temperatures she could only imagine. Adding in the chilling effect of the dementors, she wasn't sure how anyone could survive the conditions. They must have been frightful. How did one fight against a dementor? What memories would they pull from her head if there was one there? When she was around them in her third year, she wasn't nearly as interesting a target as the dementors guarding the school and patrolling the village preferred. In the brief seconds she was around them, she thought about the times when she was bullied by the children in her neighborhood before she knew she was a witch. Or she thought about the night she cried in the girls' lavatory with a mountain troll. Though it had been the moment that solidified her friendship with Harry and Ron, it hadn't been the happiest of memories.

She imagined that a dementor would pull memories from the war. There were plenty to choose from. But would that be all? She had other moments before and after the war when her heart had been broken. In the dead of night when the rest of the world was asleep, she would replay the worst moments of her life over and over again hoping to find some sort of resolution that never came.

The cold rain had its own dementor-like effect. Or was she already feeling like that before she stepped outside? Some days even the simple act of taking a breath could feel heavy and too hard. Only the sheer determination that she had something to prove to the witches and wizards who refused to believe in her got her out of the warm cocoon of her bed. She would've much rather wasted her days hiding away from the world. Idleness made her think too much. Part of the reason she worked so hard was to keep her mind occupied. When she allowed herself to think, she didn't like how she felt. There were thoughts inside her that were better left unthought.

"Did you find a law that'll send me back to Azkaban?"

"Not today. Maybe tomorrow."

Barty's voice broke the spell rooting her in place. He could catch his death of cold if he wanted, but that didn't mean she had to stand out there with him. Hermione turned away from the cliffs and headed back towards the comfort of her home. The further she got from the cliffs, the heavier the feeling in her chest grew.

Back inside her house, she changed out of her damp work clothes to something warm and more comfortable. She made sure that her jumper was extra baggy. If Barty uttered another disgusting remark about her physical attributes, she wasn't sure she would be able to stop with just harmless stinging hexes. His mouth was something else he needed to learn to control. Not everyone would be as patient as she had been.

Nothing helped to warm a person up like a hot cup of tea. She was in the middle of filling up the kettle from the tap when the back door opened. Barty stepped inside, dripping water onto the floor from his hair and clothes. Entirely by reflex, Hermione pointed her wand at him to dry him off, even adding a warming charm at the end. It was something she would've done for anyone, especially if they were making a mess on her clean floor. He didn't even flinch when she raised her wand. Was he in a constant state of expectation that she would at some point curse him? When he realized what she was doing, he started to laugh.

"Scared I'll get sick?"

"I'd rather not have to deal with a dead body in my house. I have enough to concern me as it is."

Her answer only seemed to amuse him more. With a smirk still on his face, he pulled out a chair at the table to sit again. He opened the leather-bound book, flipping through the pages near the end.

"Is this all true? History books don't always get it correct. This chap didn't seem to embellish the facts, but you can't be too sure."

"Yes, it's all true. Very reputable sources from both sides contributed and the research was very thorough."

"It might have been a little more interesting with a few embellishments, but it was informative."

Barty continued to turn the pages near the back of the book. Despite loathing the man, Hermione couldn't deny she was curious to know what he was thinking. Because of his actions the war began. Maybe it would've happened eventually anyway, but they couldn't be entirely sure. What did it feel like to know you were personally responsible for such devastation on a grand scale? His specific part in what happened was largely shielded from the public by the Ministry. He was mentioned in the book only briefly. Somewhere in the middle of the vast appendix, he stopped flipping the pages.

"That little Creevey chap used to make me laugh when I read his essays."

There was a sad smile on his face that surprised her. Was he actually feeling remorse? It hardly seemed possible. He'd already proven he was a disgusting, maniacal monster. Imagining him feeling anything remotely close to sadness made her angry. Bitterness welled up inside of her.

"Colin wasn't even supposed to be there. I don't know how he was. Muggle-Borns were all in hiding or in Azkaban after sham trials. He should've stayed hidden. Then he would be alive today."

No longer able to remain in the same room with him for another second, Hermione dropped the kettle back down and stormed out to her bedroom. Tea no longer seemed important. The ire boiling in her veins kept her warm enough.

A picture frame fell off the wall when she slammed her bedroom door shut. How could one person make her so angry so quickly? It was as if he had a special talent for pushing the exact wrong buttons to set her off. Needing to calm her racing heart, she stood in front of her window to look outside.

Already dark thanks to the early sunsets that time of year, she couldn't see much of anything. The days might have been shorter, but they still dragged on. She was half-tempted to floo over to Kingsley's house, beg for forgiveness, and let the aurors come take the horrible man away. Only the fact that it would've been technically against the law stopped her. Why did she care so much about what was legal and what wasn't? This was far more than just her job. No one would blame her for making an exception where he was concerned. She might have even gotten cheers.

A soft knock at the door tore her out of her thoughts. Before she could yell at the wizard to leave her alone, the door was already opening. She didn't look away from the window. There was only one person it could be and she wasn't in the mood to see him again. Why didn't she seal her bedroom when she made her dramatic exit? And furthermore, why did the man think it was all right just to enter her private room without permission? He was already getting far too comfortable in her home for her liking and it had only been a day.

Carefully, Barty placed a teacup and saucer on the small table she stood next to. He stepped back to give her some space, but didn't leave the room. Sighing, she picked up the tea to take a sip. Even she wasn't going to fight over what appeared to be a kind gesture. Maybe he was actually trying to make their new living arrangement bearable. It couldn't have been easy to be forced into the personal home of someone with a hatred and vendetta against him. She'd hated the Crouch family ever since she saw a terrified Winky sitting in the top box at the Quidditich World Cup Final.

One sip was all that was required to surprise her again. It tasted exactly how she liked it, how she fixed it for herself. He must have paid attention to how she made it that morning when she thought his entire focus was on the book. Hermione was unsure if she should be impressed he was that considerate or annoyed he was staring.

"I hated my father. You know, I can honestly say I can't remember a time I didn't feel that way. Must've been born hating him."

Hermione turned away from the window to look at him. Thoroughly confused, she didn't understand why he would say that. It seemed such a random thing to announce. She wasn't surprised to know he hated his father. Anyone who knew a fraction of their history would assume that was how he felt. Why would he tell her that?

"He hated me too. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him or up to his impossible standards. I tried in the beginning to make him proud of me, but it was no use. Do you know what he said to me the day I received the results of my Owls?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I earned twelve. Not an easy feat. Nearly killed myself trying to study and take the necessary lessons. Many of the classes I had to study on my own. It was madness, but I foolishly believed if I could do it, finally my father would be proud of me."

Part of her felt like an intruder listening to the man's story, but Hermione couldn't deny she was curious. By all outside accounts, the Crouch family had been perfectly respectable, even admired. There was no question that Bartemius Crouch Senior would one day become the Minister for Magic. It was only a matter of time. Everything changed when it was discovered that his teenage son was a Death Eater. The shame and stigma never left the Crouch family.

"My father looked at my results, never once cracking a smile. I was only one of handful of students to ever earn that many Owls. Instead of telling me I'd done well or he was pleased, he demanded to know why I got an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Ancient Runes instead of an 'Outstanding'. All of that and I was still a disappointment."

Barty scoffed. How many years had gone by and yet he was still wounded by his father's callous response? Hermione might've felt sorry for him if he wasn't such a monster.

"You ever hated someone so much you couldn't even think about them without getting angry?" He scoffed again. "What am I asking? Of course Little Miss Perfect never has."

"I have."

For a brief moment surprise flickered across his features. Surprise and something like admiration? There wasn't time to analyze his facial expression. When he continued, she was thankful he didn't bother to ask her who it was she hated with such a passion.

"I was young and I was stupid and I was full of so much hatred it nearly choked me. What could I do to hurt my father in the worst possible way? When I was seventeen I considered killing him. It was very tempting, but it felt too easy. Humiliating him, ruining his reputation, and taking away the chance for him to become Minister, the only thing I think he ever really wanted, appealed more to me. So I became a Death Eater and ruined his life just as I ruined mine."

It was Hermione's turn to scoff in disbelief at the nonsense she'd just listened to. She couldn't believe his nerve. What was he trying to accomplish? Was he trying to make her feel sorry for him? He was unbelievable. Sensing she was getting angry, he continued with a vain hope her mood would improve.

"I wish I could've found another way to punish my father that didn't end up with so many people hurt. I was young and too selfish to see very far."

Every word he uttered only made it worse. She could feel her anger growing.

"Do you expect to be forgiven for what you did just because you're sorry about it now?"

Barty started to respond but she really wasn't interested in his answer. She spoke over his first word, prompting him to stop trying.

"You helped torture two lovely, good people into permanent madness and then years later when you were pretending to be a man you kept locked in a trunk for months, you had the audacity to try to comfort their son you traumatized in a lesson. Then you attacked Viktor, killed your own father, attacked Fleur, attacked Viktor again, helped Cedric get killed, and nearly got Harry killed. And all of that is just what I know you did. I haven't got a clue what you did for Voldemort before you got involved with that crazy bitch Bellatrix."

Other than flinching at her saying the name of his Dark Lord out loud, Barty made no expression. Nor did he try to say anything in response or try to defend himself for his indefensible actions. What could he say? Nothing she said was a lie and they both knew it. She almost wished he would try to explain away his past indiscretions. Maybe his attempts would be humorous.

"You're rubbish, Crouch. No, that's far too kind. You're the smelly, disgusting black liquid that pools in the bottom of the rubbish bin."

Just off the top of her head in that second she couldn't imagine anything worse to call him. No doubt upon further reflection in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep, she would come up with something much better she would wish she could've said instead. It was always the way.

"I never said I wasn't."

Unwilling to argue and not seeming to be offended, Barty quietly slipped out of the room. She turned back to stare at the darkness when she heard the bedroom door click shut. Only the night before she wondered what it was that motivated him to become a Death Eater, but once she knew, she wished she didn't. It would've been easier to hear he wanted to kill all Mudbloods or the prospect of power was too great to ignore. Knowing he only became a Death Eater to upset his father was such an immature, juvenile reason to throw his life away. It was exactly the sort of thing a child who didn't fully understand the concept of forever or how consequences could ruin a life before it even began would think up.

His youthful mistake humanized him. She couldn't afford to let that happen.