Chapter Eight
There was an immense sense of relief walking away from Hermione, but Harry couldn't ignore the guilt he felt at the same time. It wasn't that long ago that they were still close friends, even best friends. He hated that after months away he couldn't even bear to be in her presence for more than a couple of minutes. Were they doomed to forever be hardly more than strangers who sometimes nodded their heads in greeting if they were unable to avoid each other? It was a dismal future, if so.
What went wrong between them? He supposed it could be any number of reasons. Before he left on his dementor hunt, he knew he had been entirely consumed by his work. Nothing else in his life mattered to him beyond destroying the creatures that had haunted his nightmares since he was thirteen years old. There hadn't been time for much of anything outside of the walls of the Department of Mysteries.
Had he been too selfish? He knew he wasn't always a very good friend. That had been a problem of his for most of his life. For someone who been so lonely and desperate for friendship in the earliest years of his existence, he knew he had a tendency to take those he cared about for granted, especially Ron and Hermione. Some days when he couldn't seem to stop wallowing in the lowest of moods, he thought their lives would've been better off if he didn't become their friend in first year.
The argument Hermione insisted on apologizing for had been his fault. He was the one who started the row right before he left on his mission. Nothing she said that night had been wrong. Maybe her tongue was loosened thanks to the large amount of fire whiskey they consumed, but she was right. He was being reckless and careless with his own life. After years of no reportable incidents with a dementor anywhere near their country, there really wasn't a need for anyone to go looking for trouble.
"What other purpose would you have to hunt them down unless you wanted to die?"
She had been blunt as she usually was. Some days he could roll his eyes and move on quickly from one of her remarks. That night, however, she hit far too close for comfort. Could he ever get to the point where he could dare to admit out loud that part of the appeal of hunting the dementors was the likely possibility he would never return home?
For the rest of the day following the ceremony in the Atrium and accidentally running into Harry in the stairwell, Hermione was distracted. It was nearly impossible to keep her focus on anything for very long. She was glad it was Friday. A couple of days away from work would hopefully help clear her mind. After several truly bizarre days in a row, she needed time to process it all.
When she missed a blatant mistake in one of the contracts she was reviewing, she knew it would be a terrible idea to keep trying to focus on her usual work. A party was going on that the rest of the Ministry was happily participating in. What better opportunity would she have to return to the Archives? No one was likely to disturb her there when there was unlimited champagne in the Atrium.
Just as she expected, none of the clerks were present when she arrived. Rarely needing their help before, she didn't mind. She went straight to the section storing all of the accounts of the Dementor's Kiss. Perhaps there was something there she missed the first time she checked. Kingsley's interruption that day certainly hadn't helped matters.
Each account was as disturbing as all of the ones she read before. How could they as a civilized society ever deemed having a criminal's soul sucked from their body as an appropriate punishment? Several of the instances it was employed in the past were for infractions that wouldn't even doom the condemned to a life sentence in Azkaban in present day. Some were used purely for political reasons. Those were the ones that turned her stomach the most. It was barbaric and unnecessarily cruel.
She couldn't believe the number of times it was used to cover up potentially embarrassing situations for previous administrations. A note was placed in the files stating the Ministry of Magic had evolved past such actions and they were committed to recognizing, yet not repeating their mistakes. She nearly laughed out loud when she saw the date on the memo was from the 1950s. The two incidents where she personally knew of the Dementor's Kiss being ordered a punishment in the nineties were absolutely to cover-up Ministry ineptitude. Cornelius Fudge and his cohorts wanted all trace of evidence that they ever allowed dangerous, and in Sirius' case innocent, prisoners to escape. It was disgusting. The fact that they would authorize the Dementor's Kiss on a captured fugitive an entire year after an innocent child was nearly subjected to it simply because the dementors wanted to was even more upsetting. Of course there were no official reports on how close Harry came to losing his soul when he was thirteen. No, the Ministry would never want to admit that.
Barty was naturally never far from her mind as she read the reports and searched through the laws. He was the reason she was there in the first place after all. He deserved to spend his life in Azkaban after his part in the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. That fact was never disputed. Especially considering he was able to escape within a year of being locked up thanks to the efforts of his parents, he should've been taken right back to Azkaban when his true identity was discovered the night Cedric Diggory was murdered and Voldemort regained a new body. But no, because it was an embarrassment that he was able to evade capture for so long due to everyone believing he was dead and the fact that he successfully imprisoned and impersonated a Hogwarts professor for months, they couldn't afford to let his story get out. He had to be disposed of. Not for the first time she wanted to track down Cornelius Fudge to wherever he was living out his retirement in seclusion to hex him in a sensitive area.
Each time she read about the infliction of the grotesque punishment she wondered what it had been like for Barty to experience it firsthand. Blaise said it was no wonder he suffered from nightmares and she agreed. Would he ever tell her what it was like or was it too horrific and personal to discuss? No one had ever "woken" up after the Kiss. She didn't know the proper etiquette of whether or not she could ask.
Rarely had she been so grateful to see the weekend arrive. Around the exact moment she knew it would make her physically ill to read another account, it was an acceptable time to leave work. Ordinarily she worked later, but she just couldn't stand another second. She hoped she could retrieve her cloak from her office without seeing Blaise. Unfortunately, her luck continued to be terrible.
"Don't forget your dressing gown this weekend if you have to run out of your bedroom in the middle of the night, love. Or, if you wanted to permanently get rid of Crouch, show up in his room completely naked. It'll give him a heart attack and he'll no longer be your problem."
She rolled her eyes, refusing to show him any indication she found him amusing. That would only encourage him. He didn't need any encouragement.
"Have a good weekend, Blaise."
A few minutes later when she entered her front door, she found Barty watching the television again. She couldn't blame him for wanting some sort of escape from reality. There also wasn't much else he could do to pass the time in her house.
Unlike the other days she came home or even just entered the room, Barty wouldn't look at her. Not even when she greeted him and he replied. She thought about what Blaise said that morning when she told him what happened in the middle of the night. Clearly they were both still a little embarrassed.
It also became even more evident that the persona Barty adopted that first day was little more than just an act. She didn't understand him at all. Who was he really?
She turned her back to him to hang up her cloak. In the corner of her eye she could see him watching her in a mirror. When she turned back around, he looked away, pretending like he wasn't staring. It was awkward if also a little funny. For the next two days she wouldn't be able to use work as an excuse to avoid him. What was that going to be like?
Wanting to forget the worst parts of her day, Hermione went straight to her bedroom to change out of her work clothes. As she grabbed an old Muggle coat, she announced she was going to go for a walk. If he said anything in reply, she didn't hear. She needed some time to clear her head after her talk with Harry. Walking always helped.
Even though she had just been outside a short time earlier, she was still surprised by how cold it was. She both loved and hated the month of December. Still early in the month, she knew the harshest parts of winter were still ahead. Shivering in her warm, comfortable clothes, she knew a warming charm would help, but chose to use physical exertion instead. Without a clear destination in mind, she started walking quickly away from her home.
Before she was even aware, she stood on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the ocean below. It wasn't really a surprise. There was a pull there she couldn't deny. No matter how many times she stood on the edge to stare at her surroundings, she was awed by its beauty. The violent waves crashing against the jagged rocks were mesmerizing. For the first time all day, she felt like she could finally breathe.
She felt so small standing next to the ocean. Some days she could find comfort in the same feeling even as it terrified her on other days. What problems she possessed in her life never seemed so significant when she could stare out over the ocean. Her world was only a tiny fraction of the actual world. It was humbling to remember that.
After several minutes watching the waves, Hermione heard footsteps approaching. When she looked up she wasn't surprised to see Barty approach. Part of her expected him to be there. He was drawn to the same place. Standing side by side, neither of them felt the urge to speak for a long time. It was unusual for Hermione to be in someone else's presence without feeling the need to fill up the void with meaningless chatter. Was it Barty? Or some other reason?
"Did you find a law today that will send me back to Azkaban?"
"Not today. Maybe on Monday."
She was certain she would never get used to his amused grin, especially when they spoke openly about the possibility he might soon spend the rest of his natural life in prison. Perhaps his sense of humor was damaged in his younger years. Truthfully, she could find nothing to smile about when it came to Azkaban. It was a dreadful place even without the dementors.
"I'm sorry I woke you up last night."
"I already told you that there's nothing to apologize for. You can't help it when you have a nightmare."
It was evident he was still embarrassed by the events of the early morning. Maybe that's where his change in personality came from. When he stopped being embarrassed he would probably go back to being obnoxious. She thought it in her best interest to enjoy the differences while they lasted.
"What about silencing spells? You could cast them around my room so if it happened again, you wouldn't have to listen."
"No! Absolutely not."
The thought of him screaming in terror all alone while she slept soundly in the room next door was unbearably sad. She was no monster. Just because she didn't like the man and believed he deserved to be in prison due to his past actions and alliances didn't mean she wished misery and paralyzing fear on him.
"Did the sleeping potion help?"
"Yes, it did. I nearly slept the day away."
"Good. Sounds like you needed to."
Her insatiable curiosity made her want to know what his dream was about, but she didn't ask because she knew it would be rude to pry. Didn't he deserve privacy? Asking him to recall what was clearly a disturbing nightmare for her own selfish purposes was wrong. In the end, it didn't matter if it was rude. Likely Barty could read all over her face what she wanted to know.
"I was dreaming about being Kissed."
Of course she wasn't surprised that was what had him so upset. It was what she assumed. Hermione was, however, surprised he would openly admit it. What was she supposed to say in response?
"That must have been horrible. I'm very sorry."
"Sorry that it happened or sorry that I dreamed about it?"
Hermione turned her face away from the waves to look at his. He looked like he was on the verge of smiling, but she couldn't tell if it was because he was nervous. The more she learned about the wizard, the less she understood him.
"Both. I've never thought that was a humane punishment. Not even for Voldemort. An avada to the chest would be far kinder."
He actually smiled at that. What a bizarre man he was turning out to be.
"You're not wrong."
"I'm glad all of the dementors are dead. Ne one should ever be subjected to that sort of barbaric punishment again. It's awful. I hate that any of my fellow humans could've ever decided that was okay."
All of the graphic descriptions she'd read about the process came rushing to the front of her mind. Even on paper they were horrific. She felt sick to her stomach recalling the details. Blaise was right. It was a miracle that after what he endued Barty wasn't completely insane.
"I'm scared to go back to sleep. What if I dream about it again?"
What could she possibly say to that confession? Hermione felt out of her depth. Sure, she knew a lot about topics she could learn from books, but when it came to emotions that had to be felt and uncovered, she was at a loss. She did at least understand that it was significant that he opened up at all. No one would blame him for never wanting to talk about it. Her hand gently squeezed his elbow, surprising them both in the process. Was she actually comforting the monster? She dropped her hand immediately. It was too weird. He was kind enough not to draw attention to what she did.
"You said sometimes it helps to talk about a bad dream, that it can take away some of its power."
"No, Barty. You don't have to tell me. It's private."
He acted as if he was going to say something else but shut his mouth instead. Each of them returned to watching the ocean waves crashing against the rocky shore. It remained bizarrely comforting to continue standing there in silence. Hermione wasn't sure how much time passed before he spoke again.
"When I close my eyes, I can picture every moment of when I was Kissed. If I could figure out some way to remove those memories, I would do so in a heartbeat. There's a reason why no one was supposed to recover from a Dementor's Kiss. It's too awful."
To prevent herself from rudely blurting out any of the dozens of impertinent questions swirling around in her head, Hermione bit her bottom lip. One of her less than attractive qualities was the tendency to want to take over every conversation she was involved in. It was why so many people in her life started going to extreme lengths to avoid having a conversation with her at all. She knew she could be rude and obnoxious when she wasn't careful. If Barty was ever going to be willing to share his experience, she knew she couldn't push him. It had to happen in his own time when he felt comfortable.
When did she start caring whether or not he was at peace? It was odd. Hermione still believed him to be a hateful monster who deserved a life spent locked up in an Azkaban cell. Likely that would never change. He was the villain in the story no matter how much she could sympathize. It was harder to see the human, relatable side of the villain because it shed an uncomfortable light on the fact that most people were only a few poor choices away from being a villain themselves. No one wanted to consider even for a moment that they had the capacity to be the baddie when in most stories, they were normal people who simply made the wrong decision that put them on the wrong side. Who wanted to admit they were fallible?
Hermione supposed seeing a human side to Barty helped shift her perception of him slightly. He still got under her skin and she wanted him back in Azkaban legally. That was likely never going to change. But, she couldn't ignore the fact that seeing him scream out in abject terror softened her opinion of the wizard ever so minimally. At the very least she didn't want him to suffer unnecessarily.
"My dream felt so real. Like I was back on that awful day with the damned dementor lowering its bloody hood. I'd seen drawings before of what it looked like under their hood, but nothing could've prepared me for the reality. There's no terror quite like that one."
His voice was soft, but Hermione heard every syllable he uttered even over the repetitive sound of the salt water crashing onto the jagged rocks. Once Harry tried to explain what he saw that night in third year he'd been so close to losing his own soul. Before more than a handful of words came out of his mouth, he couldn't continue. It was too terrifying a thought. She never could blame him for wanting to rid the world of their evil even if she selfishly wished he would be more careful.
"How much do you know about the Dementor's Kiss, Hermione?"
"I've read all about it."
Barty smirked at her expected answer but didn't take advantage of the easy opportunity to tease her about it. No doubt he would save that for a less serious, emotional time in the future.
"Reading about it can't fully explain what it's like. I'm not even sure the right combination of words exists in any language to accurately describe what it's like. It's… I don't…"
He exhaled a heavy sigh. Part of her wished she had the ability to pull his memory out so she could see it for herself, but she knew that was a dangerous idea. Would she go mad if she could witness what he saw? She wouldn't be the first one to lose their mind after being subjected to the horror.
"Like you, I'd read all about dementors and the Dementor's Kiss years earlier. For a reason I didn't understand at the time, I was fascinated… no, obsessed with dementors. Perhaps I have a little Seer in me and knew what was coming in my future subconsciously."
His gaze focused on a spot far away in the distance. A shiver went through him that could've easily been explained by the cold wintery air but she knew better.
"I was forced to relive the worst moment of my life…"
He sighed again. What was it? She almost asked him to describe what he heard. At the last second she stopped herself. It wasn't any of her business. If he wanted to tell her, he would. If not, she had to respect his privacy.
"As I listened to the screams in my head, I couldn't look away from the dementor. I wanted to, believe me, but I was frozen. It was impossible for me to know where my memory's screams began and my own ended. More afraid than I imagined it was possible to be, I stared at the dementor. It felt… it felt like my body was being ripped into two pieces. That's the best I can describe it. The pain alone should've killed me. Lots of people didn't survive a Kiss. It was as if someone had taken a sharp knife to my skin and peeled back my flesh until I was nothing but meat and blood and bones. Incredibly painful. It seemed to last for days. I feared I would be stuck in that permanent place of pain for all of eternity. I didn't even know it was over for a long time afterwards."
No one had ever been able to explain what really happened after a Dementor's Kiss. Barty was the first and only person to wake back up with their soul intact. Hermione wanted to ask him to describe what his existence was like after he was ripped out of his body. The words never fully formed on her tongue.
Tears rolled silently out of her eyes. How could anyone treat another human being, even a monster like Barty, so cruelly? She would never understand it if she lived to be a thousand years old. They had to be better than the monsters they punished.
Gently, the back of two of Barty's fingers brushed a tear from her cheek. Startled by the unexpected tender gesture, she nearly gasped. Realizing what he was doing could be considered inappropriate, he stopped at once. Just like after she touched his elbow, it was awkward and tense.
"We should go back inside. The rain is getting worse."
There was no reason to argue with his advice. Every second they remained at the cliffs, the weather grew worse. A storm was likely on its way in. Hermione nodded her head and took the first step in the direction of her home. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to know Barty was close behind.
In comparison to the night before when they shared a meal and had an enjoyable conversation, that evening was much more subdued. After discussing his experiences and remembering how stressful her day had been, Hermione wanted nothing more than a long, hot bath and an early bedtime. Once she made sure there was still enough leftover food to feed her houseguest, she wished him a good night.
As she lay in her bathtub, Hermione thought over every word they said outside. She knew Barty held back the worst details of his experience for her benefit but what she learned was bad enough. It was disgusting what happened to him. She thought it horrific that someone in the Ministry of Magic ever decided that punishment was suitable. He should've been sent back to Azkaban when it was discovered he'd escaped and was impersonating Mad-Eye Moody. He deserved Azkaban. No one deserved to be Kissed.
Her opinion of the whole matter shifted. Barty was correct when he said he'd already completed his sentence. It seemed the ultimate cruelty to force his soul to be removed from his body only to then lock him up in Azkaban. She didn't want to find a law that would send him back to prison. It was wrong and even a monster deserved better.
After her bath, Hermione was surprised she fell asleep so easily. Part of her had been worried she might struggle with the images swirling in her head. She woke up suddenly out of deep sleep. The house was dark and quiet. Her alarm clock showed it was after one in the morning. What woke her up?
She listened for sounds that Barty was having another nightmare. Beyond making him drink another sleeping potion, she couldn't really do anything for him, but hated the idea of him suffering while she slept soundly. When she didn't hear anything, she closed her eyes. Maybe she could fall asleep easily a second time that night. Miracles happened on occasion.
A tapping on her window glass prevented her attempt. With a heavy sigh, Hermione opened her eyes. She had an excellent idea who would be waking her up.