"Fas est ab hoste doceri."

Chapter One

Hermione

She thought the war was over.

They all did.

He-who-shall-not-be named..no, there was no reason to be scared anymore...she could say the name–Voldemort was destroyed, his followers were killed, imprisoned, or given the dementor's kiss. A new era had begun, the birth of magical equality, the end of injustice and prejudice. Hermione had moved on and became a member of the Ministry of Magic.

She and Ron had been happy for a time...but that quickly ended. In hindsight, she should have known. Ron was a good enough fellow, a wonderful friend, but not quite right for her (though she couldn't necessarily put her finger on exactly why). They still remained close even after the eventual parting, and for that she was grateful. Harry and Ron had always remained her anchors, just like when they were kids.

Hermione was happy, mostly, at least. After her separation from Ron, she poured herself into work even more than usual. The sun had not even begun to rise when she arrived at the Ministry, and at night, everyone was long gone before Hermione apparated home, collapsing in bed without a moments' hesitation. Hours and hours of work passed by, but she seemed to not notice; at least that is what it seemed like to outsiders.

The truth was she was a bit lonely but felt guilty buggering about, feeling sorry for herself. Rather than cave to the feelings that she abhorred, being productive at work was the most logical decision. After all, there were innocent beings in the wizard world who needed her.

When so much of the world was hurting, how could she possibly rest?

Even still, the endless work was taking its toll. It seemed no matter how much coffee or tea she drank, she still felt exhausted. No matter, though. Work, work, work.

Today, though, was shaping up to be a bit different. Gethsemane Prickle had sent her home after she nearly fell asleep on the job, and despite her most fervent protests, Prickle had sent her away with a simple "Out, Granger. Don't come back until you can stand without yawning. The wizarding world won't crumble while you're gone."

Hermione stifled a petty huff but apparated home in a discontented whiff.

She was greeted by an empty home. Books, unused test tubes, and other miscellaneous trinkets were scattered on her floor and bookshelves. In her productive haste, it had become increasingly obvious that she had neglected tidying up her modest little abode. Then again though, what did it really matter? She was the only one who saw this disaster (natural disaster, perhaps?) besides Harry, Ron, and Ginny occasionally, and they were long used to her chaos. It was a little depressing to come home to such lonely silence, but Hermione forced it out of her tired mind. A nice, long nap would do her some good. The sooner she rested, the sooner she could get back to fighting the good fight. She descended into her bed, not bothering to change.

Oh, to be laying down before sun down. What a foreign concept to her.

Her eyelids soon felt heavy and she fell into a deep slumber, heartbeat slowing to a calm, even pace.

For a few golden moments, the bustle of life had ceased and the loneliness did not plague her.

Barty

Barty had watched her for three weeks now.

He had followed her to work until he encountered the protective charms surrounding the perimeter of the Ministry, in which case he had to begrudgingly turn back to avoid being seen.

From there he would stalk back to her home, which was smaller than he would expect from someone so prominent in the wizard world. It was modest and unassuming. Then again, the bloody mudblood barely occupied her home except to collapse for a few hours (could not be more than four, by Barty's estimate). The girl would then hop out of bed and report back for duty.

It was curious that she would walk occasionally to the Ministry rather than apparate every time, but it gave him valuable opportunities to watch and learn.

He had easily bypassed her home's protective charms without detection. At first it was disappointing; he had expected much more complex magic from the know-it-all, but a thought occurred to him: with the death eaters exterminated, there was very little for her to fear. And, if someone were to attempt to harm her, she was certainly capable of defending herself.

While she was at work he searched for valuable documents, any trace of information that he could use, but found none. The little witch, though her house was an unmitigated disaster, was surprisingly thorough in her secrecy. All that he found were experiments of unfinished spells, books undoubtedly that were read and memorized, and the occasional food wrapper.

Speaking of which, what exactly was he looking for?

He didn't know.

He wasn't even sure why he had been following her. To kill her? To torture her? Both? Perhaps. But why hadn't he made his move yet? What was his goal?

He didn't know any of that, either.

And, the most important of all unanswered questions: how was he alive?

Three weeks ago, his soul was in agony for what felt like three eternities. All that he felt was death, decay, despair. Not pain, for pain would have signified some hint of life, some semblance of the real world. There was no concept of 'self' or being, just a dark hole of what used to be a man. Once, when he was younger, another Death Eater had used the Crucio curse on him for over an hour. He had thought that was the worst pain he would ever experience, perhaps second only to the death of his mother. But that, the dementor's kiss and what came after, made every other painful experience seem like a utopian blessing.

But he fought back, he screamed–did he have a mouth to scream with in this hellscape?–and fought with all of the energy he had left. Then it felt like boiling hot water had been poured over his skin.

Pain. Spirits, he felt pain again.

In one fell swoop, he felt his soul find his body again in Azkaban. He gasped for breath and his nearly-atrophied muscles strained to work as he trembled violently.

He had escaped, foraged for food, survived for as long as he could without shelter, aimless. He didn't know where he was, what year it was, what happened to his Lord.

That's when he found HER.

She had grown from when she was just a child, hair a little less wild and frizzy, soft features transformed into more mature angles. How he hated her and all like her, those godforsaken mudbloods. But rather than wildly attack her as soon as he saw her (which his manic, impulsive nature insisted upon), he chose instead to observe and follow her.

Soon, Barty found himself doing it for a week. Then two. Three.

And he was still doing it.

The door opened.

The mudblood was home early? Did Barty's ears deceive him? Surely not. In all his time of research (that's what he'd taken to calling his little escapade), she had never been home before sundown. He swiftly cast a disillusionment charm and moved to the most out part of the living room so as not to be accidentally discovered.

The girl entered through the door and stared into the living room. Her gaze was so intense Barty feared that she saw him, but then quickly saw the obvious fatigue that her posture revealed. Her gaze was less one of the usual intensity he had seen in class at Hogwarts under the guise of Moody and more one of exhaustion (and a hint of something else, but he couldn't identify what). She walked past him and fell unceremoniously into bed, almost immediately falling asleep.

Well now what?

He ventured closer to the girl, still invisible.

He could kill her now. Well, technically, he could have killed her no less than thirty times before this moment. She was so defenseless as she laid in her bed. Perhaps when she was asleep was the only time she was vulnerable. Awake, she was a valiant foe. He could practically feel the power oozing from her when he followed her. But now...the little mudblood dead to the waking world...he could end her miserable existence.

But he needed answers. Clearly his Lord was dead. The Ministry was still controlled by those who had condemned him, the wizarding world still full of the magically impure. He needed to know what happened. If he made his presence known now though, she would report and have him imprisoned; that is, imprisoned again.

He paced her room. What to do?

His more manic side twitched at the thought of a potential battle. Oh, how he could wrap his hands around her thin pale neck. She would be dead in mere seconds. Or he could wake her up, force a duel, outmatch her (even in his severely weakened state), and truly exemplify his magical prowess before he ended her. He flicked his tongue in rabid excitement.

No! All in good time. He shall get the information he seeks first and then spill her dirty blood.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the air.

"I know someone is in here." The girl's eyes were wide open and she had sat up without Barty noticing.

Bloody hell, he was stupid to have gotten so intrenched in his own thoughts.

He quickly ceased pacing, but it was only a matter of time until she uncovered him.

"Homenum Revelio!" Hermione shouted, instantly revealing Barty, who jumped back. He had no wand, but was still relatively capable without one.

She attacked. "Stupefy!" He deflected it with two hands, gritting his teeth in pain. Deflecting magic with no wand was not as effective and hurt like hell. Still, it was better than being knocked unconscious.

Before he could utter any word of his own counterattack, she casted another spell.

"Petrificus Totalus!" This time he was too slow and found himself completely frozen, hitting the floor with a solid thump.

So much for proving his magical prowess.

His back ached annoyingly as he was sprawled unceremoniously on the wood bedroom floor. Would she kill him? Perhaps, but it was unlikely. Barty remembered her discomfort when he had used the Cruciatus curse on the spider, its inane little body convulsing in delicious anguish. He was hardly innocent, but he knew that the mudblood would be likely to spare the life of even the most conniving perpetrator. Stupid creature.

He felt her wand poke painfully into his neck. Her hair was unkempt and her mouth was twisted into a snarl. A wild look was in her eyes and he could almost smell the adrenaline.

"What do you want? Who are you?" She asked forcefully.

'Well, I can't bloody well talk under this spell, now can I?' Barty thought irritably and resisted the urge to roll his eyes (the only body part the spell did not freeze).

The mudblood seemed to realize that and thought of a different plan. "Alright...I'm gonna ask some yes or no questions and blink once for 'yes' and two for 'no'. Got it?"

Now, he really wanted to roll his eyes. Was he a dog now? Her wand poked deeper into his neck and he thought it better not to tempt the fates.

He blinked once.

"Okay...good. Were you here to kill me?"

Two blinks. No.

A pause. She was looking at his face, probably trying to figure out who he was. Her eyes were observant and intelligent, tearing through, probably, every detail of his being. A moment passed and then realization crept over her delicate features. "Barty Crouch Junior…"

One blink. Yes.

She removed the wand and started pacing worryingly, deep in thought, her brows furrowed like they used to in class as she was hunched over a book. Barty knew he had about an hour left to wait until the spell wore off. Typically first years' spells wouldn't last more than ten minutes, but he knew hers would last far longer as she was far more advanced than most, even those far past her age. Until it wore off, he was at her mercy.

The mudblood looked at him and he was surprised to not find a trace of anger in her eyes. Distrust, yes. Fear, yes. But, curiously, not anger. Perhaps that was an emotion saved for later when she figured out exactly what to do with him.

Hermione

What in Merlin's name was she going to do with him?

More importantly, how on Earth is this traitorous fiend still among the living?

Hermione paced her floor once again as the man lay sprawled on her floor. His eyes were a light brown, and they darted around energetically, taking in as much stimuli as possible. Perhaps he was assessing what objects could prove to be used as useful weapons against her when the freezing spell wore off. Regardless, it really did not matter. She would not give him the luxury of freedom, which meant she had to brainstorm quickly, and decide on the wisest course of action.

She could report him to the Aurors, and let the law carry out its purpose to the fullest extent. Barty Crouch Jr. would be unlikely to escape capture again, especially since the rest of his comrades were more or less gone forever. However...the bureaucracy of both the law enforcement and Ministry of Magic had always frustrated her. The process was slow, inefficient, and sometimes very ineffective. News of Crouch's reappearance would bring the Wizarding world back into the chaos it had just gotten over, and the Ministry of Magic would be tempted to hide the entire thing...keep the news completely quiet and dispose of him without a word. Then, almost no information would be collected, and anything bad would be swept under the rug. Though Hermione was usually a staunch rule-follower, she simply could not abide by standing to the side while those above her engaged in deception and malpractice.

So, again, what was she to do with Crouch?

Perhaps she could do some of her own research, collect data and assess just how bad this situation could potentially be? It seemed risky.

Hermione looked back at the man on her floor who had now taken to staring at her. It was a cold calculating stare. Much different from his hurried glances a few minutes ago. She briefly wondered what he thought she was going to do to him. Kill him? Report him?

She could always ask him.

No! Who cares what he thinks? It would be dangerous to let him speak.

But then again, Hermione was at a total loss of what to do.

With a flick of her wand, the young witch released him from the Petrificus Totalus spell and quickly casted another "Incarcerous!" in order to bind him but still allowed him to speak.

Before he could say a word, Hermione beat him to the punch and spoke. "Don't even think about trying to hex me. I have a shield charm and I'll incapacitate you before you have a chance of attacking. I want to talk, but if you prove too savage to communicate without violence, I'll bind you, and we will apparate straight to the Ministry of Magic. Do you understand?"

Barty snarled and spit at her feet. "You dirty mudblood. You believe I am afraid of those gutless, spineless, cowardly pieces of debris?"

She did not react to the angry display. That was what he wanted, after all, so instead she stayed level. "Maybe you aren't scared of them...but what about the dementors? Hm? I don't know how you escaped the first time, but I know you won't for a second. Do you want to face those again?"

His face, though already naturally pale, turned two shades paler. He was silent, but she took his change of color as an answer enough. "That's what I thought." Replied Hermione, feeling satisfied. "Now...how exactly did you escape?"

There was silence again, but she could tell he was thinking, parsing out in his mind just how much information he was to divulge, if any at all.

"I don't know."

She guffawed. "You don't know? That's ridiculous–"

"–quiet, little mudblood. I speak the truth. I have no idea how I escaped the dementors. I was consumed by them, and suddenly I was not. And now I am here." Spewed Barty with a vicious anger that threatened to burst from the seams of his being. It was strange how the many could vacillate from calm to rabid in a matter of moments, but it was just a testament to his lunacy.

Still, it was quite strange that the dark wizard would lie, especially upon threat of being returned to the dementors. Perhaps Hermione could use the Veritaserum, but it was unlikely to be effective in getting Crouch to spill what he knew considering his altered and deranged psyche. Hermione resisted the urge to sigh frustratedly as she was becoming increasingly uneasy at the situation. It seemed she would have no choice but to take the man at his word...for now, at least.

"Well then," spoke Hermione with an air of derision and stubbornness aimed toward the man who was magically incapcitated before her. "The Ministry of Magic can not be alerted to this...new development...just yet. There would be automatic panic in the street at the sight of you. So, I suppose I have no choice but to investigate myself. And you are going to help me."

If Barty could have moved more muscles, he looked as if he would laugh from pure shock. "Me? Help you?" A cruel sound that bare resembled laughter crept from his throat. "You used to be quite bright, but now it appears that you've lost your bloody mind. You really think I would ever help you, you disgusting little mudblood?"

She pointed her wand at him again, pressing it up against his temple."–call me a mudblood one more time and it will be the last thing you ever do." She dug her wand into his head with more force. She knew it was probably hurting him quite a bit, but in her anger all empathy was cast out into the ether.

Mudblood. The slur against "non-pure" wizards that had been weaponized against Hermione since she was young. It sent a spark of rage through her body that lit every nerve on fire. She could kill this disgusting, murderous piece of debris right now. She was certainly angry enough to, She had definitely not worked her way up through the Ministry of Magic, facing every task, test, or obstacle in her way with ease just to be called a mudblood by a wizard that should not even be alive in the first place. She was close to striking him down but once again the more intelligent, rational part of her cautioned her against it.

"Calm down," Spoke her conscience, thoughtful and decisive as always. "This is exactly what he wants. He wants you to lose your head, your coo. Strike him down now and you'll be no better than him and will have lost your only lead to finding out how he is still alive. Patience. The truth is close if you only look."

Hermione fought back another sigh. She knew her rational side was correct. Relaxing her wand from his temple (which left a little blood, she noted), Hermione took a calming breath and stepped back.

"Yes," Answered Hermione to his question. "Yes, I do, in fact, believe you will help me. Otherwise you'll return back to your dear friends the dementors, and you will never see or taste freedom ever again. Not only that, but your precious revolution will be dead forever."

She waited a moment for effect, letting the dark wizard carefully consider her words, then continued. "So, you will help me. Help me find out why you are alive, and help me uncover if more death eaters are alive and if that means that...he...is still alive."

Him. Voldemort.

A simple question. "Lots of demands on your side. What do I get out of it?"

A simple answer. "Life."

Her eyes met his. She could see an angry, unhinged fire just behind his dark brown eyes, but even beyond that she could see calculation and intelligence. He was thinking again.

His tongue flicked in and out.

"You strike a hard bargain, don't you, Miss Granger?" There was an odd playfulness in his voice, as if he was not taking the situation very seriously, but again, his eyes communicated a seriousness that showed he knew exactly how dire the situation actually was.

"I do, yes." She paused. "Do we have a deal?"

Barty Crouch Jr.'s mouth curled into a cruel smile, the corners of his lips upturning dastardly. "It appears we do have a deal, Miss Granger…for now."