Value and Worth, Chapter 5

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He'd made a fool of her. Again.

Hermione knew that Barty hadn't meant what he'd said the other day, about fancying her. She knew, and she had known it at the time, and still she had let the shock of hearing him say those words affect her. Honestly, fancy—what were they? Twelve?

Hermione flipped another page of her tome, attempting to drown out her own embarrassment with facts pertaining Werewolf laws. Laws that enraged her enough to forget other things.

There was so much she had set out to do when she first applied for a job at the Ministry. So much she wanted to change for the better. The better of those Voldemort had sought to oppress. She had even relished in the connection she had with the current Minister of Magic, for surely that friendship could prove to be nothing but beneficial in reaching her goal, right?

Sadly, it had quickly turned out that it could. Certainly, Kingsley agreed with her thoughts regarding unfair treatment and prejudice, but he wasn't almighty. There were still endless amounts of paperwork and procedures involved when shaping or removing laws and it had quickly worn on Hermione's patience. Which was why she had settled for the Department of Mysteries. Here at least, she could continue being a scholar. Learning had always been her preference and it was also here that learning could make things happen. If she learned how to make Wolfsbane more accessible, she knew that it would change something. That's why she'd stayed and that's why she was still learning.

Babysitting Death Eaters, however, wasn't.

"Find anything interesting?"

Hermione didn't look up from her book. "Not particularly."

She could feel Barty's dissatisfaction and wasn't surprised when he sat down next to her on the sofa. Thankfully, he wasn't touching her. Yet.

"If it's not interesting, why are you reading it?" he asked.

It was an innocent question, but Hermione couldn't help but let irritation stir. Not knowing someone's motivation for doing things had always unnerved her—plenty of evidence in the past existed to prove that. And here Barty was again, trying to get close to her. Nevertheless . . . "Sometimes, we have to do things we don't like to achieve our goals."

She waited for a response that didn't come. It seemed Barty agreed with her. Thinking about it, that shouldn't have been a surprise. He had no doubt experienced his fair share of unpleasant assignments while on duty. Hermione bit her lip at a sudden thought: wouldn't there be records of him in the Ministry, ones about his days before joining the Death Eaters? She had endless files on his time following Voldemort, but what of his childhood? His days at Hogwarts? Perhaps researching those could be the answer she was looking for, the answer to figuring out his behaviour, his motives?

It was worth a shot at least.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Barty drawled.

Hermione blinked, having not realised she'd stopped reading and been staring into space for a while now. She scoffed. As if you'd need a sickle . . .

Barty watched as she returned to her book. "You're a lot more quiet than I remember," he said, "I remember you used to bounce in your seat, your hand raised high with answers on your lips, waiting for me to acknowledge you. So excited, so . . .eager."

Hermione attempted to ignore him as he leaned in closer.

"What happened to that eager girl?" he whispered.

Hermione took a small, shaky breath. "She grew up."

There was a second of silence, one which had Hermione's left side heat up at the presence of him, that very intrusive presence. One that was so solid and unyielding that you had no choice but to put up with it. When Barty finally spoke, Hermione didn't know whether to be relieved or scared. His smile certainly didn't help.

"So I see," he said, and moved away again.

Hermione inhaled deeply through her nose. She wanted to return to her book, but suspected Barty wasn't done and when he stood up to browse their bookshelf she knew he wasn't. Hermione had filled it with a wide variety of books, his reading skills having been one of the things for her to observe, but without his knowledge this time. So far he'd been interested in reading up on subjects that existed at Hogwarts, meaning he most likely wished to brush up on his knowledge and test how much he remembered. So when he picked up a volume of a Muggle written book, Hermione expected him to say something.

"Romance novel?" Barty arched an eyebrow her way. "Never took you for the romantic type. What with your dismissal of my feelings . . ."

That's it.

Hermione slammed her book shut. "You know perfectly well why I dismissed them, because they're not there. For whatever reason, you said . . .and we both know that you couldn't feel that way about me. I'm a Mudblood."

"So I see," he repeated, tracing her scar with his eyes. There was a faint hunger there that Hermione didn't even want to begin to understand. She resisted the urge to cover the scar with her hand.

He discarded the book to fall on the table and to her annoyance stepped up to stand in front of her seat. His knee rested next to her leg while his hands trapped her on both sides. She looked up at his face, not meeting his eyes. Through her peripheral she saw his lashes move slowly as he took her in. "Is it so strange to hear someone say they want you?" he asked.

The softness in which he spoke surprised her, but she remained mostly unimpressed. That's the thing, Hermione reminded herself. If he's telling the truth then it just proves who he is inside. He wants. He only wants. He doesn't care.

"You're trying to distract me again."

"Distract you?" he tilted his head. "My dear Hermione, you're the one who's distracting."

"I was here minding my own business, while you—"

"While I what?"

Hermione searched for words and there was quiet. This gave her time to note just how close Barty was and how for the first time ever she wasn't uneasy. That didn't mean she was comfortable, just not particularly uncomfortable. It wasn't the same feeling as it had been when they had first come to live here. The presence he had was there like always, but it wasn't hostile. It wasn't aimed at her, telling her to be vary for he could kill her with his bare hands. It was just . . .there. It was him.

And Hermione had grown used to it.

Tap, tap, tap!

Hermione startled, while Barty made a disgruntled noise. Outside the window waited an owl.

"I need to let him in," said Hermione. "Would you mind moving?"

"I rather like where I am right now," was his response.

"Barty . . ."

There were more taps on the window and Hermione rose, ignoring his lack of consent. Why would she need his consent anyway?

In doing this she missed the fact that Barty had very much let her get out of the sofa, his expression unreadable but on her. She let the owl in, unaware of how the message it carried would make the jumbled thoughts inside him even more chaotic.

Hermione unrolled the piece of parchment and said aloud: "They're releasing me from my shift. I'm to go home tomorrow evening."

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Barty was not pleased. Not in the least.

Progress! They had made progress! She no longer flinched when he came close . . .well, not as much as she had in the beginning anyway. She had called him by name. Not his father's 'Mr. Crouch', but his name. His . . .

And now she was leaving.

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Hermione stood outside in the front yard, holding the ladle that would transport her to the Ministry. Part of her couldn't believe it was happening. Another was counting the seconds.

Ten, nine, eight . . .

Then she felt it, that all too familiar stare on her back. She turned, and sure enough, there was Barty. He held the door open and was looking out from inside the house, the shadows there a clear contrast to the very sunny day, and made even stronger by his silhouette. His piercing black eyes was on her and Hermione knew they were displeased with her leaving.

Five, four . . .

"I'll be back," she found herself saying.

Barty maintained his stare. "I know."

One . . .

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"Wow! So not a word then? You're seriously telling me she hasn't told you a single thing about her top-secret project?"

Harry shook his head.

"Blimey," said Ron.

"Always the tone of surprise," said Hermione, entering the living room with a bottle of elf-made wine, and her and Ron exchanged small smiles.

"Ron, you shouldn't bother Hermione. I'm sure it's difficult for her to keep it secret under usual circumstances, but now that it's been an entire month . . ." started Susan, until Ron interrupted her.

"Exactly! It's been more than a month and she hasn't let anything slip. Unnatural that."

Ginny, who had come in after Hermione carrying glasses, poured herself some wine and rolled her eyes. "Oh, just because you're incapable of keeping a secret for more than five seconds doesn't mean we all lack restraint."

"Oy! I've kept plenty of things secret!"

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, even when he wanted to tell me things I barely understood him."

"If you're talking about the tournament . . ."

Hermione tuned out and stroked her beloved cat, watching her friends laugh and talk with a fond smile. It was good to be back. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be somewhere light.

Though she did wonder what Barty was doing at this moment. How was he faring alone? She wondered if he was trying to escape. She'd had similar concerns before. What was keeping him there? Once again, she reminded herself to check out his records.

"'Mione?" Ginny sat down next to her. "Thinking about work?"

Hermione groaned. "Afraid I am."

"Not a moment of peace with you. Though I'm happy you're not brooding over the wine; the elf who made it was doing it out of his own free will and was fairly compensated. Granted, he is our elf . . ." Ginny tried smiling a little, but upon seeing the other witch's face understood she wasn't up for jokes. "Do you want to stay the night?"

Hermione gave her friend an apologetic look. "I think I might prefer going home. I miss my bed. But thank you."

Ginny smiled. "Might be for the best. James loves throwing a fuss when it gets too quiet."

Hermione smiled back and took a sip from her glass.

"We've been worried, you know. All of us. That's why Ron's giving you grief about not saying anything." Ginny looked at her. "You didn't even send us letters."

Hermione sighed. "I wasn't allowed. But I promise that I'm fine. The work I'm doing is emotionally taxing at worst."

"You're working with someone then?"

"What?"

"Well, it just sounds like someone is giving you a hard time at work."

Hermione thought of Barty. " . . .you have no idea."

There was a loud screech as Ron lost his patience and stood up from his chair to make room for his wild gesticulations.

"Look, it's not that hard to remember! I told Hermione, right, to tell you that Seamus told me that Parvati told Dean . . .!"

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Hermione sighed as soon as she stepped through the Floo. Her bags were already unpacked as she had seen to it as soon as she arrived and Crookshanks jumped down from her arms to make himself home again. Which she supposed she ought to do as well.

It was going to be a long day of research tomorrow . . .

~o0o~

A/N: A slightly shorter chapter! Sorry!
But all righty, Hermione attempting to figure out Barty! Good luck, 'Mione.

Thank you for all the lovely reviews last chapter and I hope to get the next one out faster than this one was!

Until next time!
/Primrue