Chapter Eleven

Had she ever met anyone in her entire life who was more vexing than the horrible man who had completely invaded her personal space and taken over her flat as if he owned it himself? Not likely. She would've wanted to murder that person on the spot. A lifetime spent locked up in Azkaban had never seemed worth it to give in to her urges. But much longer with the horrible wizard in her flat and Hermione thought she might be willing to risk prison. At least the dementors were no longer there to feed on her emotions.

Igor wasn't bothered by her tone in the slightest nor did he seem to care that she'd just accused him of stealing again. Her last bout of accusations injured his prodigious pride. Was he really just going to let her speak to him that way without so much as a grumble or a single denial? It was certainly out of character for him. Was the bedroom well-ventilated enough for his new scheme or had he been exposed to too many noxious fumes? Not that she really cared one way or the other.

"What is all of this? What are you doing in here?"

The infuriating man had the audacity to roll his eyes as he pulled open the door to his borrowed bedroom enough to allow her entry. Her wand hand itched to curse him right between those eyes. It was her flat. Did he forget that she had every right to go wherever she pleased? Without any sort of employment, the only way he could purchase anything was to continue to steal from her. She knew she should've put stronger security wards on her nightstand. Or begged Pasha to make an exchange for her at the bank into Muggle notes. Clearly she couldn't trust the man not to steal from her again. Death Eaters weren't exactly known for their ethics after all.

It was much worse than she realized when she stepped inside. From the doorway she could only see a single potions station with three cauldrons. There were nine more in various sizes and different materials throughout the room. A table for prepping ingredients was covered in jars and vials. She could only imagine how much of her hard-earned money was spent just on ingredients alone. In the corner of the bedroom she saw a high stack of cartons filled with empty glass vials and jars waiting to be filled. The door to the bedroom's cupboard was closed. She left it alone, certain she didn't want to see what was inside. Her nerves couldn't take any more surprises.

"Do you have any idea how miserable it is to be stuck inside this flat all day every day with nothing to do?"

She didn't. That had never been her reality. From the moment she left Hogwarts she had a job at the Ministry that kept her occupied. Some would say too occupied. As much as she hated to ever feel the least bit sympathetic where Igor was concerned, she could see how maddening it might be to be cooped up in someone else's flat with nothing to occupy her mind.

"I have skills and I need money. I've already received my first order. Once I deliver that and my customer sings my praises to their associates, I will finally have enough money of my own to flee this wretched death trap of a hovel."

The irritation she felt every time he insulted her home began to simmer. Maybe she didn't live in a luxurious palace, but it was hardly a hovel. What sort of accommodations was he used to living in when he was alive the first time? She was almost tempted to ask him. Of course she knew that would finally push her over the edge of her sanity. If she had to listen to him describe paradise one more time…

"You will be paying me back every single knut you stole."

Though he didn't respond out loud using any discernible words she could understand, just the way he looked at her as if she was the most annoying person he'd ever encountered told her he had every intention of paying his debts. Perhaps there was a little bit of honor inside him after all. That had to mean something. No longer interested in even pretending he wanted to continue their conversation, Igor returned to one of his cauldrons to stir.

As she continued looking around the crowded bedroom, Hermione hated that she had to admit she was impressed. It looked exactly like the other brewing stations she'd seen in real apothecaries set up by professional potioneers. Clearly he did know what he was doing. On his prep table he'd sliced what appeared to be a bloodroot into perfect, symmetrical pieces. That took both skill and patience. Once she remembered there were very few positive uses for bloodroot, if any at all, she grew concerned.

"Are the potions you're brewing legal?"

Igor looked up from his cauldron with another exasperated sigh.

"Do you really want to know?"

On further reflection she decided that she didn't. When she shook her head, the irritated wizard returned to his work. If he didn't tell her exactly what he was up to, she could be telling the truth when she denied knowing he was a committing a crime in her spare bedroom. Besides, illegal potions would likely bring in more galleons than those that could be purchased at any random shop in Diagon Alley. The sooner he paid her back and earned enough to make his own way somewhere else, the sooner she could return to her quiet, uncomplicated life.

Her curiosity about his new business venture kept her inside the room when she really should've stepped outside. The more she looked, the more she continued to have positive thoughts about the man that she wasn't ready to have. Life was easier when she loathed him. It was certainly much less confusing.

Seeing her cat Crookshanks curled up blissfully asleep on Igor's pillow annoyed her enough that it nearly felt like all was back to the normal it should've been. Why did Crookshanks like the horrible man so much? It made very little sense to her. Of course she had to admit that her cat had always been a bit odd. If he wanted to continue to sleep in Igor's bed, she supposed there wasn't any real harm done. Besides, it wasn't as if she was the one who was in the wizard's bed. That would be far too much to bear. She didn't want to be anywhere near the same place the obnoxious arsehole put his head each night.

Deciding that she had spent far too much time already in his presence, Hermione turned away from her traitorous cat to escape the room. If he wanted to spend all of his time brewing illegal potions as a way to make it on his own, she would be a fool to stop him. As she made her way towards the door and her exit, her eye caught Igor stirring his potion with a very serious expression on his face. She didn't know why she felt compelled to stop and stare.

The intensity with which he stared at his work was breathtaking. Never before had she seen someone so focused as they brewed. It was as if the rest of the world didn't exist around him. She could admire that sort of single-minded tenacity. His muscles were tense and his jaw clenched. Was he counting the number of times that he stirred the potion or was he trying to calculate a formula inside his head? Even the most basic potions required a number of steps that had to be taken in quick succession. Miss even by a matter of seconds and the entire potion could be ruined.

It truly was a pity that the wizard was so handsome. She wished she could deny it, but Hermione couldn't. As long as his mouth was shut and he wasn't uttering some insulting words, he was remarkable. Knowing how he turned out when he came to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament, it was a bit disconcerting to recognize how altered he'd been. Of course not everyone was fortunate enough to age gracefully. She knew there was something more to it than that. Was it living the dangerous life of a Death Eater that ultimately altered him so much? Or was it the loss of his marriage and family? It was hardly her business even if it made her curious to know why he changed to much. Would she change like that too given enough time?

"What?"

So lost was she in her thoughts, Hermione was startled when Igor turned around to catch her staring at him. His annoyance was evident. Muttering out a claim that it was nothing, she rushed out of the bedroom, relieved to close the door behind her. Standing just outside his bedroom, she slowly began to return to her senses.

Thinking anything the least bit positive about Igor was bizarre. She could hardly believe she even possessed the capacity. It didn't feel normal to have a good opinion about him or his abilities. She didn't like it at all. The more she thought about it, the angrier she grew with George and Pasha for putting fanciful ideas in her head. There was nothing good about Igor Karkaroff and she refused to change her mind about that. All of their ridiculous talk about soulmates, something she didn't even believe in, simply confused her and made her more susceptible to outlandish thoughts. Besides, even if soulmates did exist, there was no way that Igor of all the people in the world would be hers. They must be mad.

Only one thing she could imagine would be enough to calm her nerves down enough that she wouldn't rush back into the bedroom to be hateful and mean to the intruder to her ordered life. Thankful that she chose a flat with a rather lavish bathroom, despite the insults that Igor continued to spew about her home, she loved her bathtub more than any other feature. After a long, frustrating day at the Ministry, nothing felt better than slipping beneath the hot water of a long bubble bath.

The stress she experienced from her job was nothing compared to what it had become since she read the back of the damned ring. Filling the oversized bathtub as full of water as she dared to prevent splashes over the side, Hermione slid down underneath the bubbles with a heavy sigh. Relaxation was difficult enough to find under normal circumstances. Knowing that the odious man was just on the other side of the wall hardly helped matters. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried her hardest to forget there was anyone else in her home.

After a long while, it seemed to work. She felt all of the tension in her muscles start to lessen. Maybe it was even possible for her to forgive the wizard for stealing from her if he managed to make enough money to pay her back. Wouldn't it be lovely if he could afford his own flat? She would gladly help him pack everything he owned up. Moving had never been something she enjoyed personally, but she got the feeling helping him move out would be nothing less than a joy.

At some point, as it often happened when she allowed herself to fully relax in the bath, she managed to doze off. Sometimes sleep was her favorite escape and sadly, she hadn't been able to enjoy much of it in recent days. Just as she began to dream she was startled awake by the door to the bathroom opening. Instantly she was annoyed that she forgot to lock it. For most of the time she lived there she hadn't needed to worry about anyone intruding in on her private time. There had been no one else there.

His obvious footsteps were impossible to ignore. The man did nothing quietly. Even before she opened her eyes she heard him walk in, stop abruptly, and inhale sharply. When she didn't hear him immediately exclaim some insult or spin around to escape, she looked up to catch him staring at her. Most of the bubbles in the water were long gone, exposing her entire body to his gaze. It wasn't the first time he'd seen what she looked like without clothes on, thanks to the dressing gown that wouldn't stay tied the night he returned from the dead, but it was different somehow that night. The way he continued to stare at her with wide eyes was unnerving.

"Get out."

Igor snapped back into reality at the sound of her terse command. After muttering a quiet apology, he rushed out of the bathroom through the door to his bedroom that he inexplicably left open in his haste. She thought she heard the front door to the flat open and close moments later. Where did he think he was going? She only meant for him to leave the room, not the flat itself.

Knowing that there was no possible way she would be able to continue relaxing after that exchange, Hermione climbed out of the bathtub with a heavy sigh. Was it too much to ask for for a few moments alone? She pulled a dressing gown with a reliable belt on. Just as she exited her bedroom into the lounge the front door opened again to admit a red-faced Igor.

"Where did you go?"

She didn't know why she really cared to know about his movements. It really was none of his business. He did exactly as she asked when she told him to leave. Before he spoke he cleared his throat. It was a habit of his that she was beginning to find exceptionally obnoxious. Was it conscious? Did he do it purposefully to annoy her? If so, she wouldn't be surprised.

"Pasha's flat. If this horrible flat had a second toilet, that wouldn't have been necessary."

"You are free to leave and find your own flat at any time."

"And that is exactly why I've been brewing."

In another dramatic flourish that she sure would've been far more impressive if he'd been wearing the heavy wizard robes she knew he favored and not just the simple shirt and trousers he brewed in, he returned to his bedroom. Right before he slammed the door shut, Hermione shouted out at him.

"Maybe we'll both get lucky and your cauldron will explode in your face."

The moment the words were out of her mouth she almost wished she hadn't said them. She was finding that wishing death on him wasn't nearly as fun or satisfying as it once was. Had she gotten used to him? Or was she just bored?

Igor remained hidden in his bedroom the rest of the evening. It certainly wasn't something that Hermione thought she minded. After all, she didn't have to listen to him whine about all manner of what ailed him and bothered him about his return to existence. But without him there to annoy her, she got rather bored. Nothing, not even the Muggle television program she had recently become throughly engrossed in could keep her attention. She ended up in bed far earlier than she normally was.

At some point in the middle of the night she woke up. Why, she wasn't entirely certain. Some nights she struggled staying asleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. It was annoying, but something she had learned to adjust to. When she tried to roll over to go back to sleep, she knew she was too thirsty. If she didn't get something to drink, she knew she would toss and turn for far too long. Of course as a witch it would be very easy to conjure a clean glass and fill it with an aguamenti spell. She, however, didn't care for the way the water tasted when it came out of the end of her wand. It was certainly not filtered. Acceptable for when she might be dying of dehydration, if she could avoid it, she would.

She crept across her dark flat as quietly as possible. Passing the empty basket next to the fireplace where she could usually find her cat, she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes again. No doubt Crookshanks was still happily curled up on the pillow next to Igor's face. Traitor. Would he be angry when Igor finally left the flat? Somehow she doubted the half-kneazle would fully forgive her for pushing him out.

It was a surprise to realize that the kitchen wasn't empty when she pushed open the door. Even more so to see Igor standing by the sink in nothing but his pants. Evidently she wasn't the only one who required a drink in the middle of the night. He sipped from his teacup as he stared silently out the window.

Hermione didn't mean to stare at the wizard's bare chest. It just sort of happened. Truthfully she thought it was really unfair that he was so attractive. It would make loathing his existence much easier if she didn't have to admit that she thought he was handsome and very well put together. She'd seen him completely naked when he first arrived, but so much had happened in those first few moments that it wasn't as if she could really appreciate what she saw. In the shadowy kitchen, however, she felt her heart beat a little faster.

Maybe she made a noise without realizing it or he simply possessed his own set of instincts. Igor slowly turned his head towards where she still stood in the doorway. They'd managed to avoid each other for hours since he inadvertently saw her naked in the bath. Too late she realized her nightgown left very little to the imagination. She felt embarrassed. Was he going to think she did it on purpose?

"Sorry, I just wanted some water."

Without saying a single word, Igor stepped back from the sink. She was glad for the darkness to hide her reddened cheeks in. As she passed the wizard she could smell the familiar scent of chamomile emanating from his teacup. He must've been having his own trouble sleeping. The urge to ask him why was strong, but she managed to keep her questions to herself. It wasn't exactly any of her business just as it was none of his why she was having trouble sleeping. Quickly, she drank a full glass of water and rushed back to her bedroom. Igor never spoke. Just stood there sipping at his tea.

It was difficult for Hermione to fall back asleep after her little trip to the kitchen. Her mind kept fixating on Igor and how his bare chest looked in the light coming through the window. What was wrong with her?