Chapter Three
Almost immediately, she did. Igor Karkaroff was the worst sort of houseguest - impossible to please and quick to complain. Hermione longed for a time-turner within the first quarter of an hour after inviting him to stay. If she had one, she would've gone back to earlier in the evening before she recited the incantation to destroy the ring and slap some sense into her past self. Both she and the frustrating wizard would've been happier and better off with that scenario.
"As utterly charming as this itchy blanket is, would it be possible to procure some actual clothing for me to wear? You might be perfectly comfortable in parading around in very little, but I am not."
She wondered if she would be considered an absolute monster if she threw him out of her flat in the pouring rain without the itchy blanket. Much more of his sour attitude and she was sure she wouldn't care what happened to him. Fenrir Greyback himself could return from the dead too and she would gladly allow the werewolf to recreate his first murder right there in her lounge. With plenty of plastic tarps on the floor to catch the blood, of course.
"I will see what I can find."
Escaping to her bedroom was more of an excuse to have a couple of seconds to breathe without having to listen to the awful man tell her all of the many ways she was doing it incorrectly. It was evident that Karkaroff had been a spoiled brat in life and death hadn't improved him in the slightest. If she was at the mercy of another person for basic necessities, she would hope that she would be just a little more cordial and cooperative. Despite activating the magic of his grandfather's damned gold ring, she really was under no obligation to make certain he remained alive.
Except she knew he was likely still in a bit of danger simply by being who he was. Memories were long in the wizarding world. It might have been nearly thirty years since Karkaroff turned on his fellow Death Eaters during his Wizengamot trial to save his own arse, but that didn't mean anyone had forgotten. He had a number of enemies. If any of his former comrades or their family members intent on revenge discovered he was alive again by some miracle, he likely would be killed all over again. She did feel responsible for that. Any murder would be reprehensible. Knowing a person had been subjected to two murders in their existence was unconscionable.
With a heavy sigh, Hermione opened the bottom of her chest of drawers inside her bedroom. It had been awhile since she had a steady relationship, but one of her exes was about Karkaroff's size and had left some of his clothes behind. Or rather, Hermione liked his soft sweatpants and comfortable t-shirt so much, she stole them as mementoes. When she was feeling in a peculiar melancholy mood, she had been known to put the much too-large clothing on to laze about on her sofa in front of the Telly feeling sorry for herself and how her life had yet to turn out how she always expected it would. Maybe it was best to give up her pouting clothes for the present.
"Is there anything else?"
The wizard took the clothes out of her hands with a disgusted scowl on his face. She was reaching the end of her patience. If he made any further comments, she would forgive herself for hexing him right in the face. A person could only take so much. She clenched her jaw and through her teeth offered an apology she didn't actually mean.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have a large selection of men's clothing just laying around my flat."
Karkaroff scoffed.
"Why am I not surprised by that?"
He had just returned from the dead. It must have been a difficult, possibly even painful process. Stuck in a country where he quite literally had no allies and nothing but enemies, he must have also been the tiniest bit scared. That was why he was being so disagreeable and petty. At least that was what Hermione kept telling herself over and over again inside her head to keep her temper under control. She might have had influential friends in the Ministry of Magic, but she didn't want to have to impose upon them to help her cover up a murder in her own home.
"I suppose this charming flat has indoor plumbing? Or must I take myself outside to a bathe in the rain or do you have a bucket of cold water I could ask for?"
Not trusting herself to say anything the least bit kind in response, Hermione pointed to the closed door of the only bathroom in the flat. Unfortunately, they were going to have to share for the time being. With his hands full of the clothing he was absolutely not grateful to have, Karkaroff headed for the flat's only shower. When he opened the door, he scoffed again. She was beginning to loathe the sound.
"Madam, your knickers are on the floor. Do you always live like a pig or is this a recent development?"
Remembering that she had indeed just left her dirty clothes on the floor next to the bathtub, Hermione sighed. No, she didn't always live like that. Forgive her for being distracted by the unusual events of the day and the strange ring that was apparently capable of returning irritating irritable wizards back from the dead. She pointed her wand in the direction of the bathroom and with a non-verbal spell, all of the clothing she left behind came flying in her direction. Karkaroff jumped, not expecting the spell work. He was about to say something that would no doubt anger her further when the heavy sleeve of her robe slapped him right in the mouth on its way out.
"You did that on purpose!"
"Sorry."
There was no hint of remorse in her tone because she didn't feel the least bit apologetic. If anything, she wished one of her heavy shoes slammed into the back of his head instead. The sleeve had been a happy accident, one that she couldn't have planned. At least that was going to be the story that she stuck to if asked.
He gave her one last scowl before disappearing into the bathroom behind the closed door. Alone again, she sighed. What sort of nightmare had she just unwittingly brought into her life? How would she get out of it? Surely there must be some way. Could she recite the incantation backwards and have the gold ring suck him back into the afterlife that was apparently preferable to being alive in her 'tacky' flat? Only the fear that she would make it worse by somehow bringing someone else back from the dead that would immediately side with Karkaroff to become an even more annoying duo kept her from trying anything drastic.
To keep her mind occupied, she went in to the spare bedroom to make certain it would meet her guest's exacting standards. It had been a long time since she had anyone spend the night in the room set aside for her infrequent guests. She wasn't even sure who it was or when it was, but she always made certain that the room was available if it was ever needed. Maybe it gave her a small bit of hope that her predictable life would become unexpectedly interesting.
Hermione wouldn't complain about her life. No, not at all. Of course it was different than what she expected when she was a naive teenager dreaming about the future. Wasn't that the truth for everyone? Childhood and adolescence was the time for dreaming while adulthood was the time for coming to terms with the sad fact that dreams don't always come true. What a terribly melancholy thought. She was thankful that the war was over and there had been peace for over a decade. How could she not be? Too many lives were lost in the ridiculous and unnecessary violence of the past. There were a number of innocent souls that would never have the chance to lament the fact that going to the office every day and paying bills on time made up the bulk of their existences. She should be grateful that she even had the chance to be bored and somewhat unsatisfied. Many times during the war she only just barely escaped with her life.
At thirty years old she expected that she would be further along in her career than she was. Too many people expected, and she was embarrassed to admit she had been one of them, that she would be able to just fly through promotions and climb the ranks speedily with hardly any difficulty. But, sadly, she learned that no one was at the top of their field in their early twenties unless it was one of the few fields where the beauty and strength of youth was more important than experience and wisdom gained through hard work and further education in the real world. As she wasn't a Muggle fashion model or a ballerina, she was decidedly not at the top of her field even at thirty. Not even close.
Her first goal when she entered the Ministry just out of Hogwarts was to do whatever it took to free the house-elves. She could never just ignore the fact that there was an entire species of sentient magical beings living in bondage. The campaign to free the house-elves had been met with a great deal of opposition and even ridicule. No one wanted to take her seriously. It had been infuriating. How many times had she walked up on a group of people laughing only to have them immediately shut up when she arrived and refuse to tell her what was so funny? Too many to recall. She knew the other Ministry officials thought she was wasting her time and her potential on creatures that were seemingly quite happy with their lot in life.
It had been a hard won fight to free the house-elves. Stuck in the Ministry Archives researching or begging other officials higher up in the organization to listen to her proposals had taken away several opportunities for her to rapidly rise through the ranks as she'd thought would be so natural and easy. Maybe it would have been if she was focused only on being promoted and not actually making change. Sometimes she wondered if she wasn't just given the victory to keep her from continuing to annoy her coworkers. Very little changed. Even though they were technically free and entitled to wages and time off, few house-elves even bothered to learn about their new rights.
When the house-elves were finally given their unwanted freedom, Hermione had to switch her attention to her newest crusade. Naturally it led her to take on the egregious lack of rights that werewolves had in their society. The restrictions placed on them by the wretched and disgraced Dolores Umbridge were still on the books in many cases. Even from her cell in Azkaban where she was expected to spend the rest of her natural life thanks to the crimes against Muggle-borns she committed during the war among other ghastly acts, the horrible woman was still keeping innocent werewolves from working and living a normal life.
Never forgetting how terribly Remus Lupin had been treated, he was never far from her mind as she fought to improve the lives of others like him. Again, she was something of a joke in the Ministry. Why would a bright, talented witch like her waste her time worrying about the cursed beings? She would never forget how her teacher complimented her on that night so long ago telling her that she was the brightest witch of her age. It wasn't exactly a title she could proudly repeat or a skill she could put on her CV. Essentially, he was just telling her 'out of all the thirteen year old witches I know, you're the brightest', but it still meant something to her. She wanted to make him proud.
When there were no restrictions on werewolves and they were treated in the law, even if not in practice by their fellow witches and wizards, like everyone else, she knew she had to find something else to fight for. If she didn't stop fighting she feared she'd become one of those bitter, frustrating people she saw working in cubicles all over the Ministry who were simply there to collect their galleons and go home. Maybe a day would come when she would grow out of her idealistic phase, something Kingsley said was due to happen any moment, but she wasn't there yet. She refused to give up.
After learning about the unbelievable pro-Pureblood laws that still littered the official law scrolls in the Ministry of Magic, Hermione knew she couldn't rest until Muggle-Borns had the same rights in every area as Purebloods. It was disgusting that she even had to fight that fight, but she was more than willing. The very fact that those laws existed helped to facilitate all of the atrocities committed against the Muggle-Borns in the last war. It would always be a blight on their history that so many innocent witches and wizards who had committed no crimes were locked up in Azkaban or worse.
With Kingsley's help, she had been successful in overthrowing some of the laws. Despite him being the very image of a proper Pureblood with both of his parents coming from a different Sacred Twenty-Eight family, he was just as invested in updating the laws. Together they made a great team. From her desk in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she actually felt like she was doing some real good in their world. That was why she resented being forced to go to Borgin and Burkes to do something as ordinary and boring as a shop inspection. She wasn't changing the world doing that.
Except maybe her world and the frustrating wizard's in the next room. If she hadn't been forced to go to that awful shop that afternoon, she would be happily sipping a glass of wine in her favorite chair reading a good book or catching up on the latest episode of that ridiculous television program she didn't want to actual admit to enjoying. Not refreshing the sheets on the spare bed for an annoying wizard who wouldn't appreciate the effort.
"I suppose that shower was adequate. Of course it wasn't nearly as good as what I've gotten used to experiencing in the after-life."
Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath at the sound of his voice. Did he really not know how much he was already getting on her nerves or did he simply not care? She got the impression that in life he was used to getting whatever he wanted without question. Spoiled brats rarely evolved past that stage no matter how old they grew or how many times they died.
"And do you take a lot of showers in the after-life?"
"Well… no, I suppose I don't recall ever actually taking a shower since I died."
"Then how can you possibly compare my shower to something that you never experienced?"
Karkaroff was at a loss as to how to answer. Hermione would've rolled her eyes and said something snarky if she didn't open her eyes. Dressed in her ex-boyfriend's Muggle clothes, he looked nothing like the wizard she remembered from her fourth year in his sleek, silver furs. He almost looked normal. It nearly made her laugh. Her ex was a Halfblood with a Muggle mother who never let him forget that part of his identity. Somehow seeing Igor Karkaroff wearing the faded t-shirt of an obscure Muggle band from the eighties was worth all of the annoyance she'd experienced that night up until that point. Even if he never wore those clothes again, the memory was seared in her mind. Whenever she needed a good laugh, she could call it forward to remember.
"Is this to be my new prison?"
She sighed again, no longer in the mood to laugh.
"This is hardly a prison, Karkaroff. But if you would like, I could throw you out in the freezing rain and let you fend for yourself. Maybe you could ring up one of your old comrades. Oh wait, most of them are in Azkaban… where you should be."
The wizard narrowed his blue eyes at the reminder of his past. It always bothered Hermione a little to hear about how he managed to keep himself out of prison. There had been a short obligatory sentence for him, of course, but thanks to selling out his fellow Death Eaters, he wasn't stuck in there for the rest of his life. He was able to move on with his life, even become a somewhat respected Headmaster.
"This should be adequate."
"I thought you might change your mind."
No longer wishing to be anywhere near the infuriating wizard, Hermione rushed out of the bedroom without even wishing him a good night. Truthfully, she hoped he suffered terrible insomnia until he was just able to doze off for a few minutes to be tormented by frightening nightmares. The man didn't deserve a good night's sleep after annoying her so.
With the door to the spare room closed tightly behind her, she moved around the lounge cleaning up any evidence that he'd been there. Both dirty glasses and the nearly empty bottle of fire whiskey were picked up to be taken into the kitchen. Over her sink she paused to once more close her eyes and sigh. The next day would come soon and she didn't have the first idea what she should do. How could she possibly explain that she accidentally brought a known Death Eater back from the dead? If anyone even believed her, she might be accused of committing illegal acts of necromancy. It had been years since there was a scandal of that magnitude. Just after the war a grieving widow tried to bring her dead husband back to horrific results. After the frightening cursed shell of her dead husband's body was destroyed by a team of Unspeakables, she was remanded to a special ward in St. Mungo's where she was expected to spend the rest of her life. If she somehow managed to recover from her madness, she would be promptly moved to Azkaban. No option was good.
Was there anyone she could trust enough with her secret? Because Karkaroff had to remain a secret for the time being. One whiff of a hint of a rumor that he was alive again and they could both be in some serious trouble. They would have to figure out how to keep him hidden until the danger passed.
She picked up the fire whiskey and drank straight from the bottle. Maybe if she was good and drunk she might actually be able to fall asleep that night. Otherwise she knew she would be tossing and turning for hours. Why did her life have to become so complicated? That morning when she woke up she might have been living a fairly boring existence, but at least she didn't have to worry about what was coming next. She wished she'd never touched that fucking gold ring.