Chapter Five

Naturally, as was her custom, all of the worst case scenarios popped into Hermione's head as she surveyed the kitchen for all of the new items the wizard had somehow managed to procure. Knowing that he arrived in her flat, supposedly from "paradise" with nothing but the skin on his back, he could've only gotten the new goods by returning to his Death Eater roots and committing serious crimes. Was she in danger of the entire Auror Office descending upon her flat to arrest him for a Diagon Alley crime scene? Would she be arrested for being an accessory? Or worse, an actual accomplice? Were there dead bodies up and down the Alley just waiting to be discovered? During the first war he often partnered with the lunatic Antonin Dolohov to murder innocent Muggles for fun.

Seeing a bottle of quite nice elf-made wine open next to the sink, Hermione crossed the kitchen to pour herself a glass. If she was going to be implicated in a crime she did not commit, she would at least enjoy some of the spoils. Before she even lifted the glass to her lips, the wizard scoffed.

"Why am I not surprised to learn you're not the sort to let a fine wine breathe properly before gulping it down like a savage?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes in annoyance, but took a drink nonetheless. She was hardly some sort of ignorant savage like the irritating man claimed. Usually, under ordinary far less stressful and confusing situations, she was more than willing to treat a bottle of fine wine as it was intended. The need that night for the numbing that alcohol could provide was more important than allowing the aromatics to fully open.

"You never answered my question. Where did you get a wand, new clothes, and all of this food? Did you steal it?"

Karkaroff turned away from whatever delicious-smelling dish he was cooking to stare at her with an expression that could only be described as sheer frustration. Unsure what might happen next, Hermione slipped her hand in her pocket to grip her wand again. She didn't want to fight, but she would do whatever was required to defend herself.

"I am not some sort of petty thief, madam."

She could feel a headache forming just behind her eyes. Never in her entire life had she met someone who irritated her so strongly. What sort of special power did he hold over her?

"Karkaroff, you were naked when you arrived from this paradise you won't shut up again. How could you possibly afford anything? You didn't have any galleons unless they were shoved up…"

Realizing she was on the verge of being far too crass, Hermione stopped herself before she finished her thought. The damage was done, however. Karkaroff's sneer might have been laughable if she was in a better mood.

"I didn't steal but I did find the galleons you had hidden in the bottom drawer of your nightstand."

"You went through my stuff?"

"Of course I did! What else did you expect me to do trapped in this flat all day alone? I don't know what sort of person you are. All I know about you is you have a history of destroying horcruxes with basilisk fangs and you're reckless enough to recite mysterious incantations on the back of jewelry you know nothing about. Not to mention you're dangerous enough to kill a full-grown werewolf. I would be foolish not to learn whatever I could about you."

Hermione forced herself to take a series of deep, calming breaths. Unfortunately, the infuriating man had a very valid point. If the roles were reversed and she found herself alone in a complete stranger's flat essentially at their mercy, she would probably go through every corner she could to see what she could find out. In hindsight, if she truly wanted to prevent Karkaroff from going through her private belongings, she should've kept him bound to a chair all day. But that seemed cruel. Especially since he hadn't technically done anything wrong.

"Okay, fine. You went through my stuff. You didn't have to steal my money."

"I took nothing more than what I deserved. You were the one who tore me out of a paradise I was very happily existing in. It is your responsibility to take care of my basic needs until I can figure out some way to support myself or until I give up and kill himself to spare myself the misery of this existence."

She closed her eyes and sighed. There wasn't enough wine in that bottle to soothe her nerves.

"Have you always been this dramatic or is this a new development since your death, Karkaroff?"

"I am not dramatic, madam. I merely state truths that you might find uncomfortable to hear."

"Could you please stop calling me 'madam'? The way you say it makes me want to hex your face until your nose is where your mouth is and your mouth is where your eyes are."

Karkaroff's scoff of derision was enough to actually make her laugh. Finished with her first glass of wine, she didn't hesitate to pour a second. If anyone deserved more of the decadent wine, she did for putting up with the annoying wizard.

"So should I refer to you as Miss Granger?"

"No, that would make me feel like I was a schoolgirl again and I'd rather not have the former Durmstrang Headmaster call me that if you don't mind. It's creepy."

"Then what should I…?"

"My name is Hermione, Karkaroff. Call me that."

Clearly annoyed with her, he picked up the bottle of wine to fill his own glass.

"Don't call me Karkaroff. I've never understood nor liked the custom of referring to someone by their surname. As I don't anticipate you to be the type to be respectful of the traditional Russian way by calling me Igor Nikolayevich as is proper, you may just call me Igor."

The tiniest thawing of the tension between them seemed to occur after deciding they would use the other's first name. They were hardly friends, a possibility that was laughable, but at least they could stop being so formal and impersonal while their current nightmare continued.

"So, Igor, how much of my money did you steal from me?"

"Enough only to cover my most basic of necessities. I couldn't bear to spend another moment in that ghastly t-shirt. It was demeaning. Besides, what sort of woman keeps large amounts of money in her home instead of a bank vault unless the galleons were ill-gained?"

She sighed and took another deep gulp of the delicious wine. There was a lot about the man she loathed and despised, but she couldn't say he had awful taste in wine. The topic of conversation was a little embarrassing. Not even most of her friends, outside of Harry and Ron of course, knew.

"The sort who participated in a burglary in Gringotts that ended in the ransacking of a high-security vault and the theft of the bank's guard dragon."

Igor stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes for several uncomfortable seconds. Usually she was a tiny bit mortified admitting she had a Gringotts ban, but his expression of incredulity made her laugh. Hermione wondered what else she could say that would shock him into silence.

"I had a good reason. It was right at the end of the war. The final battle began that same night actually hours after we flew out of London on the back of that dragon."

"You flew… on the back of a dragon? A real one?"

"Yes, of course a real one. It was a rather mistreated one too, I'll have you know. I'll never feel guilty about helping it escape his cruel imprisonment. When the war was over, a dear friend of mine and several of his colleagues managed to track the poor creature down. He's been happily living in retirement on a dragon refuge in Romania ever since. Charlie even managed to help find him a mate. They're inseparable. Rather adorable actually. He's blind and she's nearly deaf. I got to see them in person a few years ago when I went to Romania on a holiday."

"This can't be a true story."

"Oh, but it is. I had a very short lived, but torrid affair with this particular dragon keeper. It started off one Christmas at his parents' house. I went to see him in Romania…"

The wizard waved his arms to get her to stop talking. She wasn't sure if she could blame the wine yet for making him appear somewhat amusing. Regardless, Hermione found herself actually giggling at the man's antics to get her to stop talking. She filed away how she could annoy him at a later time in the back of her mind.

"Obviously I wasn't referring to your 'torrid affair' with the dragon keeper. I don't want to know anything about that. I meant stealing the dragon. That can't be true. I suppose I was technically reborn last night, but that doesn't mean I'm gullible enough to actually believe that."

Hermione really couldn't blame him for being skeptical. Again, if the roles were reversed she would likely feel the same way he did. Keeping her wine glass firmly in her hand, she walked out of the kitchen without an explanation. Igor watched her leave with a bemused expression on his face, but oddly, didn't ask any questions. On her bookcase next to the fireplace she removed a black leather book. If the wizard wanted proof, she would give him proof.

Back over the stove stirring away, Igor looked up when she returned to the room. She set the leather volume down in the middle of the small table she only just realized had been meticulously set with her finest dishes. Clearly the man wasn't the sort to eat over the sink or lower himself to use something as ordinary as a paper plate.

"What is that?"

At least as far as their curious natures were concerned, they seemed like kindred spirits. He cast a spell to have a spoon continue stirring while he investigated the large book she brought. It wasn't something that she liked to look at very often, but occasionally when she had the urge to review the melancholic parts of her past, she removed it from its shelf.

"This is an article about the Gringotts bank robbery complete with a picture of the dragon in question flying off into the distance. If you squint really hard, you can see three tiny figures desperately clinging to its back praying they weren't about to fall off."

Igor leaned down to get a closer look at the article she saved. The entire scrapbook was full of articles about the war and the immediate aftermath. None of the saved articles were written by Rita Skeeter, of course, except for the one copy in the beginning of the book that she took from The Quibbler. After the war, Rita returned to some of her more creative writing and Hermione didn't approve. Nor did she usually come out looking good in those pieces of journalistic rubbish.

"And on this one…" Hermione turned to the next page. "…you'll see the official letter from Gringotts informing me that due to my part in the burglary, I have been banned from having a vault or even entering their premises for fifty years. It was generous of them. It could've been a lifetime ban."

"So all of that money in your nightstand?"

"Legitimately earned at my job at the Ministry of Magic. Usually I ask one of my neighbors, George or Pasha, to take some of the galleons to Gringotts for me to exchange for Muggle currency. Then I take the Muggle currency to my Muggle bank. But it's been awhile since I asked either of them to do that. I really should soon. It's piling up quite a lot. The Muggles get suspicious if I bring in too much at once. When I had my prize earnings from my Order of Merlin…"

"You have an Order of Merlin?"

For a second she was prepared to be offended that he would disbelieve that she was capable of earning such a prestigious award until she realized he wasn't. Not really. Igor seemed almost in awe that she was one of the few witches or wizards alive honored in such a way. Hermione felt a little shy and ill at ease under his watchful eye.

"Yes, for my role in helping to bring down Voldemort."

"I want to… I want to know everything."

His voice was so soft and so eager that she knew she wouldn't be able to deny him his request. It was perfectly natural after all to be curious to know what happened to the harsh world he'd lived in before he was murdered. Igor pulled out a chair at the table like a proper gentleman. Once she was seated, he returned to the stove to begin dishing out their dinner. As anxious as he was to learn what he missed, it only took him a couple of minutes to lay a full plate in front of her and refill her wine. He gladly took the chair across the table with his own meal.

"I suppose I should start with what happened during the last task of the Triwizard Tournament. There are several books available to read about the war. Would you like me to get you some?"

"Yes, of course, but I want to hear it first from you. If you were really there, I want to know about it first-hand."

Hermione was surprised by how pleasant the dinner turned out to be. Not only did the wizard prove to be a talented cook, something she had no doubt she would come to appreciate in days to come, he was an attentive and engaged listener. After describing her part in the war to numerous individuals over the years, it felt good to have a chance to share it with someone who had never heard it before.

When their dinner was over and a second bottle of wine opened, Igor stood over the sink washing each dish by hand as she described all of the big moments of the war he'd missed being dead. They settled into a routine that she hated to admit was quite nice. As he rinsed off a dish he would hand it to her to dry with a towel.

"Why don't you wash the dishes with magic? I've never seen a wizard wash them by hand in the Muggle way before."

"It's an odd habit, I know. If I'm in a hurry, I'll use magic, of course, but there's something about the simplicity of it I prefer."

"I understand."

Amazed that she had found another aspect to the wizard that she didn't completely hate, Hermione continued with her story. When he didn't understand something fully or was amazed into near shock, Igor would politely interrupt to ask pertinent questions. She was glad to see that at least part of the time he wasn't entirely annoying.

After the dishes were clean and put away, she suggested they move to the lounge where they would be more comfortable. Neither one of them seemed to be bothered by the emptying of the second bottle of wine. Nor did they argue against opening a third. Some topics were better left discussed under the influence of alcohol. Hermione knew she would've had a harder time getting through her tale without the lowering of her inhibitions.

Igor deserved to know all of the darkest and nastiest parts of what his former Dark Lord did to ensure his immortality. As someone who quite literally was murdered because of the follies of his youth, he deserved to know more than most. Hermione didn't spare him a single detail about the horcruxes or the difficult hunt required to find them.

For hours she spoke. There was so much time to go over it was hard to find a stopping point. Fortified by the wine, she was able to push past even the most emotional and harrowing parts of the past. Describing the events of the Battle of Hogwarts that she could remember were easier than the times she had to recall the battle completely sober. No doubt she would be fully and completely drained emotionally when it was all over, but she couldn't deny it was also cathartic to go over it again. For years so many people had been overly encouraging in their beliefs that the war should be relegated to its part in history, all but forgotten except in dusty history books. It was easy for those who stayed inside their safe homes away from the violence to make those claims. For those who fought and lost and bled, it was harder to forget.

"And then it was all over. Voldemort was dead on the floor of the Great Hall and we were all in shock. It didn't take long before the Death Eaters and those aligned with them began to panic and try to run. Lots of them got away, I'm afraid. The Ministry searched for them for years. Occasionally you'll still read in the newspaper of a supposed sighting of one of the fugitives. It's become less common as time has gone by."

Igor released a long, heavy sigh. His head must have been swimming with all of the information that she'd unloaded on him over the course of the evening. Finishing off his final glass of wine, he stood up to excuse himself for a few minutes. As he disappeared into the only bathroom in the flat, Hermione worried that she might have told him more than he could handle. Would it have been better to tell him bits and pieces in dribbles and drabs? Too much at once might just overwhelm him. He already seemed to be struggling with being alive again.

But at least he didn't have to worry about his former master returning to demand his loyalty again. She hoped that was enough to calm down his worst fears about being alive again. The world really had turned into a lovely place without the fear of Voldemort and his murderous minions hanging over their heads all of the time. They were able to breathe and live without fear. It had been nice.

The clock over her mantel struck the midnight hour. Where had the night gone? It was still a bit shocking to her that she had managed to somehow spend an entire evening in Igor's presence without wanting to commit physical violence upon his person. Perhaps the key to domestic tranquility was keeping his mind occupied with fascinating topics. He seemed the kind of person to become unmanageable when they were bored.

A knock on her front door startled Hermione out of her thoughts. It was late. Who would be at her door? Concerned that there might be some sort of emergency, she got up quickly to check. With her wand clasped tightly in her hand, she opened the door up a crack. Relieved that it was only George, she sighed and undid the lock fully.

"Did I wake you up?"

His words were slurred. Though he wasn't intoxicated out of his mind, she knew him well enough to recognize when he'd had a few too many. She hoped that he was able to find someone else to celebrate his successes with that night when she turned him down.

"George, is everything all right?"

She felt his eyes look her up and down. His brow furrowed in clear confusion.

"You're still wearing what you wore to work. You said you were going to go to bed early."

Caught in her lie, she didn't know what to say. George stepped inside the flat before she could stop him. His eyes fell on the table in front of her sofa where an empty wine bottle and two glasses sat. A chuckle with no mirth behind it came out of his mouth.

"I see. So not to bed early at all. Why did you lie to me, Hermione?"

She hated the pain she could clearly hear in his voice. It wasn't like her to not tell George the truth. He was her best friend. That meant something to her. Unsure even how to answer, nothing had come out of her mouth when the door to the bathroom opened. Igor stepped out, unaware of the unexpected visitor and the tension he was walking into.

"Ahh, okay. It wasn't that you just wanted to have a quiet evening at home after all. You just didn't want to… I'm sorry to interrupt. Have a good night."

George spun around and even though he was a bit unsteady on his feet, slammed the door behind him.