Chapter Three
Returning to civilization was the next logical step in their journey, but it was one Harry wasn't sure he was ready to take. There had been a freedom when he was away from society that he didn't realize he craved until the prospect of it being ripped away from him became real. What was a man to do when his life's purpose was fulfilled?
He never expected to be successful in his dementor hunt, never thought it would even be possible to rid the world of their foul presence. A small part of him he never shared with anyone else as he arrogantly boasted he would destroy them all didn't truly believe he could do it. There would always be one he missed or one that was too wily or fast to kill. He imagined he would spend his life hunting.
Or he feared he would be taken down by his enemy. No one wanted to fathom the possibility that the 'Chosen One' could survive being the main target of Lord Voldemort's wrath for the better part of two decades only to be bested by a dementor he'd learned how to kill. It was always a possibility. Even as he practiced in a locked and warded room down in the Department of Mysteries with a collection of dementors they kept prisoner he knew one wrong step would be the end of his mission. Death was always just around the corner waiting for its next victim.
Maybe he would've been happier to fall in battle rather than have no more enemies to fight.
Hermione couldn't believe she was actually bringing the notorious Barty Crouch Junior back to her own home to sleep in her spare bedroom. Nothing about that afternoon felt real. It was all just a horrible nightmare she was sure she was going to wake up from. Even as the dreadful man gripped her arm with his clammy hand for Side-Along Apparition she struggled to believe in reality.
What was Kingsley thinking with his bizarre and cruel punishment? She knew it was personal. Blaise didn't argue with her assessment and the disgusting Death Eater wasn't giddy with excitement by moving into his flat. Was Kingsley punishing her specifically for going against his wishes to put Barty back in prison? It did sound like she was questioning his authority, but as an expert of the law wasn't that why she was asked to go to the hospital? She was merely interpreting the law as it was written.
The moment she and her unwelcome house-guest landed on the soft soil in her front garden Hermione was thankful she made the decision years earlier to buy a house near the coast and far from the closest neighbor. If she had to explain to any of the nosy busybodies she used to live around why there was a strange man living in her home, she knew she would go mad. Her old flat was too small for another person. At least the new house had enough room she wouldn't be tripping over him. Maybe if she was lucky she'd never see him.
She led him straight into the spare bedroom that she hoped he would occupy for only a very short time. Guests were rare to her home, but she always kept it clean and ready just in case. She was glad that she opted for the larger house with the extra bathroom. Being forced to share with the cretin was an indignity she would not tolerate. Based on his comments about her body while they were still at the hospital, she could just imagine him being disgusting enough to try to walk in on her. Before she went to sleep that night she would need to make certain her bedroom and private bathroom were coated in extra protection spells.
"I do hope my being here won't be awkward. Will I be in the way when your wizard comes to visit?"
The waggle of his eyebrows screamed that he hoped he would. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes, a reaction she was sure would happen a lot the longer she was forced to endure his company.
"I don't have a wizard."
"A witch then. Even better."
"I preferred you when you were pretending to be Professor Moody."
His laughter would take some getting used to. It grated on her nerves. Needing a minute by herself to calm down, Hermione entered her bedroom and closed the door. She clenched her jaw when she realized she would be able to hear him moving around in the bedroom next door. Was there no end to the inconveniences and annoyances his mere presence thrust upon her? She almost wished for her old Time-Turner to go back and stop herself from arguing with Kingsley. Barty could already be making himself comfortable in his new cell at Azkaban if she'd just gone along.
But that wouldn't have been the right thing to do. Sometimes even Hermione had to agree that her thinking was too black and white with very little wiggle room. Once she set her mind and determined what she believed to be right, it was nearly impossible to change it. Objectively speaking with all of the evidence she had at the time, Barty completed his sentence. Adding on another without going through the proper legal channels was wrong. They had to be better than their enemies had been.
A loud knock on her front door was enough motivation to get Hermione out of her bedroom. No matter who it was, she didn't want Barty to answer. The Head of the Auror office was there to her relief. She'd known to expect him, of course, but feared one of her friends with impeccably poor timing would show up instead. What would Ron think if he came face-to-face with a known Death Eater entirely by surprise? He was the sort to curse first, ask questions second. And the thought that it might be Neville who sometimes popped by to check on her neglected garden filled her with dread. How was she going to explain one of the sick bastards who tortured his parents into insanity relaxing on her sofa? She was going to have to make some very uncomfortable explanations soon.
The auror didn't want to be there. It was evident from the first moment he stepped inside. After rudely demanding to know where Barty was, he went straight into the spare bedroom to place a tracking spell on the prisoner who wasn't technically a prisoner.
"What will the spell do exactly? Will it restrict his movements?"
Auror Savage sighed.
"Crouch is essentially free to go wherever he wants, but we will know where he is every second."
Barty scowled.
"My family had a house in Somerset. What happened to it? Why can't I stay there?"
It was always going to be an uncomfortable conversation to have about what happened to the man's belongings, but it was better to get it out of the way. Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but as he had an annoying habit of doing, Auror Savage spoke first.
"After you were Kissed, you were legally declared dead. Everything you might've owned went to your closest relative."
"Damn! My worthless cousin would've sold everything he could the first chance he could. Never trust a Fletcher with your possessions. You'll never see them again."
Hermione didn't realize it was possible to feel even more frustrated than she already did. Random bursts of temper from her guest were going to get old very quickly.
"Am I also to remain in these St. Mungo's pajamas forever too?"
She didn't want to be a babysitter, especially not for the likes of a convicted Death Eater she already had a personal hatred for. As he made his swift exit from her house, Auror Savage pulled her aside.
"Take him shopping in Diagon Alley for what he needs. Just tell the shops to have the Ministry billed."
It was only a small comfort that she wasn't expected to foot the bill for his new clothing herself, but the thought of having to actually take him out in public where they might be seen together filled her with even more dread. Fearful that Barty would draw unnecessary attention, she transfigured his pajamas into something a little less conspicuous. At the very least he no longer looked like an escaped patient.
Feeling his hand through her sleeve again made Hermione cringe. She was sure she would never get used to his touch. Apparating them to Diagon Alley as swiftly as she possible, she shrugged her arm out of his grip the second they arrived. The more she thought about her predicament logically, the more she assumed they could complete their shopping relatively unnoticed.
Only a handful of people were even aware that he was awake. If anyone even bothered to think about him, which was unlikely, they probably just assumed he was dead. Barty's escape from Azkaban was an embarrassment to the Ministry. It wasn't widely known that his mother switched places with him right before she died with polyjuice potion nor was the Ministry in a hurry to announce their past failures. After the Triwizard Tournament, there was never a formal or public explanation what happened to him. Everything was kept very quiet. No one wanted to admit to hundreds of parents that an escaped Death Eater had been teaching their children all year. Hermione hoped that even with the more transparent the Ministry had become with Kingsley as Minister for Magic his case would remain quiet.
The mood in Diagon Alley was festive. Everyone had heard about the dementors being eradicated. Over and over as they walked they heard Harry's name spoken of in awe. Hermione had to fight her own bitterness at her friend's success. It was petty and irrational to begrudge him his victory, but she couldn't help it, especially with Barty as a new complication in her life she didn't need.
Madam Malkin was happy to help when Hermione explained a watered-down version of the truth. Thinking Barty was only a recent arrival to the city, she didn't ask many questions. She'd always liked Hermione as she'd been a loyal customer since she was eleven years old. Hermione didn't tell her Barty's name, which was suspicious enough on its own, but Madam Malkin promised she could be discreet.
Outfitting an entire wardrobe for a person, even a small one, took a long time. Hermione grew bored waiting for the shopkeeper to finish. Tempted to step outside to do her own shopping, she didn't feel right leaving the kind woman alone with a dangerous man when she didn't even know who he was. It felt wrong. Besides, the thought of listening to more excited chatter about how wonderful and amazing Harry was made her sick to her stomach. Better to listen to Barty make unfunny jokes about not needing sleeping attire or requests for her to pick out which pants she would rather see him in.
When all of their purchases were finally boxed up and tucked away in her beaded bag, she was relieved to get out of the shop. Just two steps onto Diagon Alley Barty pulled at her arm to get her attention. She wanted to curse his hand off.
"Can we go to Ollivanders now? I assume my wand has been lost to history along with all of the rest of my family heirlooms."
"You're not allowed a wand while your appeal…"
"There shouldn't even be an appeal. I should be free without any qualifiers. I completed my sentence."
Hermione didn't feel up to arguing with someone she actually agreed with. Left up to her, he would be given a wand and a one-way portkey to another country she would make certain to never visit.
"Am I just moving from one prison to another?"
"Would you prefer Azkaban? Because the Minister was more than happy to make that happen."
He scowled, but didn't complain again. The sound of his voice was already grating on her nerves. How long would she be forced to endure his presence? Should she temporarily put aside her convictions and beg Kingsley for his forgiveness? No, she knew she couldn't live with herself if she did so. Better just to endure and hope she could find a law that would put him back behind bars where he belonged.
The party atmosphere up and down Diagon Alley only grew louder and more intense. Her head ached from the noise and the champagne she drank too much of. All Hermione wanted was a long, hot bath followed by a heavy dose of a sleeping potion. Maybe escaping her new reality for a little while might better help her come to terms with it. She sped up her steps towards the exit. The sooner she could end that wretched day, the better.
Barty, however, was in no rush to leave. The faster she tried to walk, the slower he became. Fascinated by all of the changes to the wizarding shopping district, he couldn't go further than a few steps before he stopped again. While Hermione could understand why he was so interested, she was still annoyed. When he stopped in front of the old empty shop that had been Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, she nearly cursed him in the face just to keep him moving.
"My mum used to bring me here every Saturday afternoon when I was small. What happened to it? Did Mr. Fortescue finally retire?"
Hermione was a little ashamed to admit to herself that she rarely gave the boarded up ice cream shop much thought. It had certainly never been a fixture of her childhood as it had been for so many others she knew. She had very few memories of it personally. Since the war no one had yet had the heart to try to reopen it. The wounds were still fresh.
"Some of your lot dragged him away one night during the war you helped start. No one knows what happened to him. He just disappeared like so many others."
He was quiet after that. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he feel any amount of guilt for what he was responsible for starting? She assumed he probably didn't. Not only did she doubt he was even capable of feeling remorse, he wouldn't have actually known what happened after he received the Dementor's Kiss. All of the major events happened long after his soul was removed from his body.
If she'd stopped to give her next actions any further thought, she probably would've considered it a foolish mission. Monsters like him didn't possess a conscience. They had to shed the last bits of their humanity in order to torture and kill their innocent victims. Trying to appeal to a part of him that no longer existed was a waste of everyone's time.
But with her mind made up, Hermione led them into Flourish and Blotts. She had only made it one foot through the front door before her new responsibility began to laugh. Would it be unethical to cast a permanent silencing charm on him?
"Little swotty Granger may be all grown up but she's still the same obnoxious, know-it-all bookworm, isn't she?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, determined that the horrible man would not get to her. Life in Azkaban wasn't worth the few brief moments of pleasure she would experience killing him slowly.
"This will only take a minute. Do not leave the shop."
His chuckles sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet bookstore. Or she was simply extra sensitive to the annoying noise. No one else appeared to be bothered. She forced herself to stop and take a deep, calming breath. It would do no one any favors if she lost her temper.
Knowing exactly what she was there for, Hermione headed straight for the modern history section. Piles of books were stacked precariously around that corner of the shop. It seemed everyone wanted to try their hand at publishing their own accounts of the wars that both devastated and profoundly transformed their society. She had to dig past some of the more sensational volumes that never stayed on the shelves very long to uncover a heavy, leather-bound book covered in dust. Few desired actual facts.
The clerk expressed some surprise at her purchase. When he tried to talk her into buying the latest abomination written by Rita Skeeter instead, she nearly lost her patience. How much more frustration would she be expected to endure in a single day? Once the book was slipped into a paper sack, she ripped it from the clerk's hand.
"What is that?"
She wouldn't answer Barty's questions. Not yet. If she spoke in that moment, she wasn't sure she would be able to remain calm. Between him and the obnoxious revelers blocking their way to the exit every few steps repeatedly shouting out cheers for 'Harry the Dementor Destroyer', she was holding on by a single, fraying thread.
The very second she finished Apparating them back to her home Hermione ripped her arm out of his grasp. Just the thought of knowing he was touching her made her sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. The salty sea air never failed to bring her comfort. Hearing nothing but the squawking of seagulls and the crashing of the ocean waves in the distance brought her further peace. Moving out of the city to the coast was the best decision she'd ever made. Even at her lowest, her most stressed, she could be calm and relax.
Her exhaustion only grew heavier when they stepped inside her home. Reminders that her solitude was infringed upon could be seen and felt everywhere. How could one man create such chaos in such a short period of time? He dropped his shopping bags with his new clothes on the floor just steps inside the front door. His new cloak was tossed into Hermione's favorite armchair. When he kicked off his shoes and threw himself down on her sofa, she grit her teeth.
"Is that a telly? I've heard about them. How does it work?"
The pain behind her eyes grew sharper. A few flicks of her wand banished his packages and shoes to his temporary bedroom and another hung up his cloak on a hook by the door.
"You may have lived your life with a house-elf picking up after you, but I will not do the same. I keep my house clean and orderly. See that you do too."
"I'm beginning to see why you don't have a wizard even with tits like those."
A mild stinging hex to his face was only a warning of worse to come if he didn't watch his words. She wouldn't allow that sort of harassment in her own home. If he wasn't careful, she would create more permanent damage to more sensitive parts of his body. Kingsley made him her responsibility but he never claimed he had to remain in one piece.
"Bloody hell, woman!"
"As long as you are here, you don't look at my body and you certainly don't talk about it."
"You mean you're not the sort of witch to walk around your house naked because I can't make any promises that I won't look."
The second stinging hex was a little more powerful. Barty jumped off the sofa to his feet. His entire face was a deep red, even darker in the two spots her hexes hit. Fear coursed through her for the brief moment it took her to remember she had all of the power. Yes, he was right when he asked if he was just moving from one prison to another and she was the new warden. He could only hurt her if she allowed it to happen. Likely coming to the same conclusion at the same moment, he began to calm down.
"I won't feed you either. I recently went shopping so there's plenty of food in the kitchen. If you don't know how to feed yourself, learn. Or starve. I don't really care which."
She reached into the paper sack she still carried to pull out the new book. It was the only comprehensive account of the second wizarding war that she knew was accurate. Most of the others were fictionalized nonsense. No one was interested in the full truth. It was far less glamorous. Written by a trustworthy wizard she had gotten to know very well who had no agenda beyond telling the truth, Hermione had even been interviewed during his research. Unfortunately, the sales of his book had been rather dismal.
"This will explain some of what you've missed and why the Minister was so eager to throw you back in Azkaban."
Barty nearly dropped it when she threw it at him. The heavy volume slammed into his stomach. He grunted in pain, but didn't let it hit the floor.
"Be sure you take a good look in the back. There's a list of everyone who died because of your damned Dark Lord."
Not wanting to see his face for another second more, Hermione locked the front door. For a heartbeat she considered sealing the house so he couldn't leave, but decided she really didn't care one way or another what happened to him. If he wanted to slip out when she wasn't looking to try to make it on his own with no money and no magic, what did it matter to her? Maybe they'd all get lucky and he'd freeze to death.
Inside her own bedroom, she did cast the necessary security charms to keep him out. She could only imagine how terrifying it would be to wake up in the middle of the night to find the monster standing over her bed. Were all of the rumors true about what the Death Eaters used to do to their victims? Remembering the disgusting promises their known associate Fenrir Greyback whispered into her ear the night she was tortured in Malfoy Manor, she had to assume they were. At least some of them. She knew her virtue was protected from some of the worst pureblood fanatics just simply because she was Muggle-Born. They would've killed her long before they violated her.
What sort of Death Eater was Barty Crouch Junior? He'd been so young when he was seduced into giving his life up for Voldemort. The Crouch family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Pureblood families, but his father certainly wasn't a Pureblood fanatic. At least not outwardly. Research taught her that there were dozens of reasons Death Eaters became what they were. Not all of them were obsessed with the fantasy of so-called blood purity. Some just desired power or revenge or were sick bastards who craved violence. What motivated the seventeen year old Barty to join Voldemort?
As soon as the thought came to mind, Hermione berated herself for trying to humanize the cretin. He didn't deserve it. Maybe he was little more than a child when he first became a Death Eater, but he was an adult her fourth year when he held Alastor Moody captive all year and was responsible for all of the devastation that forever tarnished the memories of the Triwizard Tournament. There was no excuse for what he did then.
Rain splattered on the glass panes of her bedroom window. Though she was safe inside her warm house, a deep chill settled inside her down to her bones. Her breath felt heavy. One more day had come and gone. Did she have enough in her to make it through another one? She supposed she didn't really have a choice. No matter how impossible it could sometimes seem, she somehow always managed.
