Author's Note: I know I've said this before, but I just wanted to reiterate that this is far from an easy story to write. In some ways, it has been one of my most challenging. Thank you for your patience (and your encouragement, you sweet precious people who are kind enough to leave a comment) as I tackle this story. I really am working hard at it, I promise. It's just difficult to stay continuously in the state required to write seriously about depression. I have several chapters completed and will be sharing them over the coming weeks. I hope to finish this soon, but can sadly make no promises. It may take me longer than I wish. Thank you.


Chapter Sixteen

The Leaky Cauldron hadn't changed one bit in all of the years since Harry had first visited it as an eleven year old. He wasn't sure what he expected. It hadn't changed much in over a hundred years and even though it felt like a lifetime ago since he last lifted a glass in the familiar tavern, it really had only been a matter of months. His old friends hadn't changed either. He wondered if they thought the same about him, but he never would ask. Maybe he didn't want to know the answer.

A small group of Gryffindor wizards, only the ones from his own year he shared a dormitory with, gathered around the same rickety table in one of the private back rooms. After the war ended the five of them promised each other they would share a pint every few months and keep them all informed about their lives. For the most part, except for a few stretches of time when he was gone fighting dementors or Dean was off somewhere on the continent studying art, they had been able to keep their promise.

Why they chose Christmas night to meet again, Harry didn't know. Maybe they were sick of being around their families and needed a break. Even though he didn't possess a family of his own, he thought he could understand the desire to break away from nosy relatives for a few hours. It used to bother him that he didn't have a family. Perhaps it still did and he'd gotten better at convincing himself he didn't need one. But he couldn't push away the thought of maybe having one someday with Luna. Just thinking about her perfect body swelling with his child made sitting down a little uncomfortable. He was grateful for the table he sat under. When his thoughts wandered in her direction he was little better than an embarrassing third year.

It was a relief that none of his old friends asked him any questions about his mission. Maybe Ron asked them not to or perhaps they simply knew him well enough to know he didn't need to be pushed. Living together in such a small room for years taught them a lot about each other that few, if any, others knew. He would tell them what he wanted them to know. They knew that better than anyone. Their conversation was light, full of jokes and reminiscences of their shared past. Each time one of his mates laughed, Harry felt a growing warmth in his stomach and the urge to smile too. A few times he thought if he closed his eyes, he might be able to convince himself that they were still Hogwarts students with their entire lives ahead of them. Unfortunately, that never lasted long. Reminders of what he'd encountered since those relatively peaceful years, if one didn't consider Voldemort's uncanny habit of waiting until final examinations were over or nearly over to put his annual disastrous plans into action, snapped him back to a painful reality.

At least the fire whiskey was plentiful and never stopped flowing. Hannah Longbottom knew how to keep her guests entertained and well cared for. After so many glasses at the Burrow and not eating nearly enough despite Molly still being the best cook he knew, Harry was more than a little drunk. It was easy to give in to the temporary peace intoxication provided. It also wasn't like he was going to be expected to keep up his stamina later that night. Luna was away on a holiday with her father for the next few weeks. He missed her already.

All in all, he had to admit it was an enjoyable night. Ron made the right decision of dragging him along despite his initial protestations. He was glad he could be relaxed with old friends. Part of him worried that he would remain on his guard for the rest of his life. As the evening progressed well into the late night hours, the conversation started to slow down.

"Mum made sure to invite Hermione for dinner tonight, but she said she had other plans."

It was a common lie Hermione told when she was invited somewhere she didn't want to go. They might have tried to remain friends after their relationship ended, but it had been for nothing. Harry tried to push away the creeping sadness that the three of them were no longer the so-called 'Golden Trio' that obnoxious newspaper reporters titled them after Voldemort was defeated. Nothing had been the same since the war ended. It was naive to believe it would all stay the same.

"She probably didn't want to see me. It's still weird between us since I got back from Greenland."

"Or maybe she's off somewhere with Kingsley convincing herself that she's being so clever and no one knows what they're up to."

Harry snorted into his glass at Ron's cheeky suggestion. Hermione's relationship with the Minister had been terribly kept from the very beginning. Maybe not everyone know about their supposedly 'secret' romance, Rita Skeeter would've surely had something nasty and public to say about it, but many did.

"No, I don't think Hermione is with Kingsley. That's probably over after Kingsley forced her to allow Barty Crouch Jr to live in her house."

Alcohol could make fools of anyone.

"Barty Crouch Jr?"

As soon as Harry heard Neville's voice, he realized he'd made a terrible error. Secrets had a way of revealing themselves whenever a bottle of fire whiskey was near.

"How the devil could Crouch be forced to move into Hermione's house?"


Since they were eleven years old and on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, Hermione had a special place in her heart for the clumsy, forgetful Neville Longbottom. Even though he had been born in the wizarding world, there was still something about him that marked him as an outsider just like her. He was her first friend in school and for a little while her only. Never once had he made her feel like she was nothing more than just his back-up friend.

She knew immediately he was drunk. Not only had she seen him in that state several times before, she could smell it all over him. Wherever he'd been, he'd clearly enjoyed the holiday. He also appeared angrier than he'd ever been before, at least in her presence. Usually he had the presence of mind to keep his worst emotions to himself or within the privacy of his own home. She didn't know what to do. How did he find out about Barty? It was supposed to remain a secret until Barty's eventual fate was decided.

"Neville, calm down. Let's discuss this rationally."

Nothing she said seemed to matter in the slightest. Neville pushed inside her house, nearly knocking her to the ground in the process. Hermione was even more worried than before. He was usually such a gentle man, but under the influence of alcohol and anger, she couldn't trust that he would remain so for long.

Perhaps it was a strength of character that kept Barty from running out of the room at the first sign of trouble. She wouldn't have blamed him if he ran for cover when she opened the front door. Without access to magic, he was completely at the mercy of any wizard who might hold a grudge about his past actions. Unfortunately for him, there were a number of people who might be willing to risk their own sentence in Azkaban for a chance at revenge. It was a possibility she had been trying not to think about since the first day he entered her home.

"How long have you been hiding this bastard in your house?"

It was easy to forget that the usually calm, soft-spoken Herbology professor started out as an auror right out of Hogwarts. He knew how to defend himself and how to make his enemies regret crossing his path. Never forgetting the training he received from both the Ministry and his friends during their clandestine Dumbledore's Army meetings, Neville had his wand out of his pocket and pointed in Barty's direction with only one swift motion. Knowing he would not be able to fight his way out of the confrontation, Barty held up his hands to show he was both unarmed and unwilling to fight. Everything happened so fast that Hermione felt at a loss what to do next. She felt an obligation to keep Barty protected but she also wasn't interested in physically harming her dear friend when he was in a vulnerable, drunken moment.

"I used to dream about what it would be like to have one of you arseholes at the end of my wand. Always wanted to cast the same fucking curse on you that you cast on my parents."

"Neville, please stop. This isn't right. He's…"

Whatever argument she was about to make on Barty's behalf would have fallen on deaf ears if she even knew how to continue. Red streaks on Neville's face were evidence that he was angrier than ever before. It frightened her. What was Neville capable of? Could she stop him in time if she tried? Or would she only get injured in the process? He wasn't thinking clearly.

"Cru…"

Neville's wand flew backwards out of his hand before he could get the hateful word fully off his tongue. Confused and afraid of what was happening, Hermione nearly cried when she saw Harry standing in the doorway holding their friend's stolen wand. If he had been a second slower, it would've been too late. Also wobbly on his feet, Harry was in the same intoxicated condition that stripped Neville of his better senses. Hermione had to sigh. How Neville learned about Barty's presence in her home was no longer a mystery.

Soon there were other pops outside the open front door announcing new arrivals. She didn't even try to fight the frustrated groan when she saw Ron, Dean, and Seamus standing just on the other side of the threshold looking in with wide, concerned eyes. A Gryffindor reunion in her lounge sounded like the worst possible way to spend the remaining minutes of Christmas Day. She wasn't in the mood. Some of the new arrivals she hadn't spoken to in a long time. Why change what was already working?

"Give me my wand back, Harry. You had no right!"

If it was even possible, Neville was angrier than he was when he first saw Barty. All of his ire was directly focused on Harry for the time being. Hermione grew concerned about the man's blood pressure. They might have all been fairly young according to the calendar even if they didn't feel so internally, but he seemed angry enough to have a heart attack.

"No, Neville. You'll only get this back when you've calmed down."

"That's not going to happen with him still alive."

"You're not killing him, mate. Not unless you use your bare hands."

Harry should've known that his drunken comment could be taken as a suggestion. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Neville turned back towards Barty. He took an aggressive step forwards into Barty's direction. Barty didn't move. Before Neville could take a second step, he was stopped by an impediment jinx cast on his back by Ron. That interference only made Neville's face turn a deeper shade of red when it was obvious he couldn't move.

"Release me now!"

Ron had been an auror too before he chose to help his brother George run the joke shop. Even before he left Hogwarts he had faced down more formidable foes than his old friend. In an effort to deescalate the situation and calm Neville down, he stepped inside to put his body between Neville's and his intended victim. Nothing he said was effective. The argument continued. It was maddening. How had her night gotten so miserable so quickly? She couldn't handle any more of it.

"That's enough."

She didn't have to raise her voice to be heard. Every person in the room stopped when she spoke those two words. With her wand clutched tightly in her hand, she was prepared to curse every single one of them if it was necessary. How dare they come into her home without invitation to ruin the peace? It was her sanctuary and none of them had any right to impose themselves.

"Neville, you are not welcome in my home again until you can be sober and calm."

Every word she uttered seemed to only make him more frustrated and ready to attack. If he hadn't been stuck in place and able to use his wand, she feared what sort of destruction he would bring.

"You're taking the side of a Death Eater over me. You realize that, right?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side, but Barty is under my protection for the time being. It is my responsibility to make certain he isn't harmed."

He was on the verge of continuing the argument, but something stopped Neville. Maybe he could see the futility of the fight, knew how stubborn she could be when she felt it was necessary.

"Fine. I'll leave, but this isn't over."

It was the best she could hope for. With a nod of her head to Ron, her ex released Neville from the jinx. Seamus plucked Neville's wand out of Harry's hand with a promise that he would make certain he got Neville back to the Leaky Cauldron in one piece. Dean followed behind, offering a non-verbal apology to Hermione as they left.

Hermione wasn't sure when she was last so embarrassed. Neither Ron nor Harry appeared to be in a rush to leave after the others. The green tinge to Harry's skin worried her that he was about to be sick on her rug. How much had he had to drink anyway? It wasn't like him to overindulge, at least not that she was aware. She could only remember him ever sipping on the same glass of fire whiskey the last few times they were together in social situations. Was this just an overindulgence because it was supposed to be a happy holiday or was he used to hiding his drinking better than that?

"Come on, Harry. I'll get you home."

Ron put his arm around Harry's shoulders to lead him out the front door. All the spinning the drunken wizard around did was cause him to finally give up the contents of his stomach right there on the floor. Hardly able to stand on his own two feet without assistance, Hermione knew that Harry wasn't going to be able to make it home. Not even if Ron Side-Along Apparated him. He'd be sick the entire journey.

"Just leave him here, Ron. He can sleep it off on the sofa."

One of the more awkward goodbyes followed Ron helping Harry to the sofa. After wishing Hermione a happy Christmas, something that seemed almost impossible at that point to have, Ron kissed her cheek and rushed out the front door, politely closing it behind him. She stared at the door for a few moments composing herself, thinking about what she would say when she turned around to face Barty again.

He was mortified. There was no other word to adequately describe him. Without saying a word or waiting for her to say something that no doubt wouldn't be helpful, Barty rushed into his bedroom to escape. Hermione didn't blame him at all. If she could make her own escape, she would do so gladly. But she still had the problem of Harry to deal with.

"I can't believe you would be so foolish to…"

She realized at once that he wasn't even awake to hear her admonishment. Once his head hit one of the scatter cushions, he was out. All she could do was sigh. The uncomfortable conversation they needed to have would have to wait. As soon as she turned the television off, she heard the first of what would no doubt be many snores that night from the Dementor Destroyer.

"We will talk in the morning, Harry."

Frustrated that what had been a fairly pleasant and enjoyable evening was ruined, she retreated to the safety of her bedroom. It was very late. Every cell in her body felt exhausted. Though her mind continued to race up until the very last second, it didn't take long for her to fall asleep.

The sound of a door opening jarred Hermione awake out of a sound sleep. Worried at first that someone dared to enter her room without permission, she sat quickly up ready to defend herself, if necessary. Once she was fully oriented and awake, she realized she'd heard the back door in the kitchen shut. After just a few hours, Harry was in no shape to escape.

One look outside her window revealed it was Barty walking out in the back garden. Not wearing his cloak again, it appeared he was headed towards the cliffs. She understood. If anyone needed to clear their head, she thought it would be him. He deserved to have his privacy, his time at the cliffs all to himself. She pulled the blankets on her bed back over her in an attempt to fall back asleep.

But she couldn't. How could she when all she could think about was how he sought her out the night of the storm because he was worried she was going to hurt herself? He might be in the same peril. After just a few minutes, she was on her feet reaching for a heavy dressing gown and a pair of boots she could slip on.

There was no need to worry that Harry was disturbed by the other two inhabitants of the house getting out of bed. He was deep asleep and snoring when she stepped back out into the lounge. Careful not to make too much noise, she crossed the room to grab Barty's cloak off the hook and put hers on.

The walk to the cliffs usually took at least a quarter of an hour. Somehow, perhaps because she was in such distress that after a rough, emotional night Barty might be about to do something foolish, she made it in less time than ever before. She stopped to catch her breath once she saw that the man still stood unharmed on the edge staring out at the crashing waves. It was a relief she was able to get there before he tried anything they might come to regret.

Barty looked up to meet her eyes when she was close enough to push his cloak into his hands. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face for half a second as he put the heavy garment on over his shoulders. For over a minute they stood next to each other in silence. There was something comfortable about not speaking. It didn't last long. Hermione rarely could keep from speaking even if she enjoyed the quiet.

"I'm sorry about Neville."

She wished she could have figured out a way to be less forthright. If she was truly worried that the man was in danger of causing himself permanent harm, perhaps coming right out and mentioning the uncomfortable reason their evening was ruined wasn't the best option. When she heard his heavy sigh, she hated herself even more. It sounded sad.

"Don't be. Mr. Longbottom didn't say anything that wasn't true. He has every right to want to kill me. I understand."

Maybe if it was anyone else she would've felt the urge to immediately argue that no one wanted to kill them. She wouldn't because he was correct. Of course Neville's anger was justified. If he hadn't been shocked by the news Barty was alive, Neville would've been much calmer. There had only been a handful of times that she'd ever seen her friend lose his temper. What happened to his parents would always be a sore subject. No one could blame him for being so upset knowing one of the Death Eaters responsible was essentially free.

"I've really made a mess of your life, haven't I?"

His quiet laughter caught Hermione by surprise. She hadn't expected the tone of their conversation to change so rapidly. Despite finding the whole situation odd, she had to find the humor in the moment too. Her life had been fairly boring and uneventful for a long time before the last dementor was destroyed. The change hadn't been all that bad either. She didn't want to admit that her life had been a mess long before she saw him again in St. Mungo's. The truth was just too depressing.

"You didn't come out here to test out your theory of breaking all of your bones against the rocks before dying, did you?"

Barty snorted out another laugh, clearly not expecting her to change the subject in such a macabre way.

"No, I'm actually afraid to die. You won't catch me trying to bring it along any faster no matter how many irate wizards want to curse me to bits."

His confession surprised Hermione. Or was she more surprised by the fact that she felt such a tremendous wave of relief knowing he wasn't on the verge of throwing himself over the cliff? She'd simply gotten used to having him around. There was nothing more to it than that. Besides, she had a responsibility to keep him protected from those who meant him harm until he was formally granted parole or chucked back in Azkaban to be the Ministry's problem again. Even if he was the one who wanted to hurt himself, she couldn't let it happen.

"You're afraid of dying?"

She didn't know what possessed her to ask such a personal question. Sometimes she struggled with the line between what was appropriate to discuss in polite company and what was not.

"Not the dying part exactly. More what comes after."

Barty sighed once more, a sound she was certainly used to hearing coming out of her own frustrated mouth. His eyes moved off of her back out to the crashing waves of the sea. Even without being a Legilimens, a skill she thought might have come in handy in that circumstance, she could tell that the thoughts he was having were distressing and dark. How else could one face the issue of their death? It was hardly a topic that could be easily discussed.

"I've done a lot of bad in my life that I will need to pay for at some point. If my punishment in the afterlife is anything remotely close to what it was after being Kissed, I'm in no hurry to rush towards it. I'll go kicking and screaming and entirely unwillingly."

"Maybe you're wrong and the afterlife is beautiful and peaceful and nothing at all like we deserve."

If she was truly honest with both herself and the man she was inexplicably trying to comfort in her own way, she would admit that she didn't have much faith or hope that there was anything special that came after one's death. She anticipated it was hardly worth mentioning at all. A person was born and they died. Nothing else. Something about the sadness in his voice when he mentioned paying for his crimes made her want to reassure them both that there was something better to look forward to than what they experienced in life.

"It's possible. Highly unlikely but possible."

"Well, if you're not trying to kill yourself, you really should stop walking outside in this weather without your cloak."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I was always freezing for so many years I got used to it. Some days I thought being warm was nothing but a dream I once had."

"Well, stop. You don't have to be cold any longer unless you want to."

She never considered how it must have felt to float around in the collective consciousness of the dementors. Or rather, she tried as much as possible not to think about it. Even when he mentioned it weeks earlier or she read some passage in a horrible Ministry report or book about what it was like, she tried to pretend it couldn't be all that bad. Knowing that he'd been freezing for twelve years saddened her in a way she didn't expect.

"I'll add some more heating charms to your clothes when we get back inside if you want me to."

Barty didn't answer beyond offering her another half-smile. Without saying another word, he turned away from the ocean and gestured towards the house. They walked back in silence, both glad for the warmth inside when they reached it.