Chapter Eighteen
He felt like a complete idiot. Nothing had gone right for Harry since the night before. Or had it been even longer than that? Was he being overly dramatic if he thought he'd done nothing since he returned from his mission but make mistakes and life more complicated? He almost preferred the thought of being back in the wilderness at the mercy of an entire colony of dementors. At the very least he knew he'd feel more confident about his next actions.
There would always be another monster to fight. That was a painfully obvious truth he hadn't been willing to see until Aberforth Dumbledore pointed it out to him right after he returned home from destroying the last dementor. He didn't have to go looking for trouble. It would find him when it was ready. Past experience taught him to trust that was so.
Until then, until he could safely make his next escape into the wilderness, he needed to smooth out some of his mistakes. Unfortunately, he had a list that just kept growing. The most pressing had to be making sure his drunken confession from the night before didn't create even more collateral damage.
Even just standing in the threshold of the Leaky Cauldron again made his insides swirl. The breakfast he'd accepted from Crouch helped settle the worst of his hangover symptoms long enough to have the uncomfortable discussion with both Crouch and Hermione. Returning to the scene where he'd imbibed far too much only made him feel sick again. He didn't want to be there, especially not with all of the curious faces turned in his direction. Would he be able to make it through his visit without being bombarded by well-meaning but terribly obnoxious admirers? He didn't dare to hope so. Maybe he would've been much happier if he'd taken a lowly clerk position in a Ministry department no one cared about and allowed the rest of the world to forget he existed.
There was one face behind the bar that didn't look too pleased to see Harry return to her tavern. Hannah Longbottom was fiercely loyal just as her fellow Hufflepuffs were expected to be. No doubt Neville told his wife everything that happened the night before and about Crouch, one of the Death Eaters responsible for his parents' barbaric torture and current incapacitated state, being miraculously returned from the dead. Considering he was technically the one responsible for Crouch's improved condition, Harry knew she likely had some anger directed at him.
"Good morning, Hannah. Is Neville available where I could speak to him?"
For someone who had grown almost bored with fighting dementors to the death and who once stood in front of Voldemort willing to sacrifice his own life for all of the ones left in the castle, he felt nervous being stared at by the usually friendly witch. After a tense pause of only a few seconds that seemed to last much longer, he came to the conclusion that no matter the conflict, he always wanted to be on Hannah's good side. She didn't respond to his question in words. Just sighed and gestured towards the hidden staircase that went up to their attic flat with her head.
He thought once he disappeared behind the panel onto the narrow staircase he'd climbed a hundred times before that he would feel less nervous. Neville had been a close, loyal friend since they were eleven years old. Never once had he been afraid of his mate. Was Neville still going to be angry? Based on Hannah's reaction alone, he knew that was a dumb question. Of course he was and he had every right to be.
There must have been some way for Hannah to get a message up to her husband or Neville simply knew to expect Harry to arrive some time that day. Either way Neville was ready for his visitor. Courteous, but uncharacteristically cold, he opened the front door and stepped aside to allow Harry inside. Unsure where to even begin, he blurted out the first thought that came to mind.
"I'm sorry I disarmed you when your back was turned. That was not fair."
Neville's heavy sigh was enough to lower his shoulders and break some of the tension. Not all of it, of course, but enough that Harry accepted a seat at the tiny kitchen's table without fear. Before he joined him, Neville took a teacup out of the cupboard to fill it with a foul-smelling liquid he placed in front of Harry. It made the swirling in his stomach return at full force.
"Drink it quickly. It's better than any hangover potion you can brew."
He trusted his friend and appreciated that he knew his plants. Desperate for anything to rid him of his pounding headache, Harry did as he was told. The first few seconds convinced him that everything inside of his body, organs and all, was about to come hurtling out of his mouth. When that awful feeling passed, he felt like himself again.
"Thank you."
"Neither one of us handled our fire whiskey well last night. It was good you disarmed me when you did. I wasn't… I wasn't myself."
"That's understandable. I know you had a shock."
An awkward silence fell between the two men. Neither seemed to know how to break it or even if they should. Sometimes, when there was a lot to discuss, finding a beginning feels impossible. It can be much easier to walk away and let the matter drop. If two of the people Harry cared about the most weren't involved, he might have, but he knew he couldn't.
"I should've handled the secret of Crouch being alive better than I did."
"Secrets always have a way of getting out."
"Yes, but you have a right to know and it should've been better than what happened."
Neville didn't see the sense in arguing with the facts. Everything had been done wrong. Harry made a mistake, of course, but the same day Crouch was found to be awake… no, the same hour someone from the Ministry should've tracked Neville down to let him know. Kingsley himself probably should've been the one to do it. If he hadn't been so rattled by what he perceived as Hermione's disloyalty, he likely would've. Gryffindors with injured pride rarely made the right decision in the moment.
"Why is Crouch living in Hermione's house? It doesn't make any sense."
Harry had to take a few moments to gather his thoughts before he spoke. Lying to Neville wasn't an option he was willing to consider. It was wrong and his friend deserved more than that. If he didn't handle the delicate situation properly, he was in danger of making yet another mess.
"When Crouch woke up after his soul was restored, he demanded to be allowed to go free claiming he'd completed his sentence when he received the Dementor's Kiss. Kingsley wanted to throw him back in Azkaban."
"It's where he belongs."
He knew he had to be exceptionally careful how he continued. Neville could either be a powerful ally or formidable enemy. If Harry wasn't able to convince him to see the predicament from his and Hermione's perspective, he could become a very vocal critic and hindrance to their plan to keep Crouch out of prison.
"If he hadn't been Kissed, I would agree with you, but…"
"You can't be serious, Harry. After everything that arsehole did, you can't believe he doesn't deserve to die in Azkaban."
All he could do in response at first was sigh. It felt as if he'd done a lot of that in recent days, too much.
"It's all very complicated."
"No, it's not. He tortured my parents into insanity, murdered his own father, was instrumental in Voldemort returning, and those are just the crimes we know about. How can you honestly claim he doesn't deserve Azkaban?"
Unfortunately, Neville made a number of very valid points. How could Harry explain the barbarity of using the dementors to remove the soul out of a person's body was a far worse punishment than being forced to sit in a cage for the rest of one's life? Most people didn't have any idea how cruel and terrifying what was done to Crouch really was or they simply didn't want to know. Ignorance could indeed be bliss. If he hadn't been so close to nearly being Kissed himself, Harry likely would've held similar beliefs to Neville. No matter how his and Hermione's, for lack of a better word, crusade turned out, he knew he would be faced with a number of other people who couldn't understand why he would even try.
"We have to be better than our criminals, Neville. We shouldn't be competing with them to see who can be more cruel and inhumane."
A variation of Hermione's words made for the simplest explanation he could think of. Seemingly unmoved by his words, Neville's eyes narrowed. A usually quite gentle man, when he was angry and truly motivated, one dismissed him at their own peril. Voldemort learned that lesson the hard way when his beloved Nagini was split in two with the Sword of Gryffindor.
"Crouch should've been taken straight to Azkaban when it was discovered who he really was the night of the third Triwizard task. Fudge was wrong to force the Kiss on him. Idiot did it to save his own arse. Didn't want anyone to know he'd allowed a Death Eater to escape from Azkaban and spend nearly an entire year parading as a Hogwarts professor."
"Crouch deserves Azkaban."
Neville was going to be a hard sell. Likely he wouldn't budge in his opinion no matter what, stubborn Gryffindor and all. It would be a terrible idea to attempt to push him right away. Best to let him stew on what Harry told him a little while first. Knowing their conversation had come to its end, Harry stood up from the table.
"If you could please keep Crouch's existence and especially the fact that he's staying at Hermione's house quiet for a little longer. Hermione could be put in danger."
"I would never intentionally hurt Hermione."
"I know you wouldn't."
Though he didn't say the words out loud, Harry knew Neville was agreeing to keep the secret for the present. The two friends parted with a handshake, but it felt different between them, like something had been irrevocably broken. With a heaviness in his heart and on his shoulders, he went out in search of Dean and Seamus to extract the same promises of silence.
There was no mention of Barty in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet on Boxing Day to Hermione's enormous relief. Not that she could allow herself to fully relax yet that all was well. It would only be a matter of time before it got out. Honestly, she thought it a bit of a miracle it hadn't yet. Few people knew how to keep their mouths shut.
After a pleasant day of watching movies and eating leftovers while pretending there was nothing unusual happening, Hermione returned to the Ministry. Very few people were there to bother her, she was pleased to see. Most officials wouldn't return until after New Year's Day. She understood the appeal of taking the break but as she had an important mission, she couldn't sit around doing nothing for even a week. Plus, the added benefit of Blaise spending the holidays abroad made working in a nearly empty building all the more attractive. No distractions to keep her from her research.
For the entire week she kept nearly the same routine every single day. With the exception of the first couple of hours of the morning where she reviewed and corrected as many contracts and briefs as she could to make certain she stayed at least somewhat on top of her regular work, the rest of her time was spent digging through dusty files in the Ministry Archives. Only one clerk worked while the others enjoyed time off and he thankfully left Hermione alone unless she specifically asked for his help.
It was easy to isolate herself away from the rest of the world as she researched laws about prisoner sentences she thought might be applicable to the case. There were hundreds of years of files to go through, a feat that seemed impossible. If she lived to two hundred, she might still be unable to read it all. As much information and precedents as she gathered, she worried it wouldn't be enough. In all likelihood, she was simply wasting her time for a hopeless case.
Barty was entirely at the mercy of the Wizengamot and quite possibly, popular opinion. Many of the esteemed members would vote to throw him in Azkaban simply because he was a Death Eater. No other reasons were necessary. She understood the still present and very valid anger and hatred for the violent, deluded followers of Lord Voldemort. Likely there was even a small part of her who would feel the same way if she was faced with supporting Antonin Dolohov's or Bellatrix Lestrange's release from Azkaban. Thankfully Bellatrix was dead and that would never be a concern.
There would always be those who didn't understand why she was doing what she was doing. Why should she waste any energy at all to save a known criminal from prison? Some would claim she was stupid or too blinded by her own personal anger with Kingsley or worse, something of an apologist for the Death Eater's actions. She wasn't. Not at all. Barty committed horrible crimes that he deserved to be punished for. Not once did she ever deny that. Her issue had always been with the rushed and almost flippant decision the former Minister Fudge made in subjecting him to the Dementor's Kiss without any trial or consideration for the serious cruelty of the punishment. It was all to cover Fudge's own sorry arse.
When Barty was a scared teenager crying out for mercy at his own Wizengamot trial after the horrific torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, he was sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban. That was fair. Hermione would never argue against that sentence no matter how many times some ignorant cow accused her of inappropriate sympathies. His escape from Azkaban, facilitated by his father who claimed to be an upstanding Ministry official until the day he was murdered, was wrong. The moment he was discovered to still be alive, he should've been sent back to Azkaban to satisfy his original sentence. But no, Fudge had been so scared of tarnishing his reputation he had to destroy the evidence and hide as much of it as possible from the public. Most in their society didn't have the first clue what the truth was about those hours after Harry returned from the graveyard following Voldemort's return to a body. He hadn't been granted a fair trial, a right anyone in his position, even a vicious murderer, was entitled. It was wrong. No one would ever convince her otherwise.
She supposed she was in a similar position to all of the Muggles around the world who fought so hard for the death penalty to be abolished. Careful not to forget the souls they were advocating for were indeed guilty of unspeakable crimes, they had to argue that the penalty of execution was cruel. Who had the right to determine whether another human being should live or die? No one. Just as Fudge had no right to decide to remove Barty's soul from his body. She didn't expect to make friends with her mission. No, quite the opposite. There would be those who would never speak to her again once they knew what she was working on. It was a price she was willing to pay to at least try to correct a terrible injustice.
By the last day of the year, Hermione was almost fully relaxed that the secret of Barty's existence and the fact he was living in her guest room hadn't gotten out yet. Despite her somewhat fractured friendships with the other Gryffindors, she was pleased to know they still cared enough about her to keep her protected. Maybe that would change the more time passed, but for the present, she felt content. At the very least she was determined to try to enjoy the present without worrying too much about the future.
She worked late into the evening on New Year's Eve. Only a pounding headache right behind her tired eyes forced her to stop. Knowing she couldn't go on any longer, she organized her notes on her desk with a heavy sigh. There would be no work the next day. The building would be closed for all but the most essential personnel. She knew she could use a break even if it was just for a single day. Her eyes were starting to cross reading all of the tiny script on old parchment. Not to mention the dust was irritating her nose too. A solution to Barty's case would eventually be found but probably not by the next day. She could afford a rest.
It wasn't a surprise to push open her front door and find Barty seated on her sofa thoroughly engaged in all of the New Year's programming on the television. Since he learned how to operate the Muggle machine, television had become his escape from the harsh reality he'd seen since he regained his soul. She couldn't exactly blame him. What else could he do to pass the time? He might have found some peace in a job where he could keep himself busy, but who would ever hire him? Part of her felt sorry for him. That sort of mindless, purposeless existence would drive her mad.
"Did you find any law today that will send me back to Azkaban?"
It had become part of their daily routine for him to ask some variation of the same question every day with the same cheeky grin. She rolled her eyes as she took her cloak off but still laughed. In a sick way, it was funny. What would he say if she ever had to tell him she had found a law that could be used to imprison him again?
"Not today, I'm afraid. Maybe I'll find one next year."
Barty chuckled at her terrible joke and returned his full attention back to the televised festivities. If he even noticed her leave the room to escape to the privacy of her bedroom, she didn't know. When he was focused, he seemed to push out all distractions.
A long, hot bath was how Hermione chose to indulge herself that evening. After only a short time in the water she nearly fell asleep. She hadn't realized she was that exhausted until she closed her eyes and took a deep inhale of the fragrant oils she'd poured into the tub. But, she supposed she wasn't done being tired from the previous day's tired. When did she start feeling exhausted all of the time no matter how much she slept? Usually she tried not to think about it. Whatever the answer, she knew it had only grown worse since the whole ordeal with Barty began.
Dressed in comfortable clothes following her bath, she went in search of something to eat in the kitchen. Thanks to Winky's generosity, there was enough leftover food she didn't expect to need to cook again for at least another week. Though a part of her hated eating in front of the television because it was never allowed in the Granger home when she was younger, Hermione didn't like being alone in the kitchen either. She'd spent an entire day almost completely alone in the Ministry already. Ignoring the small voice in the back of her mind that sounded a great deal like her mother, she carried her plate out into the lounge where Barty was still positively riveted to the television.
Watching him watching was just as amusing in some ways. She found it interesting that he was so fascinated by the Muggles on the screen. What would his former comrades think of him if they could see him in that moment? Imagining some of the fiercest, most violent Death Eaters standing around them watching Muggles singing and dancing on the television with confused, possibly horrified expressions on their face made her chuckle. Hearing the sound, Barty turned towards her with a raised eyebrow.
"What's so funny?"
For a brief moment she considered not telling him. Maybe he would be overly sensitive about a reminder of his past.
"I think it's amusing that you're so fascinated by Muggle television. It's not at all what I would expect from a big, bad, scary Death Eater."
He smirked, but didn't respond. Pleased she hadn't offended him, Hermione surprised herself by saying even more than she intended.
"You're not at all what I expected."
It was true, even if she wished she hadn't said it out loud. Each day she realized more and more that she didn't know anything about him. Usually when they spoke they were able to keep their conversations on the surface, never getting very deep.
"Television is interesting." He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "Besides, even homicidal monsters have their ordinary moments too. Antonin Dolohov collected stamps and it would surprise you to know that Walden Macnair tells the dumbest jokes."
She wasn't sure if she could wrap her head immediately around those revelations. Sometimes it was hard to remember that the Death Eaters hadn't always been monsters. Once upon a time they'd been regular, even boring human beings just like everybody else.
"You're different now than you were when you first woke up in the hospital."
Yet again she said more than she intended. She hadn't meant to remind him about his bizarre behavior when he first came into consciousness again. Embarrassed for a half a second, Barty was able to control his features before speaking.
"I was surprised that so much time had gone by and yet, so little at the same time. I was still in a bit of shock when you walked in the door."
Hermione wasn't sure what to say next. Before the silence between them had the opportunity to grow awkward, Barty spoke again.
"You weren't what I was expecting."
There was no further explanation about what he meant. As curious as she was to know more, she didn't think it was the time. Maybe when they were a little more comfortable around each other she could ask him for details. They both returned their full attention to the television. Only a few minutes later he turned his head back into her direction.
"Why aren't you in some pub tonight celebrating the holiday with your friends?"
She didn't mean to laugh at the sincere question, especially considering there really wasn't anything that funny about it.
"I actually hate New Year's Eve. Never understood the need for it. Always a big let down. Besides, I don't have that many friends who would want to celebrate with me even if I wanted to."
"Because of me?"
His question was asked so softly that if there hadn't been a brief break in the noise from the television, she might've missed it altogether. She sighed.
"No, because of me."
Other people might have elaborated, but she didn't want to. It was a sore subject. She didn't have many friends, never really had.
"I understand. Friendships are… complicated."
"Yes, they are. Did you have a lot of friends?"
She regretted asking the question before it was even over. It was none of her business and likely not even a happy subject. Why should she ask someone something that would make her uncomfortable if the tables were turned? Instead of being upset, he laughed. She thought she could hear some pain in it, but he tried to shrug it off. The performance wasn't convincing.
"I had a few friends, but we were never close. My fault, really. I was too focused on my studies, on doing what I could to make my father proud."
There was obvious bitterness in his tone. Likely he would harbor some resentment and anger for Barty Crouch Sr as long as he lived. Some wounds never fully healed. They were just easier to ignore when they weren't poked at. Deciding that she had already gotten them that far into the conversation, she pressed on.
"And when you were in the Death Eaters?"
"What about them?"
"Did you have any friends?"
Barty laughed again a little louder, startling her.
"There were no friendships to be found amongst the Death Eaters."
She was surprised.
"None at all?"
"Maybe there were some who were foolish enough to believe they had friends, but no, there was no place for friendship or affection in the Dark Lord's ranks. It was all about power and getting more of it. Some of those bastards would kill their own mothers for more. One or two might have even done it."
"Sounds like a charming group to be a part of."
His chuckles were softer, more amused. Some of the darkness disappeared. She smiled.
"Perhaps if I had been fortunate enough to have good friends who cared about me, I wouldn't have been such easy prey for the dark souls recruiting for the Dark Lord."
"Perhaps not."
A heavy wave of sadness fell over her at the thought of how his life had been so wasted. How different could it have been if he made better choices when he was young? She supposed that was true of anyone's life really.
"You were very fortunate to have the friends you did."
Hermione couldn't argue even if they weren't close like they once had been. They had made a big difference in her life.
"I'm not sure they always felt the same way about me."
Barty scoffed.
"Potter still cares about you. That much is obvious just from the conversations I've had with him."
"Harry has to 'save' people."
"Perhaps, but he cares about you a great deal."
It got quiet between them again, only the sounds from the television keeping the room from being totally silent. She wasn't going to argue despite wanting to just a little bit. Maybe he was right. Sometimes it was easier for someone on the outside to see the truth. Perspective mattered.
"And I know my opinion doesn't mean much, but Potter is a much better choice than Shacklebolt."
Hermione needed a moment to process what he said before she snorted out an unattractive laugh.
"That may be true, but Harry and I have never had that sort of relationship."
She laughed again a little harder.
"No, it's too… well, it's too gross to even imagine."
"Oh. I had no idea. I thought there was a history there."
"I suppose there is, but nothing like that. Harry is more like a brother to me."
He joined in her continued laughter with a quiet chuckle of his own.
"Then all of those articles about you during the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Complete rubbish. Please tell me you don't actually believe Rita Skeeter's lies."
"You can't be wrong about everything."
"Rita can."
They laughed again, breaking the last of the tension that the somewhat deep conversation created. Back to being comfortable around the other, they settled back into a companionable silence as they watched the show for another few minutes.
"Well, regardless of the sort of feelings Potter has for you, he would mourn you if something were to happen to you."
"What a morbid thought."
"And I suppose that should be the goal for how one should live their life. Would anyone mourn me when I died?"
Barty grew serious again. There was real sadness behind his eyes that she couldn't miss. Worried about how much more solemn their discussion could go if they allowed it, Hermione decided to try to make a joke.
"Please tell me we haven't gotten to the part of the evening where we share our New Year's resolutions."
"Resolutions?"
"Is that not done in the wizarding world too? Even after so many years I can't always remember when something only happens in the Muggle world."
"There were no New Year's resolutions in the Crouch family. Nothing less than absolute perfection was expected at all times."
"That sounds exhausting."
He smirked again.
"It was. Constantly striving to prove that I was living up to the Crouch name, that I was worthy to be born into my family, that I was even worthy of being a wizard at all."
His words hit her hard. She was reminded of all the times Blaise made a comment or asked her when she was going to finally believe she was worthy of being a witch. Many times over the years he'd accused her of working too hard to prove something that didn't need proving. She sighed.
"That's something I can understand."
Mutually they decided to stop talking without actually saying so out loud. With the attention back on the Muggle television program, they were able to move on from the potentially stressful discussion. Thankfully there was a lot to distract them playing out on the screen.
At some point in the night Hermione fell asleep on the couch. It wasn't like her to fall asleep while she was sitting up in front of the television. Something about the combination of the long week she'd had and the near-constant exhaustion made it happen. She had several odd, uncomfortable dreams she didn't care much for. The room had grown almost unbearably warm.
A gentle shaking of her arm tore her out of one of the worst of the dreams. Still not fully awake, she could hear her name being called way off in the distance. It felt strange and confusing. Someone was talking to her but she couldn't understand what they were saying. A person moved into her line of vision. The sound of counting in the background grew louder and easier to hear.
"Happy New Year, Hermione."
Something was supposed to happen at midnight. She knew that. What was it? Seeing the person in front of her again, she leaned up to kiss them. That was what one did when the clock struck midnight.
Hermione woke up fully almost immediately after realizing that she'd actually kissed Barty when she was asleep. Her lips were still pressed against his. Both of them remained tense and frozen, afraid to move.
