Chapter Twenty-Three
Even though he knew he was taking a dangerous risk, Harry also knew that Luna was right. She usually was. The world needed to know more about why he had to destroy the dementors. Too many of them probably assumed he had just done it for more fame and glory. Those were two desires he had never had in his entire life, but no one seemed to know or care about the truth. Voldemort was thrust upon him. He didn't choose to become the Chosen One. And he didn't make the decision to destroy the dementors because he liked being famous so much.
Truthfully, it was easier to sleep in a world where dementors no longer existed. That was a side effect of his mission that he hadn't expected. Part of him thought he would never be able to close his eyes again without seeing a dementor lowering its hood to give him the worst sort of kiss imaginable. Fitful and sleepless nights had simply become a part of his life, one he never expected would be any different.
He was relieved the first time he slept after the last dementor was destroyed. Maybe it was sheer exhaustion but he slept without moving or dreams for nearly an entire day. Most days since he returned to his home country he was able to push the worst of the memories out of his head. Not always, to his dismay. Only when he was with Luna did he not think about the dementors at all.
Unfortunately, the Lovegood staring at him in that moment wasn't Luna. Not that he had anything against Xenophilius. On the contrary, he really liked the strange man. Always had, except for that one unpleasant day when he tried to turn them over to the Death Eaters during the war. Harry couldn't blame him for that though. If the roles were reversed, he would've likely done something similar if he'd been so desperate to get Luna back. Especially after the war there was never a dull moment when Luna's father was around.
"We can take a break if you need to."
"No, thank you. That won't be necessary."
He knew that the faster he got through the interview, the better off he would be. Dredging up terrible memories from the past that he often tried to forget was difficult, draining in a manner it had no right to be. Already seated at the Lovegood kitchen table for over an hour, he'd given the eccentric magazine editor enough material for at least half a dozen articles, but he was far from over. There was so much that the general public had a right to know.
"My cousin and I were walking home…"
All of the awful details of the night he and his cousin were attacked by a dementor near their home came rushing out. What a horrible night that had been! He had to use magic to save his cousin from being Kissed which in turn made the Improper Use of Magic office send him a letter that he had been expelled from Hogwarts, the only home he really ever had. After a series of owls, he was temporarily reinstated pending a hearing at the Ministry. Even so many years later it was uncomfortable recalling that night. So much could've gone wrong. It made him sick to remember the drastic lengths Umbridge and by extension, the Ministry of Magic, went to shut him up. Just one more reminder that the Ministry had always been corrupt and unafraid to use the evil dementors for their own purpose. He felt even more certain that he had an obligation to try to right some of their past wrongs. Part of him would always be a Gryffindor.
When he finished telling about how it came out later that Umbridge was the one who ordered the dementor to attack him, he took a deep breath. It was easier to put that night and the anxiety-ridden days following it when his future was so uncertain out of his mind. Xenophilius just stared at him unblinking. After several seconds of silence, the older wizard sighed.
"Luna was right."
Harry couldn't keep from smirking.
"She usually is."
Xenophilius smiled too.
"You've already figured that out, have you?"
The tone of the conversation seemed to change between the two men. Harry braced himself for a potentially serious discussion with the man that had nothing to do with dementors. Perhaps it was the right moment. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he was asked about his intentions regarding Luna. With any other father, he might have been nervous, anxious to steer the conversation away to any other topic. Not with Xenophilius Lovegood. If anything, he was eager to get everything out.
"I never want to see Luna hurt."
"Good. Neither do I."
"I'm afraid of how she will be treated if she's linked to me. Your publication was the only one who treated Ginny Weasley with any kindness."
Xenophilius' smile turned a bit sad.
"There was no reason to treat her otherwise. She hadn't done anything wrong."
"I wish everyone else felt the same way you did."
A silence fell between them that wasn't entirely comfortable. Just before Harry could suggest they continue with the rest of his story, Xenophilius spoke.
"My Luna is strong enough to handle my competitors."
"She shouldn't have to."
"I agree, but you'd be a fool to let her go because of fear."
Harry couldn't argue.
With her heart racing and a cold sweat slowly trickling down her brow, Hermione woke up. She couldn't remember what she had been dreaming about, only that it was disturbing. If she was honest, she hated when she dreamed. In the past she didn't feel that way. She had always had a vivid, imaginative dreamworld but as she got older, her dreams became just another place to feel anxiety about her waking life. It wasn't the fun escape it once was. Little about her life remained the same the older she became.
She stayed in bed for a long time trying to calm her thoughts enough to go back to sleep. There were still hours to go before morning. Taking a sleeping potion was tempting except she didn't want to spend the whole next day asleep. Too much of her life in recent years had already been spent in bed.
And not in the fun way either. Spending the day in bed with another person was usually not a waste. It had been a long time since she last had a day like that. She could vaguely remember a weekend alone with Kingsley tucked away in a secluded holiday cottage his cousin owned. Everything with Kingsley was hidden and secret. She understood his reasoning for that but it didn't make her feel any better. Being someone's dirty little secret could be trying on one's self-esteem after awhile. Some days she wondered if she would ever be in a relationship again with someone who would be proud enough to be seen out in public with her.
Maybe she should take Barty's advice and seek out a Muggle in the village who was good with his hands in more ways than one. She was beginning to worry she would never find a good, real relationship in the magical world. Perhaps she would always remain something of an outsider no matter what she did or how long she was there. A Muggle might not understand her world or major portions of her past, but at least they wouldn't have any preconceived notions about her they read in a newspaper or a salacious book that had little basis in reality. A Muggle wouldn't use her in an effort to get closer to Harry or any of the other influential people she could call a friend.
As it nearly always did when she let it roam, her mind traveled to thoughts of Barty. She tried not to think too much of him. How could she not though when he was usually in the next room? They were both outsiders in their own ways. Was that why she felt responsible for him? She almost wished she could go back in time before Harry completed his mission. Life seemed much less complicated then. Was she happy or was just able to ignore how miserable she was?
Frustrated that she wasn't asleep yet, she turned on her side in an effort to get more comfortable. If she was lucky she might be able to fall asleep again. Her eyes settled on the wall. On the other side of that wall she knew Barty was asleep. Or at least she assumed he was. He kept such odd hours she couldn't be certain. Was he having trouble sleeping too? It had been a while since she last heard him scream out in his sleep. Was that a good sign or just proof he was getting better at hiding them?
"My bedroom door, however, is unlocked and you are always welcome."
Why did her mind keep playing that one moment over and over again? Since he uttered those words days earlier, she thought of little else when she let her mind wander. Was he being serious or was he just making another joke to make her uncomfortable? He teased her a lot. It had only gotten more frequent since they kissed by the cliffs. She couldn't forget how much fun it had been to kiss him. There was a lot of pent-up passion within him. What would it be like if he had an outlet to express it?
No one could blame her for where her mind went. It was natural, normal even. Especially for a woman who hadn't felt the touch of a man in long, long weeks. When she was engaged in the illicit sexual relationship with Kingsley they rarely went more than a week without finding the time to be alone. Usually it was every other day or so. More often when either one of them was particularly stressed. Used to having a very active and imaginative sex life, she struggled when there was nothing happening at all. It wasn't her fault that she imagined pushing open Barty's door and climbing into bed with him. Wrong it might be, but she didn't care. Fantasies were harmless.
When she allowed herself to think the most debauched thoughts she should be ashamed for, she chastised herself. No good could come from even imagining that. Frustrated with her inability to sleep, she threw the blankets off and got out of bed. She couldn't trust herself to lay there any longer. What if she talked herself into doing something rash and stupid she would regret just because she was bored? She hoped that brewing some chamomile tea might get her sleepy enough to return to her favorite escape.
The house was dark and silent. She tiptoed past Barty's closed bedroom door. In case he was able to find sleep when she wasn't, she didn't want to disturb him. That just seemed mean. All the way to the kitchen she tried to stay as quiet as humanly possible. Deciding to brew the tea the Muggle way just to have something to occupy her time, she stood in front of the window over the sink while the water heated up on the cooker to look outside. The only light was from the moon streaming inside. It was peaceful, calm.
She jumped at the sound of the back door opening. Spinning around quickly, she was relieved it was just Barty standing in the doorway. He was staring at her. Evidently her presence in the kitchen in the middle of the night caught him off-guard. Too late Hermione realized she never grabbed her dressing gown when she left her bedroom. Though she knew her nightgown was fairly modest, she also knew that the material was thin. She felt very exposed standing there under his gaze. What should she do? He hadn't moved or said anything. Just continued to stare. She finally made the decision to pretend there was nothing going on out of the ordinary even as it felt like her flesh was burning where his eyes looked.
"I'm glad to see you're finally wearing a cloak outside."
Barty smiled, but didn't say anything. He pulled the garment off his shoulders and laid it on the back of a chair at the table. Hermione didn't understand why that gesture made her feel somehow even more exposed. Should she excuse herself and run back to her bedroom to hide away? Almost as soon as she had that thought she dismissed it. That would only make the situation even more awkward.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Neither could I. I hoped a walk would help."
"Would you like some tea?"
At his nod she was glad to have a reason to occupy her hands. She turned away from him to finish brewing the tea. The scrape of the chair legs against the hardwood floor told her he was making himself comfortable at the table. As she moved around in the familiar darkness, she could feel his eyes on her. It made her nervous. She was glad when the tea was finished and she could finally hand over a cup. Once more she was tempted to run back to her bedroom, but before she even realized what she was doing, she sat down across from him. They sipped at their tea in silence for a couple of minutes until Hermione could finally take it no longer. She tried to keep the conversation light by making a terrible joke.
"You weren't rethinking jumping off the cliffs, were you?"
He offered her a pity smile.
"No, certainly not. I needed to clear my head."
"I had upsetting dreams. It was hard to go back to sleep."
"I'm sorry. I understand that very well."
A normal person who was just trying to keep the conversation polite would drop the subject right there. Hermione knew that even as she spoke again. Sometimes she was far too curious for her own good.
"Do you dream about the dementors?"
Simply mentioning his tormentors was enough to make the wizard uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, unwilling to answer the question at first. After a couple of sips of his tea and awkward silence, he gave in.
"No, I don't dream about that anymore, thankfully."
"That's good."
"I dream about the past. About my regrets."
Though they had developed a friendlier relationship, she was surprised he was being so open and honest. Did it mean he trusted her if he was able to open up? She hoped so.
"Do you have a lot of those?"
His amused chuckles felt out of place in the midst of their serious conversation at first. She wished she hadn't said anything. Their discussion was getting too personal. Just because they lived in the same house for a couple of months didn't mean they were exactly friends. It wasn't any of her business. She should just finish her tea and excuse herself to return to her bed.
"My entire life is a regret, Hermione."
Such a poignant statement. Unfortunately, she also could understand it to an extent. Much of her life was a regret too. Very little of it turned out how she imagined it would when she was young and full of ambition and hope. She hadn't realized that even after the war was fought and there were no more Death Eaters to run from that life wouldn't magically become easy. If she could, she would change a great deal of her past as well. She felt guilty for bringing up what was undoubtedly a difficult topic for him.
"I'm sorry I asked. It's none of my business."
"No, it's all right. I don't mind. Maybe if anyone else asked me, but not with you."
She wasn't quite sure how to take what he said, but didn't press him for clarification.
"No one is born evil. You know that, right? Not even the Dark…" He paused to build up his courage. "…not even Voldemort."
"I know that."
"Do you really? That's not meant to be an insult. Most people don't understand that. No, it's more than that. They don't want to know. It's easier to believe that evil is born than it is to recognize ordinary people are just a few poor decisions away from being evil themselves."
It was a heavy thought. One that she thought also held a lot of truth. No one ever wanted to believe they were capable of being on the wrong side, but it was very easy to do if someone was led down a certain path. Hermione hadn't been a paragon of virtue herself. It hadn't been hard to lie and trick or curse to get her way in the pursuit of what she believed was right. She knew it wasn't exactly normal behavior or kind to trap a woman in a jar for weeks or intentionally lead another into the Forbidden Forest to be attacked by centaurs. She'd made poor decisions at other times in her life too. Anyone who thought she was somehow perfect was very much mistaken. Depending on how a person looked at her actions in the past, she might have even been considered evil herself.
"I could've remained a shy, awkward boy with my nose stuck permanently in a book, but I was lured by the idea of getting back at my father for not being the father I wished I had. It wasn't hard to take one step down the wrong path and then another and another until I was too far to turn back. I wasn't the only Death Eater who got in too far over my head. Several of us were just too scared or too stupid to run away."
There was immense sadness in his heavy sigh. Hermione could see his point. Maybe she wouldn't have been willing to see it in the past when wounds were still fresh and she was still angry. It was too easy to just assume all Death Eaters were just one-dimensional baddies who were born to be bad. That couldn't have been true of all of them. They had families, dreams, ambitions other than being evil. It was easy to forget they were just flawed, regular humans too.
"I'm not innocent. I committed many horrible crimes that I wish I could take back. I never intended to become a villain."
"I don't suppose most people do."
"No."
Hermione sighed, suddenly very, very tired. She didn't expect such a serious discussion when she sat down at the table. It was uncomfortable. How was she supposed to proceed? Should she proceed? A flippant comment came out of her mouth without much thought given to how it would be received.
"What do they say? 'Everyone is the villain in someone's story'."
Barty's sudden laughter made it less tense between them. She even managed a smile.
"I suppose that's true. I'm curious though. In whose story is Hermione Granger the villain?"
Clearly determined to steer the conversation away from the darker, more serious elements they'd been discussing, there was an air of levity in Barty's question. She wasn't sure why the way he asked his question made her blush like an embarrassed schoolgirl. There was a definite note of flirtation in there that she couldn't ignore no matter how hard she tried or wanted to.
"Maybe Rita Skeeter? I did trap her in a jar for several weeks right after the Triwizard Tournament ended."
For a few seconds Barty just stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes before bursting out into the loud laughter that she was getting used to.
"I've been wondering just what made her hate you so much that she would be so dreadful when she talks about you."
Hermione tried to wave it off as nothing. It was ridiculous to assume that she was the only villain in Rita's life. No doubt the horrible woman had dozens.
"I'm not sure I'm interesting enough to be someone's villain."
"I don't believe that for a moment."
He smirked again. Why did she suddenly grow nervous? She thought maybe it was best that she end that conversation and go to bed before something was said that couldn't be taken back. Or, worse, done. Barty, however, wasn't interested in ending the conversation there. Clearly he was enjoying himself.
"An ex-lover perhaps?"
That flirtation was still there in his tone. At the mention of an ex-lover, she felt her cheeks flush again. More from shame than anything else really. A face flashed in her mind. Maybe it was evident on her face because Barty laughed.
"The Minister?"
She shook her head. His laughter threatened to be contagious, but she managed to keep even a smile off of her face. Or maybe it was because all she could see in her mind was poor Oliver Wood's face. Yes, if she was a villain in someone's story, it would be his. And he never deserved any of it.
"You're just going to leave me in suspense?"
"It's not worth talking about."
Remembering the past rarely failed to make her feel embarrassed about her part in it. If she could go back in time, she would to fix that horrible experience. The night poor Oliver flirted with her at a Weasley wedding, she would've turned him down flat instead of inflicting the misery on them both that ended in two very broken hearts. She tried not to think about her ex-boyfriend. Though he was far from innocent in the downfall of what had been the most significant romantic relationship in her entire life, she knew she had to shoulder most of the blame. He was the wizard she struggled to get over, the broken relationship that pushed her right into Kingsley's arms. She wondered if there would ever come a moment when she could look back on that time of her life without feeling sick to her stomach.
"I doubt that, but, no matter. Keep your secrets. It's your right."
Barty stood up from his chair and picked up both of their teacups to carry over to the sink. Ever since she had that first heated discussion that she would not be cleaning up after him when he made messes in the kitchen or anywhere else, he had been good about keeping his messes to a minimum. It had been a pleasant change from all of the other flatmates and housemates and roommates she'd had throughout her life.
"At least some people, like you, also get the chance to be the hero in someone else's story. Not all of us get that lucky."
His smile was genuine and yet it made her nervous. Was he trying to say that she was his hero? It was too much. She didn't think there was anything heroic in what she was doing by keeping him out of Azkaban. Surely she would do the same for anyone else in a similar situation.
"Good night, Hermione."
Moments after he left the kitchen she returned to the comfort of her own bed to analyze and dissect every word of their conversation. It was a habit she wished she didn't possess. Were there people in the world who could just climb into bed, lay their head down on their pillow, and actually fall asleep with little effort? She admired them, if so.
There was still so much about Barty that she didn't know. It surprised her to realize that she actually wanted to know more. At some point in the weeks since he was forced to move into her spare bedroom, she started to be interested in what he said. Maybe it would've horrified her to recognize it that first day he woke up when he was just absolutely dreadful, but they had a great deal in common. She was more like him than she was different. That was a sobering realization. Given the right, or she supposed the wrong, circumstances, could she have been lured to the dark side too?
The chamomile combined with the heavy discussion was exactly what she needed. Her eyes grew heavy. Long before she was able to answer that question that weighed so heavily on her conscience, she was back asleep.
