Chapter Twenty-Four

A day would come most likely when Kingsley would no longer be pleased to have the famed Dementor Destroyer just stop randomly by his office. Harry worried what that would be like even as he suspected it was inevitable. Their friendship remained strong over the years since the war, or so he thought, after their shared experiences in defeating Voldemort. They had always been on the same side without question. Was that all about to change?

Harry knew that what he and Hermione were working on wouldn't make either of them very popular. Often what was right wasn't easy. They had to show mercy even when others would prefer vengeance. Experience taught him that anger and revenge only led to more misery. Wasn't there already enough of that in the world without him adding more?

Many didn't understand the concept of forgiveness. It wasn't excusing or condoning the wrong actions of another person, but acknowledging what happened and choosing to move on. Bitterness never made a person happy for very long. He had had his own anger he had to come to terms with in his life. It wasn't easy nor was it any fun. There was a sort of smug satisfaction in holding onto justified anger. It was no way to live long-term. Not if he wanted to find some sort of joy in an otherwise fucked up world. And he did, he really did. There were too many miserable people who could've been even just a tiny bit happier and content if they let themselves move on from the past.

The excitement of his presence in public had died down somewhat since his triumphant return. Harry was relieved that he was almost ignored by everyone from the moment he entered the Ministry. Only a couple called out to him in excitement. Human beings had an impressively short attention span. Unless he defeated another Dark Lord in the next few months, he thought it likely he would be forgotten.

Of course, if he and Hermione were successful in their current crusade, he might become infamous all over again like he was his horrible fifth year at Hogwarts. It was almost easier to be beloved than it was to be hated and ridiculed. His fifth year remained a bitter memory. If he was a coward who didn't really care about justice, he could easily let Barty Crouch remain someone else's problem. Unfortunately, that wasn't his nature. His friendship with Hermione and all of her other causes further prevented him from leaving it all alone when others probably would have.

There were still friendly faces as he crossed the Atrium, but no one tripped over themselves to shake his hand. He hoped that would continue. Kingsley's assistant was pleased to see him. She smiled the entire time she announced his arrival over the intercom. Nearly a minute passed before the door opened. In the past, Kingsley would only leave him waiting a moment or two, hardly a wait at all. Kingsley was subtle in his action, but obvious enough. Harry understood his message very well.

When the door finally opened, the Minster was friendly on the surface as he invited his visitor inside his office. Instead of leading Harry over to the comfortable chairs by the fireplace, he sat behind his desk and invited him to sit across in a far less comfortable chair. Another subtle power move. Kingsley made it clear they weren't meeting as old friends without even opening his mouth. Once it might have stung Harry's pride and even perhaps hurt his feelings, but he didn't blame Kingsley. He'd all but declared they were on opposing sides regarding the Crouch issue.

"Another unexpected visitor from our Dementor Destroyer! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

There was a reason Kingsley had been a successful diplomat in the years since the war ended. He knew how to speak to people without his true feelings being obvious. Except he wasn't fooling Harry. If he could throw him out of his office on his arse, he would. Wanting to get the meeting over with as quickly as possible, Harry removed an advance copy of The Quibbler out of his pocket and slid it across the desk.

"I asked Xenophilius Lovegood for a chance to show you his next edition before it went on sale. I felt I owed you that."

Kingsley's curiosity was plain to see across his face when he saw Harry on the cover. As soon as he picked it up, he began flipping through the glossy pages. Seeing his chance to leave as he didn't want to stay any longer than necessary, Harry stood up.

"I understand your anger and your hatred for Crouch, Kingsley. I really do. I don't even blame you. What he did to Mad-Eye was…"

"Inhumane. Evil."

"I don't disagree. He was not a good man. But there's a time for righteous vengeance and there's also time for mercy. Crouch paid his debt and served his sentence. Any further punishment for those same crimes is wrong."

"Harry…"

Unsure what to say next, Kingsley could just sigh. Harry understood. Life could be dreadfully complicated at times. It was nearly impossible to live in a world that was truly black or white. Most of their lives were spent floating through varying shades of grey. That was a lesson most didn't learn as children.

"Just read the article, Kings. Maybe… maybe you'll have a different perspective."

With a nod in the Minister's direction, Harry left the office. It was a long-shot, but he knew Kingsley was a good man who didn't actually believe in cruel and excessive punishment.


Every single tiny cell in Hermione's body ached with exhaustion, especially in her head. Was it possible to actually injure her brain from using it too much? If so, she feared she was well on her way to causing permanent damage. Each moment she spent researching laws and precedents that could help Barty's case, she felt like she was just going round and round in circles but never actually finding anything useful. The case was special, unlike any that had ever come before the Wizengamot. Perhaps she wouldn't find a law that fit it perfectly. That was unlikely. She was losing any hope of even finding one that could sort of work.

Blaise continued to cover for her while she researched. If there was any part of her current predicament that was more surprising than that fact, she wasn't sure what it was. Too often focusing only on himself and what could make his life better, he had become an unexpected ally. Every time he caught her sitting at her desk reviewing a contract, he was quick to pull it out of her hands and ask how it was affecting Barty's case. Because of him being such a big help keeping their office running smoothly, she had been able to spend most of her days in the Ministry Archives. It was much more preferable to be down there in the dust than it was to be amongst the other Ministry officials. She received far fewer strange looks and impertinent questions when she could avoid her coworkers. Everyone had an opinion about the wizard in her spare bedroom even if she didn't want to hear it.

After another long day spent almost entirely inside the Archives, Hermione stepped outside of the Ministry of Magic into the bitter cold. It felt as if she had just wasted another day. No closer to finding the law that could be used to argue for Barty's official parole, she felt more and more like a failure, an imposter. There had been such high hopes for her when she was younger. Why did she feel as if she was only disappointing everyone who ever believed she could be more than she was?

Once in her third year Remus Lupin called her the brightest witch of her age. Sure, it was her teacher basically telling her "out of all the thirteen year old witches I know, you're the smartest" which was a wonderful compliment nonetheless and not some official title she earned from a contest or was bestowed on her by the Queen, but it meant a great deal to her. For many years when she felt out of place and like she didn't truly belong in the magical world, she clung to that compliment. If Remus survived the war and could see what she became, she doubted he would say the same words to her again. She doubted anyone would. After so many years, she felt like a sad disappointment.

Outside on the pavement she took a deep breath. The air in the city was hardly as fresh as it was at her own home, but the simple act brought a great deal of calm into her chaotic mind. A chill went up her spine. Any promise of spring was still weeks away. The harsh weather supported her poor mood, she supposed. There was a reason why so many people felt down in the winter months. Seasonal affective disorder, or S.A.D, the Muggles called it. Certainly the cold affected her moods as well.

Of course, if she was honest with herself, she had been feeling the same way since long before the temperatures dropped in autumn. It was just harder to ignore when it was so cold outside she hardly had enough energy just to stay warm. How could she continue to ignore her heavy feelings? She had more than enough to worry about without spiraling down into a maelstrom of melancholy she couldn't escape.

Hermione wasn't sure when they all started. Sometimes it felt as if those feelings had always been there lingering beneath the surface, just waiting for her to let her guard down long enough to truly feel them. She remembered feeling overwhelmed when she first arrived at Hogwarts. Who could blame her? With a single visit from a Hogwarts professor her entire world shifted and her very identity changed. She became an oddity, something to be feared in her parents' eyes. Her relationship with them was never the same after that. A part of her knew they were relieved to have an actual reason to hate her and cut ties following their memory charms being reversed.

It had been a naïve hope that all would be well and right in her world once she entered a school that was made for people like her. But, she had always had trouble making friends and Hogwarts could be isolating for Muggle-Borns, even if they had friends. How many lavatories and dark corners did she hide in that first year to cry? Too many to count. If she hadn't been saved by the mountain troll by Harry and Ron, she couldn't imagine how much worse that year might've gone. She could have run back home and snapped her wand in half. Death by troll wouldn't have seemed like such a bad fate if her year hadn't gotten any better. Not that it was perfect. Far from it.

Her second year was marginally better than the first if only because she spent a large part of it petrified in the infirmary. Before then with all of the whispering and Draco Malfoy's insidious taunts, she felt very isolated. It was something of a miracle that anyone she was in school with survived that year without going completely mad. She still felt anxious turning blind corners and a compact mirror was nearly always in one of her pockets.

Third year was one of the worst years of her entire life. She could never think about that year without getting angry. The adults in her life should've been more responsible. She deserved better. Allowing her to take on so much was wrong. Sometimes she thought it was third year where her nearly constant exhaustion began. There were days it felt like no matter how many times she spun the time-turner, she could never get enough sleep. It had been an awful year.

And then the whole fight about the damned broomstick and Ron believing Crookshanks ate his rat made everything so much worse. She had never felt more alone in her all of her life. It had been nearly unbearable. While she was glad the time-turner was able to help them save both Sirius and Buckbeak at the end of the year, she wished she'd never picked it up. What had the Ministry of Magic truly been thinking when they approved a child being in possession of such a dangerous and powerful item? If that wasn't further proof the most powerful organization in their country had always been careless with the safety of those it was supposed to represent, she didn't know what was. As she had gotten older, her opinion on Professor McGonagall changed too. She should've known better.

Hermione's fourth year brought with it more complications and emotions she didn't always know how to handle. Growing up was exhausting even during the best of times. That entire year felt like a whirlwind. There were times of real happiness then, but it wasn't all very easy. She felt extremes of emotion that year. When Voldemort came back at the end thanks to Barty's interference, she felt less happiness and more fear.

There wasn't enough goblin silver in the entire world to make her willing to return to her fifth year and repeat it. Not with Umbridge and dealing with Harry's difficult moods while struggling with her own. A person could only take so much. The insane bastard Dolohov nearly killed her too. Her recovery had been draining. Sometimes she wondered if there weren't still some side effects of his curse wreaking havoc inside her battered body. Magic always left a trace.

She feared she spent most of sixth year hiding in some dark corner of the castle crying. It was embarrassing being so emotional. It made her feel pathetic and weak, one more reason why she worried she didn't belong. Everyone else seemed to have it all together. What was so wrong with her? As an adult she didn't cry as much as she used to, but she didn't feel much more in control of her own emotions. Was it possible she just swapped her tears for more sleep?

A mind Healer or a Muggle therapist would likely claim she hadn't fully processed the horrors of the war. Maybe they would even be correct. She knew she hadn't lived a typical life. Did those even exist? Once the war ended she just wanted to move on, try to forget it ever happened. Far from being the only one with that chosen course of action, she knew it wasn't healthy.

Hermione couldn't stand that she felt so down and depressed that evening. It was getting more difficult to push those feelings away. Either it was because she felt so helpless in her quest to find the appropriate laws or it was the weather. Blaming the cold was easier. It only made her feelings worse. What sort of unhinged person could actually find joy when they were shivering? Desperate to put some distance between herself and the frustrating building she worked, she Apparated home.

There was only one lone reporter sitting out in front of her house to her relief. Maybe they were all losing interest. Nothing had happened since the secret of Barty's existence and living arrangements were made public knowledge. Hopefully, they would all soon realize they were just wasting their time. She couldn't imagine it was a lot of fun standing out in the cold every day hoping something would happen. And she thought her job could be dull!

Feeling the warmth of her home when she stepped inside brought her a great deal of comfort. It was easier to have a somewhat positive outlook when she wasn't cold. A fire had been lit in the fireplace. Both kittens slept stretched out on the rug in front of it, no cares in their entire world. Neither stirred at her entrance. Content that they were safe and well cared for, they had nothing to fear.

The television was on but on a surprisingly low volume. Was Barty actually watching it or did he simply enjoy the background noise? Being so far out of the village and away from neighbors could make for a very quiet house. That could drive some people mad. He wasn't in the room. His cloak hung next to the door. Was he out in the cold again without it? She wasn't sure why she was so curious where he was or what he was doing. It had to be a side-effect of him living there for so long, she decided as she hung her own cloak up next to his. It had been easy to get used to his presence, nothing more.

An odd, unpleasant smell hung in the air. Like smoke. A closer look showed the slightest haze lingering in the air. It was coming from the kitchen. Worried that something awful was happening inside, Hermione rushed to the room, fearful of what she would find. Her concern was quickly replaced with amused laughter. Barty pulled a a nearly completely black and smoking bag of popcorn out of the microwave. The source of the smell and the smoke was obvious. He turned at the sound her her laugh to show her a sheepish smile.

"I may have forgotten I was…"

Barty gestured to the bag with an embarrassed chuckle as he dropped it into the rubbish bin.

"How long did you leave it in?"

Though it was evident he was ashamed to admit the truth, he smiled again.

"Ten minutes?"

"No wonder it's all black. Three minutes is usually more than enough time."

"That would've been helpful to know when I put it in."

Hermione had to laugh again at his sheepish expression. Did she make the same sort of ridiculous mistakes when she was learning how to live in the wizarding world? Likely so. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but she felt lost and unsure of herself. No doubt Barty felt in a similar way since he woke up and had to essentially live in the Muggle world while awaiting his eventual fate.

"You should've smelled it long before it burned so badly."

He grinned, the slightest pink tinge on his cheeks once more.

"I may have thought I could take a very quick shower while I waited."

Their entire exchange was just what Hermione needed to uplift her depressing mood. When she left the Ministry, she felt weary and frustrated. The laughter caused by such a simple mistake felt good. It helped when Barty joined in despite clearly still being a little embarrassed.

"There are few worse smells that burnt popcorn, you realize that?"

"An air freshening charm maybe?"

"No, those never last long enough. Just open some windows. Air it out for a few minutes."

To help in his quest to rid the house of the noxious odor, Hermione opened the window above the sink. Barty excused himself to move around the house to open a few more. She hoped it wouldn't take long for the smell to dissipate. Sadly, magic didn't fix everything. More than once she'd discovered that bad smells couldn't just be covered up with a charm no matter how convenient that would've been.

Standing at the sink looking out over the back garden helped to calm her down even more. Just being home had an effect on her mood she relished. Despite shivering and loathing the cold air when she was in London, in her kitchen she enjoyed the feel of it blowing inside. Maybe it was the difference in the fresh air and the city air. She closed her eyes to take a series of deep breaths.

A knock on her back door startled her out of the peaceful mood she'd created. She assumed it was another pushy reporter sneaking around the back garden. Though she didn't want to admit it out loud, she was beginning to think Barty might have had a point about using blood in the security wards. With her wand held in one hand ready to hex the intruder, if necessary, she pulled open the door with the other. Seeing Kingsley standing just outside was a shock. He was the last person she would expect to ever be there again.

"I do have a front door, you know."

The instant she spoke she hated how petty her tone came out. They had both been trying to be more friendly over the previous several weeks when they made their tentative truce. He had even come by her office to check on her the day after the story broke. There was a little hope remaining that they might one day be friends again.

"I know, but I didn't want the reporters out there to see me."

Despite being nervous about what his visit might mean, Hermione stepped back to let him enter. What could be so important that he had to come to her home? Especially after their last encounter in that very kitchen, she wasn't likely to forget how tense and miserable it had been any time soon. Most likely she would never forget it.

"Please try to keep from breaking any of my chairs this time. Repairing charms can only be reapplied so many times."

There was no doubt the Minister felt shame at the reminder of how he had acted that night. Was it wrong of her to feel a little perverse joy at his discomfort? She had allowed her own temper to get the better of her so she was far from blameless, but it still was encouraging to know he felt shame for his actions.

"I promise you I have no intention of repeating any part of what happened the last time I was here."

"That's a relief. Why are you here?"

From the pocket of his robes he pulled out a copy of The Quibbler she hadn't seen yet. When he handed it over she was surprised to see Harry's face looking back at her. She had no idea that he was planning to give an interview, but she supposed they weren't exactly back in the habit of sharing everything yet. Maybe they never would be.

"I had some questions for Mr. Crouch. I'd hoped we could sit down and calmly have a conversation."

Something in his tone made her actually believe he meant what he said. Was it because he actually called Barty 'Mister'? Usually he didn't bother to reserve even a hint of respect for the other wizard. It was only when he admitted his true purpose for making the visit that Hermione could relax again. There was a small part of her when she opened the back door to see Kingsley that thought he was finally coming to take Barty back to Azkaban. The thought of watching that and being unable to stop it filled her with a dread and deep sadness she couldn't ignore. A conversation was simple enough. She didn't have to worry about that yet.

The door to the kitchen from the rest of the house opened. As soon as Barty saw that Kingsley was back, there was a thick tension in the air none of them could ignore. It further mortified Hermione to know that he was remembering that night. He looked at her with nothing but concern on his face.

"Is everything all right, Hermione? Are you okay?"

She tried to smile, but knew the expression fell flat.

"Yes, it's fine. Everything's fine. The Minister would like to talk to you."

Gesturing to the kitchen table, she invited both men to take their seats. She dropped the magazine on top right in front of Barty before turning back towards the sink.

"I will brew us all some tea because I'm not going anywhere."

Let Kingsley just try to insist she go into the next room so they could have a private conversation. He wasn't so important that she wouldn't hex him right in his bollocks if she deemed it necessary.