Chapter Thirty-Three

Furious and frustrated that he was doing nothing but wasting his time, Harry stormed out of Kingsley's office. Rarely had he ever felt so helpless in his life. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that he was actually doing something, he felt like he wasn't doing nearly enough. He couldn't bear to see time ticking away and being no closer to the answers or solutions. Being helpless was maddening. If he had a tangible enemy to fight, he knew he would feel better.

Ignoring all of the shouts of his name as he stomped out of the Ministry of Magic, he had no other goal than just retreating home to lick his metaphorical wounds. It wasn't Kingsley's fault that their meeting had not gone well. Unfortunately, reality was usually the cruelest mistress. Harry didn't like being told his plans were lacking. He knew they were. It was unnecessary to point it out quite so bluntly.

For once he was actually glad to be home again. Usually it was a place that brought him little to no joy. If Kreacher wasn't alive, he would've long ago given it up. Inside he headed straight for the library. There was a half bottle of fire whiskey on the desk with his name on it. Perhaps some little part of the day could be salvaged. He hated to feel like he had done nothing but wasted precious time.

Harry stared at the bottle before he picked it up. Deep down he hated that his first inclination when his day was going poorly was to rush straight to the bottle. It didn't say much about his fortitude that all he desired was the numbness it could provide. He knew he needed to stop drinking so much. If he was honest, it hurt far more than it helped.

Deciding that just a little bit wouldn't hurt, he grabbed the bottle and took the lid off. Clean glasses were always waiting for him thanks to the attention of his house-elf. The glass of the bottle clinked against the glass, but before he could pour out a single drop, a large crash upstairs startled him enough to drop the bottle to the floor. Uncaring what mess he left behind, he ran towards the noise with his wand outstretched, ready to curse anything that moved.

The noise came from inside his bedroom. Allowing his imagination to travel down all sorts of upsetting avenues, he relaxed when he stepped into the doorway to see Luna with Kreacher.

"Please let me, Miss Luna."

With a snap of his fingers, Kreacher levitated a can of paint off the floor. That must have been what he heard fall. It was a relief to know that it was nothing serious. He had had enough intruders in his life intent on harm. Forcing a deep breath and trying to get his heart rate back to normal, Harry stood up against the doorframe.

"What's all this then?"

At the sound of his voice, Luna turned with a bright smile. She didn't answer until she crossed the width of the room to greet him with a kiss. He couldn't believe how much he loved coming home to find her there.

"Painting. If this is going to be my home, I want it to feel like it."

All of his worries from earlier when he ran from the Ministry were temporarily forgotten while he simply enjoyed the moment of domestic bliss he hoped would multiply exponentially as time progressed. His face hurt from smiling. Would it always be that wonderful?

"Now, come inside and tell me what you think of the color I chose. If you hate it, we can change it."

Harry followed her inside to make certain he approved of the color, but he knew he would let her paint it however she wished. There were far more important arguments and disagreements to have. Just having her making plans to make a home with him was enough for him.

Ignoring the large stack of post of internal departmental memos on her desk, Hermione took a seat. There likely wasn't even a need to go through what she missed. She could already guess what a lot of them said and she already had a hole in the ground in her back garden of the same. Why anyone else in the world felt like they had the right to an opinion about how she chose to live her life, she would never understand. Certainly she could never see herself reading an article in the newspaper and feeling the urge to send off a nasty letter to a complete stranger. People needed better hobbies.

"Surely you haven't been stuck in the office all weekend? How does that make the cheap tarts you meet in Knockturn Alley feel?"

Neither one of them had to come right out and say out loud that there was a shifting in their relationship since the whole incident with the Daily Prophet began. It was unnecessary. Blaise mentioned more than once how guilty he felt for letting his tongue get away from him when he was in the presence of an untrustworthy junior editor. Truthfully, Hermione forgave him for that almost immediately. She could hardly be angry with him for saying too much to the wrong person when she had been guilty of the same more times than she cared to recall. It was a part of being a flawed human being.

But she wasn't quite ready to pretend like they were the best of friends and change the way she spoke to him yet. Just as his first instinct upon seeing her was to mention sex, she couldn't resist the temptation to tease him about his own activities. Seeing him in the office before she was there had been enough of a shock to put her on edge.

"No, I wasn't here all weekend, thankfully. Even had a couple of hours to waste at the White Wyvern."

"Charming. You do know all of the best establishments."

Blaise only smiled. Once on a dare, she went to the Knockturn Alley pub just to see what she was missing. It turned out she was missing nothing. Perhaps cleaner than The Hog's Head, it was nonetheless filled with an even more eclectic and alarming set of clientele. How she managed to get out of there in one piece without being cursed into a toad by the terrifying old hag in the corner or kidnapped for ransom by the one-eyed warlock who couldn't stop staring, she didn't know. It wasn't an experience she ever looked forward to repeating. No, she would stick to the more reputable businesses in Diagon Alley.

"It wasn't for pleasure, I assure you. I was there meeting with one of my contacts about the whole photograph issue. They prefer the dark corners and I can't say that I blame them."

"What did you do, Blaise? Is this going to get us into trouble too?"

He waved off her concerns with a bright smile. It was a little too bright. Something about what he was up to didn't sit well with her. She knew that she had something of a suspicious nature but there was a valid reason. Trusting him to handle the darker aspects of her problems wasn't easy.

"You have nothing to worry about. It has been handled."

No matter how many questions she asked, he wouldn't give her any details. Perhaps it was for the best. If there was something illegal done on her behalf, it was best if she didn't know about it.

"It's strange about Rita's article in the newspaper. We were expecting it to be much worse especially considering how nasty she was to us when she was at my house."

"It looks like you can think your old friend Potter for taking away the attention and dominating most of the news cycle then."

"I still expected more. Even the short article that she did write wasn't awful in the slightest. It was factual which you know for Rita is unusual."

"People have been known to change as they get older. Maybe Skeeter doesn't want to anger you because she thinks you might be a benefit to her in the future."

Hermione stared at Blaise with her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed. While he wasn't someone who always spoke clearly and exactly what was on his mind, he usually was a little bit better about pretending. Something about the conversation bothered him or made him uncomfortable. He even appeared to have trouble sitting still in his chair. Why was he so unnerved about Rita's change in reporting style?

"You used to bluff a little more effectively, Blaise. Don't let anyone try to talk you into a game of wizard's poker any time soon."

A hint of a smirk appeared at his lips, but he didn't deny anything she said. Likely he knew he was being just as obvious. As much as she wished she could understand him, she knew it was impossible to badger him into giving up more information than he wished. He was a Slytherin true and true. Possessing nearly all of the best and worst traits that his House was known for, he wouldn't be easy to break.

"I suppose I should head down to the Archives."

She wasn't even out of her chair completely before his hand gently touched her arm to get her to stop.

"No, I don't think that's wise. Until Mr. Crouch's fate is decided, you can't work on his case."

"It's only research."

"It's a conflict of interest. If it was known you were working on his case, it could ruin it all."

Blaise was resolute in not allowing her to do anything. As much as Hermione wanted to argue, she was concerned about doing something that would jeopardize his freedom, even inadvertently. It was already her fault that their relationship became a matter of tawdry gossip and put him in an unflattering spotlight.

"If there is any research that needs to be done, I will be the one to do it."

With an expression that just dared her to continue to argue with him, Blaise stood up from his desk and headed for the door. He turned in the doorway to address her again. His tone was softer, far kinder than it usually was where she was concerned.

"I promise you that I'm doing everything in my power to help you both, but I need you to stay here and help keep this office from getting out of control."

Any question she asked about what he was up to was deftly avoided. He had an exquisite way of evading the truth she couldn't help but be impressed with. Perhaps in the future she should pay closer attention or ask him for lessons in being less forthright and obvious in her own actions. Sledgehammers were more subtle than a lot of Gryffindors. Even she couldn't deny that she was nearly that bad from time to time in her own past.

There was a large stack of contracts on top of her desk that should've kept her busy for weeks. Alone once more, she took the first one off the top and began to review. At least there was something she could do to try to distract her mind from the worst of her worries.

By the end of the day she felt even more powerless and frustrated than at the beginning. Months earlier Hermione loved her job and had few complaints. Before Barty came crashing through her life to upturn it all, she even thought she was happy sitting at that desk every day scribbling away in red ink whenever she found a discrepancy or a missed word. Being forced to sit in that chair with those damned contracts only made her realize perhaps she hadn't been as fulfilled in her chosen career as she imagined.

On an ordinary day under normal circumstances, she would've felt like she needed to stay longer in the office working to put an even bigger dent in the stack of contracts, but that day she couldn't bear it. Not a single contract couldn't wait for the next day or even the next month. When most of the other officials decided to head towards the employee exit, she was right there with them ignoring all of the impertinent stares and careless whispers. It wasn't easy. More than once while she waited in the queue to exit she was tempted to turn around and shout at someone to shut up. Only the reminder that she needed to do whatever was necessary to keep her name out of the newspapers as much as possible kept her quiet.

There were no reporters or photographers set up anywhere outside her house when she arrived. Thankful to be home again and out of the crowded city, she chose to take their absence as a good sign. Maybe they were old news. Surely there must be at least a dozen more interesting stories they could focus their attention on. She never thought her life, especially post-war, was all that exciting or entertaining.

Hearing the sound of her Apparition, Barty greeted her at the front door. Once it was closed behind them and they were alone in their private world, he pulled her in for a kiss. It was a lovely way to be welcomed home. She thought she could get used to it if allowed. Not wishing to remove his arms, he held her but leaned back to look her in the eyes.

"Did you find any..?"

The question he had asked her dozens of times without giving it much thought was on the tip of his tongue. Midway through he remembered the promise he made to her to stop making jokes about being thrown back in Azkaban. He cleared his throat.

"…any egregious errors on a contract you had to correct?"

Even as she laughed at his nearly bumbled question, she rolled her eyes. She leaned up to kiss him again. It was funny, but she wasn't ready to really find the humor yet.

"A few, but nothing I couldn't fix."

It was easy to tell that he had been waiting for her anxiously to find out how her day went. Not that she could blame him. If the roles were reversed, she knew she would've driven herself mad sitting around waiting. Just the three days she stayed home from work in the midst of their scandal gave her a new appreciation for the weeks he'd been trapped in her home unsure what his ultimate fate would be. He was handling it better than she thought she would.

"Blaise acted strangely when I brought up Rita's article. He wouldn't answer any of my questions."

"Maybe he thought it would be better for you if you didn't know the answers."

Hermione didn't like his answer even if she thought he might be right. What did it say about her to reach out to Blaise because she knew that he had a number of less than respectable contacts and then be upset that he used them? She didn't want to be considered a hypocrite.

"Plausible deniability is something of a gift, you know. Mr. Zabini could be protecting you more than you realize."

He had a very valid point. Sighing, she felt ready to end the discussion. She stepped back to take off her cloak. As she hung it up next to the front door, she realized the television was on. It had become such a normal part of her existence since she taught him how to turn it on that she was usually able to ignore it. While he waited for her to return home, Barty distracted his mind with more of his ridiculous movies. Seeing her look towards the television, he almost seemed embarrassed. There was no need. She could understand the appeal of a mindless escape from what awful thoughts must have been consuming his mind. Wanting some of it herself, she gestured to the television.

"Let's forget everything outside."

It was easy to agree. Before they sat down in front of it, she headed for the kitchen.

"But let me make the popcorn this time."

He laughed, but didn't dare argue.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday all passed nearly identically to Monday. There was nothing about either of them in the newspaper. Blaise spent all day in the Archives. At least she thought he did. Who could say for certain what he was really up to? The wizard obviously had secrets. She remained in their shared office as she had been instructed pulling contract after contract off the top of the never-ending pile.

Nights with Barty were simple, uncomplicated. They tiptoed around difficult subjects, never actually talking about anything with any substance. It was easier to pretend like everything was normal. At any other point in her life, she might have been able to just sit back and enjoy the relative calm except she couldn't shake the dread that she knew the worst was yet to come. Her anxiety kept her awake at night. Sleep ceased to be an escape at all.

But Friday morning felt different. Hermione couldn't explain why even if she had been willing to say it out loud. Which, of course, she wasn't. Denial and ignoring the problem had become such second nature to her that it was nearly impossible to change.

Long before her alarm for work went off and Barty woke up, Hermione sat in an armchair by the fireplace trying and failing to ignore her fear. The newspaper arrived and with it she hoped she could finally get some answers. Except there were none to be had. The front page mentioned an upcoming international conference that wasn't even interesting. After flipping through each page and finding no mention of Barty or her, she felt uneasy. Was that just going to be a permanent part of her life from then on?

She tried to keep her mind occupied by making breakfast. There was still a large amount of food left since Winky's last visit, but Hermione wanted to do something. Despite the freed house-elf being the far superior cook, Barty continued to be grateful when she took it upon herself to keep them fed.

"I don't like waking up alone."

Barty's arms wrapped around her from behind as she stood scrambling the last of the eggs. A kiss to the side of her head eased her dread for just a moment or two. Having him there was a constant reminder that very soon he could be gone forever.

"I didn't want my tossing and turning to wake you up."

It was easy for Barty to tell she was upset. To his credit, he didn't push her to tell him what it was that had her bothered. There wasn't a point. He was perceptive enough to know already. Conversation at the table was kept light. His kiss goodbye at the front door promised a thousand more just like it in the future, not the desperation of one who feared their time was limited.

Arriving at the Ministry brought her no sense of ease whatsoever. The dread she'd been feeling since she woke up that morning increased tenfold. Part of her wished that something would go ahead and happen because the waiting around unknowing was maddening.

Finding Kingsley sitting in her desk chair alone in her office wasn't at all how she expected her morning to go. Nor did it do anything to dispel any of her lingering anxiety. She hadn't seen the Minister for Magic since the night he was in her kitchen right before she threw herself at Barty. It was uncomfortable for both of them to find themselves alone in a room that suddenly felt far too small. She knew he must be judging her choices along with everyone else.

"Kingsley, what are you..?"

He stood abruptly from her chair only serving to make the room feel even more compact. There was a time she craved being that close to the attractive man. That morning she wished he was just about anyone else in the world instead.

"I wanted to catch you alone."

Unsuccessful in suppressing her sigh of frustration, Hermione slid past him to claim possession of her own chair. Based on how warm it was, she could tell he had been waiting there a long time. What could possibly be so important that he would make sure to be in her office that early? None of the possibilities were good. Maybe it would be best to just get all of the unpleasantness out as quickly as possible. They were both busy and had important jobs.

"I suppose you came here to tell me I've been a fool like everyone else. It's not really any of your business what I do in the privacy of my own home."

Kingsley's shoulders slumped with a heavy exhale. Was he as frustrated by the turn of the conversation as she was by him springing himself upon her with no warning?

"No, actually I didn't."

Hermione's stomach churned with worry. Judgement on her chosen romantic partner was much easier to handle than what else it could be. She was almost too scared to remain long enough to find out his purpose.

"I realize that my actions in recent weeks haven't been a good example to prove it, but I really do care about you, Hermione. I have always wanted you to be happy. If you're happy with Crouch, then I'm happy for you."

It must have taken a lot for him to make that statement. She hoped he was sincere, but too often sentiments like that were forced.

"This just started the night you took his memories. Before that…"

He held up his hand to stop her from going too much into detail. It was something of a compulsion that made her speak at all. Why was it important to her that he continued to have a positive opinion about her? Because no matter what had happened since the dementors were destroyed, she still valued the man as a dear friend. Relationships were terribly complicated, especially if they had been made more so with the addition of sex and anger, justified or not.

"It doesn't matter. What happens in your home isn't my concern. That's not why I'm here."

No matter how gentle and kind his tone was, she didn't feel at ease.

"What's happened?"

"The Wizengamot has called for a full session next Friday. The final decision about what will happen to Mr. Crouch will be decided then."

Once she knew that the decision was coming, she almost wished she could go back to the bliss of not knowing anything. Why had she been so quick to want something to happen? Before she could ask a single question in response, the door to the office opened. Blaise walked in with a tired smile. Immediately after seeing Hermione's face and the Minister, he grew concerned.

"Hermione, love, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, but I have to go."

Offering no explanation whatsoever for her actions she rushed out of the office. Kingsley would explain it all to Blaise in her absence. She couldn't bear the thought of being trapped in that room a moment longer. There was only one place she wanted to be.

Apparition on a queasy, worried stomach was rarely a good idea. The moment her feet touched the ground outside her front door, she threw up the breakfast she'd consumed less than hour earlier. Just in time to witness her humiliation, Barty opened the door. He rushed to her, uncaring that they were out in the open and if there were any reporters nearby who could see. With a great deal of patience, he gently rubbed her back as he spoke soothing words. It took less than a minute or two for her to stand back up, but the damage had been done. There would be no gentle way to inform the wizard that his life was about to change.

"The Minister just told me that there will be a full session of the Wizengamot next Friday."

Barty didn't need any other explanation to know what she was trying to tell him. As much as he tried to act like he wasn't worried, she could see the concern in his eyes. He led her inside the safety of their home. With the door shut behind them and given the opportunity to fully be himself to express his worries, he tried to be encouraging.

"I'm certain it will all work out in the end as it's supposed to."

She appreciated the effort of his positivity even if it didn't have its intended effect.

"We've both been sitting around anxious at not knowing what was going to happen or when it was going to happen. Now we have a deadline."

He leaned in to kiss her, but she pushed him away. Hadn't he just witnessed her be sick all over the front garden? Clearly, he wasn't processing everything as well as he pretended.

"Stop. I was just sick."

Barty kissed her forehead instead.

"I suggest then that you go brush your teeth and rinse out your mouth right now because if we have a known deadline, I want to make every single moment count."