Second Chances

He stood leaning against her garden wall taking in deep breaths. There in the window was a single candle, burning brightly away. He took a moment to simply take in the gesture she was giving him. Her trust. Something he knew he didn’t deserve but was grateful for all the same.

He remembered all that he done in his time, a short time when you counted the years. But to him it felt like that was a different man, someone he no longer was. The pain he had endured in his time in the hell that was a Dementor was enough to drive anyone mad. His reasoning was that what would drive a sane man mad would drive a mad man sane. He was feeling sane at the moment. So much so he was experiencing enough guilt and discomfort to make him aware of every action he now took.

He stood up, straightening his waistcoat and linking his hands in front of him. He walked to the door and knocked. A moment later the door opened and she stood before him framed by the soft light of the multitude of candles she had lit around the room.

“I…” He tailed off, not certain what that sentence had been or why he had even begun it.

“Come in,” she said, leaving the door open and walking to the counter where several books were laid out. He saw her wand sticking out her back pocket, she wasn’t taking any chances and he couldn’t blame her. He closed the door quietly behind him and turned back, watching as she leant against the counted with her back to him, obviously facing an inner dilemma.

“I don’t trust you,” She said, turning to him and slipping her hand into her pocket. “I can’t be certain that what you say is the truth or that intentions are what they seem.” She held out her hand which contained a small vile, his eyes met hers and she saw respect there, “This is a truth potion, simple but very effective.”

He reached out and took it, “If I take this and answer any of your questions will you help me?”

She nodded watching him as he removed the cork and drank the liquid down, placing the vile to the side once more. She gazed at him steadily judging when the potion would take most effect.

“Why did you come to me?” She asked, leaning back against the counter. He looked different somehow. It took a second for her to work out why. He’d obviously had time to take stock of his appearance. He was clean-shaven and his hair was under control or as much as it appeared possible.

“I remembered something from my time as Mad Eye.” He said, looking at the floor, “I’d asked you something obscure, something I didn’t believe anyone your age or student there for that matter would know. But you answered me, not instantly but you worked out the answer and gave it. You proved over and over again that you could answer me anything given time, you’d get there. I admired that and at that time, with purity playing such a major role in my thinking made me more than curious about you. There’s a spark in you Miss Granger, something I’ve never seen before.”

Hermione shifted on her feet, feeling every inch of his gaze upon her. “Come into the living room.” Hermione stated, walking through the kitchen into her living room where the only light came from the log fire that burned brightly. She took a seat on the floor, where she always sat with her side to the fire and facing where he now sat on her leather recliner, his eyes watching her intently. Snowy jumped down from the window sill and stalked the floor to where Hermione sat lazily before laying down next to her, nearest the fire.

“How long have you been in your body?” She asked, interlocking her hands in her lap.

“A week.” He replied.

“And where have you been in that time?”

“Firstly I returned to my home. Summoned Binky to me once more and set her about the house,” She drew breath to speak but he held up his hand, “I know you are against that treatment of house elves but I swear she is treated well and strangely very happy, scarily so. She was singing when I left her this evening. Can’t say it’s a pleasant sound but who am I to complain?”

“And you have spoken to no one else?”

“Aside from asking a rather confused looking farmer where I was and the date, I have only spoken with you.” He said, inclining his head.

“What do you plan to do if we find that this is not just temporary?”

“I wish I could just hide or go back to life without everyone knowing who I once was but that won’t happen. I think in the end I would hand myself over to the ministry and hope they do not return me to Azkaban, I know I would not survive long there.”

“I doubt they could validate a move such as that, you have technically already had your punishment, the Dementors Kiss.” She saw him shiver slightly but didn’t remark on it, she was curious as to what it had been like but she would not ask now. He would have to answer her with the absolute truth and that would not be fair. If he shared that then it would have to be on his own terms. “What are your feelings towards the fall of Voldemort?”

She noticed he did not flinch at the name, neither did he seem ruffled by the question. He simply straightened his waistcoat and looked into the fire, his voice totally calm he said, “I feel nothing, though I realise that I should feel outrage, hate towards what he stood for or the things I did while allied with him but I feel nothing aside from guilt about my action. I realise now how truly terrible what I did was. At the time I could only think of serving him. I know the name should strike fear into my heart but it doesn’t.”

“How do you feel about muggle borns?” She asked, causing his eyes to flash back to hers.

“No different then how I feel about any other wizarding heritage.” He replied, his body language unconsciously mirroring hers.

She looked at him for a moment before asking a question, originally to catch him off guard, check the potion was working, the response was not what she expected.

“Do you find me attractive?”

Something passed behind his eyes, a kind of fire blazed there, “Yes.” The word was spoken quietly.

“Does it surprise you that you do?” She asked him. She wondered for a moment why she felt a tingle in her stomach, like butterflies but more primal than that. Ignoring the feeling she waited for his answer, wanting to know if he was truly no longer obsessed with the purity of blood.

“Not really,” He replied, after he had studied her reaction to his answer for a few seconds, “You are a beautiful young woman, brilliant and sharp minded. Why would I not be attracted to you?”

She ignored his counter-question choosing instead to press on with her own line, “If I cannot help you without using dark magic will you accept that that is not an option?”

“Yes,” He said, sitting forward in his chair, “I would not ask that you compromise yourself for me. Although I am curious now as to why you asked me if I found you attractive.”

“Simply gauging your reasons and testing whether the potion was effective enough.”

“If you brewed it yourself you would know that it is.” He said, watching as she blanched, knowing he’d made a point. His new found gentlemanliness stopped him pressing her further, “Is there anything else you wish to know Miss Granger?”

“No,” She said, standing up and indicating for him to do the same, “There’s some books in the kitchen that contain theories about what happens to a soul once it has been taken by a Dementor. Best place to start would be by finding a theory that allows for what has happened to you and work from there.”

She walked past him to the kitchen, casting a glance over her shoulder as he followed her, “And call me Hermione.”

“So long as you call me Barty, I have yet to hear you say my name, full or otherwise.” He said accepting the book she handed him.

“I do beg your pardon but it’s a little strange talking with a man whose been technically dead for nigh on six years.” She said, her eyes glinting in the candle light before they disappeared behind a large hardback book with the title ‘Gibberish and Madness, a speculatory look at Dementors.’

He smiled, taking a seat at the table and opening his book. There was something here, he could feel it. He just had to wait until she did too.