chapter twenty-five
James sends Jo a howler.
It is the first thing to set her off that day- the crisp, white envelope landing neatly in front of her at breakfast. Heavy dread sets in as Jo realises exactly what it is, eyes wide in horror and spoon clattering against her bowl of porridge. From her right, Alice lets out a soft, gentle, " Oh no."
Dorcas straightens out her shoulders, bracing herself. And then, without being touched, it erupts.
"JOSEPHINE POTTER! HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU'RE CAPTAIN? HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO YOUR POOR BROTHER? I BET YOU TOLD YOUR LITTLE BOYFRIEND BEFORE YOU TOLD ME! I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE PROUD AND MORE FURIOUS AT ONCE! YOU BETTER BELIEVE I'LL BE SNEAKING IN TO WATCH YOUR FIRST MATCH! AND SIRIUS SAYS HI."
And as the letter falls to the table, ripping itself into tiny, little pieces, a wave of silence washes over the Great Hall, all eyes on Jo. In that moment, with her face flushed a furious red and hands balled into fists, she thinks that she's going to kill her brother. The rumblings of distant conversation resume after a moment, but Jo sits still, hands clenched in fits as she stares shreds down at the shreds of the letter.
Her day does not get better from there.
She storms down the corridors towards Herbology, books held tightly against her chest as Hestia and Emmeline work to keep up with her furious pace. "Honestly, it wasn't that bad," Hestia says lightly from Jo's left they pass a group of third year Ravenclaws who giggle at the sight of Jo. "It could've been a lot worse. Remember when Vance got a howler from her mum fourth year for stealing her nice pair of knickers?"
Emmeline rolls her eyes. "Thank you, Hestia, for bringing up such a fond memory."
"Hey, anything to make Jo feel better," Hestia says, and then tilts her head towards Jo, "You know you're quite scary when you're angry."
"So I've been told," Jo grumbles, mostly to herself. And she figures it's really nothing to be so annoyed over but there is something so irritating to her about the whole ordeal. What she really wants is to be done with classes and in the library with Regulus, because, for some inexplicable reason, Jo feels that he is the only one who can ease her nerves.
I bet you told your little boyfriend before you told me. Jo's going to kill him.
"Everyone'll forget by tomorrow anyways," Emmeline says, but it does nothing to lessen Jo's irritation. "Though in all honesty, you probably shouldn't have told Remus before you told him. Amateur move, Jo, really."
Jo bites down on her tongue so harshly she can almost taste blood. She doesn't even know where to start with that one.
And as they round the corner, footsteps harsh and heavy against the floor, Jo catches sight of an all too familiar blonde with a sickly smile and a raised eyebrow, leaned up against the wall. She rolls her eyes at the sight of him, keeps her head down and picks up her pace. Jo tells herself that she's not running from him, because she's not a coward , but that she's just avoiding any confrontation because, if she's being honest with herself, she doesn't think she can bear being around him without putting a nasty curse on him.
So she grinds her teeth as she ignores the way he pushes off the wall, how he takes long strides as he walks behind her. She grinds down on her teeth and she tightens her grip on her books and she takes deep, heavy breaths but still, every step he takes makes her eye twitch.
"Oi, Jo!" he calls, and Jo does everything in her power to ignore him, to pretend he is nothing but dust behind her.
Emmeline grimaces at the sound of her voice, glancing over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of him. "What does he want?" she questions Jo, sounding almost disgusted, and Jo doesn't blame her.
Jo keeps her head up and stares straight ahead. "Don't know, don't care."
"I'm talking to you, Josephine my dear!" Crouch calls to her again in a voice that sounds artificially sweet but still bordering on the brink of rage. She exhales through her nose, tilts her chin up, and tells herself over and over, that she can't allow him any satisfaction, can't give him the reaction he wants. And even though it would be so incredibly easy to fill his nose with bats or turn his knees inside out, she will not fall into any traps that he sets.
Hestia gives Jo a raised eyebrow. "Ignoring him doesn't seem to be working," she comments.
"He can piss off," Jo almost snarls, "I'd rather get anoth-"
Before the words are out of Jo's lips, there is a bit of parchment, one that seems to have come from the bag on her shoulder, slapped against her mouth, silencing her. Jo grumbles against it, shocked, horrified, words muffled and angry but that is not it. More parchment, seemingly longer this time, flies out from her bag and wraps around her hands, tightly, binding them in front of her, and to her ankles, making Jo stumble and trip, and she lands harshly on her knees.
"Fuck, Jo!" Emmeline cries at once, dropping to her side as she tugs against the parchment around her wrists. But the harder she tugs, the tighter it gets. And it's like metal against her, cold and harsh and cutting into the softest parts of her skin. Emmeline realises at once, and yanks her hands away with a gasp.
Hestia stands with her wand drawn as Crouch approaches, grin easy and posture slouched. The way he's so relaxed as he stares down at Jo makes her growl against the parchment. Emmeline stays by her side, wraps an arm around her shoulder like she's trying to hold Jo back. "I told you to never walk away from me, Jo," Crouch drawls, and Jo has to blink back hot tears. She is already humiliated as she sits there helpless, she will not let him see her cry.
Crouch saunters closer, and Hestia steps in front of Jo, blocking her completely from Crouch's sight. "And what the fuck is your problem, exactly?" Hestia bellows, hand shaking as she points her wand at him.
And Jo can't see the way his expression changes but when he addresses Hestia there is a chilling growl in his voice. "I'm not talking to you, half-breed," he spits out, and then crouches down to get a better look at Jo as she sits there feeling weak. "I'm talking to my dear friend Jo, over here."
"Clearly she wants nothing to do with you, so piss off before I remove your head from your shoulders," Hestia spits at him, and even though her words are ferocious she sounds as if she is on the verge of tears and Jo would do anything to get out of this binding so she could make her friend feel safe again.
"Look at this, Jo," Crouch guffaws, tilting and careening his head around so he can catch Jo's eye. She glares at him defiantly, rage pulsing through her veins and she envisions clawing his eyes out. "With your stupid brother gone you've got no one left to protect you but half-breeds and mudbloods, and you're already on your knees for me."
Jo can't name the emotion that runs through her at that. It is shame and it is anger and disbelief but more than anything it is fear and she wants nothing more than to be as far away from him as she can be. Emmeline tightens her grip on Jo. "Get the fuck away from her," she rasps, voice quivering.
With a sigh, Crouch stands up straight. "Suppose I'll just catch you later, Jo," he remarks, so easily and so casually as he brushes off the front of his robes. "We have so much to discuss, and I'm looking forward to it," he says with a bright grin as he turns on his heel, heading down the corridor.
And it isn't until he turns the corner, disappearing from view that the parchment falls from Jo, fluttering to the floor. It isn't until a few minutes later that Jo moves. Emmeline helps her stand with shaking hands. She doesn't let go of her shoulder until Jo is safe inside the Gryffindor tower, Hestia leading them there, wand drawn the whole way up.
Jo doesn't go to any of her classes that day. She stays in her dorm and examines the bruises that form on her skin, the dried blood from small cuts and makes vows that she will never let anyone make her feel that way again.
Regulus keeps looking up at Jo. He has Potions work laid out neatly in front of him and he's making steady progress, but he doesn't stay focused on it for very long. Jo can feel his eyes burn into the side of her face every few minutes. But she doesn't return his stare. Jo crosses her arms over her chest, not even pretending to be bothered with the work in front of her, and fixes all of her attention on the table of first year girls across from them.
It would seem that she is no longer the only one with groupies. For the past hour, a group of Slytherin girls have been giggling and whispering and stealing glances at Regulus and Jo cannot articulate just how annoying it is. And though Jo has her own group of younger students that do their best to follow her every move (Jo's vaguely aware of their presence at a table nearby), they're not nearly as bad as this lot is. They are blushing and gossiping and fantasising and they are doing so loudly.
And as much as they love to gush about Regulus and how handsome and tall he is, they seem to enjoy talking about Jo just as much. Jo will catch snippets of it every now and then: " She's really not even that pretty." "He looks so annoyed with her. He's just too nice to say anything." "I heard she cheated her way onto the Quidditch team."
It's enough to make her want to rip out her own hair, after the day she's had.
"Josephine," Regulus whispers, and it makes Jo jump. She whips her head around to face him, jumping like she's been shocked. He leans in towards her. "Are you alright?"
"Why?" Jo snaps back, surprised at the way the question seems to set her on edge, at the way her voice sounds when she speaks to him.
Regulus blinks, expression blank as he places his quill down gently beside his parchment. "Because you've been glaring at that group of first years for about ten minutes," he explains.
Jo shrugs. It's a harsh movement, jerky and wild, like she's trying to shake off the agitation that has laced and tightened her muscles. "Yeah, well, they're annoying," she quietly fumes, knotting her hands together under the table.
"They are first years, to be fair," Regulus says, voice so soft and easy it washes over her like water. It makes her let go of some of the tension in her shoulders, makes her let out a deep breath. "I think being annoying is a sort of rite of passage."
Jo breathes deeply, inhales and exhales three times before she turns to face Regulus. He looks at her with wide, concerned eyes and she feels her throat tighten. "I'm not in the best mood today," she relents, voice shaking and she feels so small.
Slowly, Regulus reaches for her squirming hands under the table, holding both of them still in his palm. And he's looking at her differently, it's something new. Expression softened, eyes glistening with worry. "The howler wasn't that bad, you know," he whispers.
"It's not-" Jo starts, and then groans, dropping her forehead to the edge of the table. The idea of telling Regulus what happened makes her sick. "Never mind," she grumbles.
Regulus reaches for her shoulders, trying to hold her up straight but Jo is limp and defeated and she thought coming here would make her feel better at least. But she wants nothing more than to be at her dorm. Or, even better, home. Home with her brother and mother and father and as far away from Crouch as she could be. "No, tell me," Regulus insists, and when holding her shoulders upright fails, he reaches for her chin, holding her head up to meet his gaze.
His green eyes are like some sort of truth serum, almost hypnotising. But if there is one emotion Jo feels stronger for her fondness for Regulus, it is the hot shame that sears her. "It's nothing," she insists, trying to ignore the guilt that worms around in her chest.
And Regulus might have been able to release some of the negative energy that was beginning to consume Jo, but it comes back tenfold when she hears one of the young Slytherin girls say to her friend, "I mean, she's practically throwing herself at him."
Jo snaps her head towards them and out of Regulus's grip. At once, she catches the bright blue eyes of a young girl who looks absolutely mortified at the realisation that she'd been caught. "Would you shut up?" Jo barks out with a fierceness that seems like overkill. "He's not going to pay you any attention, you're eleven."
And even as her eyes well up with tears and bottom lip shakes and the young girl is dissolved into tears, Jo doesn't feel any pity, any remorse. As a matter of fact, her agitation worsens. She wants to scream, louder, elicit more tears. She wants to slam her fist into something or someone and she doesn't ever want to hear a group of children gossip ever again. And she doesn't know what it is, doesn't know exactly what it is about what Crouch did that has her wound up like this, to make her feel as feral as a dog, but it is an unbearable, heavy feeling.
Regulus places a hand on her shoulder. "Josephine."
"What?" Jo snaps as she whips her head around, unable to spare even him from the sharpness.
He looks down at her with pursed lips before he begins stowing his Potions work away in his bag. "Come on," he says to her, "let's go for a walk."
Jo sighs, tightening and releasing her fists just to dig her nails into her skin once more. "I don't want to go for walk, Regulus," she spits out through gritted teeth.
"You just made a first year cry, I think you should take a break," Regulus says, voice much more firm and it makes Jo flinch. He extends a hand to her. "Come on."
Almost reluctantly, Jo stands, ignoring Regulus's hand and making snide comments to herself about how he thinks she can't even stand on her own. Jo, rather roughly, shoves her untouched work into her bag, and follows Regulus out of the library with a bit of a stomp in her step. And Jo feels almost like an unrepentant child, rage too big for her body, but she doesn't care . She just wants whatever this feeling is out of her.
They don't walk far. Regulus stays a step ahead of her until they turn into an almost empty corridor, and when no one is looking, reaches for Jo's wrist and attempts to pull her into an empty classroom. And Jo follows, but when his hands wrap around the tender skin of her wrist, still bruised and soft, Jo can't help but rip her hand away from him. Regulus says nothing to it.
Once in the darkened light of the empty classroom, Regulus faces Jo, positions himself right in front of her, her nose almost brushing ah isn't his chest. "Look at me," he instructs, sharper and clipped. Jo obliges, looking Regulus dead in the eye and trying to hold back whatever biting statement was resting on the tip of her tongue. "Inhale," he tells her again.
Jo does what he says. She takes a long, deep breath through her nose. And when he tells her to hold it, she does. When he tells her to exhale, she does. And it goes on for a few minutes, Regulus regulating her breathing until, slowly, Jo releases the tension in her arms, in her shoulders, in her chest. Until the anger is drained from her and instead of a formidable, untamed rage, it is a quiet, whimpering shame.
Jo swallows, and drops her gaze to her feet. She takes a step back from Regulus, and leans against a desk. And though she feels drained, there is still a slight shake to her hands. "I'm sorry," she says to Regulus, voice hoarse.
"It's alright," Regulus says, softer now. He stays still, keeping the distance between them. "You seemed a bit overwhelmed."
"Suppose I was," Jo concedes, breathing still a bit heavy.
"Tell me what happened," Regulus insists, though his tone is gentler, quieter now.
Jo sighs. "Reg-"
"Whatever's wrong," he interjects, now taking a step towards her, "I could fix it."
This is something Jo knows. She thinks of last year, of the way her heart soared at the idea of him blackmailing Dolohov for her, how he made sure McNair would never step foot near her again. But she imagines the look on Crouch's face, so smug and so self-satisfied, if he ever realised she ran to Regulus for protection. Protection from him . Jo won't let him hold that over her, won't let him think he's gotten to her. But Regulus is looking down at her with those stupid eyes that make her feel melted and it's unbearable, the weight of his stare.
Jo steps forward, pushing off the desk and reaching for his hands and she doesn't know what she plans on saying but it doesn't matter, she doesn't get to say it anyways. Her sleeves ride up as she reaches for him, and Regulus's eyes go wide.
Something dark flashes over his expression as he reaches for her forearm, gently gripping it as he pulls it closer and examines the details: the bruising that outlines where the parchment bound her hands together, the reddened, angry skin, the small cuts that have scabbed over. And before he can say anything, Jo yanks her arm back, holding it against her chest. "It's not that big of a deal," she rushes out.
Regulus looks up at her, and Jo squirms at the glint in his eye. "Who did this?" he demands in a low voice.
"Regulus-"
"Who did this?"
Jo clenches down on her jaw. "I can handle it myself."
He inhales sharply through her nose. "Josephine-"
"Don't do this, please," she begs of him. "This is different than before with McNair or with Dolohov, alright? It's different, and I can take care of myself," she insists.
Regulus narrows his eyes and Jo watches as his chest rises and falls, as his knuckles turn white by his side. "What do you mean it's different? How could it be different?" he questions, and there is something remarkably different in his tone and the way he spits out his words, something that Jo thinks is remarkably similar to his brother. "Someone hurt you, Josephine."
"Because, because I can't," Jo stammers, and then sighs. She drops her hands to her side and she struggles to come up with the words to make him understand. "I just have to deal with this on my own, alright? I don't need you to protect me, I'm not weak."
Regulus flinches. "I never said you were weak."
"But people think that," Jo is quick to counter. "People think that I'm weak and that I can't take care of myself and I'm not going to encourage that narrative."
"Since when have you ever cared what people think?" Regulus questions, and when Jo has no answer, he takes a step towards her. He takes a step towards her and he places each of his hands on either side of her face, lightly cupping her cheeks and pulling her closer to him. Jo holds her breath as he leans in towards her, close enough to feel the low words that he whispers to her. "I don't want to protect you because I think you're weak. I want to protect you because I care about you, and I want you to be safe. And I want to put the fear of God in anyone who thinks they can hurt you and get away with it."
Jo feels like she has swallowed a brick. Her heart hammers in her throat and she stares up at Regulus and through all of the dread and shame and anger she still feels, she sees him like that, feels his hands on her skin, and everything else just fades away. It's like there's nothing but him. And before she lets this fluttering in her gut and the buzzing and this sudden tingling she's feeling overtake her and make her do something stupid, she says to Regulus, "I'm still not going to tell you."
Regulus sighs, and fails to fight off a bitter smile. "Stubborn girl," he mumbles, and leans down to place a small kiss on Jo's forehead before he removes his hands from her face, only to grab at her wrists once more. Regulus stares like he's trying to memorise her bruises, like they're some sort of clue. "I'm not letting this happen again."
"Regulus-" Jo sighs.
"I'll walk you to your classes, your practises-"
Jo frowns up at him. "Completely unnecessary."
"I'll make sure you're safe," Regulus says, like it's a vow. And all of the heavy, overwhelming, violent emotions that, just a few moments ago, felt like they were going to swallow Jo whole, are gone, forgotten and replaced by the lightness Regulus makes her feel, like she's floating. "I always will."
Jo gives him a tight lipped smile, and silently admits defeat. "Walk me back to the tower?"
"Of course," Regulus says. And he takes her by the hand, fingers intertwined, and he does not let go until Jo has disappeared behind that same old smirking portrait.
