Chapter 9: Firebrand

I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from writing this whatsoever. The Harry Potter franchise is the property of Warner Brother's and J.K Rowling.

"I thought I was dead, trapped under all that rubble, but a man with a flaming head pulled me out without a word, before riding off into the night."

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

"You have certainly been busy."

It was a question masked as an observation. A probing bumble of words to try and get him to talk about it without having to ask directly. They were in his room right now, Johnny being in the middle of admiring his already healed wounds thanks to the Rider when Dumbledore came in.

Dumbledore was annoyingly good at it.

The initial outcry at Johnny bringing Karkaroff back had died down almost as quickly as it came. Sirius had helped Johnny shout down any protests. Most of them were from Emmeline, Moody, and Elphias. Afterwards, Moody took the initiative in keeping the former Death Eater isolated from the rest of the Order, never able to leave or listen in. It turned out that Buckbeak was an excellent guard. Kreacher brought him food, and only under heavy watch was he allowed to use the washroom.

He never tried anything, though, and Johnny suspected that his threat had worked.

His Russian was rusty, at best, having only spent a short few weeks there in Moscow hunting demons. He knew more than just Russian too, but none of them had come in handy just yet.

"Only doing what you asked," Johnny replied, "and I couldn't just leave him there for the Death Eaters to find, and take away a potential future ally."

This was mostly true. Karkaroff was an extremely unlikeable man from the short amount of time he's known him, but leaving him there to die just didn't sit right with him. Was he guilty? Yes, but the Order was hurting for members, and though he was untrustworthy, he could still prove useful.

"Most would not have cared," Dumbledore prodded, "Sirius himself seemed very keen to let him stay."

Also true, though he couldn't blame him. Johnny shrugged.

"Tell me about the frost troll," Dumbledore asked.

Johnny was surprised that he knew what it was, as Johnny wasn't very specific.

Dumbledore smiled, that annoying twinkle in his eye. "I am very old, Johnny, I have seen quite a lot of things that would surprise you."

"I never thought they were real," he confessed. Myths were just that to him, myths. No gods controlling the sky, the sea. Still, Norse mythology was his best class in high school before they stopped offering it due to lack of interest, and that frost troll was straight out of those myths.

"You will find yourself saying that many more times the longer you are here," Dumbledore assured him.

"Then are the gods real too?" He asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "Thor, Odin, Baldur?"

Dumbledore's expression faltered just a bit. "Names have power, Johnny. Sometimes we give it to them, and sometimes they are earned."

Thunder boomed outside. It was a clear day mere moments before.

"But I did not know you were familiar with Norse mythology," he continued.

"I took it in high school, I really took an interest in it, I guess. But if they've gotten a frost troll involved, that means there could be more, even different creatures from Norse myth."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said gravely, "and we will have to plan in accordance to that, but for now, let us be glad for your safe return."

"You're not mad then?"

"I do not get mad much these days," Dumbledore answered, "am I a little bemused that you did not deem in necessary to let us know about something potentially dangerous? Yes, and I would implore you to do so next time, but - what is the saying? Better to ask for forgiveness than for permission? I have saved you the trouble of doing the former. Sirius is safe, Hagrid and Olympe are safe, and now we have a potentially useful ally in Igor Karkaroff. I will not look at this gift horse in the mouth."

God, he was a walking idiom.

Dumbledore made to leave, but just as he got to the door, he turned back again to Johnny.

"You were not thinking in the Order's interest when you brought Karkaroff back, were you?"

Johnny suddenly found it very hard to match his gaze.

"I couldn't just leave him."

Dumbledore smiled with the look of a proud father, a twinkle in his eye. "You are quite remarkable."

Johnny shook his head tiredly. "It's got nothing to do with me, none of it would have worked without the Rider."

"My boy," he said, "it has everything to do with you."

The library was more active than normal, due to mid-term exams approaching. The labyrinth of books was mostly occupied by Ravenclaws and Slytherins, with the occasional Hufflepuff or Gryffindor like herself scattered around.

Hermione sat alone, at her favourite spot, not entirely unusual. But what was out of the ordinary, was the fact that Hermione Granger's focus was not on her studies.

"I say we just go up there and ask her."

They were adorable. Too much like how she, Ron and Harry were back then. Always planning for the next hairbrained scheme that was going to try and kill Harry that year.

"But she's a Gryffindor! Marcus said that we should never trust them!"

"Marcus has a T in almost every class, I don't think we should really be taking his advice. Plus, she's the smartest person in the castle that isn't a teacher!"

Oh, they were inflating her ego far too much. Hermione was half tempted to sneak over there and say something to surprise them. Preferably something cool, though she doubted she could pull that off. Johnny probably could, he was like that. And there she was, making herself sad by thinking about him.

Devin Lockley, Kelvin Obe and Jamie Davis sat at a nearby table, all of them whispering loudly and gesturing towards her in a very conspicuous manner.

A few times a week Hermione would see them in the library struggle with their defence homework. She never found the work assigned by Umbridge very hard at all, but for young children subjected to an unfamiliar form of learning, she had no doubt that they were not the only ones having a difficult time.

"We just have to ask," Davis said, "none of the others will help us. She's our best bet."

He said it with a lot of determination, which impressed her. And suddenly, the chair slid back (silently - Madam Pince was very obstinate with making the library as silent as possible) and the Slytherin boy made his way over towards her.

Hermione made it look as if she was reading the potions book in front of her as he approached.

Act nonchalant. Act cool.

"Granger - ah, Hermione Granger?"

She put down her book slowly, carefully, before making eye contact and answering.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

Not really cool, not really nonchalant either, but she hadn't embarrassed herself so far. A win in her books.

Davis shifted nervously. "Er, well, you see-" he took a breath, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a little amused, "Professor Umbridge can't teach at all, and by the way things are going, me and my friends will fail her class." He gulped, eyes a little wide, perhaps he didn't expect to be able to get it all out. "You're the smartest witch we know - well, not know personally but you get the idea - and we, that is, my friends and I, really need your help."

She blinked at him for a few seconds. This was going better than she could have planned! Without needing to really do anything other than position herself at a table nearby them and working smoothly through homework, they had approached her themselves.

"Well, I'm not too sure," she said, feigning hesitation, they were in Slytherin, after all. Agreeing too early could make them suspicious.

"Please!" He said a little too loudly. Madam Pince hissed a warning at him from her desk. "We just don't want to fail, and we're not friends with Draco's group."

Hermione furrowed her brow, pretending to think on it. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give you a few pointers," she said.

The boy's face lit up. "Brilliant!"

"Keep quiet you inconsiderate boy!" Madam Pince shouted.

"Bring your stuff over here," Hermione whispered to him, feeling a little excited, she'd never really taught people before. Harry and Ron weren't really a captive audience. When they were finally seated around her, she started. "What have you covered so far?"

Immediately, all three boys launched into their own tirades on Professor Umbridge's 'teaching', and how they'd learned basically nothing at all.

"She just writes stuff on the board and that's it!"

"We are not even allowed to use your wands! How does that make any sense?"

"Miss Hermione, I think Professor Umbridge wants to kill us."

"W-what?" She sputtered, choosing to address Kelvin Obe's words.

He nodded his head seriously.

"Not teaching us anything, relying on a book by a man who never had to fight anything dark in his life, it is clear she is setting us up for deadly failure." Kelvin said.

That was certainly an interesting theory. And technically that's what was happening, when she gave it further thought, though it was likely unintentional.

"I don't think they're doing it on purpose - to kill you, I mean." She said, as the boys looked at her skeptically. "They've mostly done this because they're afraid of Professor Dumbledore creating a child army to overthrow the ministry."

The three Slytherin boys looked at each other in confusion. "That's why?"

Finally, other people not apart of the Order that thought it was really stupid.

She nodded at them. "They'd rather do this than admit that Voldemort is back." Hermione felt a little bit of pride that she was able to say it without stuttering.

Jamie and Devin flinched, while Kelvin did not, though he did look wary.

"So he is then? Back, I mean." Devin asked, looking a little scared.

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Jamie responded, "I mean, what are they implying? That he's some liar that killed another student? Makes no sense..."

"If Professor Dumbledore says that the Dark Lord has returned, then that means he has returned," Kelvin said, before frowning, "or, at least, that's what my mother says."

Odd that he would refer to Voldemort as the Dark Lord, something Hermione had only ever heard Professor Snape call him.

"Either way," Davis said, "Dumbledore creating an army of students is the dumbest thing I've ever heard, what could a bunch of kids do?"

If only he knew Hermione mused.

Buckbeak gazed at him with a lofty scrutiny, sizing him up as he closed the door behind him.

Johnny bowed deeply, keeping the tray of food he held steady, hoping the sign of respect would work. He hadn't really interacted with the Hippogriff (what were these names?) before, and only knew what to do based on what Remus told him. A moment passed, and finally, Buckbeak returned the bow.

Success. He'd gotten by without having his head ripped off.

Karkaroff was seated on the opposite side to the large room, still looking incredibly tired, but at least cleaned up. The room was barren, the only kind of decoration being the Black family tree tapestry with its multiple blasted off members. As well as a small bed, nightstand, and chair.

"The Order still does not trust me." Karkaroff greeted in Russian.

Johnny snorted, handing the man his tray of food. 'Kippers', Molly called it. "And why would they?" He responded.

Karkaroff took his food without so much as a word of thanks. Johnny sat down on the chair close to the bed, amused.

"I have done everything they've asked of me, answered every question. Not once have I tried to escape, or do anything against them, and still, I am held here."

It'd only been a week and a half, the big baby. Johnny kept the amused look on his face, knowing it would enrage him. "Living in a bedroom, with homecooked meals brought to you every day, the horror!"

It worked, a total shocker, and Karkaroff's nostrils flared in anger. "Damn you! I have provided much, and still I am treated like a criminal! I very clearly want to help! Defeating Voldemort benefits me as well, they want me dead! This, is how Hagrid and Olympe were able to find me, by pure coincidence. I was in hiding in Norway. Stupid, on my part, should have known that they would try to recruit the giants."

He nearly asked Karkaroff to speak in English now, Johnny's Russian wasn't that good, though he got the gist of it.

"They also know you're a rat," he told him in English, "that you only care about yourself, and would run at the first sign of trouble."

Karkaroff grunted something unintelligible, before eating more of his kippers.

"Just give it time," Johnny said, "they'll let you out eventually, we're not monsters."

The former Death Eater did not look convinced. "Why are you still here anyway? I did not get the impression that you enjoyed my company."

"Ha," he laughed hollowly, "no, I've stayed to ask you about how you were able to avoid Voldemort's forces for as long as you did. Something Moody had wondered at dinner last night."

Karkaroff flinched violently at the use of the name. "I set up protective spells."

"Without a wand?" Johnny asked.

The man smiled, showing his dark yellow teeth. "I know many ways to perform spells without a wand, boy." He said, switching back to Russian.

"And yet," he said slowly, "you were hiding in a cave, like a coward."

Karkaroff looked livid now, "Get out! You have brought me my food, now leave!"

Johnny grinned evilly, a familiar anger rising up within him, the kind that made the burning in his chest rage. "Goodnight, Igor."

"Why did we even come here again?"

It was cold. Stupid cold. Hogsmeade was far less populated than normal, due to the weather.

"I distinctly remember 'I could go for a butterbeer' being the reason."

Ron pouted a little bit. "Oh, yeah." They trudged through the several inches of snow towards the Three Broomsticks. "Should have talked me out of it," he said.

Harry didn't answer, because he wanted one too.

The cold was biting, Christmas was close, and mother nature made sure everyone knew it.

When they finally stumbled into the tavern, Harry realized that his early assessment of Hogsmeade's emptiness was hilariously wrong. He'd never seen the Three Broomsticks so packed before. Madam Rosmerta was running around (as much as she could) to deliver orders by hand, while many other platters precariously made their way around through the air magically.

There were many booths of students he recognized. Ernie Macmillan and Terry Boot sat together with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Susan Bones. He even saw Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, as well as Pansy Parkinson. His eyes moved over to the booths closest to the entrance. Harry saw Cho sitting with her usual group of friends, whose names he did not know. She looked up, and their eyes met. Cho flashed him a brilliant smile that made his stomach do a flip.

"Oh," Ron said, though Harry found it hard to hear him over the chatter, "there's Dean and Seamus..." And sure enough, Harry followed to where Ron was looking and saw their dormmates. Neville was with them too, but his back was towards Harry and Ron. Seamus looked at him a little darkly, but Dean waved them over.

"You can go, if you want," Harry said, seeing Ron eye the table, "it can only seat four people anyway."

Ron kept staring for a moment, before turning back to Harry. "Nah, let's just grab a butterbeer at the Hog's Head and go to Zonko's or something."

Harry was a little surprised, and touched, "It's okay if you want to stay here, Ron, I really don't mind. Besides... I might go say hi to Cho."

"Oh yeah?" Ron said, waggling his eyebrows at him, his knitted red cap clashing terribly with his orange eyebrows. "Good luck then, mate." He walked over to the booth, rudely bumping people out of his way as he went.

"Prat," Harry muttered, before taking a deep breath and making his way over to Cho. He weaved through person after person, stepping on one or two feet and mumbling apologies as he went. About halfway there (and another foot stepped on), an arm latched out of a booth and grabbed onto his arm. Caught by surprise, Harry was yanked into a seat next to one of the most breathtakingly beautiful girls he had ever seen. She was blond with light blue eyes and a diamond shaped jawline, her hair was straight, and she was currently looking at him as if he were the most disgusting thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

Wait, what?

"We finally meet, Potter." Her voice was a little deeper than he expected, kind of like...

He looked over to the other side of the booth.

"Davis?"

His transfiguration partner currently looked as if she'd like to be anywhere but here, her cerulean eyes were pleading as she looked at the girl beside him.

"Daph, can we please not do this here?"

The dark skinned boy next to her, Zabini, Harry remembered his name being, nodded seriously, before making intricate gestures with his hands.

"Nonsense," 'Daph' said, "everyone here is too absorbed in their own conversations to hear us, I see no better opportunity than now to introduce myself to him."

"Please, please stop talking like you're my father sizing up a potential suitor." Davis begged.

This was a far cry from the person he knew from class. She'd began to talk a bit more over the weeks, but this was the most he'd ever heard her say. Anything other than boredom on her face was strange to him, much less the sheer exasperation and panic he saw in her expression. Harry's eyes flipped between the two girls as the spoke.

"Well, who is to say he isn't?" Daph argued.

Davis groaned. "I am going to kill you. Drawn and quartered. Hung for your crimes against me."

Daph waved a hand at her, cheeks rosy, "don't be so dramatic, Trace."

Her eyes bulged dramatically as she looked deeply offended. "I'm being dramatic? How about pulling Harry bloody Potter into our booth so you can question him like an overprotective dad?"

"I only mean to ascertain his intentions, you do not have any friends other than us, and you talk about him from time to time-"

"Stop!" Davis nearly yelled, a bright shade of red at her friend's words, some younger students that were standing nearby looked at her oddly. "Stop," she said again, quieter.

They were nothing like he'd thought they'd be. Which, to be fair, was his own fault in assuming all Slytherins were the same. But this? They honestly seemed... a little mad.

Davis now had her face buried in her hands, while Zabini gave him a look that said sorry, mate.

Daph looked at Davis for a long while, and they were left in an awkward silence.

"Fine," she said eventually, turning to him, "another time then, Potter. Do try to perform better in transfiguration, Tracey may not show it, but her marks are important to her, and a bad partner will just simply not suffice. If she had been partnered with Granger, we wouldn't even need to have this conversation, but alas."

She looked at him expectantly then, and Harry realized he was supposed to give an answer of some sort.

"Uh, of course, yeah. My - my marks are important to me too."

The look on her face was not convinced.

"Yes, well. We will see."

Harry had the distinct feeling that was some kind of veiled threat upon his life.

Daph narrowed her eyes at him. "You may leave us now, Potter."

"R-right, yeah, I'll do that."

No matter what happened for the rest of the trip, which included a wary Ron finding him not too long after he got up from the three Slytherin's booth, ("I didn't see you at Cho's table, so I got a little worried. Where were you?") Harry could not really think of anything else. He definitely wasn't going to tell Ron just yet, for fear of him blowing a gasket in the middle of Hogsmeade, so he just told his best mate that he needed to use the washroom and lost track of time.

Granted, that meant Ron made suggestive jokes the entire way back to the castle.

The crowd that forced its way into the castle was immense, pretty much everyone had gotten back at the same time. Which made it easy for him to yet again be dragged away against his will. Around the corner, away from the students eager to have their dinner, Harry was face to face with Blaise Zabini.

He had a pained expression, as if he didn't really want to do what he was about to.

"Don't take anything Daphne says too personally, she's just over protective."

Harry almost didn't understand at all. The way Zabini spoke was stilted, and awkward, as if he'd never done it before. It came across like a child trying to talk but not knowing how to pronounce the words. It took him a moment to respond.

"Ah, yeah, it's alright." He said,

"I grew up mostly alone, nobody ever really cared enough to teach me how to talk, had to learn how to read on my own, so I stay silent most of the time. I doubted you knew sign language so, er, yeah." Zabini looked embarrassed.

Nobody taught him how to speak?

"It's no problem," Harry said, "I won't hold it against her." Couldn't really blame her, either, Ron would probably be the same way.

He gave Harry a thumbs up, before walking into the Great Hall. After a few moments, Harry followed as well. When he got to the Gryffindor table, Ron was tucking in with gusto, while Hermione looked relieved at his appearance.

"There you are," she said as he sat down beside her. She then looked to Ron. "Keep a better eye on your friend, you prat!"

"He was right behind me when we came in," Ron defended himself after swallowing a bit of chicken, "Besides, he's fine, isn't he?"

Hermione looked very much like she wanted to say something else to Ron, but decided against it, instead preferring to speak to Harry as he loaded his plate.

"Do you remember those third year Slytherin boys I talked about?" She said. "The ones that were struggling in defence?"

"Vaguely," he responded, remembering perfectly fine but not liking where this was going.

"Well, it's worse than I thought." She said. "They're really struggling. I mean, Hogwarts in general has had really hit or miss teachers since the sixties, as there's always been a new professor every year. But more so in the last few years especially. Quirrell was inept on purpose, Lockhart was just inept, Professor Lupin was great, but that year was mostly about dark creatures. Moody was good too, but two decent years in the last five isn't exactly a great track record."

This was painfully true, and Harry knew this all too well, what with three of those professors trying to curse him in some way. Four now, if he included his detentions with Umbridge.

"And you're thinking of having them join the D.A, aren't you?" He asked, though it was mostly rhetorical.

"Well," she said again, "well, yes, actually. I think it would be good for them."

"But why?" He asked her. "Why them specifically?"

"Everyone deserves the chance to learn properly instead of from - from that toad."

Hermione rarely ever spoke badly about a teacher, even when it came to Snape, to see her do so now (even though she'd shown disdain for Umbridge all year) was still shocking.

"And..." she continued, "and I've learned that I need to reevaluate some preconceived notions that I have."

Was she talking about Johnny and their fight? He hesitated to call it that, as it was mostly just Johnny yelling at her in a bookshop, but still. Hermione had seemed troubled by it, and from what little she told Ron and him about it, she believed it to be her fault in the first place. Harry liked Johnny, he was cool, though he mostly kept to himself. And from his interactions with Sirius, Tonks, and the Weasley's, seemed like a nice person. They hadn't really spoken before, though, besides that brief moment in his bedroom at Privet Drive, right before they left for Grimmauld Place.

Still, inviting Slytherins would be a problem. Most, if not all the members, Ron especially included, would not like it at all. He'd likely have to meet them himself, before anything, but he trusted Hermione, and was willing to give the boys a chance.

"Who are they anyway?" He asked.

"Kelvin Obe, Devin Lockley, and Jamie Davis."

"Davis?" Harry asked. "Any relation to Tracey?"

"Siblings, I'd assume," Hermione answered, "why?"

You do not have any friends other than us

"I want to meet them first, maybe sometime after the break but, I think we can make it work." Harry said.

He had an idea.

Johnny was initially worried that he wouldn't catch him before he returned to Hogwarts, but Hagrid's thunderous footsteps and loud goodbyes gave him enough notice to make his way downstairs before the half-giant could leave. Olympe was already back in France at her own school, and it was only Hargid's more severe wounds that kept him from returning himself.

"Hargid," he said, stopping him just outside the dining room. Nobody else was in the hallway. "A word?"

"Oh, Johnny. O' course, wha' is it?"

"Back in the cave with Karkaroff, did you ever notice anything odd about it? Any symbols or runes carved into the walls?"

Hagrid looked a little confused. "Runes? Well, yeh, I suppose I do remember there bein' runes put inter the walls, but why?"

Johnny looked at him seriously. "Did you ever wonder how he managed to keep it sealed off without a wand? He never had one when you found him, did he? And yet the Death Eaters couldn't find him."

"Well they weren' up in Norway looking fer Karkaroff," Hagrid reasoned, "reckon their minds were on the giants." He then looked at Johnny with unease. "But yer righ', how did he do tha'?"

"Do you remember what the runes looked like?" Johnny asked.

"I do, but, Hagrid began sadly, "couldn' really describe 'em ter yeh other 'n they were weird, unlike any runes I've ever seen." He then looked thoughtful. "Maybe Dumbledore would recognize 'em, could give 'im me memory o' the cave."

An option, definitely, but Johnny wanted to find out for himself.

"Thanks Hagrid," he said, giving the half-giant a small smile.

He returned it. "No problem, Johnny. Have a good Christmas."

When Hagrid was out the door, Johnny immediately turned around and went for the stairs. The portrait of Walburga Black glared at him, but did not scream or rage. She hadn't since that night in the dining room with Hermione, when he had left the house to patrol.

Hermione.

He still felt guilty. Why did he feel guilty? He owed her nothing, she was the one who'd been in the wrong. She was some girl who stared at him with an annoying curiosity, as if he were some problem to be solved.

Johnny wanted to go upstairs, grab Karkaroff by the throat and demand to know what runes he used to seal the cave off, but it would only serve to put him in a bad position with the Order. Hagrid and Olympe had told them that they had thought themselves dead. Death Eaters and giants alike were chasing them down, and on a small island just off the mainland where Johnny and Sirius had initially gone to, the stone shifted in the side of a small cliff, and Igor Karkaroff beckoned them inside.

Having mentally defeated himself for the moment, and deciding to question Karkaroff further when he wasn't likely to kill him, Johnny made his way into the dining room.

Remus was lounging at the table, drinking tea. Johnny nodded at him. Arthur, Kingsley and Tonks were at work. Snape and Dumbledore were of course, at Hogwarts, and Molly was at the Burrow for the day, making sure their upkeep charms were still going strong. That left only him, Remus and Sirius, the latter of whom, was likely working on his bike.

Sirius' attitude these days was a refreshing change. Having finally left the house and (in his eyes) provided something other than a headquarters for the Order, Sirius was almost always in an electric mood. Gone was the constantly moody, sulking man, and in was someone who acted like they were the luckiest person on Earth. Christmas being soon only increased it tenfold. Carols were sung, decorations set up, including an extravagant tree, and he greeted everyone with an obnoxious enthusiasm.

He eyed the pile of letters that was threatening to spill out onto the floor from the windowsill.

"It grows everyday," Remus said, looking at the pile as well, "Molly's threatened to grab you by the ear and drag you down to get them."

Johnny scoffed softly, it wasn't an empty threat, he knew. Molly Weasley was a scary woman.

"We all know they're for you, anyone else would have just grabbed them." Remus explained, "And... Tonks may have let it slip that they were from Hermione."

Yeah, that checked out.

He walked over to the window, and took the sizable stack in both his hands, the weight of them all pressing into the fuzzy sleeves of his knitted maroon sweatshirt, courtesy of Molly. "I guess I better get started then."

Dear Johnny,

How are you? I know you probably don't want to talk with me after what happened only just last week, but the guilt has been eating at me so much that I couldn't help but write this letter. I knew it then, but now, I have truly come to realize just how wrong I was to assume those things about you. I can't believe I ever let myself think that way, to presume so ignorantly. For that, I'm sorry. I hope that you can forgive me.

Sincerely, Hermione Granger.

Yeah, he felt bad. It got worse though, in terms of making him feel like an asshole, though he knew that wasn't what she intended. Ron had once said to him that Hermione tended to overthink and analyze, but never was it more clear than in these letters. The next one came a week after the first, and was more so a question on if he'd respond, if the school owl had even bothered to wait for him. An annoying pit seemed to deepen in his stomach as he realized that she probably didn't know he had zero idea the letters were for him at the time.

They progressed from a general concern that the letters to the acceptance that he wasn't reading any of them at a certain point.

Dear Johnny,

I have long come to terms with the fact that you don't read these. And honestly, that's okay. I'm not owed your forgiveness. These have become a place for me to vent now, and I apologize if the letters are annoying.

That one trailed off from there, and Hermione just talked about her day. That's what most of them were. Updates on her life, her schoolwork (most of which, he could barely understand). These letters held her fears, her worries. A lot of them having to do with Harry and how the exams would shape up. O.W.L.'s were apparently very important for wizards.

Some were very different than others.

Dear Johnny,

That woman! She banned Fred, George, and Harry from Quidditch for life! If they hadn't been provoked by Draco Malfoy, none of it would have happened! Oh you should have heard the things he said to them, no wonder they lost their temper! School is quite honestly a mess, dozens of students are in the library daily, which I assure you, is a rarity during the times when it isn't for exams. And its all for defence! Professor Umbridge's purposeful sabotage of our education is a disgrace!

It was a little funny, without really being there for the proper context. But even then, Johnny could feel her rage, and even felt himself getting annoyed with a teacher he'd never met before.

He knew about the detentions, as well as the D.A. and what they entailed now, and suddenly his ire didn't seem so unjustified. And to be fair to Harry, he wouldn't have gone to a teacher either.

Dear Johnny,

D.A. Lessons have been going great! It's refreshing to have a competent teacher for once. Harry's a bit unsure of himself, but he's more than fitting into the role. The other members have no complaints, and are picking up a lot every time we get together. I'm curious to see what he does for the last lesson before holiday's. Other than that, there's not much new. Harry and I continue to be an effective team in herbology, earning O's almost every class. Defence is so easy it's boring, and transfiguration continues to be an uphill battle, but I've finally been able to get my group work with Crabbe up to an A.

Johnny snickered a little bit (again - what were these names?).

Unfortunately, I won't be at headquarters for Christmas, as I'm spending it with my parents on a skiing trip. I do hope that if this does reach you, that you have a wonderful holiday!

Sincerely, Hermione Granger.

He frowned a little, did she get him a gift? Was he expected to get her one? Or, even more worrying, was he meant to get one for Tonks, Sirius, and other Order members?

Before this terrifying train of thought could continue, there was a knock on his door.

Sirius poked his head in after a second, looking a little wary.

"Dumbledore's just got here," he said, "it's time to talk about guard duty at the ministry."

One crisis after another, then.