Chapter 12: Undone
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.
"You're gonna die here. Alone. I don't care if you believe in an afterlife, because wherever you're going, I will follow. Death is not an escape from me."
- The Ghost Rider to a trapped criminal, Hell's Kitchen, New York, 1995
┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈
A quarter of Azkaban was in ruins.
The supposedly most secure prison in Wizarding Britain, had been breached. Not the first time, oh, no. 1982, Barty Crouch Jr, 1993, her own darling cousin. Merlin, this was terrible.
"Tonks, help me clear this rubble," Kingsley's voice called.
She began levitating large obsidian chunks out of the way with him.
"Every known death eater has been freed," she muttered to Kingsley, "that can't be a coincidence."
He moved a particularly big piece out of the way. "You and I both know it isn't," he replied calmly. Nobody else was on the floor with them, fortunately. Savage and Proudfoot were one below though... if either of them decided to come up...
"That's not how Fudge will see it," she said.
"Hardly a surprise," he reminded her. How could he be so nonchalant about it? "What matters is how we deal with it."
Her blood was boiling. Bellatrix was out, Dolohov, Rookwood, Travers, Mulciber. How could Fudge continue to be blind? Willfully putting his people in danger by not letting himself see the truth.
There was nothing to be found under the rubble, but at least they had cleared the area a little.
"The Dementors have left," Tonks said, "they'll have to shift a good amount of Aurors over here to cover for it. We could get pulled."
"It won't come to that," Kingsley assured, "they need us out there, you'll see-"
Savage and Proudfoot came upstairs at that moment. "Our area's cleared, we're being called back for a debrief on guard duty." Savage said.
Ten death eaters were gone, released by Voldemort, and no doubt, their Minister would blame it on Sirius.
"Alright," she said tiredly. One more thing to worry about.
"Much have I fared, much have I found, much have I got of the gods: what shall bring the doom of death to Othin, when the gods to destruction go?"
Was he talking about Ragnarok? Hermione made a mental note of that. She knew a little bit of Norse myth, but nothing to really talk at length about, Ragnarok, however, was something she did know beforehand; the end of the world.
"The wolf shall fell the father of men, and this shall Vithar avenge; the terrible jaws shall he tear apart, and so the wolf shall he slay."
That was referring to Fenrir, Loki's wolf son, who was fated to kill Odin come Ragnarok.
Someone was looking over her shoulder, Hermione turned her head to the right to see Ron, confusedly reading along with her. When he noticed that she'd seen him, he spoke.
"Why do they talk like that?"
She shuffled around in her comfy chair for a moment, this was the only good one in the entire Black family library. "These poems are centuries old, it's how they spoke back then."
"Much have I fared," Ron said, reading further, "much have I found, much have I got from the gods: what spake Othin himself in the ears of his son, ere in the bale-fire he burned?"
That was a trick question of sorts, one, by the looks of it, Ron expected her to answer. She frowned for a moment as she put it together.
"He's talking about Baldur, after he died and was getting a Viking's funeral. Odin's asking a question only he would know the answer to."
Ron frowned too. "But why?'
"Too prove he was wiser than Vafthruthnir, I suppose." She said. "That was the deal between them, the giant wagered his own head against Odin's wisdom, so they kept giving each other riddles until one of them got it incorrect."
"Vafth- what?"
She tried not to roll her eyes, though Hermione couldn't help but smirk a little.
"Vafthruthnir. He's a giant, or a jötunn, notorious enemies of the Aesir gods."
Ron stared at her for a moment, before shaking his head. "I have no idea how you're able to take in all this information before lunch."
Hermione scowled at him. "We have classes before lunch at school, you know!"
"Yeah," he said smoothly, "and I never learn anything from them."
"You're being ridiculous," she said.
Ron grinned. "Yes, yes, I'm being a little hyperbolic at your expense, oh well!"
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Where did you learn that word?"
He looked offended. "Why can't I just know that word offhand?"
Her eyes narrowed even more.
Ron didn't even blink. "You're hurting my feelings, you know."
She scoffed.
"Oh alright," he said, "mum used it on me after I tried milking an injury from Fred and George, I asked Lupin what it meant afterwards. Are you happy?"
"Yes," she said simply, looking back at the Poetic Edda, now reading it inside her head.
No man can tell what in olden time though spak'st in the ears of thy son; with fated mouth the fall of the gods and mine olden tales have I told; with Othin in knowledge now have I striven, and ever the wiser thou art.
He gave up rather easily, didn't he? It confused her at first, until she asked Johnny about it, that Othin was actually just Odin. Old English was sometimes confusing, even to her.
"What's the point of that story anyway?" Ron asked, taking her out of the book again.
The truth was, she wasn't sure yet. Vafthruthnir was cocky enough to invite Odin into his hall in a battle of wits, but Odin was a little obsessed with collecting knowledge, to put it mildly, and had a clear edge over the giant. And though Odin hid his identity at first, it was clear at the end to the giant who he was truly dealing with. But what was the point? The moral? Most stories in myth usually had one. This just seemed like an inside look into a small section of Odin's life and quest for knowledge. Do not invite just anyone into your home, they might be smarter than you? Vafthruthnir was too confident and proud, and it proved to be his downfall. A stranger to his home walked in and defeated him at his own game.
"Hermione?"
She flinched a little, completely forgetting Ron was there.
"What was the question?"
Ron shook his head, smirking a little.
"Nevermind," he said, "let's just go downstairs. Lunch is ready, that's why I was looking for you."
"Oh," she said dumbly, "yes - of course, I'll come down now." Hermione closed the book, marking her spot with a bookmark, and walked downstairs with Ron.
A door opened just to the right of the landing, and Johnny stepped out. There was a man shouting at him in a different language as he went.
"-khochu uyti! Vy ne mozhete bol'she derzhat' menya zdes'!"
The door was slammed close by Johnny, and the yelling abruptly stopped.
"Fucker," he muttered, before looking at them with wide eyes. "Oh," he said, "hey."
"Hey," Ron replied, dumbstruck.
Who was in the room?
She was totally going to bother him about Karkaroff. Johnny knew it. Hermione was too nosy for her own good.
"You can understand Russian?"
Alright, he may have spoke too soon. It was still coming though! Just not right away. Or, maybe she'd ask Harry, he'd probably tell her and Ron now that he thought about it.
"Spent some time in Moscow." He said as they descended the stairs. "Had to pick it up to get around." And kill people. Demons mostly. Wasn't going to tell her that though.
She didn't ask, thank god, but she did look a little excited. "Did you visit the Kremlin?"
He blinked. Johnny had been there, and it was hard to forget a compound with five palaces, and like half a dozen other buildings he didn't know the purpose of. He wasn't exactly there as a tourist. Again, definitely not telling her. "Er, yeah, it was beautiful." Probably true, he didn't look for long.
"Russian Tsar's used to live there," she rambled on, "intended to emphasize the greatness of Russian autocracy."
Johnny snorted, yeah, that sounded about right.
"It has five reception halls," Hermione continued, "one for each order of the Russian Empire; Saint George, Vladimir-"
Ron looked at him and rolled his eyes.
He smiled, though there was no humor in it. When Hermione got going, it was... admittedly adorable. Though one had to be quick to stop her, or else she'd never let up.
"I know the history behind it," he said, still smiling. This was a total lie. He had a general idea, some big palace for dictators, whoopie.
"Oh," she said, looking a little embarrassed, "well..." Hermione trailed off.
They reached the dining room, and the heavenly smell of burgers greeted him.
Sirius was laying out plates of patties and buns, and Molly was transfiguring a grill back into the oven.
"I love you," he said to her, sitting down eagerly. He loved burgers.
Molly chuckled.
"I gave her the idea, you know," Sirius said, taking a seat across from him. "I deserve some of the credit."
Johnny pretended to think about it for a moment, putting a slice of cheese on his burger. "Nah."
Sirius pouted, while Ron looked at Johnny in horror. "You're only putting cheese on it?"
He raised an eyebrow at him. "And what? I'm allowed. Anything else just makes the burger taste too... sweet." Johnny scowled as Ron continued to look at him as if he belonged in an asylum, and even Sirius seemed confused.
"Anyway," Molly continued pleasantly, also making her own burger, "today's shaping up to be nice, I might go on a walk later, if anyone else is interested."
Ginny, who had wandered in, no doubt thanks to the smell as well, looked like she was about to voice her eagerness to join, when the twins - who'd come in with her - shot Ginny a severe look. Something about testing their new products, Johnny knew, as he'd heard them plotting one night. Molly missed it, fortunately for the two.
Johnny thought about going, to at least give her company. It was actually a nice day, and in Britain, one had to take advantage of it. Maybe Harry or Hermione would come.
He never got to say anything though, because the head of Arthur Weasley suddenly formed through the coals of the nearby fireplace.
"I've only just heard," he said breathlessly as everyone crowded around. "Massive escape at Azkaban, ten death eaters got free."
Sirius swore, Molly was mortified, and Harry looked like he was going to be sick.
"Do you need me there?" Johnny asked immediately, mind racing.
"No," Arthur said, "ministry is all over it, too many questions. Alastor will want to retaliate, and I imagine Kingsley and Tonks will be swamped. Dumbledore'll probably call a meeting tonight."
Just a heads up then. Johnny didn't like feeling helpless, but there was nothing he could do at the moment.
Arthur's head disappeared from the fire, and the room was now filled with silence. After a moment, Sirius stormed upstairs, making Hermione jump from beside Johnny.
Later, in the library, when it was just Hermione, Ron, Johnny and Harry, he asked a question that had been on his mind.
"Why did he look so upset? Sirius, I mean. I get that a breakout can't be good, but, it seemed to affect him a lot."
Ron looked around nervously, while Harry stared blankly at a wall. It was Hermione that answered him.
"Because his cousin is a death eater," she said, "Bellatrix Lestrange. I bet Tonks won't be in a great mood either, not that I can blame her."
That made sense, then. He thought. That walk with Molly would have to take a rain-check, as he doubted anyone was in the mood for one at the moment.
A couple days went by, Dumbledore never called a meeting, though Snape did pop in to tell Harry they'd be doing some sort of private lessons when they went back for school. If anything, that made Harry look even more depressed. Dumbledore's frustrating absence was felt by other Order members too. Sirius was constantly muttering about needing to do something, Moody was the same, if more violent with his threats upon the escaped death eater's lives. Kingsley and Tonks never showed up either, no doubt swamped with work. Emmeline Vance and Hestia Jones looked weary giving their updates to whichever Order member was around, and Elphias Doge stopped coming by altogether. Where was Dumbledore? The others were lost without him, though it seemed Moody and Sirius very much wanted to plan and take action, almost nobody else knew what to do.
It was increasingly getting on his nerves. Johnny was now reminded on why he preferred to be on his own. No one to answer to, only having to just decide for himself. And yeah, he fucked up plenty doing it that way, but it sure as hell had to be better than this.
Confession time: he totally tried to ditch without telling anyone.
It wouldn't have been the first time, and Johnny fought down the shame rising within him. He'd kill Blackheart on his own. He didn't need their help anymore, he knew enough about Voldemort and the Death Eaters.
Johnny knew Mephisto was there before he even spoke. The room was dark, and the devil stood in the corner.
"Where are you going?"
He didn't jump. Didn't wince or curse, just looked at Mephisto uncaringly.
"None of your business."
Johnny tried to leave his room, a bag slung over his shoulder, but the door was locked.
"For the record," Mephisto said, the hint of a grin just barely peeking out from the shadows, "I approve of this, as far as I'm concerned, these people made you weak, complacent. Ordering you around like a good little lapdog. I mean, look at you! Jumping at the mere voice of some girl."
He narrowed his eyes at Mephisto. "What are you saying?"
"Good lord, you're slow," he commented, "there's no other way to interpret what I'm saying, Johnathan, these people have made you soft, my son. You don't need them."
Anger flared and he grit his teeth. "Don't fucking call me that!" Johnny hissed. He, of all people, did not get to say that to him.
Mephisto grinned. "But it's true, isn't it? What have you truly accomplished other than disrupting some pitiful excuse for branching out into the human crime world? Voldemort never really needed that exploit, and he remains barely fazed. Their meandering, their skittishness, will be their downfall, Johnny, mark my words. You're better off without them. Save yourself the needless heartbreak of watching them die."
Johnny suddenly felt cold, he'd never thought of it like that, he'd just been acting on instinct. Reverting to an old habit. Running when it suited him, and he would have doomed them, the people that took him in, welcome him as one of their own, albeit, over time. His knees felt weak, the door shuddered as he slammed it closed, but when had it ever been opened? It was locked before.
"I saved you, when that snake attacked, take this opportunity I've given you and run with it."
No.
He dropped his bag onto the floor.
"Johnny?" A distant voice called, somewhere on the landing outside his room and above this floor. Sirius' voice.
He turned his head, Mephisto was gone, like he was never there in the first place.
"Johnny, is everything alright?" Sirius called again, a little closer this time.
"Yeah," he shouted back hoarsely, "I'm fine!" He hoped it sounded convincing. He'd nearly killed them by leaving. Their faces flashed by in his mind, lingering on Sirius, Tonks and Hermione. Johnny dropped to his knees, and cried silently.
"You're a coward," he whispered to himself, "such a fucking coward."
Hermione peered at the door to the room Johnny had initially left before lunch those few days back. She'd been distracted by the escape, as well as studying and reading more of the Edda's to go back, but now, her time was freed up.
There was no sound coming from the other side, so either the person inside was very quiet, or it was silenced. If she remembered correctly, this was Buckbeak's room initially, and unless the Hippogriff transformed into a human, Hermione assumed it was the latter.
She wouldn't knock, or try to open it herself, that was tactless, so for now, she'd just stare.
Her staring was cut short by footsteps below, and an already in progress conversation.
"-sure you're okay?"
"For the last time, I'm alright, man, you don't need to worry about me."
Sirius and Johnny, just outside his room it sounded like.
Silence followed his words, until he spoke again.
"Listen," he said, "I think we should let Karkaroff out. The more we keep him locked up in there, the less likely he'll be to help us. I'd bet he'd bolt at the first opportunity if he stays in there any longer."
Karkaroff? Igor Karkaroff? That's who was locked up in there? Why did they have the former headmaster of Durmstrang held hostage?
More silence as Sirius no doubt considered the request. "I'd say wait to ask Dumbledore, but I haven't a clue when he'll next show up. Molly won't like it... fine then, do it. Stick to him though, and we'll have Alastor question him a bit more, but other than that, we can move him into another room on the same floor. You're probably right, wouldn't want to waste a possible ally."
Hermione jumped a little as footsteps began to make their way up towards her. She tried to move into another room, but most were closed off. The library was the only option but it was too late by the time she decided, Johnny was there, looking unimpressed with her.
He scoffed. "Should have known you overheard that. Whatever, you'd have met him soon enough anyway - why are you looking at me like that?"
Hermione didn't care about Karkaroff anymore, her attention was solely on his face. Johnny's eyes were a little red, and his cheeks looked slightly puffy. Dried tear tracks were just barely visible. Sirius likely didn't say anything because he knew better than to push Johnny, but she didn't, she was stubborn.
"You've been crying." She said, walking towards him.
"N-no I haven't," he denied immediately, "I'm fin-"
Hermione engulfed him in a hug, which he tried to struggle out of.
"Please let go of me," he said, "I'm fine, I promise, I - I... oh, god."
He deflated in her arms, but she held him up.
"You don't have to be fine," she said, "you're allowed to feel."
The new year came and went, it all blurred together for Harry. They'd boarded the train back to Hogwarts without issue, but that might have been due to the extra guards around. Moody, Hestia, Emmeline, Remus, Arthur, Molly, and Johnny escorted them this time. Sirius was forced to stay at home, arguing loudly for several minutes with everyone else about wanting to go. Eventually, he was shot down. With the ministry on high alert now, having Sirius out and about, even in Animagus form, was too dangerous.
Hermione gave Johnny a big hug, a few students watched the exchanged bemusedly. Ron looked sour, and his expression darkened further when Hermione announced they had to report to the head boy and girl.
That left him alone. Every compartment he came across was already filled up. Draco and his cronies sneered and closed the blinds as he walked by. Dean waved as Seamus pointedly ignored him. Cho gave him a bright smile that managed to salvage his mood somewhat. He couldn't sit with them though, their compartment was full as well.
Finally, somewhere at the back of the train, he found one that was almost empty. It was Luna, much like his first meeting with her back at the start of term, she was reading the Quibbler upside down.
"Hey, Luna," he said, "mind if I sit with you?"
She did not even look up at him from her magazine.
"Of course, Harry, nobody ever asks to sit with me." She said dreamily. Harry thought it was kind of sad, though her tone betrayed nothing. He felt a little guilty about calling her looney just before break.
He briefly wondered whether Neville would show up. When the sliding door opened a moment later, Harry was startled a little. It wasn't Neville, though. Tracey Davis, Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini entered instead.
They all looked surprised to see him, and he met Tracey's eyes.
"Potter," Daphne said coolly, "this is the only available compartment left, I must insist you allow us to sit with you."
He looked away from Tracey, "uh, yeah, sure."
Blaise looked thankful, while Tracey said nothing.
Daphne and Tracey sat on either side of Harry, while Blaise went next to Luna, and peered interestedly at the Quibbler in her hands.
Again, without even looking, Luna spoke. "I'm reading about the Rotfang conspiracy," she said to Blaise. "All the auror's are in on it, they're planning to take down the Ministry from within using a combination of dark magic and gum disease."
Blaise nodded, as if that made sense, while Daphne and Tracey stared blankly at the girl. He noticed silver badges pinned to their chests, and he was briefly confused. As far as he knew, Malfoy and Parkinson were the Slytherin prefects. But then he also noticed that there was an elegant looking 'I' on the badge, not a 'P'.
Daphne noticed. "We've joined professor Umbridge's inquisitorial squad," she said proudly, "approved by the Minister himself. We can give detentions, take points away from prefects, all sorts of things!" Daphne looked far too happy about the prospect.
"We're mostly in it for the extra credit Umbridge mentioned," Tracey interjected, looking a little regretful. "But I think she wants us to snoop around. See what the students are up to."
Harry scoffed, "Probably still afraid we're going to rise up against her," he said. She wasn't even that far off, which was the funny part.
Daphne then looked uncomfortable. "Yes, well, the extra credit will likely be a nice bonus. My marks are obviously great, but if all I have to do is intimidate some of the younger years over small things to get a boost to them, I'll take it."
Harry wondered why her normally cold demeanour faltered then. Did she perhaps agree with Umbridge? Most Slytherin's sided with the toad-like teacher, though that was more out of convenience than an actual agreement with her rhetoric. The truth was, they were just as frustrated with the lack of practical work in defence against the dark arts as the rest of the students were.
"Here," Luna said suddenly, breaking the silence and handing the Quibbler over to Blaise, who took it eagerly. "The recent breakout was definitely orchestrated by the auror's in an attempt to try and take the spotlight off of their operation."
Blaise nodded again.
There was still another seven hours of the train ride to Hogwarts. At least it wouldn't be boring.
Johnny wiped his bleary eyes as he stepped outside his room. He napped for about an hour or two after dropping off the other teens. Sirius called him old, Johnny preferred the term well rested.
A ginger blur darted between his legs, curling around his ankle.
"Crookshanks?" He asked sleepily. Did Hermione forget him here?
The cat looked up at him.
"Mrow."
Nice.
He shrugged, figuring he'd be fine here. The cat was smart, a kneazle or something. He'd find his own food, and if he didn't, Johnny was sure Crookshanks would let him know.
The somewhat chubby cat followed him down the stairs. Sirius was somewhere around the house, he was sure, and the only other person here was Karkaroff, who was in the dining room eating some home made pelmeni.
Karkaroff noticed them as they entered. "Good afternoon," he said in Russian, "I scrounged up enough cooking materials for pelmeni. You want some?"
"Sure," Johnny replied in English. He liked pelmeni. Granted, he liked a decent amount of Russian food. Blini, pirozhki, smetana. He took a seat, and Crookshanks shimmied his way onto his lap. "Dude," he said, half amused, half annoyed. "Don't try to steal any of it, if you can't digest it properly and die, Hermione would never forgive me."
Crookshanks just stared up at him again. He sighed, let his hand hover just in front of Crookshanks' nose, and waited. The cat sniffed at his fingers, before nuzzling them. Johnny scratched him obligingly on his head, behind his ears, his back. He loved cats, any pets, really, but cats especially. How could Hermione just forget him here?
Unless, she didn't forget.
Hermione and Ron joined them around an hour and a half later, but it didn't get much better from there. Hermione and Ron squeezed themselves next to Blaise and Luna, and nobody really spoke to one another with the exception of Luna who rambled on about different creatures that Harry had never heard of, and a plethora of conspiracy theories. They ranged from sounding scarily realistic to laughably fake.
He noticed the distinct lack of Crookshanks, whom Hermione typically brought on the ride instead of leaving him in his cage in the baggage area.
The silence between the people in the compartment was deafening, and Harry decided to break it.
"Hermione," he said, "where's Crookshanks?"
She had pulled out one of the books given to her by Johnny for Christmas. "I left him at home, he likes it there better anyway."
Ron snorted lightly. "You mean he likes Si - Snuffles," he corrected himself hastily.
Thankfully, no one commented on it, though Harry's heartrate did spike at the slip.
Hermione hummed in response, but Harry was unsure whether she was confirming it or not.
The snack trolley came by half an hour later, and Harry greedily took the chance to by some pumpkin pastries. Anything to get his mind off the depressing term that was to come. Private lessons with Snape framed to make him seem ever more inept at potions, his unpredictable temper, an increase in realistic nightmares.
He tried to close his eyes, but sleep never came. It was just as well, he was likely to fall asleep on one of the girls at either side of him. Finally, after a ride that felt way longer than it normally was, they arrived at Hogwarts. The halls of the train was packed as every student tried to get out. He was separated from Ron and Hermione, instead walking along to the baggage area with Tracey.
"Did you finish your transfiguration essay?" She asked over the loud chatter of everyone around them.
Right, the one about partial vanishment. "Not yet," he admitted, "It's due in February, right?"
"Yeah," Tracey said as they got closer to the baggage racks. "But that's only just four weeks away."
"That's loads of time," he said.
Tracey looked at him as if he'd said something deeply offensive.
"What?"
"I already have mine done!" She said incredulously. "Four weeks is hardly enough time to get an O worthy essay done!"
Harry shrugged, not feeling very enthusiastic about it. "I'm not really shooting for an O, to be honest."
She looked aghast. "Library. Just after lunch. Tomorrow."
He sputtered, thinking he'd rather spend that time with Cho or literally doing anything else, but the look Tracey shot him brooked no argument. It felt like his life had been threatened. She grabbed her bags as they reached the racks, and walked off to find her friends.
Harry too, found his own, as Ron and Hermione were waiting for him near a carriage.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, concerned at the stunned look no doubt on his face.
"Pretty sure I was just voluntold to write an essay tomorrow for transfiguration." He said.
"Your own? Or..."
"My own," he clarified for her, "but I wasn't planning on starting it for another week."
Ron looked sympathetic, but Hermione just asked another question. "With Cho?" She said.
He shook his head. "With, er, Tracey."
Ron tried to convince him to no show, but Harry wasn't listening.
He swore Hermione smirked a little when he said Tracey's name.
"What?" He said, feeling vaguely annoyed.
"Nothing," she said, getting into the carriage. "Let's go."
Harry frowned.
Girls were confusing.