When Jake walked into Rotwood's class, he knew something was up. He wasn't sure what, exactly, but he knew something was wrong in the magical world—or at least would be very soon.

The trouble? Rotwood wasn't teaching. And if he wasn't teaching, he was up to something. Jake was pretty certain about that. The man had come to school once with a gash across his right arm that he'd claimed he'd gotten when he'd tried (and failed) to capture a gryphon and another time reeking of fish guts after he'd been looking for evidence of mermaids all night. Being principal hadn't given him enough power to squash the rumours or questions of his sanity after those types of incidents, especially when they weren't isolated.

So to have him missing now? Probably not a good sign.

Jake stuck up his hand. "Can I go to the nurse's office?" he asked. "I'm not feeling too well."

Before the substitute had even given him leave, Trixie jumped to her feet and dragged Spud up with her. "We'll take him there," she said, grabbing Jake and pulling him out of the room. When Spud had joined them and they were out of earshot, she asked, "You get a message from Fu or something?"

Jake shook his head. "I want to check up on Rotwood. I mean, I can't remember the last time he took a day off."

"You're still shaken up from yesterday, aren't you?" Trixie asked, hands on her hips. "For the last time, Jakey, Rotwood don't know nothing."

"Yeah," Spud agreed. "So if we don't think Rotwood knows anything, what do you know that we don't know?"

Jake shrugged. "I dunno, guys. It's just…. I never heard anything. I mean, I know that's supposed to be a good sign in general, but if Gramps never found anything and Fu never found anything, can I really risk passing up a chance to see if Rotwood found anything?"

Trixie arched an eyebrow at that. "When has Rotwood ever found anything? By himself, anyway? And even if he did, what are the chances that it's something about ghosts? Slim to nil, that's what."

"I know, but—"

"You don't wanna risk it. Yeah, I get it. It's cool. We'll cover for you."

"Thanks, guys," Jake said.

"Yeah, yeah. Just keep in touch. If Rotwood did find something, we want to hear about it. Right, Spud?" Trixie glanced over at him and her eyes widened. "Yo, Spud, what are you doing?"

Spud had turned to eye the lockers and nearby posters in what Trixie clearly thought was an alarming manner. Or maybe it was the fact that he was scribbling something down on the back of a poster, though as far as Jake could tell from his vantage point, it was just a stick figure drawing with arrows. "We need a distraction, right? If we call a school assembly…."

"Just because we're school co-presidents doesn't mean we can call a school assembly whenever we want! Besides, Jake can just slip out like he always does."

"But what about a note from the school nurse? We're going to be expected to have a note from the school—"

"Then practice your handwriting!" Trixie snapped.

Jake chuckled as he left his two friends. He knew their bickering was good-natured. What he didn't know was whether they did it to try to distract him, whether Spud just liked pushing Trixie's buttons, or whether Spud even realized that that's what he was doing. It didn't matter, though. What mattered was what Rotwood was up to, and Jake was determined to find out what that was.

"Wakey, wakey, Mr. Ghostie," Rotwood said. He was surprised to find that the ghost slept, actually. Well, mimicked sleeping, because of all the magical creatures, ghosts were the only ones that had truly crossed the line into death and cut their ties with life. But this was a phantom, by its own admission. Phantoms mimicked humans more readily than other ghosts. Sometimes they couldn't even be identified until they did something truly ghostlike. At least, they couldn't be identified by people who weren't schooled in mythobiology.

This one, however…. It did not follow known mythology, and while much of the mythology surrounding ghosts was contaminated with exaggerations of local legends and lore, this was more…extreme.

But, given the information booklet that had accompanied the FentonWorks cage he'd ordered, this type of ghost was not as rare as he'd thought.

And, apparently, the town of Amity Park saw quite a bit of them, even if nowhere else in the world did. Curious, that. He'd have to look into it. But this particular ghost had been expelled from its dimension, and it appeared to be similar, perhaps even identical, to the types of ghosts that frequented Amity Park, according to the information from Mrs. Maddie Fenton. The cage itself had been easy to assemble. Now, all he had to do was to get the ghost into it.

Still uncomfortably aware of the ghost's ability to defend itself and its apparent ability to overcome the power of the dried blood blossoms—perhaps he needed to find fresh?—Rotwood was not about to try to imprison the 'sleeping' ghost. He'd spent much time observing this ghost. It was sensitive to sound and touch. It would not stay in its resting state if it felt threatened.

Then again, the fact that it had entered a resting state in the first place suggested that it might not be entirely stable in this dimension. There was an unnerving lack of information in that regard.

The ghost shot up, colliding with the top of the cage. It rubbed its head. "Ow," came the moan, an automatic-sounding response. Wariness came instantly with awareness as the ghost reached a complete wakeful state. A brief bout of panic, quickly schooled. But Rotwood wasn't about to think that it was gone; he knew better than that.

The ghost's eyes widened a little as it noticed the faintly glowing cage behind Rotwood. "Crud," it muttered. It pressed up against the bars of its current cage but did not—could not, Rotwood deduced—pass through them.

The tangibility of the ghost still surprised him. But this, at least, was a pleasant surprise. It made things easier. Unlike finding out that the tales of fire-breathing dragons were true, a ghost that was solid to the human touch would make things easier for him.

Rotwood glanced at the gun in his hand. It was not an ordinary gun, but that did not make it any more comfortable to handle. It had come with the cage, courtesy of Maddie Fenton. For easy extraction from the cage when time came to study the ghost, she'd written. The gun contained a net (or perhaps multiple nets; he had not yet subjected it to a thorough examination) with phase proof coating, much like the cage itself. It was perhaps not necessary at the moment, but it would make things easier.

The ghost seemed resigned to its fate. It still struggled within the net, and it still tried to avoid being caught and thrust into another cage, but once he had secured it within the FentonWorks containment device, it stopped its thrashing. It floated in the centre of the cage, cross-legged and hunched forward, keeping well away from the glowing bars.

Perhaps this particular ghost could sense danger. Or perhaps, equally interestingly enough, the ghost was familiar with this type of containment device.

"I have informed the Hoboken Scientific Institute," Rotwood began, "and alerted the media. I will not be made a fool again. You are to be my proof to the world that magical creatures exist!"

"For the last time, I'm a ghost, not a magical creature." It was not the first time the ghost had made that protest, and while it was nonsense, Rotwood was willing to overlook it again. After all, he could finally expose the magical world. This ghost wasn't like Mr. Jake Long with any fancy-schmancy tricks up its sleeve. It wouldn't be able to revert to human form and make it appear as if he had caged a student instead of a magical creature. It was glowing. It was floating. And it appeared weak enough to not be able to do any more than that, for which Rotwood was grateful. The blood blossoms, it seemed, had a long-lasting effect, if a decreasing one.

But he was finally going to get recognized. No more being the laughing stock of his profession, no more questions of his sanity flying around Millard Fillmore Middle School, no more battling with stubborn Mr. Long and trying to catch him off guard long enough to film a transformation. Well, maybe it wasn't the end of that, since he wasn't about to give up on the chance of exposing a dragon to the rest of the world. But this ghost was the key to recognition and honour and distinction, all of which were his due. His forty-seventh birthday had come and gone without him being able to expose a magical creature to the world, but no longer; before his forty-eighth, he would be able to prove to New York and the world that ghosts existed beyond any shadow of a doubt.

And once he did that, other magical creatures—including dragons—would follow.

"We have to be there for one o'clock sharp," Rotwood continued. "You will cooperate or I will expose you to fresh blood blossoms."

The ghost snorted. "Yeah, right. Look, Rotwood, I've heard a bunch of threats in my time. If you had more blood blossoms, you would've used them by now. You wouldn't be talking to me, telling me to cooperate or else."

Rotwood glared at the ghost. "Professor Rotwood."

"Why? You're not my teacher, and since you're the one who put me in this cage, you haven't exactly done anything to earn my respect."

Rotwood sniffed and thought back to the tapes he'd reviewed earlier. He normally wasn't one to play hooky, but he was too close to realizing his dream to put it off any longer. He'd called in sick even before the package from FentonWorks had arrived.

Besides, his morning had been well spent. He'd found something in the ghost's reaction that he hadn't realized before. "You call yourself Danny Phantom, you said?"

"Yeah, so?"

"And you are familiar with FentonWorks?" Rotwood already knew the answer to this question.

"Let me guess, they made my lovely accommodations?" Sarcasm. Without hesitation. The ghost had its guard up.

"You have been to this town, to this Amity Park, have you not?" It would make sense. The familiarity with the Fenton name, the apparent knowledge of the cage, the ease of interaction with humans, a clear grasp on the English language apparently untainted by time in the realm of the dead.

"I've heard of it." A blunt concession. Rotwood raised his eyebrows, wondering if the ghost would be able to interpret body language, to realize without his saying so that he did not believe that the ghost had merely only heard of Amity Park.

It did understand, amazingly enough. The ghost straightened a little but still kept away from the bars of the cage. "Look, Rowood, if you know about Amity Park and the Fentons and what they deal with, you've gotta know that ghosts aren't exactly uncommon there. I mean, they hold ghost tours. And you're planning to, what, hold a press conference and announce to the world that ghosts exist? Trust me, it's been done before. You probably couldn't find a ghost skeptic in Amity Park these days. The entire town even got sucked into the Ghost Zone once, but people aren't exactly flocking to it to find proof of ghosts. No one else believes they exist, not for certain. You're not going to change that."

"This is New York," Rotwood countered. "Not some little town that no one else has heard of."

"New York?" the ghost repeated, looking surprised. It tried, but failed, to cover what was undoubtedly a simulated response with, "Doesn't that, uh, mean that you'll be less likely to be believed and more likely to be labelled a fruit loop?"

"Think what you will," Rotwood said, "but you are my proof that the magical world exists, Danny Phantom. Even if people try to scorn me here, I will find somewhere where my findings are accepted and recognized for what they are."

"Great," the ghost muttered.

Rotwood ignored it, finishing his preparations for the press conference. This one would be a success. He'd make sure of it. He was tired of being the butt of jokes. He was tired of being laughed out of the scientific community. And he was tired of other people, like Sigmund Brock, trying to show him up. The student was going to surpass the teacher this time.

Jake landed in the alley near Rotwood's place and shifted back to human form. He wasn't sure if Rotwood was going to be home, but there was a pretty good chance of it. For all that Fu had insisted that there were no disturbances in the magical community, he was pretty certain that Rotwood had found something.

Once he was certain that the coast was clear, Jake crept up to Rotwood's door and pressed his ear up against it. Not his front door, but the one that led into his garage. Jake remembered all too well that that was where Rotwood kept most of his stuff on magical creatures. "Ear of the dragon," he whispered.

"Think what you will," Rotwood was saying, "but you are my proof that the magical world exists, Danny Phantom. Even if people try to scorn me here, I will find somewhere where my findings are accepted and recognized for what they are."

Danny Phantom? The name certainly didn't ring a bell. Probably was a ghost, though, given the name.

Great. Just what he needed. Another ghost like Shackles Jack and his crew. But how had Rotwood, of all people, caught it? More importantly, how had he managed to keep it? Jake had had to trap Shackles Jack and the others in a vortex, and it was pure luck that Spud had overheard them plotting and that they'd found out what that spell of theirs was intended to do. And Trixie and Spud hadn't been able to fight them at all, when it came down to the fighting part. He was the only one who could touch them. So how the heck could Rotwood catch a ghost?

"Great," came the response, presumably that of this Danny Phantom. He didn't sound threatening like Shackles Jack. There was still that faint, echo-y sort of resonance to the voice, though. Telltale sign of a ghost, according to the books he'd been reading when he'd been looking for that spell. It was very rare that there was never any trace of that echo in a ghost's voice.

"Look," the voice said, and Jake realized it sounded like it belonged to a kid. Someone his age rather than some revenge-bent prison inmate. "Before we get to this press conference thing of yours, can I get something to eat?"

A sniff. "Don't think you can fool me. Ghosts do not need to eat."

"We need some form of sustenance," the ghost—Phantom—countered. "Do you want me to destabilize before you get to show me off? I mean, it would kind of ruin things if all you had to show for the cameras was a pile of ectoplasm. You probably couldn't even prove that it was ectoplasm. They'd just think it was a pile of glowing green goop."

Rotwood had called the media again, intending to show off his latest catch. A ghost. A magical creature.

Which meant it was up to him, as the American Dragon and magical protector of the NYC, to stop it.

Aw, man. He didn't like dealing with ghosts. He hadn't read anything good about them yet. From what he could gather, half of them were around because of some form of unfinished business and the other half were more the vengeful spirit type.

No point in phoning Fu or Gramps for help, though. While he might get a word of praise for discovering this dragon emergency, it was also undoubtedly a learning experience. No matter how painful or hard that learning would turn out to be.

There was no way to be subtle with Rotwood, though. The man knew his secret. He definitely couldn't change once he was inside, because there'd definitely be cameras, but he'd have a better chance to help the ghost as a dragon than as a human.

Jake glanced up and down the street again, and when he was confident no one would see anything, he said, "Dragon up!"

It was easy enough to break down the door as a dragon. Rotwood had turned around instantly, of course, but Jake was more focussed on other things. First things first: fry the video cameras. A bit of dragon fire later, and that was all taken care of. And then…the ghost.

It was easy enough to spot, but it certainly didn't look like the ghosts he'd met. As Jake had gathered from the voice, it was a kid, a boy around his age. But he looked solid. Well, not see-through, anyway. And he had a lot more colour to him, not just shades of grey or snatches of dark blues or browns or yellows.

And he was staring at Jake in utter surprise from behind the glowing green bars of a cage. Where had Rotwood gotten that thing?

"You're not a ghost," Phantom said, gawking at him in shock.

"Stop this!" Rotwood shouted. He'd been talking the entire time, really, but nothing else had actually registered in Jake's mind. "What is the meaning of this? I will not allow it!"

"You've got to allow it," Jake said, flying up towards the ceiling to avoid Rotwood. "You don't exactly have a choice, yo. You catch my drift?"

"Mr. Long," Rotwood screeched as Jake swooped down to grab the cage with the ghost. Jake couldn't help but smirk. Rotwood looked torn between keeping him in sight and searching desperately for a camera that would still function to document this rescue. "Release my specimen at once!"

"Hold on, you guys know each other?" Phantom asked, looking between the two of them. "What am I missing?"

"Now's not the time to explain," Jake said, setting the cage down on top of one of Rotwood's bookshelves. It didn't fit, but it wasn't so overbalanced that it was going to fall off. "He's got the only key to this thing, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"I'll have you out in a sec," Jake said, taking a deep breath. Phantom's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jake was already blowing fire on the cage, intending to melt the bars so the ghost could get out.

He wasn't sure why they kept him in there, but Phantom didn't seem particularly harmful, so there didn't seem to be any reason not to release him. He was probably the 'unfinished business' sort rather than the 'vengeful spirit' type, which was also probably the only reason why Rotwood was no worse for the wear after his encounter with the ghost. And also possibly the reason Rotwood had managed to catch him in the first place.

The fire dissipated, but the cage was unharmed. "Huh?"

Phantom, who had cringed away, slowly lifted his head from his arms and glanced at the cage. "Must be an upgraded one," he said. "Resistant to ectoblasts and fireballs and ice rays and stuff. Look, Mr. Long, whoever you are, I appreciate the help, but if you want to burn something, start with the contents of that cauldron down there," Phantom said, pointing. "That's what's keeping me here as much as this stupid cage."

"What's in the cauldron?" Jake asked, turning around.

The moment he did, he heard a telltale click. Rotwood was grinning—and stowing away a Polaroid camera, complete with developing picture. "Thank you, Mr. Long. I shall now have further evidence of the magical world to reveal when I show off my newly acquired specimen this afternoon."

"Say what?"

"Even if you had managed to release the ghost," Rotwood continued, "I have more video on file that you did not manage to destroy."

"Crud," Phantom muttered. "Just what I need. More publicity."

That was sort of what Jake was thinking, too. "C'mon, Mr. Rotwood—"

"Professor Rotwood!"

"But we aren't in school!"

"You are not in school when you are supposed to be in school, Mr. Long."

"You go to school?" Phantom's question barely registered in Jake's mind, but it did, and he had a fleeting awareness of how strange this must seem. For anyone in the magical community who knew him, or at least knew of him, it was no big deal. Everyone knew dragons had human forms. That he had to go to school wasn't that much of a surprise. Wherever this ghost had come from, he didn't know that he was the American Dragon.

Of course, from what Jake could gather, Phantom probably didn't even know the American Dragon existed, let alone had an obligation to save him.

"But I thought you understood what I have to do! I mean, I get that you want to catch me out, Mr. Rotwood, but—"

"Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Long." This was accompanied with that annoying finger wag. "Am I going to have to call your parents and tell them that you are skipping school?"

Aw, man, he so did not need his dad on his back right now. It was bad enough he got in trouble for sneaking out and everything else when he had dragon business. He'd get grounded for a month if he got caught skipping school again.

"You had better get back there," Rotwood added, "or I might just have to request another parent-teacher conference." There was a pause. "With your father."

Jake had to smile at that one. After the doppelganger potion thing where he'd pretended to be his mom, Rotwood wasn't too keen on meeting her again. But having him meet with his dad was definitely worse, seeing as his dad didn't have a clue about the whole dragon thing. Which meant Jake got cut zero slack for things like this.

Jake grabbed hold of Phantom's cage again. "I'll bend the bars," he said. "You can follow me out."

"It won't work. They're reinforced," Phantom said, even as Jake tried to pull them apart and found this was true. "Just, the cauldron? If you could turn its contents to ash or, better yet, less than ash, maybe by eating them or something, it would make things a lot easier for me."

"If you so much as touch the blood blossoms, Mr. Long," Rotwood threatened, "I'll personally put the video I'm recording right now on the internet the minute you leave."

"You aren't recording anything," Jake said confidently. "Not with those cameras."

"Oh, no, not with those cameras," Rotwood agreed. "With the other cameras."

"There aren't any other cameras."

"I hid them."

"You're bluffing. I'd see them even if you did hide them."

"Are you willing to take that chance?"

"Go," Phantom said. "I'll be fine. Don't risk blowing your cover on my account." He paused. "Not that I'm particularly convinced a dragon can have much of a cover, unless you're like Dora and Aragon, but I don't see any magical pendant and you're not a ghost, so I can't really tell."

"What?" Jake glanced back at Phantom, then shook his head. It didn't matter. Not now. "No, I can't leave you. It's my responsibility to protect you."

"Trade me," Phantom said. "Me for that picture he took. I'm a ghost. I can disappear a lot easier than a dragon."

"I can't—"

"It's my choice, isn't it?"

Jake stared at him. "You've got to be kidding, yo. He's planning on exposing you to the press! You want everyone to know about you?"

Phantom shrugged. "If they listened to the ravings of a bunch of people from one particular town, they'd already know about me. Trust me, I'm a lot easier to explain away than you are."

"But I can't have Rotwood exposing the magical world! Do you know how many times he's tried?"

"Apparently a lot," Phantom said. He crossed his arms. "Trade me."

Jake looked uncertainly at Rotwood. "I don't even know if he'll take that deal."

"I will," Rotwood said, "if you do not interrupt my conference. I will even let you destroy the video tape of this session personally—afterwards, of course. I cannot have you interfering."

"But I can't—"

"It's a deal," Phantom said, interrupting Jake. He threw himself against the side of the cage, screaming as he came in contact with it—Jake realized why when he saw the electricity, or something similar, that was racing over Phantom's form—and the cage toppled off the shelf.

Rotwood didn't manage to catch it, but he did manage to stop it and right it. He fished the picture out of his pocket and tossed it in Jake's direction. Jake caught it, glanced at Phantom—who was curled in the centre of the cage, as far from its edges as he could get—and at the cauldron that contained a bunch of flower petals. With a quick breath of fire, the picture was alight. He tossed it into to the cauldron before Rotwood could stop him.

"I didn't make that deal," he said. "You know who I am, Mr. Rotwood. You know what I am. You know I can't. I couldn't if I wanted to."

"If I see you at my press conference," Rotwood returned, "I will be informing your parents."

It was times like these that being the Am Drag was a real drag. Jake turned tail, leaving Rotwood's place behind and heading for the shop. He needed to talk to his grandpa. And Fu. He needed advice. He didn't know if Rotwood was lying about the cameras. If he wasn't, he could still expose the magical world even if he did manage to somehow stop him from revealing Phantom. But even if Rotwood was lying, and even if Phantom was willing to sacrifice himself to save his exposure (that had to be weird for a ghost, right? Weren't they self-serving?), Jake couldn't let him do it. The secrecy of the magical world was at stake.

And it was his job to protect it, so protect it he would.

A/N: And so ends the first meeting. If Rotwood hadn't had the threat of video and photographic evidence hanging over Jake's head, he probably would've grabbed Danny's cage and made a run for it, but things don't always go according to plan. Thanks to all who are taking the time to comment on this story!