Hornblende: Thank you very much! Your idea with Luna is spot on, I think, you're absolutely right. Of all people, she would be the first to see through the deception and not even think to comment on it. As for the rest, well, I think you're going to LOVE this chapter.
These keep getting longer, it's a bit of a problem. The next chapter is here in killer time, and I hope you enjoy it! Of course, read, review, follow, the usual.
Reality had melted away with an unnatural haste. Before his head had even hit the pillow, Jake felt himself tumbling and spiraling in darkness without any sense of direction. He flung his arms out to try and find some surface to cling to, but on he fell with every passing second proving more dizzying than the last. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, Jake stood on firm ground, his arms still huddled protectively over his head.
Salty, humid air brushed Jake's skin. Cautiously, he creaked his eyes opened and relaxed as he found himself standing on an endless beach, a clear bright sky hanging overhead with nothing but rolling waves in front of him and miles of sand behind. Distant dark blue shapes on the horizon that resembled a massive peak reminded him of the Isle of Draco, though the proportions of his landscape were all drastically wrong. It was this observation, however, that cleared his foggy mind, an excited smile pulling at his cheeks in realization. Jake looked up to the sky questioningly and clapped his hands together. The bright orb of the sun spun out of the flat blue ceiling like a turnstile and stopped on the opposite face, now showing the cratered, glowing surface of the moon set against a matching black sky dotted with stars.
"Oh this is definitely a dream," Jake reveled, lifting up his wrist to appreciate the bracelet with the dangling pink crystal. "Step one: fall asleep, check. Now for step two...just gotta find..." Before he'd finished his thought, as though he were back in the Room of Requirement, a plain wooden door suddenly appeared standing upright in the sand beside him with only a matching frame to support it. "Bingo!"
The door opened easily and Jake stepped through, arriving not onto more endless beach but into a drab grey hallway that was bent at strange angles and lined with countless doors arranged in no apparent organization. After dumping the sand from his shoes - which was just as uncomfortable as the real thing - Jake tore down the hallway, his eyes flashing over the names written over each of the doors as he passed them in a blur. Many he read were meaningless, and every now and then a familiar one would tease his curiosity, but at last Jake came to a screeching halt outside his destination. Despite the shaking in his fingers, the door swung forward for him as smoothly as his own.
Beyond was an outdoor park with blossoming trees and a warm sunset shining through the branches. Just a ways down a cobbled path to his left sat an older teenage girl in a tank top and jeans, her bright blonde hair pulled back into a bun. She was turned away and speaking with another person sitting beside her on the bench, but Jake didn't need to see her face to know he'd found the right girl. He hurried forward with an eagerness he hadn't intended, but quickly slowed his pace when he noticed the couple were engaged far more intimately than he'd realized. Though Jake barely noticed the brown haired boy he'd never seen before, his stomach did an uneasy turn as he watched Rose pull away from their kiss with a blissful smile.
"Hey there," Jake called, his voice thick.
Her blue eyes drifted over to meet his, squinting together in recognition, and she chuckled to herself lightly. "That's what I get for eating those week-old leftovers, I haven't thought about you in forever."
"And you used to be so nice," Jake grimaced, not enjoying the jabbing pain in his chest. He held up his wrist for her to see the jewel swinging from it, evidence of their situation.
She focused on it, her eyebrows scrunching together as she wondered aloud, "Hey, that looks just like a dream charm, but..." She sat up straighter, aghast. "Don't tell me you're...?"
"One hundred percent Am-Drag, baby," Jake answered. "Sorry for interrupting your, uh...conversation." Equal amounts of shame and guilty satisfaction warred within him as he watched Rose blush and jerk back to the now empty bench space beside her in a fluster. His advantage was short lived, however, when she stood in dignified rage, her arms crossed in front of her. Jake deflated a little; even in their dreams and after more than a year apart, she was still taller than him.
"What do you think you're doing here?" she barked at him. Jake grinned sadly as he realized he'd forgotten how much he loved it when Rose was mad at him.
"Yo, I can feel the warm welcome all the way over here," he jibed. When her scowl persisted, he raised his hands gently and laughed, "Come on, a dragon can't visit his old friend every once in a while?"
One of her eyebrows perked up. "No, he can't," she said flatly.
"Well I didn't get the memo." Jake strode forward and plopped down on the bench beside Rose, resolutely enduring her biting glare. He had begun to doubt her powers of forgiveness when she at last groaned and joined him on the curved metal bench, resting her chin on her hand.
"Jake, I thought this was settled. How many times have we been over this?" she scolded him, looking more exhausted than anything. "I can't even remember the last time we talked! So, sorry, but I'm not in the mood for any games. Just tell me what you want." Considering she hadn't thrown any punches yet, things were going better than Jake had expected. Then again, he couldn't help feeling maybe punches would have been easier to deal with than this cold dejection. At least then it would have felt more like the old days.
"I'm sorry." The statement was blunt and hushed, but Rose lifted her head up curiously all the same.
"Just so we're clear, what exactly are you apologizing for?" she asked.
Jake couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye and instead addressed his folded hands. "Back in Hong Kong, with the Dark Dragon," he explained. "I mixed you up in our magical business. You finally had your family back and I almost got you killed, not to mention you'd completely forgotten about everything you went through with the Huntsclan..."
"Jake." Her smooth fingers slid beneath his chin and pulled his face around towards hers. "You don't need to apologize for any of that. The Huntsclan had nothing to do with you, and it was still my choice to help back at Hong Kong. Besides, everything turned out fine." She looked at him more carefully now, for the first time with an air of concern. "What brought this on? Are you okay?"
He shifted her hand away from his chin and turned it in his own, inspecting the spiraling dragon shaped birthmark that circled her wrist. "What if I hadn't left that picture at your place back at Hong Kong?" he asked reluctantly. "Or before that? What if I'd never told you the truth about who I was?"
"Well, first of all I would have skinned you and turned you into a nice pair of boots," she joked. Jake's head drooped a little lower, and she continued more softly, "Jake, I was about to slay you when you told me, we both know you didn't have a choice."
"We always have a choice," Jake muttered, unable to help himself.
Rose frowned and persisted, "If you're asking if I regret any of it, then no, I absolutely don't."
"But you were happy, with your family,..." he argued, quieting when Rose put a finger over his lips.
"Yes, I was happy with my family before I remembered you, and I was even a little happy with the Huntsclan before I knew your identity," she acknowledged. "But I also remember what it was like hunting magical creatures every day, and how it felt living with a normal family thinking the only magic in the world was in fairy tales," she scoffed with an equal amount of distaste for both cases. Shaking her head knowingly, she laughed, "I loved every second of it, and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat."
The answer rang with nothing but pure sincerity. The only reason Jake was still skeptical was because it was just too good to be true. "So you're saying," he continued uncertainly, "that you're not mad at me for making you remember, even though it brought back the Huntsclan and put you in danger? Just because I needed help and missed you?"
"You're trying really hard to give me reasons to dislike you," she answered in a monotone voice, rolling her eyes. "But that's not exactly new, is it?" Sighing, she conceded, "No, Jake, I'm not mad at you for bringing back my memory, even if you did it for selfish reasons. In fact, it was probably one of the nicest things you've ever done for me." Her focus shifted off to the sunset bleeding through the trees, a reminiscent smile playing across her face. "The times we shared were the best of my life, the ones with Trixie, Spud, Fu, and Haley included." She laughed freely, "So what if it meant having some bad memories? When it comes to friends, you take the good with the bad."
A little gasp escaped her as Jake yanked her into a crushing hug. Stiff with surprise, Rose grabbed his shoulders and gently broke him off, fixing him with an unimpressed look. "So are you going to tell me what's got you weirding out like this or not?"
"Well..." Jake grimaced. "It's kind of a long story. Let's just say I've been trying to make some tough choices and thought you could help."
"And did I?" Rose smirked.
"More than you know," Jake said earnestly, standing from the bench. He looked back to the empty bench beside her, another twinge of annoyance plucking at the back of his mind. Rubbing the back of his neck, he grumbled, "The new BF looks like a nice guy."
Her cheeks flushed once again. "Oh, he's not actually...I mean officially...well this is a dream, right?" she teetered. Joining him on her feet, she gave him another nostalgic look and confessed, "You look older, dragon boy."
Jake's retort was cut short by a thunderous crashing noise that made him snap his eyes shut in pain. The world instantly blackened and he felt the ground disappear from underneath him as he tumbled once again through a directionless void. Slowly, color filled his vision as he looked around him in panic, seeing the faint outlines of his four-poster and curtains. A bright flash lit up the round room, followed shortly by another crack of thunder from outside.
Lightning...it's just lightning... His heavy breathing passed after a minute and Jake eagerly laid back down to return to his dream realm, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't drift off again. Part of it may have been that he'd already slept so much in the past day, and part of it was likely the fact that he couldn't keep himself from repeatedly reliving his encounter with Rose. Nothing could have conquered his misgivings like hearing her assurances, and when pale light began to filter in through his bedside window Jake wasted no time in dressing for the day, already mulling over ways to get the cleverest girl in Hogwarts alone.
Only, Hermione was nowhere to be found. Jake resumed his duty of keeping Harry in sight throughout their gloomy Sunday, yet Hermione made no appearances with her closest friends. In fact, it wasn't until the end of their weekend had come and gone and Jake was entering the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning that he found her sitting beside Potter and Weasley in the center of the most bizarre scene he'd ever witnessed in the enchanted castle.
Waking up to clear skies that morning had been as good an omen as any for Harry, but no amount of cloud-watching could have predicted the calamity he found himself in now. His hand hadn't made it to the first morsel on the table when a plucky little owl had fluttered down in front of him, followed by a larger tawny one, and then another two, and then four more. Before long, the food, plates, and goblets were hidden beneath a churning crowd of owls, each trying their hardest to shove their parcel-wrapped legs into his face.
"Harry, what'd you do?" Ron gasped, trying to fling the birds from his plate.
"I haven't done a thing!" Harry exclaimed, retrieving one of the letters and finding it in fact addressed to him. "I never get any letters, what would these all be about?"
"This is it, Harry!" Hermione shouted ecstatically, wrenching a packaged tube free of an owl and tossing it to him. "I never thought it would have been out this soon, open that one first!"
His fingers tore away the string and parchment wrapping and unfolded a strange magazine with purple covers and spiraling writing that changed color in a wave of hues as he tilted the pages. The unconventional aesthetic made much more sense when he turned back to the front and saw The Quibbler scrawled across the top. Snippets along the edges advertised articles further in for "Delicious Dirigible Plum Delicacies" and "Handling Heliopath Hallucinations", but Harry's focus was drawn to the picture of himself slapped across the cover. His face was grinning sheepishly out of the painfully vibrant journal, topped with an enormous and contrastingly stately header.
Harry Potter Speaks Out At Last:
The Truth About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
And The Night I Saw Him Return
"It can't be, it's only been two days!" Harry wondered in bemusement.
"Father thought your article was so important that he put out the issue ahead of schedule," Luna informed him, skipping up along their benches. "He says he's sold so many that he'll have to do a reprint! Isn't it wonderful?"
Well, wonderful was certainly one word for it, Harry thought as he looked around at the still sizable throng of owls. "So what are all these, then?"
"I would imagine..." Hermione half answered, opening one of the letters and scanning along it before finishing, "...Yes! They're letters to you about the article, and this person says you convinced them about Voldemort!" Ravenously, everyone in the area grabbed letters and began reading through them, congratulating Harry on the positive ones and spitting jibes at those filled with heckles and venomous slander. Harry was halfway through his third letter, from a witch in Surrey that thought him in desperate need of shock therapy at St. Mungo's, when a girlish giggle sounded behind him.
"And what is the meaning of this?" Umbridge stood above their table, which is to say beside it, given her stature, and was eyeing the mess of papers dangerously.
"Blimey, I had no idea it was against the rules to get mail now! Better round up half the students in here for whippings," George sneered next to Harry.
"Careful, Mr. Weasley, or you'll find yourself in detention," she trilled, fixing her buggy eyes back on Harry. "Well, Mr. Potter, care to explain?"
Everyone watched him as he ruminated on his answer, eventually deciding that lying would do him no good. She was bound to read the article at some point. "I gave an interview about what happened last June, and these are letters of people who've written to me about it," he said as evenly as possible.
Her eyebrows scrunched together and her voice climbed an octave. "What do you mean 'an interview'?"
"As in someone asked me questions and I answered them, here," he derided, showing her his copy of The Quibbler. She snatched it away from him, her face developing a distinctly beet-like pallor. At the head table, Harry had the feeling Dumbledore was watching the exchange but appeared engaged with Professor McGonagall when Harry turned to look.
"When," she hissed through clenched teeth, "did you do this? Hogwarts has had no guests in the past month, so unless you somehow left the school grounds, which is an offense punishable by expulsion..." Harry's stomach dropped through the floor. He very well couldn't tell the truth, that they'd snuck out to the Shrieking Shack behind her back, and there was no plausible excuse that his feverish mind could think of. The panic must have shown on his face as the corners of Umbridge's scowl lifted with sinister satisfaction. When she opened her mouth to speak again, however, loud smacking sounded out. They all turned to see John - When did he get here? Harry thought - pounding the table with one hand while his other was raised high into the air. He looked just as terrified as Harry felt.
"Don't interrupt me, Mr. Long," Umbridge warned him, but he shook his head and pointed down at himself frantically with his raised hand. Umbridge squinted her eyes at him and asked smoothly, "Are you trying to say you know about how Mr. Potter accomplished this?"
Harry glared at him incredulously as he took a quill from his bag and scribbled across the back of one of Harry's letters, shoving the paper into Ron's hand beside him and nodding towards Umbridge. Her toad-like grin widened as she patiently watched Ron look over the note, his lips moving as he read the words. "Wait, mate, are you sure..." he whispered.
"Read it, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge commanded triumphantly.
Ron gave Harry a squeamish look before reluctantly reading, "It was me, I asked Potter the questions." Utter confusion swept through Harry, and he looked to Hermione for affirmation only to find her glaring savagely at John.
"I'm afraid I don't understand, dear," Umbridge lilted, holding tightly to her confident smile while she tried to process the information and referenced the magazine. "It clearly says here that this article was authored by Ms. Rita Skeeter, not Mr. Jonathan Long." Luckily, she did not have long to wait for her answer as John had already finished another message and handed it to Ron.
"I mailed his answers to Rita and asked Uncle Stout to convince her to write it," Ron orated, gasping with comprehension as he finished. "I forgot your uncle was in with the Ministry, you've got connections!"
"You mean to tell me," Umbridge seethed, grimacing at John, "that you sent this to Ms. Skeeter?" John nodded. "Not Mr. Potter?" she asked petulantly, reddening as he shook his head. "What have I told you about properly addressing your professors, Mr. Long?" To all of their surprise, instead of repeating himself with her assigned gestures, John crossed his arms in front of him and returned her wilting look with a challenging one of his own. Her rage was so palpable that Harry could have sworn he could see the steam wafting off of her flushed skin when she returned her attention to him.
"The nerve..." she fumed, all childish mockery absent from her shuddering voice. "How dare you...to even think of doing this..." Harry couldn't stop himself from leaning away from the shaking woman. "Fifty points from Gryffindor. I thought I'd taught you to not spread these lies, Mr. Potter, but it seems you've forgotten your place once again. Another week of detention ought to help, and Mr. Long will join you tonight," she glared sideways at John, "for his blatant disobedience." They all watched her trot away, the purple magazine crushed in her fist and velvet bow bobbing atop her hair.
"Well that was entertaining," Fred commented idly before rising from the table.
"What was that for?" Harry snapped at John, who remained pleasantly unconcerned about the turn of events. His response was to toss another letter to him with You're welcome scribbled on the back. "But now you've got detention tonight with her, too!" he argued, but John only winked back and continued his meal, flicking away the feathers and paper littering the table.
Despite his initial frustration, Harry discovered as the day went on that he was in truth very grateful for John's intervention. He thus far remained not expelled and within hours another Educational Decree had been posted throughout the school, banning the reading of The Quibbler. Of course, this meant that there wasn't a single student who hadn't at least perused the article, bringing Harry and the others more attention than they would have otherwise liked. Questions about the story and admiring remarks came from students and professors alike, and it was clear that Hermione had indeed achieved what Harry had been fighting the past year for with just a thirty minute interview in a rundown shack.
"If I'd known it would go this well, I would have written to Luna's dad ages ago," Harry marveled as he, Ron, and Hermione walked up the lawns after Herbology with the rest of their class, many of whom were browsing through concealed copies of The Quibbler.
"Did you see the look on Malfoy's face? Brilliant, it was," Ron chortled. "Rat out all their Death Eater fathers, tell everyone about You-Know-Who, and you even got in a bit about the dragons at the end. Couldn't have gone better, if you ask me."
Harry smiled wistfully. "I wonder if Jake and the others will ever see it."
"I wouldn't bet on it, there isn't an owl alive that could make the trip across the pond," Ron reminded him. "You could try sending them one through muggle post if you really wanted. I wouldn't blame you, I miss them too. At least when Jake was here I could get my hands on a Quaffle without - oof!" John, who had been walking ahead of them, had stopped suddenly and stood stock-still, right in Ron's oblivious path. Ron only recoiled a step when they collided while John flailed his arms and fell forward to his knees.
Harry cringed and bent down, holding his hand out to him. "Careful, John, you okay?" John kept kneeling, his head low and the green tips of his hair rustling with the wind. "Er...John?"
The boy snapped his head up and quickly stood, patting himself around his robes and digging into his pockets until he withdrew his usual quill. Instead of searching for paper, however, he scratched the feather along his palm and held it out urgently for them to see the word Jake smeared along his skin.
"Jake," Ron read aloud, uncomprehending. John pointed at it over and over pleadingly. Ron asked, "What about him? He was one of the Dragons from the beginning of the year..." John wrote across his hand again, adding a scribbled Dragons? further down his palm.
"That's right, Ron, he wasn't here for the Dragons of Draco Isle," Harry explained, turning back to John. "Your uncle didn't tell you about them?" John shook his head but smiled encouragingly, so Harry continued, "Well, they were these big dragons, almost as tall as Hagrid-"
"I thought they were taller?" Ron interjected.
"-with wings and tails and everything. And they talked like us, too," Harry rambled. He pointed a finger off towards the lake on the other side of the grounds and added, "They lived in this big cave over the Black Lake. We call it the Dragon's Den and you can see it from the beach, but it's off limits and can't be reached without flying."
"Jake was one of the Dragons," Ron picked up excitedly. "Nice bloke, really good at Quidditch, too. He told us all about the Dragons and how..."
"That's enough!" Hermione interrupted sternly, standing between them and John. "The Dragons are gone and that's the end of it. Now, if you two don't hurry up, you'll be late for your detention with Umbridge," she finished, cutting off their surprised retorts and glowering at John with the same ruthless glare from earlier. He backed away, as bewildered as the rest of them, and trudged ahead up to the castle.
"Looks like he's not the only lunatic," Ron scolded, shifting his bag over his shoulder and following John up the path. Hermione still had a strangely lethal and determined look about her, so Harry didn't pry into the outburst and instead dreaded every step towards Umbridge's office. By the time he'd climbed the stairs, walked the corridors, and reached her office door, John was already leaning against the wall and waiting for him.
Harry only had to knock once to hear her sweet little, "Come in." John followed behind as he pushed his way inside, where two desks waited for them with accompanying chairs, rolls of paper, and blood red quills.
Think, Jake, think! What did you do to piss off Hermione? What limited experience Jake had with women was still enough to know that they could have their unpredictable, irrational moments, but Hermione had seemed the more solid, level-headed type. This only made it more confusing, then, why she just up and hated him with every fiber of her being all of the sudden. Every time he looked at her, she was looking right back and it was never with kind or remotely gentle intent. The complete change in behavior had stolen away the confidence from his dream, and it left him with a wake of numbing depression.
Then again, maybe the despair was a product of his current environment. Jake couldn't really imagine anyone besides Umbridge being happy in this abhorrently pink and china-infested room. His chair was uncomfortable, the perfume was nauseating, and frankly the only pleasurable part of it was the fact that the window nearest him provided an excellent view of the Forbidden Forest and the surrounding grounds. I didn't see her at all yesterday, and she already had that look at breakfast this morning, so what could it be? Maybe it's because she was wrong about my training collar...or because I didn't say anything after that...as if I could with the way she's acting...
"As for you, Mr. Long," Umbridge called. Jake sat up at his desk and watched groggily as she waddled over from where Harry was already writing on his parchment with gritted teeth. "You will also be writing lines for me using that quill. You will not need ink."
The malevolent tone to her voice made his hair stand on end. Writing lines? So where does the crazy bleeding come in, because there's no way Harry was faking what I saw last time.
Misinterpreting his quizzical look, she continued, "You will write 'I must always obey' until the lesson has...left its impression." Grinning broadly, she returned to her desk and perched on her chair, flipping through her own stack of papers.
I must always obey, huh? Not on your life, lady. Jake picked up the scarlet red feather and scribbled out his first line in a blur, bringing the quill tip back for the next one. Before he could start the first letter, however, a flash of pain tore at his hand and made him drop the feather. Jake watched the words he'd just written on the paper appear on the back of his hand in the form of fresh cuts splitting open on their own, drops of blood popping out from the wounds. His necklace spared him the embarrassment of crying out in pain, but he still gave the terrible woman a quick hate-filled glare as she watched him squirm from her desk.
"Any questions, dear?" she asked innocently.
He shook his head slowly, and she in turn pouted pitifully. "Ah ah, seems you need more lines. You may continue."
Jake had to fight to look back at his paper but was intrigued to see his hand had already healed and was only slightly pink, as if he'd scrubbed it too hard while bathing. With every line he wrote, however, the words would rip his skin open and close it shut again, each time healing just a little bit less. By the time he'd reached the end of his first page, the back of his hand was a covered by an angry welt that ached and itched relentlessly. Every so often, he would steal a look out the window and watch as the Sun sank lower in the sky and the shadows from the forest grew longer. Jake's attention had trailed back to the treeline after what felt like hours had passed and the Sun was nearly set when he noticed a flutter of movement. It had been brief, but for a moment Jake had thought he'd seen...
It's them. Jake sprang up to his feet. Just where he'd been focusing, several black shapes had burst up from the treeline and circled above it a few times before diving back down. All manner of magical creatures and untold mysteries filled those woods, but there was no mistaking the wings, tails, and smoky outlines of the shade demons. That's gotta be Chang or the big guy, but why are they here? If they're working with Volde-gag... His thoughts drifted to Potter, sitting at his desk just behind him. It's gotta be Potter, and if they can take down a prison then this place doesn't stand a chance...
"Everything alright, Mr. Long?" Umbridge twittered, her words failing to reach Jake. Everyone was in danger, every student, professor, and gutless creep. Comparatively, the sound of Umbridge's voice had never been so meaningless to him. Making up his mind, Jake picked up the papers he'd filled with crimson lines, walked over to drop them on her desk, and laid a hand over his head. The gesture brought another annoying smile to her lips, but Jake kept his composure while she examined him. A single drop of blood dripped down from his hand and landed on the tip of his nose.
"Show me," she demanded with her arm held out. Jake presented his hand, grimacing as she looked over his unhealed cuts with a contented sigh. "I trust your misbehavior today won't happen again?" she asked quietly. Jake clapped both hands over his head, keeping the injured one on top. "Good," she chirped, "You may go, Mr. Long. Mr. Potter, you may leave for tonight as well. I'll see you tomorrow, same time."
Harry looked surprised but didn't argue as Jake rushed out the door, trailing right after him. In yet another surprise, Jake ran straight into none other than Hermione in the corridor outside. "Harry!" she said with relief, still brandishing a filthy look for Jake.
"Hermione?" Harry wondered. "What are you doing here?"
She never looked away from Jake. "I was just worried about you, that's all," she answered curtly. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, alone."
There's an army of darkness right down the hill, I so don't have time for this. Jake rolled his eyes and gave a lazy salute with his dirty hand before turning on his heel and sprinting down the hall. Harry called after him, but soon Jake had turned the corner and was flying down the stairs. I should get Dumbledore in on this, he'll want to know there are demonic reptiles staking out in his forest...no, there's not enough time. I don't even know if I remember where his office is anyways...
The Sun was now completely hidden by the mountains as he raced down the grassy hill toward the trees, burning orange and red radiating across the sky. As far as he was aware he hadn't passed anyone or caused any alarm in his mad dash, though if he lost to his mortal enemy in the middle of a deadly forest it would hardly matter. Making it through the first bit of foliage was simple enough, but the trees began growing closer together and the underbrush was becoming unbearable. Between his ragged breathing and pounding heart, Jake was almost certain he could hear that haunting, dreadful laughter in the distance. The canopy above him filtered out the sky, light became scarce, and the darkness surrounding him was soon all but absolute.
There was the sound of rustling leaves and a twig snapping. Jake froze and lifted his fists, looking around at the endless trunks surrounding him. He could see nothing, feel nothing, but his own mounting terror. This is so messed up, I'm gonna die in the middle of Nowhere, Wizardville. Turning slowly in a circle, he searched the shadows fruitlessly. Man, gramps is gonna be beyond furious, and just wait until Trix finds out. She'll tear down half of Brooklyn by herself...
Thickets crunched behind him, and Jake threw a whirling kick at the attacker. Instead of a dragon or demon, he smacked his foot into the bare torso of man. Well, a half-man, Jake noticed.
"On whose authority have you come here, wizard?" the creature demanded, completely unfazed by the blow.
It felt like his chest had imploded. Oh BABY, am I glad to see you! Jake waved his hands defensively and tried to talk, which was a foolish attempt considering the ornament still dangling around his neck. I swear, one day I am gonna burn this stupid hunk of...
"You chose not to defend yourself? So be it," the centaur sneered, pulling a bow off of his back and nocking an arrow.
Jake's joy evaporated in an instant and he ripped the necklace off of his neck. "YO! Chill, it's me! The American Dragon!" he yelled, the collar dangling from his hand.
"The American Dragon?" A growl rumbled deep in the centaur's throat and he barked back, "I do not believe you. Several moons have passed since last we saw the American Dragon."
"Dude, seriously, if I prove it will you just put down the bow?" The centaur made no reply, but Jake still concentrated on the fire within him, which now felt like a storm of flames without the damned collar on, and poured his energy into his left hand. A torrent of embers engulfed it and left behind a thick dragon's hand, complete with scales and claws. "There, you see?" Jake pleaded. "I'm one of the good guys, so could you stop pointing that thing at me?"
The centaur thought for a good while with an odd gleam in his eyes before he eased off his arrow. "So, the English Dragon sends another to fulfill his duty to us?" he ridiculed.
"No! I mean, sort of, but not really, no," Jake stuttered. "I'm kind of doing an undercover job up at the school right now, I'm not taking over for Stout or anything."
"Then why do you intrude here?" the centaur pried. Between the trees behind him, Jake could see more centaurs observing, and the more he looked the more sets of weary eyes he could see in their surroundings.
"I'll cut to the chase," Jake answered, his focus returned again to searching the darkness around them. "I'm looking for two dragons, one purple, one black, both as evil and wack as they come. I thought I saw them here from the castle, but I haven't found anything yet. Have you ever run into them?"
Another bout of silence passed before the centaur answered in a deep, rumbling, voice, "I have seen nothing of what you described. No dragons have entered these woods since you last departed with your brethren."
"Say what?" Jake flinched. "That can't be right, I saw..."
"You doubt me, American Dragon?" The aggression in his voice made Jake swallow hard. The centaur stamped his hooves testily, his heavy chin set with displeasure. "Dragons may think themselves our guardians, and the Ministry our slavers, but these are Centaur woods and alone among my tribe am I their master!"
"Alright, no sweat! I read you loud and clear, no dragons," Jake agreed, his fear renewed and wanting nothing more than to leave the maddening forest. Jake politely announced, "Looks like everything checks out, so I'll just go ahead and, uh, get off your turf, then."
The horseman's disturbingly beady eyes watching him, Jake hurried quickly back into the thickets of trees and off in what he desperately hoped was the direction of Hogwarts. "Centaurs, man, you don't see a guy in months and the first thing you do is try to kill him?" he complained aloud. "So much for gratitude." Specks of light were starting to pop up as the canopy thinned overhead, a calming sign for Jake as he slipped the necklace back over his throat. But I know I saw something, that wasn't just a daydream. I guess they could have been those freaky skeleton-horse-things...Thestrals, right? A fresh breeze began to brush over Jake, and he eagerly charged through the thinning trees to the dim source of light ahead. If I make it back before it's totally dark, then I won't have to risk flying...ugh, but what I wouldn't do for one lap around the lake right now.
Pushing through the last few bushes, Jake at last broke away from the forest and found himself in the open. He was disappointed, however, to find that he had not made it out of the Forbidden Forest but was instead only in a small clearing. Mostly empty but for a couple of torn up trees and a massive boulder at one end, it was maybe big enough to hold a couple of trailer homes and at least afforded him a view of the graying sky. The only problem was that Jake had passed no such place on his way in and, feeling confident in his blundering up until then, was now convinced that he had succeeded in becoming lost.
The world was dimming with every passing second, and Jake's patience was wearing thin. I don't care if half the school sees me, there's no way I'm going back into those trees. Anxious to be rid of the Forbidden Forest, Jake reached up to remove his burdening necklace once again, vaguely imagining Stout cringing in the distance. Yet his fingers only just brushed against the cord before a familiar shout filled the quiet clearing.
"Petrificus totalus!"
"How can you say that, Hermione?" It was exactly as she'd feared and already she could feel herself fighting a losing battle. "Don't get me wrong, I had my doubts about John before, but he stuck his neck out for us today and he's been one of the best D.A. members since he joined. What makes you think he's out to get me?"
"Just think about it Harry," she begged him. "It's the way he acts, how it always feels like he's hiding something from us-"
"He can't even talk, Hermione."
"-and there's something else, too." She reached into her bag and pulled out the small leather book she'd found the previous night. "John dropped this, it's like his journal."
Harry had a disappointed look as he asked despairingly, "Please tell me you didn't read his journal, Hermione." Her grimace was affirmation enough. "That's private, Hermione! You ought to know that!"
"I know, and it was wrong of me," she admitted, "but Harry, this isn't an ordinary journal, it's a Replitome! I read all about them in the library yesterday. They come in pairs and are enchanted so that anything that's written in one appears in the other. That way, two people can use them to communicate directly over any distance."
Harry's disgust momentarily shifted to admiration. "That's actually really useful."
"It is!" Hermione agreed emphatically, "And the person John's been talking with is his uncle, Mr. Stout!" She opened the book and began flipping pages at a blazing speed. "I read through their conversations, and most of the later pages are just casual talk about school and other nonsense, but in the first few parts..."
"Hermione." His hands clapped under the two covers of the Replitome and forced it shut. "I don't care who he talks to or what he says to them, I trust John and that's all there is to it." Gingerly cradling his still bleeding hand, Harry brushed past her down the hallway, calling over his shoulder, "I'm going to get something for my hand. You should find John and give that back to him, he's probably looking for it right now."
The desperation was building inside of her. Why wouldn't he listen to her? If only she'd gotten straight to what worried her so much, maybe he would have understood, but as usual Harry was stubbornly following his gut. It was enough to make Hermione dig her nails into John's book from the absurdity of it all. "Fine," she said aloud to herself. "I'll return this to John, but not until we've had a little chat."
Tracking John down proved far from simple. By chance Hermione found Pavarti outside the Great Hall, who happened to see him run out into the fields, and Hermione just caught his outline disappearing into the treeline of the Forbidden Forest in the distance. Regardless of what reason he could possibly have for entering those woods, a nasty feeling had nestled itself in Hermione's stomach and she chased after him down the sloping lawns and into the foreboding mass of trees. Without so much as a trace of her target, she blindly trudged into the forest, hoping that whatever had drawn John was not too far into the darkness.
It was difficult to really know what 'too far' even was, as both distance and time lost meaning in the sea of trees. More than once, Hermione strongly considered turning back, but she wasn't even certain if she could find her way should she try. Before her doubts could get the better of her, she at last came upon a small clearing, filled with fallen trees and a mound of dirt at the far end, and decided to rest. Through the gap in the treetops, she could see the once amber sky had already become a dark gray.
Only yards away, something came bulldozing out of the trees, and Hermione quickly hid behind the nearest trunk. Slipping her hand into her robe to grab her wand, she listened intently at the sound of tired breathing and carefully edged out from behind her cover. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw John's green tips and battered robes, his back turned as he looked up to the sky. His hand was reaching up toward his neck when impulse took control and Hermione swung out from behind her tree, her wand raised high.
"Petrificus Totalus!" The bolt of light shot forward, yet just like in their duels John leaned aside with frustrating agility and dodged the attack. In the blink of an eye, he had his own wand out and stood wary, looking intently in her direction. Hermione twirled her wand once more and watched John tense for an attack that wasn't coming. "Accio necklace!"
The ornament zipped away from his neck and slipped between his fingers as he tried to make a grab for it. Hermione snagged it from the air and stepped further into the clearing's meager light, shouting, "Lower your wand, John, I'm not here to fight you!"
As soon as she'd revealed herself, John had relaxed and wagged his wand at her disapprovingly. "Is that what you were going for? Because I got more of a 'shifty assassin' vibe," he called back sarcastically, suddenly growing much more serious. "This place is dangerous, Hermione, you shouldn't be here!"
She couldn't stop her fingers from trembling. "I could say the same for you," she retorted, pulling out the Replitome and brandishing it in front of him. "Why don't we start with this?" John stared at it in shock and promptly patted his pockets in vain. Wordlessly, he flung his arm out and his strange wave of magic came pulsing toward her. Hermione slashed her wand forward, yelling, "Protego!" and watched the shimmering blast dissipate in front of her.
"This isn't a joke!" he groaned exasperatedly. "Just give that back to me and we can both get out of here!"
"I thought you were our friend," she disparaged. "Even after I learned you could talk, I still tried to help you! But then I read this, and..." Her voice hitched in her throat and she couldn't stop herself from shivering.
"Hermione, you don't understand," John begged as he took a step sideways.
"Oh, I understand perfectly well," she snapped, mirroring his movement so that they walked at opposing ends of a large circle. "I don't care what you've got to say, you aren't getting Harry. I won't let you."
John threw us hands in the air, shouting, "Would you just listen for a sec? I have NO idea what you're talking about!"
"Honestly, enough with the games," she scolded, holding the journal open with one hand and keeping her wand trained on John. Turning to the first page, she read aloud, "I'll handle the dragons, you focus on Potter."
John moaned and conceded, "Okay, that sounds kind of bad."
"Harry and his pals were talking last night about Chang's break-in," she read on.
"Well it's true! That's what you were talking about!" he sputtered.
"Oh, my bad for doing my job," she recited, snapping the book shut and shoving it back into her robes. "So what's your job, to hurt Harry? And I thought Mr. Stout was the one who brought the dragons in the first place, but now he's trying to prosecute them!" Hermione was having a good deal of trouble keeping her wand steady as burning betrayal built up within her. "You're going to tell me everything, why you're really here, who 'Chang' is, and why you're after Harry!"
The last thing Hermione expected was for John to fall into an uproar of laughter. Something about the sound touched at her memories, and she watched bemused as he stowed his wand in his pocket. "Hermione, you're the smartest witch I know," he applauded her, "but you literally couldn't be more wrong if you tried."
"By all means, explain it to me if it's so simple," she retorted hotly, feeling herself blush under his criticism.
"I don't even know where to start," he accepted. "How about the big stuff? Why would I have a journal just so I could talk to Stout?"
"That's obvious, isn't it?" she scoffed. "He's your Uncle, for one thing, and your contact in the Ministry, if I'm right..."
"...Which you aren't, both times," John informed her all too happily. "How's about we try something else. Did you figure out why I'm always wearing that silencing charm?"
She was wrong both times? But that would mean...Mr. Stout wasn't actually his uncle? "I already told you," Hermione answered tiredly. "I thought it might have been your parents, but you already said..."
"Oh come on, Hermione," John complained. "Use that big brain! You're telling me I don't sound just a little bit funny to you?"
Well, making any sound at all was funny as far as John was concerned, but now that he'd mentioned it... "You have an accent?" she realized.
"Now we're getting somewhere!" he cheered. "There's more, though, think of the little things, things friends just know about each other. What do you know about me?"
Her indignation burned brighter. "We've hardly ever talked before, and we're not friends! I couldn't know a thing about you!" she contested. John stopped their pacing to give her a supremely withering look.
"Oh really?" he snickered. "Your middle name is Jean, you're favorite classes are Charms and Arithmancy, and you bite your lip whenever you're way over-thinking something."
"How could...I do not..." Pushing aside her astonishment, she wracked her brain for dirt of her own. "Well you hate Umbridge and you're awful at Transfiguration, but a pretty good duelist. There was that one time it looked like you were boxing with that dummy in the Room of Requirement...speaking of, you never did tell us how you found the room," she snapped accusingly.
John was gaping at her. "Um, Hermione?" he choked as the breeze kicked up around them.
"You're always sick in Herbology, too," she pressed on, undeterred. "Then earlier today you got excited when Ron and Harry were talking about the dragons, probably so you could try and help your awful uncle track them down..."
"Hermione!" The alarmed whisper refocused her long enough to see the panic clear on John's expression. He was looking at something over her shoulder and waving her over toward him very slowly, murmuring, "Come...here...now."
But her eyes had drifted to his palm as he called to her, seeing the black smear where he had written words earlier. "Mr. Stout must have told you, but you kept asking them about the dragons...about Jake," she muttered.
And then it hit her.
"HERMIONE!" Jake yelled, but he was too late, for she had seen the shadow falling over her and turned to look up at the most enormous, hideous person she'd ever laid eyes on. As tall as the trees with his mountainous body covered in sparse animal skins, what she had believed was a mound of dirt was now raised on massive legs and staring down at her with a dumb expression.
The giant reached down with an arm the size of a sedan and she covered her head, screaming out in terror. Heat rushing to her frozen limbs and feeling herself being lifted away by the creature, Hermione could only tremble and shriek, knowing her final thoughts would be of regret and despair.
"Yo, you can stop screaming whenever you feel like it!" Impossible as it was, her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice and her first marvel was how the giant had somehow grown tall enough to hoist her so high above the forest below. Then there was the rush of wind in her ears, along with the lack of any giant to begin with. A great shake made her cling to the bar clenched tightly over her stomach, carrying her like a sack of flour. Only, it wasn't a bar at all, but two large scaled arms.
"Don't worry, just an updraft. I won't drop you!" Tilting her head up, she could see a lengthy yellow underbelly and the tips of large red wings periodically appearing off to the sides in rhythmic beats. "Just hang tight," Jake yelled down to her, "we're almost there!" Hogwarts was fast approaching them, and before she knew it, Jake was setting her down on the paved ramparts of the astronomy tower and helping her climb shakily to her feet.
"It's really you," she whispered, glancing over the red western dragon in the torchlight. For the first time since Dumbledore had first come to her perfectly normal home when she was eleven, Hermione Granger couldn't believe her eyes.
"You know, I've met plenty of muggles who've taken the news way better," Jake scoffed, two patches of flame appearing in his outstretched claws. Hermione gave another involuntary squeak as he flung his arms out and became engulfed in the embers, only to emerge unharmed seconds later as Jonathan Long, the mute fifth-year wizard. Jake ran a hand through his hair and grimaced, "This wasn't exactly how I planned on telling you, but between you trying to clock me and Ugly the Giant..."
He grunted as Hermione threw her arms around him, squeezing him with every ounce of remorse and wonder she could muster.
"I knew you'd come back," she croaked with strangled laughter.
"You didn't really think I was gonna flake on you?" he teased, returning her embrace. "Please, this place is off the hook! I wouldn't miss it for the world." Hermione leaned away and shook her head, still laughing quietly to herself. "What, got something on my face?" Jake grinned.
"No, it's just," she put a hand to her mouth to stifle her smile, "I'm used to you being taller."
Barren fields covered Victoria Peak. Nothing stirred in the low grass and scattered rocks as Lao Shi walked through the waste, disappointed to find it as unhelpful as he had feared. His travels among the towns of England had been in vain, and in desperation he had come to where it all began, yet nothing remained of the Dark Dragon's escape. Despite his best efforts, Lao Shi was as close to finding his grandson as when he'd started and his hopes were draining fast. He was not beaten yet, however. The lights of Hong Kong shined below in the dark, the home of a certain professional he knew would help him if he came calling. Though he'd originally been adverse to the idea, he was running out of options.
The former Chinese Dragon needed help.
And there you have it! As always, if you have any opinions or thoughts on the material so far, I would be DELIGHTED to read them in reviews or PM's! Follow if you haven't already for the next chapter, and sit tight to see how things will continue to unfold in the next installment!