No comments this time around, just a quick reminder for those who missed it that I rewrote a good portion of the end of Chapter 16 a day or two after posting, so if you missed out on it I highly recommend rereading it.
Now for Chapter 17! Same story as always: read, review, and follow for updates!
MAJOR EDIT #1: (11/26/14) Tweaked the dialogue throughout the last fourth of the chapter, cleaned up some messy portions.
A cold sweat covered Jake as he leaned against the wooden entrance behind him, barring it shut with the weight of his body. He strained to hear sounds from the hallway he'd narrowly escaped, listening for any sign that he had been too slow and someone was coming to check on the boy that had just fled into the room where he now stood. In return, his ears were met with deafening silence, marred only by his shaking breaths and the sound of his loose cloak rubbing against the door. Whether he remained in that stance for minutes or hours he wasn't sure, but eventually the adrenaline left him and he slid to the ground, relieved.
"That was way too close…" he groaned, cradling his head in his hands.
"Excuse me, sir," a tiny voice squeaked quietly, "if you could be more quiet, sir, Winky is trying to sleep."
Jake lifted his gaze with despairing lethargy, too exhausted to put up much of a fight and lost for any way to try and explain himself to students or staff. Thankfully it was neither which had addressed him as he found a short elf dressed in a sack, shoes, and several scarves, balancing a tower of various hats and beanies between his two floppy ears.
The elf mistook Jake's bewildered silence as compliance with his request, continuing in a low whisper, "Thank you, sir, Winky is not feeling well and needs her rest. Too much butterbeer you see, sir." He turned around to a small bed that Jake only now noticed and carefully adjusted the blankets on it to cover another small elf, which Jake guessed was the 'Winky' that the bedecked creature kept referring to.
With his company turned, Jake stood silently and knotted his cloak to cover his relatively conspicuous clothes, though the elf before him certainly had little room to judge his attire. Looking around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found the room to be fairly small, similar in size to the typical offices of the professors. It had a single window set into the wall to his left (currently covered by a thick, black curtain) with four beds of varying sizes spaced along the periphery, the smallest currently occupied by Winky. A cabinet stood next to Winky's bed with a few bottles lying within its opened doors, and a dresser sat below the blacked-out window, but otherwise the room was barren.
"Sorry for barging into your bedroom," Jake apologized softly. "I was just trying to find somewhere to hide, I didn't mean to…"
"Oh no, sir, this is not Dobby's bedroom," the elf replied. "Dobby came here to hide too, sir! Well, to hide Winky, Dobby means, sir."
"Then whose is it?" Jake asked.
"Everyone's and no one's, I suppose, sir," he answered cryptically. At Jake's confused stare, he elaborated, "This is the Room of Requirement, sir, or the Come and Go Room. It appears when you have real need of it, sir, and is always equipped with whatever you require! Dobby needed a place for Winky to rest in secret, sir, and this is what Dobby found," he finished, waving his arms at the entirety of the room around him.
"Well that's convenient," Jake mumbled in thought. "I can't believe I never heard about this place, you'd think everyone would be all up in it 24/7."
"Most don't know about it, sir, and those who do find it usually forget or only see it as a handy room at the time that they can't find later," Dobby said. "The house-elves know of it, of course, sir, but even Dobby had to practice calling the room when he needed it."
Dobby's words brought a tempting possibility to Jake's mind. "Hold up, you said this place can give you anything if you really need it? So if you needed, say, a room to practice spells in, it could do that?"
Dobby nodded fervently with a smile, "I expect so, it's an amazing room, sir. Dobby has even found antidotes to butterbeer for Winky," he said, gesturing to the bottles in the cabinet beside him. He looked down sadly at the sleeping elf now, his pillar of headwear teetering dangerously. "Winky has been through a lot, sir, you mustn't think badly of her."
Jake would be lying if he said the sight were novel, having encountered his own fair share of passed out drunkards and drugees on the streets of New York. He walked forward to stand beside Dobby and took in the dried spittle and deep wrinkles on Winky's pale face, cringing a little at the severity of her condition. "Yo, she's totally messed up. I take it this isn't the first time she's partied this hard?"
Dobby sighed before answering Jake, "No, sir, Winky has been drinking lots ever since she got clothes over a year ago. Dobby has tried to help, sir, but she doesn't like clothes and she has trouble sleeping without a drink."
"Clothes?" Jake asked confused. He could recognize several kinds of elves and knew what they looked like in general, of course, but he admittedly knew little (okay, nothing) about these particular ones. Truth be told, he'd never encountered elves that looked quite like the two in front of him now, these so-called 'house-elves'. "You lost me, dog, since when are clothes a bad thing?"
Now it was Dobby's turn to look confused. "Because if a house-elf is given clothes by their master, they are set free, sir."
Jake narrowed his eyes, his tone dropping lower though not for the sake of the sleeping elf. "Tell me you did not just say 'master' and 'set free'?"
His voice made Dobby's eyes open wider in fear before the elf asked, "You…are not familiar with house-elves, are you sir?" Jake shook his head slowly, still watching Dobby with deadly focus. "Well, house-elves are servants, sir. We are bound to wizard families and do what they asks of us, sir, or else we get punished, or worse…" he finished, turning back to Winky's still body.
"That's…just sick," Jake said, feeling the bile rise in the back of his throat. The fact that wizards enforced slavery on thinking, feeling, magical creatures was bad enough, but the way Dobby spoke made it seem as if it were routine, like keeping a pet dog. "You'd rather be a naked slave than have your own freedom?" he asked incredulously.
"Oh no, sir! Not Dobby, sir, Dobby likes his freedom very much!" the little house-elf quickly disagreed. "Dobby's old family was very cruel, so now Dobby chooses to serve Dumbledore and his school, sir. Most house-elves like servitude, sir, we see it as an honor to serve wizards and getting clothes is the greatest shame for a house-elf."
"Say what, that's…that's just," Jake started to argue when Winky turned beneath her sheets, the lids over her huge, glossy eyes fluttering open.
"Who'sa…is'a you Dobba…" she slurred, her arms struggling to untangle themselves from the blankets.
"Winky! Dobby is glad to see you are awake, how does Winky feel?" he asked, carefully helping her rise up from the bed to sit on the mattress with her short legs dangling over the side.
"Where'sa…wha'sa time Dobby?" she questioned, looking at the dull light coming from the edges of the curtained window.
"Winky slept through the whole day, but Dobby thinks if Winky hurries she can still make it to help with dinner!" he said excitedly, clearly relishing in the thought of the work they'd soon be able to return to.
The dizzy house-elf didn't form any coherent response to his proposition, but Dobby was satisfied with whatever motion she made as he hurriedly helped her to her feet and dragged her stumbling behind him as he made for the door.
"Maybe some cooking and cleaning will help Winky feel better," he suggested as he pulled the door open and shoved her small frame out into the hall. His many scarves had just disappeared beyond the edge of the entrance when Dobby's head popped back into the room to find Jake, who was watching marveled at the nearly horizontal pile of hats that still refused to fall out of formation atop his head. "It was a pleasure to meet you, sir," he said politely before finally withdrawing through the door with a muffled thud.
Their sudden departure gave Jake little chance to ask any more questions or even return Dobby's goodbye, his hand only having risen halfway towards a wave by the time the house-elf had sealed the room behind him. Tired of the darkness and wishing for an outlet for his lingering frustrations, Jake walked over to the solitary window and roughly jerked the curtains aside. He saw with surprise that the sky was already stained red and orange, the sun falling ever closer to the mountains on the horizon.
"Gramps is gonna flip when he finds out I lost it again," he lamented, deciding he'd spent enough time in this surprising room. A quick meditative venture confirmed that his dragon chi had already regained most of its former strength, a much better result than the days it had taken last time. Taking his stance in the center of the room and loosening his cloak, Jake felt the warmth of energy flow throughout his body as he envisioned his dragon persona, the familiar magical flames erupting in his hands.
"Dragon UP!" he yelled, drawing his arms close to his chest and allowing the wave of fire to flow out, covering him head to toe. A moment later, the embers subsided and he stood tall with his wings extended and tail flared, his powerful dragon figure returned.
Satisfied with the results, Jake made to leave the room when he felt something beneath his foot. He stepped aside to find a crumpled piece of paper, recognizing Hermione's short message as he picked it up and remembering their apparent meeting later that night. Recent events had done more than simply kill the mood he'd imagined earlier, and his mind was now racing with newfound doubts of the young witch and her friends. His memories of her boldness and compassion conflicted with the thought of Winky's haggard, dilapidated body, a sense of betrayal burning deep inside him.
No, I must be missing something. I know them, and they would never do something like that…would they? For all of their supposed superior knowledge, Jake felt that the past several hours had proven just how poorly they understood these people. He fought down the clenching in his stomach, trying with great difficulty to suppress his building emotions. I'll talk to the others, maybe they can explain what's going down around this place…
"You playin' yo'self, Jackie," Trixie's voice echoed, the three of them sitting comfortably in a lodge in the mountains, flurries of snow howling outside the windows.
"Yeah, bud, you gotta, like, wake up and smell the roses," Spud agreed.
Jake thumped his head against the wood paneling of the door. Every bump of his skull helped push the memory of that winter trip so many years ago out of his mind, buried deep below the piles of snow that had surrounded him and taking with it all of the shock, denial, and doubt that had threatened to consume him. Yet no matter how many concussions he inflicted on himself, he couldn't completely forget the curling mark around her wrist or tear his gaze away from those piercing blue eyes filled with lethal rage and unbridled hatred…
"I've got terrible taste in women," he huffed, opening the door and trudging out of the curious room.
"This is all your fault, Potter!" Angelina Johnson roared, cheeks flushed and eyes wild. "After what happened in your class today, there's no chance Umbridge will ever let us reform the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"
"I didn't do a thing!" he shot back, more than a bit annoyed and defensive. Students were just leaving the hall as dinner ended, but those that remained were watching the exchange with deep interest. "No one knows what happened, and she'd already told you 'no' earlier this morning!"
"When it comes to Umbridge being unbearable, it's nearly always because of you!" She turned away as she saw McGonagall rise from her place at the head table and give her a dangerous stare. She finished a smidge more quietly, "I'll try to get this sorted out, but it goes without saying that practice is cancelled tonight."
Without another word she turned curtly and stormed out of the hall, her hands balled into fists. Harry didn't blame her for being upset, but he certainly didn't feel the least bit responsible for Umbridge's fat headed, power hungry attitude. "Even if it means missing a night of practice, it was still worth it," he said unconcerned to Ron and Hermione beside him.
"I thought for sure it was one of Fred and George's pranks, but they said they hadn't got anything like what we saw," Ron mused aloud. "Still, never thought I'd be so happy to see that hag's wrinkled, saggy…"
"So you two will be free later tonight, then?" Hermione interrupted, not needing a reminder of that already fresh and vivid image.
"You heard Johnson, Hermione, I reckon half the school did…" Ron answered, looking over his shoulder quickly to check that she wasn't in the near vicinity as they left the Great Hall and began climbing the staircases.
"Though you can't exactly say we're 'free' with all the homework we've got piled up," Harry groaned.
"That's fine, we can work on it in the common room," Hermione said hurriedly, deflecting his worries, "but I've got something to do at eight tonight and I think you both should join me."
The boys shared a hesitant look before Ron responded, "If it's about S.P.E.W. or knitting more clothes for the elves, Hermione, I think we'd be better off not joining if it's all the same to you."
She halted at the fifth floor landing and glared at him, looking quite offended. "Well you'll be glad to know that it's got nothing to do with the house-elves, Ronald. I'll tell you more when we're on our way, but we'll probably need your cloak, Harry."
Now that peaked their interest. Hermione rarely deferred to using Harry's Cloak of Invisibility, and her attitude in general was riddled with uncharacteristic scheming. They arrived at Gryffindor Tower and promptly began to pull out their assignments, but Harry's curiosity kept him thoroughly distracted from his work. His eyes focused on the clock above the mantle and only occasionally flickered back to his Potions essay as the hands moved at an agonizingly slow pace. It seemed to take ages, but soon they were only thirty minutes away from eight when she finally closed her textbook and leaned in to whisper between the three of them.
"We should get going soon, you've got your cloak Harry?" she asked carefully, the persistent flickering of her eyes and barely noticeable tremble in her hands giving away her growing uneasiness.
"Yeah, it's here in my bag, but Hermione where are we going? The Restricted Section of the library, the Forbidden Forest?" Harry asked in a low voice, looking annoyed at the little cry that Ron gave at the mention of the dense, infested woods.
Hermione stood and grabbed up her bags, motioning for the other two to follow her as she made for the portal to the common room. They followed diligently, all three stepping out past the portrait of the Fat Lady and out onto the seventh floor landing. The trio began to descend the staircases and Harry was considering badgering her for information once again before she finally spoke to them over her shoulder.
"We're going to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," she said shortly, refusing to look at either of them directly.
"And…why is that again?" Ron asked.
"You aren't thinking of having our lessons in there, are you? I don't think there's enough room, Hermione, not to mention Myrtle's big mouth…"
"No. We're going to meet someone because we need to know who we can trust and I clearly can't convince either of you on my own…"
"Wait," Harry stopped her, understanding donning on him, "this is about the dragons, isn't it? Hermione, it's not that I don't like them, I just don't want another 'Mad-Eye Moody' hanging around us like last year."
"I understand, Harry, and that's why we're going to find out the truth once and for all." They were just passing the end of the third floor and started descending the next flight of stairs. "I told Jake to meet me in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom tonight so we can talk alone, without any other wizards or dragons to make him feel guarded."
"And just what makes you think he's going to say anything, Hermione? They've been pretty tight lipped so far about the important stuff," Ron questioned her. They'd reached the bottom floor and began walking down the hallway towards the bathrooms.
She didn't respond to him immediately and instead waited until they were just outside the bathroom door before turning to face him. Both Harry and Ron were surprised to see her smiling ever so slightly. "He wouldn't have saved us in Hogsmeade or come back from the Isle of Draco if he didn't care about us, I'm certain of it," she said softly before pushing open the door and stepping into the gloomy room beyond.
"Oooohhhhh, the little potion makers came back to spend some time with poor old Moaning Myrtle," a reverberating, hollow voice crooned as they entered and stood by the sinks.
"It's good to see you, Myrtle," Hermione said in a convincing tone of sincerity. "We just stopped by to do homework somewhere quiet. Everywhere else is too loud, and we thought your bathroom was as good a place as any," she explained while lifting her bulging bag as evidence.
The ghost floating between the two rows of stalls seemed to deflate significantly at the news. "Of course you did, after all no one ever comes just to talk to me, do they?"
"Actually, I heard a few of the prefects were going to our private bathroom upstairs in just a bit. If you hurry, you might be able to catch them, I bet they'd make much better company than us," Hermione informed her, pleased as Myrtle developed a broad smile that was completely devoid of innocence. The ghost quickly arched into the air and dove into the nearest stall, water pouring out of the toilet bowl as she entered the piping while giggling madly.
"The poor girl's got some really deep-seeded issues," Ron commented idly.
"That should keep her busy for a while at least," Hermione sighed, somewhat relieved that things were at least going well so far. She glanced down at her delicate watch before turning to the two boys quickly. "It's almost time, you two should get under the cloak." Harry was about to question the necessity of it when she automatically responded, "I only mentioned that I'd be here and he might think I tried to set him up or something if you're both here too."
The two boys conceded and moved to the far corner of the bathroom behind the sinks, Harry unraveling the balled up cloak. They had to crouch near the floor to be sure they were completely covered, Ron leaning away from a puddle of stagnant water.
"It didn't used to be this hard to fit under the bloody cloak," Ron whined.
"How do we look, Hermione?" Harry asked.
She gave them a thumbs-up and looked around the room, apparently thinking very hard about her surroundings. Her search came to a stop on the sinks and mirrors and, with a shrug, she walked over and turned on the faucets to let the water run. Pretending to muss with her hair and straighten her clothes, she watched the reflection of the door in the mirror, waiting for the arrival of their reptilian guest.
Hermione checked her watch compulsively and was starting to worry as they approached ten minutes past eight when they heard knocking on the bathroom entrance. She took a slow breath and tried to calm her quivering voice before answering, "Come in!"
The door creaked forward and Jake's head leaned in through the opening, holding the hood of his grey cloak tightly over his head and covering his eyes. "Is that you Hermione?" he whispered, remaining outside the room with only his covered head visible.
"It's me, Jake," she said with a hint of laughter. When he still hesitated she continued, "The bathroom's empty except for us, you can come in."
Slowly, he allowed the hood to fall away from one of his eyes and he carefully surveyed the room, finding it as empty as she'd claimed. "I'm not telling you how to do your business, but bathrooms are weird places for meetings, Hermione," he joked as he finally walked in and closed the door behind him.
Hermione leaned against the sink behind her and smiled. "It's Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She's a ghost that cries quite a lot, so no one ever comes in here," she explained.
Jake walked forward until he was halfway between her and the door. "So…what's up? What'd you want to meet for?" he asked, clearly uncomfortable and fidgeting constantly.
"I just wanted to talk…in private," she said, patting the lip of the sink next to her. A squeamish smile passed over the dragon's face for a moment before he accepted the gesture and leaned against the sink next to her.
"Well, we're here," he said smoothly, much more relaxed. "So, uh…heh, what'd you wanna talk about?"
Now it was Hermione's turn to look distressed, clasping her hands in front of her and flexing her fingers open and closed repeatedly as she struggled to form her thoughts into words. "To be honest, I wanted to talk about you, Jake."
Harry watched the dragon carefully, expecting him to disengage like the dragons usually did when questions were directed at them. To his surprise, Jake actually seemed a little happier as he ran his claws through his black, green-tipped hair. "Alright, what'd you want to know? I'm a Pisces, favorite color's red, I like my meat well-done…"
Hermione laughed and shook her head, Jake watching with joyful satisfaction. She looked up at him with that curious expression she often saved for Jake, as though she were trying to decipher some ancient runes written across the dragon's forehead. "You know, I've been meaning to ask - and I don't want to sound rude - but how old are you?"
"What, that's it?" he scoffed, looking at her with feigned disappointment before puffing out his chest with pride. "Easy, 87. No, wait, hold up." Jake made a show of counting with his claws and muttering nonsense numbers before correcting, "88, that's what I meant. I can never get that right..."
"Wow, I...well, I suppose dragons probably age differently than humans, but...well, I wasn't expecting 88," she commented, unbelieving.
The dragon wore the most offended look he could muster. "You can think whatever you want, pipsqueak, but in my neighborhood we treat our elders with respect."
"No, o-of course I didn't mean...I just thought that..." she apologized profusely until Jake finally cracked, strained chuckles escaping his clenched mouth. Hermione grudgingly smiled as well. "That's not funny, Jake."
"Actually it was very funny." Hermione didn't seem impressed and continued to watch him expectantly. "Okay, fine, I'm 16. How about you, around 30 right?" He roared with laughter at her bewildered shock, earning an annoyed slap on the arm as she rebuffed his tease.
"Chill, girl, I'm just messin' with you. Now it's my turn," he said, reaching up a scaly hand to rub his chin in thought. "Got it, what's your middle name? I've got the 'Hermione' and the 'Granger', but two out of three ain't that great of a score. Let me guess, Jessica?" She shook her head smiling. "Emily?" She denied him again, her curls bouncing with the motion.
"It's Jean, Hermione Jean Granger," she answered happily.
Even now, the dragon's grin only appeared to grow larger as she spoke. "Jean…it's perfect," he said in a low voice.
If he didn't know better, Harry would have sworn that the dragon was actually flirting with Hermione, and her sudden blush at his last comment supported that suspicion absolutely. Ron must have felt the same as he began to rise from his crouch, forgetting their place beneath the cloak. He shifted his foot over as he did so and stepped into the puddle beside him, the splashing noise echoing into the silence that lingered in the room.
Harry froze, his arm gripping Ron tightly and keeping him in place. Both Jake and Hermione looked over at the noise, Hermione wide-eyed at apparently remembering their presence and Jake scanning the area with intense scrutiny. His yellow eyes examined the puddle and its surroundings with so much effort that they almost looked like they were glowing.
"Yes! Well…" Hermione snapped back into focus, trying to get Jake's attention, "how about you? I find it hard to believe that the Dragons of Draco Isle each only have one name."
"No, no, my name's…" Jake answered absentmindedly as he slowly looked back to Hermione, catching himself at the last moment. The joy that had lined his face up until then had been replaced with despondent sadness. "…I can't tell you," he sighed, his head drooping lower as he continued to joke halfheartedly, "I'm just Jake. First name Jake, last name Jake, middle name Jake, which is short for Jacob by the way."
Hermione hesitated a bit at his diversion but persisted nonetheless, deciding that it was now or never and going for broke. "And what about 'The American Dragon'?" He looked at her in dumbfounded surprise, the gears of his mind churning furiously for a course of action plainly visible to her. "Please, Jake, Harry heard everything that voice said in Hogsmeade, it's alright," she said soothingly, putting a hand on his cloaked arm gently.
Jake's eyes seemed to glaze over for a minute as he leaned against the sink, deep in thought. "Everything?" he whispered, bowing in defeat. Hermione's continued silence was the only affirmation he needed, letting out a lengthy sigh and ruffling his hair again. The tension was palpable and Harry watched as the moment of truth finally arrived. If they were going to learn anything about the dragons' intentions and whether or not they could be trusted, it was here and now.
"Well…that's harsh," Jake chuckled after what seemed like an eternity. He looked back down at Hermione, his unexpectedly relieved attitude actually worrying her a little. "Alright, you win, Hermione," he admitted, facing the mirror behind him and turning the sink faucets until water began to flow. "Do you know what the Dragons of Draco Isle do, what our job is?"
She hadn't anticipated the question and thought for a moment before answering tentatively, "Not really, no. A History of Magic briefly mentions the Dragons of Draco Isle in some very early treaties several hundred years ago, and Dumbledore said that you defended magical creatures in his speech at the First Feast…"
"You got it," he interrupted as he wetted his claws and styled his hair in his reflection. "The Dragons of Draco Isle protect and guard the magical world from normal humans, or muggles I guess." The dragon looked at his hair from several angles before giving his mirror image a wink and turning off the water. "Most countries have a top-dog dragon that's responsible for the entire territory called a World Dragon. There's one for Egypt, China, Peru..."
"And you're the World Dragon for the USA?" she asked intuitively, her expression alight with avid interest.
"Bingo."
"And what about the others?" she continued, her mind racing with new possibilities. "Fred has a cockney accent, so he could have Australia, but I haven't got a clue about Lao Shi, Dominic, or Sun. There's Haley too, but she sounds just like you...maybe Canada, it's close to the USA at least?" she asked in a flurry of questions and theories, Jake struggling to find an opportunity to get anything in edgewise.
"Whoa, girl, you gotta take it down a notch," he laughed. "Yeah, Fred is the Australian Dragon, ten points for Gryffindor. Lao Shi used to be the Chinese Dragon and Sun is the Korean Dragon, but Haley being the Canadian Dragon? Way off track." He hadn't intended to mock Hermione's hurried guesses, but the spontaneous thought of Haley in a moleskin hat riding a moose was too much for him. "Only World Dragons get titles like that. Haley's runner up for American Dragon if I ever, you know, go belly-up."
"Oh…" she said, suddenly much more reserved. It was fairly clear that her thoughts had drifted to the recent attack and Jake's uncertain condition afterwards.
Her abrupt change in attitude hadn't gone unnoticed by the dragon. "Yo, Hermione, don't worry about it. I don't plan on croaking any time soon," he comforted her.
"Of course not…sorry," she recovered, trying to wear her smile again despite being derailed. An awkward silence persisted between them as she screwed her face up in thought about the next difficult question she needed to ask. "I never did thank you for what happened at Hogsmeade. If you hadn't been there..." she trailed off, not wanting to consider that particular outcome. Jake simply listened and waited patiently for her to collect herself. "I thought those smoke creatures were bad, but the voice at the end...what was it? It sounded an awful lot like it knew you..."
"Easy," he said again, this time with cold severity. He turned back to the mirror and touched the reflective surface with one of his claws. A front of dark color spread out in a rippling wave from the point he'd tapped, the surface of the mirror turning into an undulating, black curtain. Hermione gave a small gasp of surprise at the spectacle, watching new colors meld into view and mix together until a cloudy scene coalesced before them.
"Wicked," Ron whispered. Harry threw his hand up to slap against his mouth and quiet him. Jake looked at the corner where they were crouched, flashing a smirk before turning back to the mirror. It looked like a recording of a scene from Jake's perspective where he and Lao Shi were struggling in a fight against a monstrously large black and purple dragon that hurled flames as dark as night and filled the air with cackling, inhuman laughter.
"We call him the Dark Dragon, a rogue Dragon of Draco Isle that wants the magical community to enslave humans and conquer the world. He's a huge jerkwad, kind of like your Lord Moldywart. See, he's got a grudge out for me and Lao Shi because we keep kicking his butt..." he said as they all continued to watch for a bit longer. The past Jake continued his fight and dozens of other dragons in the background were readily visible, warring with the now familiar army of shade demons. Harry was entranced by the experience and watched intently as a normal human-sized figure in a green and black outfit leapt into view and joined the fray. Jake immediately tapped the mirror once more to remove the memory, leaving the mirror again reflective and heavily scratched while Harry found himself longing desperately for closure.
"That was almost two years ago," Jake said, his voice thick with some foreign nostalgia.
"What happened?" Hermione asked reverently.
He turned to give her a weak smile. "We won. Stuck him in another dimension and went home, case closed, but the creep got out somehow," he said, exasperated.
"I can't believe it," Hermione whispered in disbelief.
"Yeah, you're telling me."
"No, I mean I can't believe how oblivious the wizarding community is. The Dragons of Draco Isle are around the world, defending magical creatures and fighting these battles every day, but no witches or wizards have seen a thing," she said exasperated, folding her arms with the frustration of it all. "We're either impossibly blind or you're all brilliant at hiding. I don't suppose you can naturally turn invisible?" She had intended it as a compliment and was met instead with an annoyed glare from Jake.
"Yeah, well, wizards don't exactly care all that much about magical creatures, and it's not like you give us tons of reasons to trust your kind either," Jake sneered, the blatantly harsh tone surprising Harry.
Hermione looked stunned, and for a moment considered the possibility that Jake was just toying with her again, but the shock was slowly replaced by indignation as he maintained his serious demeanor. "Listen Jake, I know witches and wizards haven't always made the best decisions in history…"
"That's the understatement of the century," he commented sarcastically with an eye-roll. "The centaurs are about to fly off the chain because the Ministry keeps taking their land, Giants are practically going extinct, and there are more 'laws' degrading werewolves than I've got scales on my butt, yet you wonder why we don't like dealing with you guys."
"And what about that, hm?" Hermione retorted, taking her turn on the offensive. Harry could see she was upset, but he couldn't tell whether it was out of anger or despair. "Dumbledore invites you here so that we can learn more about each other. We show you our classes, our games, even our common room! But all you've done is sit quietly and avoid us. You won't even tell me your proper name! Honestly, I don't understand why you feel the need to be so secretive all of the…"
"Because we're afraid, Hermione!" Jake yelled, the vertical slits of his pupils narrowed into thin black lines. "No offense, but wizards have a bad habit of being selfish, power hungry chumps that do whatever they feel like. You go around thinking you're all that, stomping on muggles and magical creatures because they're beneath you. Well guess what, Hermione, I'm not down for being the new fashion trend in home-style slavery like the house-elves!"
Hermione put her hand over her mouth, Jake's last remark hitting home. He backed away from the dejection painted across her face and turned to the nearest stall enclosure, scratching his claw at the faded paint. Silence reigned once again as Hermione did her best to control her tight throat and quivering voice.
"There are cruel, heartless witches and wizards in the world, Jake, and the same goes for muggles and even dragons. That doesn't mean that some of us can't be trusted," Hermione pleaded. The dragon stopped carving the wood and turned his head to look at her sadly with one of his eyes.
"Yeah, I used to think that too," Jake said. He lifted one of his hands from beneath his cloak and waved it to the damp corner of the bathroom, the puddle of water exploding and sending soaking mildew in every direction.
"Bloody hell!" Ron yelled as he dove away from the deluge, knocking Harry and himself to the tiled floor with the cloak falling limply beside them. Hermione looked horror-struck and turned swiftly between the two Gryffindors and the dragon, her mouth opening and closing to mime unvoiced words. Finding no excuse, she carefully stepped forward to raise her hand up onto Jake's shoulder.
"Jake, I swear we weren't trying to deceive you, I just thought that you'd be more comfortable if it were just the two of us and…"
"And you didn't think a stupid dragon would find out you lied, either." Whatever stony attitude was left in Jake melted away as she dropped her head, on the verge of tears. "Yo…it's okay, Hermione," he said, resting his own hand over hers and wearing a soft smile.
She looked back up to him and barely managed to smile back, though it didn't stay for long. "I'm so sorry, Jake."
The red dragon looked over to see Harry helping Ron to his feet and trying to brush the grime off of his cloak. Jake dropped his hand and put a crumpled piece of paper in Hermione's palm before making to leave the bathroom. He'd gripped the handle and pulled the door open when he turned back to see the three of them now grouped together.
"I'm sorry too, Hermione," he said, unknotting his cloak and taking his leave.
Lost for words and rooted to the floor, Hermione looked down at the mashed parchment and unfolded it gingerly. Harry saw it was covered in wording and watched Hermione read it through, several expressions crossing her face before she finished with a look of terrible regret and handed it to him wordlessly. He quickly snatched it away and examined it, finding first Hermione's scrawled handwriting in a corner asking Jake to meet her that evening. Below it, however, was an entire paragraph written messily by someone else, headed with the words The Room of Requirement and boldly signed at the very bottom in crooked writing. The contents of the paragraph described a hidden and impossibly useful room, as well as how to find it. The implications of this information filled Harry to the brim with ecstasy, but the short salutation that preceded the signature quickly annihilated his excitement and made his chest ache for the friend they'd just let walk out on them.
Good luck, and no more running.
-Jake
Hope you enjoyed the new chapter, and as always if you had ANY strong opinions about any of the material, PLEASE leave reviews or PM's. They help keep me motivated and spark new ideas, not to mention that I simply appreciate reading them. Follow for updates, and stick around for the next chapter!