OMAC: First thing that came to mind when considering who Greg would have as a Dragon Master: they'd have to get through his impossibly cocky, self-important attitude. Cue military-style Russian dragon. Honestly one of the most fun bits I've written so far.
Gabster: muahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Back from holidays, this one's long (apologies). Dialogue was difficult but I've gotten it pretty much exactly where I want it. Thanks for all the feedback so far, and PLEASE continue to leave more feedback if you have any strong positive or negative opinions about the work so far! Here's Ch. 20, enjoy!
He looked up from the papers in front of him to scan the room one last time. There couldn't be any witnesses, any wandering eyes to see what he was about to attempt. It was undeniable how risky this was, but he wouldn't get another chance like this for almost a month and a glance at the clock told him his time was fading fast. It was now or never.
Jake took a deep breath.
Trixie and Spud gave him reassuring nods as he slid his hand beneath his desk and flexed his fingers, staring ahead at the front of the classroom. Mr. Sermon sat at his desk, mimicking his classroom of students all bent low over their essays and writing furiously across his own stack of ungraded papers. The slightly balding man reached over to grab his metal thermos, looking for another sip of coffee to power him through the tedious work, and was met with empty air. His fingers wagged limply, searching for the canister, before his hand dropped to the desk and continued to feel about. Finding nothing, he dropped his pen and reached to his other side, again finding vacant desk space, until at last he grudgingly looked up from his papers.
The three juniors were struggling to mute their chuckling as they sat in the last row of desks, thoroughly enjoying the sight of their English teacher standing up and patting his pockets as if the lost thermos had snuck its way into his pants. They all quickly ducked back down to their essays as he threw a suspicious look at their poorly contained mirth, though Jake was still on the verge of losing his cool as Mr. Sermon dropped to his knees and checked beneath his chair and desk next.
Blaring ringing from the school bell thankfully saved the American Dragon from his building laughter. He hurriedly scribbled in the last sentence of his assignment before grabbing his bag and dropping his essay on the teacher's desk. As they left the classroom, Jake flicked his hand over his shoulder while Mr. Sermon quickly stood and shouted, "Make sure to hand in your essays and have a good break!" His eyes suddenly squinted and he carefully lifted a hand to the top of his head, his fingers brushing against the smooth metal cylinder that rested atop his scalp.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Jake the Jake-nificent!" Spud announced as they walked down the crowded hallway and found their lockers.
"Thank you, thank you," he bowed haughtily.
"That was pretty sick, yo, but it still wasn't as kickin' as dropping Nolan's pants after gym last month," Trixie laughed, taking out her skateboard and closing the metal door. "Or when you tripped up Brad at the park last week, that was rich."
"Especially when he blacked out and we had to call an ambulance, good times," Spud sighed reminiscently.
"I still feel kind of bad about that…" Jake laughed meekly, his hand twitching back towards his pocket as he felt a prick of heat against his thigh.
"Pft, please Jakie, if anyone had that coming to 'em it was Brad. That boy's all kinds of messed up," Trixie scoffed. Her and Spud pushed the exit doors open and stood on the verge of the parking lot outside. When Jake didn't walk by, Trixie looked back to see the green and black haired teenager standing still, the torrent of students shoving into and around him while he looked down at his feet, his hands tucked into his jeans.
"Hey, bud! You, uh, off in your noggin?" Spud called out to him.
Jake didn't budge. "YO, JAKIE!" Trixie yelled, glaring at him with a hand on her hip. He jerked his head up and found her with glazed over eyes, shuffling with the flow of traffic to walk beside them as they made their way out onto the frozen winter streets of New York. "You sure you're all up there, Jake?" Trixie asked in concern.
"I'm good," he dismissed her dreamily. Trixie gave him a skeptical look and returned a hand to her hip. Jake looked away with a sigh and walked ahead, strapping his helmet on as he avoided the ice on the sidewalk.
"Boy, I don't get you," she huffed and followed behind him. "Ever since you got back from Wonderland, you've been happier than ever, like before any of this dragon biz started up. Aint that right, Spud?" Jake looked sideways at his lanky friend who shrugged, unashamed.
"It's true, bro. You know, the goofy smiling, pulling pranks, even dropping the 'Don-drag-D'marco' line the other day. Like, the last time you were this pumped we were in eighth grade and…"
"I was gettin' to that, Spudinski!" Trixie cut him off, turning back to Jake. "Point is, we're all crazy happy that half the time you're gettin' down with life. But the other half you're staring at nothing or pouting like your goldfish just died. What's up with that?"
He stopped walking and turned to face the two of them, leaning onto a frosted light pole. "Seriously, Trix, it's nothing. I…" he sputtered for a few seconds before growling in frustration and slapping a hand against his helmet. "I don't know, okay? I guess I just miss the UK a little. Walking around in full on dragon-mode, learning magic, making new friends…"
You're leaving, aren't you? He shook his head violently and tried to concoct an explanation. "You don't understand, it was unreal, Trix."
She cocked an eyebrow, her arms crossed. "You know you can't get anything past us, Jakie, so why don't you just say it?"
"Yo, you think I'm lying?" he answered defensively, gripping his skateboard.
"It's totally obvious, dude," Spud informed him.
"That look you keep getting? You've been thinking about her again, haven't you?" Trixie said plainly.
He gaped at her in surprise, the two of them flashing cocky grins in response. "But I…how did...?"
"You're like an open book, bud, totally falling for your chick again," Spud laughed understandingly.
Jake slid his helmet down to cover his face and groaned loudly in muffled defeat. Spud put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he dropped the headgear, looking up miserably at the cloudy sky. "I can't help it, guys, one second I'm in the moment and kickin' it here in the NYC, and the next…"
"Jake, we understand!" Trixie soothed him. He looked back at her sadly, his shoulders sagging. "We're just worried is all. I mean it's been, what, two years since you saw Rose?"
He screwed up his face in confusion. "Who?"
Her and Spud shared a look before she shook her head. "We gotta set you straight, and I know just how, baby. Peepgame, we hit the skate park, shred some mad asphalt, and later…"
"JAAAKE!"
All three of them reflexively groaned as Gregory ran towards them, losing his footing on the frozen concrete at the last moment and sliding into the metal pole Jake was leaning against. Jake bit back his laughter and helped lift his cousin to his feet, brushing off the bits of dirt and blackened snow clinging to his clothing.
"Careful, Greggy, this aint the Keys. You gotta…"
"Trolls are attacking!" Gregory gasped, struggling to support himself on wobbling legs.
"Say what now?" Trixie snapped.
"The Magus Bazaar! A messenger pixie just found me and said they're out of control and trashing the place!"
"It's the middle of Winter, they shouldn't even be above ground!" Jake exclaimed, utterly baffled. "Why are they going nuts, did the pixie say?"
Gregory shook his head, wide eyed. "She just said they were yelling about 'taking over' and waving some weird flag."
Jake narrowed his eyes in suspicion before quickly handing his bag and gear to Spud. He grabbed Gregory's arm and hurried to the nearest alley for cover. "Something's not right Greggy, let's get over there."
"Wait, we're coming too Jake!" Trixie yelled after them.
"You guys go to the shop and find the others, tell them what's going down!" Jake yelled behind them as they turned the corner and disappeared beyond shadows. Blaring car horns and distant sirens filled the air while he released his cousin and shouted, "Dragon UP!" Lost in the fog and mist, a red blur streaked upwards from the dim side street and into the gray sky.
"Wait, Jake! Ugh…Dragon UP!" Jake was soaring through the chilly air, urban Manhattan shrinking below while the neighborhoods of Brooklyn came into focus. Gregory caught up to him, worrying, "Shouldn't we go get Nat and Lao Shi before…"
"No time," Jake called back. They followed high above the Brooklyn Bridge, descending slowly towards the center of the borough to the only place a magical marketplace could be hidden: the densest portion of town, twisting unseen between tight buildings. "Whatever's happening, we've gotta get to the bazaar now. Something's not right."
"You said that already," Gregory grumbled shakily. He snapped his head around and stared at the red dragon flying ahead of him, calling out, "Wait, wait, wait! You don't think it's Chang do you? And you want us to go ALONE?!"
They passed the rooftop of the last imposing high-rise before flying down towards its wide backstreet. Halfway down the building, a warm, fluid sensation spilled over them as they passed through the enchanted veil that concealed their destination. The once empty, grime-filled alley bloomed into an entrancing avenue, meandering like a lazy river with banks lined by stalls and countless creatures rushing in its flow. Jake's eyes found the source of the crowd's terror as they all fled from a procession of ransacking, uproarious beasts, each easily the size of a semi.
Their failed attempts to track down Cheng in the weeks following their return had infuriated Jake, and every ounce of that rage was renewed at the sight of the troll leader waving his instrument of fear: a long metal staff bearing a dark purple flag emblazoned with a black dragon ouroboros. He dove down into the middle of the street and landed gruffly before their mob, straightening up to his fighting stance with arms raised and wings flared while Gregory landed somewhere out of sight just behind him, still mumbling doubtfully.
The trolls halted and gave them deadly stares, their leader pointing the banner at them. "Get out way, Macan Dragon!"
Jake held the stare with a wicked grin, steadfast. "What's your name, big guy?"
The troll narrowed its eyes before grumbling, "Name Gurt."
Jake rolled his eyes. "Of course it is, Gurt. First, you were missing a couple syllables there, it's American Dragon. Say it with me, A-MER-I-CAN." Gurt looked hopelessly confused and tried mimicking Jake, making incoherent sounds like a bear with indigestion. Jake deflated in disappointment. "Close enough. Second, I'm gonna give y'all about ten seconds to turn tail and get the heck outta here before we open up a can of smack'daddy on ALL of your sorry butts. How's that sound?"
Gurt was a stolid mountain, totally unresponsive. Jake smacked himself and was preparing to give a pre-school interpretation when the banner pole slammed into the ground beside him. "Boss make Gurt-clan strong! Mucky Dragon no stop!" Gurt roared, lifting his weapon up for another strike.
Jake looked back to a terrified Gregory and gave a shrug, sighing, "I tried to be nice," before leaping over Gurt's next swing and landing on the troll's lumpy shoulders. "Ooh, almost. Third time's the charm?" Gurt bellowed with anger and, grasping the rod with both of his massive hands, swung it upwards at his passenger.
Laughing, Jake again vaulted upward and cringed as the staff crashed into Gurt's head with an almighty ring. The other trolls watched him topple to the ground, out cold with the American Dragon landing beside him. Jake picked up the fallen flagpole and spun it in the air like a polearm, bringing it to a stop aimed at the stunned assembly with all signs of playful cockiness wiped from his expression.
"Beat it," he said in a low voice. They stood still with stupid looks, unmoving, until Jake roared wildly into the air. The largest ones flinched and immediately backed away, the gathering of trolls quickly turning back and retreating from the marketplace, their leathery backs disappearing around the distant bend in the street.
"Wow, Jake, that was…" Gregory stopped gaping when Jake ripped off the purple flag and tossed it to him. "Uhm, thanks? Jake, what're you…"
"Yo big guy!" He walked back to the downed troll leader and rolled him onto his back, frowning at the very much unconscious mass. Jake waved his hand and a wooden bucket launched off of the ground by a nearby market stand, arching to land on Gurt's head and thoroughly soaking the troll in freezing water. He awakened with a roar and tried to lift himself only to find the metal pole in Jake's grasp pinning his chest to the ground.
"Wakey wakey, Gurt," Jake cooed, Gurt in turn glaring up at him.
"Gurt…head hurts," he grunted.
"And that's not all that's gonna hurt if you don't tell me who the guy you're working for is pronto," Jake threatened, leaning on the rod.
To Jake's irritation, Gurt laughed stupidly before answering, "Dumb dragon. Boss no man, boss lady."
He dug the pole into the troll's skin even further. "Who is it? What's her name?"
Gurt winced in pain and eyed the weapon fearfully. "She…she dragon lady. Name…Pang?"
"Chang." His head flooded with sweltering heat while scratched ringing drowned out the rest of the street. A tiny voice echoed somewhere far away. You've taken care of them before; it ought to be a breeze this time.
"Where is she?" Jake growled. Thick blood began to leak from where the polearm was cutting into the troll's skin. The world seemed tunneled, his focus restricted and blinded. And when that's done, you can all come back…
"No know where, lady no say…"
"Try again," Jake hissed, twisting the pole. Gurt's huge fingers carved into the cobbled street as he writhed in agony.
"Gurt swear, no Gurt, no, no…" he begged.
"LIAR!" The troll cried out in pain. Gregory was calling out to him, but whatever he yelled made no difference. All Jake cared about was the whimpering troll beneath him and the psychopath that had sent him. "You know where she is, tell me! TELL ME!"
Instead of Gurt's answer, Jake received a sharp blow to his side. He rolled to the ground and quickly regained his foothold, ready to strike back at his attacker. Instead, he found the blue dragon form of Lao Shi standing between him and a huddled Gurt, the pole cradled in his hands. His Dragon Master scowled at the bloodied end of the stick before tossing it aside and looking over his shoulder to the troll. "Leave," he commanded quietly.
Gurt wasted no time and hurriedly got to his feet. Jake looked at his grandfather, affronted. "Not yet, G, I'm not done with…"
"Yes, you are." Jake recoiled from the cold look of his Dragon Master. The world that had previously been a burning blur melded back into the quiet bazaar with frightened bystanders peeking out from alleys and windows. Nat stood beside Gregory, who mirrored the uncertain looks of their growing crowd. There was an ache in the pit of his stomach, a shameful guilt that flourished under his grandfather's continued stare.
"Gramps…I…"
"The Council may have been right," Lao Shi said coolly. "Perhaps you have lost perspective."
The words hurt far more than any physical injury. He searched desperately for an explanation but found only the despondent stares of the whispering crowd. He'd been protecting them all, trying to finally find Chang and the Dark Dragon, trying so hard to make everything right! So where had it all gone so wrong?
His eyes trailed back to the bloodied pole. The sight sickened him and he did the only thing he could: he flew away. Away from the accusing stares, the damning evidence, his disappointed grandfather, all of it. No one pursued him and by the time he managed to escape his thoughts he found himself sitting atop the Empire State Building, alone.
Time passed quickly up there. The darkening sky above and sounds of city life below provided an escape for what felt like hours, and Jake gave in to the emptiness. No more memories to fill his head, no more faces to judge him, just the calming breeze and golden coin cradled in his hand.
He'd never felt so lost.
Harry couldn't stop shaking. Flickering torches scattered their shadows as they hurried down the dark stone corridors of Hogwarts, Ron and Professor McGonagall leading the way ahead of him. Every time they passed a corner he whipped his head around in panic, searching for the gleaming eyes of the snake he was certain lurked in the darkness. Another of his nights had been ensnared by an unnatural dream, but this one had gone far beyond the familiar black corridor he'd come to expect.
"Fizzing Whizbee," Professor McGonagall said crisply to a large stone gargoyle. The statue promptly hopped aside, revealing a spiraling staircase that slowly spun upward as the three of them stepped onto it. The tight space and grinding stones were inflaming Harry's paranoia to dangerous levels by the time he finally saw the wooden door of Professor Dumbledore's office.
Though he wanted to slam through the door with reckless abandon, Harry carefully followed his head of house as she knocked three times and lead them into the bleak room beyond. Harry found the headmaster at his candlelit desk, observing them as they entered. "Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall…and…ah."
It was as he'd expected. Dumbledore sternly watched Professor McGonagall and refused to so much as look at him, just as he'd done since the Summer break. The dejection mixed venomously with his frenzied attitude and his rage was once again bubbling close to the surface. Whatever game the headmaster was playing at, there wasn't time for it. He had to make him understand that.
"Well, Potter?" McGonagall pried.
"Er, what?" he responded confused, dragging himself back to the present.
"Describe what you dreamt for Professor Dumbledore."
"It wasn't a dream!" he argued hotly. She gave him a cold stare but didn't interrupt him, so he blundered on, "Well, I mean there was a dream, something different and stupid, but then this one cut in and took over. I saw it happen, Professor. Mr. Weasley was sleeping in some dark room and I couldn't see anything, but a giant…snake attacked him."
The story sounded even more ridiculous as he heard the words leave his mouth. Whirring sounds from the instruments and trinkets throughout the office were the only reminders that the world hadn't completely frozen around him. Dumbledore stared up at the ceiling, his fingertips crossed in thought.
"From what perspective did you see this?" the headmaster asked.
"What?" Harry blinked. "I saw it from my perspective, of course, who else would I…"
"And who were you?" he continued without pause.
Harry could have sworn his heart skipped a beat, or several. He already knows? "The snake," he answered grudgingly. "I was the snake, I attacked Mr. Weasley, Professor." Ron looked sick and shrank into his dressing gown while Professor McGonagall watched him with fierce attention. "Please, sir, he needs help, someone's got to…"
Dumbledore was on his feet, yelling out names and instructions to no one in particular. What surprised Harry more were the many responses that followed, until he looked around the walls of the office and found the many portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses all running about, flitting in and out of their frames hurriedly. When Professor McGonagall conjured chairs for them all to rest in, he sat automatically and observed as Dumbledore walked over to Fawkes and whispered quietly. The phoenix vanished in a plume of flame.
"What about Mr. Weasley, Professor?" Harry begged.
Dumbledore observed a small, smoking instrument on his desk, nodding in apparent understanding. "We will know in just a moment," he mumbled. Harry wasn't satisfied; he'd seen the bites, the blood. Mr. Weasley's broken body didn't have 'a moment'.
He opened his mouth to protest again. "Dumbledore! They've found him!" one of the portraits yelled down at them. "I shouted until security came and told them someone was sneaking around down there. They just walked back past with him."
"Thank you Everard, no doubt Dilys will…"
"He's at St. Mungo's!" the witch named Dilys called just at that moment. "He's just been admitted. It doesn't look good, Dumbledore."
He hummed sagely. "Minerva, kindly wake the other Weasley children." She nodded and quickly swept out of the room. Dumbledore moved back to his desk, mumbling to himself when he wasn't issuing additional instructions. Though Ron was still understandably stricken, Harry felt some relief. At least for now, Mr. Weasley was alive. That was something.
"They haven't found anything else, Dumbledore. No snakes, just a puddle of blood." Everard informed the headmaster. Again, Dumbledore simply nodded in response.
"What about the woman?" Harry sputtered.
All of the paintings and Ron turned to him, Dumbledore twitching but resolutely studying his window curtains. "A woman?" he asked with sudden curiosity. "You mentioned no one else, Harry."
"I was caught up on the…snake. I just forgot I guess," Harry dismissed tiredly. "After I…I mean the snake…attacked Mr. Weasley, someone walked past me…it, and down the hall."
Dumbledore looked away from his lit candle, the fire in his eyes rekindled. "Everard, I trust you were listening. Warn the others, have them search thoroughly." The painted man moved sideways and beyond his frame, leaving the burgundy backdrop vacant. "Did you recognize the person you saw?"
"No, I have no idea who she was," Harry admitted. Dumbledore wasn't disheartened.
"Can you describe her? Did she have any defining clothing or features?"
Compared to the obvious emergency surrounding Mr. Weasley, the strange assailant had demanded very little of Harry's attention and it took a moment for him to relive the vivid scene. "She looked normal, maybe foreign I suppose? After the snake attacked, she walked up, pushed Mr. Weasley's body out of the way, and kept going."
The headmaster sighed gently. He stroked his beard and, now pondering the fireplace, questioned Harry, "Was there anything else? An emblem, perhaps, or jewelry? Maybe a unique aspect of her hair or wand?"
Harry groaned with irritation, his eyes flickering back to the portraits. He was both desperate and afraid for any more news about Mr. Weasley's condition. "I think she was just wearing plain black robes, and her head was covered. I didn't even see a wand," he scoffed, not noticing the immediate pause in Dumbledore's pacing.
The office door opened and Professor McGonagall entered with the rest of Ron's red haired siblings following close behind, all quite disheveled and still in their sleeping apparel. Ginny immediately found Harry and Ron in their chairs, both of them sporting their own equally disturbed expressions.
"What's going on, Harry? Professor McGonagall…" she worried.
"My great-great-grandson is ecstatic, headmaster, and eagerly awaits his guests," a sleek man in one of the lower portraits sneered at Professor Dumbledore as he filled his previously empty painting.
"Thank you, Phineus, and what Professor McGonagall told you is correct, Ms. Weasley. Your father has been seriously injured." A burst of flame appeared in the center of the room and produced a golden feather, which Dumbledore snatched out of the air. He gave a curt nod to Professor McGonagall. "She's coming, Minerva, do whatever you can to stop her." She returned the gesture and swept once more out of the office with a whirl of her gown.
Dumbledore reiterated for the new Weasleys all that had transpired so far while retrieving a rusted kettle and waving his wand over it in mesmerizing motions, the kettle glowing a faint blue in response. Thankfully, he kept the descriptions vague, failing to include Harry's role in the attack, along with the unknown woman. Though they still looked completely uncomprehending by the end of his synopsis, Professor Dumbledore gathered them into a familiar circle with the kettle at its center. Each of them grasped a portion of it, Harry still training his gaze on the wizened old man.
"On three then," he said calmly. "One, two,…" Just before the inevitable yank behind his navel dragged him into that strange realm between the here and there of Portkey travel, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes at last met his. Harry's mind erupted; his instincts were screaming to lash out and strike the man, to tear him limb from limb with unfamiliar, terrifying ferocity. He could feel himself giving in, bowing to the temptation, dreaming of the pulsing satisfaction that laid just an arm's length away…
"…three."
A whirl of sound and color consumed Harry and he soon found their weary group sprawled in the living room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. "There you all are, careful now. Let's get you all to the kitchen," Sirius ushered them as they gathered themselves. They followed numbly, shuffling along in dazed states to find chairs while Sirius delivered butterbeers to each of their places.
A part of him rejoiced at the sight of his godfather. They hadn't exactly ended their last conversation on the most pleasant terms, but just having one person he could depend on in the middle of this madness was a miracle. And yet, looking at the members of the family he'd just thrown into a maelstrom of terror, even having Sirius in the same room did little to calm him.
"Well then…" Sirius said simply when the scraping of chair legs and thumping of bottles had come to an end, "…fill me in. What's happened, what's going on?"
"We'd like to know as well," Fred agreed harshly, staring at Harry along with the others arranged around the table. He ignored their imploring gazes and focused instead on the bottle clutched between his hands in front of him, searching the foaming amber fluid for the answers he couldn't possibly understand, much less explain.
Predictably, he found very little.
There was a distinct dimple in the plaster where the tennis ball bounced against the ceiling. Normally Jake would feel bad about the damage, as well as his mother's continued nagging to quit making so much noise, but lately he found it hard to care much about anything. At least lying on his bed, up here alone in his room, he wasn't surrounded by his prying family. It was just he, his tennis ball, and the peeling roof.
"Jaaake!" Well so much for that. Haley flung open his bedroom door and skipped inside, beaming happily while her older brother ignored her entrance and continued to toss the green ball into the air with his dragon tail. "You know the rules about dragons in the house," she tattled. Jake glared at her scathingly - to her delight - and caught the ball with his hand, allowing the conflicting tail to dissipate in a burst of flame.
"What do you want, Haley?" he asked dryly.
"Mom wants you to come downstairs. It's almost noon and Aunt Cathy's going to be here soon," she answered gleefully, and even Jake had to smile at that. After having to put up with him for the rest of the fall semester and most the winter break, Gregory was finally going home after they all celebrated New Year's that night. Having to be in the same room as both his aunt and cousin for an entire day was a tall order, but they'd tough it out if it meant finally ridding themselves of Gregory.
"Whatever, fine. Give me a sec," he moaned, swinging his legs off of the bed.
"And Jake?" He cocked an eyebrow and she pointed down at his boxers. "You might want to put on some clothes, the undies aren't very flattering." She fled the room giggling, the tennis ball streaking after her down the hall.
Half an hour later, Jake was trudging down the stairs to the sounds of bustling activity as his family busied themselves with preparations. All except Gregory, of course, who lounged on the couch, staring out through the living room window.
"It's about time, Jake," Susan sighed, spotting her son and dragging him into the kitchen. "Come here, you can help me with…" She stopped in front of the stove and turned to look at him more closely, her eyes squinted. "Jake, you look awful! When was the last time you took a shower?" He genuinely pondered the question, and she shook her head before he could answer. "Never mind, I don't want to know. I need to you take out the trash and…"
The doorbell rang. They both turned to watch Haley bound to the front door and swing it open, midday sunlight spilling into the room. "Aunt Cathy!" she laughed, embracing the tall woman silhouetted in the doorframe.
"Haley, darling! You've gotten so big," the woman chimed, pinching the cheeks of the chest-high girl that had barely been above her waist the last time they'd met. She clapped her hands together and called out, "Happy New Year everyone! Where's my little Greggy?"
Gregory groaned loudly as he stood, "Ugh, mom, you know I hate that." Cathy caught him in a hug and he stiffly returned it, smiling despite himself. Susan left Jake in the kitchen and greeted her while Jonathan followed into the home behind Cathy, tucking his car keys into his pocket.
"Oh, sorry honey. You're maturing so quickly," she cooed over her ever-blushing son. Jake felt the bile rising in the back of his throat. "Speaking of which, how was your stay? I don't see Natalya or Lao Shi anywhere."
Jake cringed, his mother answering, "They're closing down the shop for the day before they stop by, they should be here any minute."
"Awesome," Jake mumbled, hoisting up the bag of trash and tying it closed.
"And there's Jacob!" Cathy hummed, wrinkling her nose as he walked past them all carrying the garbage.
"Sup, Aunt Cathy," he grumbled, closing the door behind him without another word.
"Well he hasn't changed," came her muffled voice. He rolled his eyes and walked down to the street, pulling off the lid of the trash bin and dropping his cargo inside. Setting the lid back down, he saw someone across the street watching him closely out of the corner of his eye. After doing a double take, however, he found the sidewalk vacant but for parked cars and scrounging rats.
Jake shrugged and turned back to the house, climbing the porch steps and reaching for the door handle. Something slapped against the back of his head and he twisted around, his right hand red and scaled, reared back to strike. He expected a crazed goblin, a tweaked out pixie, maybe even a leprechaun over-indulging in early celebration. Instead he stared into the beady eyes of a black crow perched on their stone stoop railing.
"What the…man, get outta here," he shooed the crow away with his dragon hand, the other feeling his scalp for any damage. His eyes scanned the street again and came to rest on a rectangular piece of paper at his feet. Jake transformed his arm back and picked it up, discovering the object to be a thick envelope with a styled address written in black ink.
Mr. Jake Long
182 Shorn Eagle Dr,. Second Upstairs Bedroom
New York City, New York
There was no return address, nor stamps. Jake tore the letter open feverishly, cursing himself as he ripped the contents and fumbled to repair the note inside. The same slanted handwriting marked the paper with a short message that lacked any greeting or salutation. Sounds of laughter and casual conversation came from the door to his back as Jake read the letter.
You are urgently requested to travel to the Central Park Carousel.
Kindly arrive alone within the hour.
Your cooperation in this matter is deeply appreciated.
"Say what?" he mumbled, rereading the message. If someone needed the Am-Drag, why didn't they just come ask him? His usual clientele certainly weren't opposed to directly interfering with his life. It definitely wasn't a prank, at least. Still, the vague summons was riddled with suspicion, enough to make Jake question its intentions.
"I mean, it was a little tough at first, but guarding New York's been a piece of cake," Gregory's voice bled through the walls of his home. Jake's jaw clenched so hard it made his teeth ache. Accepting the invitation suddenly seemed much more appealing than brownstone behind him.
"What took you so long, Jakers?" Jonathan laughed as Jake rushed back into the home and up the stairs.
"Uh, nothing!" he called back. He threw on his jacket and helmet and grabbed the skateboard that leaned against his dresser as he quickly left his room and descended the stairs again. He opened the front door, explaining to his curious looking family, "I'm gonna meet up with Trix and Spud at the park, don't wait up for me."
"Wait, Jake, your grandfather…" his mother called out, but he swept outside. He heard her dulled shout of "You come back soon, mister!" as he mounted his board and sped off down the sidewalk. It was too risky to fly in such clear conditions, and the park wasn't that far anyway. Keeping an eye on billboards and screens that he passed, he wagered he still had time to spare when he rounded the last bend in the path and found the crowded carousel.
"Well, I'm here. Now what?" he wondered aloud. Even if he knew who he was looking for, he doubted he'd be able to find them in this chaos. Patience is a virtue, he thought sarcastically, deciding to find an empty bench and watch the mass of people meander about. For all of the apparent urgency in the note, there seemed to be nothing that demanded his attention, nothing requiring a magical guardian's intervention. Had the short ride not actually cheered him up significantly, he might have found the false alarm fairly embittering.
A ways off, he could see the ramps and rails of one his choice skating parks, currently packed with teenagers enjoying their freedom. Truth be told, he couldn't recall the last time he'd skated with his friends, enjoying a blissful afternoon like this one. In fact he couldn't recall much of his school break; it all just seemed to be a single morose blur. The realization made him somber, looking away from the happy sight to his other side at the man filling the bench space beside him that had been empty seconds before.
"Good afternoon, Jake," Dumbledore greeted him.
He immediately recoiled, yelping in surprise just before he recognized the wizard. Jake sat dumbfounded, goggling at the man with a gaping mouth.
"My apologies for being late," he continued, completely unimpeded by his audience's reaction. "Admittedly, I was looking for your unique hairstyle, but the protective headwear made that rather difficult. Your transportation, however, convinced me," he explained happily, pointing at Jake's skateboard: yellow with a red dragon design and green wheels.
Jake's heart was racing. He stood slowly, never taking his eyes away from the bearded man wearing a gray tweed suit and brown loafers. A million questions were begging to be voiced, but one thought had him terrified beyond speech: Dumbledore knew his human face.
"Yo, sorry old-timer, but I…I don't know what you're talking about," he chortled, raising his hands and taking a step back.
Dumbledore lowered his head, looking at him over his half-moon spectacles. "Your commitment to secrecy is commendable, Jake, but in this instance I believe it would be best for us to be plain."
"Plain?" Jake found it hard to move but he also couldn't stand the sight of this man. His expression shifted from that of disbelief to distrust while he sneered, "Yo, you're crazy. There's nothing to be plain about." He turned away and tossed his board to the ground, riding back the way he came and putting distance between him and the oddly dressed wizard.
He'd made it halfway through the park and detoured along the lake, riding with the edge of its nearest bank, before he finally stopped to look behind him. Seeing that the wizard had decided not to follow him was some comfort. He'd strongly considered how best to fight the man if it came to it and the prospect of doing so in broad daylight hadn't been all too thrilling.
"Aw man…this is bad, this is so bad," he groaned, unbuckling his helmet and ruffling his hair, trying to calm himself. "If Dumbledore knows, then who else…" Umbridge's sickly smile drifted through his mind, "…the Ministry. I've gotta find gramps, we need to tell the Council."
"That would be the appropriate response," a familiar aged voice commented behind him. Jake whirled around and nearly fell over at the sight of Dumbledore standing behind him.
"Stop doing that!" he yelled, having had his fill of surprises for the day. He tossed his helmet and skateboard to the ground, tensing his arms at his sides and glaring at the man before him. "If you're trying to start something, just say so. I could use the exercise."
"Actually, I came to ask you a question," he said lightly, resting a hand on a nearby railing.
"A question…right," Jake scoffed. "I mean calling would just be too easy, and the mail would take forever, am I right?" Dumbledore seemed unabashed by the snide comments and cheerily reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded square of parchment.
"You'll find the answer much simpler." He handed Jake the paper, continuing, "I wanted to see if you could identify this person."
Jake took it warily and peeled his gaze off of Dumbledore long enough to examine the crude sketch. Her eyes were off center and her nose grossly disproportioned, yet Jake still seethed with rage as he recognized the former councilor turned traitor, Chang. "I take it you've met her before?" Dumbledore asked.
"You don't know the half of it," Jake sneered, giving the drawing back to the wizard like a used tissue. "That's Chang, she's the Dark Freak's right hand dragon. We almost had her a couple months back, but long story short we blew it. What's your damage with her?"
Dumbledore again reached into his jacket, this time retrieving a small crystal vial containing a tuft of ghostly silver strings. "This memory was from a friend of mine who was attacked some weeks ago in the Ministry of Magic. He has since recovered, though it took a great deal of time and thus delayed how soon I could see the event myself."
"Woah, hold up, you said that's his memory? Like, his thoughts and feelings, just yanked out of his head?" Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow. "What? That's creepy, digging through someone's dome and stuff!"
"I assure you he provided it willingly," Dumbledore smiled. "The woman's appearance and behavior were unusual, though your Dragon Master Lao Shi had warned me of such a character not long after you left Hogwarts. I wished to confirm that suspicion in person." Jake twitched at the mention of his grandfather, though Dumbledore either failed to notice or chose not to question it.
Jake crossed his arms, looking away from the wizard. "Hate to ruin the party, but you got the wrong guy. The old man's just down the street, but I'm guessing you didn't mix up addresses. Why drag me out here?"
"Because I have a request," Dumbledore said softly, "and I understand completely if you wish to refuse." Jake went wide-eyed, completely uncomforted by Dumbledore's continued stoicism.
"See, that's really not the way to start asking someone for a favor," Jake chided.
The wizard tucked the vial back into his clothing. "The reason we were able to find the victim of the attack in time to save him was because someone witnessed it in a sort of vision."
"Like a prophecy?" Jake guessed, thinking back to the loud-mouthed Oracle Twins.
Dumbledore hummed before answering, "Yes and no. Rather than a vague prediction of the future, this account was experienced firsthand and in real time from the view of the assailant, which suggests a direct mental connection between the attacker - in this case a giant snake under the command of the Dark Lord, Voldemort - and the observer."
"A snake?" Jake laughed, incredulous. "Your guy got attacked by what's-his-face's snake?!" He tossed his hands in the air, beside himself. "Hang on, what freak has a 'mental connection' with a stupid snake?"
Dumbledore faced him slowly. "Harry Potter." A cloud of fog escaped into the chilly air from Jake's gaping mouth. "The link had previously gone unnoticed by Voldemort, but he is now well aware and quite capable of abusing it for his own desires."
"When you say abuse…" Jake asked timidly.
"Primarily sensing emotions and interpreting thoughts, though it's certainly possible for there to be mental manipulation or even complete possession," Dumbledore answered darkly.
"Complete posses-…yo, Dumble, you gotta get Harry out of Hogwarts. Take him somewhere safer where your big baddy can't get to him!" Jake exclaimed.
"Ah, and therein lies the problem," Dumbledore sighed. "There is no place safer than Hogwarts, but the risk of Harry being used as a weapon is still too great. The stress of being removed from his classes may break Harry's limited defenses, yet I also can't assist him personally without drawing Voldemort's focus."
The standing hairs on the back of his neck told Jake he didn't like the direction Dumbledore was taking. He collected himself and said, "I get it, you're in deep, but you still haven't told me what you want. Just spit it out already." The wizard nodded and paused for a good while, staring intently at the teenager.
"I want you to return to Hogwarts."
It felt like he'd just slammed into another goal post. Every fiber of his being wanted to unthinkingly accept the offer, but there was something he was missing, something Dumbledore hadn't told him. "Let's be real, dawg, no one's gonna go for the dragons making a comeback after the way we left."
"Undoubtedly," he agreed, giving Jake an expectant look. "As Headmaster, I could never circumvent the Ministry of Magic's wishes and host dragons."
"You don't mean…" Jake whispered. The wizard was unreadable. "Yup, you've lost it. If you think we're all going to come back acting like humans and just hope no one recognizes us…"
"Not everyone." Dumbledore corrected. "The coincidence would be unmistakable, not to mention, if I recall correctly, your homes still require defending."
It was getting worse. "Gramps?..." Jake teetered.
Dumbledore's expression grew ever more somber. "There is no suitable place for your Dragon Master, and I doubt that he would approve of this venture, were he involved."
"Of course he wouldn't, what sane person would?!" Jake shouted while the pigeons foraging nearby fluttered away. "By myself in a school of walking, hormonal time bombs, I mean come on!" He took a deep breath and shook out his arms as magical embers began to spark out along his skin, continuing in a strained voice, "I don't know how you figured us out, but you must be desperate if you think I'm gonna risk anyone else finding out too."
"I am very desperate," Dumbledore agreed readily, catching Jake off guard. "If all else fails, if Harry becomes a weapon of the Dark Lord, the consequences for the other students would be…unthinkable." For the first time since Jake met the man, Dumbledore was genuinely angry, his jaw set in determination.
"And what good will having me there be?" Jake asked curiously.
"You are familiar with the school, classes, and, more importantly, Harry himself. I can think of no one better suited to restraining the boy should Voldemort strike before we can teach Harry to defend himself," Dumbledore explained.
"A fail-safe, huh? Your 'Plan B'?" Jake shook his head. "You don't get it, wiz, I'm not a spy. I won't last one day without someone seeing right through me," Jake complained, thinking of the witty girl with brown, curled hair.
"Benjamin is well experienced in that field and has already volunteered his services in preparing you for the task before the start of next term," Dumbledore informed him.
"Hang on, you know about Stout?" The wizard smiled. "And he actually went along with this psycho plan?"
Dumbledore rubbed the collar of his coat. "Benjamin, unfortunately, knows all too well the danger the Dark Lord poses. We are quite like-minded in this scheme, as he also insisted that your involvement be entirely your decision."
"Gee, thanks," Jake scoffed. "Glad I get a vote this time, but let's recap. I go back to Hogwarts as Not-Jake the wizard and wait to tackle Harry if he finally cracks without letting my secret slip and dooming my race. Not to sound selfish, Dumble, but that's a pretty big one-way street. Why would I do any of that?"
Dumbledore regained his usual joviality. "To get what everyone desires: a second chance."
Jake paused, hesitant. "To capture Chang?" he clarified.
"Amongst other things…yes," Dumbledore answered cryptically. Jake had never noticed just how beautiful it was watching the sunlight gleam off of the surface of the crystalline lake.
Don't…don't give up, Jake.
Bursting through his home front door once again, Jake failed to register any of the faces calling out to him from the living room as he sprinted up the stairs. He threw his empty backpack and a duffel bag on his bed, filling them with whatever essential clothing and items he could find. A bracelet and a few vials tucked away, the gray cloak crumpled, and his Galleon stowed in his pocket as ever, he zipped up the bags and walked to his window. Gazing down, he could see the tall wizard waiting patiently in the alley below.
Someone was banging on his door when he slipped through the window sill and slid down the rails of his fire escape. He approached the wizard, unsure of how the man was intending to travel without a broom but nevertheless swimming in his own exhilaration.
"You're certain, Jake? There is no turning back. Your friends and family will be hurt, they may even blame themselves," Dumbledore warned him.
"Don't worry, wiz. The way things have been lately…let's just say I know exactly who they'll blame." Dumbledore inquired no further and simply extended an arm out toward him.
"Hold tight, and be warned. It is not uncommon when apparating for the first time to become sick."
"Well it wouldn't be New Year's without a little puke," Jake joked, taking one last look up at his simple home. Soon, someone would lose patience and force their way into his room and find it disheveled with a hastily scrawled note on his bare desk, the words I have to do this, I'm sorry written in his messy handwriting.
No, there'd be no confusion as to why he'd left.
He turned away and gripped the rough, woolly fabric of Dumbledore's coat sleeve and with a crack the alley was empty once more.
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