Apologies for the long update time, but it's all nice and gift wrapped for you. Here's Chapter 23, hope you enjoy.

"Are you kiddin', gramps? What's this got to do with Jake?" Lao Shi pulled the newspaper out from the dog's hands and stabbed his finger at the article on the front page.

"This has everything to do with Jake," Lao Shi answered with determination. "He has been troubled ever since Chang escaped us, and I dread to think what lengths he'll go to for a chance at redemption."

Fu Dog gave an unconvinced sigh, rubbing his paws through the cavernous wrinkles lining his face. "We looked high and low for their crew, and we didn't find squat. For all we know, the Dark Dragon could have high-tailed it months ago, the kid knows that!"

"Which is why he would think beyond New York City, as we must," Lao Shi explained. He stepped down from his perch atop a bar stool inside the cluttered electronics shop and walked through the room, gathering up various provisions as he went.

"I'm all for that, but c'mon old man, the UK? It could just be more yellow journalist gossip; their paper is so slanted a mountain troll wouldn't climb it! " Lao Shi ignored his objection, scooping up clothes and alchemical ingredients into his bag. "Listen, he's a kid," Fu Dog persisted. "Even you remember what that's like. He probably got fed up with the dragon gig, or school, or girls, or a million different things! Point is, this is probably good for him. He'll come back when he's ready."

"Will he?" Lao Shi asked doubtfully. "We all need our peace at times, but a week is too long, even for Jake. He has a life, responsibilities, family..." He stared at a picture of his grandson and himself, sitting on the beach at the Isle of Draco when they'd first gone together years ago. "He is headstrong and a handful at times, but Jake is also dependable. To be gone this long..."

Fu Dog rested a comforting paw on his shoulder. "Gramps..."

"It's my fault, Fu Dog." He shrugged off the gesture and a small bell chimed as he opened the front door, the pattering sounds from the rainstorm outside seeping into the room. The downpour gave him an excuse to bow his head low without showing his shame. "I pushed him too hard, I was too critical...but I am his Dragon Master, and I will fix this."

"And what if he's not there and you get jumped by them, huh? What then?" the Shar Pei argued, standing on his hind legs with his front paws crossed.

"Then I will finish what I started thirty years ago," Lao Shi answered in a heavy voice.

"By yourself? Face it, Lao, even you're not that good. It'd be suicide! At least get help from the Council!"

"No!" he snapped. "The Dark Dragon may not yet be aware of Jake's absence, and we must work to keep it that way. The other World Dragons cannot be involved. For Jake's own good, we...I...must do this alone."

Fu Dog raised his voice to plead further, but Lao Shi walked out into the rain and shut the door behind him. If he knew his grandson half as well as he thought he did, then there would be one thing on his mind, an obsession that Lao Shi himself was partly to blame for. The only problem had been knowing where to look, but now, thanks to the enchanted newspaper tucked beneath his arm, he at last had a lead to follow.

He could only hope that he would not be too late.

Harry's head still ached from the previous night. At its worst, the flaring pain from the vision had been excruciating, almost as terrifying as the surge of foreign emotion that had dominated his consciousness. Even though it had wilted to a dull twinge since then, he still felt uneasy, reaching his hand up again to rub the tender scar.

"I was worried something like that might happen," Hermione sighed, looking to Harry apologetically. They were walking down the staircases to breakfast and she had bit her lip while listening as Harry and Ron explained what had transpired in their dormitory. "With Snape attacking your mind during your lessons, your defenses were bound to be weakened. That's why I sent Ron after you last night, just to make sure you were alright."

"Good thing I went," Ron sneered. "Can't call being sat on by a nutter 'alright', can you?" He craned his neck back to glare behind them where Neville walked beside John and Seamus, ranting away about their coming classes and completely oblivious to John frowning at his shoes.

"Leave it, Ron, it was nothing," Harry said in a low voice. "John looked as scared as you, maybe he was trying to help."

"Is that what that was, helping?" he guffawed loudly. "I'm telling you, he's taken a jinx to the head or…" Hermione threw him a reprehensive look and he fell into quiet grumbling as they walked into the crowded Great Hall.

Students lined the tables, bent low in huddled groups and whispering quietly with all signs of the usual morning conversation vanished. They found an open space and ate their breakfast while Harry looked around, disconcerted by the unusually guarded atmosphere. Even the staff members at the head table appeared unnerved. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall spoke intently with one another while Umbridge cut away at her grapefruit, looking sideways at the other professors venomously.

"I wonder what's got everyone on edge," Hermione thought aloud. A tawny owl swooped in through the rafter windows and landed in front of her, knocking aside the margarine and extending a leg with a tightly bound newspaper attached to it. She slid a knut into its leather pouch and set the parcel aside to resume her meal.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Harry responded, equally worried. Ron merely grunted in answer, his mouth preoccupied with chewing his third helping of sausage, when John sprinted behind his bench towards the entrance doors. As he passed, his bag swung from his shoulder and smacked Ron in the back, knocking him forward in a coughing fit while his plate toppled sideways, spilling potatoes across the table.

"Oi! Watch it!" he hacked, wiping pieces of greasy food from his robes. John was already out of view, however, so he turned on them instead. "What was that all about?"

"No clue," Harry mumbled, looking back to where John had been sitting beside the others. Neville slouched with a copy of the Daily Prophet crumpled in his tight grip, his face flushing as he read it. "Neville doesn't look too pleased either, whatever it is."

Hermione followed his gaze with squinted eyes before snatching up her own copy and tearing it open. Ron complained, "I told you he was a nutter, didn't I? You heard me say it! And just where are you going?" he barked, for Hermione was hurriedly stuffing the paper into her bag and standing from the bench.

"They knew this would happen…as if anyone would believe they'd actually…I've got to get a letter to her…" she muttered. Before Ron could press her, she ambled down the line of benches and disappeared beyond the doors, leaving Harry and Ron alone at the table.

"Everyone's completely mental," he scoffed, staring after her in bewilderment. Harry was losing his patience and walked over to Neville's place to look over his shoulder at the black and white paper in his hands. On the front page, ten savage people leered up at him, each wearing ragged clothing and shackles as they yelled and gestured from their moving pictures.

"It's her," Neville said in a choked voice, pointing at the most deranged of all the subjects: a cackling, gaunt woman with unruly hair and wild eyes to match. "Bellatrix Lestrange. She's the one…" Harry didn't need any help remembering the addled couple they'd seen at St. Mungo's.

"Neville, I'm sorry but…can I…?" Neville nodded and handed the papers to him without a word, eyes locked on the table below him. Harry flipped open the pages to read over the first couple of articles and several pieces in his mind began sliding into place.

"Let me guess, now you're going to run off too?" Ron derided when Harry approached him at an urgent pace. Harry tossed him the newspaper, nodding to it expectantly.

"I told you last night that Voldemort was really happy," he answered ominously, "and now I think I know why."

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN
MINISTRY FINDS EVIDENCE PLACING DRAGONS
BEHIND FREEING OF OLD DEATH EATERS

The headline grabbed his attention like a magnet, and Jake knocked over a stand of toast in his haste to snatch up the paper. Seamus looked alarmed but didn't argue with having his copy of the Daily Prophet ripped away, settling instead for griping quietly to Dean beside him. Jake ignored his accusing stare, focused solely on the page in front of him that was covered in the mugshots of ten particularly filthy and disturbed witches and wizards. The names of the criminals were unfamiliar, but even Jake knew the danger of any wizard branded a 'Death Eater'.

The parts that had his heart racing, however, were the accusations by the Minister of Magic that appeared near the end of the article.

"We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. There are also undeniable signs and testimonies from multiple eyewitnesses that several creatures resembling dragons were responsible for the majority of the damage to the prison itself. We can only assume that the Dragons of Draco Isle orchestrated this assault, adding to their experience from their attack on the village of Hogsmeade last September while abetting these criminals. We are doing everything we can to track down the culprits, and on no account should these persons, wizard or dragon, be approached."

His first thought had been the headmaster, and he'd gotten to his feet in a flash, ready to move towards the head table. Yet when he'd laid eyes upon the aging man that was supposedly his lifeline, the same sickening doubt from the night before churned in his stomach. Dumbledore turned away from his conversation with Professor McGonagall and saw him watching, but Jake promptly about-faced and sprinted for the doors, crashing past students as he refused to let himself be pacified by the wizard's piercing blue eyes.

This is bad. We thought Chang and the big guy were flying solo, but if they teamed up with Volde-creep...no. There's no way, he hates wizards. He'd never work with them...

Even in his mind, the words seemed to ring hollow. He rushed up the Grand Staircase aimlessly, pausing at the fourth floor landing to lean against a wall, gasping for breath. What do I do? Dumble could just be a backstabbing old geezer, even if Stout said... He snapped up straight and clapped a hand to his head. Stout! I have to tell him! If the Dark Dingus really is behind the prison break...aw man...but how am I supposed to get a hold of the guy?

Restricted to the wizards' near ascetic lifestyle, finding a telephone lying around wasn't all that likely. C'mon, think Jake. You're in a castle filled with magic, there has to be something here you can use. A forest fairy, a crystal ball, something! A shadow flashed across the floor and he looked outside to see a couple of owls streaking past the window. Struck by inspiration, he tore off up the staircase, resuming his frantic climb.

He'd never had to use it before, but Jake had flown past the owlery tower on more than one occasion and found it just as easily on his feet. Pushing open the door, he wrinkled his nose at the tall, stuffy chamber covered in feathers and filth, lined from dusty floor to arching rafters with owls of all shapes and sizes. It's gonna take forever to talk to him this way, but it's better than nothing. Jake approached a nearby cluster of owls, deciding on the one with the least hazardous looking talons, and flipped open his bag to dig around for materials. His fingers latched onto a bumpy little object and he retrieved his hand to find it holding the small brown journal Stout had given him. He stared at it for a moment, blinking, and almost forgot what the book even was when Stout's voice surfaced from his memories.

Whatever's written in one appears in the other...

A switch flicked in Jake's mind and he had to fight the temptation to slam his head against the wall out of disappointment. Don't...don't even say anything. This never happened. The pages inside were all still blank when he cracked it open, looking perfectly new and smelling of fresh paper. Well at least I didn't miss anything, he reasoned, turning back to the first page and readying his quill and ink. A few messy scribbles later and the spotless page bore his usual, almost unintelligible writing.

Stout! Read the paper?

He set the feather in his ink well, slouching against the grimy wall and trying to bite back his pessimism. Watch it not even work, or Stout be busy with the Ministry or some other dragon biz. A light breeze blew in from the windows, ruffling Jake's hair and bringing with it fresh highland air. The chilling breeze sent shivers across his skin and he couldn't help moving to brace himself on the nearest awning, leaning out and dipping his head into the morning sky. He longed to throw away his pendant and dive out over the grounds below, feeling the wind beneath his wings, the air rushing in his ears.

The bell tower tolled in the distance, signaling the imminent start of classes. Jake grudgingly pulled himself back into the room and turned to his bag and open book. Shuffling over to collect his things, he looked down and noticed his simple, unclean sentence had been joined by another, much more refined, line below it. Jake picked up the journal, smirking at Stout's impeccable handwriting.

So you are alive, good. Yes, it was quite the read, and for once not exaggerated in the slightest.

His stomach plummeted like an anvil. So it was them after all. Figures. He plopped the quill in his ink and returned it to the page, scribbling hurriedly.

So what's the plan? What are we gonna do about it?

He watched the page like a red traffic light, anxious for Stout's response and fidgeting with impatience. His own message had finished drying in the paper by the time Stout's precise lettering began appearing further down the page, the ink seeping out of the paper and shaping the slick words.

'We' aren't doing anything. I'll handle the dragons, you focus on Potter.

Jake cringed. He'd been so caught up in the attack that he'd left Harry completely unattended for nearly an hour now. Self-loathing aside, thinking back to the others also reminded him about their whispered conversation last night and the concerning secrets they had unwittingly divulged under their breath.

About that. Harry and his pals were talking last night about Chang's break-in. They said she was going after a 'Department of Mysteries' for some kind of weapon. What's that about?

He received no response for what felt like ages. Jake was on the verge of badgering Stout with another message when fresh letters blossomed on the page.

Not sure. It's news to me, but don't concern yourself with it. The last thing you need is to be distracted.

Jake tossed his hands up in annoyance and began scratching his response deep into the paper in an agitated flurry.

Oh my bad for doing my job! And I am SO not -

Rusty hinges cried out as the heavy tower door swung open. Jake jumped to his feet in surprise, his materials launching from his lap and sliding across the floor. Cursing himself, he bent down to try and salvage his ink well and reached out to scoop up the splayed journal, but stopped halfway as he found a pair of black shoes. Jake lifted his head, following along the covered legs and robed torso until his gaze rested on an inquisitive face framed by curled brown hair.

"John?" Hermione asked in surprise. Jake was frozen again, still kneeling on the hard floor and goggling at her with a sagging jaw. She looked toward the dark ink stains on the floor and commented sympathetically, "Oh, were you sending a letter as well?"

It was like the common room introductions all over again; choked throat, sweaty palms and all. Time was both a blur and motionless all at once, if that were possible. His heart raced with the effort of watching her watching him while his mind ran slower than molasses. Even the voice in his mind stuttered apprehensively. Snap out of it! Say yes, or no, just say something!

Still transfixed and stupidly gawking, his right hand raised up and settled on top of his green-tipped hair in a show of his new diminutive sign language. Hermione's face contorted with pangs of pity and indignation, and she made a disgruntled noise before stepping forward and pulling his arm down. "For heaven's sake, don't talk like that!" she scolded him, looking around at the room in embarrassment.

The terse reaction made him straighten up and clamp his mouth shut, trying not to fixate on how warm his arm felt where she'd touched him. His reaction must have appeared offended as she softened and apologized, "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you." Once again he stared blankly, though this time she feigned no patience and her face pinched together in concern. "Are you okay, John?"

He nodded with a strained grin. His instincts begged him to run and he couldn't agree more, snapping back down and scurrying along the floor to retrieve his things. I can't take it! Go, get out, anywhere's better than here! Hermione noticed and bent down to pick up the journal at her feet. A silent yell tried to escaped Jake's charmed throat as she lifted it upwards, moving to read it. He wrenched it out of her loose grip in one quick movement, earning a startled yelp and defensive glare from Hermione. Jake held the book close to his chest, flashing a sheepish smile.

"Honestly," she huffed, striding away towards one of the gaping windows surrounded by resting owls. Jake relaxed and dropped the book back into his bag, still recoiling at the thought of anyone, especially Hermione, managing to read its contents. Renewed ringing echoed from the bell tower outside, bouncing off the walls and warning him that he'd spent far too much time in this chilling room. Needing no further persuasion, he swung up his bag and made it halfway through the entryway before he paused midstep.

"Just sit still for one...little...second..." Against his better judgement, Jake looked over his shoulder to see Hermione struggling to tie a folded note to one of the owls' scrawny legs. Her twitchy messenger jostled and hooted, but her fumbling fingers eventually secured the small parcel. Smiling, she cooed, "There, now make sure that gets to her." In an instant, the owl shot out of the window and soared away. Hermione stared after it for a moment before picking up her things to leave, stopping short of her first step when she noticed Jake waiting at the doorway. With truly impressive speed, her pleased expression returned to one of distanced formality.

"What's so funny?" she asked stiffly. Jake realized he had been grinning thoughtlessly and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel the heat flooding his face, but Hermione either failed to notice or didn't care about his discomfort. "Well I'm heading to Charms. You ought to as well if you don't want to be late," she said properly, walking past Jake and descending the stairs beyond the tower door. Whether having Hermione out of sight eased his tensions or his adrenaline rush was simply beginning to wane, Jake's tunneled focus gradually loosened and he felt nauseous from the pool of regret welling in his stomach.

That's it? Really? Well, way to go Jake. You actually had the chance to be alone with her after all that trouble, and that's all you got? He smacked his forehead repeatedly. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Hales was right, I'm so not on my game. The day, it seemed, was off to an awful start, and Jake could do little to make it otherwise. At least, that was his resignation as he slouched passed the door and heard Hermione's distant footsteps echoing up the winding tower stairs. A faint urge battled inside of him, fighting to make him sprint down the stairs and try again to connect with the witch. The rest of him, however, kept him stolid and somber, moving slowly as if he were descending towards his demise.

And with each step the pendant seemed to grow heavier, digging into the skin of his neck.

"Please don't let it be Thestrals...or Fire Crabs...or Unicorns..."

"Give it a rest, Hermione," Harry begged. "Hagrid will be fine, you'll see."

"Fine?" She laughed without humor. "Harry, how many times did we warn him about his lessons, about Umbridge? And did he ever listen to us, even once?"

"He was only trying to do what he thought was right," Harry argued.

"And now he's on probation, Harry," she countered breathlessly. "How much longer before he gets himself sacked, hm?"

"Oh lay off the poor guy, would you?" Ron sighed. "He's got it hard enough as is, he doesn't need you when you're in a mood."

"A mood?" she refuted.

"Yes, a mood," he pressed forward. "All morning you've been riled up! What's got your wand in a knot?"

Hermione scoffed defensively, but didn't respond right away. They had finally made it out to the fields from the castle and began climbing down the green sloping lawn, Hagrid's hut growing larger against the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "I am not 'riled up'," Hermione contested. "I'm only worried about him! Umbridge has been looking for someone to sack, we all know it! It's only a matter of who she chooses first, Hagrid or Professor Trelawney, and Hagrid wasn't exactly putting up much of a fight before break."

"Come on, now, I think it's a bit more than that," Ron sneered. "Ever since you ran out on breakfast you've been all jittery. It's not all that normal, you know."

"Well I'm terribly sorry for getting worked up over ten Death Eaters escaping from Azkaban!" she countered, her voice rising in pitch. "Honestly, I would think you two would be more concerned about this! I mean look at Neville, he..." She quieted as Harry put a hand on her shoulder and nodded behind her. They looked back to see Neville following a ways behind them, his eyes staring at his feat and hidden beneath a curtain of short black bangs. He hadn't said so much as a word all morning, and though they all knew the reason why none of them had worked up the nerve to confront him about it.

Brushing past the discomfort, Hermione continued in a hushed whisper, "Well, he's not the only one that's upset, Susan Bones was even worse in Transfiguration. And John didn't exactly get off to a good start either..."

"John?" Harry asked in surprise. Not counting the previous night, the new boy had maintained his usual silent atmosphere. If anything, the classes so far had positively bored him, and while he'd impressed Professor Flitwick with his silent charmwork, his results had been less than satisfying with Professor McGonagall. He could vanish whatever you liked in the blink of an eye, but anything other than that was pretty well out of the question. Even now he followed alongside Neville, twirling his wand like a baton and frowning at the sky.

"Yes, I ran into him in the Owlery and he was far from charming," Hermione commented.

"It was probably because of the Death Eaters, you saw the way he ran out of the Great Hall," Harry offered.

"Not likely," Ron snickered. "Belongs in St. Mungo's, that one, but you've got a point Hermione."

She whipped her head around and stared at him, utterly perplexed. "I do?"

Ron nodded ahead of them significantly. "You-Know-Who's got everyone jumping, and that goes for the ministry as well."

The other two looked ahead to see Hagrid standing by his hut, twiddling his thumbs and looking around him nervously. Off to his side, Harry unfortunately found the frilly pink cause of his concern. Umbridge sat on a stump nearby, cushioned by a laced little pillow and waiting patiently with her clipboard and oversized quill in hand. The same sour look of disdain from earlier still clung to her face, and she watched their group approach with a shrewd stare. When they had all arranged in a loose circle, their massive instructor shook himself and began the lesson, boldly attempting to avoid Umbridge's critical looks.

"Right, well, good ter see yeh all again," he welcomed them uncertainly, still wringing his hands. "Yer O.W.L.s are right 'round the corner, now, so we're goin ter, uh, talk about some 'o the more common creatures. Now, can anyone tell me what this little bugger is?" When no one responded, he looked to Hermione, no doubt expecting to see her hand raised. Instead, she wore the same searching expression as the rest of the class.

"Er, Professor," Harry said carefully. "There isn't anything here."

"Isn't anything..." the half-giant mumbled, looking around him now. "Blimey, where did I put him...there 'e is!" While whispers spread around their circle, Hagrid wandered just off to the side of his home and lifted up a large cage hidden behind a few crates. Plopping the metal container down on another stump just beside him, he moved aside for the class to see an impish little creature inside. It was shorter than a goblin, and not unlike a gnome, but was covered in coarse hair, had a bulbous nose, and stood on two hooved feet. The students corralled around it, watching curiously as it shied away from their attention and tried to dig through the cage's metal bottom.

"Oh thank goodness," Hermione breathed with relief, raising her hand confidently into the air.

"Hermione?" Hagrid called.

"That's a Porlock," she answered. "They're small creatures that live in fields and are timid around humans."

"Perfect, as usual. Five points fer Gryffindor," Hagrid praised her. "Right, Porlocks...fields and such..." He looked sideways at Umbridge, who was scribbling away on her papers, muttering uncomplimentary words under her breath. Hagrid's hands twirled together ever more anxiously as his train of thought went farther off track. "Who can, er...who can tell me..."

"If I may," Umbridge spoke up, lifting her eyes from her page of notes and fixating on Hagrid. "Could you tell me what is the primary diet of a Porlock?" At that moment, a loud crashing sounded from far off in the depths of the forest, and flocks of birds could be seen fleeing over the tops of trees. More whispers kicked up around their grouping, and Umbridge squinted at the dense woods just as curiously, but Hagrid straightened up, determined to ignore the disturbance.

"Well grubs, o'course," he answered in a fluster. Hermione let out a distressed groan while Umbridge returned her attention to him, smiling sweetly and making no comment.

"He's wrong," Hermione whispered, her hand slowly lifting into the air. "He's getting mixed up with Umbridge watching..."

"Don't say anything!" Harry hissed, yanking her arm down. "If you tell him he'll only get more nervous, and then..."

"Er, yes, what...wait a minute..." Hagrid called out. Harry turned away from Hermione to see Hagrid addressing John, who had his hand raised. "I thought...aren't yeh one o' the third-years?"

Snickering ran through the circle of students. John blushed brilliantly and looked to Neville for assistance. Neville, however, was still standing in his dejected silence, oblivious to his beckoning. John turned to his other side instead and nudged Dean in the shoulder, gesturing to Hagrid.

"...uh, sure," Dean muttered. "Hagrid, this is John. He's new, and he doesn't talk."

Hagrid looked bemused. "A wizard that don't talk? Now who ever heard o' that..." John had his hand back in the air, distracting Hagrid. "Oh, right. What was it, er...John, yeh said?"

The short boy scribbled on a shred of paper and handed it to Dean. "He says that...Porlocks eat grass, not grubs, I think," he clarified.

"Right..." Hagrid choked, blinking. "Right, that's...that's what I meant, grass..." Umbridge's quill scratched and scraped in the tense silence that followed. Searching frantically, Hagrid announced, "Alright all, I...I want yeh to take drawings o' this Porlock and watch him fer the rest of class, got that?" The circle of students encroached closer towards the cage and pulled out materials from their bags to take notes with while Hagrid wandered around, occasionally making remarks about their specimen. Umbridge performed her own service, and Hagrid had managed to answer a few of her questions correctly. His nerve had vanished, however, and the lesson ended with everyone eagerly walking away from the edge of the woods, leaving Hagrid behind with his queer, balled up little Porlock.

Harry tried to wave goodbye as they left, but Umbridge had him engaged in yet another round of interrogation. "C'mon Harry," Ron called to him. "We've got to make it to the greenhouses before Herbology starts."

"Right," he sighed, joining his friends in their climb back up the lawns. Even after following Hermione's advice of having less exciting lessons, Hagrid had still stood little chance against Umbridge's wilting attention, and Harry had to admit that at this rate the matter of Hagrid's sacking was not a question of 'if', but 'when'. As much as it pained Harry to see their friend struggling, any attempt they made to help him would likely only make things worse. The real problem, after all, wasn't Hagrid at all. If only Umbridge weren't breathing down his neck, then maybe...

"Who Hagrid?" Dean's voice carried down from his conversation with John ahead of them. "Oh, he's been teaching Care of Magical Creatures for, what, three years now I think?" John looked disbelieving and scrawled out another small note as they all stopped just outside the greenhouses, waiting for the current class to finish before they entered. When Dean took his finished message, he straightened with understanding and answered, "Oh, right, Professor Grubbly-Plank. She was our substitute near the beginning of the year, but Hagrid came back a couple months in."

John handed him another note. Dean looked uncomfortable as he read the message out loud. "Are all his lessons that bad? Well, not all of them. Usually they're much..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Everyone turned at Harry's outburst as he focused on the short green haired boy with the questioning, innocent look. It did nothing to curb Harry's emboldened rage. "I think Hagrid's a great teacher, so what's your problem with him?"

John made a half-cringing face as if to say You really think that? and tried to write out another hasty message, but Harry didn't wait for it. "I don't care what you've got to say. You don't know Hagrid at all, or Hogwarts. You've haven't been here two days, what do you know about anything?"

"Harry, he just meant..." Dean said carefully.

"If it's so awful here, then feel free to leave. We won't stop you," Harry scorned him. Their gathering was dead silent, John staring at him with wide-eyed shock. Neville finally lifted his head to watch Harry with surprise. He didn't care. What right did this speechless boy, who just showed up on their doorstep thinking he was one of them, have to criticize anything about the school, let alone one of his best friends? Harry took it as support of his right in the matter that neither Ron nor Hermione, who took it upon themselves to dampen his temper, made any attempt at restraining him.

The greenhouse doors cracked open and a stream of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws poured out, smelling strongly of fertilizers. John's stunned expression shifted to one of aggressive defiance and he was the first to throw himself into the humid room once the stream of students had subsided. Harry felt no shame and was, if anything, glad to not have the affronting boy in his sight for the moment. The others filed in after him, Ron and Hermione standing beside him in concern while he tried to rein in his emotions.

"Don't let him get to you, mate," Ron comforted him. "He's just a scrawny little git, that's all."

"He probably didn't even mean to insult Hagrid," Hermione added halfheartedly.

"I think he meant every word of it," Harry dismissed her. They found available seats at the work benches and waited for Professor Sprout, who was meeting with John by the racks of empty pots, to begin class. When John finally did reach his seat, Harry could see him casting sickly glances at the fertilizers spaced throughout the room. Beneath his lingering scowl, he was clearly paling and looking undoubtedly nauseous, steadily shriveling as the class wore on.

All things considered, Harry wouldn't have minded watching the rude little dolt vomit a meal or two.

Typical wizards. You lose a tail and wings and all of a sudden they treat you like garbage, the bunch of stuck up, bratty...

It was just after dinner, and the majority of the Gryffindors had retired to their tower for the evening. It hadn't even hit seven yet, but already papers and books were strewn about the room as everyone drowned themselves in their mounting studies. Jake had his own work scattered about as well, but he couldn't even claim to be making a half sincere attempt at actually completing any of it. Instead, he sat ruminating in his own thoughts, staring at his lap with one hand clenched into a fist beneath his chin and the other toying with the fake Galleon in his pocket.

Try to stop Harry from being a killing machine? They hate you. Just happen to run into Hermione in the owl tower? They hate you. Ask one stupid little question about the random giant that popped up out of nowhere? They hate you! I just can't win with these jerks!

As if the circumstances weren't already infuriating enough, he couldn't even manage to stop torturing himself with their memories. Normally a flight around Central Park or some training back at his grandfather's shop would help sift his thoughts, but here he was trapped. He didn't even feel safe trying to meditate without making someone freak out, and his frustration with it all was enough to make him borderline destructive. He drew his hand from his pocket, clenching the small metal object in a vice grip and resisting the temptation of to give in to his temper. When his fury had ebbed, he relaxed his fingers and stared down at the small coin, admiring the dragon emblem embossed on one of the coin's faces. What I really need is some R&R, to cut loose. Too bad these freaks have never heard of a gym...

His fingers brushed against the numbers carved along the rim of the coin. The date and time of their next meeting was set for the coming Thursday evening, and Jake still had no clue how he was going to infiltrate it. He'd hoped that he'd somehow get in close with one of the members and they'd in turn invite him, and Neville would have done just that yesterday had Hermione not interfered. Their degree of secrecy was probably for the better, Jake thought, but it certainly didn't make his job any easier. He could just sit it out and hope that Potter managed to keep his head on straight until they came back, but what if someone got hurt? What if Harry got hit by a spell, or fell and injured himself? Would it be enough for their dark wizard to possess him?

It was a chance Jake couldn't take. The problem remained, however, that it would still prove impossible to follow them unless he knew exactly what room to ask for. He pinched his eyes in irritation and chucked the coin down into his bag, exhaustion and defeat gnawing away at him. I don't know which room they're asking for, but I know where it'll be. I can just try different things and see if I find it by chance? It felt like a desperate move on his part, but given the time restraints he wasn't exactly swimming in options. Glancing towards the corner of the Common Room, he found Harry and the others still gathered in their usual group with noses bent low over their papers. Harry sat up to adjust his glasses and caught Jake watching him, returning his stare with a distrusting glare of his own.

Yep, that's it. I'm outta here. Confident that he'd soon be strangling Potter before any dark wizard got the chance, Jake got to his feet with his bag and almost ran for the entrance tunnel, keen on finding some peace and quiet. Stout can shove it, if Potter wants to whack out and go psycho, let him. The Am-Drag needs some slack. He brushed past one of the girls in his year in his rush and jumped through the Fat Lady's portrait, making his way towards the supposedly empty hallway.

The wall was flat and even, as unassuming and blank as he'd expected. Jake tossed his bag down and began walking backward and forward along the corridor, diving into his attempts without a moment's thought. I need the room where the others have their secret meetings...where Harry teaches them about Defense Against the Dark Arts...whatever that room is. When he looked to the wall hopefully, he was disappointed to find it the same flat stone as before, unaltered and unresponsive.

Fine, I guess that would have been too easy. What about this... He began his pacing again, trying to imagine the room in his mind. I need a room to hide magic...where Umbridge can't find it...big enough for a lot of students. This time, Jake found the surface embedded with an enormous door, and his jaw dropped when he pushed it open to enter the chamber beyond. The room was like a cathedral with high arching ceilings and row upon row of endless items and objects. It was certainly big enough for several students to enter at once, in fact he'd wager all of Gryffindor Tower could fit in the place with room to spare. Something about the cramped walkways and imposing towers of trinkets, however, told Jake he had the wrong room, and he backed out before the ocean of intriguing paraphernalia could drag him in any further.

Well that was better, I guess, but I'll be here for days like this. His attempts at concocting new possibilities were hampered further as he was continually distracted by the nagging itch of the training collar. I've just about had it with this stupid thing. His footsteps slapped out into the quiet corridor as he ranted internally. Forget a classroom, just let me take this necklace off...is a little comfort and some space to practice really so much to ask for?

Grooves etched themselves into the stone and merged together smoothly until another door appeared that resembled the ones shared by most of the classrooms in the school. Jake flung the door open without hesitation and found the room beyond dimly lit by torchlight with walls lined with bookcases and cushions covering the floor. If anything it resembled more of a laid back library than a training room, or at least any training room Jake had ever used. Some of the texts were flung haphazardly on the floor, and a few cushions sat in unusual places, but otherwise the room looked perfectly normal.

No way this would do you any good for casting spells, Jake thought, and there's not much training a dragon can do in here either. Seriously, not even a punching bag? A table was set into the far wall, covered in strange mirrors and dusty looking glass fixtures. Vague shapes spun in one of the warped pieces, but Jake had soon lost interest in the room and turned to leave the way he came, scratching at the thread around his throat. He'd made it halfway across the room when a book fell from a shelf at the side of the room. He looked over to see a gap in the shelves that he'd failed to notice before, and nestled in the opening stood a sort of wooden, life sized mannequin.

Whoa, hold up. What have we here? Jake tugged and tapped the dummy, watching as it bounced and swayed from his prodding. Intrigued, he shoved its chest and smiled as it lazily bounced back up to its resting position. Aw yeah, now this is what I'm talking about! Surprisingly light, the statue dragged easily and Jake had hauled it to the center of the room before tearing off his encumbering robe, vest, and tie. His fingers slid against the rough twine of the collar, and he longed to tear it from his neck, but the thought of Stout's horrified expression, his unbearably clear instructions, held him back.

Had he the use of his voice, he would have roared out in rage. His fists clenched until his nails bit into the skin of his palms, and his temper at last boiled past containment. Jake lashed out and threw a punch at the target's head, his other fist flying out to meet its side and making the feeble body tremble. He hopped to the side before following up with a kick to its chest. The target spun and shook as Jake continued his attacks, each blow filling him with a primal satisfaction as he reveled in his aching muscles and labored breathing. The room was a blur as he lost himself to the movements, and small embers had even begun sparking out where his knuckles impacted the wooden body. At some point, faces had begun to find themselves on the figure's wobbling head, and Jake fought harder with every demon that sprung up before him. Old rivals, infuriating family, and lethal enemies all bowed to his assault, unable to impede his relentless onslaught.

He landed a crippling kick and the mannequin collapsed to the floor, transforming into a curled up, moaning troll. The fur over its chest was matted with blood and it covered its eyes with shaking hands. Jake towered over him, able to do whatever he wanted with a bloodied metal pole gripped tightly in his hand. He lifted it higher for the final blow, grinning sadistically down at the helpless creature pleading for mercy.

No, no, no, no...

A door slammed shut. Jake flinched and whirled around, prepared to strike.

"Harry!" He looked up from his book to see Lavender skipping towards their group from the entrance tunnel, looking absolutely thrilled. "I've got great news!"

"What is it?" he asked curiously.

"Someone's stolen the ball chest from the Quidditch pitch!" she giggled.

"Oh thank God," Ron muttered.

"That's terrible, Lavender," Harry scolded her. "Why would anyone do that?"

"No one knows, but Madam Hooch can't get another set until tomorrow, so the Ravenclaw Team cancelled their practice for tonight," she explained.

"That's brilliant!" Hermione agreed.

Harry looked scandalous. "How can you say that! Imagine if we lost a match because we didn't get as much practice as the other teams! You wouldn't be so happy then would you?"

"You don't understand, Harry," Hermione laughed, pulling out her fake Galleon and wand. "Now that the Ravenclaw team doesn't have practice, it means everyone in the DA's free tonight."

Harry felt a prickle of heat against his leg and retrieved his own token, finding the date on it changed to that very night in just an hour's time. "But...but I haven't got anything prepared! I've no lesson ready, no spells to practice! I...I'll grab my things..." They all packed up and dispersed, rushing to prepare and passing by the other Gryffindor DA members as they checked their coins and hurried to do the same. By the time Harry and Ron scurried down the stairs from their dormitory, Hermione was waiting by the portrait tunnel and tapping her foot impatiently.

She checked her watch as they approached. "Let's go you two, we've got to set up before the others get there!"

"Because we had so much time to plan this all out," Ron countered sarcastically. Hermione slapped his arm as they sidled past the Fat Lady's portrait.

They arrived outside the Room of Requirement gasping and promptly began pacing in a small line, walking back and forth along the hall with their meeting room at the forefront of their minds until the familiar door materialized along the length of the stone wall. Harry walked forward, yearning to lead the first session of the term, but stopped with his hand frozen on the door handle.

"Let's go, Harry, what're you..." Harry held up a hand to silence Ron and planted his ear against the door. Hermione and Ron each gave him confused looks before following suit, their eyes widening as they noticed what had distracted Harry.

"You hear it too?" he asked the pair of them. They both nodded. Some kind of rhythmic pounding, muffled and sharp, was coming from inside the room, a sound that Harry could not place. He leaned back from the door and, nodding to his friends, gently cracked it open enough for them to slide in quietly one at a time. The cushions in the center of the room had been pushed back and in their place stood a fake wooden person with padded body parts.

It was actually hard for Harry to see it, however, as it was being brutally attacked by none other than John, who moved around it in a flurry of savage blows. The dummy was surviving quite the beating, but John's pace was also steadily increasing. He moved quicker, his strikes were louder, and Harry could swear there were even flickers of flames appearing somehow wherever the crazed boy landed a jab. While they stood mesmerized, John aimed an upwards kick at the objects head that lifted it completely off of the ground and sent it sprawling on the floor. He stood over it, breathing heavily and staring down at the mutilated target.

The door to the room slammed shut behind them without warning. All of them jumped and watched John warily as he swiveled around to eye them with the look of a rabid animal. Harry had actually begun to reach for his wand when John looked down at his plaything, then back up at them, and down once again. None of them said a word as he brushed himself off, smoothing out his crumpled shirt and combing his fingers through his hair in a hurry. Satisfied, he stood up straight and smiled as harmlessly as possible, waving a hand in what Harry could only guess was an attempt at being friendly and calming. The atmosphere in the room was anything but.

"He's a lunatic," Ron whimpered.

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