Musa: Thanks a bunch, and I'm right there with you bud. Also, I REALLY hope that was a typo.

Emerald: Wow that was a lot of responses. Yes, good, let the praise flow through you...

Seigogerman: Well here you go, time to make your dreams come true.

It's been too long, and that's entirely my fault. However, a lot of it is due to starting plans for the end of the story, even though we've still got some time until then. Hopefully future updates won't take nearly this long, and I'm excited to finally be able to share the new chapter with you all! Thanks a ton for all of the positive feedback so far, and I hope you enjoy it!

The tired, old man's shoulders sunk even further. "And you have had no luck since?"

The blonde girl sitting beside him shook her head sadly, toying with the pink gem attached to her bracelet. "I tried to reach his dreams to...uh...catch up a little more, but I can't open his door. I'm not sure why, but there's some kind of mental block." She looked down at him in confusion. "It's almost like he doesn't want to talk."

Lao Shi bowed his head. "But he is fine? You are certain of that?"

Rose laughed to herself. "He was his usual self. You know Jake..." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "That's not what I meant," she apologized, but he gave no response. She pleaded desperately, "I'm so sorry, Lao Shi. If I'd known he was missing, I would've..."

"You had no way of knowing," Lao Shi interrupted, rising from the couch and bowing to her. "Knowing he is well is a gift in itself. You have my thanks."

Returning the gesture, a thought occurred to Rose. "Take this with you," she insisted, handing him her Dream Charm. "Maybe you'll have better luck getting through to him."

The aged man took the delicate bracelet in his hands and slipped it over his wrist. "I can only hope that you are right," he grieved, stepping out of the home and transforming into a large blue serpent. Lao Shi soared above a Hong Kong shrouded in dusk, still burdened with guilt but at least one step closer to finding his grandson. As small as it may have been, it was the first real lead he had, the greatest success he'd achieved thus far.

He turned toward the south where his next destination lay beyond a vast ocean that stretched to the horizon. His instincts were the only guide left to him now, and he had a long journey ahead of him.

Of Jake's many weaknesses, it was no secret that language classes were at the top of the list. Vocabulary, essays, creative writing, as a whole it was probably his worst subject, unless you counted Transfiguration. Yet despite how deficient he was in the world of literature, even Jake knew the definition of irony.

The Dragons of Draco Isle had jumped through hoops and invested months of time and effort into rebuilding connections with the wizarding community. And what did it get them? Their worst nemesis resurrected and an army of evil maniacs to back him up.

Ironic? It could have just been coincidence, or bad planning. Possibly both.

And then there was the whole 'abandoning your friends and family to ditch town and play hooky with wizards on another continent' thing. Except most of his friends had no idea who he was, the escapade wasn't nearly as enjoyable as he'd intended, and he still felt crushing dread whenever he thought about going home.

Cosmic karma, probably. Or things just turning out like they usually did whenever Jake thought he had a remotely decent plan.

The worst of it, though? Oh no, completely different story.

He could have manipulated her out of harm's way, or maybe knocked her out after transforming so she wouldn't know exactly who or what had saved her. He could have even tried convincing her that he just happened to know the dragons through Stout. In fact, the journal was how he was staying in touch with them! Or, the simplest answer, he could have just avoided her! Maybe even whipped up a Memory Potion, started with a clean slate. Dumbledore probably could have thought of something, too, if he'd even bothered to ask.

But no. It was one witch. A harmless, intentional slip, because Jake was desperate. And who could blame him? Enduring a month as a pariah, living a silent lie, and having just carved up his own skin for detention and escaping a forest he'd thought was filled with certain death only to run into, of all things, a monstrous, completely uncalled for giant?

Yes, it was a heated decision, but even after hours of reuniting with Hermione by torchlight and drowsily climbing down the Astronomy Tower to find his bed, Jake was still ecstatic. After all this time, his isolation was ended. The truth had been revealed and at last he could walk the halls of Hogwarts knowing there was one person he could confide in, who could understand and sympathize with his struggle and see through the lie that was Jonathan Long.

It was an intense euphoria, empowering and blissful.

And it lasted maybe all of twenty-four hours.

"I don't understand, does the transformation produce the fire or do you have to cover yourself with flames in order to transform? It looks very unpleasant..."

Now, whenever they had the smallest of moments alone between lessons...

"How did you even manage to get a wand? According to the Code of Wand Use, it's illegal for magical creatures to carry them, you know..."

...or the professor was turned away long enough in class to pass a discrete note...

"Oh, I remember this! 'Dawg' is slang for 'friend', right? So then 'Fu' is the friend that taught you so much about Potions? Er...what's so funny?"

...or it was the middle of the Great Hall at dinner and Hermione just couldn't contain herself anymore...

"But then...where do your clothes go?"

...Jake was under attack. Forget his secret identity, he'd lost every bit of peace and quiet the moment he'd carried Hermione away from the Forbidden Forest. He thought an entire day of interrogation had been more than enough, yet a week had now passed - a very long, tedious, exhausting week - and Hermione showed no signs of relenting her investigation in the near future. Or the next century.

Jake had taken an enormous risk in the hopes of finding someone he could relax with, a confidant he could hang around without having to act or pretend, and his wish had been granted in the most unexpected, spectacularly drastic way imaginable.

'Irony' didn't even begin to describe it.

"But how similar are you really to wild dragons, behaviorally speaking? Do you lay eggs, shed your skin every so often, perform mating displays...?"

Jake fell into a coughing fit, choking on his own spit. "Say whaaa? Do I look like some kind of egg-laying chicken to you?" he hissed, his cheeks flushed. "And trust me, you do not want to see me when I shed. Think of troll skin that's covered in hag boils and stretches like taffy. Not pretty."

He turned back to the center of their table and awkwardly raised his wand. "Scribblifors." Nothing. The paper in front of him remained unchanged.

Hermione squirmed with a hundred new ideas across the table. "I wonder how the properties of your scales and blood would compare with the typical varieties," she whispered thoughtfully. "And try tilting your wand back a bit farther."

"Well good luck finding a donor, 'cuz Jakey likes his blood right where it is," he muttered, adjusting his grip. "Scribblifors!" Still a shred of paper.

"You sort of blurred the syllables together, you have to speak more clearly," she instructed. "Have you ever encountered a wild dragon in person? Imagine if they could form some rudimentary communication with your kind..."

He shook his head in answer. "And nothing personal, but that sounds like a really bad idea." Jake lifted his other hand, wagging his fingers and drawling in a sarcastic, airy wail. "ScriiIIIIiibbliiiifooOOOoors!"

Hermione jerked forward. "You know, I think I actually saw some feathering that time."

"For real?" Jake gasped, lurching up from his slouch to inspect the scrap, his excitement faltering as Hermione began to laugh.

"Of course not," she admitted, rolling her eyes at his glare of betrayal. "You'd never get the spell to work that way, your form was entirely wrong."

"So not cool," he grumbled, tossing the scrap back down and slumping into his chair. The flaring yellow light from the tall windows in the library was beginning to die and the nearby candles were glowing brighter as Jake glared ruefully at the defiant piece of paper. Harry was in his private lesson with Snape for the evening, so, having nothing better to do without his ward, Jake had allowed Hermione to steal him away for her own experimentation.

It was a tragic mistake he did not intend on making again.

"I do think you were making progress, though," she encouraged him. "Transfiguration's fairly difficult, but I'm sure you'll get it in no time if we keep at it."

"You've been saying that all day, but this is a waste of time. I already told-" Hermione coughed loudly as a Hufflepuff turned the corner and eyed them curiously before moving on. Jake waited until the yellow trimmed robes swept out of sight before continuing more quietly, "I already told you like a bazillion times, I can't do your kind of magic! But nooooo," he teased softly, impersonating her with a high pitched voice. "You've never even properly tried, how can you know if you never try?"

"Which is true, you said you'd never attempted any wand-based magic! And quitting before you've even started is just stubbornness," she hissed back, the serious tone undermined by her smile. "And I'm still not convinced, maybe it's only certain spells or schools of magic that you have trouble with."

Jake cocked an eyebrow and lifted his hand, extending a finger. "I can't make light," he whispered and counted on the next finger, "I can't make water, I can't stun you, and I can't turn this paper into a quill. I can't do any of it because I'm faking it, Hermione. None of it works for me, even the useless carny tricks. The only reason I have this stupid thing," he sneered, waving his wand around, "is to blend in. Besides, if my kind of magic is good enough for the other dragons, it's good enough for me."

"You don't know it can't work for you," she persisted, "and there's plenty that you don't know how to fake with your kind of magic, including most of the spells that we'll have to demonstrate in our exams! You can't just keep vanishing everything in Transfiguration and expect no one to notice!"

"Hey, if I can fool you for a solid month, I think I'll be fine," he smirked, snapping his mouth shut as an exhausted Ravenclaw shuffled by with a messy pile of books in her arms.

"I'm not the one you should have been worried about," Hermione argued after the girl had disappeared. "Even if I had figured out your identity on my own, nothing bad would have come of it..."

"I'm pretty sure going deaf counts," Jake remarked.

Hermione wasn't impressed. "Did you even think of what could happen if Professor McGonagall found out? What about the rest of the DA? Or Umbridge?" she contested, now openly concerned. "I don't care to imagine what that horrid woman would do if she knew who you really were. And with the way things are going now, it's only a matter of time before someone gets suspicious of you."

As reluctant as he was to admit it, Jake couldn't dispute her point. The longer he stayed, the more lessons he attended. And the more lessons he attended, the more he would have to try and pass off his own tricks. And the more he tried fooling a school of wizards with fake magic and unconvincing stick-waving...well, that didn't have a pleasant ending.

Hermione leaned closer to him over the table, looking around cautiously. "Of course, if we can't improve your spellwork, there are other ways of protecting you," she whispered, idly twiddling her fingers.

Jake's head fell into his hands. "I'm all ears," he moaned.

"We could get help," she answered with steeled determination. "The more trustworthy people we have to make excuses for you and back up your story, the better your chances of staying hidden."

"Hermione..." Jake mumbled dangerously, looking back up at her with a warning leer.

"If you'd just let me tell Harry and Ron..." she begged.

"No." The answer was absolute, nonnegotiable.

Hermione didn't flinch. "Why not?" she questioned him.

"You promised Hermione," he pointed a stiff finger at her.

To her merit, Hermione took the cold reply in stride. Folding her arms, she persisted, "What's the harm in telling your friends about your disguise? Honestly, Jake, I'm surprised you've kept at it this long. Who cares if you're a dragon?"

"The Ministry of Magic, that's who. And being a dragon isn't the problem," Jake clarified, pointing at his face. "It's being a dragon that looks this fine. Dumbledore might be chill with our human bodies, but I wouldn't bet my lunch money on the rest of your higher-ups feeling the same."

"So this is because you've got human forms as well?" she scoffed, unbelieving. "I'm sorry, Jake, but I fail to see how that's so important."

"How it's so important? How it's...?" It took tremendous effort for Jake to bite his tongue. Hermione watched innocently as his temper subsided and he took a deep, calming breath before addressing her with a patient smile. "Who's your favorite superhero, Hermione?"

She blinked a few times. "Pardon?"

"Superhero, like from comics or movies. You know, Batman, the Hulk, Iron Man, c'mon you're killing me here."

"Well I don't know!" she griped. "I've never read anything about them before!"

"You're telling me you were raised by muggles and you've never watched a movie with a superhero?" Jake asked, utterly incredulous. "Not even a cartoon?"

"I never really liked the telly," she admitted. When Jake failed to lift his critical gaze, she sighed and offered, "Isn't there one that swings around and climbs buildings?"

"Spiderman, my homeboy! Good choice," Jake applauded. "Okay, now stick with me here. So Spiderman always goes out every day and fights some crime, kicks some bad-guy butt, you know, the usual. But why don't Doc Ock or the Green Goblin just take him out while he's asleep, or go after his family instead?"

This time, Hermione was ready with her answer. "They don't know who he is, of course. He wears a costume." Jake nodded with encouraging gestures until Hermione continued with a skeptical look, "You're saying that you're like Spiderman? And that this is your costume?"

"Exactly! I mean sort of...well, not really," he backpedaled, "cos Spiderman's secret identity is Peter Parker, but here the Am-Drag is Jonathan Long's secret identity, so it's kind of backwards...but you get the point!"

Now it was Hermione's turn on the defensive, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her lips pressed into a thin line. "You think that if witches and wizards knew about your humanity, you'd be in danger," she guessed flatly.

The air around them chilled and Jake's spirits grew morose. "Not just me," he admitted, his hand reaching compulsively to the journal tucked within his robes. "Word would spread, and before you knew it we'd all be living under rocks. Every dragon in the world would get put on the spot, along with their friends, their families..."

Hermione's chair scraped sharply against the floor as she stood and leaned forward, planting her hands firmly on the table. "You can't really think we'd be that barbaric!" she accused him. "What possible reason would the Ministry have to attack you all?"

"They sure seemed ready to jump the gun with the Hogsmeade incident," Jake laughed dryly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Even if they could track you through your human identities, they wouldn't condone a genocide!"

Her resolute faith in the common good only made it more difficult for Jake to hold her gaze. "Hate to crash your party, Hermione," he mumbled, "but yeah, they would, and they've done it before." He joined her on his feet and pretended to inspect the shelf of Herbology texts behind him, struggling to explain, "A long time ago, like hundreds of years or something, wizards knew everything about us. But there was some kind of war and..."

"A war?" she asked, her voice hitching.

Jake nodded. "A pretty one-sided one from what Stout told me. I don't know why, but wizards started hunting us down, finding us through our human lives and taking us out left and right, and I'm not just talking about here in the UK. It got so bad that we were almost completely wiped out, and ever since then we've been trying to - hey!"

With unnatural strength, Hermione snared Jake's arm and dragged him away from the table, tearing off across the library. Jake followed helplessly, keeping his mouth shut as passerby gave them startled looks. It wasn't until Hermione came to a halt at the base of another intimidating bookcase that he quietly questioned her. "What was that about? Are you trying to-?"

"Shhh!" Jake gaped affronted while she continued to scan the books, growing more distressed with every row she glanced through. That same look from earlier, of intense thought and desire, dominated her expression. When she'd passed the last of the spines, she climbed to her feet and shook her head slowly. "It's no good, they probably wouldn't leave them out for public reading."

"I still have no idea what you're wigging out over! Who wouldn't leave what out where?" Jake whispered.

"This 'war' you mentioned," Hermione replied over her shoulder, striding away and passing several more rows of shelves while Jake rushed to keep pace. "I've never heard of it before, which is very strange. It definitely isn't mentioned in A History of Magic, and when you all arrived near the beginning of the year, I looked through every book I could find to try and learn more about the Dragons of Draco Isle. Bestiaries, historical documents, political transcripts, everything I could think of, which is precisely the problem, of course. I didn't think to check any war records."

A sharp turn of her heel later and Hermione arrived at a metal fence running through the library, barring passage to the tiers of shelves beyond it. Jake leaned against the barrier to catch his breath while she slid her fingers around the imposing bars, glaring longingly at the books beyond her reach. "Hogwarts has reading material on almost anything you can imagine, but literature on magical wars could be dangerous. The school would want to keep it in the Restricted Section."

"So...what...?" Jake heaved beside her.

She fixed her determined stare on him. "So, we aren't allowed in the Restricted Section without permission. But I have to know, we have to know. What if it was only a small group of witches and wizards that attacked the Dragons of Draco Isle?" she asked rhetorically. "Or what if it was just some folk tale blown out of proportion? Or maybe it was all some kind of a misunderstanding? We can't know what really happened without some kind of evidence."

"No prob, girl," Jake laughed softly, straightening up and cracking his knuckles. "I think you forgot who you're talking to. Time for us to take a little tour, Am-Drag style." Before she could intervene, he flexed his fingers, imagined their path unimpeded, and flicked his arms.

A narrow portion of the bars vanished with a gentle swish.

"Jake!" Hermione hissed in alarm, scanning the aisles behind them for witnesses. "You can't just do that, I told you we aren't allowed in the Restricted Section without a professor's written approval! If Madam Pince were to find us..."

Jake promptly sidled past her into the Restricted Section, running his fingers along the slightly more dusty ledges filled with forbidden knowledge. "Hey, no sweat Hermione, I don't wanna get you in trouble. I guess I'll just have to take a look around all on my own, then. It'll probably take forever, though. I mean there are so many books..."

"But you...we can't..." Her hair swung wildly as she whirled back over her shoulder again. There wasn't a soul in sight. "Oh, fine then!" she spat, scurrying after him. "Five minutes, and not a second more!"

"That's more like it!" Jake cheered. Crossing the threshold, Hermione guided their search amongst the scarcely touched tomes and led Jake to their destination in record breaking time. Digging through the stand, however, proved more challenging. As it happened, the Hogwarts archives extended back for over a millennium, and witches and wizards certainly hadn't hesitated to fill it with countless battles and skirmishes. Defensive stratagems, militia rosters, peace treaties, flight formations, Jake and Hermione were already knee-deep in texts and forms by the time Hermione's allotted five minutes had come and passed. Yet even as they plowed on, the only dragons Jake could find any mention of were the ones that stole cattle and set fire to hamlets. The Dragons of Draco Isle were nowhere to be found.

"I'm not getting jack, Hermione. What about you?" Jake whispered. When only silence answered him, he turned back to the fifth-year Gryffindor. "Hermione?"

She sat cross legged on the floor, focused intently on something small cradled in her hands and shaking her head gently as Jake approached. "I think I've found something," she whispered, showing him a delicate and ancient looking little pamphlet. Unfolding the weathered parchment, Jake saw a mess of unreadable lettering and a few sketches scribbled in faded ink. Most of it made no sense to him, but the image in the center was clear enough to set his teeth on edge.

A crudely drawn, proud looking wizard stood with both arms raised. One held his wand high, and from the other hung the severed head of a dragon. At his feet lay the decapitated body of an ordinary, naked man.

"Beware the Imposters," Hermione breathed. "That's all I can make out. A few of the characters are runes, but the rest is some kind of old English. I think it's a sort of warrant or warning flier from the 1500's, long before even the Ministry existed."

Jake handed the damning paper back to her, trying to contain his disgust. "Is that enough proof for you?" he sneered darkly. Hermione continued to stare blankly at the bill, as though struggling to accept the sight before her.

"It has the old Wizard's Council seal, so it was official," she noted, examining the artifact intently. "It doesn't appear to be forged or altered after the fact...but why? There must be a reason here somewhere..."

That her undying optimism persisted even in the face of undeniable truth genuinely annoyed Jake. "You want a reason? Try this: wizards couldn't boss us around, so they did what they do whenever something pops up that they don't like. They got rid of it."

Picking at the corner of the paper, Hermione found a crease where the parchment had folded and stuck together. Peeling the sheets apart revealed more, much less faded writing inside. She glanced over the writing a few times and, straining with the effort, slowly translated, "Demons made to look of man...Keepers of most tainted treasures...Masters of death by foulest magic...Slay them and their traitor King."

Hermione gazed up at him, perplexed and speechless. Jake felt numb, the words seeping into him and drowning his senses in a rush of freezing shock.

"Say WHAT?"

A shrill sound made both of their heads snap around. In the distance, echoing through stone halls and trails of shelves, a woman's scream filled the air.

"Get up, Potter!"

Harry's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself on the ground in Snape's eerie office. He couldn't recall falling, but the throbbing lump on the back of his head left little room for debate. Shakily getting to his feet, he struggled to try and process what he'd just seen while Snape fixated him with a look of pure, seething rage.

"What was that?" Snape yelled. "How did those thoughts come to enter your mind?"

"I...I dunno," Harry stuttered honestly. When Snape had begun his next mental intrusion, Harry had yet to empty his mind and was for all intents and purposes a sitting duck. Immediately, his mind flew away from him and he found himself rushing down the black marble corridor that led to the Department of Mysteries, the stolid black door waiting like always at the end. Only this time, as he approached his destination, the door flung itself open and he continued onward, entering a circular room lined with, naturally, more doors. He'd been so thrilled to throw them open and race onward, but before he could even take a step...

"You're lazy! Arrogant!" Snape sneered from across his desk. Harry couldn't stop himself from glaring back at the black cowled man. "I would have thought after two months of practice you would have mustered at least a shred of resistance, but still you prove yourself a helpless target for the Dark Lord!"

"I thought," Harry spat back, "that only Death Eaters called Voldemort 'the Dark Lord', professor."

His scowl rearing, Snape's retort was cut short by the sound of distant screaming. Both of them looked to the roof above them as the wailing continued and was slowly drowned in a swelling uproar. Snape and Harry shared a look, both reading the other's confusion, before they hurried for the office door and rushed up the stone staircase toward the main hall.

It wasn't hard to find the source of the commotion. At the foot of the Grand Staircase, a sea of students filled the cavernous room from the closed castle entryway to the doors of the Great Hall. Harry pushed through the throng until he came upon Hermione and John standing quietly among the spectators with forlorn expressions.

"What's going on?" Harry asked them, but Hermione only shook her head and pointed toward the middle of the crowd. There, Harry found what had the room captivated, and it made his stomach turn.

"Y-You can't d-do this!" Professor Trelawney bawled. She stood alone in a circular gap in the assembly, her left hand clutching a half empty bottle of cooking sherry and her right crushing a laced tissue. Two fat suitcases sat on the floor at her sides. "Hogwarts has b-been my h-home for years! I re...I refuse to a-accept it!"

Harry had to crane his neck to see the target of her scorn, hidden from him by the bodies of the students in front of him. "As hopeless as you are at making even the smallest of predictions, even you must have seen this coming," Professor Umbridge trilled. "Not only are you pathetic in your own field of instruction, you've failed every one of my evaluations and haven't improved in the slightest. As High Inquisitor, it is my job to ensure the quality and standards of the instructors here at Hogwarts, and you my dear," she sighed with false pity, "simply aren't up to scratch."

Umbridge's pleased little grin stretched to her ears. "You're excused."

The sight of his eccentric Divination professor in hysterics and surrounded by the currently gawking school body was enough for even Harry to feel empathy for the woman, so much so that he was about to step forward when Professor McGonagall beat him to the punch. Her tall form swept forward from the crowd, descending on the hiccupping woman tangled in shawls and embracing her gently.

"There, there Sybill...it's okay," she comforted Professor Trelawney with soothing pats. "Come now, you won't have to leave..."

"I believe, Minerva, that you are quite mistaken," Professor Umbridge spoke up defensively. "It appears that you are not aware of the circumstances, so allow me to explain. By order of the Ministry of Magic, I have complete authority over the removal of any inadequate staff here at Hogwarts, by which former-Professor Trelawney is the very definition. She will leave by my order."

The massive doors leading to the grounds blew open, carrying with them mist from the cold night outside. In their frame, silhouetted in the moonlight, strode in Professor Dumbledore; purple robes, intimidating stature, and all. The entire hall fell into absolute silence.

"That, Professor Umbridge," he announced, "is where, I am afraid, you are mistaken."

Umbridge remained unfazed, though Harry could see a slight tremor of rage in her puffy cheeks. "Professor Trelawny has been dismissed," she repeated.

"And I intend to comply with the Ministry's wishes," Dumbledore replied happily. "However, since matters of residency fall to the discretion of the Headmaster, Sibyll may remain at Hogwarts so long as I wish it, which I very much do."

Every head whirled back to Umbridge, watching for her rebuttal. The corners of her mouth twitched as she processed his words. "Her replacement will have no adequate lodgings if she refuses to leave."

They all snapped back to Dumbledore. "On the contrary, Sibyll's current residence in the North Tower will not be required. The new Divination professor will prefer quarters on the ground floor."

Again to Umbridge, who looked as though she were trying to swallow a lemon. "New Divination professor?" she seethed.

Back to Dumbledore. "Ah yes, forgive me. It seems, given such short notice, I've neglected to inform you of my success. Well, as they say, no time like the present." He stepped aside and waved an arm back at the doorway to the grounds with a polite bow. "Allow me to introduce you to Firenze."

Gasps burst out in waves as, cantering into the Great Hall, a centaur appeared before them. It was a surprise which, considering they'd hosted dragons only months previously, really shouldn't have been that surprising.

Firenze came to a stop beside Dumbledore and tipped his head forward. "Greetings," he intoned flatly.

How Umbridge's eyes managed to bulge so grotesquely without completely escaping their sockets was a mystery to Harry, thankfully one which didn't detract in the least from his amusement. Her fake little smile was a foreign memory, and she instead measured the creature with a look of complete, icy indifference. Without a word, she passed over Dumbledore one last time and turned on her heel, striding back up the Grand Staircase to her office.

The scene couldn't have been more satisfying, and it almost felt as though Harry were reliving it all a second time when he described it for Ron in the Gryffindor common room later that night.

"So Dumbledore moves out of the way and in walks a centaur, the same one we met in our first year! You had to see it, Ron, the look on Umbridge's face was brilliant," Harry laughed, though Ron merely grumbled and continued to stare blankly at his astronomy essay. Harry sat up, surprised by his apathy, and asked, "So, how did practice go?"

Ron's quill paused in the middle of scratching some doodle in the corner of his paper. "Same," he mumbled a few seconds later. "Can't catch a bloody thing, and Johnson's been ready to quit since the Hufflepuff game."

Harry's gut tightened. He'd completely forgotten about their game the previous week, which was particularly annoying since it was anything but easy to forget. The Gryffindor team had only lost by ten points, which was entirely due to Ginny miraculously catching the Snitch in a mere twenty minutes. Ron and the others, however, had still managed to put on quite the performance with the time available, filling every second with flailing limbs and tumbling brooms. It was so bad that even Fred and George couldn't find the heart to mention it in front of Ron, which was as bad a sign for Harry as any.

"Listen, don't worry about it," Harry tried to recover. "We've still got a shot at the cup, and you can only get better from here out, right?" Ron didn't even bother to respond. "C'mon, Ron, you can't let it get to you. Just...just forget about it until we get through our O.W.L.s and you'll be fine."

Ron threw his quill down and crossed his arms. "It's not just that," he huffed, glaring across the room.

"Then what..." Harry followed his gaze and saw Hermione and John seated across the room at a table by the windows, heads close together as they huddled in private conversation. Hermione repeatedly whispered small snippets to John, who then either nodded or shook his head and scribbled out some message on paper for her. Ever since the journal incident, the two of them had been inseparable, their secluded discussions becoming almost ritual, though Harry had given them little thought until now.

"You don't mean..." Harry asked, jerking his thumb in their direction. Ron slid further into the cushions of his armchair, avoiding his stare. "Please tell me you're joking."

Ron dumped his materials into his bag and rose out of his seat. "I'm going to bed."

Harry grabbed the sleeve of his robes and yanked him back into his chair. "Ron, you're my best mate, but you're acting like a git," he snapped. The effort made his head throb and he reached up to rub the ache, remembering just how painful his lesson with Snape had been that evening. "This is just like last year. Keep this up and you're only going to make things worse."

"Doesn't sound so bad," he griped back, still fighting Harry's grip and trying to shoulder his bag.

"What's got you two going?" Harry jumped back as Hermione appeared beside them, sparing curious looks for them both. Beside her, John stared off into space, apparently deep in thought with a hand on his chin.

"Took time out of your busy schedule to check up on us, did you?" Ron sneered from his chair. Harry slapped his forehead as Hermione gaped at the ginger.

"What he means," Harry interjected, "is he's having trouble with his essay and wanted to know if you could help him with it, right Ron?"

"Good to see you're as charming as ever," Hermione reprimanded Ron dryly, who glowered back at Harry in defiance.

"Oi, I never..."

"Glad that's settled," Harry concluded. The throbbing in his scar was pounding even stronger and his bag was growing heavier by the second. "It's been a rough night, I'm gonna head up early while you two...figure this out."

Both of them fumbled for words as he turned away and hurried through the door toward his dorm. Climbing upwards, Ron's affronted voice echoed back up the staircase, "Apologize? Not bloody likely!"

By the time he'd stepped into his pajamas and slipped under the covers of his bed, Harry's head felt like a cinder block. Practicing Snape's calming exercises was the farthest thing from his mind, and soon enough he was drifting through aimless, fogged scenery. Objects and surroundings occasionally came into focus before melting away again, and some part of Harry's mind watched classrooms float by, walked through misted forests, flew above green fields on his Firebolt...

His world tumbled in one direction and solidified. The blurry sights faded to nothing and Harry found himself standing in a black room with scarce lighting. At his feet, on top of an old frayed rug, knelt a cowering man with his head bowed low. He shrunk down even further as Harry's whisper of a voice asked dangerously, "You are certain of this, Rookwood?"

The man shuddered, "Y-Yes, my Lord. There is n-no question...I used to w-work there, after all." Shaking, he craned his neck until the terror in his eyes was just visible to Harry. "None can retrieve it but a Seen, my Lord."

Harry took a step forward, and the man jerked back down. "If what you say is true," Harry's voice intoned calmly, "then Avery gave me poor advice, and these months of planning have been for nothing." Harry's hand raised up, white as bone with a pale wand to match.

The man's shallow breathing turned to strangled gasps. The tension stretched and froze the air while trembling rocked his limbs. "Please...my Lord...I beg you..."

Harry's wrist flicked the wand out, and the door across the room creaked open. "You have done well to bring this to me, Rookwood. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude." The man's shaking breaths hitched and his shoulders sagged with relief. "Go now, and before you leave," he added slowly, "bring me Avery."

"At once, my Lord. T-Thank you." The man stifled his quivering and swept from the room in a blur. The door snapped shut and Harry was once again shrouded in darkness, though not yet entirely alone.

"What now?"

He turned to the pitch black corner of the room, where an aged woman with black robes and an exotic headdress leaned in the shadows. Harry felt a flash of anger pulse through him. "What word from your sources at the castle?"

In the dark, a dull, almost unnoticeable red glow filled the woman's eyes as she grinned maliciously. "The boy is still there."

Harry drifted away to the wall behind him. "Then we will proceed with a new plan," he answered, catching his reflection in a spotted, worn mirror. His skin was thin and pale and his eyes blood red with terrible black slits...

Something smacked firmly against his cheek, and Harry froze. Blinking frantically, he found himself tangled in a mess of sheets, breathing and sweating as heavily as though he'd run a marathon. His hand touched the tender part of his face while he reached for his glasses and tried to focus on the person gripping the front of his shirt.

"You don't have beat the snot out of him," Ron sneered off to the side. John gave him a sideways leer and relaxed his hold on Harry, flashing him a worried look and a questioning thumbs up. The signal wasn't difficult to interpret.

"Er...yeah, I'm fine," Harry lied, still heaving and tearing his limbs from the bundled fabrics. He desperately wanted to talk with Ron about what he'd seen, who he'd seen, but not while John was around. After just apparently having a second fit in front of the mute, it wouldn't exactly take much more to convince him of his own insanity.

"You're sure, Harry?" Ron beckoned, searching him intently. "Was it...you know..."

"I said I'm fine, Ron, really," Harry insisted, signaling to John with a flick of his eyes. Ron pressed his mouth shut and returned a reluctant nod, shuffling back to his own bed. John watched their interaction with plain interest and uncertainty before shrugging and following suit, his earlier look of deep contemplation returned. Footsteps plodded up the staircase outside and the rest of the other fifth-years filtered into the room, joining them for the night.

More exhausted than when he'd first fallen asleep, Harry straightened his sheets and threw his head back down on his pillow. Yet despite his fatigue, sleep evaded him as shades from his vision crept in the darkness behind his eyelids. He flinched from the pale white hands reaching out from the edges, and rolled away from the faint crimson eyes staring in the distance. His scar still prickled, and no matter how much he shifted and twitched, jerked and cringed, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone, somewhere, was writhing on the floor of a cold, dark room.

"Poor Professor Trelawney, she hasn't left her tower since last night," Parvati despaired.

"I could hear her crying from the fifth floor corridor," Lavender admitted, putting a comforting hand on Parvati's shoulder. "I still can't believe Umbridge was that awful to her in front everyone."

"Well she's not exactly a cheery little saint," Harry derided, fighting the itch on the back of his hand. Their shared annoyance was overshadowed as Ron skulked around the corner and sourly took his place next to him on the wall outside their new Divination classroom. "About time you showed up," Harry whispered. "Where've you been all morning?"

Ron answered by glowering at the floor, so Harry pulled him roughly aside and away from the rest of their waiting classmates. "Listen I need to talk you about what I saw last night, in that dream." This time, Ron stood up straighter and watched Harry with rapt attention, nodding for him to continue. Harry shut his eyes, trying to remember every detail, and began, "So it started in this weird room, and..."

"We'll talk then...hey, Harry!" Hermione appeared beside them, with John walking past the group of students and confidently entering the foreboding classroom. A fresh round of whispers stirred up in his wake. Raising a brow at Ron's directed scowl, she hissed in Harry's ear, "You had another of your visions? What was it, what did you see?"

"Perfect, I was just about to tell...hey," Harry squinted at her. "How did you know I had another dream?"

"Ja-...er, John told me, of course. He said you'd had another fit last night," she waved dismissively.

"And what else did the mouthy little creep tell you about us, hm? The color of our knickers?" Ron sneered, glaring at the slightly ajar classroom door that everyone was still too apprehensive to enter.

Hermione's cheeks blazed red. "You're being absolutely foul, Ron! A complete child!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Harry ordered. "No one's doing anything if you two keep arguing, and you've still got your own class to head off to, Hermione, so do either of you want to hear about the dream or not?" Each staunchly avoided the other's gaze and waited in silence for him to continue.

Harry nodded. "Good, because honestly I'll go mental if I don't tell someone about it." His hand cradled his forehead as he closed his eyes and tried to recall the scene. "It started with this really dark room. I could barely see anything, and this Death Eater Rookwood was on the floor..."

Demons made to look of man...Keepers of most tainted treasures...Masters of death by foulest magic...Slay them and their traitor King...

Something just didn't add up.

The first bit was obvious, if insulting. And the second part, well, that could just be the usual stereotype about dragons having hordes of gold and that kind of stuff. Which, when Jake thought about it, it would be pretty sick to have, but that was beside the point. As for the last part, well, he couldn't ever remember there being a King of Dragons. As far as he knew, the Dragon Council had always been their leading body.

In comparison, none of it was nearly as worrying as the third part of the warrant. He could try to interpret it as creatively as he wanted, but there was no denying what it sounded like...

Necromancy?

No way. The Dragons of Draco Isle could cook up some crazy awesome magic, but never anything like raising the dead. The Huntsclan might have tried it with a life-giving Egyptian Scarab, sure, and the Aztec Skulls may have been able to pull off some kind of resurrection if someone had made the right wish, but not once had Jake ever seen or heard of the World Dragons dabbling in anything that messed up.

And he'd seen a lot.

Yet when it came to wizards, death-defying magic was practically a standard. Skeleton slaves, zombie armies, evil rituals in freakin' cemeteries? All wizards, not one dragon involved. To think they had the nerve to hypocritically persecute his ancestors for something so ridiculous made Jake's blood boil in his veins, no doubt a rage that would have thrown him into his own dragon skin were it not for the collar around his neck. Suddenly, Stout's distrust of the wizarding community seemed much more deserved.

Possibly the only positive thing to come from their confounding discovery was that Hermione at least had some other source to channel her curiosity into, a blessing that multiplied when Potter had another seizure-thing the previous night.

"This was supposed to have stopped," Hermione lamented to him as they walked down dull, stone halls that afternoon. "Snape's Occlumency lessons should be helping Harry protect himself, but if anything these dreams are happening more often."

Great, so he's getting close to going full-on psycho. Jake tapped Hermione on the shoulder and waited until she'd pulled out of her own thoughts to point at his own head feverishly.

"You're thinking of something?" she guessed. Jake shook his head and swirled his finger in a circle by his temple, crossing his eyes for good measure. Hermione rolled her own and answered, "Harry's not crazy, he can't help it when he gets those dreams. From what we've seen, they usually happen when Voldemort does something important, something personal to him..." She gripped her shoulder bag tighter as they turned the corner, a crowd of students visible down the hall.

"Harry didn't say what the dream was about, did he?" she asked. Jake shook his head, watching carefully as she added with relief, "Well, at least there's that much."

And now you're back to making absolutely no sense. She must have read his lost expression as she explained, "If it was something really awful, or another attack, he would have told someone by now. Still, for him to have seen anything..." A few heads had begun to turn at their approach, and she stood straighter with firm determination. "Meet me in Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom after dinner, before we have our DA meeting. It ought to be private enough, we'll talk then."

Hermione broke away and waved down Harry where Ron slouched beside him, staring daggers at Jake. What is Weasley's damage? Jake grimaced, turning his back to him and approaching the new Divination classroom. There wasn't much time until class began, yet everyone who'd already arrived stood loitering in front of the door, engulfed in whispered conversations. Yeah, let's just all stand by the door, that's an awesome place to chill and get in the way, Jake griped as he plowed through the crowd, shoved into the room, and closed the door behind him.

For a second, Jake almost thought someone had pulled some weird prank on him as he found himself standing in a lush meadow of grass. Inside the classroom, a peaceful glade spread over what should have been stone floors. Trees stretched upward with their branches scattered along the ceiling, and soft sunlight that had no business being indoors poured over bushes and brambles from seemingly nowhere.

What the...

Soft footfalls brushed through the grass, and Jake turned to see a centaur with a hoof-shaped bruise across his chest approaching through the grove.

"I wondered if we would meet again, American Dragon," Firenze greeted him.

Aw man. Jake nearly tripped over a stump in his haste to reach the centaur, digging out an old crumpled note and waving for him to be silent. Firenze watched quietly and took the paper without comment, lifting it up to the light as though inspecting it for authenticity while he read it. Jake checked the classroom door over his shoulder, but thankfully the other students had yet to follow his example and the room remained empty but for the two of them.

"I understand," Firenze replied, handing the paper back down to Jake. "My apologies, I had forgotten your mentioning to Magorian that you were here in secret."

The centaur twitched compulsively when he mentioned Magorian's name. That and the strange bruise on the centaur's chest were pretty obvious signals to Jake that something was wrong. With Firenze's attention, he pointed at the horseshoe mark, then next at the ground beneath them, and shrugged his shoulders uncertainly. Firenze looked distant as he guessed, "You wonder why I am here?" Jake nodded in affirmation, and Firenze explained, "Dumbledore asked me to become a professor for his students, and I agreed. Magorian and my herd saw this as a betrayal and banished me."

Yeah, I kinda know what that feels like. Setting aside his pity, Jake dropped his bag and dug out some spare paper and a quill. After scribbling on one face "So you were there in the Forbidden Forest?" he handed the message to the centaur. Firenze took the slip and scanned the words before answering placidly, "Yes, I was with the rest of my herd when we found you."

Jake's gut twisted. He was there...then maybe...

The rumble from the students talking outside grew louder as Jake hurriedly wrote out another note and held it out to Firenze. The centaur considered the words for a while, abnormally solemn even by his own standards. When he did return his even gaze back to Jake, it was with a gravity of shame. "Not I personally," he admitted, "...but yes."

It felt like Jake had been punched in the gut. Aw man...

"Oh wow...Lavender, come look!" Leaves rustled behind Jake as students began wandering into the room at last, marveling at their abnormally natural surroundings. He retrieved his note from Firenze with a nod, reminding the centaur of his disguise with a finger over his lips. Firenze bowed his head in understanding, and Jake claimed a stump for his own while students continued to funnel into the room.

Jake's heart was racing. His attention was only partly given to Firenze's lesson on predicting the future through stars and campfire smoke, and even less was devoted to Umbridge's assignment later in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The whole period, he nervously glanced at Hermione, who only shook her head when she noticed and tapped her watch. Before he knew it, dinner had ended and he was waiting alone in Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom, tapping his fingers impatiently against the porcelain sink. C'mon, c'mon, where are you?

The bathroom door eased open behind him, and Hermione's cautious voice called out, "Jake? Are you in he-oh!"

"Get in!" Jake yanked her inside, stuck his head out in the hallway to check for any eavesdroppers, and threw his back against the door with a loud slam. "Took you long enough!" he whispered. Hermione was about to make a comment when he cut her off. "Forget it, there's no time."

"Fine, but listen Jake..." she started as Jake joined in.

"I have to tell you something!" they said in unison.

Hermione blinked in surprise and shrugged, "Alright, you first."

"The new centaur dude, Firenze," Jake tried to say in a jumble. "He knows who I am, who I really am, and he was there when I went into the Forbidden Forest. You know, when you came after me?"

"It's kind of hard to forget, with the giant and all," she affirmed.

"Well the reason I went out there in the first place was because I was in detention with Umbridge and I thought I saw the Dark Dingus's shade demons through her window. But when I was looking around, I found the centaurs. Their leader, Magorian, said they hadn't seen horn or tail of the big guy or anyone else."

"Well, isn't that a good thing?" Hermione asked.

Jake shook his head slowly. "Firenze was there too. I talked to him before Divination started, and homeboy let me in on a little secret: the shade demons have been chilling in the forest for months. Magorian lied."

Hermione's eyes sparked with understanding. "It must be the centaurs, then!"

"Um, say what now?" Jake asked perplexed.

Hermione started to pace around like she did whenever she was solving some difficult puzzle. "What Harry saw in his vision last night! Voldemort was talking with one of his Death Eaters about having to 'change plans' or something. Most of what they said was pretty vague, so we aren't sure exactly what they were talking about, but there was a woman there, too. The same one from the attack at the Ministry!"

"Chang," Jake seethed.

"Harry still doesn't know who she is, but it must be her," Hermione agreed. "At one point, Voldemort asked Chang about her 'source' for information on Harry. If the centaurs lied about those shade demons, it's probably because they're the ones working with the Dark Dragon!"

It was yet another blow, and Jake felt weak. He sat against the wall and ran a hand through his hair, trying to process everything. "Just...hold up a sec," he moaned, cradling his head.

Taking a place next to him, Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay, Jake?"

A mirthless laugh escaped from him. "No, Hermione, I'm not, I mean come on! Wars with dragons over 'foul magic'? Harry having his creepy dreams? Chang plotting it up with your skull-faced freak? And now even magical creatures are turning against us!" Jake climbed to his feet and leaned against a sink on the opposite side of the room, staring intently into the cracked mirror. "Everything's so messed up...and I don't have a clue what to do about it..."

"Well I do." Hermione joined him at the mirrors, brimming with confidence. "It's like I've been saying all along, Jake. You need help. What about the other dragons..."

"NO." Jake hadn't intended to yell, and he tried to recover from Hermione's shock. "I'm sorry, but I can't...not them..."

Hermione rebounded and pressed forward, "What about your Replitome? Just tell Stout what we've figured out and see what he thinks."

Well, it was certainly a better alternative, but it still didn't feel like enough. "It might be too late for that," he lamented, a thought occurring to him. "But you're right, Hermione. I've gotta tell someone before things get even worse." Pushing away from the sinks, he looked down at Hermione's watch and started toward the hallway door. "The DA's gonna start soon. You go ahead, I'll meet you there."

Hermione hurried after him. "Wait, where are you going?"

Jake dug into his pocket and pulled out his itchy necklace, smirking back at Hermione, "The Am-Drag's gonna take the scenic route. I've got a little bone to pick with the Headmaster."

Despite her plain discomfort, Hermione nodded and waved him off as he headed into the corridor. Jake threw the training collar on and began climbing staircases in what he thought, but mostly hoped, was the right direction. As he walked, his mind reeled with the misgivings he still held for the old wizard. He didn't tell you about the weapon Potter keeps talking about, but right now he's your best shot at getting some answers. If anyone knows what's going on with big, dark, and ugly and his little brain trust, it's Dumbledore.

It took a few wrong turns and some retracing of his steps, but eventually Jake came to the huge stone gargoyle that marked the base of the staircase he needed. Yet as close as he was to his goal, Jake couldn't figure out how to get the stupid thing to budge. He tried shoving it, but the massive brute just shoved Jake away like a plaything. He tried kicking it, clapping, but nothing seemed to appease the construct. It was then that Jake recalled his initial visit with Professor McGonagall, and he remembered that she'd gained entrance with a password.

Which led to his second problem, because Jake could not for the life of him remember what she'd said. Maybe if I just start trying out things that sound right, I'll figure it out, he reasoned, reaching a hand up toward his neck and beginning to take off his collar.

"I always knew he would be trouble, let there be no mistake about that!" a wheezy voice echoed out behind him. Jake whirled around and, seeing no one in the hallway behind him yet, instinctively ducked through the nearest door that wasn't guarded by an imposing statue. The classroom beyond was deserted, and Jake knelt by the doorway, peering back at the gargoyle statue through the sliver left between the door and its jam. The voices echoing in the corridor were steadily growing louder.

"And right you were, Prime Minister, right you were." Even without the owner in view, Jake knew that sweet little girlish voice all too well. Soon enough, a small procession appeared and came to a halt in front of the gargoyle. In the group, Umbridge stood beside a plump man in fine clothing and what looked like a bawling Ravenclaw girl with four other wizards just behind them.

"Lemon Sherbet," Umbridge announced, and the statue politely hobbled aside for the entourage to pass. One by one, they clambered onto the rotating staircase and slid upwards towards Dumbledore's office. Just as the last of them stepped up and the gargoyle began to cover the passage once more, Umbridge's voice echoed out in ravenous victory, her words covering Jake in a cold sweat.

"Once I've gathered the students of my Inquisitorial Squad, Prime Minister, we'll head straight to their meeting room. Potter and the others will have nowhere to run!"

And there you have it! Again, the next chapter probably won't take almost two months to finish (gag). Make sure to follow for future updates and send me all of your wonderful thoughts and advice in reviews and PM's! Hand to God, they tickle me pink.