Mari: That does seem to be a theme, and you can expect the war to continue becoming more pertinent.

Mystery: Dude. I got you. We're riding this train to the finish.

Thanks everyone for all of the feedback! I've been able to cut down the update time a bit, and I'm happy to present the next chapter! Read, review, and follow if you aren't already for future updates!

The silence in the room was broken only by rattled breathes and nervous shuffling. It was a particularly unique moment, for never before had the DA been engulfed in such a perfect storm of tension and excitement.

"Alright, does everyone remember the incantation?" Rows of heads nodded back at him. "And you've all got your happiest memories clear in your mind?" The students' faces bobbed in affirmation, but their shaking wands gave away their apprehension.

Harry knew it would do no good to wait. "Okay, all together now. One...two..."

His count of 'three' was indistinguishable beneath the swell of voices.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Bursts of light filled the room, no two being quite the same. Hermione already had a tumbling silver creature floating around her, as did a couple of others. Some had only shapeless vapors and wisps flailing out. Then too a few, like Neville, produced nothing. None of them, however, grew discouraged, and before Harry could provide any advice or feedback the room had become a din of chanting students. Part of Harry wanted to remind the successful members not to get too comfortable, considering the spell would be much more difficult when they were under the pressure of real danger, but his pessimism waned as he watched Cho laugh at her dancing swan and Ron gape at the terrier skipping past his ankles.

"They are quite beautiful," Luna commented airily, gazing at the rabbit sprinting from wall to wall.

"Sure, if you can actually manage to make something," Fred called out across from her, tufts of vapors spouting from his wand.

"Maybe your Patronus is a cloud, or a particularly fuzzy gerbil?" George offered. His own Patronus vanished in a puff of smoke as Fred thumped him on the head.

Harry was still taking it all in when it dawned that they weren't in full attendance. "Hey Hermione, do you know where John is? It's not like him to miss a meeting."

Her Patronus whirled in a circle around her head before fading away, leaving a halo of silver strands in its place. "John? Yes, he said he...had something to take care of! I expect he'll be here any moment," she answered to the ceiling.

"Right then," he accepted, looking back around the room. "What about Marietta? Cho, do you..."

Heads turned as thunderous pounding battered the classroom door. The wood creaked as something on the other side tugged against the door and tried to force it open. "Who locked the bloody door? Someone get that!" Ron yelled over the ceaseless banging.

"I've got it!" Neville shouted.

His curiosity piqued, Harry pulled a thick lump of parchment from his robe pocket and unfolded it. He turned away from the others and tapped his wand against the paper, whispering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Ink blossomed from the center and spread out in all directions, revealing the diagrams and schematics of the Marauder's Map. On the seventh floor, standing in the corridor just outside where the Room of Requirement would be, he found a single dot with an unfamiliar name hanging above it.

"Jacob Long...who's...?"

Neville slid the heavy metal latch aside. The doors to the room flew open and John sprinted in, red-faced and panic stricken. Gasping for breath, he limply waved his arms toward the corridor outside, but the others only watched uncertainly as Hermione hurried forward to his side. Harry did a double take between the tired boy and the corridor on the map, which was now completely empty.

"John? What is it, what's wrong?" Hermione asked. The mute slung is harm over her shoulder for support - Ron grunted off to the side with disgust - and searched the room until he found Harry. He raised an exhausted hand and pointed directly at him.

Whispers ran through the room.

"Me?" Harry asked, and John nodded, repeatedly jabbing his finger at him. "What about me?" Harry prodded, stepping closer to him and fighting the sinking feeling in his stomach.

John slapped a hand against his forehead. He jabbed his finger toward the gaping door, mimed a little person walking with two of his fingers, and pointed at the floor below them.

Harry could feel his hands starting to tremble. "Someone's coming?" Hermione guessed for him.

John nodded furiously, trying to pull Harry towards the door by the scruff of his robes. "Hang on," Harry stopped him, shoving his hand away, "Who is it, who's coming?"

He knew the answer the moment John looked back at him with fevered urgency. John lifted his other arm away from Hermione and clamped his hands together over his head, repeatedly smashing them over his green tipped hair until the room was filled with alarmed gasps.

Harry looked around, shriveling beneath their expectant stares. "WELL DON'T JUST STAND THERE! RUN!"

Bodies hurtled toward the open door. A wall formed as they tried to push past one another to safety, but after a moment the dam broke loose and they all rushed out in a mad dash. Harry kept to the back, waiting to lead the end of their riot and constantly checking the Marauder's Map. A group of dots with Umbridge's name in the center was rapidly climbing the stairs, and they were already at the fifth floor.

John's fingers closed around the front of his shirt again and dragged him toward the exit. The two of them were the last through the door frame, and Harry could only see a few people still streaking away down the halls. John tore down the corridor away from the staircase, and, lacking a better alternative, Harry pelted after him.

"The library!" he shouted ahead. John was almost at the turn in the hall with Harry only a few steps behind. "It's not past curfew yet! Wait there unt-gaaAAAH!"

His legs had gone numb, but pain still shot through his arms as he collapsed and slid to a halt on the rough stone floor. Pounding footsteps were already echoing down the hall by the time he'd manage to prop himself up on his arms. John was suddenly at his side with an arm slung beneath his shoulder, trying in vain to lift him off the ground.

"What are you doing? Go! Get out of here!" Harry ordered, the steps of their pursuers growing louder. John continued struggling and managed to drag him a few feet around the corner before someone appeared just behind them.

"They're here, Professor!" Malfoy yelled over his shoulder with his wand in hand. "I got one with a Jelly-Legs Jinx! I think it's Po-!"

There was a blur of movement from John, a snapping sound, and Malfoy's voice hitched into silence. Clutching his throat in panic, he glared at the pair of them while John kept his wand held high and fought to drag Harry to his feet. His limp legs, however, weren't cooperating in the slightest.

"Just go!" Harry demanded. "She'll be here any-!"

"There they are!" Harry's heart sank as Umbridge skidded to a stop beside Malfoy, wild with joy. "Good work, Draco! Check the room they were in and send some of the others to the bathrooms and the library. Find anyone that looks in a hurry; out of breath, missing bags and such. Quickly, now, go!" Draco nodded obediently, running off without a sound.

"And you two," she pointed a pudgy finger at the pair of them, "are coming with me."

Umbridge set Harry's legs right and led them back down the staircases to the gargoyle outside of Dumbledore's Office. As they slowly slid up the staircase to the heavy office door, Harry could only feel regret for the evening. The thought of crawling back to the Dursley's early was nauseating, but it was John that had him reeling. In the few months he'd had at Hogwarts, the mute had stuck his neck out more than once and saved most of the DA from capture. Now, he was being dragged to his fate right alongside Harry and would undoubtedly be sent back to his muggle home, disconnected from the magical world for good, and it would be entirely Harry's fault.

They arrived at the door with the silver griffon knocker. Umbridge paid it no mind and thrust her way into the office of whirling gizmos and shimmering trinkets. Up on his perch, Fawkes rested with his head tucked beneath his wing, and Harry's chest gave a great shudder as he found the group of people gathered below. Dumbledore sat behind his desk with a complacent smile while two large men, Professor McGonagall, Percy Weasley, and Prime Minister Fudge himself crowded in front of him. Fudge was dressed in his usual fine robes and bowler hat, his cheeks red and shaking as he pointed a trembling finger at Dumbledore.

"This has gone too far, Dumbledore! I will not tolerate..."

Umbridge threw the office door closed with a loud SLAM. Their audience turned to face them, and Fudge smirked with an upturned nose. "Ah, Mr. Potter!"

"I've got them, Minister!" Umbridge dragged the two boys forward by their arms. "Our information about their meeting on the 7th floor was spot on. However, the students were running away by the time we arrived. Someone must have tipped them off."

Harry's thoughts were a blur, and he looked to Dumbledore in a panic. The Headmaster didn't meet his stare, but instead focused on a point just over his shoulder. "Professor Dumbledore, I..."

"Proof! Evidence!" Fudge shouted in victory, shooting back to Dumbledore. "There's no denying now that these gatherings have been occurring right under your nose!"

"On the contrary," Dumbledore smiled, placing his fingertips together, "I think you'll find your assessment quite incorrect."

Fudge gave a great scoff of disbelief. "Oh yes, please! Do try to explain this away as well, I'm dying to hear your wondrous tale! Does it involve some great beast locked in the depths of the school? Or is time travel to blame this time! No, of course it must be your Dragons and more of their nonsense!"

"Good one, sir!" Percy guffawed over a sudden choking fit from John.

Dumbledore remained unconcerned. "Those would be wondrous tales indeed. My point, however, is that you implied the existence of multiple supposed 'meetings'. I have heard of no other meetings that violated school policies."

"No previous meetings?" Umbridge asked sweetly. "Apologies, Headmaster, but have you forgotten the very first meeting we informed you about? Reliable witnesses have attested to seeing Mr. Potter and his friends gathered in the Hog's Head Inn on the day of the Hogsmeade attack!"

"Which, if my memory is correct, was two days before Education Decree Twenty Three was instated and therefore broke no regulations," he countered. The room fell silent, and Fudge's face was slowly starting to turn an even purple, not unlike a ripening plum. "That of course means tonight was the first confirmed meeting, which I cannot possibly deny having taken place. However, if Mr. Potter and Mr. Long were the only ones in attendance, then they were well within the Decree's restrictions."

"These two were not alone, Headmaster!" Umbridge snapped. "I myself witnessed at least a dozen students running in the halls, possibly more, and I'm certain my Inquisitorial Squad will attest to the same!"

Professor McGonagall loomed darkly over the pink woman, her eyes flat with cold fury. "You've proven only that the students were in the corridors before curfew, as is their right. I would also expect them to be running when certain students are being given permission to openly use magic against them!"

Umbridge squinted up at her and had a pudgy finger raised when Fudge sighed with exasperation. "We'll ask our informant then! Where's the girl, Dolores?"

"Yes, of course Minister! I'll bring her in," she teetered, sauntering away and retreating through a side passage. Harry found himself staring at Dumbledore following her departure, astonished that they had yet to be forcibly removed from the castle. Yet even now the wizard studied a ceiling over Harry's head with twiddling fingers, avoiding his gaze entirely. No one said a word until Umbridge briskly returned a few moments later, guiding a Ravenclaw Girl in front of her. Harry's stomach did an uneasy turn.

"Here she is, Prime Minister. This is Marietta Edgecombe." A surge of anger washed over Harry as he looked over the traitor that Cho had vouched for. Marietta had her robes pulled up to cover her face and kept her eyes on the floor, her hair covering what her clothing couldn't in a mess of brown curls. "She is the one who warned me about Mr. Potter's meeting tonight. Her mother Madam Edgecombe works in the Department of Magical Transportation and has been helping us monitor the school's fireplaces."

"Splendid, splendid," the Minister applauded, drawing closer to the girl. "I will be sure to tell her of your good work. Come here, dear, come closer. Why are you covering your face like th-sweet stinksap!"

Marietta cowered away and pulled her robes farther up. For a moment, Fudge had eased her arms down enough for them all to see her disfigurement, a mass of furious pimples that formed orderly lines across her face to spell "SNEAK". In that moment, Harry found a new respect for Hermione's spellwork.

"It's alright dear, I'm sure the affliction is only temporary. We'll get you back to Madam Pomfrey as soon as we're finished!" Umbridge tried to soothe the girl over her cries. She looked back up to the minister and continued more loudly, "Ms. Edgecombe here came to my office earlier this evening and informed me about something I'd like to see tonight in the 7th floor corridor. After I questioned her, she mentioned that there was to be a meeting, at which point this," she gestured to Marietta, who cried even louder, "took effect."

"Good gracious," Fudge muttered, pulling a lavender handkerchief from his robes and dabbing at his forehead. "Well, my dear, we'll only ask you a few questions and..." Marietta shook her head furiously, her muffled whimpers just barely audible through her clothing.

"You won't have to speak, dear!" Umbridge encouraged her. "Nodding for 'yes' and shaking for 'no' will do!"

"I thought you preferred a more proper method, Dolores," Professor McGonagall quipped. John through his hands in the air in vexed agreement.

Umbridge ignored them both. "Alright dear, would you kindly tell us if this was the first of these meetings? Quickly, yes or no!"

Marietta slowly looked up to Umbridge and Harry grew numb with dread until an unusual sensation passed by him. He thought he saw the tall, dark man beside Fudge twitch and soon after a quick breeze brushed his legs, as though a small dog or rodent had just whisked by. Marietta paused in her movement and stared blankly until Umbridge pried, "Come now, dear, a nod or shake will do. Was this the first-?"

Marietta nodded. Umbridge blinked a few times and asked again. "You're saying there have been no other meetings, then?" Marietta shook her head. "But my dear, did you not tell me earlier that these meetings have been going on for several - why are you shaking your head?"

"I think her meaning is quite clear, unless she's devised some new method of sign language," McGonagall commented dryly.

Umbridge shot her a scathing look before turning back to Marietta. "Tonight, were there going to be more than three students attending including Mr. Potter and Mr. Long?" Marietta shook her head, and Umbridge began to turn red. "Including yourself, that would make three! You're certain there was to be no one else, not a single person?" Marietta nodded.

Umbridge bit down her fury like a burning kettle, and Harry almost thought he could hear whistling from her ears. "She's lying," Umbridge hissed, spittle flying as she turned back to Fudge. "She said nothing of the sort in my office earlier, Minister, I assure you!"

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore interjected, standing from behind his desk, "I find it difficult to consider such serious accusations on the word of a single student, especially when said student later denies the claims. Should you have any founded concerns in the future, Professor Umbridge, I of course implore you to bring them to my attention." He motioned to the office door and bowed generously. "As always, it has been a pleasure Prime Minister."

Harry's head was swimming. He was beginning to hope that their doom had been miraculously avoided when the office door swung open once again, revealing Millicent Bulstrode holding a familiar piece of parchment. "Professor Umbridge! I found something for you in their room!"

Umbridge held out her hand for the paper and glanced it over. In seconds, her toadlike face spread with a wide grin. "Very good! Fifty points for Slytherin! You may go, Ms. Bulstrode." Millicent nodded and closed the door behind her.

"Prime Minister, Ms. Bulstrode has just delivered to me a most fascinating piece of evidence!" Harry caught a glimpse of the paper, and his stomach plummeted as he recognized the charter. Umbridge dictated aloud, "I believe this to be a list of all of the individuals belonging to Mr. Potter's group, clear proof that..."

She stopped midstep, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. "Yes, yes, what is it Dolores?" Fudge beckoned impatiently, stepping beside her and following her awestruck gaze. His mouth fell agape and his hands began to tremble as he snatched the parchment away, waving it up towards Dumbledore. "What is the meaning of this?"

Fudge slammed the paper down on Dumbledore's desk. The Headmaster drew it closer and examined it through his half-moon spectacles, slowly reading aloud, "Dumbledore's Army."

He looked up at them all and smiled. "Well, you've got me."

Eerie silence filled the room. "What?" Fudge stammered.

"It says 'Dumbledore's Army'," he answered simply. "Not 'Potter's'."

Fudge's jowels sagged as he gaped at Dumbledore. "You mean...?"

"As you suspected," Dumbledore nodded.

"No! Professor, don't-!" Harry yelled.

"Quiet, boy!" Fudge ordered. McGonagall gave him a furious look, and John grabbed his shoulder. He shook his head in warning, looking every bit as terrified as Harry felt.

Fudge turned on Dumbledore with a dirty scowl. "You were recruiting an army!"

Dumbledore folded his hands into his sleeves. "Precisely. I instructed Harry to gather prospective students, and tonight was to be our first meeting. I realize now that he was mistaken to invite Ms. Edgecombe." He nodded to the girl, as pleasant as ever. "So, now that my plot is thoroughly unfolded, which will it be?

Fudge looked dumbly between the two men beside him. "What do you mean? What are you talking about Dumbledore?"

"Well, from my point of view this will play out in one of two ways," he shrugged. "One involves you resisting me, and the other does not. One ends well for you, and the other, quite simply, does not." He leaned forward toward Fudge. "So, which will it be?"

Umbridge, Percy, Fudge, and the two men all exchanged urgent looks. Sweating more profusely, Fudge took a cautious step forward and reached for his wand.

The room became a blur. Professor McGonagall launched herself in Harry's direction while John came from the other side, both of them reaching him just as Dumbledore pulled his wand from his sleeve in a flash and an almighty burst shook the office. Silver light filled Harry's vision, and he could hear nothing but shrill ringing as they all crashed to the floor.

He tried to stand, but Professor McGonagall and John kept him pinned to the ground alongside Marietta. Dust obscured the room, and Harry could only make out another couple bursts of light and muffled thuds shaking the floor. A moment of silence passed before everything stilled and the air began to clear. Through the murky din, Harry could see Fudge and the others unconscious on the floor and Dumbledore striding toward them intently.

"Thank you, Minerva, and kindly extend my thanks to Kingsley as well. He was remarkably quick on the uptake with his Memory Charm on Ms. Edgecombe. It was unfortunate that I had to curse him as well, but he will be safer for it." He helped Professor McGonagall to her feet, glancing around at the incapacitated wizards and shaken students. "They will come to soon, I don't have much time. Watch over the students while I'm gone."

Jonathan looked like he was trying to find something to write on when Dumbledore firmly grabbed his shoulders. "Remember your purpose here, Jonathan, and should you need anything, know that Professor McGonagall is even more trustworthy than myself."

He turned away from the gawking mute and fixed lastly on Harry. "You must continue your lessons with Professor Snape, Harry. Learning Occlumency is essential, nothing is more important. Do you understand?"

Harry finally met his piercing blue eyes, and a surge of rage erupted deep in the back of his mind. It was the same urge from his vision of Mr. Weasley, the urge to strike, to maim, to squeeze the life out of the man before him. Fighting the sensation, he stuttered, "Yeah, alright."

Dumbledore nodded and whirled around, kicking up a swirl of dust. His attackers were beginning to stir and Fudge was scowling at him in unfocused fury, drunkenly clambering to his feet. "Stop...Dumbledore..."

Dumbledore raised both of his arms as Fawkes flew down from his perch, and his hands met the creature with a thunderous clap. The Headmaster and his phoenix were engulfed in a plume of fire that immediately collapsed into a single, tiny ember, leaving behind only the smallest of scorch marks on the woven rug below.

They all stood around the spot, perplexed and utterly dumbstruck. Fudge, specked with dirt and gleaming with sweat, looked like his wobbling knees were about to give out. "But...how?"

The tall, dark wizard put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Trust me, Minister. When it comes to Dumbledore, it's better not to ask questions."

Educational Decree 29. Effective immediately, Dolores Umbridge was now Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It was the only subject of discussion that Saturday morning. For once, exams and idle gossip had lost all importance as everyone moved uncertainly through the castle. Despite the newly erected posters declaring her position, many students half expected it to be some Weasley prank or Ministry ploy. When Dumbledore's seat at the Head Table remained vacant, however, even the naysayers joined in the frantic whispering. Umbridge was sickeningly pleased with herself, the other professors were emotionless as statues, and to top it all off a certain rumor had soon managed to circulate through the ears of every student.

Marietta Edgecombe, Jonathan Long, and Harry Potter were in the headmaster's office with Umbridge and the Minister of Magic when Dumbledore made a dramatic and daring escape from the law.

It was as tall a tale as they came, and it grew taller with every telling. By the time Lavender Brown and the Patil twins had come to Jake about it during lunch, it had been to ask if it was really true that Dumbledore had transfigured Umbridge into a frog, set fire to his office, and thrown Fudge through his window into the courtyard below. Something told Jake the Slytherins were behind that bit.

Yet as the story grew and shifted, only one fact failed to change, and it was the one that caused the greatest concern. Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in modern history and iconic, ostensive leader of Hogwarts, had been banished by the Ministry. Many were anxious, some were terrified, and a few were even cheering. After ruminating all night in the darkness of his dormitory, however, Jake was of a more perturbed opinion.

"That wacked out, wrinkle faced, crotchety, senile, back-stabbing, shady old nutjob," he growled, ignoring Hermione's short intake of breath.

"Shhh!" she hushed him, looking ahead significantly. They had just finished lunch and were walking down the dirt path to the Quidditch pitch. Harry and Ron were headed in the same direction a ways ahead of them, Ron supporting a broomstick over his shoulder. They were out of earshot and spoke in low voices, Ron throwing the occasional spiteful glare over his shoulder.

"Jerk ditches me here and expects me to clean up his mess," Jake seethed under his breath, abandoning all caution in his rage.

Hermione crossed her arms. "You know that isn't true! Dumbledore didn't have a choice." She winced as Jake kicked a stone in their path, punting it down the rolling lawns. His jaw was clenched so tightly that his teeth were aching. They walked on in silence until they arrived at the pitch, ducking below the burlap entrance curtains and finding seats in the stands far removed from the other sparse spectators.

"I should have seen it coming," Jake hissed as the players appeared below in their Quidditch gear. "Now I don't have any back up. I'm so screwed." He fell back into the low dip behind him where the feet of the next row of spectators would be and covered his face with his hands. "How could this get any worse."

"Well, now that you mention it..." Hermione hesitated. Jake's fingers slid down his cheeks and he watched her with exasperated, unwilling exhaustion. Strange, garbling noises from Bludgers signaled the opening of the ball chest on the field below.

"You're kidding me," he moaned. "What, another Potter-seizure? More surprise giants?"

"Neither," she confided, biting her lip. "Harry knows your real name."

It took Jake an abnormal degree of self-control to not shout in combined frustration and despair, and he settled instead for banging his head against the stands. Some force of nature was really trying its damnedest to get rid of him. "Oh come on, how?"

Hermione straightened up in her seat. "He has an enchanted map, you see, that shows the position and name of every..."

"An enchanted map, of course," Jake laughed sardonically.

Hermione sighed. "The point is that things are still getting worse. As far as I know, Harry hasn't figured anything else out, but I think it would be best..."

"I know," Jake grumbled. He looked to the opposite end of the pitch where Harry sat beside the Weasley twins, his bag and a couple of books laid out beside him. He was bent over some essay or other with intense concentration, stooping even closer to the paper whenever Ron missed another catch in the air above. "I'll have to keep my distance from him, lay low for a while."

Hermione was pulling at the ends of her robe sleeves. "Actually, I was going to say that...I mean, after what's happened..."

"Hold up." Jake snapped upright, the meaning behind her plain discomfort beginning to sink in. "Hermione, you don't mean...?"

She nodded and dropped her eyes to the side. "I think you should leave...Hogwarts, that is."

His nagging worries were replaced with baffled confusion. Leaving? The thought felt so...wrong, so unacceptable. He fumbled for words, but when all that came out were jumbled half-noises, Jake turned away and gathered up his belongings.

"Jake, you have to!" Hermione pleaded to his back as he piled things in his bag. "Don't you remember what we found in the Restricted Section? We can't take the chance of the Ministry knowing your secret. Things have gotten too...complicated."

He was about to stand when a hand rested over his shoulder. Jake's head was still a turmoil of emotion, but he allowed himself to be turned around. Hermione's expression had softened, and she reached a hand up to the side of his head, running it over his hair. "I hate it every bit as much as you do."

The squirming in Jake's stomach was almost nauseating. His palms were sweating, and he was halfway towards lifting one to meet Hermione's hand when she jerked it away, snatching a strand of hair with it. Jake flinched and cradled the smarting spot, watching Hermione with annoyance as she inspected the green-tipped hair. "We still have so much to learn about the other Dragons, and your magic! I wish I had more time than questions, not the other way around."

The burning pressure in his chest deflated instantaneously. He shook his head and turned instead to watch one of the beaters swing wildly with his bat held upside down. "You don't get it, Hermione. I'm not going anywhere, I can't."

Ron's younger sister swooped past them to catch a pass, the rush of air flinging Hermione's hair out of her resolute expression. "It's for the best!" she insisted. "Think about the consequences if you're caught! Think about the other Dragons, about Haley, and Dominic, and-!"

"Did someone say 'Dragons'?"

Jake twisted around, and his acute worry evolved into outright terror as he found the man standing in the benches behind them. He wore a crisp suit, had a sturdy face, and flashed a smile that crinkled his face with jovial laughter lines.

"Awww maaaan."

"-Mr. Stout!" Hermione squeaked, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Jake watched with panic as Stout quietly considered her. The air around them brimmed with tension until Hermione cleared her throat and stood with her hand extended. "I-It's a pleasure to see you again, sir! I don't know if you remember the last time we met, my name is-"

"-Hermione Granger," Stout finished smoothly. He grasped her hand with a slow, deliberate motion, and held it firmly motionless. Hermione grew a shade paler and nodded, timidly lowering her hand when Stout finally let go. "I'm pleased to see my nephew has made a friend. Admittedly, I was concerned that he would have a spot of trouble fitting in."

Jake's hand twitched toward the pocket bulging with his training collar, wishing he'd listened to Hermione's earlier warnings. The slight movement was enough for Stout, who perked an unimpressed eyebrow. His grin slipped away as he said evenly, "If neither of you are currently preoccupied, I think we all need to have a little chat."

He turned and began walking down his row of benches toward the exit stairs. Jake jumped up to the next tier of seats and hurried after him, leaping down to block his path. He was desperately trying to think of what to say or do to placate him when Stout gripped his shoulder in a tight pinch and leaned in toward his ear. "I think you've already demonstrated quite enough stupidity for one morning, let's not push it. I said I only wanted a chat, and that is what I meant. I promise."

Jake looked over his shoulder at Hermione, who looked torn between following the intimidating man's request and taking her chances at running in the opposite direction. Resigned to the coming storm, Jake nodded in obedience. Stout straightened and beckoned toward Hermione. "Ms. Granger, I would relish the opportunity to catch up with you and Jonathan in a more private setting."

It took her a moment to dislodge her feet and start stumbling toward them. "Yes, I...alright."

Stout resumed his stride across the stands with his hands folded behind his back, and the two of them followed. He lead them down the stairs and ducked into a side curtain that opened to what Jake thought looked kind of like his high school locker room, only the lockers were wooden, the floor was dirt, and there weren't any showers. He was fighting the urge to peak in a cabinet or two when Stout cleared his throat. The solid man leaned his back against a support beam with his arms folded and stared at Jake with no sign of emotion. The unconditional joy he normally donned was replaced with a flawless, flat indifference.

"What does she know?" he intoned coldly.

"Please, Mr. Stout," Hermione began. "Don't blame Jake, this was entirely my fault. I forced him to tell me."

He looked sideways at her and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So, everything I take it?" He took Jake's guilty silence as confirmation. "Well, so much for my record, I suppose. I really should congratulate you, Ms. Granger. You're the first witch in ten years to learn the identity of the English Dragon."

"The identity of the...?" Jake was too late to stop her sharp intake of breath. "You mean...you? You're...?"

"Oh that's all on you, home slice," Jake said, recoiling from Stout's renewed fury. "But she's the only one, Stout, I swear! The rest of the school is still clueless, and you don't have to worry about her! She knows how to keep a secret, right Hermione?" She nodded eagerly, but Stout's frustration held firm.

He took a deep, exaggerated breath. "You had one job, my boy," he criticized. "I sincerely believed that, after everything we discussed, you'd try to put even a minuscule amount of effort into it."

Jake barked a sarcastic laugh. "One job? You might want to check your math there, Benjy. Acting the spy, finding Chang, being Dumbledore's 'Plan B', you've got me working overtime, yo! Not to mention having to put up with Umbridge and wearing this wack thing!" he argued, dragging the collar from his pocket and dangling it in front of him.

"Pardon me, Mr. Stout," Hermione interrupted. She leaned away from their combined threatening looks and noticeably struggled to keep her voice even. "I was just wondering why you're here? Not that it isn't a pleasure to see you again, but I thought that since you and Jake had your Replitomes..."

"Is nothing sacred to you?" Stout snapped with fresh incredulity. Jake groaned and put a hand over his face while Stout readdressed Hermione. "To put it kindly, Ms. Granger, it doesn't do much good for one party to place a call when the other refuses to pick up the line."

Jake cringed, only now wondering how many days, maybe even weeks, had passed since he last opened his journal. Ever since his altercation with Hermione in the forest, the book had remained buried in his bag, his nagging fear of Stout discovering the security breach keeping it permanently out of reach. Rubbing the back of his neck, he preened, "I've been…busy, alright? I mean there's been exams, the Ministry, flying under the radar, I've just been slammed, that's all."

"Oh, I'm well aware of how 'busy' you've been," Stout said dryly. "First I get Fudge breathing down my neck about coercing Rita Skeeter to publish some interview-," Jake cringed again, "-and now Dumbledore's supposedly recruited students for his personal army?"

"I can explain that!" Jake blurted.

"By all means," Stout shrugged, casually crossing his legs and waiting with rapt attention.

"Well I...," Jake stuttered, his tongue feeling thick and sluggish, "...I was sticking close to the others, like I was supposed to...and they had this group to practice defensive magic, but then...well this one girl Marietta, she..."

"I see," Stout nodded blankly. The way his jaw was set and his tone of bemused entertainment were unnerving, and Jake realized he was being indulged like a babbling child. He looked to Hermione for support, but found only her previous look of morose admission and knew that they had reached the same conclusion.

Accepting his defeat, Jake slouched and dug his hands in his pockets. "I screwed up."

"You could put it that way," Stout agreed.

The knot in Jake's stomach tightened further. "You're taking me home, aren't you?"

Stout guffawed, "Good heavens, of course not! In fact I came precisely to make sure you hadn't gotten cold feet!"

Jake's and Hermione's jaws dropped in unison.

"But Dumbledore's gone!" Hermione derided.

"All the more reason Jake must stay and guard the students. God knows Umbridge will be useless in that department," Stout chortled, picking lint from his coat trim.

"The other professors won't be!" Hermione retorted. "And what about the Dragons' secret? Not to mention there have been magical creatures working against Jake for months now, maybe even for the Dark Dragon himself!"

She took another step backward as Stout's head snapped up, his neck contorted with tensed muscles. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's true, dawg," Jake defended her. "The new Divination professor, Firenze, told us the centaurs were yankin' our chains about shade demons in the Forbidden Forest. Then Potter had a vision where Chang mentioned she had some kind of spy on the inside. They've gotta be in deep with the big guy too, there's no other explanation."

The passion drained from Stout's expression, leaving it as empty as before. The unnaturally fluid transformation sent chills through Jake. "It would seem that way," Stout agreed in a low, measured voice. "Their betrayal is disturbing, but it will have to be left for another time. It also changes nothing of our position."

"Hermione might have a point," Jake muttered, his insides churning. "You know me, Benjy. I'm all for bending the rules and stuff, but isn't this going too far? We all know what's at stake here. If something goes wrong-."

"Jake." Stout clasped both of Jake's shoulders and lowered himself to eye level, stern and unblinking. "I can't make you stay, and we both know you'll have to go back home eventually. If you wish to do so prematurely, I'll even take you back myself."

Jake shriveled and felt sick, twinging at the thought. Answering to the others empty handed, with nothing to justify his actions, just like before...

"But before we go, consider everything you've accomplished. The school year's nearly over, you've marginally evaded detection, and Hogwarts remains perfectly safe. Not to mention that we've never been closer to finding Chang! Keep at this, and we may finally capture our greatest criminal. You don't have to go back empty handed, Jake. You could be a hero."

The word hung in the air like an intoxicating aroma. Stout straightened and slipped his hands away while Jake thought it over, playing the scenario out in his head; skating alongside Trixie and Spud, soaring over the bright New York skyline, Gramps clapping him on the back with pride...

Stout slid his hands into his pockets, watching Jake expectantly. "What's it going to be, chap?"

Dumbledore's parting words drifted through him once more. Remember your purpose here.

As far as Jake was concerned, there was only once answer. It took only seeing Hermione in the corner grimacing with unconvinced displeasure to convince him. He lifted the training collar back up, slipping it over his head to rest on his neck. Stout found his typical, cheek-wrinkling grin.

"That's the spirit, leave no job unfinished!" he cheered. "And before we leave, Ms. Granger, there is one last thing I would like to say."

He stepped toward her and tilted his head to leer down at her with a suddenly grim, severe intensity. The air in the room seemed to be growing colder by the second.

"Jake may trust you," he breathed, "but you are in my domain, and I am not so easily convinced. Choose to betray the Dragons of Draco Isle, and I will gladly take appropriate measures to ensure it does not happen again. Is that understood?"

Jake could feel his own knees trembling, but Hermione maintained an astonishing degree of composure. She gave one, short nod, and reeled back onto her heels when he boomed with spontaneous laughter.

"Splendid! Then on that note I will take my leave. Madam Umbridge will likely have learned of my arrival by now, no doubt she'll be expecting a visit." Turning on his heels, he strode back to the curtained door and lifted away one of the flaps. He straightened his shoulders and adjusted his tie, his lips peeling down into a disgusted grimace. "Meeting with her is rather like peeling a scab: best to get it done with."

Hermione jumped like she'd just stuck a fork in an electrical socket. "Wait, Mr. Stout!"

He nearly tripped, managing to catch himself on the door jam. "What? I...er...ahem, yes, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione slipped the bag from her shoulder. She flipped through it's neatly arranged contents until she found a crisply folded rectangle of parchment. A twinge of rage flicked through Jake when he recognized it. "Can you tell us anything about this?"

Stout's eyes narrowed, but he accepted the paper and slid a pair of glasses out from his coat. "Where did you find this?" he asked in a deliberately empty tone, scanning the crude drawings and cryptic writing.

"The library," she answered immediately, stepping forward to direct his attention to specific symbols on the paper. "Jake mentioned there being a war between Dragons and wizards, so we were doing some research. I've managed to translate most of the words, but the messages don't make much sense. They warn about the Dragons using dark magic and stealing artifacts...I was hoping, maybe..."

"That I could impart some wisdom on the matter?" he guessed. Hermione nodded and waited patiently as he finished examining the document. Jake was surprised to see him develop a look of humored amusement. "Propaganda, Ms. Granger; fanciful tales invented to beguile the masses and ensnare the imaginative. One of many tactics used by witches and wizards, both now and throughout history."

Her disappointment was apparent as she reluctantly took the pamphlet back. "If you still desire some wisdom," Stout offered, pocketing his glasses, "I will give you this: don't concern yourself with it." Above them, the muffled sound of Angelina Johnson's distant, irate yelling was just audible through the stands.

Stout gave a low whistle. "Besides, I'd wager you have other matters much more worthy of your time. Now, I dare say I am late. Study well, and play nice you two." He bowed slightly and disappeared behind the curtains. From out of sight, he barked back through the walls, "And check your bloody book!"

Jake listened to his crunching footsteps fade away. Despite donning the training collar, his chest felt lighter than before and a new, invigorating warmth was spreading through his limbs.

It wasn't true. The damning document they'd found had been so unsettling that Jake had wanted it to be a lie, but recent events had shaken his confidence. Now, having confirmed his suspicions with Stout himself, a new surge of courage was flowing through him. He still had Stout, his Replitome, Hermione, and time. Dumbledore's safety net was gone, but Jake wasn't beaten yet. He still had a chance.

"I suppose it's good that's resolved," Hermione huffed, shoving the pamphlet back into her bag, "but I still think this is a terrible idea. I can't believe after all this, Stout still wants you to stay."

Someone's cranky they didn't get their way. Jake crossed his arms and gave her a pestering look, which made her roll her eyes.

"I know, there's no point squabbling about it now." The faint sounds of some argument were growing louder as they walked toward the exit, Hermione smoothing out the folds in her robes. "We'll just have to work with what we've got, though I haven't got a clue what we can do about Umbridge."

Oh, I've got plenty of choice ideas, Jake thought as he followed her through the burlap curtains. Invisible Soap, Hag Boil Juice, Essence of Troll, Ogre Phlegm...maybe Fred left some of his gags behind in the Den...

Lost in his thoughts, Jake failed to notice the Gryffindor Quidditch player bumbling through the corridor ahead of him. The boy was bawling with blood smeared down his chin. He shoved his broomstick in Jake's confused hands and ran past them toward the castle grounds. The rest of the team were landing just outside the opening to the pitch in front of them, hot in pursuit with Johnson in the lead.

"Dammit Kirke! I said I was sorry, now GET BACK HERE!" she roared, sprinting down the tunnel with the rest of the team in tow while Jake and Hermione pressed to the side of the tunnel.

Hermione stepped out as Ron and his sister shambled by at the end. "Ginny, Ron, what happened?"

"That twit Kirke's a terrible Beater and a wuss, that's what happened," Ron sneered, giving Jake his usual passing glare before stomping ahead.

Ginny stopped and shook her head. "Anthony was swinging at butterflies instead of Bludgers or something, and Johnson was already on edge. She threw a Quaffle to get his attention, it hit him in the face, he started bleeding, she yelled at him to suck it up, and that's when the crying started."

"That's not good," Hermione sighed, joining the procession. By the time they'd left the pitch, Anthony Kirke was a speck at the top of the hill. Johnson continued to hurtle after him at an impressive speed, her Quidditch robes flapping madly behind her.

I should have taken Umbridge down when I had the chance, Jake thought as he stared into the distance. We were totally set at the beginning of the year. Things would never have gotten this bad if she weren't around...

And then a light bulb clicked to life in Jake's brain.

"Something wrong, Jake?" Hermione whispered. She edged away from the rest of the team, who stood beside the pitch walls uncertain of how to proceed with their captain fading into the distance.

The gears in Jake's mind ground to a halt. Back when he had his partner in crime, he might have been able to dethrone the Ministry's lapdog. But now? Even with his talents, it would be impossible to chase the toad away considering she was Headmistress. His chest was clenching tightly as he balanced Kirke's abandoned broomstick against his shoulder and slipped a piece of paper out from his pocket. Using his hand as a table, he scribbled down I miss Fred.

"Oh," Hermione puzzled, genuinely confused. "Well he's just there, if you want to talk to him."

Now equally bemused, Jake followed her gaze to see Harry just exiting the pitch flanked by the Weasley twins. Duh, she thought I was talking about...FRED...

A second bright light bulb joined the first.

"There you two are. Was that your uncle, John?" Harry asked.

"Yes!" Hermione answered a bit too quickly. "He's meeting with Umbridge and stopped for a visit."

"Shame he couldn't stay for the performance," George derided.

"A performance which, considering that Gryffindor is now short a Beater, has begun to lose its entertainment value," Fred admitted.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy though, really."

"I'd rather be disqualified than have another match with Kirke in the air."

"We won't be disqualified," Harry interrupted. "Johnson will find someone."

Fred jerked a thumb in the direction of Johnson's chase. "Someone who'd volunteer for that kind of punishment? Good luck finding that lunatic."

I really wish y'all would zip it for five seconds. Jake flung his hand in the air at Fred, who suddenly looked pleasantly surprised.

"Well that was fast," he said, eyeing the broom still resting against Jake's shoulder. "Rethink our earlier request, did you?"

Earlier request? Dawg, I just want you to...

"How are you on a broom?" Ginny called, walking over from the circle of players to join them. "Have you ever played Beater before?"

Say what? Jake looked at the broom leaning against his shoulder and immediately flung it away like some grotesque insect. He waved his hands in denial. Yo, that's not what I meant! We're on two TOTALLY different...

"No! No way he's on the team!" Ron stomped over with a finger aimed at his sister. "You can't play Quidditch if you can't talk!"

She planted her hands on her hips. "Because your fat mouth does you so much good?"

Ron's ears burned red as his hair, and his rushed retort was only half intelligible. The twins watched in silent admiration until Fred noticed the note Jake was holding out to him. George read it over his shoulder and the two shared the exact look of conniving curiosity that Jake had been hoping for.

"Well you're just full of surprises," George mumbled in disbelief. "Always the quiet types you've gotta watch out for."

"Not that we don't appreciate the offer," Fred said cautiously, "but how long exactly have you been interested in educational delinquency?"

The argument between the younger Weasleys continued to swell as the other players joined in, all of them oblivious to Jake's sidebar discussion. He smirked and scratched out another message, knowing exactly what it would take to win their support. When they read the message, Fred and George's intrigue became outright shock.

"You're joking?" George laughed skeptically. Jake shook his head. "Sodding hell, and you wait until now to mention it? Of course we'll help!"

"On one condition." Fred picked up Kirke's broom and held it horizontally in front of Jake. "We'll help you if you help us. It's only good business."

Jake rolled his eyes and wrote out another note for the twins. Way to go, Jake. Tell them you can fly and now they want you on the team. No problem. Oh wait, that's right! YOU DON'T HAVE ANY WINGS.

George read it aloud. "Lied before, can't fly, never have." He turned to Fred unimpressed. "Lying? Honestly, is there no good left in the world?"

"Then this'll be your first lesson," Fred persisted. "All you need to do is stay upright and hold a bat for one match, and you've got a deal."

You aren't listening, freckles! I can't make wizard magic, I can't use wizard wands, I can't do wizard anything! Jake bent down, snatched the broom back up, and raised it between his legs. Y'all won't listen? Fine! See for yourself!

Hermione turned away from the others just as he began to lean forward and bend his knees. "Hey John, what are...wait, don't...!"

Jake pushed off from the ground and collapsed against the broomstick from the sudden force of takeoff. He hung frozen twenty feet in the air above the others, who had all ceased their bickering at the sight of his sudden ascent.

But...but...

"So!" Fred shouted up to him. "Are you a size small or extra small?"

The walk to Snape's office never failed to torment Harry.

The corridors were always more cold and foreboding, the torches were always dimmer, and the lessons themselves always ended worse than before. Harry's rare attempts at clearing his mind continued to prove fruitless, and he had no doubt that Snape would use the opportunity to tear away at him. Worst of all, Harry had lost his last bastion away from the torture and kept finding himself thinking on how much he'd rather be at DA session, or really anywhere else, than entertaining the Potions professor.

Only his promise to Professor Dumbledore stopped him from skipping out altogether. It had been three days since Umbridge had uncovered their schemes and mistakenly accused the Headmaster of their wrongdoings, and though Harry had himself escaped punishment, the same could not be said for the Headmaster. Harry wanted to uphold Dumbledore's parting request, if for nothing else just to spite the Ministry, but with Umbridge now Headmistress, O.W.L.s mere weeks away, and the impending threat of Voldemort, focusing on mental barriers proved more difficult than ever.

Because of this, his 'dreams' continued to grow worse. His scar stung constantly, and visions of the Department of Mysteries had become a weekly routine. The worst part was that Harry almost looked forward to them now. Each time he traveled a bit farther, discovered the next step in the vision, and just the night before he'd seen something beyond intriguing. Past the first door, down the hallway, through the circular connecting room, and beyond the corridor of glowing light, was a bleak labyrinth of soft blue wisps. Endless towering shelves stretched into the darkness, and each was was dotted with equally innumerable glowing orbs like stars wading through the night sky. Harry had walked down the aisles, brushing over their glassy surfaces until he came upon one that shined brighter than the rest. Voices whispered out of the darkness as he reached out to touch its radiant light, to feel its warmth in his hand...

His knuckles rapped against Snape's office door, and he was answered by a leering drawl. "Enter."

Instead of orbs, Harry found the familiar jars of floating organs and desiccated creatures adorning Snape's shelves. The man himself stood over his desk, staring down into the reflective film of Dumbledore's Pensieve. He lifted the tip of his wand away from his temple and dragged with it a ghostly silver strand that he flicked and prodded down into the artifact's swirling waters. He then appraised Harry with cold indifference. "For once, Potter, you are on time."

Without comment, Harry took his place across the desk from Snape. Before either could speak further, Snape's door flung open again and Malfoy stood in the doorway winded. "Professor! The Headmistress..." he noticed Harry staunchly avoiding his gaze, "...Potter?"

"Remedial Potions, Draco," Snape clarified. "What is it?"

Draco was trying and failing to contain his laughter, and it made Harry's cheeks burn. "The Defense corridor's covered in some kind of slime that's spreading along the floor. Headmistress Umbridge wants your help."

Snape's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly with impatience. "This won't take long, Potter. Wait here."

He swept from the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Harry alone in the haunting chamber. Harry threw himself down in a chair, furious with his surroundings. He was already enraged for the evening and Snape hadn't so much as lifted his wand. Not for the first time, he considered abandoning the effort and simply returning to his dormitory, but the guilt of disobeying Dumbledore's instructions kept him immobilized.

Light flickered from the Pensieve at the edge of Harry's vision, drawing his attention. Its contents shimmered with murky images, remnants of the distant memories lost in its depths. He leaned over the bowl and thought he could see faces and objects when a dark temptation overcame him. A quick look confirmed the office door was still closed, and he could hear nothing beyond the walls, but there was no telling how much time he would have.

His heart pounding, Harry gripped the desk and plunged his head into the Pensieve.

A tingling wave spread over his face, and for a few seconds he was engulfed in rough spinning as though he'd grabbed onto a poorly enchanted Portkey. Color oozed into his surroundings, painting what Harry soon recognized as the large beech tree on the shore of the Black Lake. He watched students wade out into the waters and relax in the shade until he noticed a small group of students laughing a few feet away.

"Nice one, Prongs!" a lanky boy with long black hair cheered a slightly shorter boy with glasses at the front of their group of four Gryffindors. They stood over the body of a fifth boy, who was lying on his back and taking deep, shaking breaths.

"You're always good for a little fun, Snivellus." The boy Harry now recognized as a younger version of his father stood smiling, admiring the wand in his hand. Harry's head was racing for some reasoning, some allowable circumstance that could explain for the scene before him.

"Thank you, Padfoot." James announced to the others beside him, "Now, who wants to see me take off Snivellus's trousers?"

"You're a creep, Potter. You know that, right?" The group of boys shied away at the approach of a similarly aged girl, also wearing Gryffindor robes. She stepped between them and the boy struggling to rise from the ground, his face hidden behind a curtain of greasy black hair.

The smirk on James's face faltered. "It's just Snivellus, Evans. But we can talk it over if it bothers you so much...in private."

"I'd rather kiss the Giant Squid." The three other boys behind him bit back their laughter as the boy on the ground finally managed to lift his head.

"Leave me alone," he hissed at the girl. "I don't need any help from a filthy mudblood."

Her momentary shock was quickly replaced by cold dejection. "Fine then. Have fun in the dirt."

Lily Evans about faced and strode away, never looking back at the cringing teenage form of Severus Snape. He was staring after her when his legs swung upward and lifted into the air. James watched mercilessly from below, his wand following Snape as he drifted slowly upwards, blood pooling in his head. "You shouldn't have said that, Snivellus."

The churning in Harry's stomach had become unbearable when powerful fingers snared the back of his robes and dragged him back to reality. He flew backwards and landed on the cold floor of Snape's dim office, his head meeting the stone and sending bursts of light through his vision. He had little time to collect himself before Snape, now older and filled with primal fury, dragged him upward against the shelves by the scruff of his neck. The Potions Master's breaths were deep and ragged.

"Professor, I..." Harry stuttered.

"You will tell no one," Snape demanded in a sinister tone.

"No, of course not!" Harry answered, his throat burning from the pressure.

Snape threw him towards the door, and Harry only just managed not to lose his footing. "Get out."

"But what about..."

"Get...OUT!"

Harry did not ask twice. The office door slammed behind him, and he heard the impact of what sounded like one of Snape's glass jars shattering against the wood. Harry ran all the way back to the Gryffindor common room, trying harder than ever before to clear his mind. Snape's rage had been bone rattling, but the memory of the terrorism instigated by his own father was a poison that seeped into his very core.

The couches and chairs in the common room were scattered with students beginning their annual cramming for finals. Hermione and John were the first to see him enter, both rising from their places beside the fireplace at his passing. Hermione reached out in surprise. "You're back early. How was..."

"I'm going to bed." If she called after him, Harry didn't hear it. Thoughtlessly, he wandered up the stairs and into his dormitory. Ron was toying with a Gobstone in his bed, but Harry shared no words and instead enclosed himself in the privacy of his curtained four-poster. No pain emanated from his scar, but the aching in his chest more than compensated, and the memory from the Pensieve kept Harry thoroughly enslaved.

Snape was right all along, and Harry had seen it with his own eyes. For years, whenever someone had compared Harry to James his heart had swelled with pride. Yet the James Potter Harry had invented was a childish fabrication. The real James, who had tormented helpless students by the lakeside for his own amusement, filled Harry only with shame. And if the figment of his parents had been false, what other lies was he built upon? What did he truly know of himself, of those he surrounded himself with? How could he be sure he even knew right from wrong?

Harry's only certainty was his regret for being so blind. He wished he'd never kept his promise to Dumbledore.

And that's it! As usual, if you liked the material or have any comments/suggestions/questions, feel free to leave reviews or PM me! Follow for future updates, and stick around for the next installment!