Holy crap, 26+ followers already. And I just realized it's been almost four months since I posted last. Sorry about that; I promise I haven't abandoned it or anything, it's just less of a priority compared to some other stories I'm working on at the moment. O_O Thanks for reading so far~!

EDIT: Due to plot issues, and the fact that I didn't realize it until now, I've edited this and the last chapter so that it takes place in fifth year, not third. As a result, the next chapter may take a little longer than I'd hoped. Sorry about that. :P

By the time they returned to the castle, Jellal was exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep.

After eating at the Leaky Cauldron and having to skirt around Harry's questions while not backing himself into a corner—which proved to be much more difficult than he thought it would be whilst conversing with the fifteen year old kid—Hagrid had dragged him back through the stores again.

Minerva gave him a knowing, sympathetic look as he passed her.

The mage climbed the steps of the grand staircase slowly, having already memorized the way to his room. The bust of a nameless wizard sat atop a marble pedestal, stone eyes watching him as he trudged ever closer. "Heaven's Tower," Jellal stated clearly, despite the exhaustion he was feeling. When Albus had first told him the password, he nearly let loose a very inappropriate comment about the irony. Fortunately, he held his tongue. It probably wouldn't turn out well for him if Albus were to find out he housed a criminal.

The pedestal and statue, along with a good section of the wall, melded together before solidifying in a small, odd-shaped door that Jellal opened with a bang. He found out fairly quickly that the door loved to put up obstacles for him.

The room looked the same as he'd left it, yet the former Wizard Saint couldn't shake the small niggling in the back of his mind. Something about the room… Shaking his head, Jellal did a quick once over of the area, not finding anything different or out of the ordinary that he could think of.

Swallowing a yawn, the blue-haired man glanced at the rather comfy-looking bed before taking another thorough look at the chamber. He yawned again, this time without repressing it. He'd just take a quick nap, and perhaps he could figure out the problem when he woke…

With that thought in mind, Jellal fell into the soft mattress, falling asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He stood in a field, surrounded by the tall grasses. He lifted an arm, shielding his eyes from the wind that seemed to cut like a knife. The grasses rustled impatiently, his cloak whipping around his legs. The field whispered to him in a language he couldn't seem to understand. It sounded so familiar, and he felt like he should know it, but he didn't. It was frustrating, and he growled as he wracked his brain.

The voices grew louder, rising and falling in a rhythm with the wind. At times the voices would rise up in unison; at other times one section would rise whilst the other fell.

They were deep, bellowing shouts and light, tinkling laughter. Hoarse, rough screams that grated at one's ears were accompanied by the pleasant, delighted shrieks and giggles of children. The loud, lilted singing of a choir rose alongside the despairing cries of the suffering and the dying.

And the people speaking. They were talking, talking, talking in that language, understanding just out of his reach. They invaded his thoughts, entering through his ears and eyes and mouth and nose, cramming themselves into his head. They dug their way past his skull, piercing his brain to wriggle their way inside like parasites, getting louder and louder and—

"Shut up!" He cried, clutching at his head in agony. "Just leave me alone!" His body wanted to crumple under the weight; his eyes wanted to close, to shut out and protect them from the burning acid that seemed to seep into the cracks. But it was like he'd turned to stone. His body refused to move or respond, leaving him at the mercy of the voices and the cutting wind that carried them.

"Please! Leave me alone!" His voice sounded strange, unfamiliar. It didn't sound like his voice, but more like a child's. A desperate cry muffled by the background noise of their surroundings.

One voice in particular rose above the din, speaking clearly and firmly. It was a woman's voice, her tone speaking above the others. All at once the voices quieted, his eyesight clearing again. His hands dropped slowly from where they were tearing at his hair, attempting to block out the invading voices. The wind died down, and for a moment, everything was absolutely, perfectly still.

Her voice rose up again, her unfamiliar words clear in his mind. He couldn't understand what she said, couldn't comprehend the words attempting to register in his mind, but he understood the meaning. The words were merely a vessel, the true meaning behind them clear as day, whether or not he could cognize the sounds that her lips formed.

And amongst the endless green waves there was another sight. The wind, which had previously battered against him with an angry countenance, all but stopped in its actions. Now, a gentle breeze ruffled his hair and clothes, drying the sweat that coated his face.

He started moving forward, his feet seeming to find the strength to move now that nothing was pushing him back. He stepped forward carefully, testing the waters. He began moving more confidently, eyes turning forward, to look for a destination.

Before him was her, long, scarlet red hair bright against the homochromatic setting. He reached forward, desperately, in her direction, calling out. But his voice refused to leave his throat, catching before it could fully escape.

His feet felt as if they were weights, dragging through the fauna as he tried to move forward, to walk, run—to catch her before she could disappear again.

Crying out, he reached further, frantically. But her back was to him; she didn't see, didn't hear. She seemed to fade right before his eyes, her scarlet red hair beginning to blend into the verdant fields.

"No! Don't leave me! _!"

Jellal bolted up, scrambling for a solid, firm hold on something, anything. A cold sweat coated his body, drenching his clothes—he still hadn't changed out of his clothes from the outing yesterday—and dampening his sheets.

The mage, gasping for breath, blinked the sleep out of his eyes, slowly focusing his sight. The unfamiliar surroundings caught him off guard for several moments, panicking briefly before realizing where he was and how he'd gotten there. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, the blue-haired man sat up fully, rubbing his face tiredly.

Despite being asleep for what must have been at least ten hours or so, judging from the position of the sun, he felt as if he hadn't slept at all.

He squinted his eyes, trying to dredge up the now hazy memories of the dream. He grimaced at the headache that formed, receiving for his efforts only a glimpse of scarlet.

A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts, and a small, shriveled face accompanied by large pointed ears. Two beady eyes stared dolefully up at him, with a quivering lip jutting out ever so slightly. Jellal blinked, narrowing his eyes as he tried to remember the exact name of the creature's particular species.

"S-Si-Sir, th-the He-Headm-ma-master re-req-requests y-y-you-ur pr-pres-sence i-in th-the Grea-reat H-H-Hall-l." She squeaked, a stuttering mess, and Jellal noted absently that she seemed much smaller than most of the other such creatures. A young one perhaps.

Noticing she was waiting for a response, he nodded and spoke. "Thank you, I'll be down in a moment." The creature—a House Elf, that was it!—squeaked again in embarrassment, blushing as she turned and scampered off, shutting the door behind her.

Bewildered as to the House Elf's reaction, Jellal simply shook his head, pulling his sore body out of the comfort and warmth of the blankets.

Once he looked at least presentable, the foreign mage made his way somewhat reluctantly down towards the Great Hall. Within it was fairly empty, aside from a single plate of steaming food sitting on one of the tables. Looking and seeing no other living being within the vicinity, he sat down before the dish, carefully taking a bite.

The food itself wasn't too unfamiliar, tasted fine, and since he was still alive, it wasn't poisoned either. Giving a mental shrug, the man ate, quickly finding he was much hungrier than he'd originally anticipated.

It wasn't long after he'd finished that the grand oaken door to the Hall opened again, one Albus Dumbledore stepping through. He had a relatively cheery disposition, sitting across from Jellal. With a wave of his wand, the now empty plate disappeared; presumably back to the kitchen to be cleaned.

"How was the food? To your liking, I hope?" The older man asked, keeping the small talk pleasant.

"It was fine, thank you." Jellal replied if somewhat hesitantly. The Headmaster was the one to call him down here in the first place, and he must have for a reason. Once the pleasantries were out of the way, he would surely ask something of him.

"And how did you like Diagon Alley?" Something felt off about the man's smile, and Jellal narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly in an attempt to find out what exactly was so wrong about it.

"It was… different, for sure, and strange, but not necessarily in a bad way." He replied slowly, enunciating his words as he did so.

Albus nodded in a satisfied manner. "That's good. I was worried when I heard from Minerva that you went straight to your room upon returning."

Jellal shrugged. "It left me rather exhausted, yes." Getting tired of beating around the bush and going absolutely nowhere with the conversation, he continued speaking. "What did you call me down for, Albus? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

The white-haired man's smile faltered for a split second before coming back full force. While the action was brief, Jellal caught it nonetheless. He didn't mention it.

"It's quite alright," Albus replied jovially, "I was the one to initiate this after all." He took a moment, letting his cheery façade drop, only to be replaced by a much more serious disposition. "I wanted to request something of you." The mage nodded, motioning for the man to continue. "Recently, there's been a... situation, for lack of a better word. I'm sure by now you have heard of a dark wizard named Voldemort?"

Jellal nodded after a moment. He'd overheard a few wizards speaking in one of the stores; if that wasn't enough, all the newspapers made it plain.

"You want me to protect the school and its students." The blue-haired man stated, keeping his expression carefully blank. Albus nodded.

"I do not want to ask too much of you, but it would be appreciated." He smiled again, only for his countenance to fall quickly as Jellal shook his head.

"I'm sorry Albus, but I can't do that." The younger man said, sighing internally. This world seemed to have as many problems as his own. "I can keep a lookout for him, but I shouldn't be interfering with the events in this world, especially as I don't belong here." And because I'm not sure I trust you entirely, when I don't know the entire story of what's going on here. But he didn't say that.

Albus nodded, lips stretched upwards again, though there was something more fake about his expression. More hollow. "Of course, of course. I shouldn't expect you to. I'm terribly sorry for asking."

"Not at all, Albus. I should be sorry for being unable to help you." The younger man replied, throwing out his own smile as the two stood, shaking hands.

They said brief farewells, both heading their separate ways.

As he walked away, Jellal felt the marginal mental push, trying to delve past the barriers around his thoughts. The accomplished telepath sighed, knowing what the elderly man was trying to do. He blocked the legilimency spell with ease, knowing the look that was bound to show on the man's face.

To try to read his thoughts… There was more to the man known as Albus Dumbledore than was let on.

"Where is it, where is it, where is it…?" He cursed as his head smacked against the bottom of the desk, the contents atop the mahogany rattling. He scooted back out, raking a hand gently through blue hair, fingers rubbing the sensitive spot. He sat back on the plush carpet, eyes once again scouring the room; or more specifically, the desk.

Any and all objects present had been thoroughly searched; the drawers and cabinets thrown open. The wardrobe was emptied, the few contents it held scattered on the floor. The sheets and blankets and pillows atop the bed had been thrown off, joining the clothes, and the mattress was upturned.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Jellal dragged himself to his feet, eyes easily finding the box sitting on the center of the desk. The indentation was still present in the velvet cushioning, the black wood case obviously hand-crafted. He ran a hand along the edge, fingertips ghosting over the wood.

Sighing again, Jellal shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the case to survey the room. He surveyed the mess that had ensued over the past few hours. It looked as if a whirlwind had searched through his room. Jellal grimaced. Right, wind magic. He probably could've performed Sema or Grand Chariot and come out with less damage.

Shaking his head, the blue-haired mage waved a hand, the sheets and blankets falling neatly back on the bed. Another flick of the wrist, and the clothes on their hangers were sent back to the closet.

He glanced out the small window, where a blue sky hovered in its designated place. "I really am in a different dimension… Even the sky looks different." He mumbled, mind shifting to thoughts of home. Abruptly, Jellal turned away, replacing its lid and moving the box off to the side. He pulled an old papyrus scroll out from one of the desk drawers, rolling it out and flattening it on the desktop.

He took a deep, shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Opening them again, brown eyes stared down at the elegant script looping its way across the page. His hands shook from where they held the scroll open, fingers threatening to curl in.

Familiar names, names that should not have been known in this world, stared back at him, popping out at him amongst the words. He couldn't read all of it—no, that was bound to cause more problems than it was worth right now—skimming over the passage to get only the barest idea of its content.

He really didn't need to, however, as he already knew what it was about. How could he not, having lived through that moment again and again and again? All the things he wished to forget, tried to forget, that had come back and haunted him every night until he was forced to acknowledge it.

A cry threatened to burst out of his throat, becoming stuck halfway when he refused to let it out. His teeth clenched, hands shaking so hard the desk was reacting as well, rumbling with the motion. He moved his hands, grabbing the scroll that had rolled back up at the absence of its makeshift paperweights, stomping angrily over to the window and shoving it open with his telekinesis.

His emotions had leaked into his magic, causing the window to fly up with much more force than necessary, nearly shattering it. He raised the papyrus in his hand, fists still shaking, staring out at the open green expanse—

And calmed abruptly, taking shuddering breaths and screwing his eyes shut, lowering both the window and the scroll-holding hand slowly. His lips thinned, pressed together tightly in an effort to reign in his emotions, eyes opening up again, if barely. They felt watery, though out of frustration, anger or genuine depression, he couldn't be sure.

Jellal carefully set the object back in the desk drawer, closing it perhaps harder than necessary and leaving the room in much the same manner.

Once he'd set foot outside, he immediately felt better. The breath of fresh air and the gentle breeze calmed his frayed nerves and relieved the tension building up in his shoulders and back. The grounds of Hogwarts were magnificent in the daylight; no longer the treacherous nor threatening surroundings looming over you, as they were at night. Hagrid's hut sat at the bottom of the hill, the forest beyond that. The lake wasn't far from his current position either.

After only a brief moment of indecision, the mage made his way to the lake, settling down before the glassy blue plane. If he looked hard enough, he could occasionally see evidence of creatures just below the surface; a webbed hand here or the flick of a tail there.

Rather than make him wary, these set his mind at peace. It reminded him of his home, of guilds like Lamia Scale or Mermaid Heel or Fairy Tail. Of the crazy things that happened every day, or that one of the guilds would end up wrapped up in—that is, if they weren't the cause of it all. This made him think of his own guild, Crime Sorciere. He remembered his friends and his guild members and…

Jellal smiled. He closed his eyes, and scarlet hair flashed in his vision, gave him strength. When the brown orbs opened again, they were filled with a renewed determination. He would get back, would be there when she returned. He just had to have faith.

Ten days until the start of the term.

For those who may have any arguments about Jellal's magic abilities, it's been shown that he can use telekinesis (Fairy Tail Manga ch 46) and telepathy (chapter 287 or so). Naturally, I believe, using telepathy makes him a telepath, and especially considering he was once a Wizard Saint, he should have the ability and knowledge to set up mental barriers against foreign magic. As for the telekinesis, if you could use magic, wouldn't you take advantage of it? English wizards certainly do.