Jason pushed himself out of the hard hospital bed. He slipped out the cracked door. Slinking up the stairs, Jason leaned back against the door to the forbidden corridor.

Ginger showed up not long after Jason did. Ginger tested the knob, which turned easily. The door swung open. The boys shared an excited glance. They walked into the room.

As sure as was promised, Jason saw the Cerberus. A beautiful creature, for sure, but all Jason could think to say was,

"He's a Mastiff," slightly disappointed. 'All this time, I always pictured Cerberus as a Rottweiler.'

Three slobbering heads, four massive paws- 'Wait! That's a trapdoor!'

The door to the corridor slammed shut. The dogs' ears perked up. They settled back on their haunches, tail wagging slowly. Jason took a step back putting his arm in front of the redheaded boy.

"Did you bring a dog treat?" Jason asked his companion. The other boy shook his head.

"Run." Jason said. He took off, throwing the door open and snagging the red-haired boy's wrist. Jason tugged hard, dragging the boy after him. The boy's wrist slid from Jason's grasp as Jason pulled ahead.

"Come on, Roy!" Jason tossed back over his shoulder as he ran. His flame-haired compatriot dashed to keep up. They ran, up and down stairs, on autopilot, breathless and exhilarated in one, they ran. The redhead sputtered the password to the Fat Lady outside Gryffindor Tower. Jason doubled over in laughter.

"What a rush." He said with a grin. The other boy smiled weakly back. He toyed with his lip in his teeth.

"Er- Who's Roy?" The ginger asked. Jason froze. 'There's no way! He can't know that name!'

"What do you mean?" Jason said carefully.

"Earlier. You- you, ah, called me 'Roy'." Ginger elaborated. Jason inhaled sharply. A dull ache of longing pierced Jason's heart.

"I-" Jason started, "I gotta go. I gotta-" he dashed out the portrait hole. Jason's quick, shallow breaths were less pants and more sobs. He wouldn't allow the tears to fall; He couldn't. Jason ran back to his room. He curled up into a ball on his bed. Tears slipped silently from Jason's eyes. 'I want to go home.'

With a scream of rage, he leapt up and slammed his fist into the wall. The stone splintered, chunks of limestone falling to bounce and crack against the stone floor.

"Why is it always me?" He shouted, green creeping along the edges of his vision. He kicked out at a piece of rock. It crashed into the wall and ricocheted into his shin. The pain was dulled by his rage.

He felt the all-too-familiar, sick-to-his-stomach sensation that heralded a Lazarus Syndrome attack. His heart pounded a quickening rhythm in his head. He took a shuddering breath. He balled his shaking hands into fists. Another breath, slower this time, deeper, less shaky. The rolling feeling in his stomach calmed down slightly.

Jason unclenched his hands, stretching his fingers as far as he could, before curling them into fists and repeating the process. Jason pulled his knife from his pocket and pressed the flat of the blade gently against the belly of his forearm. The chill of steel against his too-hot flesh grounded him. Jason exhaled slowly. He slid the blade closed and stowed it away in his pocket.

Jason lay back down in his bed. He closed his eyes, emotionally and physically drained.