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Chapter Two

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"Harry" didn't move before finally saying in a flat emotionless tone with a sneer, "No..." Zexion could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon him, as though each were a searchlight. The buzzing grew louder and louder. The overwhelming scent of magic was thick it was giving him a migraine.

The hall was buzzing with whispers that went like, "What did he mean 'no?'" to "but isn't that Potter?" "Just who the BLOODY hell is he thinking?!"

"Well...through the door, Harry," said Dumbledore. He wasn't smiling not one bit. The one words "Harry" is giving didn't sit right with him. It made him feel on edge as he looked at "Harry" directly into his visible eye to see if he could find anything in his mind only to be thrown out as soon as he entered. That alone was enough to force Dumbledore to stumble as McGonagall caught him before he could fall over all the while giving him concerning looks that spoke volume. Just what was it? How is it possible to throw him out just as he enters? Nothing made sense to the old wizard.

Zexion frowned at the situation, if it was similar to Castle Oblivion he could use this situation to his advantage and perhaps go back to deal with Sora and Riku. However the Organization XIII would thinks he is already dead. The main problem at hand was not the fact he isn't where he is supposed to be, no he clearly remembered that he was going to die, to fade into nothingness. Or this was some sort of trick by fate to punish him for the crimes he had committed. Meddling with the Heart, gathering Hearts to bring forth Kingdom Hearts? Or there was something more?

But this "Goblet of Fire" or something about a "Tournament" people were shouting about. Perhaps getting recon here and reporting back to earn Superior's forgiveness in failing to take care of the "Keyblade Master" and his friend, "The Seeker of Darkness". 'Yes this could work to my favor if I went along with this whatever this is…'

Steeling his resolves, Zexion finally relent and moved off along the teachers' table. Zexion went through the door out of the "Great Hall" and found himself in a smaller room, while raising an eyebrow lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him. That reminded him of "Traitor" Axel. The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered. He saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear. But Zexion paid them no mind. Honestly he couldn't careless to what they were saying.

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Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire.

Fleur Delacour looked around when Zexion silently walked in as she threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair. "What iz it?" she asked rudely. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?" She thought he had come to deliver a message. Zexion stared impassively not bothering to answer the silver hair witch he just stood there, staring expressionlessly at the three champions.

Sounds of scurrying feet behind him, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Zexion by the arm and led him forward.

"Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing Zexion's arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen...lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the fourth Tri-Wizard champion?" Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed the expressionlessly "Harry". Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to "Harry" and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."

"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the "Goblet of Fire"!"

With a sneer he pushed Ludo off and stated with flatly, "Stop, calling me this "Harry" person, my name is Zexion."

Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned as they heard the name that "Harry" wished to be called.

"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. " 'E cannot compete. 'E is too young."

"Well...it is just amazing," said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Zexion not knowing how old the boy in front of them really was, I mean he looks to be sixteen. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his

name's come out of the "Goblet"...as well as himself...It's like he was magically brought to us from where ever he was at the time. I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage...It's down in the rules, you're obliged...Har-I mean Zexion will just have to do the best he —"

The door behind them slammed opened again, and another large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Zexion forced down another sneer as scent the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door. But it didn't help the scents in the enclosed room any.

"Madame Maxime!" Fleur said at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

Somewhere under the emotionless Zexion's numb disbelief he felt a ripple of anger then the 'feeling' was gone. 'Little boy? I'll show you little you wench.'

Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she said imperiously.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Professor Karkaroff. He was wore a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. "Two "Hogwarts" champions? I don't remember anyone

telling me the host school is allowed two champions — or have I not read the rules carefully enough?" He gave a short and nasty laugh.

"C'est impossible," said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur's shoulder. " 'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most injust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise,

we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter'sdetermination to break rules."

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair. Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Zexion, who stared right back at him impassively, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. "However, due to the extraordinary entrance of Mr. Potter..." But he was interrupted as Zexion sneered and said finally having enough of hearing the name "Harry Potter" or anything close to it, "Do not call me "Harry Potter" or anything remotely close to it MY name is Zexion...And I am not even a member of this "School" seeing I've never set foot in here once. So get it through your heads that I was summoned here by chance and that is all."

"As, well then Zexion, due to the strangeness of this. We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those

people whose names come out of the "Goblet of Fire" are bound to compete in the tournament."

"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as

though the matter was now closed.

"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," said Karkaroff. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. "You will set up the "Goblet of Fire" once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."

"Well...Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," said Bagman. "The "Goblet of Fire's" just gone out — it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament —"

"— in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" exploded Karkaroff. "After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"

Zexion crossed his arms and watch the whole drama unfold it was almost like being back at Castle Oblivion. Raising an eyebrow as he watched warily as the one who spoke up came through the door. Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk.

"Convenient?" said Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."

Zexion could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what this Moody person was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists.

"Don't you?" said Moody quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put "Potter's"name in that goblet knowing he'd have to

compete if it came out."

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" said Madame Maxime.

"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," said Karkaroff, bowing to her. "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards —"

"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter," growled Moody, "but...funny thing...I don't hear him saying a word..."

"Why should 'e complain?" burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot like a five year old not getting what she wanted from her parents. " 'E 'as ze chance to compete, 'asn't 'e? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money — zis is a chance many would die for!"

"Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it," said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl unaware of the emotionless stare from Zexion who was watching Moody.

An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, "Moody, old man...what a thing to say!"

"We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," said Karkaroff loudly. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."

"Imagining things, am I?" growled Moody. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy's name in that goblet..."

"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" said Moody. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament...I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category..."

"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," said Karkaroff coldly, "and a very ingenious theory it is — though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously..."

"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage," Moody retorted in a menacing voice. "It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff — as you ought to remember..."

Zexion merely snorted to the whole "There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage." Yes he knew all to well of that, it was Marluxia's and Larxene's plans to use Namine to use Sora as their puppet. That plan went badly. Which landed him into this situation.

"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly. Zexion wondered for a brief moment whom he was speaking to, but then realized "Mad-Eye" could hardly be Moody's real first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction —Karkaroff's face was burning.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Zexion have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This,

therefore, they will do..."

"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr —"

"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."

Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn't the only one either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked rather excited. "Well, shall we crack on, then?" he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?" Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie. "Yes," he said, "instructions. Yes...The first task..." He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Zexion stared as his thoughts analyze everything, though he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin. "The first task is designed to test your daring," he told Zexion, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard...very important...The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task

when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming

nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests." Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore. "I think that's all, is it, Albus?"

"I think so," said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"

"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," said Mr. Crouch. "It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment...I've left young Weatherby in charge...Very enthusiastic...a little

overenthusiastic, if truth be told..." With a nod as Crunch left and Dumbledore smiled at everyone else.

"Professor Karkaroff — Madame Maxime — a nightcap?" But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Zexion could smell them both talking very fast in another language he was unaware of as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.

"Zexion, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed," said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. "I am sure Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."

Zexion glanced without a care at Cedric, who nodded, and left. Dumbledore realized that Zexion had no were to sleep so he took Zexion to the guest area of the Castle and hope it would be to his liking. He still couldn't understand what had happened. Surely this young man IS "Harry James Potter". But the whole emotionless and expressionless stares and what not suggests that this young man is indeed not their famous Savior. Then just who is he then?

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The "Great Hall" was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality. As Dumbledore's mind kept thinking to who and what could had happened to young Harry to change so much. An answer he may never solve.

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The room was cozy Zexion noted as he walked in as Dumbledore smiled and bid the young Nobody good night. Zexion made his way to the bedroom and sat down and thought about what to do. He was trapped in a world that he was from originally. He vaguely recall all phantom pains of the abuse that "Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley". With a sneer he laid down to rest. And there were a lot he would need to do.

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Zexion woke up on Sunday morning, getting dressed in his normal Organization XIII clothing he left his room that he was given after setting a password he then follow the scent of the students to the "Great Hall" for breakfast.

Students stared at him as he walked by and finally reaching the Hall he sat down at the nearest table to the doors which happened to be Slytherin table. Ignoring all the whispers and stares, he got enough of that from the newer members of the Organization with the exception of Roxas, Xion, and Luxord. Sitting down near the door he stared at the gold plates before giving a very soft sigh before picking out something to eat.

After eating a bit Zexion got up and walked out of the "Great Hall" to wonder around seeing he isn't here to attend the classes. He was here only for the Tournament, after that he wasn't sure. He rationalized this was a second chance. And something he wasn't going to waste. He let his feet carry through the halls, right that moment he was thinking planning, noting all hidden passages that some couldn't see, but with his sense of smell he could sniff out every little places. As he walked his mind wondered back to the Organization. If he ever went back what would the others think? Would they think of him as a "Traitor" for dying? Or would they allow him back because of what happened right before the end? Or if he went back would the others still be there? How long had it been since he was brought to "Hogwarts"? Did the flow of time moves differently from here and "The World That Never Was"?

His feet led him to the Hogwarts Library. Pushing the doors open and walked in taking in the smell of parchments and old books. Going to the nearest shelf running his gloved finger along the spines till something caught his eyes. He noticed a closed off section which he then walked over raising an eyebrow all the while ignoring the gate he walked in and fingered the spins of the books. With a smirk he then summoned "Book of Retribution" and copied everything that the closed off section had to offer he would go through the books he had copied when he was back in his room.

It was Colin Creevey; who found him sitting at a table reading a book on "Hogwarts: A History"; he edged into the room a boy who he didn't know but allowed him to speak, "Mr. Bagman wants you to come, I think they want to take photographs..."

"I see." Zexion stated flatly as he closed the book "Hogwarts: A History" with a snap.

"It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?" said Colin, starting to speak the moment Zexion had closed the library's door behind him. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"

"Do not call me that name. My name is Zexion. And no other name. And to be flat out honest I do not care." Zexion stated as they stepped into the entrance hall causing the boy to shut up.

When they had reached the right room.

Zexion didn't even bothered to knock on the door and entered. It was a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch who was wearing magenta robes. Which made Zexion's hackles raised, her scent screamed that she was extremely nosy. And would do anything to get what she wanted.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Zexion had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly spotted Zexion, got up quickly, and bounded forward.

"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Zexion, in you come...nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing

ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment —" That statement alone made Zexion's visible eyebrow to raise. Of course he doesn't have those "stick" things that everyone here is so fond of. No he didn't need one to use whatever they use even if the form is different. But magic none the less.

"Wand weighing?" Zexion asked carefully, eyeing Ludo as he talked.

"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," said Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily

Prophet..."

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter eyeing Zexion hungrily.

Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson. Zexion really didn't like this woman.

"I wonder if I could have a little word with "Harry" before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Zexion not caring that Zexion had said to not call him that name. "The youngest champion, you know...to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is — if Zexion has no objection?"

"No." Zexion said tonelessly while watching Rita causing her to deflate some at his answer as Dumbledore made his appearance.

"Dumbledore!" cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight, "How are you?" Rita said while holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"

"Enchantingly nasty," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."

Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed.

"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street —"

"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start."

Zexion sat down next to Cedric, while staring at the velvet-covered table with little interest, four of the five judges were now sitting— Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Zexion smelled an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room as Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmmm..." he said with a thoughtful look.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches...inflexible...rosewood...and containing...dear me..."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a Veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

"Ah Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands...however, to each his own, and if this suits you..." Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking

for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip. "Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.

"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn...must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches...ash...pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition...You treat it regularly?"

"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.

Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and he desisted.

Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."

Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Hmm," said Mr. Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I...however..."

He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. "Yes...hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees...quite rigid...ten and a quarter inches...Avis!" The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

"Good," said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves...Mr. Potter."

Zexion narrowed his eyes but did not move from where he was sitting, crossing his arms some as everyone told him to go up there and he flat out stated, "No and I do not own one of those "wands". Nor do I need one."

Everyone was taking back at the tone that he used to address everyone and pretty much everyone's jaw was hanging as Zexion gracefully got up to leave but then, "Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly causing Zexion to scowl. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Er — yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Zexion again. "And then perhaps some individual shots."

The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Zexion into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.

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Zexion went down to dinner. In a foul mood. This time he decided to sit at one of the other tables. This time he sat down at Gryffindor. He ignored the talking while picking at something to eat before summoning his book to do some looking over.

Hermione Granger glanced over and saw Zexion who was sitting next to her picking at what he had on his plate with a blank expression while looking through a rather thick tome, that she couldn't read. She gave a sigh and asked, "Everything alright?" While Zexion gave a flat answer, "Fine..." With a huff she turned to her plate and said, "I'm Hermione Granger, and I like to read and study."

"Zexion, I holds a fondness for literature, the arts, and humanities.." After that Zexion got up and headed back to his room.

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The month has gone by. Not that it bothered Zexion. This time he decided to check out that strange forest he saw. So he walked out of the castle and towards the forest.

Deep inside the scents of humans and something else caught his attention, so he followed what he smelled.

Reaching where the scents were coming from his eyes widened. Dragons. He's going to have to fight a dragon. With a smirk he knew what he can do. Oh this would be entertaining.

Leaving the forest he went back to his rooms to do some research.

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...TO BE CONTINUED...

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-Notes-

As stated in the first chapter notes. IF you have problems with what I write then don't bother reading. If you have to complain, complain via PM and NOT reviews.

As you know I am trying my best with this, and yes I know there will be some rotten peeps out there but PLEASE leave it to the PMs.

I can spend hours trying to get everything to work only to have it NOT work out so cut me some slack. If you hate it fine don't read it. If you like it then good for you. But there is no need for rude comments.

I want to thank you all for the awesome reviews, faves and watches. To be honest this is a bit hard but what can I say I tried. As for the next bit I am not sure what I am going to do I need to sit and plot. That's if my muse is still willing to help…

Until then!