His left hand, stretching towards the scales...

A searing pain like liquid fire and ice shooting through his arm...

A presence in his mind where none was before...

And then, there was darkness.


When Mortimer awoke, it was to find himself tucked up in the Library. His clothes lay on a chair next to his bed, and near those was his satchel. He went to get it, but couldn't. And then he noticed the weight on his chest. It rose and fell with every breath he took. He could feel its heart beat with every second that passed by. And then the dragon looked at him. He reached out to touch it, and then he noticed his hand. For in the centre of his left palm was a shining silver diffused spiral oval, aglow with light. Deciding to pay it no mind for the moment, he reached out once more and the dragon was soon purring with contentment beneath his fingers. They stayed like this for what seemed like hours, simply enjoying each other's company.

After a while, Mortimer's stomach began to quake with hunger, and so he resolved to feed it. Feeling too lazy to dress, he instead donned his dressing gown and scooping the dragon up into his arms made for the door. The halls and corridors of the castle were quiet as he made his way to the kitchens.

Luxord knew little of what had transpired the previous day, having only just returned from Wonderland himself. Therefore, it is safe to view his reaction to his godson entering the room with a dragon in his arms as being perfectly reasonable given that it departed from the traditional British calm. His godson's response could be viewed in much the same way, as it consisted entirely of the simple words:

"Good morning to you as well Uncle. Do we have any bacon?"

As it transpired, they did have bacon. This was mostly set aside into a pile for the dragon, after being cut up into easily snappable strips. The rest Mortimer cooked for his breakfast. He sat at the table, mug of tea in hand, watching the dragon eat. Less than a week had passed and already a bond was beginning to grow between them. It was then that his mother entered the room, and Mortimer wondered idly where his father was.


"Professor Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not to mention the Chief Warlock of the Wizenagamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Holder of the Order of Merlin, First Class, for Grand Sorcery. By all accounts, a most Famous Wizard. It is a great pleasure to meet you Professor Dumbledore, and I am sorry for bothering you so early in the morning."

The many-titled, slightly-addled old man looked serenely at his guest.

"Not at all Mr..." He trailed off.

"Call me Zexion Professor. I regret that I have no last name, on account of not existing." If Dumbledore was taken aback by this, he did not show it.

"Very well then Zexion. Might I inquire as to how you do not exist, given that you are currently sitting on my most comfortable sofa?"

"It's surprisingly simple actually, especially to a man of your learning. You are aware of the three elements needed to create life?"

"I'm afraid I must confess that I do not."

"No matter. Three things combine to create life. Body, Heart and Soul. The Body acts as a vessel for the Heart and the Soul. The Soul animates the Body, and is in turn controlled by the Heart. The Heart is responsible for many things, such as memory and the capacity to feel emotion. Do you understand me so far?" Dumbledore nodded, so Zexion continued. "All things are made up of varying quantities of Light and Darkness. The Heart is no different. When a Heart is lost to Darkness, a being known as a Heartless is created. They are essentially the living incarnation of the Darkness of the Heart. They act purely on instinct, totally incapable of rational thought with their only goal being to find more Hearts and to consume them, thus making more of their kind. Sometimes, an exceptionally strong-willed person will lose their Heart. When this happens, the Body and Soul left behind will begin to act with a mind of its own. The resultant creature is known as a Nobody. Unlike the Heartless, Nobodies are able to think for themselves, and attack with definite planning. I am Nobody. I am devoid of emotion. I am unable to feel pity, or anger, or joy, or sadness."

Dumbledore stared at the younger man, eyes full of respect.

"Or love."

There was a soft pop, and a loud sob came from somewhere next to Zexion's left hip. He glanced down, and saw to his mild astonishment a large head with wet, bulbous eyes. He decided to speak to it.

"Hello," he said. The head looked up at him with tears streaming down its cheeks, and nodded in greeting. With the formalities out of the way, Zexion decided to push on and speak to the head again, this time a little more kindly, and said "What are you doing?" At this, the head moved and the body attached to it sat up.

"Busiby is sorry sir! It's just so sad!" And then Busiby (for it was the... thing's name) hugged him and disappeared, leaving Zexion alone with Dumbledore and a slightly damp coat.

"Well," he said. "That was odd. On an unrelated note, why are you wearing a Stetson?" For the old man was indeed wearing a Stetson. A most excellent Stetson. If Stetsons were jewels, Dumbledore's head would have been fabulously wealthy. You get the idea. It was, in essence, a nice hat.

"Honestly?" said Dumbledore. "I have no idea. Although I must confess that I'm surprised you didn't ask about the shocking pink bathrobe. Or the rubber duck." Zexion simply smiled and replied "I would never begrudge a man his bathrobe in his own home, regardless of its colour. And few more than I understand the value of a rubber duck. But that is not why I came here."

"Then why did you come here?"


"So let me get this straight. That stone I touched was an egg. That egg hatched almost immediately afterwards, and revealed a dragon. When I touched that dragon, there was a large burst of magical energy, I passed out for a day and now the dragon and I have effectively bonded on a primal level causing me to inadvertently and unofficially join the ranks of the Dragon Riders spoken of in the history and mythology of that world. Is that what you're saying?"

Larxene looked at him with an amused expression on her face. "That's pretty much it. Your father was able to retrieve books and the like from that city which should tell us what to expect, and he's gone to speak to the headmaster of that school in order to make preparations." She caught the confused expression on his face. "What are you? Stupid? Think about it for a moment. You and the dragon are linked. You are bonded on the most basic level. You really think we'd send you off to school without it? Not to mention the fact that it's going to grow. You won't be able to keep it in your dorm, you know." Mortimer conceded that this was fair enough. "So," he said. "What can we expect?"


"If my calculations are correct, then by the time school starts the dragon will be too large to fit on the train. It will, however be just large enough to ride. I therefore propose that the train leave with both my son and the dragon on the platform, and they will follow behind it. Does this sound agreeable?"

Dumbledore looked (for lack of a better word) mildly flustered. Something such as this had not occurred in all the days of Hogwarts. Students could panic at the prospect of sharing grounds with a dragon, and then there were the parents to consider... Well, much the same had happened with Remus, and he had been allowed to stay. Let it never be said that Albus Dumbledore was not a fair man. He had made his decision.

"Very well. The young Mr Certadan shall be allowed to do this. I have only one concern."

"And that is?"

"It is a day's journey from London to Hogwarts, especially as your son will need to keep speed with the train. That is a lot of ground to cover, and there is the possibility that someone may see him."

Zexion grinned and stood up. "Professor, I thank you for your hospitality. It has been a most agreeable discussion." He made his way over to the shadows on the back wall, which even as he moved seemed to grow... darker? Dumbledore called from his armchair, "But Zexion? What about this problem?" Zexion laughed as he stepped into the shadows.

"Problem, Professor?", he said, with a grin. "How do you think I got in here?" And then he was gone, and the light returned to the room.