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Chapter Text

Harry stepped out of the taxi that had carried him and his meager luggage from the bus stop a half-mile north of the Yokohama International Portkey Depot. It was a crisp day in early March, warmer than it would be in England. Good day for Quidditch, he mused, taking in the clear sky. He sighed, knowing that there would be little flying for him in the immediate future. He stretched for a brief moment and stared up at the seven-storey brick apartment complex that would become his new home. Apartment 519, he reminded himself, turning around to pull out of the taxi a box of clothes and mundane knickknacks, and his old Hogwarts trunk, locked tight around all his blatantly magical belongings. He waved off the taxi, before returning his gaze once more to the building.

He popped a Might Melt (Heft Your Honey High in the Sky! – WWW) into his mouth to give himself a brief burst of strength for carrying his box and trunk up to his unit. Box settled on his shoulder with his arm curled about and his trunk dragging behind him, Harry nudged open the lobby door and made his way over to the elevator, wondering idly what his apartment would look like. After the impersonal sterility of Petunia’s home, the general messiness of Gryffindor Tower, and, most recently, the general gloominess of Grimmauld Place, Harry was looking forward to a simple, clean space he could decorate to his own liking. His real estate agent had told him that it was a large, recently renovated apartment in a good area, and he hoped that meant it was clean and that he wouldn’t have much trouble from the neighbors.

As the elevator doors began to close, Harry was broken from his musings by a harsh voice calling out to hold the door. He watched as man on the taller side of average strode in and jabbed his finger at the floor buttons, forgoing any word of gratitude. Harry was immediately struck by his strange appearance. The man was several inches taller than Harry’s own modest 5’6’’, and had a gaunt look about his young face that reminded Harry of Sirius when last he had seen him, evocative of past starvation and tortuous thoughts.

Harry shook off thoughts of his godfather, and continued to study the man from the corner of his eye. He had shaggy, messy pale gray hair that hung about his shoulders, and a startlingly dark complexion for his light hair. Harry couldn’t see the man’s eyes from his angle, but noted a nasty looking scar beneath his right eye. He averted his eyes quickly when he saw the man pass a cursory glance in his direction, and stared straight at the elevator doors until they opened on the fifth floor.

The man pushed his way out and glanced again at Harry – giving him a glimpse of pale eyes – when he stepped out after him, box still on shoulder and trunk still dragging behind, but remained reticent. Harry could do nothing but follow along behind, awkwardly silent, as the man turned down the hallway in the same direction as Harry assessed his new apartment to be. Bloody hell, Harry thought uncomfortably, where’s this guy going, anyway? Wish he’d just reach his door already… But the man kept striding sinuously down the hallway, all the way to the end, before stopping at the very last door in the corridor. Apartment 520. Precisely next to Harry’s own. He sighed under his breath, and decided to take the plunge. Should at least make at attempt at civility, if we’re next-door neighbors, Harry thought, rather disgruntled by the awkward walk and the man’s aloofness.

“Er…” Harry started, “looks like we’re neighbors, then.” He glanced at the odd man beside him, who grunted out an “apparently,” while fishing out his keys to open the door.

“Um. I’m Harry,” he tried again.

“And I don’t really care,” the man shot back, and stepped inside his apartment. Harry scowled, put-off, but not caring enough to be offended.

“Right then,” he muttered, pulling out his own keys and towing his trunk inside.

Well, he thought, as he took in his new apartment, this will certainly due. The front door opened into the carpeted living room, apparently, which faded to the left into a decently-sized empty tiled strip – big enough for a nice table, he murmured under his breath – just before the kitchen’s faux-granite countertops rose up, nestled around a stainless steel refrigerator and stove-top oven. The walls were painted a very light blue to compliment the navy carpet, and two large windows on the right looked out over the street and apartment entrance. He dropped his baggage near the door and continued straight through the living area to the corridor beyond, which was lined with several doorways that led to a pair of closets, a full bathroom, and two bedrooms.

That’ll be a good spare room for Teddy, he mused as he peeked into the smaller room, and Andromeda can take my bed when they visit. Ron and Hermione can sleep…somewhere. Maybe they can set up the old travel tent in the living room, he snickered, and made a note to buy a couch comfortable enough to sleep on, possibly a pull-out, for when he entertained several guests.

He jumped slightly, startled by a sudden knocking on his door. Who knew he was here? Rather confused, and rather more paranoid than he might have been a few years ago, Harry cautiously made his way to the front, the tips of his fingers slipping into his right trousers pocket to finger the end of his holly wand. He checked the peephole on the door, and was startled yet again to see a shock of pale hair, which obscured his view of the person’s face. Assuming it be his rude neighbor – because really, how many people have hair like that? – he opened the door, and was bemused to see a small, but earnest smile light up a pale face.

“Hello,” the man said, “I’m Bakura Ryou. I heard from my cousin that we’ve got a new neighbor, and given that it was my cousin who told me, I figured I should come over and do some damage control.”

“Your cousin? The, er, tall quiet guy?” Harry stuttered out. “Oh, I’m Potter Harry, by the way.”

“Ah, it’s nice to meet you, Potter-san, I hope we get along! Yes, the pale-haired man who was just here, my cousin Touzoukuo Bakura. I apologize for him, he’s rude on a good day,” Bakura sighed long-sufferingly. “He’s not quite as aloof as he comes off. Um. Deep down.”

“’S alright, really, I suppose I didn’t make a great impression with him either. Um, sorry, but is your family name the same as his given name? Uh, you can come in if you like,” Harry said, stepping aside and holding the door open to let the young man wander past.

Harry examined the young man in his apartment, wondering how he could have mistaken him for the rude guy he’d encountered earlier. This Bakura was shorter than his cousin, though still taller than Harry, and had skin paler than even Harry’s. His face was rounder, fuller; he’d obviously never suffered the starvation that seemed carved into the face of Touzokuo. His hair was longer and tamed, whiter compared to the other man’s light gray. His eyes were deep brown to his cousin’s pale ones, and he held himself less confidently and moved with less lithe grace. His kind, shy smile was somewhat at odds with his bold, friendly introduction, and Harry wondered which was more characteristic of him.

“Yes, that’s right. His mother and my father are siblings, but she wanted a reminder of her family name after she married, and gave it to her son as a given name.” The explanation seemed oddly rehearsed to Harry, but he shrugged it off, guessing they must get the question a lot. The pale-haired man stared around the apartment curiously, eyes finally alighting on the lone box and trunk sitting beside the door. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sure you have more things to move in, and I’m holding you up! Shall I get out of your way, or would you like some help?” he fretted.

“Oh, uh, no, this is all of it, really,” Harry scratched at the back of his neck for the sake of having something to do with his hands, and to distract him from the way Bakura’s sudden stare was making him vaguely uncomfortable.

“Ah – sorry for staring, but is this really all you have?” Bakura questioned, a little off-put by the completely bare apartment.

“Yeah,” Harry replied a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t feel comfortable bringing any of the furniture from the place I was staying before, and anyway moving is such a hassle, especially overseas. I figured it might be easier to just, you know, buy new stuff.” Not to mention how grimy and frankly creepy most of the furniture at Grimmauld Place had been. And even if he had wanted or needed any of it, Harry would have likely lost any favor he had with Kreacher for attempting to remove any more of the Ancestral Black artifacts; poor elf still had nightmares of Mundungus Fletcher swiping the silverware.

“Well, if you’d like I could point you in the direction of some decent shops,” Bakura offered. “I’m afraid I haven’t much time at the moment, but perhaps later in the week my cousin and I could show you around the city?”

“Oh, yeah, I’d really appreciate that. Both, I mean,” Harry grinned, relieved at not having to ask for help. Then he paused, replaying Bakura’s offer in his head. “Erm, did you say your cousin, too?” Harry repeated weakly.

Bakura giggled. “Yes. He’s really not that bad, just rather grumpy. He offends people unintentionally, and I’m sure he’d like to apologize for his rudeness earlier.”

Somehow I doubt that, Harry thought dubiously, but outwardly agreed as genially as he could, which admittedly wasn’t very much.

“So, Potter-san, you mentioned before that you moved here from overseas?” Bakura asked lightly from his place across the table. Two days after Harry had moved in, Bakura had showed up again at Harry’s door, cousin in tow, and invited him along for an easy tour of Domino City. They had wandered about for two hours or so, Bakura pointing out interesting stores, local landmarks, and useful administrative buildings. Harry had done his best to remember everything, but had a feeling he’d have to have Bakura repeat himself later; the city was rather overwhelming.

It was everything he’d hoped it would be, however. He’d chosen Domino City as his new residence for it’s proximity to Tokyo, and for it’s reputation as a frontier of Muggle technological advancement. Harry had heard that Kaiba Corp, based in the city, was pumping out some really incredible tech, and after all the unpleasantness he’d faced in Magical Britain the last few years, he really wanted to familiarize himself with everything the Muggle world had to offer, in case he ever had to go deeper into hiding. At the very least, Arthur would be thrilled to hear about the city the next time he visited the Burrow.

Touzokuo, meanwhile, had just sauntered along behind them, grunting when Bakura spoke to him occasionally, and generally just looking very sour and grumpy. Harry wasn’t particularly surprised to have never gotten an apology.

Despite that no one had been paying Harry particularly much attention, the glances and nudges from the crowd had begun grating on him, and he had been eager to sit down out of the way to regain his composure. He had been inordinately grateful when Bakura suggested they grab a bite to eat, and led them to a fast food restaurant called Burger World, where they grabbed a table all the way in the back.

“Yeah I did, was living in London before.”

“Long way for a young guy to move. Expensive, too. Something pretty important must have happened for you to drag your ass all the way here,” Touzokuo spoke up for the first time, eerie pale eyes alight with sudden, faint curiosity.

“Er. It was just a good job opportunity, really. A friend back home gave me a great recommendation for the position, so it wasn’t really nerve-wracking or anything; helped knowing I’d have job security,” Harry responded as vaguely as possible, trying to sidestep the disturbingly direct implication.

“That doesn’t answ–“ Touzokuo started, before Bakura cut him off sharply.

“Stop prying, Bakura, it’s not any of your business,” Bakura huffed, before turning a smile on Harry. “You mentioned a good job opportunity? Can I ask what line of work you’re in?”

“It’s a government job, sort of. Special police consultant,” Harry replied, again going for vagueness, but continued at Bakura’s prompting. “I’m a criminal profiler. Case-by-case. I receive information about serial criminals, and I try my best to gather what I can about their personality, habits…anything that might help the police catch them, really.” While he, Ron and Hermione had decided not to reveal the details of precisely how far Riddle had gone in his creation of the horcruxes, it was generally believed by the public that he had, in fact, delved into forbidden soul magic, and further believed that Harry himself must be particularly knowledgeable on the subject to have been able to defeat him. He had decided to conform to their expectations just this once, resolving to learn as much about obscure soul magic as the Black and Hogwarts libraries could provide in his free time from basic Auror training.

His studies had paid off, and when he had needed an out from Magical British society, Kingsley had recommended him to the Japanese Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had been promptly hired as a case-by-case special consultant, profiling dangerous dark wizards, especially those that used soul magic to commit crimes. Apparently, there had been an alarming rash of soul-stealings in the past few years in Japan, and Aurors had yet to discover the source.

Bakura seemed to pause a bit at his words, while Touzokuo leaned forward, the curiosity in his eyes hardening into something a little less innocent.

 “Criminal profiler, eh? I don’t suppose you’ve ‘profiled’ anyone I might know?” The scarred man’s grin edged on predatory, Harry noted.

“Sorry, a lot of what I do is classified. Can’t really say anything more about it,” he responded coolly. He noticed Bakura glancing back and forth between them, his brows knitted slightly, looking for something to say that would break the sudden, slight tension.

“Um, Potter-san–“

“Er, just Harry is fine, used to it from back home…”

“Oh, in that case, please just call me Ryou, and him Bakura. It’s our preference, really, it’s how all of our friends refer to us. Anyway–“

“Hey, Ryou! Bakura! What’s up?” an unfamiliar voice called out. The three at the table turned to regard a blond man trailed by a brunet heading their direction.

“Jounouchi, Honda, hello!” Ryou smiled, seeming relieved at the interruption. His friendly greeting drowned out Bakura’s vague grumbles. He quickly introduced Harry, who nodded in greeting, hunching a bit in his seat at the unexpected company.

“A criminal profiler, huh?” grinned Jounouchi. “Waddaya say you profile this lug right here?” he continued, throwing an arm about Bakura’s shoulders, receiving a truly poisonous glare in return. “Say the dude’s, I dunno, a total klepto or somethin’. Hypothetically.”

Bakura turned back from glaring disgustedly at Jou and his offending arm and directed his gaze at Harry instead. “Yes, why don’t you tell me something about myself?” he smirked challengingly.

And Harry couldn’t help but rise to the challenge, oddly eager to disarm the man somehow. He looked the man right in the eye, took in his haughty smirk; the confident posture and limber form; the controlled way he moved, his every step falling directly in place and his hands never overreaching; the aloof manner when uninterested…

“You’d be arrogant. Likely with good reason to be; you’d be a good thief and you would know it, but that also makes you prone to underestimating your opponents – the police, or security systems, or whatever. You’d be caught off guard when something or someone rises to a challenge, it’d throw you off your game. About the stuff you’d go after…you’re obsessive. Don’t care at all about anything unless it really grabs your interest, so you probably wouldn’t stop going after something you want until you got it. Might make you easy to draw into traps, but I get the feeling you’re too self-aware to be easily baited. I think you’re more self-aware than you are arrogant, even, so it would be difficult to catch you off your guard. Not impossible though. Just a matter of sweetening the pot enough to have your fixation overwhelm your self-awareness, and your arrogance would do the rest. Hypothetically, of course. ”

Harry took a moment after his exposition to regard the others at the table. Jounouchi and Honda’s eyes were bulging slightly, and Ryou was staring at him with wide, shocked doe eyes. Maybe not so hypothetically, Harry considered. Not my business, though, or my jurisdiction, unless he steals the souls of his victims, or something.

“Of course,” Bakura murmured back, his face disturbingly blank. He stared for a moment, before a broad, insane grin split his face and he threw his head back with an alarming cackle. He calmed quickly, and returned to his drink. They all sat silently for a moment awkwardly not-looking at one another. Jounouchi was the first to break the silence, with all the subtlety of a Hippogriff in an apothecary.

“Hey, so, do you play Duel Monsters?” the blond asked Harry eagerly, who could only stare blankly for a moment.

“Erm, what’s duel monsters?” he questioned. He was startled when he was treated to four very blank looks. His was reminded of the first time he had met Ron, when he was forced to admit he did had never heard of Quidditch. He started to get the feeling he had just committed a similar offense as the men incredulous exchanged glances, before looking back at him. The brunet answered this time.

“It’s a card game,” said Honda. “Really popular in this city. Domino’s kinda known as the Duel Monsters capital of the world, you know? There’s signs for it everywhere, surprised you didn’t notice. It’s, um, kinda odd you moved here without knowing about it…” he continued dubiously.

“Oh. I guess when you put it that way it’s pretty weird. And um, about the signs and stuff? I can speak Japanese all right, but I’m still learning how to read it, and when they use crazy fonts on the signs, it makes it pretty difficult…” he trailed off, thoughts flitting briefly to the evening reading and writing classes he would be attending five nights a week. The temporary, disposable language patch he wore on his upper arm, meanwhile, allowed him to speak and understand Japanese for a few days with no issues; he had several boxes the ludicrously expensive of Language Labels back in his apartment.

They exchanged small talk around Bakura’s pronounced sulk for a while longer, before Jou announced that he was late meeting someone he called ‘Mai,’ which Honda responded to by snickering and sending a leer Jounouchi’s way. Girlfriend, then, Harry decided absently.

“Kreacher is so happy Master Harry did not forget about him. Master Harry knows Kreacher is still useful, yes! Kreacher has brought Master Harry his favorites, too, see? Hot stew and shepherd’s pie, and treacle tart. Master Harry must not forget to eat like he usually does…” The diminutive old elf puttered about the apartment, making the bed, levitating dishes into the cabinets, and placing heating charms on the heavy meal he’d brought with him.

After leaving the pale-haired cousins and their friends at Burger World, Harry had stumbled about the city for a while yet, knowing his furniture orders would not be ready for several more hours. He’d gotten himself lost several times, but a few discreet Point-Me spells had put him back on track. Moving the furniture had been no trouble at all; it was simply a matter of having the store employees haul the boxes out behind the store, Confunding them into thinking he’d packed them into a moving truck, and calling Kreacher to snap the furniture directly into his new apartment. Which he was vaguely regretting at the moment; Kreacher’s high-pitched, croaky voice was doing little to improve the stress headache he’d gotten from dealing with Domino’s considerably crowded streets.

The elf turned a creaky, toothless smile Harry’s way, and he was immediately struck with guilt over his uncharitable thoughts. Kreacher had been extremely helpful and considerate today.

 “Master Harry?” Kreacher croaked, a small frown contorting the loose, papery skin of his face as he examined the young man. “Has Master had his medication today?”

“Yes,” Harry lied. The last thing he wanted to do was tell his hen dragon of a House Elf that his anti-anxiety prescription had run out a month ago, and he had never bothered to refill it. After all, the more he continued the regimen, the more likely the press was to discover the identity of the medication, and that was the last thing he wanted after his visits to a therapist had made national headlines. Then again, he thought, I’m not in Britain anymore. Maybe I could make up a story and go see a Muggle therapist about getting a similar prescription…

The Wizarding World had not been particularly kind to him after the Battle of Hogwarts. They had not shunned him, but rather had gone entirely too far in the opposite direction. Harry quickly found that he could not visit even the grocery store without getting mobbed by superstitious witches and wizards hoping to touch him for luck (not many people walked away from two Killing Curses, after all, and curse Hagrid for drunkenly confirming the second one). His distaste for the crowds grew into a genuine anxiety disorder, which Hermione had recognized early on. At her insistence Harry had gone to a magical therapist for help, to keep the anxiety from becoming debilitating, but apparently confidentiality clauses don’t apply to Boys-Who-Lived.

“If Master is sure…” Kreacher muttered suspiciously, sending a narrow-eyed stare Harry’s way, as though the lie were written in acid green ink across his forehead.

“I am. Really. Just had a long day, and I’ve got a bit of a headache. Thanks for bringing the food and stuff, Kreacher, but I think I might go to bed early.”

“Kreacher insists that Master Harry have at least a bowl of stew before he goes to sleep.” The elf was surprising demanding, at times, Harry mused, as he conceded. He ended up having seconds of stew, half the shepherd’s pie, and the treacle tart. Kreacher really was a terribly good cook. He sighed contentedly, sleepily, as Kreacher hustled him off to bed. He couldn’t muster the energy to change into pajamas or brush his teeth; he simply let himself fall into the brand-new mattress and freshly washed sheets. Harry was asleep the second his head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

It seemed like Harry had only just fallen asleep when he was awoken by knocking at the front door. He grumbled and looked about fuzzily, casting a quick Tempus charm for the time and blinking confusedly when the number read 12:27. A second round of knocking prompted him to drag himself out of bed. He shook his head and muffled a yawn on the way to the door. A quick glance through the peephole revealed fluffy white hair, and Harry opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Harry-san,” Ryou smiled. The smile slipped, however, when he took in Harry’s dark, gummy eyes and rumpled clothes. “Oh, I didn’t wake you, did I?” he exclaimed.

“No, it’s fine, I needed to get up anyway. Just a long day yesterday, is all. Did you need something?” Harry asked.

“Ah, I guess I just wanted to see if you were alright? You left rather quickly yesterday, I hope we didn’t upset you or anything.” Ryou looked very worried about that last point, and Harry found himself wondering if it was really possible for anyone to be so worried about a stranger. Down, paranoia, he grumbled to himself.

“Er, no, I’m fine really. I just…don’t really handle crowds that well. And then your friends and your cousin and stuff… It’s not that you weren’t really friendly!” He assured quickly when Ryou started to look dejected. “I’m just not great with a lot of people or strangers,” he continued, quickly growing embarrassed. “I. Um. It’s a minor social anxiety disorder, recently cropped up. Ran out of medication for it, so yesterday wasn’t a great day,” Harry finished in a mumble, beyond mortified. Fuck. Why did I tell him all that? ‘S not like it’s any of his business, probably doesn’t give a shit, and now I just sound pathetic and unhinged.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry we made you uncomfortable,” Ryou cried, distressed. “I was going to invite you out to lunch with a few friends, but if you’d prefer to have the day to yourself–“

“Lunch sounds good, actually,” Harry interrupted, smiling, his mood rising at Ryou’s earnestness and lack of judgment. “Just, maybe not for as long as yesterday?” he questioned sheepishly.

Ryou brightened immediately. “Oh good! I was really hoping you’d say yes. You seem very nice, and I was worried you might be lonely here by yourself.”

Harry assured him that he wasn’t lonely, but his friendliness was welcomed regardless. They chatted for a few more moments, before Ryou returned to his own apartment to gather Bakura, while Harry went to go freshen up and change his clothes before they headed out. They met back up in the hallway, Ryou looking oddly amused, and Bakura looking somewhat disgruntled. He couldn’t help but notice that the tallest was wearing a rather nicer shirt today than he had been yesterday, a tight red thing that stretched across his pectorals. Harry forced himself not to examine Bakura closer, and turned to Ryou with a half-grin.

“Shall we? You’ll have to lead the way. And, ah, I’d appreciate it if you could point a few places out to me on the way there. ‘Fraid a lot of what you showed me yesterday didn’t quite sink in,” he said sheepishly.

Ryou nodded agreeably, and the three set off on foot through the city. Harry was quite proud when, halfway there, he realized that he vaguely recognized the path they were taking as the 20-minute walk that would end up at the restaurant they had visited the day before, Burger World.

“Hey guys!” Ryou greeted as he headed towards the same large table in the back as yesterday, where several people were already seated. Harry recognized two of them as Jounouchi and Honda, whom he’d met yesterday, but waited to be introduced to the other three.

“Harry-san, this is Anzu, Mai, and Otogi,” Ryou said. “Guys, this is Potter Harry. He moved into the apartment next to mine a few days ago, all the way from London. Yugi’s not here yet, Anzu?”

“No, but he’s on the way, he had to stop by the post office,” the busty, blue-eyed brunette girl said before turning to Harry with a warm smile. “Hi, nice to meet you! I’m Mazaki Anzu.”

“London, huh?” said the voluptuous blonde woman Ryou had gestured to when he spoke the name ‘Mai.’ So this is Jounouchi’s girlfriend, then, he affirmed, taking in Jounouchi’s arm around her purple-clad shoulder and the way they were leaned into one another where they sat side-by-side. She continued speaking, “Can’t say I’m over-fond of the food or the weather there, but I will say those pubs are great fun,” she grinned.

The last person, Otogi, just sent him a slow, devilish smirk, an eyebrow quirked and a stare that dragged up the length of Harry’s body. He had long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail and bright green eyes outlined in black make-up. Harry glanced away nervously and quickly grabbed a seat that placed Honda between them, with Bakura unfortunately on his other side. He noticed that everyone seemed to be taking freely from a massive pile of fries in the center of the table and decided to help himself.

“So, Harry,” Jounouchi started, his face open and his grin wide. “Ya got any plans for later today?”

“Nothing terribly important or pressing, really. I was hoping to poke around a bit, see if there’s a small place looking for a part-time employee,” Harry responded around a mouthful of fries.

“What about that profiler job of yours?” Honda asked, brow crinkling in confusion.

“I get paid case-by-case for that. So, if I’m not working on a case, I’m not getting paid,” Harry shrugged. “I wanted to find something to keep me occupied during the day, someplace that wouldn’t mind me working half days or something when I have a case to work.”

“I don’t know, Harry-san,” Otogi spoke up smoothly. “Most respectable places probably wouldn’t want to offer much in the way of salary, with a stipulation like that.”

“I’m not particularly interested in the money, just the occupation. And, you know, something quiet, for the most part, would be best…” he trailed off, not wanting to get into his anxiety issues again so soon after this morning, and certainly not with these other people, who just didn’t have the same air of gentle trustworthiness Ryou did. And absolutely not around his bastard cousin, who had just started eyeing him with a small, vaguely knowing smirk playing about his lips. Shit. Ryou didn’t say anything, did he? Or was Bakura eavesdropping? Probably the latter, Ryou doesn’t seem the type to gossip, Harry thought worriedly, trying not to let his consternation show on his face. He turned back to the conversation when Jounouchi spoke up.

“Well,” Jou said. “I might know a place like that. If ya don’t mind just, like, moving stock and occasionally working the register, and stuff. Waddaya think?”

“The position at the game shop the old man has been looking to fill? He’d probably want an employee who’s actually heard of the most popular game in Japan,” Bakura said disdainfully, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eye.

“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” came a light, unfamiliar voice from behind Harry. He jumped, startled, and reached for his wand before remembering himself and grabbing a fry instead. He turned around, fry in hand, ignoring Bakura’s suddenly amused grin in his direction – bastard just had to notice my reaction – to regard the stranger who had snuck up on him.

And he couldn’t help but stare. The man was short, even more so than Harry, with purple eyes and the most bizarre hair he’d even seen, even after having known Tonks the metamorphmagus for years. Several broad, flat spikes shot up about a foot into the air, black outlined in red, and long bangs hung golden and stiff in the shape of lightning bolts. He wore a tight black tank top with dark jeans bedecked with chains and a studded belt, and a wide leather collar around his neck. Despite the off-putting style, he had a wide, friendly grin on his lips, and he leaned forward with a hand extended to greet Harry.

“Hi there! Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man chirped. “I’m Mutou Yugi – just Yugi is fine – and it’s my Grandfather’s shop Jou mentioned. I’m sure he’d appreciate the help!”

“Oh. Well, thanks! I’m Potter Harry. Um. Do you make a habit of eavesdropping on easily startled foreigners?” Harry couldn’t help but grin back at the friendly man.

“Ha! Only when it’s convenient,” Yugi laughed, sliding into a chair, pressing a kiss to Anzu’s cheek across the table, and stealing a sip of Ryou’s soda. “So what do you say? I think Grandpa would really like to work with someone a little less familiar with the gaming circuit.”

“Why’s that?” Harry wondered. “Wouldn’t he prefer someone more experienced?”

“Well, Kame Game Shop is kind of, um…prominent is a good word, thanks Ryou-kun. Anyway, sometimes people ask for jobs and just end up, like, hassling the well-known gamers who stop by, or trying to take their pictures. I think Grandpa and those customers would prefer not to be bugged. Which you wouldn’t do, since you don’t know who any of them are!” Yugi finished, his chipper attitude taking the edge off the candor of his statement of Harry’s ignorance.

“How d’you know for sure I won’t recognize any of them?” Harry frowned. “Not that I would bother them or anything, I know that kind of stuff’s annoying but…” Harry trailed off as he took in the looks of amusement being directed at him. He sighed. “Okay. So what did I miss this time?”

“No, you’re fine, Harry-san,” Ryou laughed. “It’s just refreshing, really. You see, most of the people at the table here are some of the best-known Duelists in Japan, and internationally. It’s a bit of a novelty not to be recognized,” he finished gently.

Harry struggled not to laugh at the irony. Here he was, the single most recognizable face in Magical Britain, eating fries in a greasy burger joint with who he assumed to be some of the most recognizable faces in the international Muggle gaming circuit. He ended up shaking his head, eventually responding, “Well, I’m glad you all didn’t take offense to my ignorance. And I’d really like to take you up on your offer, Yugi-san. D’you think I could get directions to the shop and go speak to your grandfather?”

“We’ll do you one better, Harry-san,” Otogi said, standing up. “We usually head over to the shop on weekends after lunch for video games and to look over new stock. We’ll give you the best escort money can buy – for free,” he finished with a cheesy wink, extending his elbow for Harry to take. Harry laughed a little awkwardly, and was saved from either having to push the arm away or accept it by Honda standing up and blocking Otogi for a moment. Harry took unmitigated advantage of the interference to stand up and moved to the other side of the table, trying his best to ignore Otogi’s disgruntled pout.

Ryou caught his eye as they were walking out. He tilted his head questioningly, seeming to ask if Harry was all right. He smiled slightly and nodded in response, not yet uncomfortable. Ryou seemed relieved, and Harry wondered again at the young man’s startling compassion.

“Is that arrogant bastard there, midget?” Bakura questioned gruffly. “I’m in the mood for a good duel.”

“Ah, no, he’s visiting the other arrogant bastard at the moment,” Yugi grinned as he walked over to Anzu and took her hand.

Anzu glanced Harry’s way, who was wondering vaguely who the arrogant bastards were, but not feeling quite familiar enough with these people to ask. “They’re talking about Yugi’s cousin, Mutou Atem, and his, er, sort-of boyfriend? Kaiba Seto,” she clarified with a smile. “And they’re just kidding about them being arrogant bastards,” she continued.

“Well, not Atem, at least,” said Honda. “Er. Most of the time, anyway.”

Harry snorted, amused, but didn’t say anything, continuing to follow the group through the streets and listening with half an ear to their chatter. He noticed as they walked that many of the people, even the older businessmen and women, gave the group a wide berth. The younger generations eyed them wonderingly, gasping and pointing and whispering to their friends, but seemed too intimidated to approach. He also noticed the attention he himself was receiving, walking in the midst of the duelists. Guess they weren’t kidding about being famous.

Harry was quickly becoming uncomfortable with all the stares and whispers directed his way. He was feeling stifled, nervous, remembering the cloying stench of the perfume and cologne, the sweat and hot breath of dozens of people fighting to get closer, their screams and cries trying to draw his attention. No escape, path blocked on all sides by scrambling bodies. He shuddered to think of several distinct instances in which a simple excursion from his home had led to ripped hair and clothes, finger-shaped bruises on his arms, deep scratches across his face from fingernails, and on one memorable occasion a broken nose and dislocated jaw. His stomach roiled, sweat began beading at his temples, and he knew his face was draining of color. He slipped his hands into his pockets and gripped the handles of his wands to keep them from shaking, and to remind himself that he could defend himself if necessary. He glanced to the side, saw a girl eyeing him, pointing at him, whispering to her friends, fuck, they were all watching now, THEY KNOW WHO I AM, shitshitshit, Merlin, please, go away, GO AWA– someone nudged him, hard, sent him knocking into a wall.

Harry looked up, ready to bolt, when he saw Bakura next to him, staring him down with pale eyes that he could now tell were a milky shade of blue. His face was blank, even disinterested, but his eyes seemed to challenge him the same as they had the previous day. And Harry had to rise to that challenge again. He forgot all about the crowd surrounding him in favor of those exigent eyes. He straightened, frowned at the taller man.

“You quite sure your drink wasn’t spiked, Bakura? That was a pretty clumsy move, there; almost knocked me down,” Harry said mockingly. The other man grinned the same predatory grin Harry had seen before.

“My apologies. It’s difficult, you see, keeping an eye out for all the small ones around here. My eyes just seem to pass right over the tops of their heads.” Bakura kept watching him with those intense eyes and that dangerous smirk, watching for signs of affront. Harry just snorted, unoffended by the comment, as his small stature had saved his life several times – made it easier to dodge, in addition to making him quite dangerous as a Seeker.

“Heh. Can’t say I’m not a little disappointed. Thought you were a little more self-aware than that.” Harry smirked back, grinning a bit wider when Bakura’s only response was a quick, sharp bark of laughter before continuing on. Harry looked around and saw that only Ryou had seen the confrontation and was watching him, an odd look on his face. He seemed conflicted, Harry decided, but he couldn’t tell by what. His face eventually settled and he moved closer to Harry.

“I’m really sorry about that, Harry-san,” Ryou murmured quietly. “I saw that the stares were unnerving you, but I didn’t get there in time to pull you off to the side. I’m sure Bakura’s bullying didn’t make things any better.” The tone of that last sentence was odd. Scrutinizing, almost. Harry regarded Ryou, who was watching him with a gentle, apologetic look about his face, but his eyes were piercing, perceptive. Harry thought about lying, thought about agreeing that Bakura had only upset him more, but again, something about Ryou made him feel comfortable with telling the truth.

“Honestly, he really helped. I was kind of freaking out, like you saw, but he distracted me from it,” Harry admitted quietly, not staring Ryou in the face, but watching him from the corner of his eye to catch his reaction to the admission. Ryou nodded, face solemn, but his brown eyes had lightened, were less intense, and his mouth had a funny quirk to it that said he was trying not to smile. Harry decided to go in for the kill.

“I think he did it on purpose. Bump into me, I mean, try to start something with me. To distract me. He saw that I was, um, off. You were right, I guess. What you said before, when we met, about him not being a bad guy,” Harry spoke even more quietly than before, loathe for Bakura to hear him, for all that he was terribly curious to see what effect his words would have on Ryou. He wasn’t disappointed. The man just brightened; he let loose a brilliant smile that made his eyes scrunch up. Harry blushed a bit, embarrassed and pleased to have elicited such a reaction.

“Yes,” said Ryou definitively. “He’s definitely not such a bad guy.”

Chapter Text

It was about a half hour walk to the Kame Game Shop, the route paralleling the way Harry took to reach Burger World. He estimated it would be about a fifteen-minute walk to the shop from his apartment, which was just about a perfect mix of light exercise and convenience. Assuming he got the job, of course. And he really hoped he did; it would be terribly embarrassing to be refused a job in front of all these people.

For all that it was apparently a well-known and prominent shop, Kame Game was rather small and homey inside, with wooden floors and cluttered shelves lining the walls. There was a glass-enclosed counter just to the left of the entrance, behind which was a door that simply read “STAFF.” A few more display cases and stands filled the floor space. Standing at the counter was a very short, square old man with Yugi’s eyes and hairstyle, bleached of color. He gave a warm smile upon seeing his grandson enter with his friends, and looked curiously at Harry. The group all offered the old man greetings, and Harry noticed that they all called him some form of ‘grandfather.’

“Hey Grandpa,” Yugi started. “Guess what? I think I found you an employee! This is Potter Harry, he just moved to Domino a few days ago. He definitely won’t be annoying; he’s not really familiar enough with gaming to recognize the more recognizable gamers.”

“Hmm, you’re sure about that, Yugi? I really wouldn’t want a repeat of the last time…” the elder Mutou mused, as they continued to talk over a slightly peeved Harry’s head.

“Ha, no worries, Gramps,” Jounouchi laughed. “Yesterday me and Honda met up with Harry, Ryou and Bakura at Burger World and I asked ‘im if he dueled, and you know what he said?”

“He asked what duel monsters were!” Honda finished grandly. Mutou-san broke out laughing, huge, heaving, belly laughs that would have been jolly had they not been directed at Harry’s blunder. He blushed and scowled, waited for the old man to stop laughing before he stepped forward to introduce himself and explain his situation.

“Well, Potter-san,” Mutou hummed, stroking thoughtfully at his beard with a playful look in his youthful eyes, “it seems we might be able to help each other out! How about I give you a quick tour, explain some of your duties, and we can see about drawing up a work schedule and payment plan.”

Harry grinned and nodded, pleased that he had been able to land a job so quickly and easily, despite the laughter and jokes at his expense. Oh well, he sighed. If I’m going to be working in a game shop, I should probably learn how to laugh a bit more, even if it’s at myself.

The others smiled and offered congratulations before dispersing through the store while Harry followed the old man, who quickly asked to be called Sugoroku. A bit strange, really, that these people are so quick to let me use their given names, Harry thought. Guess those culture lessons about polite forms of address were dated, or something. Harry continued poking about the shop, examining the various games and game paraphernalia scattered around. Just as he was about to follow Sugoroku into the back stock room, Ryou drew his attention, and told him that he had a few errands to run and would be leaving now.

“But it’s alright, Harry-san,” Ryou continued cheerfully. “Bakura is planning to stick around for a while longer, so he can show you back to the apartment later!” The pale boy promptly left, either blissfully oblivious to or blatantly disregarding Harry’s suddenly disgruntled expression.

Forty-five minutes later found Harry walking along beside Bakura, hands in pockets, shoulders up to his ears, looking anywhere but at the strange, tall man beside him whose mercurial character continued to evade him, for all that he had seemed to impress him and the others with that profile. Bakura seemed entirely unbothered by the situation and by Harry’s awkward body language. Frustrated by the man who kept flipping hot and cold, Harry took a deep breath, tried to relax his shoulders, and decided to attempt to draw him into conversation.

“Bet you’re not too happy about all that,” Harry said. Bakura actually turned to him with a vaguely questioning expression. Harry counted that a success.

“The game shop, I mean. You didn’t seem to think I deserved to work there,” he clarified.

Bakura shrugged, turning away again. “I don’t care, it’s not my income at stake. The Mutou’s have always been too charitable. I wasn’t particularly surprised.” His eyes cut over to Harry suddenly, contemplative. “At least you’re better than the last fool to work there."

“Why’s that? Besides my being an ignorant boob, of course,” Harry scowled at the end, still the slightest bit sore over the teasing. The alternate mocking and adulation he had received at the hands of the wizarding world, rather than giving him a thick skin, had just made him more aware of implied slights.

Bakura just shrugged again, and muttered something under his breath that sounded to Harry like “better view.” Harry told himself he must have misheard, and sighed, disappointed but not particularly surprised by the end of the conversation. He had hoped the conversation might progress a bit until Harry could say what he really wanted to. They continued on in silence, through the streets, into the apartment lobby, up the elevator, and down the hall. Bakura pulled out his keys and had his door half open by the time Harry had mustered the courage to speak up again.

“Bakura, wait,” Harry called out before he could lose his nerve. The man turned to him, looking exasperated. “I just – um. Thanks, for earlier I mean. On the way to the shop,” he finished quietly, wanting desperately to look away, but as curious as he had been earlier with Ryou to see the effect of his words.

Bakura averted his gaze, turned his face back to the door with a deep scowl. He opened his mouth, closed it again. When he finally spoke up, Harry was more than a little confused.

“You’re too pale already. Didn’t need to see you get so pasty before.” Bakura spoke harshly, derisively, tone completely at odds with his words and avoidant body language. He didn’t wait for a response, just shouldered his way into his apartment and slammed to door shut.

Harry stood there for a moment, utterly bewildered. He shook his head, and stepped into his own apartment.

Harry woke up the next morning earlier than was strictly necessary. His shift at Kame Game Shop didn’t start until 8:30, a good two hours from now. He contemplated just staying bed. Mmph. Should probably shower, put on something nice for my first day… He hefted himself up and padded into the bathroom, turning on the shower and just standing there muzzily for a few minutes, letting the hot water wake him up. He stepped out some time later, his early awakening giving him time to luxuriate in the warmth.

Harry wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror and examined his appearance for a moment. Molly and Kreacher would say I’m too skinny, he thought, noting the way his ribs were rather too prominent. His torso was only minimally defined, mostly from using his abs help direct his broom. Seekers tended not to build as much muscle as other players, with the exception of the killer thighs and calves that came from holding tight to brooms flying about at more than 100 miles per hour

His skin was flushed from the shower, but he knew it was normally quite pale, almost unhealthily so under his clothes. The faintness of color made his numerous, distinct scars show starkly. He eyed the perfectly oval mark over his sternum where Slytherin’s Locket had been sliced off, and the lightning bolt above his heart that matched the one on his forehead. On his right arm were the marks of both the Basilisk’s and Nagini’s bites, and on the left were the slice from Pettigrew’s knife and the gouge where the Hungarian Horntail had caught him with her tail. Dolores Umbridge’s Blood Quill had left permanent writing scarred into his hand, and though he couldn’t see it at the moment, he knew there was an Acromantula bite mark on his leg, which had been vicious enough to break the bone, from the Triwizard Tournament. He fingers tightened on the sink as his eyes followed the life history carved in pain across his skin, before turning away to finish dressing and brush his teeth.

Making his way of the bathroom and casting an absent-minded shaving charm, Harry noted that he had copious time to enjoy a good breakfast. He settled on preparing a full English breakfast, and let himself get lost in the routine until it was time to leave.

Harry stepped into the hallway at 8:00 and froze for a moment, startled to find it already occupied. Ryou was standing at his own door, about to walk in, but had apparently frozen the same as Harry had upon discovering someone else in the hall. Harry started to greet him, but Ryou’s wide, panicked eyes – like a niffler caught digging in a purse – prompted him to scrutinize the pale-haired man. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the other man was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and appeared to have a faint red blotch on the underside of his jaw. Harry snickered instead.

“Wow, Ryou-san. Must have some errands that kept you out all night,” he smirked, relishing the flinch he received. Ryou blushed furiously, his eyes darting side to side rapidly as though a distraction would miraculously emerge from the beige stucco walls or the green, flower-patterned carpet.

“Er-I-Um. Harry-san, I j-just, you know, um…Er, good morning! Have a great day!” he cried through his stutters and disappeared through into the apartment. Harry snickered again, pleased to have gotten a little innocent revenge on the man who had abandoned him the previous day to his strange cousin. He turned and continued down to the elevator, and just before the doors closed, he could have sworn he heard a sharp, insane cackle ring through the corridor.

Harry arrived at the shop with time to spare and genially returned Sugoroku’s cheerful greeting. He nodded as the man directed him to the storeroom to unpack some stock that had come in the previous evening and settled in to work for a few uninterrupted hours. The mindless work let his mind wander, and he let his thoughts touch briefly upon the Bakura cousins. He snickered as he thought again of catching and teasing Ryou after what appeared to have been a rather scandalous night, but his mind shied away from thoughts of the taller cousin, still confused by his comment the previous afternoon.

His thoughts turned instead to his best friends and his godson, and wondered how they had been doing in the week since he had last seen them. I need to invest in a mail bird, he thought, fervently pushing down thoughts of his beloved Hedwig. Wonder what’s popular in Magical Japan? I’ll have to take visit Tokyo’s magical sector soon, need to buy some birthday presents anyway… His thoughts continued in this manner until a voice startled him into awareness. He turned his head to regard Sugoroku, who had just called his name.

“Come have some lunch, Harry-san, you’ve been hard at work for hours. There’s a few new faces about, too, for you to meet,” the man finished with a smile. Harry contemplated briefly whether his aversion to new company outweighed his hunger, and found there was absolutely no contest.

“Coming, Sugoroku-san!” Harry stood up and brushed the dust from his knees. He followed the old man into the main room and out of shop into the house adjacent to it. Immediately, he was assailed with the delicious aroma of stir-fry. He tracked the scent into the kitchen, where four people were seated around a table. He recognized Yugi, who smiled and waving in greeting, prompting the others to turn and regard him.

The first person to catch his notice was the Yugi clone. The man’s hair was very nearly identical to Yugi’s, as was his fashion sense, if accessorized with more leather and gold jewelry. Upon closer inspection, however, the similarities were not that great. The man was taller than Yugi, and had dark golden skin. His face was more angular to Yugi’s round one, and his eyes were narrower and red. His greeting smile was smaller, more reserved; his bearing was almost arrogant.

“You must be the new employee Yugi and Grandfather were telling me about. I am Mutou Atem. Potter Harry, correct?” His voice was quite deep and smooth, Harry noticed, his words almost painfully articulated.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Harry responded. “It’s good to meet you, Yugi mentioned you yesterday.” He turned to face the other two in the kitchen. The woman spoke first. She was tall and elegant, with dark skin, long black hair, and calm blue eyes. She had a faint smile about her regal face and introduced herself as Ishtar Isis, an associate of the Mutou family.

“And this is my younger brother,” she continued, gesturing to the final man in the room. He was young like Harry and the rest of the people he’d met recently (Sugoroku excepted). His skin was dark like his sister’s, Atem’s, and Bakura’s, and his shoulder-length hair was a striking platinum blond. His mischievous eyes were lavender, made even more apparent by the kohl that lined them. He wore more gold than Atem. He grinned at Harry, and offered a quick ‘Afternoon!’ before returning to his meal. At Sugoroku’s urging, Harry grabbed one of the last chairs and accepted the plate handed to him.

“So, Harry-san,” Atem spoke between bites. “I hear that you are unfamiliar with the game of Duel Monsters?”

“You guys are never gonna let that go, are you?” He directed the muttered question Yugi’s way, who only grinned and shrugged, faux-apologetically. “Yeah,” he spoke up, towards Atem this time. “I was never really up on new developments growing up. I went to a boarding school in Scotland that didn’t have much in the way of technology. Only news we got was in letters from parents. It’s been a bit of a culture shock since I graduated, really,” Harry answered, hoping it was a suitable – and believable – response.

“Heh, I know how that is,” Marik grinned. “It’s pretty amazing though, isn’t it? To see all kinds of things you never had any idea existed.”

“My brothers and I were raised in a rather remote area of Egypt,” Isis clarified. “We had little understanding of the outside world when we first moved.”

“But it’s cool you went to a boarding school, Harry-san,” Yugi chirped. “It must have been great to get to know everyone you lived with! I bet you made a lot of friends.”

I can count my friends on my fingers, Harry thought amusedly, but outwardly responded with, “Yeah, I guess. It was a pretty exclusive school though, so there weren’t too many of us, really. Only about a thousand students across all seven years. I only got in because my parents went there.”

“Speaking of your parents, Harry-san,” Sugoroku cut in, “are you not living with them? You’re quite young to be striking out own your own so far away from home.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. He had been dreading questions into his family and living status, but was a little surprised it had taken someone this long to ask.

“Er. My parents passed away,” he answered as shortly as possible. He hoped they would take it to mean his parents had died recently, so they wouldn’t ask questions about the rest of his family. He had no desire to mention the Dursleys, even in vague terms. Necessary though the bluntness was, he still regretted it when he saw the way Yugi wilted, and Marik winced. He tried not to see Sugoroku and Isis’ sympathetic expressions.

“My condolences, Harry-san,” Atem murmured solemnly. Harry nodded, and decided to change to subject to distract them.

“So, about Duel Monsters…” It wasn’t the most elegant move, but it certainly did the trick as Yugi perked up and began chattering about the game. They all took turns trying to describe the rules of the game around mouthfuls of vegetable stir-fry and continued the explanation past lunch and into his shift at the shop, following him around as he took inventory.

Several hours later, near the end of his shift, found Harry still taking inventory, but with a different set of duelists. Atem, Marik, and Isis had left shortly after lunch, needing to return to the museum at which they all worked, and had been replaced by Ryou and Jounouchi, both of whom were students and had apparently finished classes for the day.

Harry padded around the shop, listening with half an ear as Yugi and Jounouchi chattered about Duel Monsters, taking inventory, familiarizing himself with the merchandise, and being interrupted by the occasional customer. He bent down to move a board game back in line with its fellows, when Yugi broke off his conversation with Jou to address him.

“Hey, Harry-san, what are you wearing around your neck?” he asked curiously, eyeing the thin gold chain that had been unveiled when he had leaned down.

“Oh, it’s a, er, family heirloom,” Harry said uncomfortably. He hesitated, before pulling it up out of his shirt. He held up the cracked black stone for their inspection.

“It looks quite old. Is that your family coat of arms?” Ryou wondered, leaning forward and brushing a finger against the mark of the Deathly Hallows.

“Not for mine. This family’s name died out centuries ago, became the Potters and probably a couple others,” Harry said, trying to hide his perturbation as he pulled the Resurrection Stone away from Ryou’s curious touch. He would have much preferred if no one had ever discovered any of the three legendary objects he could not help but carry on his person at all times. After the Battle of Hogwarts almost three years ago, Harry had slept for almost a full straight day, and when he had awoken, all three Hallows had been sitting innocently beside him in bed. He’d been confused and scared, distinctly remembering tossing the Stone away in the Forbidden Forest, returning the Wand to Dumbledore’s cold hands in his tomb, and stowing the Cloak away in his trunk. Since then, all attempts to be rid of the objects had failed spectacularly; they always returned to him, no matter how he tried to hide them or throw them away. Eventually resigned to their presence, he opted to ignore the objects themselves, as well as the faint whispers that brushed against his mind and the shadowy flickers that danced on the edge of his vision from time to time.

“Huh. ‘S pretty sweet you can trace your family back that far,” Jou said, eyeing the stone with his head tilted to the side. Harry just shrugged, hid the necklace back inside his shirt, and turned back to keep working, effectively cutting off further questions. Jou and Yugi didn’t seem bothered, simply picking back up with their debate, but Ryou kept watching him for a moment, his eyes piercing, a strange expression on his face. He eventually let himself be distracted by Jou and Yugi’s chatter, and Harry desperately hoped that was the end of it.

Harry’s days continued to pass in a similar way, although with blessedly fewer difficult questions. He kept working with Sugoroku, kept avoiding working the cash register whenever possible, kept learning about the games in the store. Three weeks after he had moved to Domino, he found the time and disposition to take a weekend train into Tokyo’s magical district, Maho-Chome, to do a bit of shopping and to check in with the Ministry for any assignments.

Unlike the British Ministry, the Japanese one had opted to split its departments among buildings. A large skyscraper housed the legislative, judicial, and law enforcement divisions, as well as the Minister’s offices. The windows were liberally covered in Notice-Me-Not and Muggle Repelling charms, as well as a thick layer of Glamour. It was, naturally, far larger on the inside than the outside implied. Thirty full courtrooms crowded the basement, and the upper levels contained the entirety of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well as the departments of Magical Education, Magical Transportation Administration, International Magical Relations, and Muggle Relations (the latter of which was entirely dedicated to covering up breaches of the Statute of Secrecy). The various other administrative departments were housed in a large, single-level underground complex that sprawled beneath twenty-seven Tokyo city blocks, accessed through the basements of several dozen small, undercover, wizard-owned shops around the city.

It was a necessary evil for Harry to visit the Ministry. Despite working predominantly at home, he was still required to check in once a month. The fear of being recognized made the trip grate on his nerves terribly, made a spot between his shoulders itch with the feeling that he was being watched. He likely was, but there was also a good chance he would not be recognized here in Japan, which was the only saving grace of the expedition.

It was not common knowledge that Harry Potter had transferred to the Japanese Department of Magical Law Enforcement; only his direct superiors – the respective Head Aurors – and the Ministers were aware of his new job. It also helped that Voldemort had never been an immediate concern for the Japanese wizards. His threat had been half a world away, and the plight of the British had elicited feelings of pity and horror, rather than of dread and impending doom. Never having experienced the same fear, they had not felt the same degree relief as the British upon the Dark Lord’s demise, and thus were never quite as interested in the ‘Savior,’ Harry Potter. Harry’s status here was more akin to famous foreign Quidditch player than to some legendary hero. His face and name had graced far fewer newspapers, so it was relatively safe to assume that as long as his infamous scar was covered, he would not be noticed with anything more than potential, vague recognition.

Still, he wasn't willing to dawdle and risk it. He bustled his way into the building and up the strange, winged lift, shoulders hitched up to his ears, back hunched, face directed at the ground, trying to make himself smaller and less noticeable. He made his was into the Auror Office, where he received two simple cases to work to help clear out a backlog in the JDMLE, with instructions to return them by the end of the month. Harry conceded easily, nodding a terse goodbye to the department director, his boss and Head Auror Awashima Ebisu.

He stepped out of the back door of the Ministry directly onto the unfortunately busy main street of Maho-Chome and resolved to stick to the shadows and side streets as much as possible. He slunk through the streets, scoping out the best shops for potential gift buying, and picked up a few rolls of parchment at a stationary shop and some sweets at the magical confectioner. He couldn’t help but slink into the Quidditch Supply shop to check out new broomsticks, and it was there he found Teddy’s birthday present – a child’s training broom, just like the one Sirius had gotten him as a toddler. He smiled, thinking of that happy picture he’d found years ago, and gave the clerk the address to post the broom to, along with a brief note to Andromeda.

He stepped back out, a considerable weight off his shoulders, and continued exploring the street. He passed by the bank, but opted not to try his luck opening an account. Goblins worked the Japanese banks as well, apparently, and the Goblin Nation had yet to forgive Harry for breaking into Gringotts three years ago. He had been allowed to remove his assets from his vault with the concession that if he ever stepped inside Gringotts again, they would ‘slit his throat and string his entrails about the marble pillars.’ He was really quite fortunate they had allowed him that much; they were apparently as grateful as was possible for Goblins to be that he had killed the wizard who had slaughtered an entire room full of their kin – which was to say, not very much.

He shuddered a bit and picked up his pace to get out of sight of the bank and its vicious looking Goblin guards. He finally located the magical pet store and stepped inside to inspect their variety of delivery birds. Hm, looks like they prefer to use falcons here, he thought, eyeing the sleek, sharp-beaked raptors perched around the walls. His attention was immediately drawn to a large gyrfalcon near the back. He contemplated getting a closer look, but the pale, snowy feathers just made his heart clench thinking of Hedwig. He eventually settled on a friendly young female Merlin falcon, which had seemed to perk up and squirm with excitement when she saw him. He walked out with her on his shoulder and Apparated directly into his apartment after, eager and desperate to get away from the crowd.

Once home, he immediately set about writing letters to Ron, Hermione, and Andromeda, filling them in on his work, home, and new acquaintances. Now that he was settled in, he wrote, they were all free and welcome to visit whenever they chose. He had even purchased a railed bed and toys for Teddy, and a pullout couch for whoever was lacking a bed.

He tied the letters to the jittery Merlin, whom he had decided to call Em, short for the wizard Merlin’s Welsh second name, Emrys. She seemed less than impressed with what he had thought was a rather clever pun, when he explained it to her.

“Hope I’m not asking too much of you on your first flight for me,” he murmured to the small gray and white bird, securing the letters with a bit of supple twine. “Britain’s a long way off, after all.” She seemed to puff up with a mixture of affront and pride, and shot off through his open window with a screech before he could apologize for doubting her. He shrugged, and turned his attention to the first of the two criminal case files.

The next day found Harry back at work at Kame Game Shop. He could find no excuse not work the cash register, unfortunately, as no new merchandise had come in over the weekend to catalogue, so he resigned himself to standing behind the counter and helping the customers with their purchases while Sugoroku was set up in the back filling out tax and order forms.

Harry stifled a bored yawn from behind the counter, lazily eyeing the few customers who had sauntered in early that morning. They were quiet, at least, Harry contemplated, watching them poke around the display of handheld game cartridges that he had organized last week.

The bell above the door jingled, signaling another customer and Harry watched, bemused, as the man jumped, seeming startled by the noise. He glanced around, stared at Harry for a moment, before moving further in and stepping out of sight behind a shelf. Harry’s bemusement had melted immediately into caution edging on panic upon seeing the man more clearly. His clothes were decidedly odd – a t-shirt and tie paired with pinstriped slacks tucked into cowboy boots – but Harry knew that even without the visual confirmation of the man’s magical nature, he would have been put on his guard anyway. The man’s eyes had flicked briefly to Harry’s fringe-covered forehead in the brief moment he had stared at him before turning quickly and sauntering behind the shelf, too-casually and with stiff shoulders.

Precisely two minutes later, another wizard, stockier than the first, had entered, wearing a suit coat and cargo shorts. He too couldn’t resist a brief, hard stare at Harry before retreating behind the same shelf as the first one. Five more minutes passed before a third wizard entered, in duck-print pajama pants and a leather jacket. Harry knew better than to judge a wizard’s deadliness by their level of comfort and familiarity with Muggle-wear, and had become increasingly nervous with the entrance of each. He gulped silently, already feeling adrenaline begin to rush, and cast a silent locking spell on the stock room door to seal Sugoroku away from the potential danger.

Harry kept his eyes glued to the clock, counting down the minutes. Five, six, seven minutes passed before the normal, Muggle customers brought their purchases to him at the counter. He ignored their attempts at small talk, eager to usher them out the door. His eyes flicked back to the clock. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine…

Thirty excruciating seconds passed before he heard a floorboard squeak and he threw himself down to the ground behind the counter, successfully dodging a fast-moving yellow curse that left an ugly singe on the wall behind him. Bone-Breaking Curse, he noted. These guys are playing for keeps.

He peeked up slightly over the counter, holly wand poised, Stupefy on his lips. His spell just barely missed Leather Jacket, his accuracy thrown by having to dodge the Strangulation Hex Suit Coat tossed his way. He knew he couldn’t remain behind the counter; a simple wooden barrier was hardly a defensible location in a wizards’ battle, never mind that it would be too easy to be blocked in by his three opponents.

He cast a silent Homenum Revelio to get a feel for their locations and, deeming it momentarily safe to move, rolled out from behind the counter. He was just in time, too, for scarcely half a second had passed when the counter exploded from T-Shirt’s Bombarda. A quick shield charm protected him from the shrapnel on one side, but left the other side open to Leather Jacket’s petrifaction spell. He felt it graze his arm, shouted a finite incantatem before it could take hold, and rolled yet again, this time behind a shelf where he scrambled to his feet.

Harry could hear Sugoroku pounding on the door, calling out for him, asking what was wrong, but Harry had to ignore him as Suit Coat sent a bulging, neon orange curse his way. He flicked it away with his wand, and glimpsed from the corner of his eye that it liquefied the floor where it hit. Hemorrhaging Curse, Harry noted. He cursed them in his mind for using such destructive spells in the shop. He wished they were elsewhere so could return similar fire; he couldn’t chance the integrity of the building with Sugoroku still locked in the back room. Casting another quick Homenum Revelio, he directed an overpowered Waddiwasi at a game console and made it fly around the corner of the shelf to knock T-Shirt in the temple with enough force to punch a hole in a wall. He crumpled immediately to the ground and lay unmoving.

Leather Jacket let out a startled exclamation, but Suit Coat just sent a Blood-Freezing Curse in the general direction Harry’s spell had revealed him to be. It missed by several feet, but Harry moved anyway. This time, when Leather Jacket sent a Confringo at the shelf, Harry was unable to conjure a shield in time to prevent a bit of flaming shrapnel from scoring a line across his cheek. A nonverbal Levicorpus hitched Leather Jacket up to the ceiling, then dropped him to the ground. The brief shock was enough distraction for Harry to catch him with a Stupefy-Petrificus Totalus-Incarcerous chain combo.

Only Suit Coat was left, Harry thought, clamping down on the vaguely smug acknowledgment that he had managed to bring down two out of three opponents in a small crowded building while avoiding using any destructive spells. He shifted to dodge a pale green curse when the wall on his right suddenly exploded, the percussive, fiery blast pushing him back into the path of the spell. He felt the curse tear through his clothes, sink into his skin, begin to eat away at him. He heard a wet, visceral blistering sound, and barely had time to see the flesh of his side and abdomen corroding away when the pain caught up to him and he collapsed, gasping. Amazonian Flesh-Eating Curse, he thought dazedly, recognizing the distinct burn pattern and the strange minty scent from a dusty Black library text. He tried to recall the exact counter-curse for the rare variant, and failed.

He forced his thoughts away from the pain to take stock of his surroundings – to check Suit Coat’s position, and to see what the hell had caused the explosion. And then Harry knew he was hallucinating, knew the pain of curse was affecting his mind, when he saw the massive form of Curse of Dragon – a duel monster card he had been introduced to the previous week – flying through the remains of the stock room door, Sugoroku following closely at its tail.

The dragon shot forward, ramming its head into Suit Coat’s chest with a sickening crunch, and then took his limp body into its massive jaws. Sugoroku shuffled up to it and patted its head. He looked down at the crumpled form and sighed despondently before dismissing the dragon, causing it to fade away along with the lifeless body of Suit Coat. The old man turned then to Harry, but the stern question on his face immediately melted into an expression of pure, ashen horror. He rushed over, began speaking, but Harry was beyond comprehension by that point. He barely had the presence of mind to take hold of the Elder Wand. He couldn’t remember the proper counter-curse, but maybe an overpowered finite incantatem from the most powerful wand in history would do the trick. It worked, he noted hazily, as the progression of the corrosion up his chest and around his back halted, before shadow claimed his vision.

Chapter Text

Consciousness was slow in returning to Harry. His eyes were bleary and gritty, his mouth cottony with thirst, his head light and cloudy. The room was warping oddly around him, he noted, the colors oddly bright. It took him far longer than he would ever admit to recognize that he was in a hospital room under the influence of some powerful painkiller. Memories of the battle in the game shop slowly returned to him, and he wondered how he had managed to defeat the final wizard. It was utterly impossible, after all, that old Mutou Sugoroku had brought a Duel Monster to life. The second he was able to gather the strength (twenty minutes later), he pulled himself up out of bed and stumbled to his feet, looking fuzzily around the room for his belongings. He found the Resurrection Stone and his glasses, shoes, and trousers (pockets still thankfully containing his wands, wallet, and the Invisibility Cloak – thank Merlin for Muggle Repelling charms) in a plastic bag near the foot of the bed. He scrawled a quick note in shaky Hiragana characters using the paper and pen on the night stand – Bill me, with his address and phone number – and left it on the bed, before Apparating directly into his apartment.

He stumbled when he landed and had to hang on the arm of his couch, dry heaving, until the world stopped spinning and he was able to stand without his knees collapsing beneath him. He took a deep breath before staggering over to his trunk, digging around until he found the professional medical kit Molly, Hermione, and Andromeda had conspired to arrange for him. His first order of business was to purge his system of whatever Muggle analgesic the doctors had used; Muggle medicines sometimes interacted strangely with magical remedies. The appropriate potion had him noisily vomiting into the toilet until his mouth and throat burned, his eyes streaming saline. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his fist to stifle the cry of pain growing in his throat now that the painkiller was gone. He quickly grabbed the next potion, which temporarily deadened inflamed nerves – highly addictive, and quite toxic even in moderate doses, but he only needed a few drops to clear his head enough to treat the wound.

Seated on the edge of his bathtub, he slipped off the papery hospital gown and peeled away the bandages. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath to stave off nausea, and examined his torso. The oozing, burn-like wound was a full foot from top to bottom, and stretched from the middle of his front, just past his navel, all the way around to his spine on the back. It was deepest where it had struck on his side to the point that his ribs were visible, but it was only mildly irritated and red at the fringes. The doctors had certainly done a good job treating him, he mused. One of the greatest challenges in treating high surface area wounds like Harry’s was the incredible risk of infection, but it looked quite clean to him

He dug around in the medical kit once more, pulling out a thick salve made of dittany. He spread it around the wound with clumsy fingers, barely able to look, but immensely grateful that couldn’t feel a thing due to the nerve-deadening potion he had taken. He cast a Sanitation Charm on the bandages from the hospital, awkwardly rebound himself, and staggered off to bed.

Half a day later, Harry’s stomach demanded he awaken. He tentatively pushed himself upright, anticipating excruciating pain, but only feeling the unpleasant tightness and stinging of a strong sunburn. He sighed, relieved, and peeked into his bandages to see that the concentrated dittany had done its job; the wound was only open at the point of contact, now, the rest of the skin swollen and an unpleasant purple-red, but healed over and uninfected.

He stumbled into the kitchen and devoured the cold leftovers of a roast lamb dinner Kreacher had brought over a few days prior. Temporarily sated, he adjourned to the shower to bathe for the first time in days. Despite desperately wanting to return to bed, Harry knew he had to dress and head over to the game shop to inspect the damage. He hoped he would be able to explain what had happened in a way that didn’t involve magic, but he knew that Sugoroku had at least heard the incantations from in the stock room, and may have seen something when the stray curse had destroyed the back room door (and he was sure it was a stray curse, it could absolutely be nothing else). His part-time employer would have told his grandson and his grandson’s friends by now, and Harry’s explanation would have to satisfy all of them.

But Harry just really couldn’t be bothered to think of a decent excuse right now, not when he knew nothing of what had happened since he had passed out. He couldn't afford to have them Obliviated before he got an accurate explanation. It would probably be best to answer a few questions about the wizarding world for them and hear what they had to say. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to report them to the Department of Muggle Relations, he thought hopefully, if they didn’t seem too freaked out and promised to keep quiet about it.

Mind made, Harry shuffled out of his apartment and took a taxi to the shop, not feeling up to the normally easy fifteen-minute walk. He hopped out of the car and walked up to the door, about to enter when movement through the window caught his eye.

He froze for just a moment, heart pounding like a war drum, before sharply pulling himself against the wall beside the window, out of sight of those within. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and peeked in again. Merlin’s saggy left testicle, he gasped silently. Inside were Yugi, Atem, Ryou, Bakura, Jounouchi, Otogi, and Marik, either standing around talking quietly or sweeping away debris and organizing merchandise into piles. But they weren’t alone. Yugi was pointing the Feral Imp to the back of the shop to sweep. Atem was directing the Obnoxious Celtic Guardian to move a shelving unit away from a hole in the floor. Jounouchi was grinning at the Armored Lizard as it hammered a nail into the board he was holding up over the broken window on the other side of the store.

Harry watched for a moment, hoping against hope that the monsters were just Duel Disk projections, but knowing that holograms couldn’t hold brooms or hammer nails. His couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run home and sleep, sure it was a hallucination, or go inside and get a closer look. His decision was made for him when Yugi, who he’d been sure hadn’t so much as glanced his way, looked back over his shoulder and called out to him.

“You can come in, Harry-san. I promise the monsters won’t hurt you.” The others in the shop glanced back at Yugi’s words, but seemed more resigned than surprised or guilty.

Harry stepped in tentatively, his shoulders hunched, hand fisted above his pocket, ready to dart in and grab his wand at a second’s notice. Constant Vigilance, he thought a bit hysterically. He sucked in a breath as the monster nearest to him, the Celtic Guardian, gave him a faint nod. Harry nodded back automatically, stiffly.

“What– What are they? I mean, how are they even here? And- and real?” he said finally, faintly. The others exchanged glances, before Atem spoke.

“I suppose congratulations are in order, for your first official introduction to the wonders of Shadow Magic."

Shadow magic…? What the hell? Harry’s thoughts were racing, and he had yet to even consider a response to Atem’s rather lofty declaration.

“We’re what you call shadow mages, Harry-san,” Yugi said tentatively. “It means we can access a type of magic that lets us summon monsters from the Shadow Realm. Duel Monsters the game is based on the creatures that live there.”

 Are these people some kind of demon summoning cult or something?! His mind was screaming at him to get away, to run before they sacrificed him to their dark gods, or just plain killed him for learning their secrets. He recognized, distantly, that they were all terribly calm about what he had just seen, and didn’t seem to be reaching for any weapons with which to silence him, but his war-born paranoia was in full swing. He clamped down harshly on his instincts, going for some kind of cool, confident façade to let them know that he wasn’t afraid, but all he managed was to keep his legs straight and strong beneath him. He took a deep breath, watching them all closely, noting again their complete lack of surprise or concern at seeing him. He decided to address that later, and turned to question Yugi further on his “Shadow Magic.”

“And what exactly is-“ Harry started, but was interrupted by Atem.

“I think, perhaps, you owe us the first explanation, Harry,” he said sternly. “Grandfather has told us what happened, how you and those three others battled with some form of magic and did this damage to the shop."

“Hey!” he said, affronted. “I’ll have you know I handicapped myself in that duel, only used Stunners and similar so I didn’t damage the shop. But, um, that’s not the point, I guess,” he muttered at the end, a bit embarrassed by his outburst. He shifted uncomfortably, his side tingling unpleasantly.

“Maybe we should move into the house,” Ryou frowned. “I can’t believe they let you out of the hospital already. It’s only been two days! Grandfather Mutou told us about your injuries. It seemed serious.”

“Oh, they didn’t, really. I, uh, I don’t really like hospitals, so I let myself out,” Harry admitted. “I’m fine, really,” he continued when Ryou looked about to protest. He turned a fraction of his attention to his surroundings, looking around the shop to gauge the damage. “Before we move, let me fix this up.” Harry knew from experience that if you wanted information, you had to be willing to offer some up in recompense – and he suddenly had a whole lot more questions for them. And if he was going to tell them about the wizarding world anyway, as he had been planning, then the least he could do was repair the damage to the shop. He pulled out the Elder Wand, needing the power boost in his impaired state, and cast a silent Reparo. He glanced around and took in the dumbfounded expressions of both the humans and the monsters as glass reassembled, dust cleared, shelves reordered themselves, and the hole in the wooden floor filled in. Jounouchi let out a startled curse, and he heard a faint gasp from somewhere off to the side, but otherwise they all seemed too stunned to react much.

“Right. Yes. Let’s– let’s move into the sitting room, then,” Atem spoke in a slightly strangled tone. Yugi, Atem, and Jounouchi nodded to the monsters around the room, murmured ‘thank you’ and ‘you can go’ to send them off, and they all shuffled out and across the lawn, a little shell-shocked.

“Harry, what…What the hell was all that!?” Jou was the first to speak. Harry took a deep breath, and looked around at all of them. Yugi, Marik, and Ryou had settled on the couch across from him, Atem resting a hip against the arm. Otogi and Jounouchi had claimed the love seat adjacent to the chair Harry was seated on, and Bakura had settled against a wall at the back. They were all staring at him.

“Right. Well, first of all, please keep in mind that what I’m about to tell you is very, very secret. You can’t repeat this to anyone. I’m breaking a huge law by telling you, but I really want to know about those monsters, and I don’t think you’d tell me about them if I didn’t come clean.

“So. I’m a wizard; I can use magic. There’s a bunch of us, living secretly from Muggles– er, non-magical people. We’ve got our own government, own schools, everything. I’d like to ask some questions about what happened to the people who attacked me, though, before I go into more detail.” He waited for Atem’s assenting nod, before continuing.

“Where are they? I know they were all incapacitated at the end of the fight, but what did you do with them?”

“The two survivors are currently bound and gagged in the stock room of the game shop. We took those sticks from them, the ones Grandfather said you all were using to cast your magic. Only one of them has awakened, but he was not coherent when we tried to question him,” Atem responded succinctly. Harry nodded.

 “You didn’t happen to check them over, did you? Notice any strange markings they all had in common? Tattoos, for instance,” Harry asked. In a macabre way, he hoped they were Death Eaters. If they were, the reason behind the attack was clean and clear-cut, no real need to dig further.

“Yeah, when we tied ‘em up, they both had this funny tattoo in their arm. A snake and a skull. Kinda creepy,” Jou answered, shuddering a bit. Harry huffed out a breath, relieved.

“That makes things simple, then. They’re Death Eaters, a group of terrorists I had a hand in disbanding a couple years ago. They probably came looking for revenge. Can’t believe they already found me when I’ve only been here less than a month,” he muttered. Someone must have recognized him when he had visited the Ministry the other day, a Pureblood sympathizer, maybe, or simply a gossipmonger.

“I’ll have a word with them in a bit, before I hand them over to the Aurors,” Harry said, before continuing with his explanation of the wizarding world. He tried to stay as succinct as possible to keep from overwhelming them, to give them a just condensed history of the magical world and an outline of its society, but he was forced to give rather full accounts at times when they asked specific, personal questions, such as about Hogwarts and his magical career. When he told them the truth about his consulting job – that he dealt with dark wizards who abused soul magic – Yugi and Ryou exchanged somewhat nervous, concerned glances before changing the subject quickly. The presence of the Death Eaters unfortunately compelled him to mention the previous war and its causes, and he was only barely able to keep his personal role in it a secret from them, instead suggesting that anyone over legal age had fought then; his personal fame and his rather unique adventures were something he wanted to keep secret for as long as possible.

When they had finally run out of questions over an hour later, they decided to have a quick lunch before it was Harry’s turn to be interrogator.

“Harry-san, this is all just so amazing! I mean, I know I just saw you using magic, but to think there are entire magical nations… Will you show us Maho-Chome sometime?” Yugi asked. Harry hesitated, knowing what his answer had to be, but upset that it was even a concern in the first place.

“I- I can’t really say,” he said finally. “I’d like to, but I can’t really promise anything until you tell me about the solid monsters.” The implied I can’t trust you yet echoed loudly through the room. The mood became just a little bit more somber.

“O-oh, of course…” Yugi said, a twist of hurt passing across his expression. Harry felt vaguely as though he had just kicked a puppy. He bit his lip and spoke again. “Um, are there any specific questions you wanted to ask first?”

Harry struggled for a moment to find his words, grateful despite himself that the others seemed content to wait patiently for him to gather himself. He started slowly.

“You guys didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me there, before,” he spoke with a heavy tongue. “And you don’t seem disturbed at all. Like you were expecting this.” By the end, his manner had grown accusatory, but he didn’t care to curb his tone in light of the situation. Either accusatory and angry, or nervous and scared. Would rather be challenged than hunted.

 He needn’t have worried, however. No one seemed perturbed by the insinuation. He saw Otogi and Jounouchi nod their heads off the side, and up beside Atem, Marik simply shrugged. Yugi was the first to answer him.

 “It’s true, Harry-kun,” Yugi began nonchalantly, as though Harry wouldn’t notice the suddenly more casual, friendly form of address meant to placate him. “We could all tell right when we met you that you had the potential to use shadow magic. It was just a matter of time before we introduced you to it. And we knew you were there because of that potential, we could sense it, a little.”

“What do you mean ‘potential?’” Harry asked, a little disturbed at the implication that they had been able to magically sense his presence as he had approached the shop. Ryou was the one to speak up this time, his voice soft and gentle.

“What you have to understand, Harry-san, is that the Shadows are attracted to people who have space in their soul. Like people who’ve been hurt so much that their souls have split with the pain, or people with some inborn affinity for them. People who just aren’t whole anymore, or maybe never were. The Shadows seep in, fill in the cracks and holes, and make you whole again. Maybe not the same as you were, but at least not broken anymore.” His voice was quiet, soothing, but Harry couldn’t help but stare at him in horror. Torn, broken souls? Dark magic filling in your soul? Merlin, I have to do something.

“Oh, please don’t be upset, Harry-san! I know it sounds horrible, and I know this is the kind of thing you’re trained to look out for, but it really isn’t so horrid and unnatural as that,” Ryou cried, correctly identifying his expression. Harry just shook his head and started to stand up, wanting to speak, but unable to find the words to express the gravity of his thoughts.

“Look, Harry, just wait a minute, okay?” Marik spoke, hands raised placatingly. “I know you’re weirded out, and I promise we’re not gonna keep you from leaving, but please listen to what we have to say. Just let us explain. I promise we’re not all horrible dark criminal occultists.” He tried for levity, but it fell flat in the face of Harry’s grave expression.

He was silent for a long moment, staring around at all of them. He took in Ryou’s concerned face, Yugi’s pleading one. He saw Marik, Jou, and Otogi all looking at him with vaguely hopeful expressions, and Atem regarding him calmly. He glanced finally at Bakura, who was, naturally, just staring disinterestedly at a wall. Oddly, it was this last one that convinced him. Bakura was being an aloof asshole, all was right with the world. He snorted shortly, before nodding and sitting back down.

 “Fine, talk,” he said, voice completely devoid of emotion, staring straight into Atem’s dark red eyes. He heard a few sighs of relief, but he ignored them in favor of Atem, who had simply nodded before pushing himself off the arm of the couch and striding forward to lower himself into the armchair diagonal to Harry’s. He sat with his legs crossed, arms flat on the armrests, back rimrod straight. He looked like royalty. The others settled around him, content to listen to Atem speak.

And speak he did. He told Harry about the existence of shadow magic, an old, deep sorcery used by the Ancient Egyptians for entertainment and punishment. He told of a Dark Lord that had sought dominion over the shadows, who had been partially sealed away three thousand years ago by a strong-willed Pharaoh with the help of seven golden objects that were able to control the Shadows to a greater degree than any human could manage on his own. How less than ten years ago, those seven objects had all resurfaced and come together, calling to the shadow magic that had remained dormant for millennia. He briefly and vaguely mentioned how the wielders of those objects were able to completely defeat the sealed Dark Lord, and how the objects were sacrificed to the Shadows. The powerful ceremony intended to completely seal away the Shadows had failed, however, when additional sacrifices were not offered. It had instead merely imposed limitations upon the Shadows, made them less potent, less malicious, and more malleable.

Ubiquitous and hungry as they were, the Shadows sought out those humans with space in their soul for them – those who had been severely traumatized, or who were corrupted and cruel, or who simply held some propensity for shadow magic. Now, a few years after the ceremony, a burgeoning summoning community was developing. Apparently, some of those meeting the requirements to accept the Shadows and who happened to be involved in high-stakes ventures were suddenly finding themselves paying terribly heavy consequences for losses. More commonly, gamers playing Duel Monsters were shocked to find their monsters coming to life and blasting their opponents away. Since then, preeminent shadow mages had been travelling about, following rumors of soul disappearances and of monster appearances, finding shadow users, and inducting them into the community for support and guidance.

“Right. Okay. So. Um…is this the part where you give me a vague talk about secrets, and my best interests?” Harry questioned weakly. He was gratified to receive several amused snorts and grunts from around the room; they didn’t seem to be in nasty enough moods to want to kill him right now, he thought crookedly.

“Ha, no,” Atem shook his head. “You may tell whomever you wish about us, and what we do. I doubt you will find many are willing to believe you, if they are not already aware of the Shadows. Those that will believe are likely those who know you well enough to tell pranks from truthfulness, those who know you best, dear friends and family. Such people are welcome to know,” he finished calmly, with a soothing smile.

“Right, good… Um, I get the impression that you guys are really important to this whole Summoner community. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you guys are the wielders of those objects, the ones who got rid of that Dark Lord and limited the Shadows.” Harry spoke directly.

“You’d be right about that, boy,” Bakura spoke for the first time that evening, even deigning to look away from the wall at him. “Ryou, Yugi, Atem, Marik and I all wielded Millennium Items. Don't ask anymore about that, it’s none of your business.” Harry nodded in acquiescence, fully understanding of the desire to keep personal secrets

“Fine. But what do you guys do, exactly? I mean, that first question I asked, you guys are sort of central to other shadow users, aren’t you.” He didn't phrase it as a question this time.

“Atem and I are the Kings of the Shadow Mages, Harry. Or the King and Pharaoh, if you want to be specific.” Yugi spoke gently, but his tone could not really detract from the shock of the statement. Atem picked up where Yugi left off.

“We earned those titles by being both the most powerful of the shadow mages, and the most talented of the duelists. I was raised to believe that it is the responsibility of those with power to protect and govern those without. This modern era is perhaps not conducive to the sort of governance I was once accustomed to, but the point still stands. Yugi and I are the central figures of this community; it is to us all other shadow users and summoners turn for guidance. We surround ourselves with trusted allies, if not necessarily agreeable ones, who advise us and assist with governing.

“Those advisors, you see before you. This is not the entirety of our council, of course. Some had prior arrangements for this evening, and some are overseas, or are not on particularly good terms with us. They are nevertheless extremely knowledgeable and powerful shadow users, and their input is welcome and valued.

“That is not to say we hold any sort of official position, of course. In most aspects of their lives, mages fall under the jurisdiction of the government with which they claim citizenship. With regard to the use of shadow magic, however, they answer to my partner and me. We make ourselves available for questions, and respond to requests for aid. We intervene in cases of conflict between shadow users, and try to have issues solved with civility.

 “When summoners use the shadows for crime, however… When they initiate a Shadow Game against an ignorant, or summon a monster that assists the user in committing crimes, we give no quarter. We respond to such situations with all possible swiftness, and without mercy. The Shadows are very dangerous, even limited as they are; for all that are a balm to the spiritually wounded, they yet exacerbate corruption, should a person fall prey to them. Someone who abuses the Shadows will continue to do so unless stopped; they cannot help it,” Atem finished gravely.

“What…what do you do to criminals? People who abuse the Shadows?” Harry asked. His throat and mouth were dry; his tongue seemed thick and heavy in his mouth. He tried to swallow but couldn’t; he could only watch, as though from a distance, as Atem continued to speak.

“That depends on the crime. Most of the time, we challenge them to a Shadow Game. Should they win, they are free to go until another member of the council catches up. When they lose, they have to play a Penalty Game. The severity of the penalty depends on the crime. But, if the crime was truly terrible, we do not even give them a chance to win. We arrange a Game that cannot be won, for the sole purpose of sending them to the Shadow Realm."

“What right do you all have to make those sorts of decisions? Whether someone’s abusing the Shadows or not, and how to punish them if you think they are,” Harry said stiffly. Atem closed his eyes and sighed.

“The Shadows and those who use them are our responsibility. It was our failure to complete the Ceremony and seal them away that led to their abundance. The least we can do to atone for that mistake is to ensure that those affected are able to properly use the Shadows, and to ensure that those who might use them for harm are not able to,” he said, in an aristocratically beleaguered sort of way.

Harry didn’t speak for a long moment, couldn’t bring himself to look at any of them. Well, he thought dazedly, at least they’re taking responsibility for the Shadows. I don’t want to think of all the people who’d be soulless right now if they weren’t watching out… A sudden thought occurred to him, drained his face of color and made him freeze. The whole reason there had been a job opportunity for him here was because of the outbreak of inexplicably soulless bodies found. These people here, standing in this room, must have been responsible – if not directly, then marginally at least. After all, hadn’t Atem just claimed responsibility for all other shadow users? The soulless may have been criminals dealt vigilante justice by this shady group, or they may have been the innocent victims of corrupted users, but the point remained that bodies were still cropping up at the discretion of the people standing before him. Harry was simultaneously horrified and amazed to have just stumbled in and cracked open the mystery.

He was tired, mentally and physically. He could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples and the taught, inflamed flesh of his side was aching and he wanted nothing more than to just fall asleep and pretend this whole damn thing had just been a dream. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t ignore this; he had to learn more. While he knew these people personally and didn’t think they were evil, when they brought up the Council and Penalty Games and Kings and Shadow Realm…it all sounded too much like the start of some megalomaniacal Dark Lord and his inner circle of loyal followers. He couldn’t just accept everything they were telling him, and he couldn’t just walk away. Bloody saving people thing.

“So, that’s all you do? Talk to people about using shadow magic, and punish them when they get too handsy?” Harry asked anxiously, wanting desperately to trust in them, but no longer able to believe the best of perceived allies as he had before the all of the betrayals in the Second War.

“The logistics are a bit more complicated than that, but in essence you are correct,” Atem affirmed.

“And other than that you really just leave people alone?” He was just repeating himself at this point, he knew, but he had to know. If they were even considering using other shadow users to further personal agendas… Well.

Bakura snorted. “We have our own lives to live. We have no interest in holding people’s hands, and most of them have no interest in receiving life advice from a group of twenty-somethings.

Harry couldn’t fault that logic, and even though he had promised himself he would not blindly accept their words, he could not help but relax a little, before moving on to a question that had him genuinely curious, rather than simply obligated to ask.

“So, about the shadows specifically… I mean, what do they do to a soul they, erm, invade? I mean, that’s got to have some impact on the host, right?”

“Well, they let you summon monsters and touch the Shadow Realm, primarily,” Otogi spoke up. Harry opened his mouth, about to clarify that he was wondering more about the side-effects when Yugi broke in.

“It might seem unbelievable, but we’ve been talking to new summoners a lot to get a feel for any negative consequences, and most people just report feeling better about themselves. Feeling less lost, or being reminded less frequently of painful things. When the Shadows seal up the cracks in your soul, they just sort of mend it as best they can, we think. I – We can’t say for sure because it’s only been a few years since general people began to access shadow magic, but it really doesn’t seem to hurt them at all.” Here Yugi paused, thoughtful, before continuing with a caveat. “Except for when they, you know, start doing bad things with the Shadows and are corrupted by them. People can get pretty unhinged when that happens.”

Across the room, Jounouchi coughed into his fist. “Hackhack-Marik-coughhack-Bakura.” Despite the levity behind the action, it caught Harry’s attention.

“Wait, were Bakura and Marik corrupted by the Shadows before? How can you guys be dishing out punishment when the same thing happens to you?” Harry demanded, glancing at the two men in question suspiciously, both of whom had turned to glare poisonously at Jou.

“Nice going, mutt,” Bakura muttered.

Marik shook his head. “No, we’re more resistant to the Shadows than other people, really. We were shadow mages before the magic was tamed, and a lot of us wielded the Millennium Items. We… got a little messed up before that Ceremony that limited the Shadows, but we were able to overcome them then. These Shadows are weaker, can’t corrupt us. Or at least, we’re able to prevent them from corrupting us. Heh, you seem pretty stuck on the penalty stuff."

“Well, I am in law enforcement, you remember,” Harry said dryly. He paused for a moment to think about anything else he wanted to ask, mind replaying the conversation from the beginning.

“A while ago, you guys mentioned that I have potential. Does that mean I’m damaged or a natural summoner, or whatever?” Harry asked, not bothering to consider if he was ‘corrupted.’ He was rather bloody sure he could be considered a good citizen, at the very least. Nonetheless, he was treated to several winces.

“Well, maybe you were a natural before, but now you’re, um…very damaged. To put it lightly,” Marik muttered, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

Bakura snorted from his wall. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one, Tomb Keeper.”

“To tell the truth, Harry-san, none of us have ever met someone else who has suffered so much spiritual damage,” Ryou spoke up gently, as though the news would upset him. By all rights it probably should have, but too often had Harry been the odd man out for the news of this new abnormality to truly surprise him. And frankly, he already knew he was damaged. Brandying about a dark lord’s soul in his head for 17 years, suffering numerous violent mental invasions, surviving the Killing Curse, being killed and standing right back up… He’d be shocked if he were the epitome of spiritual and mental health. That the rest of the world knew it too was what upset him more than anything.

“Yeah, it’s kinda disturbing, actually. Your soul’s just all torn up, but you act pretty normal. Kinda makes us wonder how much you’re, like, repressing. Seems, ya know, a little unhealthy.”

“Jounouchi Katsuya, everyone, King of Tact and Subtlety,” Otogi rolled his eyes. “But he’s mostly right, Harry-san. If you’re having any problems at all, you always can come to me. Or the others, I guess,” he finished a bit flippantly.

“My personal issues are entirely my own business. I won’t tell you about them, so don’t frustrate the both of us by even bothering to ask.” Harry spoke as bluntly and clearly as possible. He hoped his tone had gotten across his inflexibility on the matter, and judging by the resigned looks on several faces, he had succeeded. He took a deep breath, gearing up to ask the question that could possibly hurt him more than anything else that had been said.

“Is this why you guys were always inviting me out places? Acting like friends, and being so informal with me? Because I’m damaged and have potential?” Harry asked quietly, intently.

“It’s why I offered you the job,” Yugi admitted. “But everything else was just about getting to know you better, cuz you’re pretty interesting on a personal level. I was curious to see if we could be friends, and I think everyone else was too, so yeah, of course we invited you out places.” His purple eyes were large and earnest and innocent. Harry fell his anger fading against his will in the face of Yugi’s well-meaning honesty.

“We weren’t just acting like friends, Harry-san,” Ryou murmured. “I- I really do enjoy your company.” Boom, anger eliminated. Harry sighed, exhausted, the loss of his burgeoning anger draining away any remaining energy. He stood up and stretched a bit, winced as he pulled at the raw skin on his side, and spoke to the room at large.

“Right. Thanks for being honest, I guess. I’d really like to go home now, though, sleep on it. Um,” he began again when he saw Ryou stand up and Bakura press off the wall. “I’m going to walk back alone. I really don’t want company.” He couldn’t suppress the twinge of guilt he felt at seeing Ryou’s downcast expression. He forced himself not to look at Bakura, and dragged himself out the door to walk home.

Chapter Text

An hour later, after Harry had returned home and planted himself in the shower, just taking in the warmth, he was laying in bed, thinking about the day. While physically exhausted and in a growing amount of pain, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep when his mind was so agitated, skipping around and recalling bits of conversation at lightning speed.

He remembered having told the others that he would try to question the Death Eaters they had captured, but he had forgotten completely in the wake of the taxing conversation after. Hope those ‘Shadow Mages’ can restrain themselves from banishing their souls, Harry thought nastily. He sighed, regretting the uncharitable thought a little. They really didn’t seem like bad people, and he had enjoyed their company in the last few weeks. He had become about as comfortable with them as was possible for him with near-strangers. He thought about how they had begged him to hear them out, how they had not spoken a single threatening word against him, or had attempted to bully him, despite their large numerical advantage. He thought about how Atem had given him express permission to tell his friends and family.

Atem had a really strange of speaking, Harry contemplated, going back over the conversation. Made some odd references, too. And he certainly acted like the king he claimed to be. Harry brushed thoughts of Atem’s personal oddities aside, however, in the face of the day’s incredible revelations.

He wished Em were back so he could send a letter off to Hermione and Ron. Hermione would know what to do, and Ron would make him feel better about being conflicted. But Em wasn’t back, and they weren’t here, and Harry had no other way to contact them now, not with Hermione living with Ron in a magical apartment building without access to a telephone.

I’m a Gryffindor, he reminded himself harshly. And Gryffindors are daring. I want to trust them, and I want to learn more about them. And the only way to do that is to go back tomorrow, and ask.

But that wasn’t even considering the potential threat they posed to the magical world, and the threat the magical world definitely posed them. It didn’t take a genius to guess how the Ministry would react to a bunch of effective muggles dabbling in soul magic, and the shadow mages did not know enough about the politics of the magical world to understand how they might be received. No, it wouldn’t do to turn them in just yet, not before he knew how the DMLE would respond to soul magic used for defense, or how the mages would react to some of the wizarding world’s rules and regulations. Harry would have to dip into whatever Slytherin side the Sorting Hat had believed him to possess, and watch and wait and learn.

Mind made up, Harry drifted into an uneasy sleep, dreams filled with monsters with lightning bolt scars on their heads and shadows twisting into the shape of skulls.

 When the sun rose, Harry found himself distressingly unrested, but unwilling to remain in bed any longer. He got up, rushed through his morning rituals, and was in the hallway, locking his door, by 7 am. It was too early to head to the Kame Game shop, but he could probably wander over to the park and sit for a while. He desperately wished he could take out his broom and go for a calming flight in the early morning light, but the nearest approved flying zone was a far Apparation away, and renting out the field was a bit of a hassle anyway.

He was shaken from his wistful thoughts by the apartment door next to his opening. Ryou stepped out, Marik following closely in a way that made Harry think of how Ryou had once not returned home until morning a few weeks ago. They stopped when they noticed him, eyes wide and anxious.

Ryou murmured a soft ‘good morning,’ and Marik offered a wary nod in greeting. Harry nodded back, uncomfortable, not sure what to say.

“I was hoping you would sleep in a bit today, Harry-san. You were badly injured just the other day,” Ryou spoke up. Harry stifled a relieved sigh. It was still the same concerned Ryou; he hadn’t suddenly transformed into some soul-sucking monster, as Harry’s chaotic dreams had half-convinced him. He shrugged in response.

“I’m fine now, just a little sore. Didn’t really sleep well, though, so I was planning on walking a bit. Um. Before heading over to the shop.” He finished strongly, staring straight at them, hoping his decision was clear. And it was, judging by the smiles that lit up their faces.

“Want some company? We were just gonna grab some breakfast before heading over, ourselves,” Marik offered. Harry thought for a moment, then nodded in assent. He couldn’t help the small smile that quirked up the corners of his lips when Ryou’s own smile got a little bigger.

They ended up stopping by a small coffee shop filled with morning commuters in business suits. None of them seemed to have time to stop and sit, though, so there were plenty of tables to take advantage of. The three hadn’t spoken much on the way there, and they continued in that trend once inside, Harry lost in his thoughts and Ryou and Marik content to leave him in peace. Ryou was kind enough to direct him to a window seat, he noticed absently, away from the bustling crowd of coffee addicts. It’s the little things like that, Harry thought warmly, that make it really hard to believe you’re evil.

Half an hour later found them knocking on the front door of the Mutou family home. Sugoroku answered, chuckling and smiling broadly when he saw Harry.

“Harry-san! It’s wonderful to see you up and about. Surprising, though; that wound looked terrible. I had planned to visit you once I was done with my errands yesterday. Imagine my surprise, to have found you missing from the hospital and my shop miraculously repaired!” The old man eyed him in a good-humored, suspicious way before continuing. Harry just grinned unrepentantly, following Sugoroku inside.

Seated further in at the kitchen table were Yugi, Atem, and Bakura. Ryou seemed startled to see the latter there, but just frowned a bit and didn’t say anything. Yugi grinned brightly at Harry, while Atem offered a small smile. Bakura just glanced at him, seemed to incline his head slightly. Harry took a deep breath, and spoke.

“I’d like to learn more about shadow magic,” he said, directing his attention to Atem. The man nodded seriously.

“The best place to start is with Duel Monsters, as they are the simplest medium with which to contact the Shadow Realm. You will have very little luck attempting to summon using another summoner’s cards, however, so you should buy your own. Find a monster with whom you feel a connection – a lower level is preferred, as they are less taxing to summon, especially for beginners,” he spoke as they moved back outside, in the direction of the shop.

“Take your time picking out the packs you want. Sometimes, the cards will rise to meet you,” Atem continued, a deeply solemn note to his firm voice. Harry got the feeling that this was terribly important for some reason.

Once inside, Harry stood in front of the shelf for a long moment, staring at the stacks of foil-wrapped cards. He raised a hand and let it drift over the display, finally selecting four packages that seemed to draw his attention through inexplicable means. He took his chosen packs and settled back against the counter, feeling a bit like he was participating in some strange initiation ritual. He looked nervously at the mages around him, all of whom were watching expectantly or excitedly. He hoped he didn’t mess up and embarrass himself. What if the monsters refused to come for him, or what if they did, only to strike at him in dislike? He swallowed his unreasonable nervousness, and drew on his Gryffindor courage. He tore open the foil of the first pack and pulled out the cards, staring intently at the image on the first as it appeared.

Harry scarcely had time to survey the picture on the card and think, Oh, a snake, when the air in front of him distorted like sand shifting and he felt a sudden lurch in his chest, as though an icy hand had taken hold of his heart and tugged, icicle nails catching against the flesh and leaving him breathless. He gasped and stumbled, but a great mass stabilized him. He opened his eyes – when had he closed them – and saw the massive scaled face of the Venom Cobra staring intently at him from less than a foot away. He realized that several silver and red coils the size of small trees had pressed against his back to steady him. Harry watched the serpent blankly for a moment, before the Cobra opened its great mouth and hissed.

Greetings, Summoner, it spoke in a rasping voice oddly soft for its vast size. You called for me?

Erm, hi, Harry returned lamely. It’s- it’s good to meet you. You, ah, seemed pretty willing to be summoned? I mean, I didn’t really do anything, I don’t think.

He eyed it nervously where its neck had reared back several feet so its head could begin a circuit around his body. He felt it nudge against the Invisibility Cloak he kept folded in his back pocket, and then against the Elder Wand in his left front trousers pocket. Its nose brushed up his shirt slightly, approaching the Resurrection Stone, and he couldn’t help but shiver when the thin split tongue flicked against his skin.

Yes, I apologize for my eagerness, but I was terribly excited to meet you. I’ve never been able to speak to a Summoner before. The Cobra settled back in front of his face, temporarily content with its examination, and looked him right in the eye. I am not disappointed. You smell of Death, and strength.

Uh, thanks. I’m not disappointed either, he grinned uncertainly back at the snake. Um. I like your scales. They look really strong.

The Venom Cobra reared back to regard him fully once more, the serious look in its golden reptilian eyes morphing into sheer delight. A returning grin seemed to spread across its thin, scaly lips, and it surged forward to rub its massive, cat-sized head against the underside of his jaw.

Thank you, Master. You are kind to say so. But you grow weary, and you were not prepared to summon me, so I shall leave in you peace, if you have no further need of me.

Yeah, that’s fine. I just wanted to meet you. Um, I can call on you again later, if I need to? he asked, wanting a definitive answer. Venom Cobra seemed to like him, but he didn’t want to assume and accidentally offend it.

The serpent nodded once more, before its form began to crumble away like sand. Harry grinned, satisfied and proud at his first – if accidental – summoning, and turned to the shadow mages to see their reactions.

He faltered when he saw the way they were all staring, blank and stiff and silent. They certainly didn’t seem excited for him, if the tense air was any indication.

“Er, did- Um. I mean, I didn’t do anything wrong, right?” At his question, the others seemed to come back to themselves.

“No, ah, you certainly summoned it, alright. We just weren’t really expecting it to happen so quickly?” Yugi stuttered.

“I’ve never seen a monster react that way to someone before. I mean, it seemed to just jump right out the second you touched the card! And… I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone have a hissing conversation with a snake, before, ” Marik finished a touch uncertainly.

“Er, that’s Parseltongue. ‘S a magical language, I just sort of automatically speak it in front of a snake. Venom Cobra said that’s why it was so eager to appear, it wanted to have a conversation with me.”

“There are entire magical languages?” Ryou said, startled.

“Well, there are races of magical beings that have their own languages, I guess, like the goblins with Gobbledegook, or the merpeople with Mermish. Parseltongue is more of a magical ability, I reckon. It’s hereditary, usually,” Harry said, watching Ryou mouth the unfamiliar words with astonishment. He hoped they wouldn’t ask more questions about it; he wasn’t in the mood to get into such a morbid subject as the way he came to be a Parselmouth. He was far more interested in what other cards he had.

He examined the remaining cards in the first pack, then moved on to the other three packages. No other monsters forced themselves out the way Venom Cobra had, but he felt a tingle of awareness as his fingers coasted over a few, like An Owl of Luck, Hazy Flame Sphinx, and – amusingly enough – Fool of Prophecy. He thumbed the corner of the latter, reading its effect more carefully. Pretty useful, he thought, but only by sacrificing it can the effect really come into play. Heh, sounds familiar. He felt a pulse in his soul as he stared at the card; he wanted to summon this one next.

Not right now, though; he still felt off from the Venom Cobra’s sudden appearance, and anyway he wanted to inspect the rest of his cards more thoroughly first. He noticed that there was one more card that seemed to call to him, but Harry wasn’t particularly keen on it; the Curtain of the Dark Ones reminded him too much of the Veil of Death that had stolen his godfather from him.

And speaking of ‘Death’…

“I need to have a word with those Death Eaters,” Harry said suddenly, regretfully tearing his attention away from the cards to regard Atem. The cards could wait; the terrorists still bound and gagged in the back room of the game shop had to be dealt with.

Atem nodded. “Yes, we must learn the reason behind their attack, and ascertain if there is any further danger.” He made to walk into the stock room, but Harry stopped him.

“Er, I mean, I’ll talk to them. I… It’ll be easier to do what I need to without worrying about an audience.” He very carefully didn’t look at Ryou or Yugi to see their reactions to the implication that he wouldn’t just be talking to the Death Eaters.

Atem paused, nodded slowly. “Very well. I would ask that you have at least one of us in there with you, in case of any…problems.” Unspoken was the insinuation that whoever was observing the interrogation would both protect Harry if need be, as well as monitor his actions. Looks like they would all have to work on that whole ‘trust’ thing.

“I’ll do it,” Bakura spoke up. “I’ve a better understanding of necessary measures in such situations as this.” He didn’t bother to wait for Atem or Harry’s agreement, just stepped into to the room, Harry trailing behind.

Harry straightened his back and let the emotions fall off his face. He knew from what Hermione and Ron had reported that it was terribly creepy and intimidating when he did that, something about his face seeming to say that he cared nothing for consequences or mercy. He regarded the two Death Eaters, both of whom were conscious by now.

T-Shirt was looking around dazedly with unfocussed eyes, the whole left side of his face bruised and swollen and crusted over with dried brown blood. Someone had taken off his tie and stuffed it into his mouth, but he did not seem to notice or care. Leather Jacket was glaring at him, lines of frustrated, hostile tension stiffening his restrained form. He tried to bare his teeth from around his gag, but only succeeded in contorting his face into an odd grimace. Harry decided this was the man to talk to. He kneeled down and spoke to him lowly in English.

“Good morning. You obviously know who I am, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. So, here’s how this is going to go. I am going to remove this gag, and you are going to tell me your name. You are going to tell me the name of the two men who came with you, and you are going to tell me the name of the person who organized this attack. You do that, and I won’t hurt you or your friend. Do we have a deal?"

Leather Jacket continued to scowl, but did nothing to indicate dissension. Harry decided it was safe to remove the gag. He lifted his wand and let the tip trail down the man’s cheek, drawing a sharp flinch. A weak diffindo sliced through the cloth with just enough power to leave a faint welt on his skin.

“I’m not telling you anything, you filthy whelp of a Mudblood whore!” he spit, a faintly mad look coming into his bloodshot hazel eyes. Harry carefully maintained his lack of expression, and nodded slowly.

“Alright. Maybe you’ll be more willing to talk to my friend, instead.” He brushed his hand against his left pocket and non-verbally cast Serpensortia and Timorem, the latter of which was a handy little spell to instill panic and dread in the target. Harry turned to address the fifteen-foot King Cobra that had appeared, furiously spitting, with the former spell, leaning close and crooning to it softly.

Hello, great one, he hissed in Parseltongue. He took vicious, hidden glee in the way the Death Eater had gasped and paled at the sudden conjuration and coldly hissed words, his reaction exacerbated by Harry’s potent fear spell.

Hello, the snake responded cautiously, its hood closing in the face of curiosity. Why am I here?

I thought perhaps you might like to bite someone, Harry hissed back, beckoning the snake forward to climb his outstretched arm and drape itself across his shoulders.

I cannot say I am opposed to the notion, it spoke, rather imperiously. This piss-scented flesh-bag is the one, then?

Yes, but wait for my signal. Harry waited for the serpent’s acknowledging nod before turning his attention back to the Death Eater, who, it seemed, had indeed wet himself a bit. Perhaps the spell was a trifle too strong, Harry mused.

“Now then. My friend here would very much like to know your name,” Harry said in a way that would have been pleasant, if his face hadn’t been completely stone cold. The Death Eater just shook his head, staring with tremulous horror at Harry and the massive snake, whose interaction had no doubt reminded him of his former master. Harry sighed a bit, then nodded to the snake. It lunged forward eagerly and sank its fangs deep into the man’s neck with a dull, wet thunk. His cry of fear and pain came out garbled by the powerful jaws clamping down on his windpipe.

That’s enough, Harry murmured to the snake. It obligingly released its prey, looking as self-satisfied as was possible for a reptile to appear.

“You’ve got a few seconds before you’re dead. If you tell me your name right now, I will banish the snake, and the venom in your neck will disappear with it.” Harry spoke coldly, bluntly, hoping his merciless tone and actions would convince the man. Instead, Harry received two weak, gasping words.

“Un- gasp –unbreak…unbreakable- wheeze -vow…” Leather Jacket stuttered out, his face already a deathly white, as uncontrollable twitches wracked his extremities and froth began to gather at the corners of his mouth.

Shit. Harry immediately banished the snake. It had been his intention all along to do so before the man died – he wasn’t a murderer, after all – but he had hoped that he would have been able to get some useable information from Leather Jacket. Harry stunned the man again, and cast a medical Stasis charm on him to prevent the damage already done by the cobra’s venom from killing him. He flicked his wand at T-Shirt absently, making him slump over unconscious, which probably wasn’t necessary; the man hadn’t even noticed the deadly King Cobra in the room.

Harry turned to regard Bakura, who hadn’t moved from his shadowed place against the door. The man’s scarred face was terrifyingly blank, his pale gaze zeroed in directly on Harry, who was a little surprised the intensity of the stare hadn’t caught his shirt on fire. Harry was starting to regret having let him in on the interrogation. That was the stare of someone whose expectations had suddenly been upended, someone who was desperate to gather as much information as possible to reconcile his previous view with his new one. Harry thought his own gaze had been like that, after he received those memories from Snape at the Battle of Hogwarts. Such heuristic upheaval was unpleasant, and Harry could only hope that Bakura’s new opinion of him was not negative.

Unable to take the painful silence any longer, Harry spoke up. “Well, that didn’t exactly go as I had hoped.”

He was unreasonably relieved when Bakura answered in a normal tone. “Perhaps, but it was not useless. That unbreakable vow he mentioned seemed important.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. It’s a type of magically binding contract. You swear on your life to uphold your vow. If you break it, you die immediately. It means he’s sworn not to reveal any information about the attack, at least to me, and potentially to anyone else."

Bakura eyed him thoughtfully, before speaking slowly, carefully. “Suppose he is tortured to the extent that death would be a welcome release.” Ah, Harry thought, struggling to keep his face blank. Bakura was testing him, trying to determine the extent of his ruthlessness. It would be easy to answer without revealing his opinion on the matter, but for some reason he suddenly, desperately wanted Bakura understand him better.

“I…would not be okay with that,” Harry admitted, watching Bakura’s face for a reaction and receiving none, save for the same piercing stare he’d been treated to since stunning the Death Eaters. “This situation is far from serious enough to require something like that. Even if it was serious, I still don’t think I’d be okay with that. I wasn’t really okay with this, to tell the truth, and I really only intended to scare him. Er. Rather violently, I guess.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He would suffer the consequences of breaking the vow immediately upon deciding to break it. He wouldn’t even have time to speak before he was dead.” Bakura nodded slowly in response, and it may have just been wishful thinking, but Harry could have sworn that a little tension had fled from Bakura’s tight stance by the end of his explanation.

“I suppose you will want to hand them over to your magical authorities, then,” Bakura said.

“No, I’ve got a better plan.” Harry perked up, grinning toothily. “T-Shirt is useless to us, so we can hand him over, say he was the only attacker. He won’t be able to corroborate the story, not as he is, and the Aurors will have no reason not to believe a simple tale of revenge. Leather Jacket, on the other hand… I’m planning on roughing him up a bit, soon as I can get some potions to heal up the nerve damage from the venom, and put a tracking charm on him. I’ll Obliviate him, make him forget this interrogation and the fact that T-Shirt is alive, and drop him somewhere in the city. He’ll assume he escaped after seeing me kill his two friends, and hopefully he’ll run right back to whoever planned this whole thing.”

“At which point we can take the bastard out.” Bakura’s answering grin was positively vicious. He threw his head back and laughed maniacally. “Haha! Brilliant! This certainly promises to be amusing. Heh, I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Harry’s eager expression melted into a rather embarrassing gawp, but Bakura had already turned to leave the room, still cackling like a madman. Harry just sighed. Must have misunderstood him. Bakura’s enthusiasm was infectious, though; he was starting to get quite excited himself. He stood up, brushed himself off, and followed Bakura out into the main room.

They were greeted with a stockade of somber, worried faces.

“We heard a scream,” Ryou murmured uneasily. “Did you…?”

Harry shook his head. “No, he’s not hurt, for the most part. I- I’m not cruel. I don’t like interrogations, but we needed information, so I had to scare him.” It was unspeakably important to Harry that they not begin to doubt his morality; if they began to tiptoe around him, thinking he was some kind of violent, unhinged monster… Well, he’d had just about enough of that in his second and fifth years at Hogwarts.

“And what did you find out?” Atem asked. Harry told them about the Vow the Death Eater had apparently taken, and went on to describe his plan to them. Atem nodded slowly, approvingly, as though Harry’s plan was a mere suggestion that was his to endorse.

A few hours later, T-shirt was in Auror custody and Leather Jacket was Obliviated and left behind a dumpster fifteen blocks away from the game shop. Harry decided to take his leave after that, opting to wait in solitude for his tracking charm to activate.

Back in his apartment, he pulled up the tracking spell, which manifested as a floating silver globe the size of a basketball dotted with glowing red spots, indicating the location of the targets – although only one shone in this case: Leather Jacket. Harry watched the spot for a moment, noting that Leather Jacket had yet to move from behind the dumpster. He banished the globe, knowing it would alert him when the target began to move, and shuffled off to bed.

Chapter Text

Just before 5 am the next morning, a vague awareness sprouted in Harry’s head, whispering the prey is moving, it’s time to hunt, follow him, stalk him, take him… Harry was reminded why the tracking spell he had chosen was not strictly approved of by the Ministry and the DMLE. While it was by far the most powerful and precise of all the non-invasive trackers (meaning that it did not require a piece of the target for scrying, which was explicitly unlawful by most Ministerial standards), it also had the tendency to force onto the caster certain predatory feelings, which sometimes caused the tracker to act with rather less impartiality than the Ministry preferred to see in its Aurors.

Nonetheless, it was terribly useful; Harry conjured up the globe and saw that Leather Jacket had just Apparated to Gifu. Two minutes later, he was just to the left of Kyoto. He’s planning on island hopping over to South Korea, seems like. Harry was proved right when the jumps continued to Shunan, then to Tsushima. He would probably have to Apparate onto a ship sailing across the Korea Strait; most countries had Anti-Apparition wards set up around their borders to prevent illegal immigration or emigration, and Japan was one of them. Indeed, Leather Jacket had stopped momentarily, likely to catch his breath and scope out an appropriate vessel on which to stow away.

Harry vaulted out of bed and grabbed from his trunk the canvas backpack Hermione had given him for his last birthday, enchanted with powerful expansion, feather-light, and preservation charms. He always kept it stocked with emergency supplies in case he had to drop everything and run for any reason, a habit he, Hermione, and Ron had retained from the Horcrux Hunt. There were several sets of clothes already inside, along with a newer wizard tent, a full set of medical potions, and food and water kept fresh for months by the preservation charms. On a whim, he grabbed the set of twenty Duel Monster cards he had bought the day before.

He changed quickly and washed his face before scurrying out of his apartment and rapping loudly on the door of 520. He had only to wait a moment, before Ryou appeared with dark eyes and the most impressive bed-head Harry had ever seen. He barely choked down a giggle, but couldn’t quite suppress the grin that had been stretching his mouth since he woke up.

“Harry-san, what…?” Ryou started, his usually soft voice rough with sleep.

“Leather Jacket’s on the move, I’m going after him. Would you let Sugoroku know I won’t be in for a week or two? Please give him my apologies,” Harry spoke quickly, excitedly, eager to get to hunting down his prey.

“Surely you’re not thinking of going without me, are you, wizard?” Bakura spoke from behind Ryou, where he had just appeared wearing a pair of dark grey pajama bottoms and nothing else. Harry struggled to keep from examining the man’s muscles.

“If you want to come, hurry and get dressed. I’ve already got packed everything we’re going to need,” Harry said, lifting the backpack for Bakura to examine. He raised a skeptical eyebrow at the small bag, which Harry had appeared to lift without trouble, but shrugged, conceding, and turned away to pad into his bedroom. Harry bounced on his toes, toothy grin pulling wild, excited, so excited, and Merlin’s pants, what could be taking the man so long…? It was time to go, go GO-

Harry cut himself off, taking a deep breath to regain control of himself. It really was a mentally taxing tracking spell to use.

Bakura reappeared moments later, but rather than let the man step out into the hall, Harry forcefully pushed himself into the apartment and grabbed hold of his arm.

“I’m going to Side-Along Apparate you,” he said hurriedly, feeling the alarm whisper to him that the target was moving again. “It’ll be uncomfortable, but you’ll get used to it. Don’t struggle, or you might lose a limb.”

Bakura balked at that, and Ryou made a vaguely confused noise, but Harry turned on the spot before either had the chance to get a word out.

They landed with a loud, echoing crack in a park in Osaka. Bakura immediately ripped his arm from Harry’s grip and leaned against a tree to gather his breath, an expression of supreme discomfort on his dark, gaunt face.

“What the fuck-“ he began to snarl, but Harry cut him off.

“I know, I know, Apparation sucks, but you’ll get used to it, and we really have to get moving, he’s already found a ship to take him across the Strait.” Harry stepped forward to grip the man’s arm again, and Bakura grudgingly let him, a dark, disgusted scowl etched into his face. They jumped again, and again, and a third time, before Harry finally landed them beside a harbor warehouse on the northern tip of the island of Tsushima. Harry stared out over the water, took in the overwhelming stench of fish and brine that wafted over from a barrel of offal. The sky was just beginning to lighten at the horizon, turning it a rather ugly dark gray. It would be daylight soon, and he would have to be more careful with his Apparations. Behind him, Bakura fell to his knees, narrowly missing a suspiciously oily puddle, and gasped harshly.

“By the wings of Horus…” he wheezed. “Some warning next time!”

“Sorry, but we’re really in a hurry here. This is going to be a really fast paced chase, Bakura. We only stop for breaks when he does, or we’ll get too far behind and might miss our chance to see his leader,” Harry said, glancing back at the man sympathetically, but firmly. “Anyway, we’re in luck. The ship he chose isn’t out of Japanese waters yet, so we can hop on board that one too, maybe catch a glimpse of him, see how he’s faring.”

Bakura grimaced, nodding, and reluctantly held out his arm again. Harry took it and popped them onboard the ship he could not see, but could somehow sense. He tried not to think about how his intrinsic knowledge of the Death Eater’s exact location was a bit too precise for the tracking spell, and the way that knowledge made him take extra notice of the wispy shadows that always flickered in the corners of his eyes, now.

They landed atop a salt-crusted crate in the ship’s dark cargo hold. He froze, silent, listening for movement to determine if the telltale crack of Apparation had been detected. Bakura needed no warning from him to do the same. They both listened intently for a moment longer, before Harry felt more than saw Bakura’s nod. They slipped off the top and settled into the damp space between two large crates, where Harry cast a murmured Homenum Revelio. Faintly glowing figures appeared above them on deck, and across the ship in the crew’s quarters. A single form was attached at the tip of the tallest mast. Harry knew instinctively that this was his prey – cowering pathetically from his hunters, as is the natural order of things – likely Disillusioned and secured with a sticking charm. Harry had to grudgingly admit it was a good place for a short-term stowaway. He would be able to see land more quickly from up there. Harry whispered his findings to Bakura, who settled back against the crate to wait for the ship to cross into Korea’s territorial waters, when they would be able to Apparate again.

Harry pulled two bottles of water and a pair of apples from his pack and offered the meager breakfast to Bakura. They sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence, rocking with the vessel and listening to the waves lap against the hull. Harry closed his eyes, sinking into his thoughts to force down the artificial predatory instincts that were even now baying for him to rush the deck and bleed Leather Jacket. His meditation was interrupted by a soft chuckle from Bakura. Even in the darkness of the cargo hold, Harry could see the glint of his teeth as he bared them in a feral grin.

“Ah, this is so fun…” he murmured. Harry grinned back.

“Mm. Don’t go getting too excited, though. I might need you to hold me back. This spell just…” he made a vague, frustrated gesture with his hand, not entirely sure what he wanted to say, but he needn’t have bothered. Bakura was nodding before he even finished speaking.

“Yes, you seem far more, ah, eager to track him than I would have expected of you. It is the effect of the tracking spell you are using?”

They continued speaking intermittently for an hour more, before Harry felt a light tingle on the back of his neck that indicated they were approaching some very powerful wards.

“Get ready,” he hissed to Bakura. “He’s about to go!” No sooner had he spoken than Leather Jacket disappeared. Harry whipped up the globe, took half a second to identify the location, grabbed Bakura’s arm, and Apparated them to Pusan, South Korea. They followed the Death Eater north towards North Korea, and opted to wear Harry’s Invisibility Cloak (which Bakura had eyed with a disturbingly greedy expression) to walk across the border rather than wait for some large vehicle to carry them across. Harry opted not to tell Bakura that they would have been immediately detected and summarily arrested if they had tried that with any other invisibility cloak.

The chase began immediately once again, further north into China, whose Anti-Apparation wards were a particularly brutal sort, if Harry recalled correctly, often leaving violators in tiny, bloody chunks. They sneaked across again under the Cloak before entering a truly grueling series of jumps west across the whole of China. Leather Jacket didn’t stop until he was across the border in Kazakhstan. Harry was grudgingly impressed with his prey’s stamina; all the Apparations were really taking a lot out of him personally.

They stopped for the night in a copse of trees Bakura had determined was safe and secure, two miles away from where Leather Jacket had petrified a family and had taken their dinner and beds for the night. They settled in to the fully equipped wizard tent – which Harry could tell had impressed Bakura immensely, despite the man’s noteworthy attempts at nonchalance – and fell asleep immediately after a cold dinner of deli meat and bread, which neither could be bothered to form properly into sandwiches.

The next morning, long before the sun rose, they were on the move again. Leather Jacket immediately adopted the feverish pace from the previous day, cutting a straight line across the continent, stopping only to wait for Muggle transportation with which to cross warded borders. They were given a nice reprieve when Leather Jacket overshot an Apparation intended to land him on a ship passing over the Caspian Sea, falling instead in the middle of the saline. Harry had appeared on board the vessel, too far off to see him, but able to feel his prey’s distress. He could practically hear the wet, panicked gasping, see him flailing wildly, sinking and cold, trying to stabilize himself enough to Disapparate, but he didn’t know how to swim, never learned, fuck, fuck, the salt is b-burning-

Harry let out a long, low whine. It didn’t matter how he knew it – the tracking spell wasn’t invasive and shouldn’t have been able to tell him the target’s mental state – but he knew his prey was right there and was struggling, stuck, helpless, this was the perfect opportunity to take him, RIP him APART-

The heavy fist colliding with his jaw snapped him out of that particular train of thought.

“Get a hold of yourself!” Bakura hissed, pushing Harry to the ground and covering his mouth. Harry realized he’d been making strange, guttural vocalizations as he had been overwhelmed by the spell’s hunting instinct. He took a deep breath, then shoved Bakura off of him.

“Sorry. It’s just, he’s landed out in the sea and he can’t swim. He’ll be fine, s’long as he calms down enough to Disapparate, but I can feel him struggling. Makes me want to, you know, hunt him,” he finished lamely with an awkward half-shrug.

“You almost gave us away! You’re lucky most of the crew is dining right now, or they would have heard you!” the taller man growled. Apparently he was the type to hold a grudge, Harry thought, disgruntled and embarrassed.

“I know, I know! That’s why you’re here, though, yeah? To snap me out of it,” Harry offered. Apparently he’s also weak to flattery, he thought amusedly, watching the other man sniff haughtily and visibly calm at the mention of his usefulness.

They slipped down into the ship’s cargo hold to wait for Leather Jacket to make his next move. It ended up taking the man ten minutes to gather himself enough to be able to Apparate into the ship’s cargo hold, luckily on the other side to where Harry and Bakura were seated beneath the Invisibility Cloak. Harry couldn’t help but perk up a bit at the sudden proximity to his prey. He was a bit offended, however, when Bakura took a firm, restricting hold of his arm. He wasn’t about to go after the man, he had more self-control than that! …Probably.

The ordeal seemed to have taken a lot out of the Death Eater, though. Harry’s Homenum Revelio showed him huddled tightly in the corner, gasping and shuddering, unmoving for hours. He did not move even after passing the wards, so Harry assumed it safe to doze a bit; the man was probably doing the same. He and Bakura took a few short, alternating naps while waiting for the ship to cross the Caspian. It wasn’t until they were approaching the docks on the Russian coast that Leather Jacket finally roused himself and continued jumping.

They continued traveling vaguely northwest, stopping for the night once more when Leather Jacket became exhausted, and having breaks only when they had to wait for illegal passage into a new country. Bakura, frustrated with being unable to truly contribute to the pursuit thus far, had decided to scout Leather Jacket’s location whenever they stopped.

Harry was a bit apprehensive at first, worried that he might alert their prey to their presence, but his fears abated when he saw how easily Bakura was able to slip undetected through darkness. Harry’s fears were then thoroughly obliterated when he saw the man summon some great white monster with a snake for a lower body that lifted him onto its shoulder and turned invisible. Harry tried not to show how impressed he was, but Bakura’s smug grin told him he wasn’t successful.

Each break, Bakura reported back to Harry that Leather Jacket seemed nervous and jittery and on the verge of collapsing with exhaustion. They concluded that he was likely on a strict schedule; he had a deadline to meet, and he was close to missing it. His break-neck pace continued into Poland, where he finally stopped in Lublin.

Harry and Bakura, heavily Glamored to look like a blond-haired father and son pair on an outing, stalked after the broken down Death Eater through the crowded city streets. A stroke of luck had placed them in the city during the daylight hours, allowing them to keep half a crowded street between them and their prey at all times, with him none the wiser. Leather Jacket seemed to wander about aimlessly for around three hours, before finally slipping off into a side street and following a circuitous route leading to a line of old row houses. Harry and Bakura, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, were just approaching the front window of the house Leather Jacket had entered when the tracking spell abruptly snapped, the sudden magical rebound making Harry jolt and fall back against Bakura.

“What happened?” the taller man hissed, taking hold of Harry’s upper arms to steady him.

“The spell just broke,” Harry gasped back. “That only happens if someone uses the exact counter-spell. Or if there’s no more life for the spell to track.” Which meant that whomever Leather Jacket had come to meet was either terrifyingly observant and knowledgeable, or had been terribly displeased with him. Behind him, Bakura began hissing vitriolic curses in a language Harry could not identify, evidently having reached the same conclusions as Harry.

He quickly cast a Homenum Revelio, but the house was now devoid of life. Harry could not recall hearing the crack of Disapparation, which Bakura corroborated as they made for the front door. Harry eased open the front door, wincing when the rusted hinges squealed, and stepped in cautiously. Inside, the row house was dilapidated and musty, painted in washed out shades of grey. The small entry way opened into a short hallway studded with faded wooden doors, and ended in what looked to be a dimly lit kitchen. Harry shifted to the side to allow Bakura to step past him, and together they crept silently down the corridor, peeking into each dusty room, Harry murmuring elaborate detection spells under his breath and Bakura casting hawk eyes into every corner, both checking and triple-checking for traps. The found nothing but dust and broken furniture and a mouse nest. The latter actually eased Harry’s mind a bit; the nest was obviously extensive and the population was thriving, and if there were any serious traps in the building, the mice would likely have been killed long before they had the chance to breed.

When they came to the back room, they found Leather Jacket’s lifeless form sprawled across the floor, still warm, a surprised look on his face and not a mark on his body but for the remnants of the battle and his interrogation by Harry. How strange he looked, Harry noted abstractly, still and dirty across the grubby linoleum with his warm brown hair and his deathly pale complexion and his ragged blue duck-print pajamas.

“Fuck,” Bakura groaned. Harry watched from the doorway as the taller man knelt beside the body and poked at a waxy cheek. He grumped a bit more before standing and casting a pale, probing stare about the room. He stepped away, eyes flicking rapidly around for any clues of the murderer, while Harry crouched down to examine the body more thoroughly.

Their respective searches turned up no hints but for an odd, barely distinguishable ring of color on the floor that Bakura noticed, less than a half meter in diameter. Harry moved from his place by the body and settled beside it, using a fingernail to scratch at the discoloration. It was barely half a shade darker than the dirty, stained linoleum around it, and remained stubbornly inert to his examination. It was likely nothing, just an old stain left by a former inhabitant, but something about the mark niggled at the edges of his mind, a worm of suspicion tickling at his instincts. He frowned, concentrating deeply, but could not conceive of any magic that would have left such a residue. He’d have to ask Hermione later.

With no other clues in evidence, Harry was about to call it quits and suggest they head back when Bakura, with some strange burst of inspiration, decided to check the mouse nest they’d seen earlier. They shooed away the incensed rodents and began poking in the piles of fluff and feces. Half chewed and stuffed into a wad with a bit of moldy fabric was a small, crumpled piece of yellowed parchment, which had been folded with deliberate care despite its obvious age and creases indicative of heavy use. They unfolded it with bated breath, anticipation rising in Harry’s throat. The slip displayed a surprisingly elaborate web of lines, letters, and numbers, covered liberally with scribbles and crossed out pathways in ink that seemed to cover a gradient of age. At the very bottom was a relatively fresh series of letters that had been circled vigorously several times.

GGDSVP

“Any ideas?” Bakura asked, eyes sketching over the sequence bemusedly.

“Not really. We can’t even say for sure who this belonged to. Could’ve been our killer, could’ve been the previous owner of the house. No, it’s parchment, not paper, must have been a wizard, umm… Maybe if we could find out more about the house…? No, probably no records of any wizard inhabitants, not if they decided to borrow the place from muggles temporarily…” Harry mused, more to himself than to Bakura.

“Copy down the address. It won’t hurt to look into the building, and I know someone who can do that with no issues,” Bakura muttered. His eyes were narrowed as he continued to examine the letters, a contemplative frown twisting his gaunt face. “Assuming this did belong to our killer, and assuming this killer was the one to arrange the hit on you, could the last initial be a reference to your family name? Would the other letters make sense in that context?” Bakura asked suddenly.

Harry glanced back over the letters and felt his breath leave him. His eyes zeroed in on the sequence and he tried to gulp, but there was nothing to swallow – his mouth was dry, and his tongue suddenly seemed thick and swollen. It’s got to be a coincidence. There’s no way someone could have figured it out. The letters have to mean something else. Because if they stood for what he desperately hoped they did not, then someone apparently very intelligent and very ruthless knew one of his greatest secrets.

Gregorovich --> Grindelwald --> Dumbledore --> Snape --> Voldemort --> Potter

It wasn’t the true sequence of mastery of the Elder Wand, of course; Draco Malfoy was missing from the list, and Severus Snape and Voldemort had never been a part of it. But this was the path Tom Riddle had traced and believed in. Had he told one of his Death Eaters, or had one of them figured it out? Were they truly after him for revenge, as he had originally believed, or was it an elaborate plot to obtain the legendary Deathstick? Would Harry be the hunted, now? Hadn’t he earned a bit of fucking peace for once in his life?! No, he was overreacting, he was-

He was being shaken. Harry’s head shot up, narrowly missed Bakura’s nose, who had gripped him by the shoulders and had apparently been calling his name. Harry met the man’s intense, pale gaze dazedly.

“What did you realize?” Bakura said, speaking slowly and clearly, his voice a deep growl.

“I-“ Harry paused. He had never, not in a thousand years, entertained the thought of discussing the Elder Wand with anyone, except Ron and Hermione who already knew. He swallowed. “I think it has to be a coincidence, what these letters stand for. They represent something really, er, personal to me, don’t think anyone else would know about it.”

Bakura thrust his face even closer to Harry’s, staring him dead in the eye. He suddenly looked very angry, and Harry couldn’t help but be a little intimidated, especially with the way the man’s scar contorted with his scowl. “You never know what someone else may know about you. What did you realize?” he hissed lowly. Harry took half a step back, shaking his head.

“I don’t want to tell you, not yet. Please, just… That contact of yours, who can find stuff out about the house? Could you talk to them first? And if we don’t get any more leads, then I’ll tell you,” Harry bargained desperately.

Bakura’s scowl deepened, but he nodded slowly, reluctantly. “Very well. If our business here is completed, then we should return to Domino.” Harry watched helplessly as the man retreated, and couldn’t help but feel that he had disappointed him deeply in some way.

It ended up taking them five days to make their way back to Domino. Still exhausted from the initial trip and no longer running on adrenaline, the constant Apparation required Harry to take longer, more frequent breaks. While waiting for illegal passage across the borders and waiting for Harry to recharge, the pair had taken to wandering around foreign cities, ostensibly taking in the sights, together but apart in a way they had not been during the hunt.

Harry had felt a distinct sense of camaraderie with Bakura before, had enjoyed the way they worked easily around each other, the way they seemed to challenge each other to keep up the grueling pace. The silence and the occasional waiting hadn’t been uncomfortable the way it was now. Harry feared he had broken something irreparable in their tentatively forming friendship by refusing to tell the man what the letters meant to him.

Then he knew he had broken something, when he caught Bakura staring at the scars on Harry’s hand, but not asking why he had I must not tell lies carved into his flesh. The Bakura from a few days ago would have never hesitated to ask about something that so obviously interested him. Harry sighed, growing increasingly morose. He couldn’t wait to get back to his apartment and part ways with the confusing, frustrating man currently in his company.

Finally popping off a ship bound from Korea to Japan, he cast a quick Tempus and noted that it was about noon; there would likely be a few shadow mages at Kame Game right now. Might as well get the report over with, he thought, grabbing Bakura’s arm one last time and taking them directly to the back room of the shop.

Honda and Jounouchi, who were there lifting some heavy boxes for Sugoroku, both shrieked at their sudden appearance. Honda dropped his box on Jou’s foot, who stumbled back into a shelf with an almighty crash. The door burst open and Sugoroku came rushing in, Yugi at his heels and Atem following at a more sedate pace.

“Aww, jeez, you two… Way to give a guy a heart attack,” Honda wheezed.

“And a broken foot,” Jounouchi grumbled as Yugi helped him up. Harry snickered tiredly, flicking his wand at the wrecked shelf and setting it to rights.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t want to appear in view of muggles. I figure I’ve broken the Statute of Secrecy enough for one lifetime.” Yugi gave a small, appreciative chuckle before grinning widely at Harry and Bakura.

“It’s good to see you guys! We were starting to get worried. You look really, um, tired, Harry-kun. Did everything go alright?” Harry shook his head solemnly and told them about the chase across Asia and Europe, only to find their target dead in Poland. He didn't mention the slip of paper, or the ring on the floor. He wasn’t comfortable calling those evidence yet. He was gratified and a bit hopeful when Bakura did not correct him.

“How unfortunate,” Atem murmured, arms crossed and staring slightly off to the side, apparently lost in thought.

“Yeah, especially after you went to all that effort to track him…” Yugi said, looking a bit disturbed. “There’s nothing we can do about it now, though. Harry-kun, you should get some sleep. You really don’t look good. You too, Bakura-kun.”

Harry couldn’t even muster the energy to give a verbal agreement. He just nodded tiredly and offered his arm to Bakura, who only took it after hissing, “This is the absolute last time I ever let you drag me about like this.”

They popped into Harry’s apartment, startling Em into motion. Bakura flinched, snarled, at the sudden activity. “Why is there a bird in your apartment?”

“Oh, bloody hell, sorry Em… Um, she’s a post bird, everyone in the wizarding world uses them for communication. I sent her off just before I was put in the hospital, she must have gotten back days ago…” He saw the remains of some poor mammal on the floor by his couch and was relieved to see that she’d at least been able to occupy herself, despite his disgust at the mess. He quickly untied the letters from her leg and dropped them on the table, then turned to usher Bakura – who was similarly eyeing the carcass with a wrinkled nose – out of the apartment. As soon as the door closed, Harry banished the mess and then stumbled gracelessly into bed with just enough presence of mind to kick off his shoes, but not quite enough to bother crawling under the sheets.

Chapter Text

Harry opted not to go to work the next day, which admittedly had something to do with how he didn’t wake up until two o’clock in the afternoon. He woke up slowly, relishing the feel of his bed and stretching luxuriously. He hoisted himself up, took a very long and very hot shower, and ordered some take-out for lunch.

As he sat waiting for his food to arrive, he tore open the letters from Ron and Hermione, and Andromeda. He read Ron and Hermione’s first, grinning widely and somewhat disbelievingly at the news that Ginny had been invited to join the Holyhead Harpies reserve and that George was apparently going steady with Angelina Johnson. Ron had graduated to a full Auror with Neville as his assigned partner, and Hermione was now a personal assistant to the director of the Office for House-Elf Relocation in the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She was making waves there, apparently, encouraging the elves who came through to select their own assignments and pushing her superiors to pass legislation requiring payment for them. Harry snickered to himself. Let the rest of the world take on S.P.E.W., see how they manage.

Andromeda’s letter was full of tuts and tongue clicks and passive aggressive guilt tripping. Teddy’s new training broom was just lovely, dear, thank you for buying him such an…exciting gift with absolutely no expectations attached at all, and oh, Teddy’s been asking about you, but it’s quite alright, dear, I know you’re quite busy not feeding yourself. He snickered at her tone, and smiled a bit as he read the post-script, which stated rather imperiously that they would be visiting to inspect his apartment in the middle of May.

He stood up when he heard a knock at the door, eager to eat. He was simultaneously disappointed and pleased to see Ryou in place of the delivery boy. The other man offered him a bright smile.

“Good afternoon, Harry-san. Yugi-kun mentioned that you didn’t look well yesterday, but you seem fine now!”

“Ha, well, I only woke up a few minutes ago. Um, did Bakura tell you about everything?”

“Yes, he told me about the unfortunate end, too. I’m sorry you couldn’t find anything.”

“Yeah, me too… Hey, look, I’ve just ordered some take-out, so we can’t go now, but I was wondering if you’d like to see the magical district in Tokyo?” Harry asked on a whim. He didn't particularly want to think about the hunt at the moment, and he’d been meaning to make the offer. The sooner he could introduce the magical world to the shadow users, the sooner he could introduce them to the magical world.

Ryou’s eyes grew huge. “Oh, really? I’d love too! Um, did you mean just us, or…?”

“Ah, no, I mean, put the word out. Whoever wants to come is welcome. Say we meet at the game shop at 3:30?” Ryou nodded excitedly, and they chatted in Harry’s doorway until his take-out showed up. He waved Ryou and the pimply pizza boy off, then settled in to waste an hour.

Harry stepped into the shop an hour and a half later and was immediately greeted by whoops and calls from at least eight people. Sweet Circe, looks like everyone showed up. Atem, Yugi, Anzu and Honda were all crowded behind the counter, upon which were seated Marik, Bakura, and Otogi. Jounouchi and Mai were leaning against the wall beside the front door. Even Isis was there, standing beside Sugoroku and Ryou.

“Er, wow. I… didn’t quite expect a turnout like this,” Harry stammered out.

“Heh, come on, Harry, like I would turn down the chance to spend time with you,” Otogi winked, and then gasped, wincing. Harry couldn’t quite tell from his angle, but it looked like Bakura had just elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“Um. Okay. Well, before we go, there’s a few issues we need to cover. First is clothes. ‘S not that uncommon for wizards to wear t-shirts and jeans, but for the most part wizards have really different fashion compared to muggles. It’s probably best if you guys don’t stand out, or it’s gonna seem like I’m running some kind of magical world tour for muggles. Which is, you know, very illegal. So, robes for everyone,” he said, pulling out his wand. “What colors d’you guys want?”

“Jeez, do wizards even have to spend money on anything, if they can just pop this stuff out of nothing…?” Jou muttered, slipping on his dark blue robe. Beside him, Mai was sticking her arm through the sleeve of her feminine-cut amethyst robe, her nose wrinkled in distaste and a small frown building between her brows.

Harry shook his head. “No, these are just conjured, they won’t last. These should be good for about two weeks. We have to make stuff from raw materials and buy it just like muggles. ‘Less you’re really powerful, I guess. Some wizards could make their conjurations last for years,” he said, putting on his own black robe, summoned from his trunk, rather than conjured.

Isis hummed thoughtfully as she examined the cream-colored robe Harry had handed her. “Is it possible to magically alter pre-existing items to make them better? Such as you did with these.”

“That’s called transfiguration, but you can’t really do that with clothes. Most magical tailors enchant their stuff to be resistant to altering charms so people don’t buy cheap things and transfigure it into better things. Not that transfigurations are permanent or anything, but a lot of people would find it worth the effort to keep charming stuff just to save money,” Harry answered, eyeing Honda’s forest green robe critically before taking two inches off the hem.

He turned his attention to the others hanging around the counter and snickered at Atem and Yugi’s identical disgruntled expressions. “Would you guys prefer leather?” At their frantic nods, he made the appropriate transfiguration. Otogi was plucking at the fit of his black robe, apparently satisfied with the way it hugged his shoulders and waist, and Anzu was spinning in her baby blue one. Ryou and Marik were examining each other’s cerulean and dark purple robes. Harry staunchly ignored how well Bakura’s rust red robe suited him.

“You said there were other issues?” Marik prompted. Harry nodded.

“Mm. Transportation. I was going to Apparate- “

“Fuck no,” Bakura interrupted with a furious snarl. Harry shot him a scathing look.

“But. I think there are too many of you for that. I’m going to make a portkey, instead,” he finished, pulling out the Elder wand. His holly wand would unfortunately not be able to do this – it was quite illegal to make a personal portkey without official permission, and there was a whole division of the Department of Magical Transportation dedicated to tracking the unique, highly distinct magical signatures left by illegal Portus charms. If he used the Elder wand, however, he could supersede those tracking spells and the creation of his portkey would go unnoticed.

He looked around for a moment, before his eyes settled on Mai’s purple jacket, which she had had to remove to wear the robe. “I promise I won’t hurt it,” he added reassuringly when she eyed him suspiciously. He tapped it with a murmured Portus and watched as it glowed faintly blue for a moment.

“Right, everyone, grab hold. This’ll transport us to an alley next to the entrance to the Ministry.” They all stepped forward to touch the jacket, Bakura with distinct caution. Harry counted down the seconds three, two, one… before he felt the sudden hook behind his naval and the world disappeared in a whirl of color. Wait for it, wait for it… There! Harry let go just before they appeared in the alley, allowing him to land on his feet instead of in a crumpled heap on the ground. Rather like the shadow mages just had, he snickered

“Alright?” he asked amusedly over a chorus of groans (and caustic curses from Bakura, damning all magical transportation to the Shadow Realm). “We’re just outside now, but remember not to stare around too obviously.” Harry moved to the back of the alley and tapped a musical pattern on the four trash bins lined up against the back wall. He heard several awed exclamations as the dirty concrete wall drew aside like curtains, revealing the brilliantly colorful Maho-Chome. He stepped through, followed by his wide-eyed, gaping entourage.

“Well, here we are. Anything you guys want to see in particular, or just, you know wander a bit? Keep in mind I’m not terribly familiar with this magical district.”

“I really want to see the bank! You said before that magical banks are run by goblins right? That’s so cool!” Yugi exclaimed. Harry winced. That was precisely the last place he ever wanted to go, and they had to ask for it first.

“Er, sorry, but I can’t really go there. Um, I can show you where it is though, if you like,” Harry said, hoping desperately they wouldn’t ask why, but knowing it was a more than futile wish. The question came immediately.

“Why can’t you go to the bank, Harry-san?” Ryou frowned. Harry shrugged, uncomfortable.

“I am… not what you’d call a friend of the goblin nation. Can’t say for sure what they think of me in Japan, but based on their attitude back in the UK, I didn’t think it was worth it to risk provoking the same response here.”

“Um. And what exactly would they do to you back in Britain?”

“They’d definitely kill me immediately on sight if I stepped foot in the bank there,” Harry replied, voice deadpan. He hoped they’d all take that as a wild exaggeration, rather than a promise.

Honda snorted. “What, did you rob them or something?"

Jounouchi snickered. “Or maybe he knocked up the bank manager’s daughter.”

Anzu knocked them both on the head. “You guys, don’t be so insulting. Harry-san would never do either of those things!”

“Erm. Yeah, right,” he laughed a bit awkwardly. “I, um. I just insulted them pretty badly a few years ago, and goblins are pretty notorious for holding grudges, is all,” he said. It wasn’t a total lie, after all.

“Perhaps we should just walk around, then,” Isis murmured. “I am anxious to see what sort of stores are common fare among the magical community.” Harry nodded, eager to divert attention from his crimes against the goblin nation.

They continued slowly down the street, chatting and gasping and asking Harry questions. He noted with amusement that as struck by the wizarding world as they were, the other shoppers were equally struck by their strange, colorful band. Atem and Yugi were drawing at least half of all attention, with their ridiculous hair and leather robes. Harry was absurdly grateful to their odd sense of fashion; with everyone focused on them, they weren’t paying Harry and his bland, serviceable robes any attention.

In such a large group, interests quickly diverged. After agreeing to meet in front of the bank in two hours (which was one of the most recognizable buildings on the street, with its massive gold-filigreed steel doors and the strange, twisting spire that rose from the roof), they split ways. Bakura disappeared almost immediately into the crowd, but not before Harry saw him eyeing the bank with interest. Anzu and Mai were insistently pushing towards the first boutique they saw, boyfriends caught tight in their well-manicured grips. Isis was instantly attracted to the street’s major bookstore, Tomes of Heaven and Earth, Honda was drawn in by the Quidditch Supply Shop, and Atem and Marik were curiously examining the wares at the apothecary. That left Harry to escort Ryou and Otogi down the street, both of whom seemed more interested in window-shopping at the moment.

This general interest became laser-focused after an hour of touring the street, the second Ryou laid eyes on the magical confectioner. He snagged Otogi and Harry by the wrists and pulled them inside, following the cloying scent of hot sugar. He gasped delightedly at the colorful displays, and Otogi followed at a more sedate pace that was betrayed by the broad grin stretched across his face. Harry let his own smile appear at their excitement. He found a short stretch of unoccupied wall in the crowed store and settled back to wait for them.

While the two only seemed to become more excited as time passed, Harry was becoming rapidly worn down by the crowd and noise. He waded through a knot of teenagers over to Ryou and drew his attention away from the display of magical foreign pastries – he seemed particularly focused on the Operatic Oliebols. “I need to get out of here for a bit,” he murmured quietly, then had to repeat himself as Ryou strained to hear him over the din. “I- people, you know,” he finished awkwardly. Ryou gave him a small smile and nodded, and Harry pressed a bit of wizarding money into his hand, disappearing before Ryou could object. No sooner had he stepped out of the shop than Otogi was there at his elbow, sighing.

“Whew, crowded in there, huh Harry-san? How about you and I head over to that quill shop? It seemed pretty empty in there.” Shit. I just wanted to be alone. Harry couldn’t exactly refuse, though; that was where he was headed in the first place, as the shop was, in fact, almost entirely empty. He shrugged halfheartedly in Otogi’s direction and made his way across the street stiffly, doing his best to avoid being touched by anyone. He was having a surprisingly easy time of it, he noticed after a moment. Otogi appeared to be paving the way for him through the crowd, using his own body to press others out of Harry’s path.

When they reached the shop, Otogi shot him a quick grin before moving towards the only two other customers, leaving the empty back of the shop to Harry. He frowned, vaguely confused. The man hadn’t even tried to flirt with him, and was even going out of his way to give Harry space; why had he followed him if not to ingratiate himself? He couldn’t believe that Ryou would have told about his anxiety. Maybe Harry was just too obvious, and Otogi was both more observant and more considerate than he appeared. Harry decided it didn’t matter. He had relative solitude now, and was content to wait for Ryou to finish up before they headed back to meet the others.

The white-haired man appeared twenty minutes later, fist clenched around a bag of Chroma Creampuffs, which tinted the world a variety of colors when eaten, as though looking through colored lenses. Harry accepted a treat – grinning as his world turned to shades of purple – and they set off back in the direction they had come.

As they approached the massive doors of the bank where Bakura and Atem were already waiting, a heavily armed and armored goblin guard turned his attention on Harry.

“Well, well. If it isn’t a most valuable customer. Please, Master Potter, won’t you step inside?” he leered, scarred lips peeled back obscenely to reveal savage teeth, glittering black eyes stabbing at him murderously. Harry took a step back. He was mildly gratified when Bakura turned his own venomous glare on the goblin, who settled back with a ferocious scowl on his sharp, leathery face.

Otogi whistled lowly. “Wow. You really weren’t kidding about those goblins hating you, huh?”

Harry just shrugged, terribly uncomfortable, mentally begging the others to show up so they could leave. His wish was granted as the crowd parted a bit, revealing several familiar faces.

Honda had apparently picked up Jounouchi and Isis at some point, and Yugi was following closely behind Marik where they had just emerged from one of the side streets. Anzu and Mai appeared several minutes later, apparently having a deep discussion about the inexcusably tame state of the wizarding world’s popular culture. They all offered greetings and began to expound on the incredible things they’d seen, alternately bragging to the others and bemoaning what they’d missed. Harry listened with half an ear, pleased that the outing had gone well, leading them back out to the brick alleyway so he could portkey them home.

 Harry returned to work as usual the next day. Ryou had walked with him and stayed for a few hours, chatting with him about the wizarding world and about Duel Monsters. Harry had yet to summon again since the time with the Venom Cobra, but resolved to try it again later in the evening. Ryou left around lunch, when Honda showed up loudly proclaiming boredom and stayed until the end of Harry’s shift. They spoke a bit, but Honda mostly just took egregious advantage of his position as ‘friend of the owner’s grandson’ to scour the merchandise without purchasing any of it. Harry was just closing up shop, waving Honda off, when Yugi came running out of the house.

“I’m glad I caught you, Harry-kun! Grandpa wanted me to go grocery shopping tonight at that store near your place and I thought we could walk together, since we’d be going in the same direction.” Harry nodded, recalling the small specialty grocery store three blocks past his apartment building. He vaguely wondered what Sugoroku wanted at Turkish Ethnic Delights, but decided it wasn’t his business.

If there was one thing Harry liked about Yugi, besides his happy-go-lucky personality, it was his indomitable ability to put people at ease. The smaller man chattered happily along beside him, filling the air with pleasant conversation and not expecting reciprocation from Harry

Harry tossed a quick goodbye over his shoulder when they approached the apartment complex, and was a bit bemused that Yugi didn’t leave until Harry was at the elevator door. He shrugged it off and continued up and into his apartment.

He settled down on the couch and immediately drew out his slim stack of Duel Monsters cards, flicking through until he pulled out the Fool of Prophecy. The earlier conversation with Ryou had inspired him to try his hand at summoning again, but now that he was here about to try, Harry realized he had quite the conundrum. He had no idea how this was supposed to work. Venom Cobra had emerged before he had the chance to summon it, so now he was at a loss.

He held out the card and tried to funnel his magic the way he did with his wand, but nothing happened. He frowned a bit, then closed his eyes, expanding his senses. He stoically ignored the gray whispers drifting across his ears that he knew were unrelated to the Shadows. He concentrated more, focusing on the warm feeling emitting from the card, and was rewarded when he felt a small flicker of magic, not from the card, but from the air around it. It seemed…hungry, he decided. Like he was supposed to offer it something. He tried directing his will and focus on that hungry feeling, thinking about the Fool, thinking about the vague connection he felt to the monster, thinking about how he really just wanted to meet him, and there was a sudden smear of color across his vision.

Harry blinked against the unexpected intensity, and when his vision cleared of spots the Fool of Prophecy was standing before him, a vague smirk on his lips. Harry grinned broadly. It worked! Merlin’s pants, it really worked! The monster looked quite amiable with his round cheeks and curly hair, staring alternately at Harry and around the room with unabashed curiosity.

“Hi! Thanks for coming,” Harry said. The Fool nodded, uncrossing his arms from his yellow-and-green robed chest and twirling his staff in the air. “Um. Can you talk? Or, I mean…” Now that it was here, Harry wasn’t quite sure what to do.

The summon shrugged yellow-clad shoulders, then shook and then nodded his head. Harry frowned, contemplating the action. “So, you can talk, just not my language?” The Fool grinned widely, pointing a finger at Harry and nodding with a jovial wink.

He skipped forward and plopped next to Harry on the couch, bouncing for a moment on the plush cushions, before grabbing Harry’s cards and flipping through them. He didn’t seem particularly interested in any of them, Harry noted, as he adopted a surly pout then dropped them on the couch and turned his attention back to Harry. He made an odd gesture, pinching the forefingers and thumbs of both hands together and drawing them apart, as though describing a line. It was only when the Fool pointed to his staff and then to Harry himself that he got it. He pulled out his wand and handed it over for inspection.

The Fool took it gently, turned it over in his hands before shooting Harry a mischievous smirk. He twirled the wand in a stupidly elaborate maneuver before jabbing sharply at the door, mouthing the word ‘boom.’ Nothing happened, and he fell back with a pout before snickering and handing the wand back to Harry. Harry grinned back and chuckled a bit, feeling quite comfortable and peaceful in the presence of the cheerful monster.

“It really is good to meet you. You’ll be willing to help me out if I need it, then?” he asked. The Fool’s cheerful face fell into serious, grave lines beneath laughing eyes, and he brought up a finger to tap against his chin and disguise his quivering lips. He pretended to deliberate for a moment before shrugging and grinning widely, nodding at Harry.

“Well, I didn’t really have anything planned when I summoned you. Just wanted to meet you, I guess. Um. You can go, if you like,” he said. The Fool’s smile softened into something less mischievous and more friendly, and he reached out to pat Harry’s shoulder. He puffed out his chest comically and offered a goofy salute before disappearing in a blur of yellow and green. Harry smiled, pleased with the meeting.

It was probably just the satisfaction of a successful summon, but Harry felt remarkably calm now, more than he had in a very long time.

Chapter Text

For the next week, the only moment Harry got alone was when he was sleeping or using the bathroom. Usually his company was only one other person, which he could handle quite well normally, but he thought that a week without privacy would probably drive insane even someone without Harry’s anxiety issues. His only solace was the monsters when he summoned them; their presence seemed a balm to his nerves.

Of the other summoners, he’d been bemused the first day, with Yugi and Honda’s company. He’d been downright suspicious after the second day, when Anzu had bumped into him on his way to work, saying she was trying out a new route for her morning jog. By the third day, when Mai of all people had asked him to escort her to the dry cleaners, he was absolutely positive that they were conspiring to keep an eye on him. He suffered through the fourth day of surveillance, if only because he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with Yugi and Ryou, who had alternated ‘keeping him company’ all day. On the fifth day, he couldn’t take it any longer. Although that might have just been the company.

Harry grumbled, his mood thoroughly soured by the week’s stress and now by the heavy, grouchy silence emanating from where Bakura was indolently slouching against the wall.

“What are you even doing here, Bakura? One of you guys has been in the shop without fail every time I work, and don’t think I haven’t noticed how someone just so happens to have an errand to run in the general direction of wherever I want to go. I don’t need a- a guard rotation.” It probably wasn’t the best idea to bring this up with Bakura, who was just as likely to ignore him as mock him right now, but the man’s petulant behavior was grating on him, made him want to force him to respond and own up.

“Heh, that injury spoke differently,” Bakura sneered. Harry straightened and scowled, highly offended at the implication of incompetence.

“Okay, first of all? I was dodging just fine until the Curse of Dragon’s attack blasted me right back into that spell,” not that he would ever tell Sugoroku that, “and secondly, you all have no idea what I’m capable of. You only saw a bit on that hunt. I can take care of myself just fine.” There was a sudden blur of movement and Harry reared back, startled, as Bakura hopped up onto the counter and crouched down, staring him right in the face with a sneering grin.

“Is that so, little wizard?” he mocked, towering over Harry. “Perhaps we should test your, ah, capabilities at some point.”

“You- I really can’t tell if you’re flirting with me or challenging me, right now,” Harry sputtered. He regretted it instantly.

“Ha! Do try not to confuse your fantasies with reality.” Bakura leaned even closer, and Harry had to force himself not to recoil, not to back down. The pale-haired man was mere inches away, close enough to smell that Bakura didn’t really smell like anything, close enough to kiss, Harry’s mind supplied traitorously. He couldn’t help the faint pink from blossoming high on his cheekbones, and Bakura – the bloody bastard – just had to notice. His grin widened, and Harry could have sworn he saw the man’s half-lidded eyes flick briefly to his mouth.

“And what fantasies are you entertaining even now, little mage?” His voice was low and growly in a way that absolutely didn’t make Harry’s spine tingle. To prove it, Harry opened his mouth to retort acerbically, when there was a loud cough from behind Bakura.

“Hey, if you guys aren’t gonna kiss, could you stop flirting for like, five minutes? We’ve gotta talk to Potter-san,” a young voice piped in. Harry stood up on his toes to glance past Bakura’s shoulder and saw a tall teenager with a wild mane of dark hair grinning at them, standing just in front of a very tall brown haired man in a bizarre trench coat that made him think of Snape and his ridiculous, dramatic swirly robes. Harry hadn’t even heard the bell ring.

“Out of the way, thief,” the taller man said stiffly, gesturing for Bakura to get off the counter. Bakura growled back but complied, hopping off the top and leaning his hip against the edge. The man hefted a metal briefcase onto the counter, where it fell with a loud thump.

“So this is the newbie, huh?” the man sneered, his cold blue eyes piercing into Harry’s. Harry was rather impressed by the sheer disdain that dripped from the man, and he had attended Hogwarts with Malfoy for six years.

“I am Kaiba Seto, and Atem has told me all about you, Potter Harry.” Harry blinked, dumbfounded. It was mere weeks after Harry had extracted a promise of secrecy from the shadow mages to whom he had revealed the magical community, and Atem had already blabbed to the CEO of Kaiba Corporation?!

“He what? I told him not to-“

“Calm down, Harry-san, we’re shadow mages just like the others! They weren’t gonna keep it from the rest of us, you know? Anyway, me and Nii-sama were in France on business when Atem’s call came in, and it was just a short flight over to London from there, so we thought why not pop into that magical pub you mentioned and check it out! And it was so cool! I’ve got tons of questions,” Mokuba chirped.

“What I want to know, Potter, is why you are the single most referenced and covered topic in the last 19 years of magical newspapers,” Kaiba said, opening the briefcase to reveal stacks of Daily Prophets and Quibblers and Witch Weeklies, all with his name and face on the front page. Harry winced. He had hoped to keep his unfortunate fame a secret for a bit longer. He ignored Bakura’s sudden, piercing gaze and continued to regard Kaiba.

“If you’ve gotten hold enough old newspapers to have seen my name in so many, then you must know why it was there,” he said stiffly. His secret may have been out, but he certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for them if they persisted in digging.

“Well yeah, but the papers were all full of crap! Like, their opinions kept changing, and it’s like they don’t even know what facts are. So we wanted to hear from you what really happened. You know, since it seems like you’re a pretty big part of magical culture,” Mokuba said. Harry sighed. He really, really didn’t want to talk to these two strangers about his life when he hadn’t even told his new maybe-friends about it, but he was grudgingly grateful that they were willing to hear him out rather than blindly follow the papers. Of course, a wealthy, successful businessman like Kaiba Seto had likely seen his own share of bad publicity and ignorant, sensationalist reporters.

“Look, I really don’t know why you seem to think I owe you anything. I told you guys about the magical world in exchange for learning about shadow magic, but I haven’t asked for any personal information, which is what you’re doing right now.

“You are a naïve fool if you think anyone so blatantly in the public eye has the same rights to privacy as other people,” Kaiba growled. “But if you insist on an exchange, I have information pertaining to the house in Poland you and Bakura tracked your attacker to. I found that information for free, but I will not give it to you without compensation. You both owe me a favor for this. Your favor, I’ll hold on to,” Kaiba smirked in Bakura’s direction, getting bared teeth in response. The brunet turned his attention back to Harry. “You, on the other hand… I’ll cash in that favor now.” Harry groaned. He was well and truly trapped, now. Off to the side, he saw Bakura roll his eyes and mouth something about ‘rich arrogant bastards.’

“Fine. I’ll answer a few questions, but nothing too intrusive, alright?”

Kaiba glowered. “You will answer all of my questions. That is the deal.”

Harry frowned back. “Absolutely not, Kaiba-san. That information’s not worth my life history. I’ll answer…three questions, truthfully and completely, but at my own discretion. And if you wouldn’t mind hurrying up a bit, I’d be grateful. I’m working right now, I don’t have time to cater to your grandiose feelings of entitlement,” he finished stiffly.

“You didn’t seem to have any qualms with entertaining Bakura on your shift,” Kaiba insinuated, sneering back. Harry fought to keep his blush down.

“Yeah, well, there’s nothing I can do about him. You seem civilized enough to reason with, though,” Harry said. Bakura snarled wordlessly, Mokuba let out a wild hoot of laughter, and the muscles around Kaiba’s mouth and eyes tensed in a different way that let Harry know he was amused.

“Well, regardless, I’ll accept your terms.” That…was way too easy. Kaiba had given in awfully quickly, for someone who had supposedly wanted to know everything about him. Harry narrowed his eyes. That means he didn’t want to risk losing the deal I offered, which means I probably offered way too much in exchange for the information about that house. There must not be much for him to tell, which means all that build up from the beginning – with the newspapers and everything – was all a ploy to get me to think he was expecting, and felt entitled to, more as a result of his findings.

“Bloody Slytherin bastard,” Harry muttered. Kaiba narrowed his eyes at him.

“What did you call me?” he said, voice positively arctic.

“I called you a Slytherin. It’s one of the four houses the students at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are split into. The Slytherin house prizes ambition and cunning in its students. The others are the brave Gryffindors, the hard-working Hufflepuffs, and the smart Ravenclaws. This whole setup you put together fairly reeks of Slytherin. And that is your first question, answered truthfully and completely,” Harry smirked gleefully. If possible, Kaiba’s eyes grew even colder, while off to the side Bakura exploded into cackles and Mokuba fell forward against the counter, thick mane of hair covering his face, shoulders trembling as he strained to withhold his laughter.

“Very well, if that’s how you chose to play. Here’s your pittance,” Kaiba sneered, tugging a thin file in a manila folder from a pocket lining the open briefcase and tossing it carelessly onto the counter. And then he turned to leave.

“Wait!” Harry called. “What about your other questions?”

Kaiba smirked back at him over his shoulder. “I thought you were too busy for company?”

“Well, yeah, but I also don’t want those questions hanging over my head!”

“Heh. That’s just too bad, but unfortunately for you, I am quite busy myself, and have no time to entertain your grandiose sense of entitlement.” He strode out briskly without another word, a grinning Mokuba following with a friendly wave in their direction. Harry was left gawping. Bakura chuckled.

“You realize, of course, that after the stunt you just pulled he’s going to pick his next two questions very carefully. You’ll likely end up telling him your entire life story.”

“Yeah, I guess. But he was being an arse first, with that whole setup to make me offer more than this info is worth!”

“And you rose to his challenge beautifully. Do try to deal with the consequences of your actions like a big boy,” Bakura said derisively, dismissing Harry’s indignation and turning his attention to the folder. He flipped it open and scanned the single-page report. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the page. Built 57 years ago, 12 unique leasing contracts. Last owner moved two years ago, no new leasers since due to foreclosure from bad plumbing. Nothing. Harry sighed grumpily. This information was absolutely useless, and now he owed Bakura an explanation, too. Bakura, who was now eyeing him rather predatorily.

“I know, I know… Could we wait a bit, though? It’s kind of a long story, and I don’t want to talk about it where customers might walk in.” Bakura regarded him keenly for a moment before nodding sharply. He turned and continued leaning against the wall, silent once more.

I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as moody as this guy, Harry thought exasperatedly, and I lived with Ron for seven years.

The next morning, Harry rose with the sun. He’d thought for a long time the previous evening about how much he wanted to tell Bakura, in between summoning two new monsters, Aurora Wing and Dharc the Dark Charmer. Both summons had seemed to sense his preoccupation, and had set about distracting him rather thoroughly, Aurora Wing by performing a series of beautiful aerial acrobatics, while Dharc had made wisps of shadow dance for him. He had bid them goodnight and had gone to bed with his head clearer and feeling more at peace than before.

Now, Harry dug through his trunk, searching for his broom. It wasn’t yet seven in the morning, so Bakura should still be in, Harry mused, stepping into the hallway and rapping lightly on the door. When it opened, he was oddly taken aback to see Bakura staring at him. He’d been expecting Ryou, for some reason.

“I’m going out flying today. D’you want to come with me?”

The dark-skinned man didn’t say anything, just looked at him, eyebrow raised. Harry huffed a bit sheepishly. “I… Um. I owe you an explanation, too.”

Bakura straightened from his slouch against the doorframe and stepped out with a shrug and a nod. Harry took his arm (much to Bakura’s distaste) and, with his reluctantly assenting nod, Apparated them to the designated Apparation Point by Mt. Odake, where magically hidden flying grounds were scattered among the valleys.

Harry approached the groundskeepers’ office and slid a small pouch of gold across the counter, reserving one of the fields for the next two hours, and renting a used Comet 290 for Bakura. He handed it to the pale-haired man, who stared blankly, then turned his disbelieving gaze on Harry.

“You expect me to ride this? In the air?” he said incredulously. Harry nodded seriously.

“Yup. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you fall,” he said teasingly and then mounted his Firebolt, demonstrating the proper way for Bakura. After a moment’s hesitation the pale-haired man followed suit, knuckles tight and white on the wooden shaft. He ascended wobbily into the air, not rising higher than ten feet, and followed after Harry as they made their way to the reserved field. Harry offered words of advice and hovered around him, correcting his grip and position as they went, and by the time they arrived at the field, Bakura was flying quite a bit more smoothly and confidently. Nonetheless, he dismounted immediately upon crossing the border into Field Seven. Harry shrugged, and took off.

He hugged the boundary line of the field, circuiting the entirety of it, building up speed, before he shot straight into the air, perpendicular to the ground. Wind and gravity dragged heavily against him, pulling at his clothes and hair, stinging his eyes. He didn’t stop until the air was thin, when Bakura was barely a small, dark speck upon the ground. He clenched his thighs and hooked his ankles around the shaft, then threw his arms wide and let himself fall.

This, he thought emphatically, barely able to put words to the incredible rush of free falling, the unmatched self-determination of flight. Obligations and responsibilities and worries were stolen by the wind, ripped from his beleaguered mind. Harry offered them freely, relishing the way the wind roared in his ears and filled his mind with blissful white noise. Halfway to the ground, Harry righted himself from the roiling tumble, brought his hands back to the broom, and pointed the nose directly at the ground. He accelerated, adding to the momentum of the free fall, twisting into a vicious corkscrew as he barreled towards the earth. Green was rushing up to meet him, fifty feet, twenty-five feet, fifteen, ten, five, three-

Two feet from the ground, Harry pulled up sharply, wrenching his straining shoulders painfully with the sudden motion, and he leveled out, shot back up, curled into a tight loop that had him coiling back up into the sky.

He howled his exuberance.

Sometime later – what felt like mere seconds but must have been at least half an hour – Harry descended slowly to the ground, red-faced and sweaty with exertion and excitement, relishing the burn in his arms and legs and abs. He hopped nimbly off the Firebolt and plopped down rather less gracefully beside Bakura, who was reclined back on his elbows and regarding Harry with an uncharacteristically open and calm expression.

“You’re built for this,” Bakura said quietly. “Made for flight and freedom.”

“Hmm. Guess so. Would explain why I hate publicity so much, too many people getting in the way of what I want to do,” Harry responded, the remains of a wild grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t want to try a bit more?”

The other man snorted. “It was quite exciting enough just watching you flirt with a broken neck, without risking my own at the same time.”

Harry hummed. He considered teasingly calling the man a coward, but knew the other would become extremely offended at the implication and strive to make Harry see the error of his ways. Which could be fun, Harry mused, a bit of heat finding its way to his cheeks, but later. It was time for a serious conversation now

“So. You’ve held up your side of the deal, and been really patient about it. More than I would have expected of you, actually, but. Um. I owe you that explanation.” Bakura didn’t shift from his lounging position, but everything about him suddenly seemed much more attentive; his eyes were narrowed in unwaveringly on Harry’s face, his shoulders were a taught line of tension, and his fingers were dug sharply into the grass. Harry took a deep breath and began.

He spoke first, briefly, of the Deathly Hallows, three legendary objects presumed to have been created by Death itself. He opted to include Dumbledore’s belief that they were most likely the creations of three very talented wizards and that two were lost to history, but the third was a wand of immense power, won and lost and vanished and found time and again throughout history. How that incredible wand, the Deathstick, the Elder Wand, had been unearthed by a wand maker around 70 years ago, and had then been stolen by a blossoming Dark Lord, and then won from the hands of that Dark Lord by the Leader of the Light. Harry pulled out his holly wand and traced the letters from the parchment in the air, stark fiery gold against the pale blue sky.

“The first ‘G’ is for Gregorovitch, the wand maker. Second ‘G’ is for Grindelwald, a dark lord from the forties, who stole it from Gregorovitch. The ‘D’ is for Dumbledore, the light wizard who defeated Grindelwald.” Harry paused for a moment, debating and then deciding to offer a bit of personal information. “He was my mentor. Died when I was in my sixth year of schooling. The circumstances are actually really important to this story, but I’ll get more into that later. That ‘S’ is for Snape, a double agent from the last war. He’s the one who killed Professor Dumbledore. And then ‘V’ is for Voldemort, who killed Snape to get his hands on the wand, and then ‘P’ for, well, me. I fought Voldemort, and he died, and the war ended. Mostly.”

“But that’s not the whole story,” Bakura said, eyeing him shrewdly. Harry nodded, and continued.

“Right. That’s not the right order, but it’s the one Voldemort believed. See, before he was killed, Dumbledore was disarmed by this kid, Draco Malfoy. He beat Dumbledore and won the allegiance of the wand first, so Snape was never its master, and so neither was Voldemort, even though Voldemort actually had it.”

“And you bested that boy at some point during the war, winning ownership of the wand,” Bakura surmised.

“Yeah, ‘s why I was able to beat Voldemort, really. He was pointing it against its true master, so it wasn’t as strong for him as it is for me.” Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew the Elder Wand, holding it up for Bakura to examine. He was relieved when the other man made no move to touch it.

“So. Someone has traced this false path of ownership to you, and now wishes to take this legendary wand from you,” Bakura concluded. Harry mumbled an agreement.

“I think it’s got to be a Death Eater, someone who was close to Voldemort who might have put his plans together, or something. Only problem is, all of his former inner circle is dead or locked up and isolated in a high-security prison cell.”

“That doesn’t preclude the possibility that the inner circle member shared his information with others.”

“That’s true, I guess. But it doesn’t help us figure out who it might be. There’s just too many possible suspects. Lots of people had ties with Death Eaters during the war, who never actually committed any crimes themselves.”

Bakura didn’t seem to have a response to this. He stared up at the sky, a vaguely contemplative look on his face. Harry wished he would just do something, say something, even look at him, to break the expectant tenseness, but Bakura just kept silent for a long moment. His expression suddenly hardened into something like determination, and he spoke.

“Ryou isn’t my cousin,” he said abruptly. Harry stared blankly, caught entirely wrong-footed by the non-sequitur.

“What?”

“He’s not my cousin. He and I are two halves of the same soul, inhabiting two different bodies. The King and the Pharaoh are the same.”

“I don’t… I mean, what? That’s, what does that even…?” mean, or have to do with the attack, or the Elder wand, or Harry, or anything at all. He couldn’t articulate properly, all of his questions were knocking into each other, making his words come out confused and chaotic.

Bakura interrupted, mercifully cutting off Harry’s muddled stammers. “An implausible tale for an implausible tale.” And that cleared up absolutely nothing whatsoever. Harry started to speak again, to ask what it even meant to be one soul split between two bodies.

“It means precisely what I said: one soul, two bodies! It’s not that difficult,” Bakura said, growing defensive and a bit flustered, if that term could ever be applied to the aggressive man.

“Okay, but, I mean, you can’t just spring something like that on someone, especially someone whose job it is to deal with soul magic! How is that even possible, and why did you even bring it up in the first place? I don’t get it, and don't give me that Hippogriff shit about ‘implausible tales,’ or whatever,” Harry said heatedly.

“I’ve told you all I’m willing to divulge at this time.”

“Wha- but it wasn’t even a story! You just blurted out some random something, that’s not-“

“Deal with it.”

Harry gaped rather unattractively. The utter nerve of this bastard. Hermione probably would have slapped him for refusing to elaborate like this. Harry took a deep breath, using the image of Hermione slapping Bakura to ease his confused anger. So. Bakura had, for some reason, suddenly deigned to offer Harry what seemed to be a particularly valuable and sensitive piece of personal information with huge ramifications, and he was at a complete loss as to the reason.

Bakura wasn’t the type to reveal things about himself, and there was no motivation for him to do so; the deal had been that Harry spill his guts. Maybe Bakura had felt obligated to say something in return, not having expected such an involved story? But no, the man was probably a professional thief or something, and thieves didn’t offer compensation when they got what they wanted!

“You’re utterly insufferable, Bakura,” he grumbled, unable to comprehend the bizarre conversation. He shook his head and leaned back to mimic the frustrating man’s position, pouting grumpily. Bakura just harrumphed at him and kept staring up at the sky. Harry decided to mimic that, too. So it was a bit of a surprise that he didn’t notice the spot spiraling out of the sky right at them

Harry lurched into action, slipping into a tight defensive stance and holding his wand poised for action when the spot crash-landed onto the turf before him. Bakura had let out a vicious curse and simultaneously catapulted himself into a similarly defensive position, a pair of cruel-looking knives clenched in his fists that had seemed to appear out of nowhere. Harry gasped and rushed forward when he identified their would-be attacker.

“Melvin?” he exclaimed, recognizing Luna Lovegood’s tiny, quirky burrowing owl.

“Fucking magical birds,” Bakura cursed from behind him. Harry ignored him and knelt down beside it, reaching out to see if it was still alive. It jerked upright with a startled hoot, seemed to shake itself before turning massive luminous eyes on him. Harry barely had the chance to take the letter before it was in the sky again, fluttering off in a strange side-to-side fashion. He shook his head amusedly, thoroughly reminded of its equally quirky owner, before flicking open the wax seal.

Hello Harry Potter,

I hope you are well. I am quite well myself, thank you for wondering. I’ve heard from Neville that you have moved to Japan. I myself have spent the last few months in Taiwan, hunting for the reclusive Taipei Tunneling Shutluck. Do be careful, Harry, they’ve been observed stowing away on ships and heading north! Take care to hide any silk items in burlap sacks. They’re fond of making nests with soft things, but won’t touch coarse fabrics.

 Anyway, I will be arriving in Japan in a few days. We can take an international portkey together back to England for the Hogwarts memorial service on May 2^nd – you know how much cheaper they are for multiple passengers.

I’ll expect to see you at Yokohama International at noon in three days’ time, provided, of course, that my portkey is not hijacked by kamaitachi.

Love, Luna

Well then. Harry would’ve liked to say he was surprised, but he truly wasn’t.

“What the fuck,” Bakura muttered from over Harry’s shoulder, where he had been reading the letter, “is a shitlick?”

Harry snickered. “No idea. We’ll have to ask Luna when she gets here.”

“You’re leaving with this girl, then?” Bakura asked. There was an odd note to his blank voice, distant and almost disgruntled. Harry eyed him bemusedly

“Just for a few days. I’m going to the memorial service for the Battle of Hogwarts. My godson lost his parents there, among far too many other good people,” Harry said quietly. Bakura watched him gravely for a moment before nodding.

“If you’re not careful, the old man will fire you for taking so many days off. Even his good will has its limits,” the taller man said roughly. Harry snorted, recognizing the attempt at changing the subject. He was oddly grateful.

“Nah, I’ve already talked with him about this. Anyway, if we’re done here, shall we head back?” Harry said, holding out his arm for Bakura to take.

Except Bakura didn’t take it. Instead, the pale-haired man stepped close to Harry and slipped a dark, muscular arm around his waist, calloused fingers brushing against his hip. Harry stiffened immediately, caught between two warring instincts: to lean into the warmth, or to push away the intruder. He settled for doing nothing but allowing the touch, not meeting Bakura’s eyes and staunchly ignoring the amused grin he could practically hear spreading across his stupid, handsome face, and turned on the spot to take them to the groundskeepers’ shack and then back to Domino. At least the Apparation knocked the smirk off that bastard’s face.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed quickly and quietly. Harry returned to work and opted to take a few extra shifts to make up for the days he had missed during the hunt, and would be missing later in the week when he was overseas. Sugoroku didn’t seem to care either way; he was just glad he didn’t have to move the heavy boxes anymore.

Kaiba had apparently decided to share his findings with Atem, who spread the word about Harry’s fame and role in the war among the other shadow mages. An uncharacteristically firm intervention on Ryou’s part stopped all invasive questions, after the first time Jounouchi had unthinkingly blurted, “Did ya really die, man?”

So, he was left in peace on that front, for the most part. Even better, Harry was beyond relieved to have finally convinced the others that he didn’t need a bodyguard or watchdog everywhere he went; he had keyed Atem and Yugi in to a few basic wards he had placed around the shop that would alert all them to the presence of a wizard anywhere within twenty yards of the shop. Inspired, he did the same to the Mutou home and to his own apartment, fortifying the already formidable wards there.

Just before noon on Wednesday found Harry trying desperately to become one with the concrete wall at the back of the arrivals waiting room in the Yokohama International Portkey Depot. It was busier than he had been hoping for the day and time, and despite the Notice-Me-Not charm he’d placed on himself, Harry was beginning to consider donning the Invisibility Cloak as an added buffer, when the crowd seemed to stir a bit around a particularly lofty cart of luggage.

And there was Luna. Her dirty blonde hair was as long and scraggly as ever, but she had apparently decided to weave in seven randomly placed dreadlocks, around which were coiled some type of dried, fragrant vine. She wore her cork necklace and a pair of broken grey feathers in her ears and boasted no makeup but for lime green lipstick, which made her pale complexion look washed out and sickly. Her bulbous silver eyes stared absently into the distance, her head cocked a bit to the left.

She drifted vaguely in Harry’s general direction, surefooted and gracefully weaving through the crowd like a colorful spectre despite her apparent distraction and the Notice-Me-Not charm. When she was stood right before him, she suddenly slung her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly, before abruptly letting him go and gracing him with a wide, happy smile.

“’Lo, Luna. It’s good to see you. What’re your accessories for?” he grinned back.

“Hello, Harry Potter. It’s very nice to see you looking content, for a change. The honeysuckle promotes open-mindedness, and the color of my lipstick will repel the Lace-winged Kilijays,” she returned, eyes already sliding past him. He noticed she didn’t say anything about the dreadlocks or the feathers, and guessed she would tell him later when it was important, or maybe they were simply her idea of fashion.

“Well, I wish you luck against the Kilijays,” he smiled. “Shall we drop your luggage at my place before the grand tour?”

“That would be lovely, Harry, thank you,” she said wispily, taking hold of his arm to meander through the Portkey Depot in the direction of the bus and taxi stops, her baggage cart piled high behind them.

A rather tedious taxi ride later – to accommodate the luggage – in which the cabby couldn’t seem to keep from staring at Luna through the rear-view mirror, the pair was stepping into the Kame Game Shop, free of baggage burdens. Sugoroku greeted them cheerfully from behind the counter, barely sparing Luna a second look. He guessed the old man was well used to eccentricities by now. Harry guided Luna towards the back of the shop, where the Duel Monsters display occupied the entire wall. He was particularly eager to introduce her to the card game, sure she would appreciate the pictures of the fanciful creatures, if not the game itself. He was not disappointed, when her vague gaze settled firmly on the images and names as he attempted to relay what he could of the complicated set of rules.

Of course, her absorption did not last. Before long, her eyes turned back to Harry, where they flickered back and forth between Harry himself and something back near the door. He stepped aside to let her pass when she continued to stare behind him and watched amusedly as she approached a rather bemused Bakura, who had apparently just entered the shop from the Mutou home, Marik at his heels.

“Hello,” she said airily, eyes staring vacantly somewhere in the vicinity of his left ear. “You should include more watercress in your diet. It does wonders for mitigating the effects of demonic possession, you know,” she said matter-of-factly, before switching her attention to a flabbergasted Marik, whom she stared at with alarming intensity. Marik began to back away nervously. “You have very pretty eyes,” she said vaguely, gaze losing focus once more. She turned away abruptly to look out the window. Or at the window, maybe. Harry was never quite sure with Luna.

Harry felt an amused, affectionate smile stretch at his lips as he considered her. When he turned to greet Bakura and Marik, his smile immediately melted away. Marik was just looking uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as he glanced among Harry, Bakura, and Luna, but it was Bakura who captured Harry’s attention. The man had an ostensibly bored look on his face, but his eyes held some terrible promise as he stared intently at Luna. He looked for a brief moment cruel, ferocious, and utterly insane, and Harry was quite suddenly terrified for Luna’s safety.

He stepped forward, blocking Bakura’s view of the willowy girl. “This is my friend, Luna,” he said, words casual, but tone strong and stiff, challenging. “She’s here for the day, and I wanted her to meet you guys. She says odd things, sometimes, though. Don’t take it personally.”

Marik offered a strained grin, but Bakura just kept staring, no longer hostile, but certainly not friendly. At least his attention was no longer on Luna. Nonetheless, this reaction was just not okay.

“Marik-san,” Harry called, not moving his eyes away from Bakura. “Could you show Luna that display of Middle Eastern dice games that just came in?”

“Erm, yeah, here Luna…” The Egyptian murmured in English, guiding Luna to the display up front in the shop window and looking even more uncomfortable as she began to chatter about a recent incursion of Odiferous Utukku into Cyprus. Harry waited until they were out of sight behind the shelves before addressing the tense man in front of him.

“Bakura. What the hell was that?” he said firmly, coldly. As much as he liked the other man, threats to his friends were not tolerated in any form, not to mention how unnerving it was to see this vicious side of him.

“None of your concern,” he said gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest and tensing his shoulders defensively. Harry refused to be put off by the avoidant body language, however.

“Yes, I think it is my concern if you’re going to be staring at my friends like you’d rather see them dead.”

“I do not trust those who see beyond,” Bakura muttered. He paused a bit then, and offered what he probably thought was a peace offering. “…She has nothing to fear from me, if you have placed your trust in her.

“She better damn well not have anything to fear! Wait – ‘see beyond?’ Was…was she right about the possession?” Harry asked slowly, frustration melting into wariness.

“Do not presume to understand me, boy,” Bakura hissed, suddenly furious, in the way of a cornered animal. The ferocious scowl on his face twisted his scar gruesomely, and lines of stress were suddenly rendered in sharp relief across his dark skin. Harry refused to let his intimidation show.

“I do, though. I, um. I was possessed, once. It was really horrible,” he admitted quietly, hoping to appease the other man’s rage. He glanced up to see Bakura staring at him with a strange, conflicted expression. The way he was twisting his torso away from Harry told him the man was looking for a way out of the conversation, but rather than just snarl and stalk off – as he was wont to do – Bakura took a deep breath and spoke again.

“Then you can understand that it is not something I like to be reminded of.”

“Yeah. I- I get that. But I also don’t like the way you were looking at her,” Harry said, unwilling to let that point drop. Bakura growled in frustration.

“Some reactions are too ingrained by now. I could not help hating her words, but I’ve already promised you not to hurt her. Alright?” he barked. That was probably the best Harry was going to get out of him.

“…Yeah. I guess. Don’t suppose I could get you to promise never to do it again? Yeah, thought not. ‘Ingrained’ or whatever,” he sighed in response to the other man’s sharply raised eyebrow. “Look, I’m going to show her around the city now, and we’ll be gone by tomorrow, but if you see her again today, be civil, okay? I’d appreciate it.”

Bakura nodded tightly, and glanced up sharply as Luna came breezing back over, Marik trailing behind her, looking unaccountably exhausted after having been in her presence for a scant ten minutes. It was a look people frequently adopted in Luna’s company, before they got to know her.

“Luna, what say we move on?” he said, trying to hide his grin when Marik failed to suppress a relieved sigh.

“Of course, Harry. I should like to see the pier, first, to look for evidence of tunneling shutlucks. It won’t take long, of course, I’ll just flap a bit of silk around and they’ll come running, if they’re around,” she said distractedly as she examined a pack of Duel Monsters cards she’d apparently bought. “Here, Harry, this one wants to go with you.”

The card she handed him sent a chill down his spine. The Reaper of Prophecy stared up at him coolly, and sure enough, Harry felt a tingle of awareness prick at his fingertips where he gripped the card. It was interested in him, the same way the Fool of Prophecy had been. He felt considerably more trepidation as he regarded this one, though.

Bakura and Marik were eyeing Luna warily, again. He heard Marik whisper to the shorter man, “She doesn’t feel like a summoner. And how would she have known it wanted to go with him, anyway?” Bakura’s reply was too low for Harry to hear in full, but he thought he caught the words ‘troublesome seer.’

“…Thanks, Luna,” he said finally, slipping the card carefully into his pocket. “Um, let’s head out, then.” He waved goodbye to Marik and Bakura. They both looked eager to see her go, and Harry couldn’t blame them, really, despite how their distrust of his close friend rankled. She hadn’t really made the best first impression, after all.

There ended up not being any shutlucks at the Domino City docks, to Luna’s disappointment. She recovered from the setback quickly, though, as they wandered through the city. Despite her oddness even amongst wizards, she was apparently rather familiar with muggle culture, and was able to fully appreciate all Domino had to offer without being confused or overwhelmed.

Harry could not say the same for himself, however, about being overwhelmed. It was difficult already to walk around such a crowded city, but doing so with Luna – whose oddities naturally drew eyes to her, particularly in Japan where her pale hair was even more attention grabbing – grated terribly on Harry’s nerves. He had hoped to show her a good time here, but had to retreat to the safety and solitude of his apartment after only a couple hours. Truthfully, Harry was rather impressed he had lasted so long. He didn’t think he would have been able to a few months ago, and wondered what had facilitated the improvement.

“What are your plans tomorrow, Luna?” Harry asked as he bustled around the kitchen. He hadn’t felt well enough to treat her to dinner at a nice restaurant, so he figured the least he could do was make a meal, rather than order take-out, as he was wont to do.

Luna looked at him oddly. It was a rather surreal experience, coming from her. “Harry, we’re taking a portkey to England tomorrow. Have you forgotten? The swarm of nargles around your head is a bit thinner than it used to be, so they can’t have stolen the thought from you…”

“Ah, no, I know that part. I mean, after we get there, you’re good to get to the ceremony yourself, or would you like to stay the night with me?”

“Oh no, I refuse to step foot in that horrible place. I’ve never seen such a terrible infestation of beaked malwinkers. They feed off nightmares, you know,” she said matter-of-factly.

“S’all in what you’re used to, I guess. Anyway, I’ll see you off at the portkey depot, then.”

Luna hummed agreeably and accepted the plate of pasta Harry passed over.

The next day, Harry and Luna woke early to catch an 8:00 am portkey. Harry had insisted, unwilling to brave the crowds again, and Luna had been content to go with the flow. As soon as the official portkey settled in London, Harry held out an arm for Luna to stabilize herself with. She nodded gratefully before taking her bags in hand and weaving her way through the crowd. Harry attempted to follow her, but found himself unable when he was accosted by a great mass of bushy brown hair. He caught a glimpse of Luna turning back and waving goodbye, before the brown bush obstructed his hearing as well as his vision.

“Oh, Harry! I’ve missed you so much!” Hermione exclaimed into his neck. Over her shoulder, he could see tall, gangly Ron grinning at him. Harry extended his unoccupied arm to embrace his other best friend.

“Looking good, mate,” Ron said thickly. Harry grinned up at him.

“Didn’t know to expect a welcoming committee,” he said.

“We got a message from Luna. Took ages to get the letter from that wacko bird of hers, ‘specially once it started playing with Pig.”

Harry snorted. “Great way to spice up the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, well, between you and me, that morning didn’t exactly need anymore spicing up,” Ron muttered from the corner of his mouth with a wink.

“Ronald!” Hermione screeched, slapping at his shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes; Ron should have known by now that nothing got past Hermione. He snickered even as the incensed witch grabbed his and Ron’s arms, not even pausing in her scalding diatribe to Apparate them away.

Harry wasn’t surprised to find himself in the middle of the yard at the Burrow, surrounded by Weasleys. Molly rushed forward to hug him fiercely, and pulled away to cluck and poke at his ribs. George wrapped an arm around his shoulders and grinned crookedly, the way everything seemed crooked with him, nowadays. Charlie was there, too, standing beside Arthur, Bill, and Percy, while Fleur watched proudly as Ginny and Angelina cooed over little Victoire. Andromeda was standing just at the fringe of the group holding Teddy’s hand, and broke away to walk over and greet him.

“Good to see you, Harry,” the woman said warmly. Harry grinned at her and accepted her hug.

“’Awwy!” Teddy cried, bouncing on his toes and stretching his little hands up at Harry in a universal ‘pick-me-up’ motion. Harry smiled at his green-haired godson and hefted him up, pretending to groan and buckle with strain.

“Oof! Teddy, you’ve gotten so big! I won’t be able to lift you at all in another couple months,” he chuckled.

“Big!” the toddler laughed back, his hair shifting to a sunny yellow. Harry’s heart melted just a little bit. He pressed a kiss to Teddy’s forehead, then rolled his eyes at Ginny’s playful coo, from where she had moved forward to see him.

“Hey, Harry. Looking good,” she grinned at him, brown eyes lit up playfully. Her eyes roved down his form and her smile became less humorous, more genuine. “You really do look good. Relaxed, and happy. It was a good decision to get out of here for a while.”

Harry nodded, bouncing Teddy on his hip. Luna had said something similar. “Yeah, I’ve not had someone recognize me in months. It’s been nice.”

“Yes, that’s wonderful, Harry, dear, but you can talk more over dinner. Come along, I’ve got the table all set,” Molly burst in cheerfully, rounding up the clan and shuffling them all back indoors. The woman looked beyond thrilled to have the whole family home again.

Dinner was as raucous an affair as it ever was with the Weasleys, even more so now that there were two toddlers about. More than once, Harry found himself choking on mashed potatoes or ham as George regaled them with some hilarious disaster at work, or Ron with soap-opera-esque Auror Office scandals, or Charlie with close-calls at the dragon reserve.

As dinner was coming to a close, Harry pulled Ron and Hermione off to the side.

“Guys, some stuff has happened in the last few months that I need to talk to you about. It’s really important, can I come over tonight?” he asked. His friends’ expressions ranged somewhere between exasperated and excited.

“Oh Harry, have you stumbled into another adventure?” Hermione grumbled. Harry wasn’t fooled, however. He could see how bright her eyes had gotten.

“Yeah, something like that,” he grinned. Ron returned it, grin pulling wild as the nostalgia of their Hogwarts adventures trickled from their memories and rushed through their veins. Across the room, George let out a hoot.

“Careful, everyone! Those three are conspiring in a corner again, prepare for disaster!” Harry laughed, always thrilled to hear George laughing and making jokes again.

Later that night, after bidding the Weasleys goodbye and rocking Teddy to sleep for Andromeda to take him home, Harry was sitting on Ron and Hermione’s beaten leather couch next to the brown-haired witch. Ron was in the kitchen, whipping up a few cups of strong tea. Harry called out to him.

“Erm, Ron? You might want to splash a bit of firewhiskey in there, if you’ve got any.”

“Oh, bloody hell, Harry, what’ve you gotten yourself into now…” came Ron’s muffled, grumbled response. The red head came ambling back into the living room, a cup in each hand and levitating a third behind him. He passed them around and then settled in the armchair across from the sofa. Harry took in a second to breathe in the aromatic steam before looking to meet his best friends’ supporting, concerned gazes.

“Right. So. Um, I discovered a group of magic-using muggles unaffiliated with the wizarding world or any formal government while I was working in a shop that sells children’s games.” Best to just jump right in.

Ron and Hermione just stared at him for a long moment, then simultaneously lifted their mugs and took long drags of their spiked tea. After a brief second of contemplation, Harry copied them. Mm. Ogden’s Finest. Good choice.

“Harry. What?” Hermione said weakly, voice vaguely hoarse from the powerful burn of the alcohol.

“Yeah, crazy, right? It’s apparently some ancient form of Egyptian magic. Not everyone can use it, and I don’t think any of the users I know can use our kind of magic. I mean, it’s pretty complicated stuff, but as best I can figure, it used to be used for games and bets and dares and stuff. The modern-day users have adapted it for, um, modern-day use.”

“Okay. Right, uh. But, Harry, mate, you’re talking like it’s something totally different to what we use,” Ron said, downing another gulp of Ogden’s Finest Firetea.

“Yeah, it is. They call it shadow magic.”

Harry had thought long and hard about how and when to introduce Ron and Hermione to shadow magic – it had never been a question of ‘if.’ After much deliberation, he decided the best thing to do would be to tell them in person, and to summon some small, non-threatening monster to amaze them, rather than scare them.

“Here, just watch. I’ll show you what shadow magic is about,” Harry asserted, drawing a card from his deck and holding it at the ready. He waited for their wary, assenting nods before pressing his will into the hungry, invisible shadows that surrounded the card, and with a sudden swirl of dark colored air, An Owl of Luck appeared, flapping around the room before settling its considerable mass on Harry’s shoulder.

“Hello, there. Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it,” he murmured to the large blue bird, taking in the faint glow that suffused it and admiring the golden crown that rested above its eyes. It hooted back agreeably, and together they turned to regard a flabbergasted Ron and Hermione. He wondered what they would have done if he’d summoned something with a form less familiar and benign than an owl, like the Hazy Flame Sphinx or the Curtain of the Dark Ones.

“Harry, that’s…” Dear Merlin, Hermione’s speechless. Wonder if there’s a blue moon tonight?

“This is one of things you can do with shadow magic, summoning monsters like this one from the Shadow Realm to help you out. People mostly use them for mock battles, I reckon, or to help out with stuff they can’t manage on their own, but sometimes people can use them to commit crimes. The shadow mages I met and work with are sort of in a position of authority, and handle issues of other shadow users misusing this type of magic.”

“Harry, mate, I really don’t like how you call it ‘shadow magic.’ That sounds like the kind of thing I’m supposed to put in an emergency memo to Kingsley,” he said weakly, eyeing An Owl of Luck warily. Harry sighed and dismissed the monster back to the Shadow Realm, a little put out that they weren’t immediately awed.

“I know, I was really wary when I first found out about it. Especially since it’s, um. Don’t freak out, but it’s a kind of soul magic. Wait, just let me finish, alright?” he said, when Ron blanched and Hermione paled alarmingly, both looking ready to interrupt.

“So, I’m sort of an authority on soul magic, right? Well, they convinced me to try it, sort of, and since then I’ve been keeping a journal, you know, to keep track of my mental state and stuff, to see if there’s any drastic changes like the ones associated with malicious soul magic. There hasn’t been, except that I don’t think crowds bother me as much as they used to, but I think that probably has a lot to do with being someplace where no one recognizes me. I’ve been really careful, I promise.”

Harry directed this last part towards Hermione. She was silent for a while, brow furrowed thoughtfully as she tried to find her words

“I trust that you think you’ve been careful, Harry, but I’d like to see that journal, if you don’t mind.” Harry grinned.

“Way ahead of you,” he said, drawing the book out of his inner robe and handing it over to her. “I’ve got written in there a bit about what I did every day, some general thoughts and opinions, and what my mood was like. There’s about a couple weeks where I didn’t write anything, though, because I was Apparating nonstop across Asia and Europe.”

“What.” Ron, this time, looking agitated. “Harry, it sounds like an awful lot has happened these last few months when you were supposed to resting up. Stuff you haven’t told us about,” he finished accusingly, Hermione nodding along in disgruntled agreement. Harry sighed.

“Yeah, a lot has happened, but I didn’t think it was the sort of thing to talk about in a letter, so I wanted to wait. I’m ready to tell you now, though.”

And tell them he did. He explained fully about meeting the shadow mages and learning about Duel Monsters, then being attacked in the game shop, learning about shadow magic, summoning for the first time, interrogating the Death Eater, and chasing him halfway across the world with Bakura beside him. He ignored Hermione’s disapproving clucks at the use of that mind-altering tracking spell, and told them about learning that someone was after the Elder Wand. Hermione’s clucks cut off sharply, as her face paled. Ron’s face was similarly pinched with worry. Harry struggled to include every detail he could remember in his explanation, although he neglected to include much personal information about the shadow mages themselves.

Harry could tell by the end of his explanation that they were disgruntled and hurt that he’d kept so much from them, and they were far from convinced that shadow magic or its users were totally safe, but they were willing to hear him out and trust him, and Harry’s heart swelled with affection and pride for the reasonable adults they’d become.

“Harry, could you describe the ring of discoloration again? That you found in the Poland house,” Hermione said, a contemplative frown furrowing her brow.

“Erm. There really wasn’t much to it. Only a couple shades off the color of the tile, about the same diameter as a Quaffle. Thin, though, like a rope,” he replied as he tried to recall the long-shot evidence. Across from him, Hermione’s frown deepened. She sat completely still for a moment, before suddenly launching herself from her seat and fleeing into a back room. Harry watched, surprised that he was surprised, while Ron looked on with a wistful little half smirk.

“Been a while since I’ve seen her get so excited about something,” he murmured.

“Yeah, this kind of thing, mysteries and whatnot, it’s really good for her. Makes you wonder if she only stuck around us for the adventure,” Harry joked.

“Please, she obviously stayed for my dashing good looks,” Ron said lightheartedly, puffing out his chest comically.

Within moments, Hermione was scampering back down the hallway with several old rolls of parchment. She gruffly swept the papers and cups on the coffee table off to the side and spread out the parchment, revealing what appeared to be notes from their Hogwarts days.

“Normally, I wouldn’t think anything of a mark like that, but you mentioned that the house was empty, despite not hearing the sound of Disapparation, right?” She didn’t wait for his agreement before barreling on. “Well, in that context, that pattern is actually quite distinct. I’ve not studied the phenomenon since Ancient Runes back in school, that’s why it took me so long to recognize it!

“Now, I’ve never actually done it myself, but Professor Babbling once detailed a particular chain-link sequence of Proto-Sinaitic inscriptions and Younger Furthark runes that will muffle the sound of Apparition when applied properly. It’s common fare among Rune Masters around the world, one of several marks of pride, really. You’re not quite prominent unless you can properly use that sequence to Apparate silently. The only evidence is the mark of the runes tattooed on the skin, and a faint ring left behind on the ground.”

She finished with a satisfied curl of her lips, back straight and smug. Harry grinned, completely unsurprised by her brilliance.

“So what we need is a list of rune masters, right? How many of them can there be?” Ron asked.

“Wait – can we even assume that this person will be on the list, or recognized as a rune master? Whoever it is seems pretty good at the whole subversive thing, maybe they’re self-taught and unregistered, like Rita Skeeter,” Harry mused.

“That’s pretty unlikely, Harry. Rune mastery is just like other kinds of masteries – potions, charms, healing magic… It’s the sort of thing people put a lot of effort into, and make a career out of. I think our rune master is unique in trying to branch out from that,” Hermione responded.

“Of course, we’re also assuming that there’s only one culprit, instead of several.”

“Mm, that’s true. Well, we know that the mastermind is willing to work with, or at least hire, lackies, so it’s equally plausible that there’s more than one mastermind.”

“I dunno. The fact that this person killed Leather Jacket says that they’re not really a team player, you know?”

“Well, the fact that they were able to find Death Eaters in the first place says, otherwise, Harry.”

“Yeah, right? Runie was able to track down several Death Eaters in hiding, something the entire Auror department has mostly given up on at this point. A person like that’s gotta have trustworthy connections. Or, well, as trustworthy as Death Eaters and dark wizards get, anyway.”

Harry and Hermione didn’t respond for a long moment, just staring at Ron disbelievingly. “Runie?” they said in tandem. Ron puffed up defensively.

“Well, yeah, we can’t exactly keep saying ‘this person,’ ‘that person,’ ‘the rune master,’ and so on, right? Needs a nickname. But you’re missing the point, Runie was either a Death Eater sympathizer during the war, or has connections who were sympathizers. Which means that there might be co-conspirators to worry about, but that’ll also help narrow the list down, right?”

“Well, yes, but anyone with those sorts of connections or tendencies isn’t exactly going to flaunt them, now are they? Especially in this political climate,” Hermione retorted.

“Well then how did Runie convince them to attack Harry in the first place, if they weren’t already familiar?” Ron asserted.

“I don’t think, er, Runie, would have had a difficult time convincing them to attack Harry – whether by promising revenge or threatening to turn them in, it probably would have seemed relatively safe for them to gang up on Harry, alone and in a small, foreign, muggle shop,” Hermione reasoned. Harry shook his head.

“I don’t know, guys. It’d make it easier, but I don’t think we can really assume that Runie has legitimate Death Eater connections. I mean, don’t you think Voldemort would have used a rune master in the last war if there was one sympathetic to him?”

“But the Elder Wand–“

“That’s another thing. I can’t imagine Voldemort would have been cavalier with that information, even with his followers, which means that Runie’s smart enough to figure it out on his own. Which means that he’s smart enough to find Death Eaters if he wants, even without having known them previously,” Harry said, glaring into his cup of spiked tea. It was getting far too empty for his tastes.

“That’s…kind of a huge leap, Harry, assuming that Runie found out about the wand on his own,” Ron said, standing and moving into the kitchen to grab the bottle of firewhiskey, sans tea. Bless him.

“D’you think you could have figured it out, Hermione? If you were studying the Elder Wand, and didn’t know me or much about the war, could you have traced it to me?"

Hermione frowned, accepting a shot of Ogden’s. “I don’t know, Harry. I’ve not studied the path of ownership of the wand or looked into any rumors about it, so I don’t know how much information is available. It’s possible, I suppose, but it seems like Runie would have had to make a few serious leaps in conjecture to reach that conclusion. How would he have known that Grindelwald stole the wand from Gregorovitch, for example?”

“If he had Death Eater connections, he could have learned where Voldemort went when he flew abroad during the war. It’s kind of shoddy, but…” Ron shrugged. Hermione shook her head.

“It’s no use debating it now. It seems we’ve got too many unknowns to make an accurate assessment, for the moment. I’ll look into all currently living rune masters, see if I can’t make up a workable list, and we can go from there. Now then, Harry, did you hear about that incident in Kent with the rabid pixie…”

Chapter Text

Harry was awoken the next morning by the smell of bacon frying. He was confused momentarily, before remembering that he was in Grimmauld Place for the next couple of days, and Kreacher would be making breakfast. He didn’t bother to stifle his grin at the thought of the pampering he was in for. Throwing on a dressing robe and slippers, he eagerly made his way down the stairs to greet the old elf.

“Morning, Kreacher,” he said brightly, normal morning grogginess dissipated in the face of bacon.

“Good morning, Master Harry!” he croaked, breaking off his cheerful whistling. “Would Master like two eggs, or three?”

“Load me up, if you don’t mind. If you haven’t eaten yet, put on a couple more eggs for your self,” Harry said. As much as Kreacher badgered Harry about not eating, he knew the elf was equally likely to forgo a meal in favor of preparing something for Harry. The elf grumbled a bit to hide his suddenly more watery eyes, but complied.

As Harry sat enjoying his savory breakfast, he heard a crisp knocking on the window and turned to see a regal-looking barred owl waiting on the other side of the glass. Harry crossed the kitchen to let it in, untying the elaborate silk ribbon from its leg. The thick, creamy parchment was sealed with the mark of the British Ministry of Magic.

Dear Mr. Harry J. Potter,

As you may or may not be aware, England’s own National Quidditch Team has earned a place in this year’s illustrious Quidditch World Cup, to be held in three (3) months’ time in Zurich, Switzerland on the Fourteenth (14^th) of August, against the Luxembourgian National Quidditch Team. Our great Nation would be honoured to have you helm the entrance of our star players into the Coliseum on this date. If you are amenable, please enclose a list of dates you are available for practice sessions. If not, then we hope to see you there! Regardless of your decision, please enjoy these four (4) complimentary tickets for seats in the Ministers’ Box.

Yours most sincerely,

Ackley J Morrard

Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports

British Ministry of Magic

Harry sat down, stunned. He re-read the letter twice more to check that he was truly comprehending what was written.

Ptolemy’s tainted tea towel, Harry thought, utterly flabbergasted. They want me to be their bloody mascot! Despite his severe distaste for being objectified, Harry couldn’t deny the tremendous allure of the thought of being able to fly with the national team at the Quidditch World Cup. If not for the tremendous crowd of people sure to be there… Maybe if I take a few shots of Ogden’s before I fly out, the sight of the crowd won’t send me into palpitations. Harry sighed, conflicted. He would definitely be in the stands at the very least, probably under the Invisibility Cloak if Kingsley would let him get away with it.

That only left the dilemma of whom to invite along. Ron and Hermione, of course, but the last one... He wondered if Teddy would need a ticket, being a toddler, and if not, then he could hand the ticket off to Andromeda. Or maybe one of the other Weasleys, or even Luna or Neville. For a guy with so few real friends, Harry was having a terribly difficult time trying to choose amongst them all.

Harry was shaken from his thoughts by a second owl swooping excitedly through the still-open window. It circled hyperactively over the head of the elegant Ministry owl – making it ruffle its feathers in a distinctly disgruntled manner – before settling half on the edge of Harry’s plate.

“’Lo, Pig,” he greeted Ron Weasley’s excitable little messenger. He expertly ignored its fidgeting as he pulled the letter off its leg.

Hey Harry, the letter read,

You’ll never believe it! I’ve just won free tickets to the World Cup! A bunch of Ministry workers have been getting them for the past week or so, seeing as we’ve made it all the way to the finals this year. It was supposed to be a lottery deal, but Mione reckons it was rigged since it seems like most of the people who’ve gotten them were blatantly on the Light side during the war. She’s all up in arms, of course, over the ‘corruption,’ but as far as I’m concerned the Ministry can be as corrupt as it wants if this is the way they bribe people. I’m sure you’ve gotten tickets too, being Harry Potter and all. If you’ve got extras don’t worry about using them on us or the rest of my family, we’re all set. You should invite some of those mage friends you’ve made over in Japan!

Harry snorted. Ron hadn’t even taken the time to sign it, and there were little drops of ink liberally splattering the parchment. Harry was willing to bet he’d had the letter in the air before Hermione had even finished reading the invitation. But, that helped solve his dilemma, at least, and took quite a few people out of the running to be his guests. He wondered if Bakura and Ryou might be interested.

Passing his plate back to Kreacher to wash with a grateful grin, he cast a Tempus charm and made his way back upstairs to get ready for the day. His good cheer faded a bit as he thought about the morose ceremony he would be attending later on.

At noon was the private ceremony for those who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, who had been students at the time, or who had lost family and friends in the conflict. It was held at the battle’s monument on the side of the Black Lake opposite to Hogwarts, a great white marble tablet that listed the names of the deceased as well as the inscription The triumph over evil is never without sacrifice. In honor of those lives lost on the Second of May, 1998.

It was tasteful and understated and did not mention him, which Harry appreciated immensely. He didn’t have any right to be held in higher esteem than those who had died – permanently – for the cause. McGonagall had apparently agreed with him, choosing instead to emphasize the loss, rather than the victory.

After that intensely personal ceremony would be the Ministry-sponsored event, which was open to the entire public and foreign officials, and which Harry would absolutely not be attending, no matter how Kingsley wheedled at him. He’d gone for the first memorial ceremony, before his anxiety had kicked in, and it had been hellish and shallow even then.

Harry sighed as he stepped into the musty room he had claimed as his own, moving over to the wardrobe to don a set of rather severe black dress robes. He tightened the collar around his neck, glanced once in the mirror to make sure he was buttoned up correctly, and pointedly ignoring the mirror’s comment, “It doesn’t matter how neat your clothes are, dear, if your hair looks as though you’ve just finished fornicating.”

Harry stepped up to the Floo in the sitting room beside the kitchen, waving goodbye to Kreacher, and tossed a handful of powder into the roaring flames, turning them bright emerald green. “The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmead!” he called, and disappeared in a swirl of ash and Avada Kedavra green.

He stumbled out, coughing out bits of soot and tripping over the threshold. It was only Madame Rosmerta’s not inconsiderable experience with drunken, stumbling oafs that allowed her to deftly avoid a collision. She tossed him a nod and a Butterbeer as she regained her footing, and continued on her rounds as though nothing had happened.

Harry sipped on the chilled drink as he walked down the main road and up towards Hogwarts Castle. There were several other people walking in the same direction with the same determined stride as Harry, all intent on reaching the memorial grounds. Far up ahead Harry could make out Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, and he vaguely recognized a couple Hufflepuffs who had been in the year below him.

There was a bit of a crowd gathered around the gate to the grounds, where Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn were stationed at the heads of four lines, manually checking each guest entering with the help of a small unit of Aurors. Harry had just settled into line to wait when Slughorn caught sight of him.

“Harry! Great to see you, just great! Here, now, come up and we’ll get you checked in straight away!” he called boisterously. McGonagall gave the Slytherin Head the stink eye, and Harry flinched when the entire crowd turned to stare, then summarily parted for him. He flushed and stepped up. He knew from experience that there was no use trying to sink into the background now – no one would move forward until he did.

“Good day, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said primly, watching him from over the tops of her spectacles, lips pinched with displeasure over the unnecessary commotion.

“Hi, Professors,” he said quietly, trying to ignore how the small crowd leaned forward as one to try to hear him. McGonagall passed her wand over him, as did an Auror he vaguely recognized but whose name he could not remember. They both nodded and stepped to the side to let Harry pass, and as he did Slughorn gave him a slap on the back the nearly sent him careening into Flitwick. The small man squeaked and stumbled out of the way, and Harry barely caught himself. He glanced back to see McGonagall give a sheepish-looking Slughorn a poisonous glare while Sprout steadied Flitwick.

“Er. Good to see you too, Professor,” Harry said weakly to Slughorn. The man smiled back, his smile slightly less broad and bright, but somewhat more genuine than before. McGonagall, too, took the opportunity to place a strong, bony hand on his shoulder and give him a thin smile.

Harry moved deeper into the Hogwarts grounds, strolling over to the far side of the Black Lake towards the much larger group of people gathered around the great white marble slab. Not entirely willing to immerse himself within the crowd, he found a tree on the edge of the lake to settle against and people-watch.

He saw Luna, who seemed to have attached herself as an unwitting third wheel to Neville and Hannah Abbott. His eyes tracked them as they walked, then skittered to the side to watch Cho Chang, holding hands with a man he didn’t know, murmur quietly to a group of Ravenclaws from Harry’s year. Behind them, Hagrid stood towering like a monolith, talking with Charlie Weasley and Hestia Jones. From the direction of the castle, a group of several dozen students – a combined mass of years and houses, even Slytherin – were ambling across the grass towards the memorial.

A glimpse of glowing silver flickered in the corner of his eye, overtaking the shadows that lived there, and Harry turned to see Fleur, Victoire and Bill approaching.

“Bill, Fleur. And Victoire, happy birthday,” he tried to smile at the young girl, but judging from the grave looks on her parents’ faces, he hadn’t succeeded.

“I put some flowers on Dobby’s grave this morning,” Bill said without preamble. Harry’s throat tightened, and he gave the tall man a sharp nod.

“Thanks, Bill. He- he would have cried, probably. He tended to do that.”

“I put out a fresh pair of socks, too,” Fleur murmured, bouncing Victoire when she fussed a bit. Harry’s eyes burned.

“Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stop by, later today maybe?”

“Of course, ‘Arry. You are always welcome with us.” She swooped down to plant a kiss on his cheek and Bill clapped him firmly on the shoulder, before they moved on to the other side of the lawn where Molly and Arthur had just arrived. He watched them go, contemplating whether or not he wanted to join the family quite yet. His decision was made for him.

“Hello, Harry,” Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt said from behind him. Despite speaking quietly, his deep voice resonated, and several witches and wizards around them turned to look.

“Afternoon, Minister,” he replied bleakly. Normally, he was on quite good terms with Kingsley, and he would have liked a nice chat with the man after so long without seeing him, but this occasion made him edgy – both for the memories, and for the crowd that was steadily growing larger. The man offered him a grim nod, understanding without words Harry’s dark mood.

“For some reason, I always expect it rain on this day,” he murmured, staring up at the clear blue sky, then closing his eyes against the faint, sweet-smelling breeze that rolled across the grass. “But it hasn’t yet. Nature seems to want us to see the hope in this day.”

“But it’s not that easy to see past the loss,” Harry finished tightly. The sight of the sun made him angry, shining so brightly down on the survivors and family of the deceased. It seemed disrespectful, somehow.

“Hmm,” Kingsley agreed. “Your new position seems to agree with you. You’re less tense.”

Harry cast his eyes in Shacklebolt’s direction, wondering if there was an implication hidden there somewhere, as was often the case with the clever man, but it seemed he was just making a simple observation this time. “Yeah, I like it. Good location, good company. But you know I’ll come back if you need me.”

Kingsley sighed. “Yes, I do. I just wish some of my other department heads knew that, too. They’re getting rather agitated by your absence.” Harry frowned.

“Er, is there some problem, or…?” The Minister waved him off.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, I’m sorry I brought it up. Just a bunch of old people stuck in their ways and wanting their symbol back. I’m looking forward to your generation growing up a bit more, I have a feeling the new Ministry will be much improved by their presence.”

“Hermione’s already on a revolutionary warpath, down in DRMC.”

“I’m not quite sure the world will ever be ready for that witch. And I’m not quite sure the stacks of paperwork in my Aurors’ offices will ever be ready for Auror Longbottom,” he finished humorously. Harry couldn’t help the chuff of laughter that escaped him, grateful for the attempt at humor, but did not offer further response. They stood in silence for a moment longer before the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation called the Minister over for an update, leaving Harry on his own. He contemplated moving over to the bulk of the crowd, where the gathering of Weasleys had swelled, but decided to meet with them later.

He drifted closer to the Forbidden Forest, eventually stopping just on the outskirts. He couldn’t quite bring himself to step inside. Instead, he plopped down against a tree, the bark rough and dragging at his skin through the cloth of his robe. It was grounding, though, and Harry appreciated the way the physical sensation distracted his mind.

And then there was something else to distract his mind, as he heard clopping footsteps approaching from within the dark embrace of the trees. Harry watched as a golden head and palomino body emerged at the treeline. Firenze did not step out onto the grass, but stopped beside him and cocked one of his legs into a relaxed position.

“Well met, Harry Potter,” he murmured, staring down at the wizard with intensely blue eyes.

“’Lo, Prof- Erm. Firenze. How’s the herd?”

“As well as can be expected. As well as ever. But it is not the centaurs who should occupy your thoughts, Harry. You have concerns of your own to attend to. But the Seven Sisters have been unusually bright these last few months night, so take comfort in the assistance you will receive.” Well. That was rather more straightforward than Harry would have expected of a centaur. Any other would have only said ‘The Sisters gleamed last night’ or some such and left it at that. Humans had rubbed off on Firenze, seemed like.

“Yeah, I suppose. Thanks for the advice.” The blond centaur nodded as amiably as was possible for the typically dour race and settled back, content to let the conversation flow into companionable silence as they looked out over the crowd.

Isolating themselves on the outskirts was a woman with Lavender Brown’s eyes and a man with her chin. They were silent and still and pale, staring over the heads of the crowd at a single spot on the great memorial tablet. Harry gulped and averted his eyes, feeling that he was intruding on something terrible and private, even from his place on the other side of the lawn.

Unfortunately, averting his eyes brought his gaze to another horrible scene. There was Dennis Creevey, short and scrawny as ever, sniffling quietly in between his equally overcome parents, both of whom looked very out of place in their muggle suits. Harry shuddered and stared down and the ground, bringing up his knees to rest his arms across them, and then his forehead against those. He’d had quite enough people watching, now.

Harry glanced up, some time later, as he heard a tinkling, bell-like sound echo around and looked to see a shower of silver sparks erupting over the monument, calling the guests over for the ceremony to begin. Harry stood, brushed off his robe, and extended his hand to Firenze. The centaur met him with a firm grip and a grave nod, and disappeared back into the dense forest. Harry made his way over to the array of chairs set up before the podium in front of the marble tablet and slipped in between Hermione and Percy. Up front, Kingsley stepped onto the podium and began to speak, his deep, slow voice echoing across the deathly still lawn.

“Survivors, friends, family. We are gathered here to today to honor and mourn…”

Immediately after the ceremony, Harry found himself enveloped in Molly’s warm hug and Side-Alonged to the Burrow, where they all sat and talked and cried about Fred and Remus and Tonks and Moody and Emmeline Vance. Hours later, Harry hitched a Floo with Bill and Fleur back to Shell Cottage to pay a quick stop, that actually turned into an hour long vigil, at Dobby’s grave, and finally stumbled out of the Floo into Andromeda’s kitchen.

“Sitting room, Harry!” the witch called from the next room over. Harry stepped in and was promptly knocked back by the projectile of hyperactive energy that was his godson.

“All those cookies at Molly’s, of course,” Andromeda sniffed, secretly gone gooey inside over Teddy’s trilling giggles as Harry hefted him into the air.

“Of course,” Harry grinned back, his dour mood lifting in the presence of the happy child.

“He’s missed you so much, Harry. Are you sure you can’t stay longer?”

“I don’t think I should, I’ve missed a lot of work lately. But you’ll be visiting later in the month, right? And I’ll be sure to come over here more often,” he responded.

“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for.”

“Oh! But I can guarantee you’ll be seeing me again in three months at the latest. The Quidditch World Cup is on this year, and I’ve just got some tickets-“

Andromeda shook her head, and Harry couldn’t help but notice the way the new strands of gray danced and mixed with the lustrous black, so very much like her psychopathic sister’s.

“No, we’ve already got tickets. The direct family members of those who’ve earned an Order of Merlin, First Class were given them. And, well, Remus, you know,” she said. And he did know. Remus was the first werewolf in history to have earned an Order of Merlin, let alone a First Class, and there had been a swell of opposition to the award based on his classification as a half-breed, especially after the way so many werewolves had sided with Voldemort after the war. Harry had taken advantage of his fame and status to give an interview with the Daily Prophet, casting his full support behind the award. Opposition had died almost instantly.

“Well, anyway, now that you’re finally here, you can help me put Teddy to bed.”

“Wha- but I just got here! I wanted to play with him a bit…” Harry said despondently, before lightening up again as he tickled Teddy’s belly. The little boy giggled and slapped at his fingers.

“No, he needs to keep to his routine, you can play in the morning,” Andromeda said firmly, eyes narrowing at him the same way he’d seen Molly’s eyes narrow at Sirius whenever the man had suggested something reckless. And knowing how well those confrontations had ended, Harry decided discretion was the better part of valor and toted the struggling toddler up to his aqua-colored bedroom.

Some time later, having finally convinced Teddy that it was, in fact, bedtime, Harry returned downstairs to keep Andromeda company for the rest of the evening. He sat himself at the kitchen counter, chin resting on his palm, watching the woman as she kneaded a great pile of dough – with her hands.

“Not sure if you’ve forgotten, Andromeda, but there’s this thing us magical folk have. Called magic?” he said with a sarcastic grin.

“I’m not sure if you recall, Harry, but there’s this thing us women have. Called work ethic,” she shot back imperiously, nose high in the air. Then her shoulders seemed to sag a bit from their normally strong, stiff posture, and she spoke again, the cadence of her words resonating with quiet grief. “…I’ve started doing a lot of things with my hands, now. The novelty of it keeps my mind busy. Keeps me from thinking too much.”

Harry grimaced. He started to open his mouth to offer some words of solace, but he could think of nothing to say. He’d never been good at comforting people – Ginny could attest most ardently to that – and anyway, his words would have rung hollow; he hadn’t lost half as much as she had during the war. He was unable to comprehend the anguish of losing a child or a partner, let alone both within a few months of each other. Andromeda didn’t give him the chance to try at comfort, anyway.

“Oh, listen to me, acting as though I don’t have quite enough on my hands with Teddy running about,” she said, voice back to normal, prideful poise regained. “Especially now that he’s got that toy broom. He’s been quite insistent about riding it everywhere we go.” Harry detected a hint of reproach in her tone.

“You’re never too young to be struck by Quidditch Fever,” Harry snickered.

“You say that now, but I’ll know just who to blame when his legs become atrophied from disuse,” she sniffed.

“Who needs legs, anyway? Just a load of deadweight in the air. Could probably fly quite a bit faster without them,” he said in a mock-contemplative tone, thoughtfully stroking at an imaginary beard. He grinned unrepentantly when she tossed a scowl at him.

“Well, you’ve certainly got the right mind-set to pick the perfect gift for a toddler. Proper mental age, and all that,” she said coolly. “But speaking of gifts, Harry, what on earth were you doing in Poland of all places?” Andromeda asked, shooting a brief glance at him over her shoulder.

His previous good humor fled as a spike of cold, icy dread shot down Harry’s spine. “What?” he asked cautiously. “How did you know I was in Poland?

His tone must have alarmed her in some way, as she dropped the dough and turned to regard him fully. “The shirt, Harry, dear. You sent Teddy a shirt that had ‘I Love Lublin’ written on it in Polish.”

“No. I didn’t.”

Chapter Text

Harry fiercely examined the short, terse note wishing Andromeda and Teddy well. His own handwriting, his own signature. Similar word choice and grammar. Shoddily wrapped package delivered by a small female Merlin falcon. Harry would have thought it from himself, too. Except that it wasn’t.

Nothing had ever prepared Harry for the unmitigated terror gripping his heart. Not the war, or the Basilisk, or werewolf-Remus, or facing Voldemort time and again. Even walking to his own death paled in comparison.

The fear was drowning him, choking him, filling his lungs and bubbling up out of the center of his being and spilling out across the floor and into the air around him. It was roiling in his belly, noxious and debilitating. And as it ate at him, it grew and billowed and then it mutated, and became something terrible. Rage as Harry had never known suffused him entirely, black and choking and caustic, mimicking the turbulent shadows that flickered across his vision. This wretched, lowly, fetid scum was threatening his godson. And Harry would not stand for it. He would find them, hunt them down, rend them limb from limb, he would-

“Harry, please. Say something,” Andromeda begged, the terror in her voice slicing through the cloud of his rage, diamond-sharp and clear. She held herself stiffly, her shoulders set, even as her voice and lips trembled. Harry had to take several deep, slow breaths before he was able to think and speak clearly.

“I want you to take Teddy and move into Grimmauld Place. As long as I’m alive, no one can enter without my express permission. You’ll be safe there.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you, we’ll move right in. Will you help pack?”

“Of course, just let me send a letter off to Ron.” He could rely on Ron and Hermione to put out the word that all of Harry’s friends could be in danger now, while Harry was busy securing Teddy and Andromeda.

Between two fully trained wizards, it took less than four hours to pack up and transfer all of their essentials, valuables, and a good amount of comfort items, too – albeit with nothing in the way of organization. As they worked, Harry told Andromeda about the attack in the game shop and the chase across Europe, ending in Poland, only leaving out details of the Elder Wand. Andromeda, unfortunately, was unable to provide any leads. The entirety of her displeasure was conveyed with a pair of white lips, pressed thin with severity. She was rather like McGonagall in that respect.

They finished it all with Teddy still remaining asleep, which Harry was rather proud of, until he learned that Kreacher had cast a silencing ward around the toddler’s room while he kept guard.

“Well, that’s done,” Harry murmured, standing in the Ancestral Black kitchen and bouncing a sleepy and fussy Teddy on his hip.

“Thank you for helping, dear,” Andromeda said tiredly as she sipped at a cup of tea. Harry shook his head.

“No, this was my problem, and you two got involved. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have helped if it wasn’t my problem, I just, um–“ Andromeda chuckled softly, interrupting him.

“I know, Harry.”

They were quiet for a long time, just sitting, listening to the first birds of the morning wake and begin to sing. It felt too normal. The tranquility was surreal, and the dissonance of it compared to the earlier panic was stark and disquieting. Harry could not tramp down on a shiver, and clutched Teddy closer to himself. The sleeping toddler was like a furnace.

Ron and Hermione stepped through the Floo shortly after dawn, faces drawn and grim.

“Mum’s sent over biscuits,” Ron grunted, dropping the basket on the table. It was promptly forgotten as Harry ushered the pair into a dusty, unused lounge upstairs, where he’d quarantined the package Teddy had received, while Andromeda took the toddler to his room.

Together, they crouched over the shirt and letter, muttering obscure counter-curses and detection spells under their collective breath.

“I’m not even finding physical evidence of sender even having touched it,” Harry muttered hours later, performing a tricky little three-quarter twist with his wand to cast a Droman’s Indicator charm on the toddler-sized blue t-shirt.

“Nothing here, mate,” Ron agreed, watching the pale pink glow from his Anti-Anchor Alarm fade from the letter. “’Mione?”

The witch gave a short grunt of acknowledgement, not even bothering to glance up from the dusty tome she’d buried her nose in. Harry squinted at the title – half the letters had worn away with time, but the remaining words had rather too many ‘e’s tacked on the ends for it to have been written in the last several centuries. He decided to leave her to it.

“Here, Kreacher’s made breakfast,” Andromeda announced as she stepped into the room with several plates of steaming food levitating in front of her. “And he’s watching Teddy now. Have you found anything?”

Hermione grunted out a negative, still ensconced in her book, and Harry shook his head defeatedly. Beside him, Ron let out a beleaguered moan.

“Pretty sure we’ve tried every spell we’ve got, by now. Twice,” he said. “I’d offer to take it back to the Ministry analysts, but I don’t think they’d be as thorough as we’ve been, and they’d take a full week to do it.”

“Don’t bother,” Hermione said, finally putting down the massive tome to dig a fork into a pile of scrambled eggs. “We’ve exhausted every possibility I know of,” she finished grudgingly.

“So it’s not dangerous?” Andromeda asked hopefully, the lines of tension in her shoulders relaxing as she slumped, relieved, into a dusty green armchair.

“Well, not as such. Of course, it’s dangerous that someone sent it in the first place, but as far as we can tell, it’s only meant to scare us.”

“Effective, that,” Ron said around a mouthful of egg-and-bacon sandwich.

“How much have you–“

“Oh!” Andromeda exclaimed, straightening again. “Teddy’s awake, I’ll see you in a bit…” she murmured, striding out of the room, an alarm spell having made her aware of the toddler whining in the other room. Harry nodded and waved.

“How much have you told the rest of the family?” he continued.

“Well, only as much as we knew at the time,” Hermione said. “Just that an enemy of yours sent a threatening package to Teddy, and that they should be careful from now on. Maybe put up some additional wards, and have the postal service screen their mail.”

“I sent a report to the Ministry too, Harry, hope you don’t mind. Just that someone threatened your godson,” Ron added.

“That’s fine, I was going to let Kingsley know anyway,” he shrugged, knocking back the dregs of his pumpkin juice.

“Everyone’s going to expect an explanation for these precautions, Harry. We told them we’d let them know once we learned more, but, well, we haven’t learned much more. How much do you want to tell them?”

“Nothing about the Wand, of course,” Harry said quietly, glancing back at the door to make sure Andromeda hadn’t returned yet. “But I’ll have to let them know that someone is after me, won’t I? It should be fine if we just say that I was attacked by some remnant Death Eaters, let them make whatever assumptions they want about that.”

Ron and Hermione agreed solemnly. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if they ever felt resentful at having to keep his secrets from their friends and family. He wasn’t brave enough to ask.

He threw the shirt into the fireplace, and together, silently, they watched it burn.

The pair left shortly after that, promising to pass on the details of the threat to the rest of the family, and Harry spent the next few hours with Andromeda and Teddy, helping them settle into the house and playing with his godson. When it came time to leave, Harry tried to linger, hoping that if he dawdled enough he’d miss his portkey and have an excuse to stay longer, but Andromeda hustled him out the door, seeing through his ploy quite clearly.

“We’ll be fine here, Harry. We’re safe. And we’ll see you again in a couple weeks,” she admonished.

So Harry grumbled a bit, gave Teddy a tremendous hug that had the toddler squirming fussily, and conceded, Apparating into the Magical Departures wing of Heathrow International Airport.

Despite having left London in the afternoon, the time zone difference placed Harry back in Yokohama in the middle of the night. Having brought no luggage, he was free to Apparate directly home after arriving in Japan. He popped into existence in his apartment and immediately froze, breath catching in his lungs.

Someone had been here.

His carefully constructed wards had been expertly dismantled, he realized as he cautiously crept through each room, a wand in each fist, unable to detect the faint tingle of energy dancing across the fine hairs on the back of his neck, or the scent of ozone and charcoal associated with his magic which indicated that his wards were active. He scanned voraciously, combing through every nook and cranny. In his panicked desperation, he barely noticed the shadows that habitually flickered in the corners of his eyes as they solidified and darkened and spread across his vision. But he certainly noticed the effects.

He gasped as the apartment drained of color, yet every detail became starkly visible and sharp and clear in a way that nearly overwhelmed him. He could identify the individual fibers twisted together to form the weaves of his carpet, and the dust motes clinging to the surface of the door down the hall glimmered like specks of sand. But it was not the detail that amazed him so.

Faint lines and blurs of luminescence tracked across the apartment, a procession of cold, silver afterimages of Em and what looked like a spider and two flies imprinted in the air and walls, tracking their way through his apartment in a series of imprints of hours worth of their movements and activities. The thin coating of Deathly Shadow across his eyes had made the very essence of life visible to him, wherever it had existed for some indeterminate time in the past.

Harry stood in awe for a moment, stunned by the development, and overwhelmed by the implications. This is…too bloody much. Dear Merlin, can nothing ever go as planned? What is this, and why now? What triggered it, and how can I stop it and make it start again? He didn’t even want to consider possible consequences.

He rubbed at his eyes a bit, then opened them again and saw that the apartment was still stained in shades of gray and glow. He looked to the windowsill, where Em was regally perched, a vibrant beacon of silver energy. The blobby afterimages trailing behind her and twisting all over the room gradually faded towards the tail of the procession – Harry assumed the amount of fading correlated to how long it had been since she had left the glowing imprint.

His eyes flicked down beside her where, almost hidden by the falcon’s glow, a smaller, fainter trail of light seemed to be drawn in and consumed by some small dark vacuum. Closer inspection showed him a dead fly at the center of the darkness. So life emits light, and death sucks it in? The observation pressed into his mind just before the implications of what he was seeing hit: there was no imprint of another person in his apartment.

He rushed to the front door and ripped it open, but saw only the hours-old glowing reflections of Bakura, Ryou, Malik, and the neighbors across from him traversing the hall and disappearing around the corner towards the elevators. The array of imprints – the way most of them only passed in one direction, either leaving or returning but rarely both – implied that the images only remained for less than a day, which was not particularly helpful in determining a timeframe for his wards’ collapse. Whoever had attacked his apartment had done so shortly after he left, and their imprint had already faded past his apparent ability to detect.

He would have to test this new skill more thoroughly, he thought, once he wasn’t near to panicking. He turned back into his apartment to examine it more closely, now that he could not be sure whether or not someone had actually entered.

But there was nothing more. Not a thing out of place, not an indent in the carpet, not a piece of hair or dead skin that hadn’t been there before – his revealing spells would have noticed. So someone had not, in fact, entered his apartment; they had simply stood out in the hall or perhaps levitated outside his window and removed all of his defenses. But why? What was the point? If they were skilled enough to remove his wards – approved by Bill Weasley! – then they were certainly skilled enough to slip through them and booby-trap his home. But they hadn’t.

It was a warning, then, a scare tactic, just like with the shirt sent to Teddy. Whoever was after him, after the Elder Wand, wanted him to know that nothing of his was safe. Well, they’d certainly left an impression. If it was war they were after, Harry was happy to oblige.

Harry took a deep breath and slumped onto the couch to think, hands clasped against his mouth and eyes burning as the strange shadows melted away and returned his vision to normal. He batted away the distracting physical sensation with the skill of one who’s had to contend with considerably more pain under considerably tenser situations. He easily cordoned off thoughts of this strange new brand of shadow magic until he was at liberty to explore it further, and turned the entirety of his thoughts instead to this newest dilemma.

It barely crossed his mind to consider how the perpetrator had known he would be gone for a few days, allowing them to attack his home without repercussion. It was common sense that Harry would attend the memorial ceremony on May 2^nd, and frankly, Harry would have been a little offended if his attacker hadn’t looked so closely into him as to not know that. He was a little concerned about how they knew where he lived, but he wasn’t particularly surprised about that, either. They knew where he worked, after all, and in a city as busy as Domino, it would be very difficult to notice a tail as he walked back home from the shop one day.

Next, all known movements against him. The carelessness of that first crude attack was sharply at odds with the discreetness of the events in Poland, the threat to Teddy, and the dismantling of his wards. A test, then? Blatant in an attempt to gauge him in some way, though whether for his battle prowess or for his treatment of prisoners or for his reaction to the attack, Harry could not say. Whatever it was, he knew he had likely passed, given the care his opponent was taking now. That care also implied a certain level of innate cautiousness; whoever they were, they were not underestimating him. (He hoped they were not overestimating him).

That cautious wisdom was further evidence of their intelligence. He was still awaiting the results of Hermione’s investigation, but he knew there couldn’t be that many rune masters, as he knew that other masteries took at least a decade of intense study to achieve. The person was obviously resourceful, as well, and had sufficient underworld contacts to have been able to contract a set of hidden Death Eaters, so Harry might have to prepare for more opposition than a single enemy. This wasn’t a recent revelation, however; he’d understood this last point ever since he had, in fact, been attacked by multiple enemies, and had already discussed it with Hermione and Ron.

Then the very fact that ‘Runie’ was pursuing a near-mythical item like the Elder Wand implied an obsessive, ambitious, and power-hungry nature. Killing Leather Jacket added ‘cutthroat’ and possibly ‘desperate’ to the list, based on the level of control behind their actions. He wished he knew why Leather Jacket had been murdered, whether it was to cover the killer’s tracks, or because they had noticed Harry and Bakura’s approach and been forced to make a quick getaway, or simply out of callous disregard for human life. Such reasoning would tell him whether psychopathy or sociopathy were on the menu as well.

But more than anything, this enemy was unafraid of collateral damage; Harry’s friends and family were at risk as well. And on that note, it was far past time to check on his neighbors.

He opened the door to move into the hall when a faint mark caught his attention, something he had not noticed in his earlier distraction. There, on the depth of the door, carved in miniature within the grain of the wood, were thirteen small marks, arranged in three triangular clusters of four, each cluster a corner of a larger triangle surrounding a final mark, the whole arrangement the size of his pinkie nail.

Well-versed in Ancient Runes he was not, but even he could recognize an array of archaic symbols. Further proof, then, that this latest infraction was the work of a rune master, likely the same one who had killed Leather Jacket in Lublin. Hopefully the same one who had been in Lublin – Harry dreaded the thought of having to deal with more than one such formidable adversary.

Harry growled deep in his throat, fury building again at the physical evidence of sabotage, and stormed out into the hallway, stepping to the side and pounding on Ryou and Bakura’s door. Bakura yanked the door open violently a minute later, a ferocious scowl twisting his face, which faded into a grave, intent look upon seeing Harry’s own expression.

“Are you two okay?” Harry demanded unceremoniously. Bakura frowned in confusion.

“What–? Nothing’s happened, no,” he responded. He started to ask more, but Harry cut him off, pushing into the apartment and sparing a terse nod for Ryou, who had just stumbled out of his bedroom, confused and owl-eyed.

“Someone dismantled all of my protective wards. Nothing was touched or taken or left behind. It was just a warning. You didn’t notice anything?” They both shook their heads in the negative. “Damn. Well, I have news anyway. D’you mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing sharply, agitatedly, at the sofa. Ryou bit his lip and nodded, moving into the kitchen to make tea. Bakura dropped down beside Harry, shirtless and with his arms splayed across the back of the sofa, but Harry was too distracted to appreciate the view.

“Your English friends had something to offer?” Bakura asked. Harry nodded, accepting a mug from Ryou and telling them everything that had happened in the last few days, from Hermione’s brilliance to the horrible scare with Teddy to coming home and finding his apartment rendered unsafe. He neglected to mention the way the wisps of darkness had spread over his eyes and showed him the glowing imprints of life, instead implying that a spell had offered him the same insight.

“It seems as though we’re dealing with someone who has put a lot of effort into studying you and any weaknesses,” Ryou murmured, eyes downcast and looking disturbed. Harry just nodded tiredly. The pale-haired man continued. “But that doesn’t explain the attack in the shop. It just seems so crude, compared to what else they’ve done…”

“Yeah, I’ve already thought of that,” Harry said tiredly, and told them everything he’d gathered about the perpetrator’s personality, which was far less than he was used to working with – there were just too many unknowns. “There’s not much more I can infer until I get more information."

Ryou frowned. “If the attack was a test, then don’t you think they could have been watching? They might know about monsters and shadow magic now. It’s not exactly classified, but for someone so dangerous to learn about it seems…”

“No,” Bakura said shortly. “If they were watching, there would have been no reason for that fool to run back to Poland to report.”

Harry nodded. “Right. That’s one less thing to worry about, at least.” Only about a hundred more on the list, now. He dragged a frustrated hand through his hair and slumped back against the couch.

“Shit. Sorry to wake you up over this, ‘s not like there’s anything we can do about it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bakura growled, at the same time as Ryou shook his head.

“No, Harry-san, I’m glad you did. This is important. I’m sorry to hear that your godson has been put in danger, too,” the gentler half said, shooting a brief glare at his counterpart.

“Mm, me too.” He frowned up at the ceiling, a stress headache building in his temples. He pressed his fingers to the spots, and jumped when he felt fingers brush his hair. He jerked his head to stare at Bakura, who was very blatantly not looking at him, or the way his hand was pressed against the back of Harry’s neck, the calloused palm and fingers warm and strong and steady. Harry cleared his throat and shifted to press his shoulder and thigh more closely to Bakura’s.

Across the room, Ryou failed to hide a smile behind his mug. He looked young and boyish and innocent with his doe brown eyes lit up and his cheeks straining to keep his smile contained. Harry couldn’t help feeling his own sheepish grin bubble up in response. “Why don’t you stay here for the night, Harry-san? We can call up a few monsters to keep watch until you get your wards back up.”

“It’s a good idea,” Bakura asserted before Harry could refuse. He grumbled out a token protest, but nodded, and let his grin turn grateful.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he said. Ryou smiled more broadly, coming around to collect his empty mug and to pat him gently on the shoulder.

“It’s no problem. You don’t mind the couch, do you? I’ll get some blankets.”

“It’s fine, Ryou. Go back to bed,” Bakura muttered. Ryou’s friendly grin became the slightest bit predatory, and the similarity between the two not-cousins had never been more blatant.

“As you say, Voice,” he murmured slyly. Bakura scowled and made an impatient shooing motion, and Ryou finally acquiesced, laughing softly as he retreated down the corridor to his bedroom. Harry watched, intrigued by this playful side to the normally soft and reserved young man. It was uncanny.

“Voice?” he inquired, turning back to the other man.

“Old nickname,” Bakura said shortly, stretching a bit and letting his arm fall more completely across Harry’s shoulders. “…You can guess why I sent him away.”

Harry swallowed nervously and thought about responding flirtatiously, but decided he was too tired and stressed for games. “Yeah, I do,” he said, his shoulders tensing a bit, but allowing himself to press more fully into the couch, and against the man beside him. “But. Um. I don’t really think I’m up for another serious conversation, right now. I don’t think I’m up for anything besides sleep, to be honest.”

“Understandable. I merely thought it past time we acknowledged this,” Bakura shrugged, pale eyes darting to all the places their bodies were touching, before moving back up to bore into Harry’s. The man was utterly unembarrassed by the admission of attraction, and Harry found it incredibly refreshing.

“Right, so, um. This is us acknowledging it, I guess? And…promising to talk more about it later?” Harry grinned crookedly, tentatively. Bakura returned the grin, though his was noticeably sharper, and nodded. The arm around Harry’s shoulder tightened and drew him closer to the other man, and Bakura leaned forward to press their foreheads together and to drag his lips over the corner of Harry’s mouth firmly.

Harry sighed into the near kiss, feeling more relieved than anything else, and turned his head to press their mouths more fully together. The tension melted from his body as he leaned against Bakura and breathed him in, breathed in the scent of tea and musk and clean linen. Bakura’s kiss was slow and deep, and it filled him with a warmth that spread from his belly out to his limbs, made him feel comfortable and calm.

The lack of expectation was incredibly soothing. It felt like a kiss from someone with whom he had already been intimate, someone he had kissed a hundred times before, fulfilling and familiar. It didn’t last long, however; Bakura pulled away far too soon with a sharp nip to Harry’s lower lip

“I’ll leave you to sleep, then,” he rasped. He stood and withdrew his arm, letting his fingers comb through Harry’s hair on the way.

Harry silently mourned the loss of warmth as he watched the taller man pull his deck of cards out of his pajama pocket. Harry thought about snickering, but realized he couldn’t really judge, not when he kept a wand under his pillow and another stuffed into the pocket of his own pajama pants when he slept, as well. Bakura shuffled through the deck shortly, before drawing a pair of cards and flicking them almost lazily.

Purplish shadows converged from all corners of the room and swirled together in front of the man, and from their depths stepped an eerie blue female fiend carrying a broken doll, and the same large white monster that Bakura had summoned during their hunt some time ago, which he had since learned was called Diabound.

“Stay here with him. Guard the door, make sure nothing and no one enters,” he ordered Diabound. The monster gave no indication of having heard him, but obligingly relocated to the wall beside the door and faded into invisibility. Harry thought about being uncomfortable with the silent vigil, but decided he was too giddy from Bakura’s kiss for it.

Said man tossed him a blanket and a rakish grin. “Sleep well, wizard,” he called quietly, and promptly disappeared down the hall with Dark Necrofear following behind him. Harry offered the same, and let his goofy grin burst out as soon as the man was out of sight. He fell back onto the couch and pulled the blanket around him, wondering if he would be able to fall asleep tonight with so many turbulent emotions swirling around inside his mind. Terror and rage, panic and frustration, giddiness and guilty arousal, all warring for dominance.

Oh well, he thought exhaustedly. At least everyone’s safe.