*Disclaimer* - Yes, I do admit I am not a multi-millionaire and I do not
own either Yu-Gi-Oh or the Harry Potter series. I do, however, own a
menagerie of CDs that are mostly drenched in some serious angst. And you
wonder why I'm weird.
*LET THIS DISCLAIMER HOLD THROUGHOUT MY ENTIRE STORY*
*****
Yeah yeah, you have seen a great deal of Harry Potter crossovers lately, but I was experiencing ~horrible~ writers block on my other projects, and my recently purchased Massive Attack CD (100th Window) placed me in a melancholy, dark mood.
I can assure you already, this is the beginning of a fic that will be a great contrast from the care-free fanfiction that you see normally around with this genre.
Though only two YGO characters have been introduced yet, Malik, Yugi and assorted Yamis will 'for-sure' make their appearances soon. However, a majority of the plot will be dedicated to Ryou and Bakura, because they are twisted people. And coincidentally, very interesting to me (since we don't really know what Ryou's like; he's possessed most of the time).
Has anyone seen RK? Think Soujiro for a brief moment.
If you would like, I can mold it into a sweet shonen-ai fic, but only at a majority of reader's (if I have any at all) consent. Don't hesitate to comment honestly your opinion; this is as open as a violated book.
Cheers, happy reading my friends. Or . . . not. Not yet, anyway.
*****
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The timer ~*twanged*~ an echoing note throughout the kitchen, an empty kitchen, but he had never seen it otherwise. A sigh followed it, as the boy pulled out the steaming teabag and set it near the sink.
He was a feeble sort of boy.
Most noticeable was his dull hair, silver as the oldest, wisest man, yet softly fluttering without wind and sporting a tenderness that most women envied. His hair was thick; useful for hiding beneath, which he took advantage of often. No one really ~knew~ Ryou Bakura, no one really ~understood~ Ryou Bakura, not that he had tried with great effort for people to understand him, as he was afraid of such an occurrence.
The only one who understood him was his Yami, a possessive split- personality of sorts, and he was lucky to glimpse him out of dreaming those days.
'Friends', or the closest Ryou had to friends, looked on with concern at the rest of his appearance, that sulked with dispassion in various states of malnutrition. His ribcage was easily visible, but he wore sweaters to obscure the rather unpleasant images he saw every time he looked into a mirror.
Mixing a little sugar and cream into the swirly depths of his daily routine, he examined the mix with fascination, just like every other day at tea time.
/Just like every other day./
He didn't notice the misty sensation slightly solidifying on the opposite edge of the table before his Yami hissed, as it was scarcely the only sound he could make in such a low form. Ryou's head snapped up to alertness, and waited for Bakura to continue the purpose of the unexpected conjuration of his form.
Ryou could see through him to the tame phone and dully reflecting countertops that rested somewhere below his chin. His clothing did not match Ryou's own, which was a rare occurrence for his other half, his dark side, and were probably picked up somewhere through his dreaming, and recollection of his own memories. He had been doing that a lot lately, and Ryou wondered what the spirit found so fascinating from the recovered pieces of his past life.
He was worried for his Yami, as a simply dead, sort of mellow spirit seemed to replace the extremely homicidal maniac he knew so well, and cared for despite his obvious hate for all of the pain he experienced. He was becoming more skittish, more reserved somehow, and it was a wonder Ryou wasn't more concerned for his 'other half'.
Shuddering in the impression that Bakura was clearing his throat, yet no sound came, he looked at the Hikari boy across the table from his ghostly form with a meaningful expression. Ryou barely heard the words;
" . . . I found . . . found . . . "
"What did you find?" he questioned softly, warming his chilled fingertips with his cup of tea, whose blessed steam curled upward naturally and caressed his pale face.
For a moment, Bakura did nothing. Then, his form slowly solidified even further, to a recognizable shape, and defined enough that he could speak. The recently recovered spirit sat cross-legged in the air, his voluminous robes hanging in shadowed folds over his legs and lean chest, while his spider-like hands folded neatly in his lap. His version of the hair they both shared (except it was perhaps a bit more wild, and untamed than Ryou's was) contrasted in a melancholy mix against his dark, dark robes and cloak.
"I found the memory of my education."
Even in a more solid form than before, his voice shuddered like a static channel on the television, but his form was remarkably still in comparison to the lazy lounge he usually adopted. Something was strange.
"I don't understand." Ryou's voice was even quieter than his darker counterpart's, but he sipped a bit of his cooled tea daintily to soothe the throat roughened with rarely used misuse. He felt calmer and more secure than normal in the presence of him, and his shoulders slackened naturally just from noticing that he was there with him.
"You don't need to," Bakura told him coldly, mirroring Ryou's sip with a transparent cup of his own. "not yet, anyway. There was a school that I attended."
"Doesn't seem like the perfect place to learn pain-induced magic, this school." Ryou commented, not betraying much emotion with the lightness in his high voice. Though that comment was of a type that might have offended many, the strengthening bond between Yami and Hikari allowed him to easily understand that he was simply being blunt in his Yami's eyes, not insensitive, because they were both naturally understanding in honesty, not necessarily kindness.
Bakura barely blinked, when he fixed Ryou with a stare wading in liquid seriousness.
"That doesn't matter; further studies of magic were because of my stupid choices. But I can tell you that someone's after you."
"What?" the pale boy was becoming quite disconcerted at his Yami's cautious warning.
Pushing the chair aside to raise himself to his Yami's level, Ryou looked quizzical and startled; he had always assumed that if he didn't get close to anyone, they wouldn't probe back. But someone was coming after ~him~, despite his distant precautions?
If he was given more time, he might have thought of the whole stalking thing as a bitter joke.
But it was only an instant before the melodious doorbell alerted him to a visitor.
Bakura looked in the direction of the door. "They're here."
Ryou made a movement for the back door.
His Yami's misty form intercepted him.
"You can't escape."
Ryou's body went rigid, finally tasting enough of the thin answers he was getting from the only source who seemed to know what was going on.
"Then tell me what I should do?!" he nearly choked on the salty tears sliding down his throat and building up behind his eyelids. Desperation for memory and his deepest and darkest fears of being /traced/ without reason sent him to instinctive belief of anything and everything.
From time to come, he would recall disbelief of his Yami's warning wouldn't have led him anywhere different from the dark path he would eventually be led down.
The yell must have alerted the people outside of Ryou's sure presence within the house, because the doorknob slowly turned with agonizing tension. The round, shiny handle turning, flashing in the afternoon reflections, reflecting in both of his eyes, whose pupils were barely visible as tiny pinpricks, framed with stormy brown irises. Ryou began to shake.
"Stop it!" Bakura would have slapped the boy if he could, but now was not the time to be paralyzed in fear "Just remember, ~none of this was your fault~. You're innocent, no matter what they say!"
The door was opening, and though the spirit lengthened his neck in a dignified reassurance at the shadows disturbing the forever-bleeding sun, his Hikari staggered back at the light, shielding his delicate eyes from the light.
Bakura knew he should start the defenses. Grimly, the image of his soul began to dissolve from all normal sight, and Ryou angrily gestured through the ghostly apparition. He was alone.
"Don't leave me!" he yelled, still shielding his eyes. Several groups of heavy steps abandoned courtesy, allowing themselves into Ryou's home without shame, but with a great deal of bitter scowls, and almost . . . ~fear~?
Their costumes of darkened robes would have been beautiful before, but Ryou backed away with terror, because they looked so familiar, messengers of destruction and pain, things that assaulted him from so long ago . . .
They took his mother, once.
But even with an air of desperation, five full-grown men could easily do anything they pleased to a skinny sophomore. Still, he backed against the lone shelf that stood for years in his hallway, as a vase dropped, teetered off at the disturbance, falling into a magnificent storm of shattered, glimmering glass at Ryou's bare feet. The blood didn't scare him as much as it usually would, but there was no more room for any other fear than that of the dark men.
The dark men, with the cuffs they snapped on him without any further question. They held sticks in a threatening manner around his twin temples, and heart, which was not nearly as protected from his sweater as the appearance of his ribcage.
"We have you now, Ryou Bakura." One of the men stated, coldly pushing him out to the concrete porch.
"What are you talking about?" Ryou was honestly in wonder at the foul sort of treatment he was getting from complete strangers. "Who are you?" he tried again, feeling his voice crack.
"We're from the Ministry, vermin." One of them hissed, as if his words were poison. They hurt him about as much.
This was all a dream . . . it had to be a dream. Just a twisted, conjured nightmare. And he would wake up.
But Ryou Bakura, no matter how unbelievable the situation was to him, never woke up.
"Ministry?" they must be insane, the whole lot of them "The police will catch up to you, this is illegal, don't you know?!"
"'Police'," a third snorted contemptuously "/don't play dumb, traitor./ Your allies have betrayed you."
"Allies, what are you talking about? You're all crazy!" or was ~he~ the one who was crazy?
"Enough." The first man said coldly "He will get what he deserves."
"Deserves?!" the second one quoted "My four-year-old daughter was killed by Death Eaters, two weeks ago! Was that what ~she~ deserved?! Was that a form of compensation on ~anyone's~ part?!"
"Voldemort, and all of his supporters ~deserve~ a far more wretched fate than we can give him!" this voice sounded like a woman's. Ryou couldn't tell, he was practically licking the sun-warmed concrete with a bit tongue, and his head was spinning unnaturally and precariously between the increased pressure on his temples.
"Now, is not the time. Bakura, your freedom belongs to us now."
Such fateful words as a simple introduction to a horrible future.
"Since you escaped to Japan, your trial was held without your presence, where you were found unanimously guilty, from your careless evidence--"
Just what were they accusing him of? ~What was going on~?!
"--you have participated in more than enough unforgivable actions to give assure your fate. As you are surely aware of--"
"You sick bastard."
"Why Ria, why did your bloody cult take Ria?!"
"--Therefore, without further delay, you will be sentenced to the Prison of Azkaban until further notice. The guards are waiting for you. May god have mercy on your soul."
"No . . . never mercy on a twisted thing like this." Someone was crying.
/I'm so alone,/ he managed to think /and no one is understanding of anything I have to say . . . /
//Never, aibou. I am here. Always.//
"YOU HEARTLESS MONSTER!" pain lashed through his side; he supposed someone had kicked him while he was down.
Funny, no matter how often he yearned it in the back of his mind, his Yami had never before referred to him as his partner. He grinned slightly, his swollen lip feeling almost numb against the rough concrete. Luckily the assaulters wouldn't notice.
//I will share your pain.//
"/Stupefy!/"
Everything went dark, and in a sense, it was years before anything brightened up again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Just a prologue, mind you. I can't say much, since I don't ~know~ much yet, but I will hint:
- Ryou's mum wasn't the nicest of people - Ryou will never turn into a mad homicidal maniac - Bakura's really kinda warm and fuzzy on the inside - Azkaban is a bad, bad place to be with Bakura's and Ryou's combined memories
Please review, or I won't continue. Harry and assorted buddies will play main rolls in this as well.
Hope this PROLOGUE (yes, it's just an intro) didn't disappoint you.
My writing can always be improved, so I would appreciate any comments regarding ~that~ specific aspect, as well.
Thanks, you guys. You rock my world.
giggleplex (an unsuited name for a lady of angst, but who's reading this anyway?)
*LET THIS DISCLAIMER HOLD THROUGHOUT MY ENTIRE STORY*
*****
Yeah yeah, you have seen a great deal of Harry Potter crossovers lately, but I was experiencing ~horrible~ writers block on my other projects, and my recently purchased Massive Attack CD (100th Window) placed me in a melancholy, dark mood.
I can assure you already, this is the beginning of a fic that will be a great contrast from the care-free fanfiction that you see normally around with this genre.
Though only two YGO characters have been introduced yet, Malik, Yugi and assorted Yamis will 'for-sure' make their appearances soon. However, a majority of the plot will be dedicated to Ryou and Bakura, because they are twisted people. And coincidentally, very interesting to me (since we don't really know what Ryou's like; he's possessed most of the time).
Has anyone seen RK? Think Soujiro for a brief moment.
If you would like, I can mold it into a sweet shonen-ai fic, but only at a majority of reader's (if I have any at all) consent. Don't hesitate to comment honestly your opinion; this is as open as a violated book.
Cheers, happy reading my friends. Or . . . not. Not yet, anyway.
*****
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The timer ~*twanged*~ an echoing note throughout the kitchen, an empty kitchen, but he had never seen it otherwise. A sigh followed it, as the boy pulled out the steaming teabag and set it near the sink.
He was a feeble sort of boy.
Most noticeable was his dull hair, silver as the oldest, wisest man, yet softly fluttering without wind and sporting a tenderness that most women envied. His hair was thick; useful for hiding beneath, which he took advantage of often. No one really ~knew~ Ryou Bakura, no one really ~understood~ Ryou Bakura, not that he had tried with great effort for people to understand him, as he was afraid of such an occurrence.
The only one who understood him was his Yami, a possessive split- personality of sorts, and he was lucky to glimpse him out of dreaming those days.
'Friends', or the closest Ryou had to friends, looked on with concern at the rest of his appearance, that sulked with dispassion in various states of malnutrition. His ribcage was easily visible, but he wore sweaters to obscure the rather unpleasant images he saw every time he looked into a mirror.
Mixing a little sugar and cream into the swirly depths of his daily routine, he examined the mix with fascination, just like every other day at tea time.
/Just like every other day./
He didn't notice the misty sensation slightly solidifying on the opposite edge of the table before his Yami hissed, as it was scarcely the only sound he could make in such a low form. Ryou's head snapped up to alertness, and waited for Bakura to continue the purpose of the unexpected conjuration of his form.
Ryou could see through him to the tame phone and dully reflecting countertops that rested somewhere below his chin. His clothing did not match Ryou's own, which was a rare occurrence for his other half, his dark side, and were probably picked up somewhere through his dreaming, and recollection of his own memories. He had been doing that a lot lately, and Ryou wondered what the spirit found so fascinating from the recovered pieces of his past life.
He was worried for his Yami, as a simply dead, sort of mellow spirit seemed to replace the extremely homicidal maniac he knew so well, and cared for despite his obvious hate for all of the pain he experienced. He was becoming more skittish, more reserved somehow, and it was a wonder Ryou wasn't more concerned for his 'other half'.
Shuddering in the impression that Bakura was clearing his throat, yet no sound came, he looked at the Hikari boy across the table from his ghostly form with a meaningful expression. Ryou barely heard the words;
" . . . I found . . . found . . . "
"What did you find?" he questioned softly, warming his chilled fingertips with his cup of tea, whose blessed steam curled upward naturally and caressed his pale face.
For a moment, Bakura did nothing. Then, his form slowly solidified even further, to a recognizable shape, and defined enough that he could speak. The recently recovered spirit sat cross-legged in the air, his voluminous robes hanging in shadowed folds over his legs and lean chest, while his spider-like hands folded neatly in his lap. His version of the hair they both shared (except it was perhaps a bit more wild, and untamed than Ryou's was) contrasted in a melancholy mix against his dark, dark robes and cloak.
"I found the memory of my education."
Even in a more solid form than before, his voice shuddered like a static channel on the television, but his form was remarkably still in comparison to the lazy lounge he usually adopted. Something was strange.
"I don't understand." Ryou's voice was even quieter than his darker counterpart's, but he sipped a bit of his cooled tea daintily to soothe the throat roughened with rarely used misuse. He felt calmer and more secure than normal in the presence of him, and his shoulders slackened naturally just from noticing that he was there with him.
"You don't need to," Bakura told him coldly, mirroring Ryou's sip with a transparent cup of his own. "not yet, anyway. There was a school that I attended."
"Doesn't seem like the perfect place to learn pain-induced magic, this school." Ryou commented, not betraying much emotion with the lightness in his high voice. Though that comment was of a type that might have offended many, the strengthening bond between Yami and Hikari allowed him to easily understand that he was simply being blunt in his Yami's eyes, not insensitive, because they were both naturally understanding in honesty, not necessarily kindness.
Bakura barely blinked, when he fixed Ryou with a stare wading in liquid seriousness.
"That doesn't matter; further studies of magic were because of my stupid choices. But I can tell you that someone's after you."
"What?" the pale boy was becoming quite disconcerted at his Yami's cautious warning.
Pushing the chair aside to raise himself to his Yami's level, Ryou looked quizzical and startled; he had always assumed that if he didn't get close to anyone, they wouldn't probe back. But someone was coming after ~him~, despite his distant precautions?
If he was given more time, he might have thought of the whole stalking thing as a bitter joke.
But it was only an instant before the melodious doorbell alerted him to a visitor.
Bakura looked in the direction of the door. "They're here."
Ryou made a movement for the back door.
His Yami's misty form intercepted him.
"You can't escape."
Ryou's body went rigid, finally tasting enough of the thin answers he was getting from the only source who seemed to know what was going on.
"Then tell me what I should do?!" he nearly choked on the salty tears sliding down his throat and building up behind his eyelids. Desperation for memory and his deepest and darkest fears of being /traced/ without reason sent him to instinctive belief of anything and everything.
From time to come, he would recall disbelief of his Yami's warning wouldn't have led him anywhere different from the dark path he would eventually be led down.
The yell must have alerted the people outside of Ryou's sure presence within the house, because the doorknob slowly turned with agonizing tension. The round, shiny handle turning, flashing in the afternoon reflections, reflecting in both of his eyes, whose pupils were barely visible as tiny pinpricks, framed with stormy brown irises. Ryou began to shake.
"Stop it!" Bakura would have slapped the boy if he could, but now was not the time to be paralyzed in fear "Just remember, ~none of this was your fault~. You're innocent, no matter what they say!"
The door was opening, and though the spirit lengthened his neck in a dignified reassurance at the shadows disturbing the forever-bleeding sun, his Hikari staggered back at the light, shielding his delicate eyes from the light.
Bakura knew he should start the defenses. Grimly, the image of his soul began to dissolve from all normal sight, and Ryou angrily gestured through the ghostly apparition. He was alone.
"Don't leave me!" he yelled, still shielding his eyes. Several groups of heavy steps abandoned courtesy, allowing themselves into Ryou's home without shame, but with a great deal of bitter scowls, and almost . . . ~fear~?
Their costumes of darkened robes would have been beautiful before, but Ryou backed away with terror, because they looked so familiar, messengers of destruction and pain, things that assaulted him from so long ago . . .
They took his mother, once.
But even with an air of desperation, five full-grown men could easily do anything they pleased to a skinny sophomore. Still, he backed against the lone shelf that stood for years in his hallway, as a vase dropped, teetered off at the disturbance, falling into a magnificent storm of shattered, glimmering glass at Ryou's bare feet. The blood didn't scare him as much as it usually would, but there was no more room for any other fear than that of the dark men.
The dark men, with the cuffs they snapped on him without any further question. They held sticks in a threatening manner around his twin temples, and heart, which was not nearly as protected from his sweater as the appearance of his ribcage.
"We have you now, Ryou Bakura." One of the men stated, coldly pushing him out to the concrete porch.
"What are you talking about?" Ryou was honestly in wonder at the foul sort of treatment he was getting from complete strangers. "Who are you?" he tried again, feeling his voice crack.
"We're from the Ministry, vermin." One of them hissed, as if his words were poison. They hurt him about as much.
This was all a dream . . . it had to be a dream. Just a twisted, conjured nightmare. And he would wake up.
But Ryou Bakura, no matter how unbelievable the situation was to him, never woke up.
"Ministry?" they must be insane, the whole lot of them "The police will catch up to you, this is illegal, don't you know?!"
"'Police'," a third snorted contemptuously "/don't play dumb, traitor./ Your allies have betrayed you."
"Allies, what are you talking about? You're all crazy!" or was ~he~ the one who was crazy?
"Enough." The first man said coldly "He will get what he deserves."
"Deserves?!" the second one quoted "My four-year-old daughter was killed by Death Eaters, two weeks ago! Was that what ~she~ deserved?! Was that a form of compensation on ~anyone's~ part?!"
"Voldemort, and all of his supporters ~deserve~ a far more wretched fate than we can give him!" this voice sounded like a woman's. Ryou couldn't tell, he was practically licking the sun-warmed concrete with a bit tongue, and his head was spinning unnaturally and precariously between the increased pressure on his temples.
"Now, is not the time. Bakura, your freedom belongs to us now."
Such fateful words as a simple introduction to a horrible future.
"Since you escaped to Japan, your trial was held without your presence, where you were found unanimously guilty, from your careless evidence--"
Just what were they accusing him of? ~What was going on~?!
"--you have participated in more than enough unforgivable actions to give assure your fate. As you are surely aware of--"
"You sick bastard."
"Why Ria, why did your bloody cult take Ria?!"
"--Therefore, without further delay, you will be sentenced to the Prison of Azkaban until further notice. The guards are waiting for you. May god have mercy on your soul."
"No . . . never mercy on a twisted thing like this." Someone was crying.
/I'm so alone,/ he managed to think /and no one is understanding of anything I have to say . . . /
//Never, aibou. I am here. Always.//
"YOU HEARTLESS MONSTER!" pain lashed through his side; he supposed someone had kicked him while he was down.
Funny, no matter how often he yearned it in the back of his mind, his Yami had never before referred to him as his partner. He grinned slightly, his swollen lip feeling almost numb against the rough concrete. Luckily the assaulters wouldn't notice.
//I will share your pain.//
"/Stupefy!/"
Everything went dark, and in a sense, it was years before anything brightened up again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Just a prologue, mind you. I can't say much, since I don't ~know~ much yet, but I will hint:
- Ryou's mum wasn't the nicest of people - Ryou will never turn into a mad homicidal maniac - Bakura's really kinda warm and fuzzy on the inside - Azkaban is a bad, bad place to be with Bakura's and Ryou's combined memories
Please review, or I won't continue. Harry and assorted buddies will play main rolls in this as well.
Hope this PROLOGUE (yes, it's just an intro) didn't disappoint you.
My writing can always be improved, so I would appreciate any comments regarding ~that~ specific aspect, as well.
Thanks, you guys. You rock my world.
giggleplex (an unsuited name for a lady of angst, but who's reading this anyway?)