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Yu-Gi-Oh/Harry Potter

Title: Order and Shadows

Author: Kyogre (Ana)

Summary: YGOHP xover. To create a new body for Yami, Yugi turns to more modern magic. But Shadows look too close to Dark for English wizardry and the Order of the Phoenix.

Notes: This is Ootp territory, shortly after the end of the semester and the start of the book.

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Second: Symphonic Poem of the Satin Demon

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Not a week after the end of the school year, the reformed Order of the Phoenix had begun to settle into their new headquarters at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Though members were already coming and going steadily, most of the building was still off-limits, filled with too many traps and pests, and reports had to be given informally, in some out of the way corner, whenever the agents could catch Dumbledore on his brief visits.

This time it had been Minerva McGonagall who pulled him aside.

"The Weasleys should be finished packing and ready to relocate here within three days," she reported in a hushed, clipped tone. "Bill Weasley is settling into his new job here in London. He will make a full report in two days. He's agreed to pick up Miss Granger, so they'll be coming together."

She paused, eyeing Dumbledore sternly over her spectacles. "We should hold a proper, full meeting soon, to make sure everyone is aware of the particulars of the situation."

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. "I am sure Molly will be more than equal to the challenges of this lovely residence."

"Kingsley thinks he can recruit Ted and Andromeda's girl," McGonagall continued, getting an affirmative nod. "And Elphias said he had something he wanted to speak to you about."

"Very good. You've been absolutely invaluable, Minerva," Dumbledore complimented, the familiar twinkle coming into his eyes. "I do apologize for hoisting the running of Hogwarts on you, but you've done so well I can't help but wonder if perhaps it is your destiny to become Headmistress."

"You know I don't believe in destiny. The future is what we make of it," McGonagall said coolly, not at all phased by his flattery. Her expression softened just a bit. "And Hogwarts has a fine Headmaster who has many more years ahead of him."

With a respectful nod, she hurried away, no doubt to deal with one of her many duties. Between serving as essentially second in command of the Order and de facto Headmistress at Hogwarts, she was quickly running herself ragged.

'Unfortunately, there is no other choice,' Dumbledore thought regretfully as he stepped out into the main hallway.

"Ah, Elphias! Minerva mentioned you wish to speak to me," he called out, spotting his old school friend coming down from the upper level.

Elphias's round face was creased with frown lines, not at all like his usual pleasant disposition. "Yes, yes, I do," he said a little distractedly, hurrying over to Dumbledore. "It's about the matter you had me look into – the ritual You-Know-Who used to create himself a body."

"Did you find it?" Dumbledore asked. He had very little hope of anything on that front. Tom had always been brilliant in these matters, and he doubted they would be able to find any weakness in his resurrected form.

"Yes," Elphias drew out, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "It's an ancient Dark magic ritual. Because of the way the components interact, it may provide either benefits or disadvantages to the user. The Dark Lord's main concern was overcoming the protection around young Mister Potter, in which he certainly succeeded. The same effect can come from the other aspects as well – bone of the father and flesh of the servant – though given the donors in this case, I imagine he gained little. In fact, he may be somewhat weaker than his original body."

"I see. Tom Riddle Senior was an ordinary Muggle, and Pettigrew was quite average as a wizard. Neither is optimum as a donor, though Voldemort would have had little choice," Dumbledore mused.

"Yes, well, that is something at least," Elphias agreed. "But that's not what I wanted to speak to you about. The best record I could find of this ritual was at the Readman Collection – you know the one, very eclectic but with some very rare books. However, I noticed that many of the books I needed to research the ritual were recently used by someone else."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in surprise. 'I assumed Tom had learned of the ritual long ago and simply used it from memory,' he thought. 'Neither Pettigrew nor Barty Crouch would have been in any position to do research for him, after all. Does he have a collaborator we are unaware of?'

Elphias gave him a meaningful look. "I'm sure we're thinking the same thing. It could be a coincidence, but this is rather Dark magic, not casual reading at all. The person to request those books was one Bakura, Ryou. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Holding up one finger, Dumbledore hummed in thought. "Give me a moment. There is something… Ah, yes. A former student. Ravenclaw, I believe. He left in his sixth year, when his mother and sister passed away. Moved away abroad to live with his father, a Muggle, if I remember correctly."

He exchanged a look with Elphias. That didn't sound like the profile of a Voldemort supporter. "I'll look into it," Dumbledore promised.

It was one more concern in growing sea of worries.

~ "o" ~ "o" ~

Wearing unusually subdued robes and a hooded cape, Dumbledore slipped into the Leaky Cauldron and made his way to the bar. Tom the barkeep nodded to him, having been made aware of the purpose of Dumbledore's covert visit ahead of time. "Last room down the hall," he said quietly. "Hasn't left at all today."

Dumbledore made his way upstairs, to the last door in the hall. He knocked briskly, receiving a muffled reply from inside. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a slightly ruffled young man with long pale haired and a rather Muggle cardigan and trousers.

"Mister Ryou Bakura?" Dumbledore enquired pleasantly, tilting his hood back.

It took a moment before recognition dawned. "Headmaster Dumbledore?" Bakura asked bemusedly. "Oh, come in, please!"

The rented room was clean, but stacked with books and parchment, NEWTs preparation by the looks of it. Nodding to Bakura's offer of tea, Dumbledore settled down in one of the two chairs at the small table by the window.

Setting down their steaming tea – made the Muggle way, Dumbledore noted – Bakura settled across the old Headmaster. Fidgeting with his teacup, the young man glanced up at Dumbledore nervously from beneath his white fringe.

"Have you been in Britain long, Mister Bakura?" Dumbledore asked preemptively.

Bakura looked startled, his soulful dark eyes widening. "Ah… N, no, not really. Just a few months now…" Dumbledore nodded encouragingly, taking a sip of his tea. It was green, quite unusual but pleasant and calming. "I guess I just felt like I wanted to make a new life for myself. So I decided to return to Britain and take my NEWTs. I think it's what Mum would have wanted…"

"An admirable goal," Dumbledore agreed. "Have you tried getting in touch with your mother's family?"

A faint frown etched itself on Bakura's delicate features. "No. They… Mum was disowned when she married my father – because he is a Muggle."

"It is unfortunate those sorts of attitudes persist among certain wizarding families," Dumbledore said sympathetically. "It must have been hard for you."

"No, no. It was difficult for Mum, but I never knew her family. I don't even know her maiden name. Actually, I wouldn't even know how to go about contacting them," Bakura replied easily, without the slightest hint of a lie.

'So it is not that,' Dumbledore thought. 'It was a slim possibility at best. Well, there is no reason to tell him. The Malfoys would never accept a half-blood in any case.'

Setting down his teacup with an almost ominous clink, Dumbledore put on his stern Headmaster face. "Mister Bakura, I will be honest with you. A friend of mine noticed your unique research materials at the Readman Collection, which have raised certain questions."

Bakura's eyes widened momentarily before he glanced away, regretfully denying Dumbledore the chance to try Legilimency.

"It's fine, isn't it?" Bakura said quietly, still not looking up. "It's just research…"

Dumbledore frowned faintly. "Some research, while not forbidden, is frowned upon in society, Mister Bakura. This is especially pertinent given recent events. Things could become very difficult if you were seen to be interested in matters too close to Dark Arts."

The boy had stopped fidgeting with his teacup in favor of gripping it tightly, but he still refused to look up, only giving a faint shake of his head. Sighing, Dumbledore tried to remember what Flitwick had said about his former student. 'A quiet, shy boy who was often teased. His father was an Egyptologist, came to England to study at Bembridge. Because of that background, young Bakura had an interest in arcane artes and rituals,' Dumbledore recalled. 'Is that what it is? Is he trying to hide a slightly questionable hobby?'

"Now, please understand you are not in any trouble," Dumbledore tried, "but those books were quite specific, so you must have had some purpose in mind when you requested them. If you could explain it to me, I could if you could perhaps allay any worries that may have arisen…"

But even as spoke, Dumbledore had a feeling that he was missing something. Something didn't quite fit with the way Bakura was acting. There was no reason to be secretive about a hobby, a theoretical interest in arcane things. The other option was that Bakura really was dabbling in the Dark Arts, but that seemed unlikely as well. He seemed more uncomfortable that scared.

"It's personal," Bakura murmured. "I can't tell you."

In a flash of intuition, Dumbledore remembered the other thing Flitwick had said about the boy. 'As loyal as any of Pomona's Hufflepuffs. Normally meek, he'd face down any danger for a friend.'

"You cannot tell me? Do you not know? Then, should I perhaps be speaking with your friend instead?" Dumbledore bluffed, leaning forward a little.

It was a momentary slip on Bakura's part. Startled, the boy locked gazes with Dumbledore, wide-eyed, before catching himself and looking away again, mumbling a denial. But it was enough. In that moment, Dumbledore caught a flash of memory.

"Thank you for the tea, Mister Bakura," Dumbledore said with a small smile, rising from his seat. "I wish you luck on your NEWTs."

"W, wait!" Bakura called after him, knowing he had given himself – and his "friend" – away. But he didn't follow, only watching uncertainly as Dumbledore took his leave.

Descending into the pub again, Dumbledore made his way to the bar and signaled the barkeep. "Has young Mister Bakura had any visitors lately? Perhaps another young man?" he asked.

Tom nodded. "Aye, he did. This foreign boy, strangest hair I've ever see, and that outfit! He comes by rather often, and they go out together a lot too."

"Did you happen to get his name or where he might be staying?" Dumbledore asked, carefully reigning in his impatience.

The barkeep took a long moment to think, absently polishing a glass. "Had a strange foreign name, that one. Something like Eugene, but not… Eudgee? No, that's not right…"

Catching Tom's eye, Dumbledore pulled at the correct memory. Bakura's phantom voice, muffled by the usual hubbub of a crowded pub, echoed in both their minds. "Wait up, Yugi!" he called out as he hurried after the same silhouette Dumbledore had glimpsed before, in Bakura's mind.

"Yugi! That's what it was!" Tom exclaimed, not at all noticing Dumbledore's subtle Legilimency. "Yes, and I recon he's been staying at a Muggle place somewhere. Always comes from that-a way, even when it's pouring."

"Thank you, Tom. You've been very helpful," Dumbledore praised, rising from behind the bar.

"Glad to be of service," Tom called, waving as the old man departed.

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Over his long life, Dumbledore had gained a great deal of experience in finding people, even those hiding in the Muggle world. A first name, especially one so unique, and a face were almost more than he needed. A few quick spells, and he found himself at a small, slightly rundown hostel – just the sort of place a poor student would stay at, or a man with something to hide.

Passing the office, he climbed the outdoor staircase to the right room, 201. Tucking away his wand, he raised his hand to knock, but just as his knuckles grazed the weathered wood, the door swung open. On the other side was the young man he was looking for, unmistakable with his wild dark hair, bleached bangs, tight leather outfit and numerous accessories. Dumbledore's eyes were drawn to his thick chocker. The young man's expression was distantly forbidding.

"We've been expecting you," he said coolly.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, but he maintained a benevolent smile. "I see," he said pleasantly. "Then I hope you know why I am here. Perhaps if you would invite me inside?"

For a moment, "Yugi" assessed him, his gaze piercing and quite mismatched to his short, punkish appearance. Then, he turned his back and disappeared into the shadowed room beyond. Something in that regal poise and self-confidence reminded Dumbledore of the heirs of the most ancient of noble houses… and of Tom, at his most brilliant and promising.

Stepping inside, he shut the door behind him and quickly scanned the room. It was plain and bare, with watermarks on the ceiling and a single window that looked out at the featureless brick wall of the neighboring building. All personal belongings had been hidden away, in preparation for his visit.

"Bakura called me," Yugi said, crossing his arms and leaning against a wall by the table. He didn't invite Dumbledore to sit, and doing so would put the Headmaster at an apparently "lower" position. Appearances were deceiving, however, and Dumbledore easily settled into a rickety chair. "You are early than expected," the young man continued, his tone distrustful.

"Ah, of course. A wonderful invention, the Muggle telephone," Dumbledore agreed, noting everything that wasn't said. This Yugi placed a great deal of trust in Bakura's loyalty, implying that Dumbledore wouldn't have gotten the location out of him. "But I have my own ways. I do hope you understand if I choose not to reveal them."

Smiling kindly, Dumbledore peered at his host over his spectacles and steepled his fingers together in clear view. "As I told Mister Bakura, neither of you is in any trouble. However, the materials you have been using have raised some questions and concerns. These are troubled times, and I'm afraid suspicions are easily roused. I only wish to resolve those worries as peacefully as possible, Mister…" Dumbledore chuckled, "I'm afraid I still don't know your name."

Yugi regarded him piercingly once more, and Dumbledore momentarily considered using Legilimency. But there was something decidedly guarded behind those eyes, making him quickly reevaluate the chances of this strange young man knowing Occlumency. It wouldn't do to get caught trying to probe his mind while trying the peaceful, helpful approach. He would save that for a last resort.

Looking away and closing his eyes, Yugi seemed to become lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly, his entire stance shifted, becoming less guarded and more casual. When he turned back to Dumbledore, his expression was entirely different, open.

"I'm Yugi Muto," he introduced himself with a smile. "And you?"

"Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft," Dumbledore answered, with a twinkle, though he was a tad bit disconcerted by the abruptness of the change. It was too much like Tom's ability to play the charming poor orphan boy at the drop of a hat.

"Tea?" Yugi offered and, receiving a nod, quickly set about making it. The kettle was electric, and the cups he used obviously his own – tall, round and without handles; Japanese, Dumbledore realized after a moment.

"Mister Bakura was a student at my school for several years," Dumbledore continued, taking a sip. "But I do not believe you ever attended Hogwarts, Mister Muto. Were you privately tutored?"

Yugi smiled over the rim of his teacup. "Professor Dumbledore, I think it's pretty clear I'm a foreigner. Bakura and I met in high school – an ordinary, Muggle one. I didn't even know Bakura was a magician until after we graduated and he decided to come back to Britain."

If the story was true, it did little to clear up any confusion. Why would someone who attended a Muggle school have an interest in the Dark Arts? Dumbledore hid his frown by taking another sip of the slightly bitter green tea.

"Was Mister Bakura the first wizard you met?" Dumbledore wondered.

"No," Yugi replied easily. "My grandfather is an onmyouji. His passion lay in ancient civilizations, especially Egypt, and he was quite the curse breaker in his youth. He private tutored me when my magic first appeared."

'A grandfather interested in arcane arts,' Dumbledore considered. 'Much of what remains from ancient civilizations and their magic is quite close to Dark, if not outright so.'

"Sounds like you share quite a bit with Mister Bakura. His father is also an Egyptologist, I believe," the old man noted.

Yugi hummed in agreement, taking another sip of his tea. "Bakura is a good friend," he said with conviction, meeting Dumbledore's eyes squarely. "I don't want him to get into any trouble because of me. All he did was request some books at the collection so that I could look at them. It's just because I would have trouble getting a reading ticket of my own, that's all."

"Does the Ministry not know you are here?" Dumbledore asked delicately.

"Bakura and I came by plane," Yugi said simply. He added good-humoredly, "Would you like to see my passport?"

"That's quite alright," Dumbledore replied with matching levity. "I prefer a good mystery. I'd much rather make my own guesses on which country you call home, Mister Muto."

'It seems unlikely he is in league with Voldemort,' he decided. 'A foreigner with a strong Muggle background would have too little to gain, and he is hardly someone Tom would turn to, when he distrusted even his own Death Eaters so strongly. But that doesn't explain what he was doing with those books. It's too suspicious…'

"In any case," Dumbledore continued after a moment, "Mister Bakura's actions are quite understandable and not even truly improper or illegal. Our concerns lie with you, Mister Muto. Why did you wish to see those texts? A Defense Against the Dark Arts project, perhaps?"

It was a weak excuse, but one Tom had employed quite often.

For a moment, Yugi looked uncertain. Setting down his tea, he made a strange gesture – cupping both hands at the level of his solar plexus, as if he expected something to be there. Grasping air, his hands clenched into fists, and he looked up to meet Dumbledore's gaze again.

"I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but that is a private matter," he said evenly. "Please believe me when I say that it possess no danger to you or your school – or anyone else, for that matter."

With a sigh, Dumbledore realized this was the limit of Yugi's cooperation. "I'm afraid a simple assurance isn't quite enough in these times, Mister Muto," he murmured. Holding the young man's gaze, he pushed.

The result was instantaneous. There was the sense of a door slamming in his face, leaving Dumbledore with the phantom feeling of having his nose broken once more. Yugi's posture and expression shifted quickly, back to the cool, composed and very guarded persona he had shown at the start of their meeting.

His glare was chilling, his eyes seemingly taking on a reddish hue – more violet than blue, an unnatural color, even in wizards. "I do not wish any trouble here, but I will not allow you to continue to attempt to trespass upon my mind and heart," he growled.

'A skilled Occlumens,' Dumbledore thought. 'How rare… What does he have to hide that would require such protection?'

"Ah, my apologies," he said lightly, choosing to try to play it off. "I only wished to ascertain your honesty, nothing else." Yugi's glare did not abate, but Dumbledore knew that beating a retreat now would only solidify his suspicions. Instead, he repeated, "Please understand the current situation. Wizarding Britain has recently fallen upon troubled times – the Dark Lord everyone had believed gone for over a decade has returned, to once again spread his reign of terror. So far he has acted in secret. There is no telling where he has found allies and whom he has coerced into cooperation. He will stop at nothing to gain power."

"And you suspect me of being this Dark Lord's ally?" Yugi demanded, his fury and disgust clear.

'Not particularly,' Dumbledore thought. 'It's too unlikely. But that does not make you clear of all suspicion either.' "You are an unknown entity, Mister Muto," he said, spreading his hands. "Your story would be difficult to collaborate, and easily falsified. Muggle memories are so easily altered, after all, and documents forged…"

"So I am guilty until proven innocent, just because I am in the wrong place, at the wrong time," Yugi stated. "I would have expected more from a teacher."

"These are difficult times," Dumbledore repeated. "But I can understand your anger. I will not trouble you further today, but do try to reconsider your stance. I can assure you the Ministry of Magic will ask all the same questions, and they will not take 'no' for an answer."

"I trust you can see yourself out," Yugi said coldly.

His heavy, accusing gaze followed Dumbledore out the door.

~ "o" ~ "o" ~

Snape was waiting for him at the headquarters. "It's as you suspected. He is going after the prophecy," he declared shortly, his agitation obvious as Dumbledore herded him into a side room. "What are we going to do?"

"There is not much we can do," Dumbledore admitted. "The only record of the prophecy is in the Department of Mysteries, deep in the Ministry. We can set up patrols, but given Minister Fudge's stance, I am not certain of the effectiveness…"

"So you'll do nothing? What about Lily's son?" Snape demanded, wrenching away from Dumbledore to pace the clattered, shadowed chamber.

Something about the image seemed to resonate deep in Dumbledore's memory, and he paused thoughtfully, stroking at his beard. "Shadows… Yes, that's what it was…" he muttered to himself.

"What?" Snape snapped, stopping short to glare at the older man.

"I may have a way to at least temporarily distract Voldemort," Dumbledore said slowly. "Yes, it just might work. Today, I went out to investigate a foreign young man who has shown a strong interest in the Dark Arts. He gave me biography, perhaps fictional, but refused to divulge his reasons. He also proved himself a skilled Occlumens."

Snape snorted. "I imagine he just loved you poking around in his head," he sneered. "So some brat has the wrong hobbies. What does this have to do with the current situation?"

Smiling mildly, Dumbledore continued, "I could not identify it until just now, but there were traces of a very strange and very old magic lingering around him." 'And, though far fainter, around Mister Bakura as well,' he realized. "Not quite Dark, but Shadow magic."

The look Snape gave him was unreadable, but Dumbledore could almost see the thoughts moving quickly behind his black eyes. "You want to use this… boy to distract him?" he finally asked, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

"We'll post a discreet watch on him as well, of course, and I am certain that young man will prove entirely uncooperative to Voldemort," Dumbledore assured him. "But I believe, phrased in the right words, a strange foreigner with background in the Dark and arcane arts, in whom I have shown a personal interest will be quite the draw… especially since no one would miss him if he were to disappear, since the Ministry is not yet aware of his presence."

Snape shifted agitatedly, but Dumbledore could see him already composing his report to Voldemort, figuring out which words would best catch the Dark Lord's attention and curiosity.

He would need to choose the ones to take watch carefully and give them clear instructions about what to do at the time of the attack.

'Perhaps this will be enough incentive to convince Mister Muto to cooperate,' he thought.

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End Notes: Dumbledore isn't evil… but I like him more when he's totally ruthless and obstructionist.

Please review~ (I mean it. Especially all you folks who put this on alerts~~~)

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