Disclaimer: I do not own HP or YGO

Chapter Three

Dumbledore observed the unconscious body on the bed. It was rare he was faced with this sort of dilemma. The boy was obviously in pain when he was awake, and the taint of the magic that had constricted around the boy's heart was not the kind of magic he was used to. However, the boy had answers to the questions that were tumbling around the old man's brain. To wake him, or to not?

Dumbledore sighed heavily. It was times like this he wished that there was someone he could talk to and understand the situation he was in. But... it was past too late to regret it. There was no one he was willing to let carry some of his burden; he had been at war far too long to trust so much. Dumbledore might have put up the front of a kindly, cheerful old man, but his inner-self... was much darker than he was willing to admit.

The boy let out a little yelp, making the Headmaster jerk in surprise. A quick scan of the boy's face showed he was still sleeping, but underneath his eyelids his eyes were in a frenzy of motion, and he'd frown every once in a while. A bad dream perhaps? But as the elderly man looked even closer, he could still see the faint traces of the other magic coiling around the boy's internal organs, a strand squeezing tighter every once in a while, a tug here or there. It didn't seem to be malicious, at least not intentionally, but there was definitely something strange.

A wrinkled, elderly hand reached out to touch the boy, only to flinch back when the magic sparked warningly.

Well, that was interesting...

The boy looked around. He was, again, in a room he didn't know. But this room felt... familiar. Safe. Like home, almost, if he could remember where home was. His eyes scanned the white walls, where picture frames hung on the walls, each tilted this way and that as though someone had run their fingers over the glass without putting them back when they shifted. In the corner, a bed was tucked, black and white sheets brought up to be smooth and magazine ready. Next to the bed there was a small table, strewn with cards that drew the boy over like a magnet and metal. He picked one up. Change of Heart. The card was called, an angel half black and half white taking up most of the middle. He ran his fingers over it. The feeling of familiarity nagged at him, and he set down the card gently.

There was also a bookcase, tucked into the opposite corner and upon closer observation, held copies of well worn books, the pages tattered and bent from years of constant reading. He smiled slightly. The books seemed warm to him. His fingers brushed over the lettering on the cover. But the language... he could read it, but it wasn't English... The same with the cards. His entire room was a mix between the too languages. The boy shook his head. He was multilingual, it would seem, he thought, shaking his head.

But the longer he sat there, running his fingers over items that felt safe and familiar, the nagging feeling grew, and his eyes inevitably were drawn towards the door. He could feel it, the malicious dark intent that leaked through the cracks and made him want to curl under the covers of the bed. But, even stronger was the feeling that something important was behind that door. Something he had to find, soon, before it was too late.

He froze at the sense of urgency, and before he could make the concious decision to move, his hand was already reaching out to grasp the handle, pulling the oak wood open.

There was a crack now, between the door and the wall, and the boy very carefully peaked around it, before yanking the barrier all the way open, and dragging the body outside into the safe confinement of the room, slamming the door shut behind them and making sure the lock clicked into place.

He leaned back against the wall for a moment to catch his breath. The darkness behind that door was stronger than he had though, and it chocked him. Deep lungfuls of air were drawn in and out, until the faintness faded, and he felt like he could stand on his own. He immediately knelt down beside the body, fingers brushing hair away from the face.

He knew this person. He knew this with as much deep rooted confidence as he knew about the pictures on the walls, and bed. The same way he knew what a bed was, what was white and what was red. It was knowledge that was ingrained into his body, and somehow felt even deeper. Like it was engraved into his soul.

The boy smiled, staring at the face in front of him. He felt safer here, with this person with him. He didn't know why, but all the worries that had been burrowing into his subconscious, all the anxiety that had been churning his stomach dissipated the longer he sat next to him.

"Yami..." he murmured, the word appearing on his lips. The boy reached his hand up slowly, covering his mouth with shock. "Yami," he said again, and continued to repeat it. "Yami, yami, yami. You're Yami!"

The figure on the floor groaned, and the boy fell silent. "What happened?" Yami croaked.

The boy grinned. "I remembered you!"

Yami frowned from where he lay. "Remembered?"

The boy nodded, still cheery. "I don't remember anything. But I know you're Yami."

The other's brows rose. "You don't remember anything?" he asked incredulously. "How could you forget everything?"

The boy shrugged. "I don't remember. But I found you behind that door." He pointed.

Yami rolled his eyes, groaning again as he rolled to his feet. "That's where I should be." he gasped, lurching to keep his balance, moving unsteadily towards the door.

The boy gasped and he gripped the others arm tightly, preventing him from moving forward. "You can't go out there." he insisted. "It's dangerous!"

The yami laughed. "I am well aware of that. But I cannot stay here, either. This is your room."

The boy shook his head stubbornly. "If it's mine, than I can tell you I want you to stay."

"Ryou..." the yami sighed, trailing off. "Landlord," he started again, a little more firmly. "Let go. You can't help me if you don't remember anything, and I need to make sure that the magic doesn't make it through your defenses. I can't do that from in here."

"Ryou?" the boys asked, his eyes in the distance, ignoring the yami's insistence. "Is that my name?"

The yami growled irritably. "Yes, yes. Now you need to let go."

Ryou (the boy was leaping around with joy inside his head) shook his head again. "I said no! I feel better when your here."

The other scoffed. "That would be a first."

"I do!"

Yami puffed up, his mouth open to refuse again, before his eyes seemed to catch something and he wilted. "Fine." he conceded. "I'll stay here before you're awake. I suppose I'll tell you whats going on as well, as long as I'm here."

Ryou smiled.

Dumbledore was deep in thought when the boy's eyes snapped open, and he only noticed when the boy started to get out of bed.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "You're up. I didn't notice, I was so deep in thought. So," his hand reached out to push the white haired youth's body back to the couch, "what did you remember?"

A/N: An update! I hope you all enjoyed and please review!

Thanks for reading!