Book One of Eight;
Chasing the Dragon
-Chapter Twenty Four-
Kreacher Feature.
-Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus-
Yuugi Mutou was a creature who craved comfort.
It had never bothered him to admit it, after all, he had faced enough life-threatening situations in his lifetime to know that wishing for excitement was the equivalent of poking the gods with a sharp stick and taunting them to do their very worst.
Yuugi had learned to have a healthy respect for the tempestuous nature of the higher powers.
Thus it was that he had always harbored a secret, modest wish that just for once in his life he could have a normal, boring year that didn't require dealings with vague mystics carrying dire warnings.
Apparently, the King of Games mused as he stared idly at the peeling wallpaper, that was far too much to ask.
The vague mystic Yuugi thought that he could deal with. After all, Shaadi had come to have a deep respect for the host of the Pharaoh. (1)
It was the dire warnings that were threatening to do his head in.
.. And it was all thanks to Seto Kaiba.
Yuugi thought he should have at least expected it – the elder Kaiba had always gone that extra mile in making life just that wee bit more difficult for him. (2) And now, just when he thought Seto couldn't possibly find a new way to torment him, Shaadi had pleasantly informed him that, lo and behold, of all the new foes that surrounded him it was Kaiba that he should be watching.
Trouble was coming, he had been told, and he could not trust his allies to remain as such.
Faced with the presence of the scowling representation of all of his problems, the problem's younger brother and the most flirtatious human being to ever walk the planet - not to mention a handful of dysfunctional wizards and witches for good measure, Yuugi was sure he he had never missed the comforts of his tried and true friends more than he did right now.
Oh yes, Yuugi Mutou craved comfort. He thought it must come from the needy, lonely child inside.
'Rather than the needy, lonely child on the outside Aibou?' Atemu quipped happily, pleased that it was not him who was faced with the prospect of facing the decidedly unhappy elder Kaiba who had last been seen slipping out of the Kitchen in one of his most understated exits to date.
Yuugi scowled in response and turned his eyes on the distressed form of Molly Weasley who was still sobbing on her eldest sons shoulder. Only moments later a change raced through the King of Games' features and a decidedly smug smile curled across his lips which caused the former-Pharaoh to let out a soft groan.
Atemu decided that he really did need to learn to keep his mouth shut.
Nobody noticed the King of Games as he slipped out of the kitchen and followed the steps that Seto Kaiba had taken only moments before.
The low creak of the door on its hinges had Seto whipping his head around abruptly to meet a determined crimson stare from a faintly frowning Atemu head-on.
Somehow, Seto thought with a grimace, it failed to surprise him that Atemu had followed him.
What did surprise Seto, however, was the passing haze of custom that insisted he bow to the spirit in front of him when those crimson eyes locked with his own.
Snuffing any strange ideas that 'custom' may have lured into his mind out quickly, Seto addressed the important issues.
One, Set was still watching him with that far-too perceptive stare.
Two, Atemu looked very much like he wanted to have a deep and meaningful conversation.
And last but not least, three, the Pharaoh had efficiently blocked off his only viable escape route.
A cursory blue glance turned upon the windows with a calculative stare. After Duelist Kingdom, Mokuba had made it apparent that windows were not to be used as an exit unless in the most dire of circumstances, and while Seto considered his present situation to be dire, he highly doubted that his little brother would agree. (3)
The hesitant curl of a smile on the Pharaoh's lips signified something that Seto refused to even address.
Gods – Atemu almost looked friendly.
After frowning darkly at the Pharaoh for several moments in an attempt to deter this unwelcome change in his rival to no avail, Seto decided to take a more a direct approach.
"What do you want?"
Atemu flinched at the decidedly hostile tone and the would-be smile flickered uncertainly.
"I want to talk to you," the Pharaoh replied, pausing briefly in private debate before tacking on a hesitant, "Seto."
If Seto had been the type he might have gasped – as it was his eyes merely rounded in horror and he suddenly got the impression that someone, somewhere, was playing a very cruel joke and he wondered darkly at this mystery being's sense of humor.
"Seto?"
A muscle twitched impulsively above Seto's eyebrow as Atemu's smile rekindled.
There were clearly headed into very dangerous territory.
Unnoticed for the time being Set allowed his lips to turn in a trace of a smirk which he flaunted at his harassed and very unhappy reincarnation.
'You should really get control of that twitch omote, it throws your poker-face off completely.'
With one last rueful glance over Atemu's ridiculous crest of hair at the suddenly very distant doorway Seto turned a stony look upon the former-Pharaoh, only pausing to shoot a nasty look in Set's direction along the way.
Snapping abruptly into action with a speed that was almost bedazzling to Atemu, Seto was suddenly seated and watching the former-ruler with impatiently expectant blue eyes.
"You wanted to talk Pharaoh, so talk."
Taking a seat of his own and casting only a brief puzzled stare in a still smirking Set's direction, Atemu settled his attention upon his rival.
Ignoring the elder Kaiba brothers frequent glances in the direction of his empty coffee-mug, Atemu inhaled deeply and fixed a firm stare upon Seto's carefully guarded face, "we have more in common than you realize, Seto."
Another twitch tugged at Seto's eyebrow and Set repressed a snicker that survived to lurk merrily in his dark eyes.
"If you wanted an autograph you should have asked," Seto replied with an ice-driven smile cutting a thin line across his face, "I wasn't aware you were a fan."
Atemu blinked in rapidly descending confusion before realization dawned on him and his cheeks colored in frustration and he snapped out, "Kaiba!"
An eyebrow dawdled upwards and the elder Kaiba brother turned towards his adversary with a twitch of his lips, "clearly you assumed you were flattering me in saying so Mutou, but let me clear one thing up," the amusement in Seto's eyes died curtly and his tone dropped an octave for the briefest of moments, "you are nothing like me."
Crimson eyes barely flickered, watching with keen interest as Seto shifted, the Sennen Rod replacing his empty coffee mug in a subconscious motion that seemed completely natural to the elder Kaiba. As Atemu watched, the gleaming gold was rolled absently from hand to hand and Seto's eyes turned moodily away to inspect the peeling wallpaper.
The motion paused abruptly when Set appeared in his reincarnations eye-line and the gold fell motionless into Seto's lap.
"We both know that something big is coming," Atemu began again, his eyes turning briefly upon the ever-watchful dark stare of his cousin, "Bakura knew it and I hazard that Ishtar did too – and whatever it is we will need to work together.
"We've sang this song before Mutou," was Seto's bored drawl of response as his blue eyes narrowed, "I don't play side-kick in your super-squad."
A trace of something passed through Atemu's eyes that Seto couldn't quite place – it looked as if Seto had just signed on the dotted line of a contract he hadn't read the fine print of.
"No," the former Pharaoh replied quietly with a far more natural curl touching his lips, "you never could."
"I don't go in for the matching t-shirts, 'united we stand', go team, go! motivational garbage Mutou," Seto found himself responding, a niggling sensation of something being fundamentally wrong working it's way into the depths of his mind.
"Good thing too," was the drawled response as Otogi strode through the door to flop in casual disarray in one of the armchairs and peer through jagged wisps of dark hair at the elder Kaiba, "I might have to off myself if I caught the pair of you in matching outfits."
Atemu cast a disgruntled look in the invading Game Creator's direction and was met with a sardonic green stare, "easy your highness, if the t-shirts were a fundamental part of your big plan then-"
Seto turned a harassed blue glare upon Set's mildly amused face and snapped, "you do realize this is all your fault, don't you?"
"Guilty," Set conceded with a gleam in his dark eyes, "though in my defense – it was fun and I was bored."
"That's a defense?"
Mokuba's skepticism was obvious as he peered through the doorway, "I thought I'd find you all in here," he added as he moved towards the worn sofa that he had long ago claimed for his own, "is it weird to anyone else that we all just naturally congregate in here?"
At the blank looks the younger Kaiba received he rolled his eyes and muttered, "should've known," beneath his breath.
"I liked this room as a kid," came the oddly hoarse interruption from Otogi that received several blank stares, "far fewer elf-heads and tasteless paintings."
Atemu cast a brief glance at the game creator before declaring a dismissive, "possessed," to no one in particular.
The possessed Otogi cast a vaguely annoyed glance in the former Pharaoh's direction, "I do have a name you know."
Atemu's rather pronounced scowl hinted that the bored spirit had hit upon a decidedly touchy subject.
Another grimace touched upon Seto's lips and he turned his head away from the scene as the possessed form of Otogi stood and stalked in the direction of the door with a vague mutter of alleviating his boredom.
Meeting the stare of a faintly frowning Spirit of the Rod, Seto found himself pondering the question seemed to weigh upon the air between them, easily read from the deadlock in their eyes.
'Where do we go from here?'
Rabastan Lestrange had always considered himself something of a connoisseur when it came to torture.
He had experienced, and more often than not, sampled many of the accepted practices put into place by the Ministry of Magic during his stay in Azkaban and he had faced the wand and presence of Bellatrix Black-Lestrange for the vast majority of his time on earth.
Many would consider Rabastan an expert on the subject – however, Rabastan himself knew better.
The moment that the Death Eater laid eyes on the sprawled and silent figure of Malik Ishtar on the cold stone floor he knew that one of two things had happened. Malik Ishtar was either dead or he very soon would be.
With a profound curse that echoed around the stone walls Rabastan turned his eyes away and did the only thing that seemed remotely plausible to him: he lit up a cigarette.
For five blissful minutes the Death Eater studied at the prone form of Malik Ishtar on the floor, sucking in the relaxing thrall of tobacco and mentally scolding himself for not going to get more cigarettes sooner.
Once the glowing butt was crushed out beneath a booted heel and Rabastan was sure that he might possibly be able to deal with the situation he took a step towards the bars and called out in a decidedly gruff tone, "are you alive?"
When a low wheezing laugh was the only answer that Rabastan received, he decided that the situation was not quite so dire as he had imagined, though if it wasn't than he wanted to know where all the blood had come from.
Not that he was left wondering for long.
The moment that Malik rolled over to face him, a predatory gleam in his decidedly sharper and less controlled lavender .. eye Rabastan knew that something had gone very seriously wrong. With a curiosity that Rabastan told himself was beyond morbid, Mahogany eyes traced the many dried and fresh scarlet rivulets that carved paths over the Egyptian's tanned skin to their source.
In the place of what should have been – and had been a perfectly normal (if somewhat unusually colored) eye, was a gleaming hunk of blood-stained metal, carved into a delicate bastardization of an eye.
No, Rabastan recalled with a faint grimace if recollection, it wasn't any sort of imitation – it was an Udjat. A representation of the eye that Thoth had gifted to the god Horus after his traitorous brother Seth had ripped his left eye right out of it's socket.
Shaking off his thoughts the wizard took an unknowing step closer to the bars, eyes fixed in twisted curiosity upon the strangely glowing metal that now occupied the Egyptian's left eye socket – left?
Much like the spiders web ensnares it's prey, the Death Eater found himself drawn into the strangely hypnotizing glow of gold that seemed to trap within it any and all light that ventured into the small dark cell.
He didn't even notice the lithe predatory stalk that brought that enticing gleam of gold steadily closer, or the twisted smile that curled delightedly upon the Egyptian's lips as hands snaked through the bars to ensnare the mans neck in a deathly grip.
As pressure closed around his neck, Rabastan found himself tugged violently back into the present to see that leering smile suddenly close and that one normal eye gleaming brightly with hunger and anticipation.
While pain shot through his flesh and his windpipe protested heartily to his brain to do something, Rabastan made a flailing attempt to snatch the handle of his wand from where it protruded from the pocket of his robes. As his fingers snatched hold of the slippery wood he brandished it hastily before him and snarled out, "Relashio."
A jet of red sparks flared in the Egyptian's face and he jolted backwards, his grip releasing as his hands reached upward in surprise.
The Death Eater took a good few steps back, one hand gingerly rubbing his abused neck as he observed the Egyptian with a renewed sense of caution. Something was most definitely not right.
Closer inspection brought a curious phenomena to Rabastan's attention, it may have just been a figment of his imagination but this new, dangerous Malik seemed to hold himself differently – and in his one regular eye there was a madness without reason that spelt out only one word to the Death Eater – and that was danger.
It was the same look that his sister-in-law sported when she took it into her head to be insulted.
At a safe distance from the bars the Death Eater watched as the Egyptian recovered from his surprise and moved closer to the doorway. Cradling the bars within his arms and tilting his head to one side, the new Malik observed Rabastan with etchings of curiosity and hunger.
"You like to play," his voice was hoarse and steeped in darkness, that strange blood-stained gold seemed to glow softly in the darkness, "but not in the dark. Why are you scared of the dark?"
Malik's lips curled in a wicked smile that made Rabastan's spine crawl and he took another precautionary step backwards, fingers searching out his battered cigarette carton by force of habit.
"You've cracked," Rabastan muttered out loud as he lit up his new cigarette, "Bella's done it again."
"I can see them," was the soft persisting near-purr from the blond as he lent into the bars, forehead pressed lightly against the cold metal, as counterpoint eyes fixed upon him intently, "I can see the shadows in your soul - they tell me what wicked things you did to them."
Tanned blood-streaked fingers brushed absently at hardened wisps of scarlet-soaked blond around his temples, that singular lavender eye fixated upon the slow winding movements of the glowing cigarette butt as it trailed back and forth from the Death Eaters lips.
"I should've known better than to leave her alone," Rabastan muttered in a determinedly distracted tone, a distasteful yet wary glance hesitantly observing the eerily smiling Egyptian, "she never could control herself."
Rabastan found a shudder rolling through his spine and cast his cigarette away with a grimace, fixing his eyes determinedly upon the slouching Egyptian who reminded him rather too much of a battered (and all the more dangerous for it) lion, waiting and watching in the shadows.
"Do you want to know what they're telling me?" the question was hoarse and laced with laughter as a pink tongue swept out to catch a fresh trickle of scarlet as it wound down the Egyptian's cheek.
Rabastan took another long drag of his cigarette and turned his gaze away, massaging his throat with one hand and not quite caring that his subtle side-stepping of the madman's questions were no longer anywhere close to being subtle.
"They're screaming," was the hoarse response to Rabastan's feigned indifference, spoken with a relish that gleamed in Malik's singular eye that took in the tensed figure of the Death Eater.
Rabastan's retreat had brought him all the way to the opposite wall, his head turned away and his fingers shaking so badly that his cigarette eventually tumbled from them to land, still glowing, on the ground at his feet.
Rabastan knew that he was being tested – he simply didn't understand why.
She unleashed a lion, the Death Eater realized as he took in the predatory gleam that lurked in the boys eyes, this was and was not the boy that he had talked to the day before.
Fingers brushed hastily, reassuringly, over the polished wood of his wand in his pocket and a smile crept along the Egyptian's lips.
"I was born of the darkness," the Egyptians voice was barely a whisper, singular eye cast in shadow while the other gave off that soft enticing glow, "of pain and blood and screaming and hatred – I was born bathed in revenge. You-"
The glow seemed to explode for just a moment in a brilliant shower of light, "you've seen what lives in the dark."
Rabastan felt, as that golden light grazed over him, that whatever test he had just been set he had somehow passed.
Whatever victory the Death Eater might have felt was abruptly drowned out by the sound of a soft low hiss and the drag of long coiled body moving across the cool stone.
In the darkness the considerably large shape that the snake made as it moved across the stone floor was nothing more than a blot in the dim light, yet Rabastan jerked backwards automatically.
He had never been particularly fond of the Dark Lord's favorite pet.
Nagini flicked her tongue out in Rabastan's direction as though sensing his discomfort as she passed him by before turning toward the blond Egyptian with a low, soft hiss.
The slow winding movements that carried the snake across the flag-stone floor were both mesmerizing and horrifying, because Rabastan's gut told him that if the snake should approach the decidedly unstable human being that was Malik Ishtar it would not escape unscathed .. And Rabastan knew that if the Dark Lord's favourite pet was in any way harmed there would be hell-to-pay. Thus, as strong as the Death Eater's dislike for Nagini was – his ingrained survival instincts were far stronger.
Counting backwards with a visible grimace as the snake moved guilelessly towards the bars and the Egyptian drew back from the bars with that supreme confidence that no-one should have in the face of such a large and menacing predator, Rabastan raised his wand and pointed it hesitantly in Nagini's direction.
Oh, how he wanted to let the wretched creature get what was coming to it.
As the snake came within an arms length of the bars Rabastan muttered a decidedly reluctant, "wingardium leviosa."
Hissing and spitting the Dark Lord's favorite pet shot into the air, where it writhed and struggled against the invisible force that supported it's bulky mass. With an intelligence that it logically shouldn't have possessed it's livid eyes fixed menacingly upon the wizard whose wand was lazily outstretched in its direction. If Rabastan didn't know better he might have thought that he was being threatened.
A spark of amusement crawling through his chest the Death Eater lazily began to swish his wand through the air, his lips curling in a nasty line of pleasure as more furious hissing erupted and the snakes burly mass followed the swishing of his wand.
Thus, it was of little surprise to Rabastan that his actions were brought to a sudden and abrupt halt by a curt snap of, "Rabastan," and the sound of brisk footfalls crossing the flag-stone floor.
After all, Fate had never been particularly fond of the youngest Lestrange brother.
"What do you think you are doing to Nagini?"
Almond eyes that were much the same shape as Rabastan's own shot a superior and reprimanding glare in the Death Eater's direction before a second wand was flicked in the direction of the writhing serpent accompanied by a snap of, "finite."
Nagini landed with an audible thump upon the ground and slithered away from the pair of wizards hurriedly, only a menacing hiss shot in Rabastan's direction any indication that she would remember the encounter.
Rabastan was surprised to find that he was almost disappointed at the snake's departure – he would've much rather dealt with the over-sized worm than deal with the disapproving and furious figure of his elder brother.
With a determined squaring of his jaw and an attempt to brush aside the feeling that he was twelve again under that shadowed and inhumanly cold stare, Rabastan folded his arms and lounged back against the stone wall behind him before addressing his elder brother, "what are you doing here Rodolphus – I wasn't aware that you had business here."
The similarities between the pair were uncanny – from the well-defined if somewhat strong features to the identical near-black shade of their hair it was clear that they were siblings. They even shared in the shadows that seemed to haunt their eyes and pallid complexions that accompanied a prolonged stay in Azkaban. The differences, however, were what struck Malik as he watched keenly through the bars with a calculative stare.
Rabastan's over-all appearance lent towards disorder – from the scruffy state of his hair to the rumpled state of his finely-made robes. He made a strong contrast to the clean-cut lines of his elder brother.
"Severus tells me you've been slacking off again," the cold assessment was made with a carefully applied veil of disinterest, as the taller and older brother observed his younger sibling's unkempt appearance with a wrinkle of his nose.
"And since when," Rabastan replied with an equally frosty edge to his tone and a visible quirk of his eyebrow, "have you ever listened to slimy little gits like Snape?"
"Since," Rodolphus sneered back in a bored tone as he sniffed at the air and fixed a narrowed stare upon his brother, "you began traipsing down here to chat with prisoners and taking up filthy Muggle habits."
The dim light revealed surprise in Rabastan's eyes that was hastily covered up as he found himself caught by the heart of a disapproving gleam in his older brothers eyes.
"What I do doesn't concern you Rodolphus," Rabastan muttered sharply with an attempt at averting his stare landing upon the eerily observant stare of Malik Ishtar, "I am not some child you can lead around on a leash."
It was apparent, however, that Rodolphus wasn't listening – Rabastan's movements had shifted the loose collar of his robes and now the elder Lestrange's eyes were fixed upon his younger brothers neck with a visible sheen of anger lighting in his eyes.
"What happened?" was the sharp demand as the elder brother took several steps forward with the intention of getting a clearer view.
One hand reaching up to sharply wrench his collar back into place the younger Lestrange brother leveled a look of warning upon Rodolphus, before his eyes turned back to the silently watching Malik. The Egyptian suddenly began to laugh.
Rodolphus snapped around to stare at the Egyptian much as one would gawk at an animal in the zoo before his gaze darkened and he snarled out, "you let the muggle do that? What the hell is wrong with you Rabastan – you'll bring disgrace on our name .."
Incredulous laughter joined that of the Egyptian's as Rabastan directed a disbelieving stare to watch as his brothers cheeks began to color and his eyes brightened with anger.
"You're worried about our reputations now Rodolphus? You already married the poster-girl for 'Lunatics Weekly' and the only two heirs to the Lestrange line were both thrown in Azkaban to rot," although Rabastan's words were mocking there wasn't even a trace of amusement in his eyes, "I don't think disgrace comes much worse than that, brother."
"We suffered for a cause," Rodolphus snarled back, his anger apparent as he advanced another step on his younger brother, "we stayed loyal and true to the Dark Lord and when the time comes we will be honored above all others."
Another bout of incredulous laughter was thrown back in the elder Lestrange's face as a bitter glare affixed itself to Rabastan's eyes, "and what if 'the time' never comes Rodolphus? Tell me what happens if the Potter brat actually goes and finishes the job that he started all those years ago," Rabastan matched his brothers step forward with one of his own and tilted his chin arrogantly upward to meet his elder brothers stare, "what happens to the noble Lestrange name then?"
Fury all but crackled from every pore of Rodolphus' being, his eyes dark and angry as his wand rose sharply and the curse formed upon his lips with an ease that came with years of service to the Dark Arts, "Cruc-"
A sharp jerk of Rabastan's own wand and the curse was repelled before it was even properly formed, mahogany eyes rising to meet the livid stare of his older brother even as he turned his wand away.
"Years we spent in Azkaban proving our loyalty Rabastan .. Would you falter now? Would you let the mudbloods and blood-traitors and muggle-trash poison our world when we – we who are pure and loyal and deserve it have suffered so long .."
There was a desperation in Rodolphus' eyes that Rabastan had never witnessed as he stretched out one hand to grip his brothers shoulder, "it is our world Rabastan."
"You sound like her," Rabastan spat back in defiance, eyes flashing, "you're lunatic wife. If this is our world than why does it not feel like it? Why do we slink and plot in the shadows?"
Rodolphus let out a harsh laugh that was rusted with disuse, his eyes taking on a sardonic gleam that was almost soothing in its normality, "nobody said that revolution would be easy brother." (4)
Rabastan's lips twitched faintly and he echoed his brothers attempt at a laugh with one of his own, stashing his wand back into a pocket.
"I'd forgotten how fast you are," was the quiet assessment from Rodolphus as he indicated his brothers wand-arm, "it's no wonder they had such trouble trying to catch us."
The casually placed compliment was enough to almost fool Rabastan into thinking he was back in the Slytherin common-room at school, having jinxed one of the Hufflepuff Prefects and gotten away with it too. But it was just a shadow of what he remembered, the younger Lestrange noted with no little bitterness, even that odd hollow smile upon his brothers was just a reminded of the dark stretch of time that stood between them.
Rodolphus' voice was distant and sharp again as he withdrew his wand and the shell of a smile dropped off of his face, "I knew there was a reason you have survived this long brother, but even your sharp reflexes won't save you if our Lord hears you have been doubting him."
"I'm aware," was the hoarse response as the younger Lestrange turned his eyes away, caught by the haze of gold that seemed to be spreading through the dimly lit room.
A frown touching the younger Lestrange brother's face and a distinct feeling that something was wrong he turned his eyes upon the Egyptian, suddenly unnerved by the way that the walls seemed to be moving.
Breath hitching at his throat at the cold that seemed to roll over him, through him he took a step back towards the wall, memories flowing through his mind like a film reel.
No.
Fingers raked at the air, trembling in pale in the swirl of indigo and black mists that seemed to have enveloped the room. The sound of his elder brothers voice vaguely registered in the back of his mind and his shoulder were shook roughly, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he was dragged from his memories.
There was no light now, Rabastan realized with a dim cloud seeming to obscure his brain from thinking clearly, only that trace of gold that seemed to creep through the shadows like a beacon.
Gold.
Mahogany eyes turned sharply in the direction of the cell that the Egyptian had formerly inhabited to find that there was no cell, only a new collection of empty shadows and..
Rabastan's breath caught in his throat again to find that deranged smile so very close to them, only feet away and roaming freely. That eerie golden eye now clean and defying logic itself by gleaming so very, very brightly amidst the cage of darkness that surrounded them.
It was strange, the younger Lestrange brother thought with surprise, that he had spent so very long as the darkest of nightmares to an entire wizarding community yet he could feel fear in the face of what was supposed to be a Muggle teenager.
In the darkness Malik Ishtar was eerily visible, from his blood-stained mane of dusty blond hair to his devil-be-damned leer. His footsteps as he drew closer echoed in Rabastan's ears.
One tanned hand outstretched in the air, directed towards the back of a scowling and unaware Rodolphus. As Rabastan watched a flurry of gold seemed to flow through the air towards his brother, engulfing him in its light and dragging twisted and ravenous black shadows with it.
And Rabastan knew there was nothing in the world that he could do to stop it.
As his brothers grip on his shoulders slackened Rabastan felt himself unable to move, to even think as furious eyes seemed to lose their life and dull away into a blank, unseeing stare. He watched the rigid curl of his brothers lips slacken and his body slump backwards to land with a dull and limp thud upon the suddenly solid flag-stone floor.
Even as a paper-thin piece of card appeared, held lightly between the tanned fingers of the Egyptian, Rabastan stared at the slumped figure of his brother on the floor.
He had seen this before – life that was worse than death itself.
Mahogany eyes turned slowly towards the lurking predator whose smile was sharp and dangerous as he turned that solitary playing card over between his fingers. Without warning it was flicked in his direction, fluttering through the air to land on the grimy stone at Rabastan's booted feet.
Mechanically he reached down to pick the card off of the floor, eyes fixed upon the staring and surprised image of his brothers twisted soul, frozen still in his very own personal Hell.
Tearing his eyes away from the morbidly entrancing sight, Rabastan turned his stare instead upon the watchful Egyptian who seemed – if anything distracted now. That gleam of madness in his eyes was faltering, his demeanor unstable as he gripped at his own hair, muttering beneath his breath.
"An eye for an eye," was the hoarse whisper as his eyes lingered upon the card that Rabastan clutched between his fingers.
The sound of yelling from above and a great crash jolted his attention outwards and a flicker of that boy that Rabastan had questioned returned, a shadow of something crossing his face as he murmured out with a weak laugh of what could have been relief.
"He's here."
Ryuuji Otogi was fairly sure that he had never been in quite such an awkward position in his entire life. It seemed that the spirit that had hijacked his body was not only something of a trouble-maker but that he was wholly aware of the position he had put his kindly host into – and Otogi didn't consider himself paranoid in believing that he was enjoying it.
As it was an amused (but trying valiantly not to show it) Remus Lupin and a gaggle of teenaged wizards and witches were watching him intently – and when combined with the thoroughly unsupportive and smirking Kaiba brothers and a decidedly miffed Ex-Pharaoh the Game Creator was beginning to feel very unappreciated.
If this was what happened when the spirit got bored than Otogi hoped he never experienced the spirit's anger.
Turning a deliberate and haughty glare upon the group and projecting a feeling of intense hatred inwards in the hopes that his uninvited tenant would get the message, Otogi tilted his chin upwards and declared coolly, "what?"
Resting his glare pointedly on a particularly vocal and decidedly red Ron Weasley who appeared to be muttering something along the lines of, "why is it always me?" to himself, the Game Creator fought down the heat that was threatening to rise in his cheeks.
Otogi Ryuuji did not get embarrassed.
Turning his gaze onwards he rather unintentionally made the entire situation worse by finding the direct source of his discomfort – a distinctly pink and half-frowning Charlie Weasley who was pretending to be completely absorbed in feeding a disgruntled Kleidon.
"It must be hard," Remus Lupin offered diplomatically, unable to keep his amusement from coloring his words.
At the suspicious glare that Otogi threw upon him the werewolf hid his smile and tacked on innocently, "being possessed by the spirit of a stranger, who should, by all rights, be long dead .. It isn't exactly a common problem."
As though tuned on some unknown frequency Otogi picked up the danger that lurked in that strange half-smile that Remus Lupin brandished and his eyes narrowed warningly, "you'd be surprised."
Eyes turned sharply upon the unhelpful row of familiar faces with a vague twitch of irony, "in my circle of friends it seems to be a mark of distinction – sort of like a medal or a puppy."
Otogi felt a distinct surge of disgruntlement inside at the mention of the word 'puppy' and his lips quirked, "I'll be the envy of the group."
Remus' eyebrows raised upwards but his lips turned in an endearing lop-sided smile that brought a wave of nostalgia that wasn't quite his own over the Game Creator.
"You are a strange, strange human being," the werewolf murmured aloud.
"I could have told you that," came the vague mutter from the Dragon Keepers direction causing a renewed groan from his youngest brother and faint grin to cross his sisters face.
"Rather strange than dull," was the contrite response that drew a gleam into Lupin's eyes.
"I think Sirius is rubbing off on you" the werewolf murmured, his hands smoothing out the worn cloth of his trousers as he turned his eyes aside.
"It was bound to happen sooner or later," was the faintly amused reply from a now-smiling Ginny, whose eyes turned briefly upon the pensive Boy Who Lived before meeting the faintly frowning Otogi's stare head on, "Sirius was hardly the quiet type."
"How is it possible though," Hermione murmured aloud, "how can two souls reside within one body?"
"They are not complete souls," was the cold reply from a decidedly solemn Set, "two complete souls cannot inhabit the same body."
"But you-" Harry began sharply.
"-Do not inhabit the same body," the priest retorted coolly, "I reside within the Rod which is bound to Seto by blood. I am able to take control of his body through that bond." (5)
"And Yuugi?"
A brief flicker touched Set's eyes and he ignored Seto's stare, "my Cousin inhabits the Puzzle, the principle is basically the same."
Harry fell silent, his eyes fixing upon Otogi once again.
The Game Creator, to his credit, shifted under the stare and cast a look upon the still smiling Remus Lupin that clearly read, 'make him quit it.'
With a stare of reply that clearly read, 'you asked,' the werewolf turned towards Harry, "you might be interested to know that we may have located another piece of Sirius' soul."
Harry's eyes widened at the precise moment that a grimace found Otogi's face.
"It seems that Severus was not being paranoid – there was a spirit haunting his dungeons and Professor Dumbledore has established that it was not Peeves. Both seem convinced that it is Sirius."
"Brilliant," came the decidedly hoarse interruption from the possessed-Otogi whose eyes gleamed cheerfully, "what are we waiting for then?"
Remus blinked at the vague impression of his oldest friend in vague surprise.
"Let's go get my soul!"
Remus Lupin was beginning to feel the itching beneath his skin again.
It wasn't uncommon in the time that surrounded the full moon, but that made it no less irritating.
With a grunt of irritation the Werewolf cast a moody glance down at the steaming goblet that sat before him and cast an equally moody glare in the direction of the note that had accompanied it.
Remus was beginning to rethink his entire 'Snape really isn't such a bad person' philosophy.
Taking a deep breath the werewolf picked up the goblet and downed it in one, sharp shot with a wrinkling of his nose and squishing his eyes shut. For several moments after the goblet was drained he sat with the same sour look upon his face before he reopened his eyes and jumped with surprise at what he saw.
The half-smirking figure of Ryuuji Otogi seated on the opposite side of the table certainly hadn't been there when he had closed his eyes.
"I never picked you for a shot-drinker," the Game Creator drawled, his green eyes gleaming as he lounged back in his chair.
Remus Lupin blinked again, attempting to clear the pronounced thought of, 'ugh!' from his mind in order to make room for a new one.
"Sorry?" he murmured, pinching his nose and attempting not to look too distracted.
"You look like you've had practice," Otogi elaborated with a gesture in the goblets direction.
Realization dawned on the werewolf and he let out a soft slightly bitter chuckle, "more practice than I probably should have, but when it comes to medicine it's usually better not to savor the taste."
Nodding faintly but clearly not in the least bit interested in what Remus was saying, Otogi frowned slightly and toyed absently with his earring.
Raising an eyebrow the werewolf settled back in his chair and shoved the goblet away from him with more force than he had intended, "was there something you wanted?"
The Game Creator's eyes shot back to the wizard with a faint flash of surprise.
The flash of an understanding smile from the werewolf was enough to draw what had been hovering uncertainly on his tongue for a while now out of Otogi's mouth, accompanied with a resolute squaring of his shoulders, "I want to know more."
The faint raise of Lupin's eyebrow was enough to make the Game Creator's lips twitch in a faint uncertain smile and elaborate, "about my .. people. I want to know why I was locked away in prison without even a pretense at a fair trial."
Green eyes fixed determinedly upon those of the werewolf and he unconsciously lent forwards.
"I want to know why you fear me."
The world that surrounded him was a very different place than Seto was used to.
Great pillars of marble and gauzy black draperies rose far over his head, the corridors lined with people who shied away, bowing their heads and kneeling. Even as he moved, following the predestined path that dreams always seem to have, he found it odd that a place he had never been before could ever feel so much like home.
.. And he was dreaming, he knew it as clearly as he knew each turn and twist of the path that would take him to his destination. How he knew he was dreaming he wasn't entirely certain of, but the scenario tasted of an often revisited bitterness that he found entirely disconcerting.
He turned, the gold at his throat and wrists catching hold of harsh sunlight that streamed through an opening near the ceiling and setting it alight. The fine blue cloth that trailed in his wake was clouded with dust – a testament to the path he had traveled upon his summons.
The people lining the streets had gawked as well, watching with morbid fascination as their High Priest, a traitor some said, had appeared for the first time since the news had come.
Their Pharaoh was dead, Seto knew and accepted with the ease of dreams, and their fate was uncertain – they had every right to treat him with such unease.
In the manner of dreams he felt as if he had labored for years yet in all of an instant he was presented with the line of faces that Seto had never known, yet he recognized with a familiarity that he did not question.
Their eyes were upon him, some veiled with accusations, other solemn and accepting yet no words were spoken.
"Why am I here?" he asked of the faces that watched him.
"To see," was the solemn voice from behind him that caused Seto to turn upon the Priest, "to feel."
Now it was Set whose blue robes were smothered in dust, his eyes that were wounded with guilt.
"Why are you here?" Seto amended, disoriented by the abrupt change in roles as Set turned towards the group of silent and staring individuals.
"To explain," Set replied, kneeling in what must have been a designated empty space upon a mat that had been set upon the bare floor.
His lips uttered a soft and rhythmic chant that seemed to breeze through and over Seto's consciousness, in a language that was old and brittle. Fingers moved in sync with the smooth rhythm of his voice before he came to a pause, eyes turning back to Seto with a solemn expression.
"Where are we?"
The uncertainty in his own voice made Seto uncomfortable.
"You have strayed into a memory omote, a past that is now only a dream," the spirit gave a vague glance over the faces that filled the rest of the decidedly sparse gathering.
Spaces had been left for those who should have been there.
"This is your memory then," Seto resolved aloud, unsure if he was relieved by the revelation or not.
"One of my very last," the Spirit replied, his dark eyes fixed upon the still figures who filled those empty places.
So very few remained.
"The last days were not kind, suspicion was every where – no-one wished to acknowledge he had truly gone."
Set's eyes fixed upon the figure of a woman, kneeling closest to him. Seto was not surprised to see the striking resemblance between this woman and the woman he had once known as Isis Ishtar.
"This was the day that I was told that I must sacrifice myself to the Sennen Rod," Set's eyes turned onwards to the bald and still version of a much younger Shaada than the one that Seto had encountered.
"But," the Priest murmured as he turned his head away sharply, straightening his golden head-dress with trembling hands and casting one fleeting look at the row of faces that remained still before him, "there is always a reason."
Set's dark eyes turned directly upon his reincarnation's blue stare and his lips turned in something that could have resembled a smile.
"It's time to wake up."
With a jolt that was hazardous to his still half-asleep mind Seto Kaiba all but threw himself into a sitting position – eyes wide and his breath coming in harsh pants that didn't coincide at all with the clinging remnants of his dream.
Bedcovers sliding down his chest to pool in his lap the elder Kaiba turned his eyes toward the curtained window to find that, despite his best intentions, he had not gotten a 'good nights sleep' after all.
With a grunt of irritation the elder Kaiba slumped back onto his mattress and stared up at the ceiling with a scowl trailing across his lips.
The household was silent and still, it's occupants not due to awaken for a good few hours or so, and Seto found himself decidedly irritable that he seemed to have awoken for no apparent reason.
A soft scuffle permeating the air caused Seto to pause, tensing automatically before his eyes turned slowly to the small and skulking shadowed black figure that was huddled over one of Mokuba's bags.
Or perhaps not.
Seto made to rise again but found himself stilled by the light press of a hand upon his chest, eyes shot upwards to the faintly illuminated form of the High Priest who now stood beside Seto's bed, Rod in hand.
With a sudden flare of light that caused Seto to shield his sleep-ridden eyes a loud squealing rent the air and Mokuba shot up in bed letting out a snort and surprised grunt.
When the light had died down enough that Seto could lower his hands he found that the odd creature that had been stooped over Mokuba's belongings was now struggling ferociously against the invisible force that had him pinned to the nearest wall.
Pushing Set's hand away the elder Kaiba rose to his feet, ignoring the sleepy questioning from his younger brother in favor of getting a better look at the ugly wretch of a creature that had been skulking within his room.
If it weren't for it's distinctly bat-like ears and large fleshy nose, Seto thought he might have mistaken it for a shriveled and (very) shrunken old man.
It's watery grey eyes fixed upon Seto as he rose from his mattress to stand at Set's side, unknowingly mirroring the Spirits intimidating pose and stare as he fixed his attention upon the strange creature.
"What are you?" Set snarled in a carefully lowered tone as Mokuba rose to try and get a better look at the strange creature.
"Kreacher is a House Elf," it spoke in a decidedly whiny tone, it's eyes still fixed upon Seto with a curiously intent stare.
It was, Seto thought, one of the ugliest things that he had ever laid eyes on.
"And what," Set continued with a narrowing of his dark eyes and an unconscious step forwards that half-shielded his reincarnation from the creatures view, "are you doing skulking around these rooms?"
Kreacher's eyes fixed upon the gleaming Rod that rested in the spirits hands and made another struggled attempt against the force that held him against the wall.
"Kreacher was cleaning," was the evasive mutter as his flailing limbs thumped against the walls.
The sounds of movement outside the doorway was enough warning that their attempts at being quiet had failed rather miserably.
"If you were cleaning, why were you doing so at night?" (6)
An odd smile crossed the House Elf's sallow mouth and it's grey eyes met the High Priest's, "the mark of a good House Elf is that you do not even know they are there."
A vague, somewhat hesitant knocking on Seto's door was backed up by an equally hesitant call from an obviously tired Bill Weasley, "Kaiba – what's going on?"
Mokuba ducked around his brother and Set to open the door, revealing a mixture of curious and apprehensive faces that pressed forwards in order to get a good view.
"Kreacher!" was the snarl from a decidedly unhappy and glaring Harry Potter as he elbowed passed Ron to get a glimpse of the familiar wretch pinned to the wall.
"Master, poor Kreacher was cleaning. Kreacher did nothing and the high and mighty filthy muggle attacked us," the watery grey stare that fixed upon Harry was about as earnest as Mundungus Fletcher and the House Elf clearly knew it, as he began to mutter to himself, "Master will send us back, Kreacher doesn't want to go back, he belongs in his mistresses house, he does."
"Kreacher I ordered you to Hogwarts," was the suspicious reply of an unfazed Harry, "why did you come back?"
The House Elf's watery stare turned away, "Kreacher belongs here, can't have filthy mud-bloods messing up my Mistress's house. Watch it, we must."
"Why," Set snarled aloud as he thrust the Rod forwards in plain view of the creature who struggled away from its burning light, "were you looking through my omote's belongings?"
The House Elf abruptly let out another loud squeal that had a horrified Hermione shoving passed the Boy Who Lived to turn an indignant glare on the spirit, "honestly he is a living creature! Let him go."
"Leave it, Hermione," Ron muttered, grabbing the witch by the arm and attempting to drag her backwards.
Hermione, however, wasn't moving.
"Oh, the mudblood is talking about us, the filthy creature thinks she is helping Kreacher."
Ron's ears began to turn pink, "come on Hermione."
The witch ignored the youngest Weasley brother's attempts at persuasion and leveled a narrow glare upon the High Priest.
"He only wants to stay in his own home," she added with a scowl in Ron's direction and jerking her arm out of his grip, "let him go."
"I want to know what he was doing," Set replied sharply.
"Eyes," Seto muttered distractedly, one hand raking through his chestnut hair with a frown as he landed a blue glare upon the squealing creature. (7)
"He was scrounging around trying to dig up information, weren't you Kreacher?" was the sneer from behind them that startled the clustered group of Wizards and Witches at the doorway to let through the scowling Otogi Ryuuji.
The House Elf's eyes turned upon the familiar feeling stranger with a visible trace of disgust, "Master has returned again."
The spirit of Sirius Black settled for leveling a narrowed glare upon the House Elf, "who have you been talking to Kreacher?"
"Kreacher doesn't know what Master is talking about."
"You know exactly what I'm talking about you little worm," was the distasteful response that was punctuated by a growl as with a loud snap the House Elf broke free of his invisible restraints and fell into a groveling bow.
Before Set could return Kreacher to his captivity the House Elf abruptly disappeared with another loud snap, leaving behind him a group of disgruntled wizards and a thoughtful Seto Kaiba.
With a visible grimace the elder Kaiba brother cast a look that was steeped in regret back to his all-too inviting bed.
It seemed that any hopes Seto had, had for getting a good nights sleep anytime soon had been completely and utterly squashed.
The dark corridors were almost silent now.
The sounds of curses and brilliant rays of light that had characterized them only moments before having come to a standstill. Now the half-dozen or so wand-bearing cloaked wizards and witches that had been throwing them were gone, replaced by a number of motionless, childish dolls that lay limply upon the cold stone floor. (8)
With a soft caress to the warm gold that brushed against his chest, scarlet eyes turned upon the long corridor with a wicked curl of his lips. His feet not even making the barest of sounds as he continued his trek, the only sound spared being the soft whisper that was barely more than a breath of, 'show me.'
There was a soft clinking of delicate pointed pendants coated in a pale glow of light and the smile of the Tomb Robber tightened.
It was about bloody time.
Footnotes:
One. 'come to' being the operative words. Shaadi certainly can't be classed as a 'benevolent' mystic now, can he?
Two. Haha, does this speech seem familiar to you?
Three. In reference to Seto's dramatic escape from the henchmen of the Big Five back in Duelist Kingdom .. One of my favorites of Seto's long line of dramatic entrances and exits.
Four. My favourite line of the chapter.
Five. A matter of personal belief.
Six. This sentence gives me flashes of nostalgia regarding one of my sisters flatmates. Notoriously lazy she only every cleaned while everyone else was asleep, earning herself the nickname, 'She-Who-Only-Vacumes-At-Night.'
Seven. -grins- Seto's train of thought shouldn't be too hard to follow.
Eight. Now all Voldy needs is his very own doll house.
AN: A considerably shorter chapter you may notice with no little relief, or some disappointment. I'm actually considerably happy with this chapter despite it's awkwardness, I managed to get everything that needed to be done within a reasonable amount of time and it only took two weeks or so. Highlight of the chapter for me was being able to put on display the dysfunctional relationship that the Lestrange brothers have – and then of course, snatch it brutally away from them. The forum that I mentioned in the previous chapter shall be up and running sometime this week, so stop by if you have any major beef to discuss. A gigantic thank you to all who have reviewed – and I do have to say that a lot of you are eerily accurate in your assumptions, am I really that predictable?
"Captain Jack is Back."