Wow. I...wow. I just can't believe that there's only three chapters left (counting the epilogue). It's...kind of surreal.

This story has been such a journey for me. I know it seems to be a little early to get all nostalgic and choked up over this, but I can't really help myself. It's just been a great ride. All of you (all two-hundred something subscribers and how many readers/reviewers) are just so awesome. You guys really helped me and pushed improvement that I wouldn't have seen otherwise.

Thank you. Every one of you guys!

So, yeah. Twenty-nine chapter total. Funny fact: this story was only supposed to be eighteen chapters long with the original plot. I tweaked it juuuuust a tad. XD

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh or Harry Potter.

Chapter Twenty-Six

What You Seek

When Ryou woke up that morning, it was Malik lying in the other bed. Sometime overnight, he and Marik must have switched out.

He hadn't realized it at first, because Malik's bed head looked almost as insane as Marik's did most of the time. It was only when he had turned over, revealing light purple irises and an expression of extreme irritation, that Ryou knew who it was.

"Bakura was hitting me in the middle of the night," the young man reported, sounding decidedly aggravated.

Ryou sort of blanked for a moment. "He...was hitting you?"

"Hitting me."

"...Hitting you," Ryou repeated again, just to confirm it.

Malik nodded resolutely, glaring at Ryou as if he were trying to glare through him and straight at Bakura.

"Why?" Ryou ventured after much staring. Malik let out a huff of anger.

"He was mad that I let Marik take control."

That sort of explained it. "Ah," Ryou said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Malik sat up slowly, stretching his aching muscles. His entire body was heavy from the expenditure of energy from the day before.

"I hit him once," the spirit reported, sounding groggy and grumpy and not the least bit apologetic for his fairly silly behaviour.

- Regardless, - Ryou answered, - don't you think that was sort of childish? -

"No. He should have known better than to let Marik in control when I wasn't capable of dealing with the situation."

- He's not going to do anything. -

Bakura was silent for a moment, before he responded in a very quiet, very serious voice. "We can't ever be absolutely sure of that."

Ryou sighed, rubbing his temples. Squabbling amongst themselves and refusing to trust one another was just going to make an awful situation worse. They were about to launch a very abrupt, very stupid attack on the Malfoy Manor where Voldemort was keeping Ryou's father captive. They didn't have time for inner-group issues.

Ryou's attention needed to be elsewhere, like figuring out how he could save his father.

"It could be too late," Bakura said softly, his voice full of a sort of empathy that Ryou didn't often hear in it. He knew that Bakura understood losing a family member. He'd lost loved ones too.

Ryou's voice was resolute: - I have to try. I won't accept 'maybe too late' as an answer. -

"I know, Ryou. I'm just-"

- Preparing me. - he interrupted, recalling Marik's same words from the previous night, - I know. -

Ryou stretched his arms, kicking the blankets off of himself. Malik was out of bed also. He'd knelt down beside his pile of clothes and began organizing them.

"Jeez," the blonde grumbled, "why did he have to just dump everything?"

Ryou smiled slightly, standing up. He adjusted his shirt and went over to his clothes, grabbing his black slacks from the previous night and a fresh shirt.

Malik watched Ryou pick up the pants with a vague air of disdain. "How did you get those dry so fast?"

Ryou blinked, glanced at the pants, and then back at Malik. "I don't know," he said, "I laid them out?"

Malik looked about to make a very snippy retort to that, but a shadow passed over his face instead. He straightened, before sitting gingerly down onto his bed, fingers interlaced in a common expression of thought.

"We need to find the Malfoy Manor," Malik said suddenly, his violent eyes flat as he raised his head so that he could look at Ryou. "And we need to find it today. Tonight. It's got to be soon."

Ryou watched as Malik glanced out the foggy window, eyes narrowed. He looked so grave and drawn, Ryou realized. Something that, Ryou knew, he looked quite similarly to. Or worse. Ryou probably looked a whole lot worse.

"Are you in pain?" Ryou asked suddenly. Malik glanced his way, as if to ask where that had come from. Ryou explained: "I saw how carefully you've been moving this morning. And I feel worse for wear, so I assumed you'd feel similarly."

"I feel like complete crap," Malik answered, his voice rough. Well, at least he was being honest. It was something that, had Ryou been dealing with Marik, wouldn't have happened in a hundred years.

A hundred years? A little snidely, Ryou figured that he was giving the dark spirit just a little too much credit.

"Tch, and you'd be right to think so."

"But-" Malik effectively cut off any reply Ryou could have made to Bakura "-whether or not I feel sucky doesn't matter. We have to go. Now."

Ryou nodded mutely. He understood Malik's urgency. He, too, was extremely panicked. He knew that time was the only thing keeping his father alive, at that point. Time and luck.

He turned around, clothes swinging over his arm, and went into the bathroom to change. He heard rustling outside. Malik was getting ready, too. Apparently he really didn't want to waste time.

Ryou glanced in the mirror. He had been right - he looked absolutely awful. His cheeks were thin, and there were bags under his eyes that might as well have been drawn on by some of Malik's kohl. His entire face looked drawn, like he'd been through some kind of famine.

He huffed aloud, pulling his shirt over his head. He hated seeing the results of what they had been through, this past while. It made it all the more real. Too real.

As he made to button up the white shirt, he briefly marvelled over every scar dotting his body. Bakura had blamed himself for most of these. Ryou could remember every one of his scars, whether they were created by himself or had been done by Bakura.

Ryou knew, however, that many of these scars were not his.

Bakura was decidedly silent, and seemed unusually occupied with other things. Ryou smiled sadly. He expected no less. Bakura was tight-lipped about his lifetime. The spirit's mortal life had not been something pleasant to look back upon.

Ryou would know. Bakura had let him relive every moment beside him. It had been a nightmare of which Ryou couldn't even properly imagine. He still wondered if some of the events had been conjured up in nightmares after the fact, because he couldn't believe that any man alive could have had the capacity to commit such crimes.

For example, he would never understand the value behind burning thousands of corpses and using them to create the cold monstrosities that were the Millennium Items. Almost as if in response, the cool metal of the Millennium Ring rubbed against Ryou's chest.

He let a finger trail down the smooth surface of the Item. He couldn't imagine how it must have been to live in a prison, for so many millennia, created from the dead remains of his brethren. Of his family. Of every person that he had come to love.

Ryou could remember times where Bakura had said things in passing, things like asking Ryou if it was possible to feel one's own mother's corpse, mixed with gold.

He thought that he could always sense a part of his mother within the Millennium Puzzle. And the Millennium Eye. It was part of the reason why, after he'd stolen it, kept the eye so close; and why he had coveted the Puzzle so deeply.

Ryou shivered. He simply could not imagine it.

He finished buttoning the clean shirt, and resumed getting himself dressed.

Once Ryou was finished, he stepped out into the room. Malik was also dressed, and had packed both of their bags. He had his over one shoulder and was standing impatiently near the door.

Ryou sighed, took his bag from Malik's outstretched hand, and reached for the door. "You're losing control of yourself, Malik," Ryou warned. Malik barely spared Ryou a glance.

"It happens. You know, when you're about to die and all."

Ryou winced. It was true. He really couldn't be blaming Malik for acting upset when he was about to face...that future.

Malik ran a hand down his face, looking older and more tired than Ryou had ever seen him. "Sorry. I'm just getting a little loopy."

"I don't blame you," Ryou said emphatically, drawing Malik's gaze up to his own. Malik had to know that Ryou wasn't going to be upset at him for any testy behaviour. It just wasn't fair to him.

Malik jerked on the strap over his shoulder. "Let's just go, okay?"

Ryou complied, knowing that any further discussion was apt to cause a mental breakdown. That, of all things, was not what any of them needed. Ryou knew that if Malik broke down, he would follow almost immediately after.

After all, Bakura and Malik were the only pillars of strength he had left. If he counted himself, then he'd be lying. Ryou knew that his personal strength had vanished the moment that Voldemort had brought his father into everything.

So what would happen if that future came to be?

Ryou clenched his teeth and steeled himself as best as he could. He needed to focus. Priorities - they had to find the Malfoy Manor and actually confront the Death Eaters before they could manage anything else.

He pulled the door open, letting Malik exit first, and then closed it behind them.

As the two of them walked down the hallway, Ryou couldn't help but feel a sense of loss, as if they had just abandoned the last safe place they would be in for a long, long time.

They made the rest of their journey in relative silence. Neither of them needed to really say where they were going. Both of them knew.

They were going back to the place where it all started. Back to that rundown pub. Back to that magical street, hidden behind the pub's walls.

Ryou knew what they were going to do. They were going to seek someone out, anyone, and either ask or torture for information. Part of him shivered at the prospect of Bakura being allowed to torture someone, as he himself had admitted to being quite practiced in the field. Bakura had done many terrible things in his human lifetime. Something, Bakura had commented, that was seeming to come in handy while they were trapped in this whole mess.

Ryou had had no rebuke or even response for that. It was completely true.

The streets were only beginning to whirl into life. It was early - probably somewhere between five and six. Ryou wasn't sure. They hadn't been paying much attention. All he knew was that it was very early and he was very, very tired.

Bakura, surprisingly enough, was just as quiet as Malik. Ryou knew that there were parts of his vision that Bakura had shielded away. He also knew that Bakura being this quiet was both unusual and very disturbing. He didn't like it. Not a bit.

Bakura nudged a tendril of reassurance in Ryou's direction, but Ryou blocked it. Nothing Bakura did, at this point, was going to make him feel better.

The tendril vanished.

Ryou scanned the growing crowd of people. No one suspicious seemed to be nearby. Well, no one in a black, hooded cloak pointing a wooden wand in their direction, at least.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malik doing the exact same thing - searching for threats.

A shiver ran up Ryou's spine, and he realized that they'd just turned onto the street where it'd all begun. He could see the familiar, rickety sign creaking from its place.

The Leaky Cauldron

The obviousness of it was almost laughable - but it was probably only funny to those who were looking for that kind of discrepancy from the normal world.

Both of their walking slowed as they reached the doorway. Malik and Ryou's eyes locked for a brief second, and agreement passed between them. This was it. This was, almost literally, the threshold from which they could not return.

Not without Ryou's father. Not without both Ryou and Malik's lives.

They just wouldn't turn back any other way.

Ryou glanced back out to the street. No one seemed to be paying them much attention. A couple of teenagers about to enter an abandoned pub would draw at least some odd stares, wouldn't it?

"It's probably charmed," Malik murmured, his fingers sliding over the cool door handle, "so that normal people won't think to notice it."

Both of them paused, before Malik thrust the door open. It slammed against the inside wall, jolting the old man that was sitting behind the bar. He looked exactly the same as he had before, just as haggard and lifeless as the first time.

"Don't go breakin' my place," he grumbled in their direction, not sounding particularly enthusiastic about the warning.

Ryou closed the door gently behind them, as to not stir any actual animosity from the old man.

The man finally seemed to take them in, his eyes wandering over their faces for a long moment. His eyes widened, then, and he leaned forward with a spark of life in him that hadn't been there before.

"I've seen you two before," he said, rubbing his chin with wrinkled fingers, "you went into Diagon Alley a while back. Got chased out by Death Eaters, if I reckon right."

"Your reckoning was right," Malik responded dryly, not bothering to spare the man a glance as he made his way to the back room. Their destination was so close that they could just about reach out and touch it.

The man slid off of his stool, hobbling to the edge of the bar. "Now, then, don't you boys go repeatin' anything." He grabbed onto Ryou's wrist, stopping his movement. "S'obvious that you're not wanted in Diagon Alley, so just turn right back around and go home!"

Ryou gently, but firmly, unhooked the man's grasp on his wrist. "I'm sorry," he said softly, raising his eyes to the old bartender's, "but we have no other choice."

The man backed away, leaning tiredly against the bar. "Bloody 'ell," he breathed, "what did they do to the two o' you?"

Unlike Ryou's gentle handling, Malik's gaze was sharp. "Enough to bring us back here. Can we go through?"

It was barely a question. Ryou knew that Malik was at the point where he would incapacitate the man in a second. He would force his way through the instant that the man uttered the word 'no'. Malik was, just as Ryou was, that desperate.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that.

Muted by surprise at Malik's harshness, the man nodded and gestured slowly to the door. Malik didn't give any word of thanks, he only ripped the door open and made his way inside.

"I'm sorry," Ryou murmured as he passed the older man, before following Malik through the door.

The rubble shook as Malik all but kicked his way across it. Ryou scrambled to follow, moving over it with more success than his friend. Once Malik was safely on the other side, both of them stopped to stare at the empty, ruined street before them.

Another shiver ran up and down Ryou's spine. He gripped his arms to his chest, feeling colder and more afraid than he had in a long, long time.

Their footsteps echoed along the dreary street. Ryou could see how tense Malik was, and knew that his body was just as coiled to spring.

"I want control. I'm better equipped to deal with Death Eaters."

Ryou could hardly disagree.

"And better equipped to deal with Malik when he's this out of control," his dark added, almost as if it were an afterthought. Ryou glanced Malik's way, to the hardness in his friend's eyes. To the darkness that lurked in every movement that he made.

With a quiet sigh, Ryou consented. - Okay, - he answered.

The Ring lit up, the flash of light dulled by the cloth of Ryou's shirt. Bakura opened his eyes, surveying the area as a way to get a grip on his surroundings. It was quite different to watch through Ryou's eyes, than to actually be the one in control.

Malik had stopped walking, and was staring at Bakura with a chilliness to his gaze. Bakura returned the favour with a flat stare.

"What?" the spirit demanded. Malik snorted, opted not to respond, and kept walking.

Bakura had no trouble catching up and falling into step with the angry blonde. "Look, Malik," he said lowly, keeping his gaze ahead, "you need to get a grip. You're losing it totally, and I don't care how justified the behaviour is. Cooler heads always prevail, and we can't do this if mine is the only one."

Malik didn't stop walking. He didn't even act as though he'd heard a word that Bakura had said.

"Malik," Bakura warned, not liking his comrade's behaviour at all.

Malik did not seem to register this fact, and continued to ignore the Spirit of the Millennium Ring.

Bakura, sick of putting up with the silent treatment, grabbed Malik by the arm and spun him so that he was forced to face him.

"Now," he hissed, voice dangerous and soft and lilting. A predator's voice. "Listen to me, Malik. Right here, right now, we-"

"Hey! Stop right there!"

Both of them turned, to see a Death Eater making his way towards them. The man reached for his wand, holding it in a way that reminded Bakura of a modern day policeman approaching a criminal.

"That didn't take long," Bakura murmured under his breath, using all of his self-control to keep himself from smiling that typical (and according to Ryou, decidedly evil) smile of his.

Malik, taking no notice of Bakura's newfound good cheer, wrenched his arm out of Bakura's grasp, as the spirit's attention was elsewhere.

The man stopped a few metres away from them, holding his wand out. "What's your business here, muggles?"

This man was obviously not very intelligent - to even refer to a non-magic human as a non-magic human was practically begging for suspicion.

Bakura glanced at Malik. The blonde male's expression bespoke solely the urge to murder any and all things. He sighed. It seemed that he would be doing the acting this time around.

"We're lost," he mumbled, looking appropriately abashed, "sorry. The old man in the pub didn't tell us this place was off-limits."

The man didn't move, only pointed back the way they'd come. "Then leave. This isn't...safe."

Bakura cocked his head, doing his best Ryou impression. "Why not?"

- I'm not innocent to the point of stupidity, yami. - Ryou grumbled through their link, a little insulted by Bakura's 'impression'.

Bakura only snickered in response, but carefully kept his exterior as calm as possible. After all - any normal human would have deluded themselves into thinking that they were somewhere perfectly normal. Normal humans had the wonderful ability to delude themselves into explaining magic with some kind of their logic. It was fascinating, really, how stupid they could make themselves.

The man shifted, obviously uncomfortable with having to deal with...what did they call it? "Muggles"?

"It's a restricted area," the man stumbled over his words, barely getting them out into intelligible sentences. "Construction, an' all. Just get out of here. Restricted."

Bakura blinked, before giving his biggest, brightest, most innocent and childlike smile. "You're not very high up in Voldemort's army, are you?"

The man immediately went stock-still. Bakura could see his eyes widen behind the skull mask. The man gaped for a moment, before thrusting his wand in their direction. "H-How dare you address the Dark Lord by his name! Who are you?"

"We're wasting time," Malik snapped, shoving forwards. His fingers were already at the deck holster on his leg, and he flipped open the snap with a single quick gesture. Bakura could see the snag of magic as Malik "felt" for the right card.

"Put your wand down!" The man shouted, assuming that that was what the young male was reaching for.

Bakura's grin broadened and became decidedly more evil. Not giving Malik enough chance to get a card (because honestly, he was now mad at him, and was not going to give him the satisfaction of subduing their prey), Bakura whipped one of his favourite knives from his pocket and leapt at the man. The man, having the typical reaction time of someone with little reflex training, didn't even get half the words out for his spell before Bakura landed on him.

Malik was standing behind him, arms crossed, looking unimpressed and not a little irritated.

"The hell are you-"

Bakura cut the man's shout off by sliding the side of the blade along the Death Eater's neck. "Now, now," he purred, putting the sharp edge back to the man's neck with a simple flick of the wrist, "let's not go overdramatizing the situation. We're only going to torture you for information."

"If you think that-"

Bakura pressed the knife ever-so-slightly, grinning as he felt the man's heartbeat increase beneath him. "I'm what many humans of this world refer to as a 'psychopath'. I promise you, if you refuse to comply, I will slit your throat."

The man gulped in a frantic breath, craning his neck away from the cool metal of the knife. Bakura's smile widened further, and he glanced back to Malik. "Bindings, if you please?"

Malik sighed, dropping his bag to the ground and zipping it open. He rummaged around for a moment, before pulling out a long, thin rope. Wrapping it around an arm, he approached both Bakura and the Death Eater. Bakura, to make Malik's job a little easier, hauled the man into a sitting position by the hair on his scalp.

The man let out a cry of pain, one that dimmed instantly when Bakura threateningly gave the knife another soft push against his jugular.

"Wh-wh-what kind of wizards are you?" the man questioned fearfully, his entire body shaking along with his voice.

"Ones that don't feel like wasting our power on you," Bakura said shortly. "Especially when we can subdue you by...ah...muggle means, and still succeed."

Malik stood up from behind the man, clapping his hands together slightly, as if removing dirt. "Done," he said.

Bakura smiled, and gestured towards Malik. Malik, understanding the meaning, grabbed the man by his tied hands and forced him up onto his feet. The man groaned.

"How about we take this into that shop over there?" Malik suggested, gesticulating to the empty building as he went back to retrieve his bag. "It's less conspicuous than torturing him out here. Might muffle his screaming at least a little bit." A slow, toothy smile flitted across his face.

Bakura snorted. It seemed that the prospect of torture was lifting the young Egyptian's funk. A little bit, at least. How cute.

Keeping the knife to the man's throat as a method of deterrence from any funny stuff, the two of them led the Death Eater into the abandoned shop. Bakura opened the door, and Malik kicked the man to the dusty floor. The black-clad wizard scrambled to his feet as best as he could (his hands were tied behind his back) and turned around to face them.

Bakura twirled the knife in his fingers. Malik had gone to find a chair to tie him to.

The spirit leaned down, face only inches from the other man's mask. He smiled gently, like a friend would for another friend. "Now, where did you put that wand?" the man only squeaked in response. "I saw you hide it in that cloak of yours. I want it."

Not waiting for a response, Bakura dug his hand into the man's cloak. The search was a quick success, and he drew the long, thin piece of wood from the cloak with a sense of sick pleasure that he hadn't gotten in a long time.

Bakura reached down, pulling the mask from the Death Eater's face. The cloak fell back, revealing dusty brown hair. The man was young to middle aged. Bakura would guess around late twenties, early thirties. His eyes were a sharp, dark blue. They were filled, much to Bakura's amusement, with utter terror. He had a strong jaw, but it was barely noticeable will all of the man's shaking.

The spirit decided that it would almost be a little too cruel to nicely ask the man's name.

Malik reappeared a second later, and forced the man up and down onto the chair, arms still tied, but held around the back of the wooden seat.

Just for extra measure, Bakura opted that they tie his legs to the chair's legs. He had admitted, out loud for Malik, that he wanted it for dramatic effect.

Honestly, he was just trying to freak the Death Eater out as much as possible. The man wasn't high enough ranking to have known who they were on sight, which meant that he was likely a fairly new recruit. New recruits were always the easiest to break.

Bakura was going to enjoy this.

He could vaguely hear the slamming of a door as Ryou decided that this was the point where he would opt out of their undertakings. Ryou could, after all, see within Bakura's mind how violent the spirit was willing to become to get their information.

It wasn't something he could watch happen.

Bakura slid his finger along the length of the wood's shaft, his smile gentle. "You wizards are so dependent upon your magic," he said. "It would be a pity if you were unable to partake in it."

"We spent quite a time unable to use our power, while your magic fought to suppress ours," Bakura continued. He held the wand up, as if he were examining it. "It would be only fair then," he took either end of the wand, moved it down to eyelevel with the Death Eater, and snapped it in half, "that we be allowed to do the same to you wizards."

The man's face drained of colour as Bakura dropped the two useless halves to the ground. They hit the wooden floor with a resounding clatter. The wizard's shoulders hunched, as if all hope had been lost.

It really had, Bakura had to admit. For the wizard, at least.

Bakura's eyes sharpened to flint. It was time to get down to business.

"Have you ever been to Malfoy Manor?"

The man was silent for a moment, head bowing as he processed the abrupt question. "...No," he mumbled finally.

Bakura used the flat side of his knife to tilt the man's chin up, so that he had to look Bakura in the eye. "Tell me the truth."

The man jerked his chin back down, knocking the knife from his face.

Bakura shifted the knife to his other hand, and reached out. Taking firm hold of the man's chin, he forced his head up. "Tell. Me. The. Truth."

The wizard gritted his teeth, staring hard into Bakura's eyes. "I am."

Bakura sighed, stepping back and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Malik..." he said slowly, glancing to the blonde, who had been silent thus far.

Malik blinked for a second, before seeming to understand what Bakura was suggesting. "I don't know if it will work," he said. "I'm still pretty drained."

"As am I," Bakura responded a little testily. He hated not getting his way with an interrogation. "But we have little choice if we want to make this quick."

Malik seemed to chew over that for a moment, before finally pulling the Millennium Rod from his pocket. He twirled it in his fingers for a second.

"You sure," he asked the man, "that you don't want to talk?"

The wizard said nothing, only thinned his lips in an obvious gesture of being tight-lipped.

Malik sighed, shrugging casually. "Well, don't say I didn't give you the option." That said, he pointed his Millennium Rod to the man's forehead. "Millennium Rod, give me control!"

The Rod flashed with bright, yellow light. The Death Eater shrunk back in obvious horror, trying to turn away. It was no use, however. Malik's mind control was as powerful as anything.

The man slowly turned towards the glowing Millennium Item. He blinked, all light fading from his eyes. The expressions on his face washed away, leaving only blankness. Pure, unchangeable obedience. Such was the power of the Millennium Rod.

The wizard's eyes turned up to the Eye of Horus shining on Malik's forehead. "Yes...Master...?" the man rasped.

Malik's lips quirked in wry humour. "Been a while since I pulled this one," he murmured, more to himself than either Bakura or the Death Eater.

The man sat obediently, patiently awaiting his Master's order.

Malik's eyes went cold, something that Bakura found familiar from the time of Battle City. The snowstorm iciness of Malik's gaze was something that Bakura had noticed to be missing after Yami Malik, Marik, was sealed away.

It interested Bakura, to so suddenly see it now.

"Slave," Malik ordered, but there was a softness to his voice that contrasted the ice in his eyes, "tell me the location of the Malfoy Manor."

"Due East," the slave answered immediately. "The muggle way to reach it is to take a bus out of London. Two hours' ride. The directions are...difficult to remember. Master, do you wish me to write it for you?"

Malik glanced at Bakura, who shrugged and pulled his knife out again. The spirit cut the bindings quickly, freeing the wizard's hands and legs.

"Do we have any pen and paper?" Malik asked Bakura.

Bakura zipped open his own bag. "I may," he said. He rummaged through it for a few moments, but came up with nothing.

Malik cut his gaze to the wizard sitting lifelessly before them. "Search the shop for some method of writing." He knew that wizards wrote with different things than modern day humans. Enchanted quills, he thought. Quills and parchment.

Very medieval.

The slave nodded eagerly, trotting off to fulfill his master's wishes.

Bakura turned fully to Malik, who was standing with his shoulders sagging. The young man was staring down at the pulsating Item in his hand.

This wouldn't have bothered Bakura even in the slightest - after all, Malik had always had a bit of a flair for the overdramatic - had it not been for the expression of absolute agony on his face.

"Malik...are you...okay?" Bakura asked slowly, taking a careful step in Malik's direction.

Malik didn't react for a moment, before letting out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Fine, fine. I'm just..." his voice trailed off, and when he spoke again, he sounded choked, "...doing what I've always done best."

The expression on his face drained away, and his face went completely blank, as if he were under the mind control instead. He turned away from Bakura, so that the spirit couldn't see his face.

Ryou's presence resurfaced. - Malik...- he murmured in soft surprise.

"Leave him be," Bakura answered.

No further conversation was possible, as the wizard came hurrying back with the quill, ink, and parchment. He set all three onto the seat of the chair, and then hurried to the other side of the store to carry over a table to write on.

"Hurry up," Malik sneered at his temporary subordinate, falling easily into the role of an intimidating master. He turned back to where Bakura could see his face. All the spirit could see, however, was hardness.

The man all but dropped the table down, the resounding slam of wood-on-floor enough to make Bakura wince and spare a glance out to the street. He just hoped that Diagon Alley remained deserted. Any further disturbance would just be wasted time, as far as he was concerned.

Malik hissed a warning at the wizard's accident, and the man immediately began stumbling apologies. He sat down, dipping the quill into the ink he'd set onto the table, and began quickly writing down instructions.

"Well, he's high enough up that he knows the location of the Malfoy Manor," Bakura commented, crossing his arms.

Malik cast a glance his way, before snorting softly. "Yeah. Lucky us."

"He's got more free will than any of the drones you used to create. Any particular reason why?"

"I can alter the level to which the person is controlled," Malik explained. "I can make them completely mindless, as I used to do, or make them obedient, but still with basic personality traits. I can also just plant small seeds of impulse in one's mind. The last one is the most subtle, but the second is easily the best for the sake of being inconspicuous. Outsiders would just assume that I'm the leader of something, not that I was the puppeteer."

"Ah," Bakura said, understanding dawning. He'd wondered about that. "But before, you preferred simplicity over subtlety."

"Yeah."

Bakura nodded again, but didn't continue on. He knew that he was walking on a mine field, addressing Malik's past endeavours as the leader of the Rare Hunters.

"Write faster," Malik ordered, not bothering to even look at the wizard. The man immediately began to scribble even quicker onto the parchment.

Bakura arched an eyebrow, just as Malik turned back to him. "How's Ryou?" the blonde queried.

"Fine," he answered. "Worried."

"About?"

"You," Bakura answered, absently playing with his knife. His eyes slid to where Malik was standing. "Everything. When isn't Ryou worrying?"

A vague smile crossed Malik's face. "True, I suppose."

The scratching of the quill stopped, and the wizard jumped out of his seat to hold the parchment out to Malik. "Here, Master!" He exclaimed, bowing his head.

Malik accepted the sheet, scanned it quickly, and nodded to Bakura. "It's good. I recognize a few street names, I think, so he's not bullshitting us."

"I don't think he could if he wanted to," Bakura murmured, twirling the knife. He walked around to behind the man, who didn't seem to notice or care that Bakura's vicious smile had changed to a solemn frown.

Malik averted his eyes, holding the Item out to the man. "Release," he said quietly.

The light re-entered the wizard's eyes, and he blinked around in confusion. "I-I wrote-" he stared at the parchment in Malik's hands. "No!" He made to run and snatch the paper away.

Bakura was too quick. He took a fistful of the man's hair and pulled him back against his chest, holding him there, with his head back. "We chose to let you die as yourself. I am many things, but I am not so cruel as to strip you of yourself prior to death."

The man's eyes went absolutely huge as he registered exactly what Bakura meant. "W-Wait! I can help you! Please, please, I have a wife at home-"

"Silence," Bakura ordered through his teeth, fist clenching in the man's hair. "You chose this path yourself. You have no one else to blame."

Ryou shut himself into his soul room, putting his hands over his ears and screwing his eyes shut. He ground his teeth together, head bowed.

"Please...please..." the man sobbed, tears streaming down his face. His entire body trembled. The man stumbled where he stood, weak-kneed.

Bakura kept him properly upright, eyes closing as he drew his arm across the man's neck, the knife glinting.

"Please..." the wizard whispered.

Bakura's hand tightened around the handle of the knife. "War gives no room for error. I wish that I were sorry about this."

Bakura pulled his arm back and slit the man's throat.

A couple hours later, the two found themselves sitting at the back of a mostly-empty bus, driving out past a rural section of London.

Bakura had been silent the entire time. After they'd disposed of the corpse and cleaned up, they had found their bus and were on their way. Bakura, on the bus, had chosen to stare out the window, chin in palm.

Malik could understand what Bakura was probably feeling. Killing, no matter how many times you did it, always seemed to rip out a small part of you when it happened. Unless the killer was a sociopath, which neither Malik nor Bakura actually were, then there were emotional repercussions to such acts.

Malik had killed too. It had been hard every time, and he still regretted every second of it.

Still, they had been riding for nearly two hours in very, very tense silence.

"Bakura," Malik started, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. "I...ah...damn..." he trailed off, not really knowing what words to use.

The Spirit of the Millennium Ring sighed, dropping his arm from its place as a prop. "It's fine, Malik," he said, "it's...just been a long time since I've killed that way."

There was a short pause between them. Malik raised his eyes to Bakura's face.

"It had to be done, though," Malik said, trying to emphasize the fact.

"I know that."

Malik put a hand on the spirit's shoulder. "You said yourself that cooler heads prevail, Bakura. You can't dwell on this."

Sharp eyes snapped to meet Malik's. Malik was very suddenly reminded of how very closely Bakura's eyes resembled blood. Recently spilled blood. "I'm not upsetting myself over killing one mortal, Malik. I only worry for Ryou. I've dirtied his hands again."

Malik guffawed, gaping openly at the spirit. "He has to know that he didn't do it."

"It's difficult to explain," Bakura said, "how Ryou feels about these necessities, when we are in this kind of situation. It's something you may have to address with Ryou personally."

"He feels guilty, right?" Malik guessed.

Bakura propped his chin back up on his arm, angled towards the window again. "Something like that."

"Guilty and responsible?"

"Guilty and partially responsible, perhaps," Bakura answered in clipped tones, "but I reiterate that I can't explain it to you properly."

"He would have reported back to Voldemort," Malik said.

"Yes."

"And he would have prepared them for us."

Bakura snorted. "If you've deluded yourself into thinking that they aren't already preparing for us, then you're an idiot."

Malik frowned. He wasn't stupid. He knew that they would be appropriately ready for them, when they arrived. It was fact, however, that though Voldemort and his Death Eaters could prepare for their attack, they couldn't determine the exact time of it.

Instead of saying this aloud, Malik just crossed his arms and slumped down in his seat.

Malik glanced out the window, to the afternoon sky. "Tonight, huh?" he mused quietly, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes."

Malik started, not having expected a response.

Bakura's eyes were half-lidded, but Malik could see all the hatred and rage swirling in the depths. Just as Malik's had been earlier, Bakura's face was hard and steely, set with a fierce determination.

Either they were going to succeed, or they were going to die doing their damndest. Malik knew, had really always known, that this was what it was going to come down to.

Death.

As Shadow Masters, death was an unavoidable part of their lives. They were doomed to be eternally haunted by Death's shadow. The constant knocking upon Death's door that their magic caused was why so few Shadow Masters existed in the modern day. Few had the strength of mind to constantly face death. Fewer still were strong enough to watch it happen around them as much as Shadow Masters, true Shadow Masters, had to.

Malik knew that, had he been given the choice, he would have chosen to lead a normal life. Shadow Magic was something that he would have preferred to live without.

He also knew that Ryou would probably feel similarly - though he would have preferred to not have the magic but still have become light to Bakura's dark.

Malik sometimes wondered if even Bakura would have preferred to have not come into contact with Shadow Magic.

Malik loathed the very power that now fuelled his entire existence and was the only way that he would survive the mess that he was in now.

How funny.

"What are you thinking about, Malik?"

Malik glanced over, to where Bakura had turned his head to face him full on. The spirit looked intrigued, but not wholly so. It seemed more like he was trying to amuse himself.

"Nothing," Malik answered immediately, but upon Bakura grinning his way as if to say 'I am not convinced', he sighed. "Just...Shadow Magic. I don't know. I'm being unusually introspective and philosophical."

He cast a sardonic smirk Bakura's way. "I guess it just comes with the whole 'about to die' thing."

Bakura obviously did not find the joke funny, and just frowned pensively, turning away from Malik again.

Malik blew out another sigh.

Bakura suddenly reached for the parchment between them, pulling it up in front of his eyes. He read over the scrawled instructions for a second, before dropping it back down beside Malik. "We're almost there."

Malik followed Bakura's gaze outside, where a large expanse of sprawling hill lay out around them. He blinked. Shouldn't there be...?

"The mansion will be hidden by magic," Bakura said, guessing Malik's thoughts by the expression on his face.

Malik blinked, and looked out back at the landscape with new eyes.

"How do we make the vehicle stop us here?" Bakura asked, staring at Malik expectantly. Ryou must have shut himself up, to have not said anything.

Malik grinned at Bakura's lack of knowledge of the modern world. "Like this:"

He reached up and tapped the line that they wanted off. As the bus slowed, both of them tensed. They could feel the magic, the modern magic, slowly coming up and pooling around them.

This was it.

End Chapter

God, that was an awful cliffie. Sorry. Well...not the WORST I've ever given, but still...

You guys must want to just kill me for drawing out the action like this. XD

Oh, and fun fact - I started writing this story at fourteen. :P See? I meant it when I said I was pretty young.

Agh! I can't believe we're getting so close!

I'm going to try to have the next chapter out within the next couple of weeks. Look forward to it!

Thanks for all of the support, you guys. Really.

(sniff sniff)

Review?