Rated for language, violence, and mild sexual references.
Disclaimer: If you recognize any names, terms, or concepts, that's because they are not mine.
CHAPTER 8 - Contracts and Chicanery
For the next week, the only moment Harry got alone was when he was sleeping or using the bathroom. Usually his company was only one other person, which he could handle quite well normally, but he thought that a week without privacy would probably drive insane even someone without Harry's anxiety issues. His only solace was the monsters when he summoned them; their presence seemed a balm to his nerves.
Of the other summoners, he'd been bemused the first day, with Yugi and Honda's company. He'd been downright suspicious after the second day, when Anzu had bumped into him on his way to work, saying she was trying out a new route for her morning jog. By the third day, when Mai of all people had asked him to escort her to the dry cleaners, he was absolutely positive that they were conspiring to keep an eye on him. He suffered through the fourth day of surveillance, if only because he couldn't bring himself to be angry with Yugi and Ryou, who had alternated 'keeping him company' all day. On the fifth day, he couldn't take it any longer. Although that might have just been the company.
Harry grumbled, his mood thoroughly soured by the week's stress and now by the heavy, grouchy silence emanating from where Bakura was indolently slouching against the wall.
"What are you even doing here, Bakura? One of you guys has been in the shop without fail every time I work, and don't think I haven't noticed how someone just so happens to have an errand to run in the general direction of wherever I want to go. I don't need a- a guard rotation." It probably wasn't the best idea to bring this up with Bakura, who was just as likely to ignore him as mock him right now, but the man's petulant behavior was grating on him, made him want to force him to respond and own up.
"Heh, that injury spoke differently," Bakura sneered. Harry straightened and scowled, highly offended at the implication of incompetence.
"Okay, first of all? I was dodging just fine until the Curse of Dragon's attack blasted me right back into that spell," not that he would ever tell Sugoroku that, "and secondly, you all have no idea what I'm capable of. You only saw a bit on that hunt. I can take care of myself just fine." There was a sudden blur of movement and Harry reared back, startled, as Bakura hopped up onto the counter and crouched down, staring him right in the face with a sneering grin.
"Is that so, little wizard?" he mocked, towering over Harry. "Perhaps we should test your, ah, capabilities at some point."
"You- I really can't tell if you're flirting with me or challenging me, right now," Harry sputtered. He regretted it instantly.
"Ha! Do try not to confuse your fantasies with reality." Bakura leaned even closer, and Harry had to force himself not to recoil, not to back down. The pale-haired man was mere inches away, close enough to smell that Bakura didn't really smell like anything, close enough to kiss, Harry's mind supplied traitorously. He couldn't help the faint pink from blossoming high on his cheekbones, and Bakura – the bloody bastard – just had to notice. His grin widened, and Harry could have sworn he saw the man's half-lidded eyes flick briefly to his mouth.
"And what fantasies are you entertaining even now, little mage?" His voice was low and growly in a way that absolutely didn't make Harry's spine tingle. To prove it, Harry opened his mouth to retort acerbically, when there was a loud cough from behind Bakura.
"Hey, if you guys aren't gonna kiss, could you stop flirting for like, five minutes? We've gotta talk to Potter-san," a young voice piped in. Harry stood up on his toes to glance past Bakura's shoulder and saw a tall teenager with a wild mane of dark hair grinning at them, standing just in front of a very tall brown haired man in a bizarre trench coat that made him think of Snape and his ridiculous, dramatic swirly robes. Harry hadn't even heard the bell ring.
"Out of the way, thief," the taller man said stiffly, gesturing for Bakura to get off the counter. Bakura growled back but complied, hopping off the top and leaning his hip against the edge. The man hefted a metal briefcase onto the counter, where it fell with a loud thump.
"So this is the newbie, huh?" the man sneered, his cold blue eyes piercing into Harry's. Harry was rather impressed by the sheer disdain that dripped from the man, and he had attended Hogwarts with Malfoy for six years.
"I am Kaiba Seto, and Atem has told me all about you, Potter Harry." Harry blinked, dumbfounded. It was mere weeks after Harry had extracted a promise of secrecy from the shadow mages to whom he had revealed the magical community, and Atem had already blabbed to the CEO of Kaiba Corporation?!
"He what? I told him not to-"
"Calm down, Harry-san, we're shadow mages just like the others! They weren't gonna keep it from the rest of us, you know? Anyway, me and Nii-sama were in France on business when Atem's call came in, and it was just a short flight over to London from there, so we thought why not pop into that magical pub you mentioned and check it out! And it was so cool! I've got tons of questions," Mokuba chirped.
"What I want to know, Potter, is why you are the single most referenced and covered topic in the last 19 years of magical newspapers," Kaiba said, opening the briefcase to reveal stacks of Daily Prophets and Quibblers and Witch Weeklies, all with his name and face on the front page. Harry winced. He had hoped to keep his unfortunate fame a secret for a bit longer. He ignored Bakura's sudden, piercing gaze and continued to regard Kaiba.
"If you've gotten hold enough old newspapers to have seen my name in so many, then you must know why it was there," he said stiffly. His secret may have been out, but he certainly wasn't going to make it easy for them if they persisted in digging.
"Well yeah, but the papers were all full of crap! Like, their opinions kept changing, and it's like they don't even know what facts are. So we wanted to hear from you what really happened. You know, since it seems like you're a pretty big part of magical culture," Mokuba said. Harry sighed. He really, really didn't want to talk to these two strangers about his life when he hadn't even told his new maybe-friends about it, but he was grudgingly grateful that they were willing to hear him out rather than blindly follow the papers. Of course, a wealthy, successful businessman like Kaiba Seto had likely seen his own share of bad publicity and ignorant, sensationalist reporters.
"Look, I really don't know why you seem to think I owe you anything. I told you guys about the magical world in exchange for learning about shadow magic, but I haven't asked for any personal information, which is what you're doing right now."
"You are a naïve fool if you think anyone so blatantly in the public eye has the same rights to privacy as other people," Kaiba growled. "But if you insist on an exchange, I have information pertaining to the house in Poland you and Bakura tracked your attacker to. I found that information for free, but I will not give it to you without compensation. You both owe me a favor for this. Your favor, I'll hold on to," Kaiba smirked in Bakura's direction, getting bared teeth in response. The brunet turned his attention back to Harry. "You, on the other hand… I'll cash in that favor now." Harry groaned. He was well and truly trapped, now. Off to the side, he saw Bakura roll his eyes and mouth something about 'rich arrogant bastards.'
"Fine. I'll answer a few questions, but nothing too intrusive, alright?"
Kaiba glowered. "You will answer all of my questions. That is the deal."
Harry frowned back. "Absolutely not, Kaiba-san. That information's not worth my life history. I'll answer…three questions, truthfully and completely, but at my own discretion. And if you wouldn't mind hurrying up a bit, I'd be grateful. I'm working right now, I don't have time to cater to your grandiose feelings of entitlement," he finished stiffly.
"You didn't seem to have any qualms with entertaining Bakura on your shift," Kaiba insinuated, sneering back. Harry fought to keep his blush down.
"Yeah, well, there's nothing I can do about him. You seem civilized enough to reason with, though," Harry said. Bakura snarled wordlessly, Mokuba let out a wild hoot of laughter, and the muscles around Kaiba's mouth and eyes tensed in a different way that let Harry know he was amused.
"Well, regardless, I'll accept your terms." That…was way too easy. Kaiba had given in awfully quickly, for someone who had supposedly wanted to know everything about him. Harry narrowed his eyes. That means he didn't want to risk losing the deal I offered, which means I probably offered way too much in exchange for the information about that house. There must not be much for him to tell, which means all that build up from the beginning – with the newspapers and everything – was all a ploy to get me to think he was expecting, and felt entitled to, more as a result of his findings.
"Bloody Slytherin bastard," Harry muttered. Kaiba narrowed his eyes at him.
"What did you call me?" he said, voice positively arctic.
"I called you a Slytherin. It's one of the four houses the students at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are split into. The Slytherin house prizes ambition and cunning in its students. The others are the brave Gryffindors, the hard-working Hufflepuffs, and the smart Ravenclaws. This whole setup you put together fairly reeks of Slytherin. And that is your first question, answered truthfully and completely," Harry smirked gleefully. If possible, Kaiba's eyes grew even colder, while off to the side Bakura exploded into cackles and Mokuba fell forward against the counter, thick mane of hair covering his face, shoulders trembling as he strained to withhold his laughter.
"Very well, if that's how you chose to play. Here's your pittance," Kaiba sneered, tugging a thin file in a manila folder from a pocket lining the open briefcase and tossing it carelessly onto the counter. And then he turned to leave.
"Wait!" Harry called. "What about your other questions?"
Kaiba smirked back at him over his shoulder. "I thought you were too busy for company?"
"Well, yeah, but I also don't want those questions hanging over my head!"
"Heh. That's just too bad, but unfortunately for you, I am quite busy myself, and have no time to entertain your grandiose sense of entitlement." He strode out briskly without another word, a grinning Mokuba following with a friendly wave in their direction. Harry was left gawping. Bakura chuckled.
"You realize, of course, that after the stunt you just pulled he's going to pick his next two questions very carefully. You'll likely end up telling him your entire life story."
"Yeah, I guess. But he was being an arse first, with that whole setup to make me offer more than this info is worth!"
"And you rose to his challenge beautifully. Do try to deal with the consequences of your actions like a big boy," Bakura said derisively, dismissing Harry's indignation and turning his attention to the folder. He flipped it open and scanned the single-page report. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the page. Built 57 years ago, 12 unique leasing contracts. Last owner moved two years ago, no new leasers since due to foreclosure from bad plumbing. Nothing. Harry sighed grumpily. This information was absolutely useless, and now he owed Bakura an explanation, too. Bakura, who was now eyeing him rather predatorily.
"I know, I know… Could we wait a bit, though? It's kind of a long story, and I don't want to talk about it where customers might walk in." Bakura regarded him keenly for a moment before nodding sharply. He turned and continued leaning against the wall, silent once more.
I don't think I've ever met someone as moody as this guy, Harry thought exasperatedly, and I lived with Ron for seven years.
The next morning, Harry rose with the sun. He'd thought for a long time the previous evening about how much he wanted to tell Bakura, in between summoning two new monsters, Aurora Wing and Dharc the Dark Charmer. Both summons had seemed to sense his preoccupation, and had set about distracting him rather thoroughly, Aurora Wing by performing a series of beautiful aerial acrobatics, while Dharc had made wisps of shadow dance for him. He had bid them goodnight and had gone to bed with his head clearer and feeling more at peace than before.
Now, Harry dug through his trunk, searching for his broom. It wasn't yet seven in the morning, so Bakura should still be in, Harry mused, stepping into the hallway and rapping lightly on the door. When it opened, he was oddly taken aback to see Bakura staring at him. He'd been expecting Ryou, for some reason.
"I'm going out flying today. D'you want to come with me?"
The dark-skinned man didn't say anything, just looked at him, eyebrow raised. Harry huffed a bit sheepishly. "I… Um. I owe you an explanation, too."
Bakura straightened from his slouch against the doorframe and stepped out with a shrug and a nod. Harry took his arm (much to Bakura's distaste) and, with his reluctantly assenting nod, Apparated them to the designated Apparation Point by Mt. Odake, where magically hidden flying grounds were scattered among the valleys.
Harry approached the groundskeepers' office and slid a small pouch of gold across the counter, reserving one of the fields for the next two hours, and renting a used Comet 290 for Bakura. He handed it to the pale-haired man, who stared blankly, then turned his disbelieving gaze on Harry.
"You expect me to ride this? In the air?" he said incredulously. Harry nodded seriously.
"Yup. Don't worry, I'll catch you if you fall," he said teasingly and then mounted his Firebolt, demonstrating the proper way for Bakura. After a moment's hesitation the pale-haired man followed suit, knuckles tight and white on the wooden shaft. He ascended wobbily into the air, not rising higher than ten feet, and followed after Harry as they made their way to the reserved field. Harry offered words of advice and hovered around him, correcting his grip and position as they went, and by the time they arrived at the field, Bakura was flying quite a bit more smoothly and confidently. Nonetheless, he dismounted immediately upon crossing the border into Field Seven. Harry shrugged, and took off.
He hugged the boundary line of the field, circuiting the entirety of it, building up speed, before he shot straight into the air, perpendicular to the ground. Wind and gravity dragged heavily against him, pulling at his clothes and hair, stinging his eyes. He didn't stop until the air was thin, when Bakura was barely a small, dark speck upon the ground. He clenched his thighs and hooked his ankles around the shaft, then threw his arms wide and let himself fall.
This, he thought emphatically, barely able to put words to the incredible rush of free falling, the unmatched self-determination of flight. Obligations and responsibilities and worries were stolen by the wind, ripped from his beleaguered mind. Harry offered them freely, relishing the way the wind roared in his ears and filled his mind with blissful white noise. Halfway to the ground, Harry righted himself from the roiling tumble, brought his hands back to the broom, and pointed the nose directly at the ground. He accelerated, adding to the momentum of the free fall, twisting into a vicious corkscrew as he barreled towards the earth. Green was rushing up to meet him, fifty feet, twenty-five feet, fifteen, ten, five, three-
Two feet from the ground, Harry pulled up sharply, wrenching his straining shoulders painfully with the sudden motion, and he leveled out, shot back up, curled into a tight loop that had him coiling back up into the sky.
He howled his exuberance.
Sometime later – what felt like mere seconds but must have been at least half an hour – Harry descended slowly to the ground, red-faced and sweaty with exertion and excitement, relishing the burn in his arms and legs and abs. He hopped nimbly off the Firebolt and plopped down rather less gracefully beside Bakura, who was reclined back on his elbows and regarding Harry with an uncharacteristically open and calm expression.
"You're built for this," Bakura said quietly. "Made for flight and freedom."
"Hmm. Guess so. Would explain why I hate publicity so much, too many people getting in the way of what I want to do," Harry responded, the remains of a wild grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You didn't want to try a bit more?"
The other man snorted. "It was quite exciting enough just watching you flirt with a broken neck, without risking my own at the same time."
Harry hummed. He considered teasingly calling the man a coward, but knew the other would become extremely offended at the implication and strive to make Harry see the error of his ways. Which could be fun, Harry mused, a bit of heat finding its way to his cheeks, but later. It was time for a serious conversation now.
"So. You've held up your side of the deal, and been really patient about it. More than I would have expected of you, actually, but. Um. I owe you that explanation." Bakura didn't shift from his lounging position, but everything about him suddenly seemed much more attentive; his eyes were narrowed in unwaveringly on Harry's face, his shoulders were a taught line of tension, and his fingers were dug sharply into the grass. Harry took a deep breath and began.
He spoke first, briefly, of the Deathly Hallows, three legendary objects presumed to have been created by Death itself. He opted to include Dumbledore's belief that they were most likely the creations of three very talented wizards and that two were lost to history, but the third was a wand of immense power, won and lost and vanished and found time and again throughout history. How that incredible wand, the Deathstick, the Elder Wand, had been unearthed by a wand maker around 70 years ago, and had then been stolen by a blossoming Dark Lord, and then won from the hands of that Dark Lord by the Leader of the Light. Harry pulled out his holly wand and traced the letters from the parchment in the air, stark fiery gold against the pale blue sky.
"The first 'G' is for Gregorovitch, the wand maker. Second 'G' is for Grindelwald, a dark lord from the forties, who stole it from Gregorovitch. The 'D' is for Dumbledore, the light wizard who defeated Grindelwald." Harry paused for a moment, debating and then deciding to offer a bit of personal information. "He was my mentor. Died when I was in my sixth year of schooling. The circumstances are actually really important to this story, but I'll get more into that later. That 'S' is for Snape, a double agent from the last war. He's the one who killed Professor Dumbledore. And then 'V' is for Voldemort, who killed Snape to get his hands on the wand, and then 'P' for, well, me. I fought Voldemort, and he died, and the war ended. Mostly."
"But that's not the whole story," Bakura said, eyeing him shrewdly. Harry nodded, and continued.
"Right. That's not the right order, but it's the one Voldemort believed. See, before he was killed, Dumbledore was disarmed by this kid, Draco Malfoy. He beat Dumbledore and won the allegiance of the wand first, so Snape was never its master, and so neither was Voldemort, even though Voldemort actually had it."
"And you bested that boy at some point during the war, winning ownership of the wand," Bakura surmised.
"Yeah, 's why I was able to beat Voldemort, really. He was pointing it against its true master, so it wasn't as strong for him as it is for me." Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew the Elder Wand, holding it up for Bakura to examine. He was relieved when the other man made no move to touch it.
"So. Someone has traced this false path of ownership to you, and now wishes to take this legendary wand from you," Bakura concluded. Harry mumbled an agreement.
"I think it's got to be a Death Eater, someone who was close to Voldemort who might have put his plans together, or something. Only problem is, all of his former inner circle is dead or locked up and isolated in a high-security prison cell."
"That doesn't preclude the possibility that the inner circle member shared his information with others."
"That's true, I guess. But it doesn't help us figure out who it might be. There's just too many possible suspects. Lots of people had ties with Death Eaters during the war, who never actually committed any crimes themselves."
Bakura didn't seem to have a response to this. He stared up at the sky, a vaguely contemplative look on his face. Harry wished he would just do something, say something, even look at him, to break the expectant tenseness, but Bakura just kept silent for a long moment. His expression suddenly hardened into something like determination, and he spoke.
"Ryou isn't my cousin," he said abruptly. Harry stared blankly, caught entirely wrong-footed by the non sequitur.
"What?"
"He's not my cousin. He and I are two halves of the same soul, inhabiting two different bodies. The King and the Pharaoh are the same."
"I don't… I mean, what? That's, what does that even…?" mean, or have to do with the attack, or the Elder wand, or Harry, or anything at all. He couldn't articulate properly, all of his questions were knocking into each other, making his words come out confused and chaotic.
Bakura interrupted, mercifully cutting off Harry's muddled stammers. "An implausible tale for an implausible tale." And that cleared up absolutely nothing whatsoever. Harry started to speak again, to ask what it even meant to be one soul split between two bodies.
"It means precisely what I said: one soul, two bodies! It's not that difficult," Bakura said, growing defensive and a bit flustered, if that term could ever be applied to the aggressive man.
"Okay, but, I mean, you can't just spring something like that on someone, especially someone whose job it is to deal with soul magic! How is that even possible, and why did you even bring it up in the first place? I don't get it, and don't give me that Hippogriff shit about 'implausible tales,' or whatever," Harry said heatedly.
"I've told you all I'm willing to divulge at this time."
"Wha- but it wasn't even a story! You just blurted out some random something, that's not-"
"Deal with it."
Harry gaped rather unattractively. The utter nerve of this bastard. Hermione probably would have slapped him for refusing to elaborate like this. Harry took a deep breath, using the image of Hermione slapping Bakura to ease his confused anger. So. Bakura had, for some reason, suddenly deigned to offer Harry what seemed to be a particularly valuable and sensitive piece of personal information with huge ramifications, and he was at a complete loss as to the reason.
Bakura wasn't the type to reveal things about himself, and there was no motivation for him to do so; the deal had been that Harry spill his guts. Maybe Bakura had felt obligated to say something in return, not having expected such an involved story? But no, the man was probably a professional thief or something, and thieves didn't offer compensation when they got what they wanted!
"You're utterly insufferable, Bakura," he grumbled, unable to comprehend the bizarre conversation. He shook his head and leaned back to mimic the frustrating man's position, pouting grumpily. Bakura just harrumphed at him and kept staring up at the sky. Harry decided to mimic that, too. So it was a bit of a surprise that he didn't notice the spot spiraling out of the sky right at them.
Harry lurched into action, slipping into a tight defensive stance and holding his wand poised for action when the spot crash-landed onto the turf before him. Bakura had let out a vicious curse and simultaneously catapulted himself into a similarly defensive position, a pair of cruel-looking knives clenched in his fists that had seemed to appear out of nowhere. Harry gasped and rushed forward when he identified their would-be attacker.
"Melvin?" he exclaimed, recognizing Luna Lovegood's tiny, quirky burrowing owl.
"Fucking magical birds," Bakura cursed from behind him. Harry ignored him and knelt down beside it, reaching out to see if it was still alive. It jerked upright with a startled hoot, seemed to shake itself before turning massive luminous eyes on him. Harry barely had the chance to take the letter before it was in the sky again, fluttering off in a strange side-to-side fashion. He shook his head amusedly, thoroughly reminded of its equally quirky owner, before flicking open the wax seal.
Hello Harry Potter,
I hope you are well. I am quite well myself, thank you for wondering. I've heard from Neville that you have moved to Japan. I myself have spent the last few months in Taiwan, hunting for the reclusive Taipei Tunneling Shutluck. Do be careful, Harry, they've been observed stowing away on ships and heading north! Take care to hide any silk items in burlap sacks. They're fond of making nests with soft things, but won't touch coarse fabrics.
Anyway, I will be arriving in Japan in a few days. We can take an international portkey together back to England for the Hogwarts memorial service on May 2nd – you know how much cheaper they are for multiple passengers.
I'll expect to see you at Yokohama International at noon in three days' time, provided, of course, that my portkey is not hijacked by kamaitachi.
Love, Luna
Well then. Harry would've liked to say he was surprised, but he truly wasn't.
"What the fuck," Bakura muttered from over Harry's shoulder, where he had been reading the letter, "is a shitlick?"
Harry snickered. "No idea. We'll have to ask Luna when she gets here."
"You're leaving with this girl, then?" Bakura asked. There was an odd note to his blank voice, distant and almost disgruntled. Harry eyed him bemusedly.
"Just for a few days. I'm going to the memorial service for the Battle of Hogwarts. My godson lost his parents there, among far too many other good people," Harry said quietly. Bakura watched him gravely for a moment before nodding.
"If you're not careful, the old man will fire you for taking so many days off. Even his good will has its limits," the taller man said roughly. Harry snorted, recognizing the attempt at changing the subject. He was oddly grateful.
"Nah, I've already talked with him about this. Anyway, if we're done here, shall we head back?" Harry said, holding out his arm for Bakura to take.
Except Bakura didn't take it. Instead, the pale-haired man stepped close to Harry and slipped a dark, muscular arm around his waist, calloused fingers brushing against his hip. Harry stiffened immediately, caught between two warring instincts: to lean into the warmth, or to push away the intruder. He settled for doing nothing but allowing the touch, not meeting Bakura's eyes and staunchly ignoring the amused grin he could practically hear spreading across his stupid, handsome face, and turned on the spot to take them to the groundskeepers' shack and then back to Domino. At least the Apparation knocked the smirk off that bastard's face.
AN: So something amazing happened. I actually wrote the letter from Luna before writing the 'hunt' chapter, and it was only weeks later when I was putting it all together that I noticed how Luna's completely random advice, about nests and travelling north and stowing away, kind of perfectly parallels the hunt. Damn you Luna, being all omniscient even from in a fictional story!
Also, I'm afraid I will not be able to update for some time after this – I'll still be writing, but I have too much real-world work to do to devote much time to it. I'd tentatively estimate about two months until the next string of updates, but don't quote me on that. Sorry!
Hope you liked the chapter~