Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.

A/N: This is WILDLY AU. Especially when it comes to the Yugioh universe: I have taken canon, twisted, turned, molded, changed it and reworked it entirely for my own purposes. Plus, I've taken some ideas from other fics, though they are all reworked as well.

By and large, however, you can assume events from Yugioh canon happened mostly the same way, even if the reasons and explanations for them, and the mechanics of Shadow Magic, are slightly (or greatly) different. This fic takes place several years after the Dawn Duel arc, anyway, and as I already mentioned, it is AU.

For the Harry Potter gang, everything is canon up until the fic begins, sometime in the spring of Harry's fifth year.

Terence 'Terry' Boot was an ordinary bloke.

He was 15 years old, attended a boarding school, liked to hang out with his mates, fought with his brother a lot and didn't have many worries.

His appearance was rather unremarkable: neither fat nor fit, neither tall nor short, neither too pale nor too tanned. He had boring brown hair, which he always kept short, and dark brown eyes, that his former girlfriend had declared 'very expressive'.

Like so many other blokes his age, he had a fascination for fast motorbikes, hung pictures of top-models over his bed but had a secret crush on shy-but-cute Sally-Anne from his class, was rather proud of his good grades but still preferred comics to history and could eat much more than he should reasonably be able to stomach, especially in terms of sweets.

Like not so many other teenagers, he happened to be a wizard and was currently enrolled in his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; a fact which had come as a bit of a shock to his so far non-magical family, but that in the end didn't mean much.

Sure his boarding school was less dull (and more hazardous) than most others and doing real magic could be rather thrilling; but Transfiguration essays were just as bothersome as Biology ones and magical homework was neither easier than the standard version nor less stressing when it was due the following day.

Besides, he was as obsessed with his favourite team (the Ballycastle Bats, third in the League) as his muggle cousin was with his (Manchester United, second in the run for the Cup), despite the fact that his heroes played on flying brooms with four balls, rather than on foot with only one.

His main concerns were very normal ones: girls, sports, and the teachers' unreasonable demands on sacred spare time.

All in all, he was a standard bloke, with a standard life.

So why – why! – did he find himself in this mess?

Of all the absurd, uncomfortable, upsetting things…

Why him?

He never did anything to deserve this, he was sure of it. The Fates were cruel indeed!

He glanced around.

On his left, pale slick elegance only marred by the arrogance and maliciousness conveyed by the ever present smirk: Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Silver Prince, arbiter elegantiae of the school, by general feminine consensus the most gorgeous underage wizard in Britain and all around nasty jerk, as usual glaring balefully at his rival.

On his right, impossibly messy black hair and impossibly sparkling green eyes, shining even through the frumpy glasses: the Gryffindor Golden Boy, Harry Potter, hero, seeker extraordinaire, clueless mystifying bloke and Knight in Shining Armour of every teenage witch's dreams, predictably glaring back.

Now, this stand-off in itself was nothing unusual or surprising.

Those two had been at each other's throat from day one and their confrontations were fairly common, not to mention, rather enjoyable; loud and unpredictable, the two made for a highly appreciated live show, with no need for tickets (not that the Weasley Twins hadn't tried selling some).

In fact, it was a common practice among the Hogwarts students to arrange their paths between classes in such a way that they crossed all of the expected 'meeting points', in the hope of catching the fireworks once the two got their ever-fresh fighting going.

Terry's favourite this year was the sun-lit second-floor corridor where inescapably, once a week, the Gryffindor Defence class ran into the Slytherin Arithmancy one, very conveniently just outside the room where Terry himself and his fellow Ravenclaws were gathering for Charms.

Too bad said corridor seemed to have inexplicably disappeared: there was no longer any sunlight around them – and it wasn't a case of sudden blindness, no.

That would have been somewhat expected.

Oftentimes the unpredictability of these 'shows' resulted in the spectators being granted a rather more lively experience than they wished, courtesy to stray curses, exploded debris flying around and the like. Truth be told, it wasn't at all odd for a student or three to find themselves chatting away in the hospital wing, under the label 'collateral victims'. A fair few nice friendships had started that way, Terry could attest to that.

There were even some fools, like those Creevey brothers from Gryffindor, who claimed such happenings as a sort of honour; Terry of course was far from this kind of fanatical nonsense, but he too had had his turn of being hit by a teeth-lengthening hex meant for Potter, and a ricocheting knee-reversal jinx…

Terry knew all too well that Malfoy didn't care in the least about 'side-effects'; he had always thought that Potter didn't care either. After all, why would the two most popular blokes of their generation bother to pay attention to 'lowly' common students?

Joining Potter's Defence Association the previous October, however, had opened his eyes to the fact that the Gryffindor Hero most certainly would have cared, probably a great deal too, if he had but noticed. Which he simply didn't.

He was genuinely nice, and genuinely oblivious.

Terry, with his studious, inquisitive, observant nature, had often wondered as of late whether Malfoy's callousness was more or less irritating than Potter's blindness. It was like the green-eyed Gryffindor could not register anything in his surroundings beyond a) direct threats, preferably of the lethal kind (against which he was admittedly brilliant), and b) his friends.

Friends who never strayed far from him and in fact… yes, Terry could spot Granger and a tall shadow flanking him as usual, despite their unusual situation: surely that was Potter's faithful side-kick.

But, wait, no… there were no red hair to be seen; not Weasley then. Who…?

Ah, yes. The tall frame could only be Longbottom. Bit of a mystery that one, Terry mused. Universally believed to be an idiot with barely enough magic to qualify for Hogwarts (according to rumour, he'd got in merely on his pureblood heritage, like some Slytherins in their year) and yet, not only was he a respected member of the D.A., but one of the best among them, recently the only one besides Ginny Weasley who could keep up with Potter and Granger. Terry had watched him master a complex shield in almost no time with his own eyes. It puzzled the entire Ravenclaw House.

Well, at least he would be more interesting to observe than the ginger-haired winner of the 'Most Predictable Gryffindor of the Year' award, thought Terry uncharitably…

Then his mind came to a screeching halt. Wait. What was he thinking! There was nothing interesting in this mess! No silver linings! It was not an opportunity for observation! He shouldn't be thinking about that! He should stick to cursing Fate, Luck, Life's weird sense of humour and possibly a colourful assortment of Gods!

Because – really.

It was one thing to miss a class or two while your skin regained its proper hue under the exasperated fussing of the school's Mediwitch, and quite another to be dragged along for the ride on one of Potter's mad adventures!

Oh, yes, he knew what the other bloke got up to in his spare time. Who didn't? Rumours were wild things after all and they tended to run rampant.

Plus, he'd heard the whole story about that Basilisk (a Basilisk in a school, wasn't that mind-boggling) from a portrait the year before and Potter had sort-of confirmed it, in that confusingly modest way of his. Terry was positive it was just one episode of many, after all he could recall absurd tales about Potter beating a troll as early as Halloween in their first year!

They made for wonderful tales to be sure, but he much preferred the role of listener!

Let Potter's usual side-kicks do their job as Proppeian Helpers. He, normal, unassuming, fairly boring Terry Boots, did not want to be involved in any way!

But even as he mentally raged he couldn't help the sinking feeling that he was already in way too deep.

For the cavernous, barely-lit cave he could guess more than see spreading around them and up high above, welcoming them only with a chilling draft that made the flames flicker dramatically atop the two torches held by conveniently placed – too conveniently, his logical mind pointed out – ornamental supports…

…well, it most certainly wasn't Hogwarts anymore.