A/N: Apologies for any typos – my poor beta hasn't been well lately.

Chapter 26: Until We Meet Again

It was ten am when Draco charged his way out of his flat, and into the street. The rain had cleared overnight, leaving blue skies behind. Even the weather knew that the worst was over.

But for Draco, there was still one more task to do before this fight could be declared over.

He was not great at making phone calls, but he had at least grasped how to correctly answer a telephone (and how to politely dismiss people trying to sell him conservatories, life insurance and mail order brides). Closing his eyes, he remembered the tears that Ali had shed over the phone after hanging up from her brief and curt conversation with Hana not an hour ago.

"She didn't know who I was," she had whispered, her words stumbling in fear and misery. "They got them."

And Draco had sworn to himself that this would work, because he did not want to picture just how sad she would be if it didn't. Ali had already lost a week of her life, and the chance to compete in the World Championships. She would not lose her friends too while Draco was standing.

Rucksack heavy with clinking bottles and stone, he marched himself onto the London Underground, and caught the next train to Charing Cross. He was going to need help to pull this off.

OOO

Slamming doors were not uncommon in the Leaky Cauldron. Like most London establishments, the rooms were small, the corridors narrow, and the picky planning permission designed to protect the ancient buildings for heritage and historical purposes made enlarging the corridors or knocking two of the tiny rooms together impossible. Sound travelled easily between the walls, filling the corridors with the whispers of life.

This morning, a mortified Harry was the one breaking the peace as he slammed the bedroom door shut behind him, and wished that he had remembered to knock first. He only got two paces before the door opened again to reveal a dishevelled and sheepish Ron.

Could have been worse a rational side of Harry's brain told him. At least they were still both clothed.

"Sorry mate," Ron's ears were pink, but he could not stop himself from grinning. "Just...celebrating, y'know?"

Harry facepalmed. His stalled thought process was not helped by Hermione yelling her own apologies from the room. "Okay look, I'm happy for you both – really, it's been a long long long time in the making. But do you think you can celebrate with the door locked next time?"

"Sure," Ron shrugged. "If you promise to knock first."

"Believe me," Harry rubbed his eyes. "That won't be something I'll be forgetting again in a hurry." He blinked the spots out of his vision and turned back to face his friends. "I'll see you two for lunch..."

And he left the awkward encounter at a quick trot, relaxing again as he heard the door snap shut behind him.

Tom seemed very pleased to see him, clapping him on the shoulder and speaking gleefully through toothless gums. Harry was not paying attention, his mind still trying to clean out the thoughts of just what his two best friends were doing upstairs. Tom seemed to take pity on Harry's shellshocked state however, tucking him into a private booth, and whipping up a huge breakfast in five minutes.

Harry was still picking at the fried egg when the door to the pub opened and Draco Malfoy bustled in in muggle clothes, carrying his huge rucksack.

"Ah Potter! There you are!" he plonked himself on the seat next to him without asking, snapping Harry out of the trance he had been in for the last fifteen minutes.

"Malfoy?" he asked, blearily.

"Yeah, that's me," Draco rolled his eyes. He seemed far too lively considering how late they had all been up last night. It wasn't the liveliness that came with energy though, Harry realised. It was the kind that came with determination. Draco Malfoy was on a mission. Intrigued, Harry gulped down half his tea, and tried to put his brain into gear.

"Can I eat some of that?" Draco gestured to the breakfast plate.

"Sure. My appetite just got cut in half anyway..." seeing the quizzical look, Harry explained. "I just walked in on Ron and Hermione kissing."

"Oooo..." Draco winced. "Bet that was awkward..."

"You have no idea..." Harry groaned, spearing a sausage before Draco could take it. "Don't get me wrong – really happy for them. Seriously, some of Umbridge's classes moved faster than those two..."

Draco snorted, and chewed on a strip of bacon.

"Yeah, well, I think there's going to be a lot of that for the next few days. Turns out the best way to get two people together is throw them into a life or death situation." He swallowed and dove into his rucksack. "Speaking of life or death situations..." he whipped a copy of the Daily Prophet out, and unfolded the front page.

"Knew it wouldn't take long for the story to break," Draco admitted, gesturing to the headline which was ecstatically proclaiming the Dark Lord dead once again. "I'm surprised no one has pounced on you yet."

Harry groaned – so that was why Tom had been so nice to him earlier. He probably sounded horribly indifferent about Voldemort's defeat, choosing instead to focus on Ron and Hermione's happiness. But that was just a facade. He was thinking about it. He had thought about it as he wandered around the hospital under the Invisibility Cloak all morning, turning it over and over in his head. And he was surprised to find that he felt no guilt – just a huge, insurmountable amount of relief. So he let himself feel it, rather than contemplate any deeper meanings.

"You okay?" Draco asked, pausing as he cut the black pudding in half.

"Yeah, just..." Harry blinked a few times before settling back against the seat cushion. "It doesn't quite feel real. I've been the Boy Who Lived all my life, and now Voldemort's dead. Seven attempts on my life later, and it's over..." He waved a hand over his head. "Hasn't sunk in yet."

Draco shrugged. "I can't even imagine. Just give it time."

Harry gave a weak laugh. "Yeah...time. Got plenty of that now. Wow...what am I going to do with my summers?"

He tried to picture a June without drama. Without something or someone coming after him or his friends. A life without some evil trying to take over the world.

And Harry realised, that it was a very nice idea. And he really hoped that it would last a long time.

"Hmm...he wasn't actually that great at killing you, was he?" Draco asked in amusement. Harry snorted.

"No, he wasn't."

"I mean, seven attempts," Draco chuckled. "That's almost embarrassing."

Harry laughed, and he managed to bring himself to eat a mushroom.

"Anyway, the fight's not over yet," Draco said, buttering a slice of toast. "I need your help this morning."

He explained quickly how the healers had returned earlier that morning – how he and Ali had feared that the aurors would seek out the muggles in their group who could not defend themselves, and how he had taken copies of everyone's memories before leaving the night before.

"I don't think they'll have got to people like Tea or Mai," Draco finished. "Joey and Yugi will have been sticking to them like glue. But they've definitely got Hana and Koji. Ali called me this morning."

"And you saved their memories in your pensive?" Harry asked, finishing the last of the baked beans and wiping up the sauce with a piece of toast. "Okay, I have to admit, that's a really good idea."

"I know," Draco shrugged with a grin. "So how about it? I could use an extra pair of hands, or I'll be doing it all day."

Swallowing, Harry weighed up his options. He had to admit, helping return everyone's memories sounded like a better way to pass the time than sitting here waiting for Ron and Hermione to get bored and come down for food. He dropped his fork into his plate, and pushed it away.

"Can't believe I'm choosing going out with you over my friends," he said wryly. Draco snorted.

"Don't worry, I won't tell."

Like magic, the fireplace lit up in a sparkling emerald green, and a handful of people tumbled out into the pub, dusting themselves off with ease and scanning the residents like professional hawks.

Harry saw the cameras and gulped. He recognised reporters anywhere.

"Tom!" he hissed, and the bartender ambled over. "Tell Ron and Hermione I'll meet them at the hospital?"

"There he is!" someone cried, and the tidal wave of magical reporters suddenly surged forwards.

"Run?" Draco suggested, bagging the last two pieces of toast, and stuffing the remaining strip of bacon into his mouth.

"Yup," Harry agreed, and the two bolted from the booth like a pair of terrified deer.

OOO

London was rarely quiet, especially during the day, and not for some time on this particular street. Up and down, cars, taxis, buses and bikes pushed like a lazy tide down the road, engines roaring over the cries of shoppers and businessmen. Engineers and workmen shouted back and forth to one another, waving their arms in complicated instructions as they paced the edge of the huge hole, which according to official records, had been a structural failure to an older Underground tunnel. Occasionally the swell of noise was sharply punctuated by the grinding sound of a digger, clearing the last of the rubble from the site.

Across the street, leaning on one of the cycle hire stands, Kisara watched them work, her thoughts allowed to run free. It felt like she had not stopped in the three days since the museum. Every second had been spent, getting used to modern life and the cycle of eating and sleeping again, dragging a reluctant Seto to hospital, and offering help wherever she could, whenever she could. Caring was hard work, she had realised, and not just to Malik, Ali and Koji, who were still recovering. It was smaller things like telling Rebecca, Hana and Riley that they couldn't race down the corridor in wheelchairs, or catching Yugi and Tea snogging in a not-so-private corner, or persuading Ryou to go and eat when Malik took one of his naps.

The busy London street was perhaps not the most ideal location to have take a moment for herself and examine her private musings, but she needed the view – of the destruction to the road, and the workmen. She needed to remind herself that the world was capable of rebuilding. She sipped at her coffee and closed her eyes against the noise of the digger. She still not used to being so publicly exposed. At any second she imagined that she might find herself back in Egypt, with shouting voices and stones being hurled at her. But here in London no one paid any heed to a slender white haired woman, in white trousers and a blue jacket.

No one except a certain Pharaoh, who perched himself onto the seat of the bike next to her like a curious budgie.

"You've got that musing look on your face," he greeted. "The same on that Ryou has...only less sad, I think."

Kisara offered a smile, but it was a weak one. She missed Akila too. She had deserved so much better than the fate that she had been dealt. "Any sign of Bakura?" she asked hopefully. Yami shook his head. Now that Malik was awake and improving, all of Ryou's concerns were free to shift to Bakura, for he had not been seen or heard from since the British Museum. Ryou had tried knocking on his soul room every night, but had only been met with silence and firm locks. And while his presence still lingered, it was as if some vital part of it were missing.

Twisting the cardboard sleeve around the cup, Kisara looked down at her feet. "What do we do now?"

Yami shrugged. "Wait until he's ready to talk. But it won't be to you or me, I reckon."

She shook her head. "I didn't mean Bakura. I meant...life." Now that she was speaking, she found the words appear in a rush. "I mean, I don't regret it. But is it even life? And what do we do with it? I want to stay. I really do. And I'm grateful to have the chance to stay. But is it right?"

Seeing Yami's curious frown, she took another sip of coffee, and found the words to continue. "It feels like we've cheated. And is it right to cheat and stay with them knowing that there will come a day when they will all be gone?" her voice hitched, and she took a second to compose herself. "And we'll still be here – until my cards and tablet are worn away by age, or until the items are melted down. Seto said he didn't like not having answers. If I'm honest, neither do I. I just want to know if I'm doing the right thing."

Her hands were shaking, and she took another sip just to give herself something to do. Yami seemed to be formulating his answer in the same way he would formulate a strategy – with care and precision. Across the road, the digger started again, and Kisara tensed in fright. After a while, the cacophony stopped, and Yami spoke.

"We all wonder that," he said. "Whether we should stay, knowing that we have our own sort of immortality, while Yugi, Ryou and all our friends would age and die. But would it hurt more to leave them now – to limit ourselves so that we might limit the pain? Or is it better to embrace this life – accept that what we have now is not forever, but when that end comes, we will have some memories and happiness left to show for it?"

With a thoughtful expression, Kisara drained the last of her coffee. "I guess you're right," she conceded.

"I am sometimes," Yami agreed, with a hint of his usual cockiness. "And besides, you and Kaiba might not like having answers, but no one knows how long they will live – not even Kaiba. It's true that there are no guarantees in this kind of life. But there are none in any life. So it's better to take each day as a gift, and enjoy it. And I think after everything – not just the last few days, but everything since Egypt – we've earned a little bit of enjoyment."

Kisara thought of her five thousand years stuck as her dragon, only truly living when Seto had given her purpose in duels. Then she thought of Egypt, struggling from town to town, knowing that the rest of the world feared and hated her. She had just been a child, only focused on surviving – no chance to really live at all. So maybe she was owed this reward. Hadn't she said those exact words to Seto not days ago? Would she honestly pass up the chance to sample life properly, instead of having a few fleeting tastes?

"What about you though?" she asked, tilting her head up at the man who had once been Pharaoh. "Your memories are still locked by the Shadows. You don't even know your name."

There was a smirk on his face now, and Kisara knew it from so many duels – it was Yami's look when he was eagerly anticipating a challenge. "I've got a lifetime now to discover it. And I have to say, I'm going to enjoy every second of it."

She caught Yami's eye, and lifted her coffee cup. "Here's to enjoyment, then." She said, lifting her cup and sipping, only to pull a face when she encountered nothing but air. "Empty."

Yami chuckled. "I came out on a lunch run anyway – there's a noodle restaurant not too far away that does takeaway."

Knowing that most of their friends could not abide hospital food, Kisara threw her cup at the nearest rubbish bin, and stood. "Sounds good to me. But first, can we pop up to Regent Street? There's a soap shop up there that I could smell all the way from Piccadilly. I figure any soap I can smell from that far away has to be good!"

OOO

"Are they sure he's making a recovery?"

"Yes Malik," it was fortunate that Ishizu Ishtar had the virtue of patience. She had tolerated Malik's endless questions since he had been old enough to speak, and now she could tolerate the same question being repeated five times in the course of the short two minute conversation. "He is responding well to the antibiotics, and they are confident that they have a grip on the infection now, instead of it have a grip on him."

You were not supposed to use mobile phones in hospitals, but none of the Ishtar siblings had ever been good at keeping the rules. Ishizu glanced over her shoulder to the bed, where Odion was resting. The feverish sweat that he had been sporting for the last couple of days was finally breaking. Once the injury had been repaired in surgery, the next big threat had been the bacteria which had spilled from his gut into his blood stream. A monumental dose of heavy duty antibiotics were being pumped into his body to combat the raging infection, and for the first time since the attack, he looked to have a little colour in his face again.

"Let me know as soon as he's awake?" tired and dopey from painkillers, Malik sounded like a ten year old again, and Ishizu felt a warm surge of fondness for both her brothers, which only crystallised as she remembered, not for the first time that week, just how close she had come to losing both of them.

"I promise. I'm sure he'll want to speak to you too." She paused. "Are you certain that you are alright in London, Malik? I wish I could be with you-"

"No," Malik sounded firm, in spite of the drugs. "Sister, Odion needs you. I'm fine. Ry is here, and Yugi and everyone else. I'm good…well, not good," he amended. "I've got stitches, glue and bandages holding my back together, and antibiotics are making my stomach feel rocky. But I'm not alone. Ry's already said that I can stay with him once I'm out of hospital in a few days."

Ishizu's lips quirked into a knowing smirk. "End of the week, brother of mine. You will do as the doctor's say. No discharging yourself."

"But I'm bored sis!" Malik whined, instantly regressing to his ten year old self again. "There's only so much TV I can watch. I must have seen every episode of Top Gear and Come Dine With Me ever made!"

"I am sure that you are exaggerating Malik."

"I'm serious! There isn't a time of day in Britain when it is not possible to watch those shows!"

She let him complain, smiling all the while. She was sure that Ryou was sensible enough not to let Malik move.

"How is everyone else?" she finally managed to interject, as her brother paused for a much needed yawning breath.

"Hmm? Oh. Erm, lemme think. Cody's gone, thank the Gods. Koji was let out yesterday – kid was overjoyed from the cheering in the next room. His throat is fine, just bruising now. The aurors came and wiped his mind, but Draco put it right I think. Ali came round to see me yesterday – she's still a bit too stiff to walk long distances. She's still skin and bones, but they say they're going to let her go day after tomorrow probably. Can't believe she never told me she's a witch! Everyone else is pretty much back to normal though. Ron's still showing his stitches off to anyone who will listen…" he huffed. "Wizards are crazy."

She chuckled, her ears zoning in behind her, as a soft sigh broke the drone of monitors. Beneath closed lids, Odion's eyes were stirring.

"I'd better go, Malik," she said. "Odion is waking up."

She got a yawn thrown in with her goodbye, before Malik hung up. Ishizu flagged an approaching doctor down, before turning into the room properly.

"Odion," she kept her voice low, even though she knew that it was daft – Odion would wake up or sleep depending on what his body wanted, not how loud her voice was. "Odion, it's okay. Everything is alright now."

And as Odion's eyes opened, glassy and vague after so many days, Ishizu knew that they would be.

OOO

The bitter tang of smouldering wood hit his nose two streets away and he took off running towards it, memories already assaulting him. Pictures of burning houses, screaming women, and guards stomping their feet as they pushed and shoved the terrified villagers down the stairs and into that cavern...

But that had been eleven years ago. He had been just a boy then. A terrified, wild little creature, who had shivered with fever and sorrow in the desert before his resolve had hardened into survival. Now he was a man, just turned nineteen, the most feared and respected thief in the whole of Egypt...and he found himself trembling like that little boy in the desert again, fear pounding into his heart as he rounded the corner and took in the row of scorched hollows that had previously been mudbrick buildings.

No.

Who could have done this? Had a drunken fight got out of control? Had a lamp fallen over? Or worse – he swallowed at the thought – had the city guards come knocking? Had somebody tipped them off that this was where the thieves and criminals liked to hang out for the evening, and come to deal with them all in a swift decisive blow?

No...

The top floor of the bar had crumbled in on itself, with chunks of mud scattered in the street, and charred wooden beams sticking out of the walls like broken limbs. People were already digging through the ruins; some grim faced neighbours, some desperate and frantic relatives. The smell of burnt wood and brick made his eyes water, and more powerful still was the unmistakable stench of death.

No!

He charged towards the rubble, past the horses and camels that strained to haul pieces of wall and wood out of the way. A grisly row of the dead lined the street, with relatives and friends already weeping. Some were lightly burned, and had succumbed to smoke. Others had horrible dents in their skulls, or puncture wounds in their stomachs and chest, already congealed in the rising sun. Others were mere piles of scorched bones, with the occasional scrap of jewellery as their only identity. His stomach turned as he saw two men extract another body and haul it out to join the line of corpses. The body was heavy, and there were multiple jagged incisions in the belly and chest beneath the charred skin.

The sickness would not stay in his stomach, and he tried desperately to keep it from rising to his throat. He had seen his share of death, and dealt it out himself more times than he cared to count. But that was not just any death, or any man that they were hauling out. That was Mkhai. That was his friend...

He stumbled back towards the nearest wall, struggling to hold his food down.

"Bakura?"

He whirled in disbelief, as two figures stood up urgently from the shadow of the building. They had been crouched, arm in arm by the doorway, and now watched him as though he might fade, as insubstantial as a spirit. Insurmountable relief washed over Bakura and he swept them both up in a hug, without caring who was watching. A muttered prayer brushed against his ear.

"Thank you...thank you Gods..."

He was not sure if it was Kebi or Ramla whispering thanks into his shoulder – and he did not care. He did not make a habit of praying himself, but somebody up there had obviously been paying attention long enough to spare the three of them from the flames. Then he felt Ramla's body shake with fresh grief, and he knew that this relief would be short lived.

"Kebi, what happened?" he demanded. Though the young man was pale and trembling, Bakura knew he would answer. They had been friends for years, and Kebi would not withhold anything from him.

"It was the guards," Kebi told him, his trembling escalating into a full body shudder as he began to recall the details. Ramla wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, trying to bring some stability.

"We had just come around the corner when they burst in...Isis's mercy, it was so quick..." Kebi was floundering, even with his wife's support, so Ramla took over.

"They started tossing torches in," she reported. "There were too many of them to put out. First through the lower windows, then into the top ones. Then they stood outside the door and stabbed anyone who tried to escape...we've already seen Chigaru..." her voice broke off, and silent tears began running down her face.

Chigaru...the scrawny thief who Bakura had always teased and made fun of...and Mkhai, laying not ten paces away in the row of the dead, his huge powerful body now stilled forever. He felt sick again, and this time he did not know if he was going to be able to hold it back. There was only one more person, and his hope was fast fading away like the wisps of smoke still rising from the destruction. He grasped to it anyway.

"And Layla?"

Now Ramla broke, burying her face in Kebi's shoulder and giving over to heaving sobs. Kebi finally dared look at his friend. He understood – Bakura had to hear it from him. He would not believe it from anyone else.

"Nobody got out Bakura," he all but whispered. "They're still pulling bodies out of the ground floor. It's going to be a while-"

NO!

He was already off, his hand pressing against his mouth, the only thing preventing his stomach and disbelief from bursting out. He was three streets away before he finally succumbed, the bile burning his throat and mouth. He welcomed the pain. He wished his whole body would burn. Burn like the corpses in the street until there was nothing left of him. Until he joined them in whatever hell the afterlife had prepared for him.

Why am I not dead?Why are they dead, and not me? They deserved to live...

But they had not. They would never live again in this life. He would never pickpocket from merchants with Chigaru again. He would never lose in a drinking contest to Mkhai again. And he would never watch Layla smirk with mischief as she listened to his exploits in the tombs. They had all drifted away forever, murdered by the guards of the Pharaoh...

...the Pharaoh...

Grief crystallised into fury, and he screamed, pounding a fist solidly into the wall. It gave a satisfying crack and pain radiated up his arm, but it was inconsequential compared to the rage that flowed through him with more fury than anything that fire or Ra himself had to offer.

"DAMN YOU PHARAOH!" he shrieked, not caring who heard him at this point. "DAMN YOU AND ALL YOUR FUCKING GODS!"

"...that was a particularly beautiful moment, wasn't it, little thief?"

He was not screaming this time. He was numb on the bed, with the unrelenting voice pounding away in his ears, as wave after wave of memory crashed over him, each one cutting deeper and deeper into his soul. He had thought that being sealed into the Ring was the most painful experience he would ever have to face. He had been wrong.

He was not a King anymore. He was not even a Thief. He was a scared eight year old boy again, torn to pieces at the hands of other people, with nothing to call his own. No village. No friends. No sister.

"Nothing..." the voice whispered. "You were nothing. You were nothing when they pushed them into the cauldron and created me. And you were nothing when you came staggering back eleven years later, looking for the first step to vengeance against the Pharaoh..."

He wanted to scream again, like he had millennia ago. But his fight was gone. Instead he whispered.

"Go to hell."

"Oh dear, little thief," the voice was crooning. "Haven't you forgotten? I made hell. And your village and your family were the key that unlocked me. Your destiny is with me..."

He was not aware of getting to his feet and wandering out of his soul room. Ryou's door sat ahead of him, but he could not go near it. Instead he let himself be carried off down the corridor, further than he had ever walked before, feeling the darkness press tighter and tighter against him with each step.

"That's it, little thief..." the voice was still whispering. "Come to me...You want vengeance. And you shall have it. I promise you that..."

The door at the end of the corridor was slightly ajar, and he stepped through it. The room was black, with tendrils of shadow twisting over it like vines sapping the life out of the very air itself. It was cold, but he barely felt the shiver as his eyes fell on the door on the opposite side of the room – the purplish black of the Shadow Realm, with a golden Eye of Horus stamped on it like a seal. Even now though, the black tendrils of Shadow weaved their way over it, smothering it into the darkness.

Bakura's resolve was crumbling like the brick had from the hollow charred shell of the inn.

"Yesss...my power is waiting for you, just as it has for five thousand years," the voice was closer now, whispering to him from the other side of the door. "With it you can tear down the world. Make them suffer...show them just how badly it hurts..."

It did hurt. It tore at every fibre of his soul, and he knew he just wanted it to be over, because he could not see an end. There was no end to the pain. No end to loss, the loneliness and the suffering. The doorknob – a smooth black onyx – was inches from his fingers, and he closed his eyes. There was no point in looking at what was behind the door. What did he care anymore? What did he have to live for without the possibility of a happy afterlife? What was there worth waiting for when Akila was gone...

"Bakura?"

His hand froze, and for the first time since entering the room, he tore his head away from the shadowy door.

Framed by light, Ryou looked like an angel. His forehead was creased in a frown, and Bakura suddenly felt small – he could not hide his thoughts from Ryou, and even if he could, his intentions were clear as day. Ryou watched him, his face twisting to one of disappointment, and for the first time, Bakura felt it cut deep into his soul.

"Is that what she'd want you to do?" the hikari asked firmly.

Was it?

Turning to look at the door – black, dark and the most evil thing on the planet, Bakura wondered for a moment if it was worth it for the promise of sweet oblivion...to never have to feel again...to just let the disaster happen and just sit back and watch because it was all inevitable eventually...

Slowly he let his fingers drop away from the doorknob.

It was never worth it.

He could almost feel the shadows shrieking in anger, reaching out to try and drag him back to the door – to throw it open and unleash pain into the world. But opening it would not fix anything, Bakura knew bitterly. Nothing would. He had learned that lesson back in Egypt. He did not need to experience it again. He knew better.

He turned his back on the darkness and stepped towards his hikari. He did not stop to take one last glimpse, or to ponder his choice – he just walked back into the long dimly lit corridor, and back to his soul room to think.

Firmly Ryou closed the door behind them, confident that Bakura would never find it again.

OOO

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Kaiba-"

"Just get on with it," Seto Kaiba resented having to reschedule his plans for anybody, and Yugi Mutou, sitting uncomfortably at a table in the bar, was no exception. The prospect of doing nothing but sitting in one of Kaiba Corp's executive jets all day was not improving his mood. However, the thought of Kisara's joy when Kaiba presented her the passport and legal documentation that Roland had managed to 'acquire' for her, did improve his mood, to the point that he was willing to give Yugi five minutes of his time before checking out of the hotel.

But so help him, if the midget started talking about destiny again, he was cutting this meeting short.

The shorter duellist took a deep breath and levelled his rival with a serious look. How anyone could think that those eyes were innocent was beyond Kaiba's comprehension – behind that wide-eyed roundness, they were calculating. He wasn't certain that he was going to enjoy this little head to head.

"I need you to take care of something for me." Reaching for the deck holster on his belt, Yugi flipped it open and extracted three cards from behind his side deck. For a moment, Kaiba's heart stopped, as he thought he recognised the colour scheme and design of all three cards. After a blink however, he registered the difference, and he understood.

"I see – those three Sacred Beast cards you found in the tunnels?"

Yugi nodded. The little brat had been ranting about Orichalcos snakes, and Kaiba had been determined to dismiss the conversation from his attention, until the shorter duellist had mentioned the three twisted versions of the God Cards. He had to admit, he was curious.

Still, Yugi held fast to them, though he did hold them out a little for inspection. He was clearly remembering the CEO's zeal from Battle City. "They can't be used, Kaiba."

It sounded so like a challenge, that Kaiba narrowed his eyes automatically in response. Yugi's grip tensed, and he ploughed on before he could be interrupted, obviously sensing trouble.

"They're not like the God Cards. These…I don't even know what circumstances they were created under, but if the Orichalcos was involved, you can bet it wasn't good. They're too powerful to leave in the hands of just anybody…and Yami and I don't think it's a good idea to keep these and the God Cards in the same place."

At the mention of his doppleganger pharaoh, Kaiba rolled his eyes.

"Please Kaiba," Yugi's eyes were getting wider and more hopeful, but Kaiba could still see the cool calm judgement behind them. "We need you to keep them safe. Nobody can know about them, and nobody can use them."

In spite of his pleading, he did not push his hands out any further, as though not wanting to tempt him. Kaiba studied them with the expert eye of a master. They were fearful looking creatures – skeletal and vicious, compared to the Egyptian God Cards. Their effects were interesting. Kaiba idly wondered why they had no Orichalcos specific effects – it seemed like a bit of an oversight – before he vaguely recalled Yugi saying something about Shadow Magic and Orichalcos magic being incompatible. A cynical part of his mind asked when he had started listening to Yugi's nonsense, but it was easily drowned out by the knowledge that Yugi's nonsense had brought him Kisara.

As much as it irked him, he did feel he owed his rival something – for getting Mokuba back from the tunnels, and for the chain of events that had given Kisara life again. And he wasn't stupid – the Seal of Orichalcos was banned for a very good reason, and Kaiba knew that these three cards – created by the same hands – were probably just as powerful. And most importantly of all, in spite of Yugi's apparent concerns, he felt no strong desire to possess them himself. They just weren't as appealing as his Blue Eyes White Dragons.

Still he allowed his rival another second to sweat, before he smirked.

"They're a poor imitation of the real thing," he conceded, holding out a hand. "You keep the God Cards safe. I'll keep the Sacred Beasts out of sight. We're even from now though."

Yugi frowned a little. "This isn't about who owes what, Kaiba. This is about-"

"Spare the friendship speech," the CEO groaned. "I said I'll take them. And you can relax – I'm not going to use them." In fact, if the plans for his latest project went ahead on schedule, he had just the place to hide them.

Yugi gave the cards one last look, before placing them gently into Kaiba's outstretched hand. Kaiba spared them only a momentary look, before pocketing them without a backward glance. Maybe it was his imagination running wild after the last few days, but now that he had touched them, he felt far less inclined to use them than ever – there was just something about the way that they felt in his hands that made him uncomfortable.

"Are we done?" he asked obtusely.

"There was just one more thing," Yugi said. "I just wanted to say thank you for everything you did at the museum."

Suddenly the executive jet seemed far more appealing than it had five minutes ago. "Save it, Yugi. I didn't do it for you."

"I know," Yugi interjected, before Kaiba could continue his rebuff. "I still wanted to say it. You didn't have to stay and duel Marik, but you did. And it can't have been easy for you to make that choice. So thank you."

Deciding that rolling his eyes would be too dismissive, Kaiba offered a non committal grunt instead. At least Yugi wasn't deluding himself into believing that he'd done it because he was a hero, or something. Kaiba had done it to save Kisara, and that was the end of it. In fact his only regret about the events of that evening was that he hadn't been able to save Bakura's little sister as well. The broken expression on the thief's face as he screamed into the floor of the museum, was one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Deciding for himself that the party was over, Kaiba swept from the bar and out into the reception with a contemplative look on his face. It became more devious as the elevator door slid open to reveal Kisara, casually dressed, with a small carry-on bag over her shoulder. It took five brisk strides for the CEO to reach her, and he leaned in with a conspiring tone.

"I've been thinking."

"You're always thinking," came the reply, followed by a quirk of the lips. "Your brain doesn't sleep – believe me, I know better than most."

Kaiba allowed himself a chuckle, before continuing.

"I was hoping that you'd be able to assist me with one of my upcoming projects," he said, as they fell into step together by the reception desk. "Mokuba is spearheading the Kaibaland rollout in Europe right now, and I don't know that I can watch this, the new duel disk designs and the Duel Dome expansions at the same time."

The receptionist was fluttering around, giving them papers to sign, and asking if they enjoyed their stay, but Kaiba was more interested in the way Kisara's face lit up.

"I am intrigued and suspicious, Mr Kaiba," she smiled, pulling her bag a little further up her shoulder. "Do tell?"

Taking her arm, Kaiba felt an innate sense of peace, as the two of them headed for the exit. This was how things should be – no thought to the upcoming flight, or even the next few days. Their gaze was firmly on the future.

"Well then Kisara, what do you think about a school that teaches children to play Duel Monsters?"

OOO

"Ow!"

"Oh sorry Malik!" Serenity apologised profusely, releasing him and scurrying back across the concourse a few steps. "I didn't mean to squeeze so hard-"

Yugi peered over the top of Hermione's hair to get a better look. Malik had only been out of bed for a few hours, but he had insisted that he would not say goodbye to his friends in a hospital (Yugi couldn't help but feel that he'd been just a little too keen to use the Millennium Rod to make the nurses agree). The infection had tailed off two days ago, and his back appeared to be healing, but everyone was still glancing at him nervously just waiting for his cocktail of medication to fail and for him to collapse on the floor of terminal five.

"Nah I'm pulling your leg," the Egyptian beamed, opening his arms again. "Industrial strength painkillers are bliss!"

Giving him a look, Serenity went back for another hug, almost tripping over her carry-on as she went. Yugi finally freed himself from Hermione and checked the flight board again. They had two hours until they took off for Paris, and Rebecca and Duke were due to depart for the states in four. Ryou and Malik were staying in the UK for another month, Malik to heal and Ryou to pack up all of his belongings in preparation for his return to Japan in September. Once again, they were all saying their goodbyes.

"Oi! Spare some hugs for the rest of us!" Ron put in, extracting Ryou from Serenity's grasp this time. "He's coming back in four weeks! The rest of us aren't going to see you lot for who knows how long!"

"That doesn't grant you extra hugging time," Hermione pointed out, releasing Rebecca and moving on to hug Mai. "You all have to promise to stay in touch, okay? I cannot tell you how nice it is to finally have some friends that aren't boys!"

"Tell me about it," Tea rolled her eyes, but she slipped her hand into Yugi's and squeezed regardless.

"We'll write to you all," Yugi promised. "I still have Taiyo. And you can email during the holidays. We'll arrange to meet up at a tournament or something."

"Wizards. Illegally skipping borders since the eighteen hundreds," Duke chuckled, as he shook Harry's hand.

"Well technically-" Hermione began, but she was smothered in a bear hug from Joey, and completely forgot what she was supposed to be saying. Yugi chuckled, and in the back of his head, Yami was doing the same. It was Draco's turn next, and he approached awkwardly.

"...well I can't say it wasn't exciting," he said, eventually. Yugi grinned.

"That is true," he agreed, and Draco seemed to relax. "No hard feelings about last year Draco. It was good to see you, and thanks for all of your help."

They shook hands, and nothing else needed to be said.

"Do us a favour?" Harry approached next. "Next time you come visit us, let's try and relax instead of saving the world?"

"That is the best idea I have ever heard," Yugi laughed, giving Harry a one armed hug, and making him promise to keep them up to date on the goings on at Hogwarts.

"Take care," Ryou said softly, forgoing a hug for a hand clasp instead.

"You too," Yugi said seriously. "Look after them both...and your new arrivals." He broke the sombreness of the request with a grin. A blissful expression crept across Ryou's face, and he moved to give Tea a hug instead.

"We'd better get moving," Tristan said, though his voice was reluctant. "It's a twenty minute queue for security."

"Oh come on, after the summer we've had, there's only one proper way to say goodbye," Malik was smirking, and held his arms out wide again. "Group hug!"

He was instantly crushed by thirteen other bodies, but there was no complaining from anyone. Encased in a bubble that included Joey's back, Ron's elbow and Mai's shoulder, Yugi could honestly say that he had never felt luckier. Lucky to have so many friends and lucky that they were all still alive.

"...so when is the next tournament?" Draco asked from somewhere in the middle of the bodies. A few people chuckled. "No really, I've just realised I've never actually seen you guys duel! You could be rubbish for all I know!"

"Well now we've got to meet up again!" Joey said, as they all started to untangle themselves. "He's doubting our skills!"

"Yeah, we've got reputations to uphold!" Mai agreed, shouldering her bag. "Well...I do, at least."

"Hey!" Joey spluttered, yelping again as Mai yanked him into the security queue proper. As the line slowly weaved down the barriers, the two groups exchanged last minute hugs over the top.

"Stop crying Hermione," Rebecca admonished, her voice wavering slightly. "Or you'll set me off too!"

"Sorry," Hermione took Ron's offered handkerchief and blotted her eyes.

"Leave off, she's right," her boyfriend offered, rubbing the back of his head. "We're going to miss you guys...even if you are all crazy."

Yugi gave Harry one last hand clasp, before the wall of the security area got in the way, and they were swept along by the crowd of travellers. As Yugi turned back to look, he saw Ryou and Malik, hand in hand, waving beyond the boundary. Harry and Draco joined in not a moment later (without the hand holding) while Ron settled for just hugging Hermione as she burst into tears again. Yugi did not blame her for being sad – he felt the ache of separation already, but he knew it would not last. After all, friends were never truly apart, no matter how much distance you put between them.

/You going to be okay?/ Yami asked gently from inside his head. Glancing back at the departures hall, over the heads of all the other travellers, Yugi grinned.

/Yes. We all will/

And with a final lingering look at where he knew his friends were still standing, Yugi turned away, slipping his hand into Tea's as they began the long journey home.

OOO

"They're so beautiful..."

"...actually they look a little bit like moles."

"Shush Bakura! You're ruining the moment!"

Malik could not help but smile as he watched Ryou poke Bakura in the side. The three boys were clustered in Ryou's bedroom around a large comfy looking cat bed. Bastet was sprawled on it, thinner and wearier than she had been in previous months, but with a look of satisfaction that seemed to say "look what I've done".

Around her, the four kittens squirmed and wriggled their way around the blanket, their tiny stumpy legs barely able to support their own weight. Malik had to agree that Bakura had a point. At just over a week old, they did resemble moles more than cats, their wriggling bodies not yet properly in proportion, with tiny star shaped paws and their ears pressed flat and closed against their heads. Their eyes were just starting to peek open at the corners, unsealing slowly day by day as they squinted around this strange world for the first time. The crawled over each other, ignoring the squeals of protest from their siblings, snuggling as close to mummy as they could. Bastet kept one eye on them at all times, pausing occasionally to nose them or otherwise run a thorough tongue over their tiny forms.

"Don't they keep you awake?" Malik asked curiously, watching as Ryou shook his head in a dreamy fashion. He was completely in love with the kittens – anyone could see that. Even Bakura could not seem to take his eyes off them. It was the most non melancholic that Malik had seen the Tomb Robber since the events in the British Museum.

Carefully so as not to draw attention, Malik slipped a hand under the end of his shirt and rubbed at the bandages there. With wounds like his even the best magic and muggle means had only been able to speed the healing process a little bit. The infection had subsided completely after a couple of days, and he had been discharged from the hospital at the end of the week with a huge prescription of antibiotics to prevent any further illness, and some industrial strength painkillers for when he slept. He was incredibly grateful to be allowed to stay with Ryou until he was healed enough to fly home to Egypt...to his family.

His heart sank.

He was going to miss them...

"So did you figure out who the daddy is?" he asked, nodding to the kittens. Bakura shook his head.

"Still no idea. I reckon from the kittens it was a longhaired white cat with black patches."

He nodded to the litter, and Malik could see why. All of the kittens were longhaired, two of them smoky grey tabbies like their mummy, one white with black socks, and one white with large black patches all over its body. They were too young to tell right now normally, but Bakura had done some cheating with the Ring and discovered that one of the grey ones was male, and the other three were female.

"Names?" Malik asked, keen to keep the conversation going in order to delay what it was he really wanted to ask. At this, Ryou finally tore his eyes away from the little family in the cat bed, and gave his darker half a look.

"I asked Bakura to think of names, but he hasn't said anything yet."

Malik gave a melodramatic sigh, before a smirk crossed his face. "Well in that case..." He pointed to the white kitten with black socks. "Her name is Nefertari!"

Ryou gave a spluttering sound that sounded like a cross between a choke and a laugh. Bakura's eyebrows arched into messy white hair. "Who said you get to name them, Ishtar?"

"Hey, if you're too lazy to think of names, I am happy to step in and help," the Egyptian smirked. "And besides, it's the perfect name! She's a beautiful kitten! Just look at that colouring."

"Alright, alright," Ryou held up a hand. "She's Nefertari...or Neffie since I actually stand a chance of remembering that."

Malik caught Bakura's eyes. He could almost see the wheels turning in the Thief King's head, and he opened his mouth again. Before he could say anything however, Bakura stepped in pointing at the male kitten.

"Kebi," he declared, causing Bastet to blink at him in surprise, before leaning over to lick his outstretched finger. Bakura petted her ears for a moment before withdrawing his hand. Bastet wasn't too keen on affection while she was feeding her litter, and she had already gone for the Thief King's hand once in irritation.

"Kebi?" Malik tried the name out. It was Egyptian, meaning 'honey' and was actually a girl's name rather than a boy's. He was just about to point this out, when he saw something that looked like a fond smile cross his face. Glancing at Ryou, he saw that whatever it was, the hikari seemed to understand, and he offered the dark a squeeze on the arm. Malik sat back – whatever Bakura's reasons for choosing this name, they were obviously deep, and he would not object.

"I like it." Ryou declared, turning his attention back to the kittens as Bastet got to her feet and stretched, before jumping out of the bed and venturing off towards the bedroom door for a little walk. Unhappy at the loss of their mummy, the kittens wailed, and began scrabbling around the blanket in search of warm comfort.

Now that the protective mother was out of the room, Ryou reached in and scooped the two grey kittens out of the bed, placing them gently on his crossed legs. Happy at being pressed against something warm again and comforted a little by the familiar smell of their mummy on the creature, the two kittens began to nose and squirm their way over Ryou's legs, exploring this interesting new surface as they went. Malik hesitated for a moment, before picking up Nefertari and holding her against his chest. She dug her tiny claws into his shirt and began trying to scale it like the world's clumsiest mountain climber.

He glanced over to see Bakura scoop up the final black and white kitten and hold her up to eye level. Her half open eyes seemed to register the unfamiliar creature before her, and she opened her mouth and wheezed at him, in what was obviously supposed to be a threatening hiss. Malik had to laugh. With her little round toothless mouth and half squinting eyes, she was hardly threatening.

"It's a good thing," Ryou explained. "They need to get used to being handled by people, or they'll be more likely to be violent towards them when they're older. She's a fierce little madam, but she'll learn."

If Malik hadn't been watching, he would have missed the look that flashed across Bakura's face – surprise, fondness, joy, hurt and...something else far more profound that Malik was sure he must have dreamt, for he had never seen that look on the Thief King's face before. But how often had he seen that look on Yugi when thinking about Tea? Or Joey about Mai? There was nothing else it could be...

"Layla," he whispered, rubbing the little kitten on the head. She gave him a look that was almost indignant, and he snorted. "Yup, definitely Layla."

Once again, Malik dug around in his brain – Layla was more Arabic than Egyptian, meaning 'night', which he could certainly see, given that she was the darkest kitten of the lot. Still confused at the seeming random choice, Malik glanced to Ryou to see if he got it. Clearly he did, because Ryou was sitting there staring at his dark in shock. Malik opened his mouth, but then thought better of it – judging from the expression on Bakura's face, this was not something he wanted to ask about now. He'd find out in due course.

"Go on Ryou," Bakura nodded, jerking Ryou out of his trance. "The last kitten is yours."

Surprised, Ryou turned his gaze to the little kittens on his lap. Kebi was the larger of the two, and had successfully clambered all the way down to his ankle, apparently confused by the difference in texture between Ryou's jeans and his foot. The other kitten, smaller and a little quieter, had wormed her way up his thigh and was now squirming against his hip trying to get warm. Ryou rested a hand on top of her to warm her up, and his mind flashed upon another small little girl who had clung tightly to Bakura for warmth not a week ago.

Malik saw a brief look between yami and hikari – an unspoken question, and a slow agreement.

"Akila," Ryou said, running a gentle thumb over the kitten's head. Malik's eyes flew to Bakura, expecting an outburst, or maybe for him to leave the room. But all he did was stare at the little grey kitten with her flat ears, stubby tail and star shaped paws, with a tender look in his eyes as his hikari gently stroked her.

He nodded. "Perfect."

There was a small tug at the base of Malik's shirt and he saw Neffie had given up climbing and had taken a tiny bit of fabric in her mouth to pull on in the hope of milk. When it yielded no results, she mewled in displeasure. As if summoned by her offspring, Bastet reappeared, and Ryou nudged the other two before replacing the kittens in the bed. Bakura followed suit, and Malik unhooked Neffie's claws from his shirt and added her to the squirming kitten moshpit.

"It is working," Ryou said an hour later, uncapping the antibiotic gel. Malik sat on the edge of the bathtub in only his jeans, running a comb idly through his wet hair.

"Slowly," Malik admitted, knowing that Bakura was still sitting in the bedroom watching the kittens. "Who'dve thought kittens could provide therapy?"

"They soothe him," Ryou explained, crouching down and examining the injury. Malik focused harder on pulling tangles out of his hair. He had only looked at the damage to his back once in a mirror in the hospital, and he had almost passed out. He didn't know how Ryou could stomach looking at it three times a day, let alone applying the medicine and fresh dressings for him. "It's like they remind him that for every life that ends another begins."

Malik hissed through his teeth as Ryou gently drew the first of the cold gel over the scabs on his shoulder blade.

"They're healing," he told him gently, smoothing the medication with the lightest touch. "They do really look better. Less red."

In spite of how much he trusted Ryou's judgement, Malik could not help but feel sceptical. "They took months to heal properly the first time."

"Well, last time you had no antibiotics or other medicine to speed the process," Ryou pointed out. "And you didn't have twelve stitches to hold together the worst of it."

With a heavy sigh, Malik had to admit that he was probably right. "Yeah...no medicine. No doctors...no counselling."

Ryou's hand stalled at the top of his spine, and he leaned over until his anxious gaze was locked on Malik's face.

"Are you sure?" he breathed.

"Yeah," Malik nodded slowly. "I can't rely on Odion to shield me this time, not when he's still healing himself. I can't rely on any of you guys either. I have to deal with it myself. You're all great, but if I'm using my friends to protect me instead of dealing with my issues, then I'm not getting better. I'm just pretending that they're not there. And that's not healthy. I need professional help this time – someone who knows what they're talking about, has an objective view point, and can give me some coping strategies for the future."

"I understand," forgetting about the antibiotic cream, Ryou sat down on the other side of the bathtub, facing him, and Malik knew that he really did get it. "But if you start talking about Millennium Items and all that stuff they're going to think you're nuts."

Malik snorted. "Oh don't worry – I'll leave out all the magical stuff. But things like my father, and shutting away my anger? That's something I need to deal with – and probably should have done a long time ago."

He felt a squeeze at his hands and found Ryou smiling at him – there were a million unsaid things in that look, but Malik heard them all.

"I wish I could support you through it," he said sadly, cupping Malik's cheek in his hand. "But you'll have Odion and Ishizu. They love you so much."

Malik winced. "I won't have them, Ry."

Ryou shrugged. "Well not for the next few weeks, but when you get home and arrange counselling-"

"I'm coming back to Japan."

The tube of antibiotics slipped out of Ryou's hand and clattered into the bathtub.

"Why?" he asked. "Your family – your support – are in Egypt."

"And I love them," Malik agreed. "But I'm going to be eighteen in December. I love Egypt, and it'll always be home, but I can't see myself spending the rest of my life there. I'd like some time to figure out what I want, and I think I could do that in Japan." He smiled, and found his stomach coiling with nerves. "Besides," he added almost shyly. "It's not like I wouldn't have support in Japan too."

Ryou's picture of astonishment was quickly draining away the longer he listened, morphing into a calculating look. Malik cringed internally – maybe he should have broached the topic better. But the worry did not linger for long as Ryou finally beamed at him.

"Well..." he said in a musing tone. "Joey, Bakura and I could use help paying the rent on our new flat I suppose..."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Malik admitted sheepishly, and Ryou snorted.

"Presumptuous of you!" he exclaimed, picking up the antibiotics and prodding him in the arm with the tube. "I should refuse on principle and leave you to find your own roommates!"

"You wouldn't," Malik replied confidently. "I'm too pretty to leave out on the streets."

Ryou's only response was to apply more gel to the remainder of his injuries, causing Malik to yelp in discomfort, but he did catch the fleeting hint of his best friend's smile in the mirror. And like magic, the empty space in his head, where Marik had rested and tormented him, did not feel so impossibly vacant any longer.

OOO

"So since we got on this train," Harry recited over his pumpkin pasty. "That's two losses and four victories. Not bad, Ron."

His friend grinned and restacked his deck. "Yeah well, I guess when you've met your monsters in the flesh, you don't really want to disappoint them by losing."

He settled back in his seat, leaning his head on Hermione's shoulder as he started to fish through the box of Every Flavour Beans. Hermione rolled her eyes, but let him stay there while she flicked to the relevant page in her book. Several people had popped in to their compartment on the Hogwarts Express already to ask how their summers had been or to ask if the transfer students were coming back, and a surprising number of people were wandering up and down the train with their own duel monster decks, hoping to find willing opponents.

"Who'dve thought this time last year that we'd just met them?" Ron mentioned. "They really started something big here, didn't they?"

"And not just duel monsters either," Hermione put in. "Have you noticed how many people are talking about the muggle world? They've opened up a lot of pureblood wizards eyes."

Harry could not say that he had noticed, but he had been sitting in the compartment for the whole train journey while Ron and Hermione had been in the Prefect carriage.

The train rolled around a smooth bend, and something large and heavy toppled in the corridor outside. Alert with alarm, Harry yanked his wand out and slid the door open.

"Malfoy?" his voice radiated disbelief, as the Slytherin picked himself up from the floor, and turned his trunk back on its end.

"Sorry," he shrugged, scooping up the envelopes on the floor. "Damn thing's top heavy."

"Why are you sitting in the corridor?" Harry asked, leaning against the wall of the coach with his arms folded. Normally Draco was surrounded by his long line of Slytherin followers. Seeing him alone, particularly without Crabbe and Goyle, made him seem very shrunken.

"Wanted some privacy to finish my letters," Draco explained, waving one of the pieces of parchment, upon which Harry could now see Malik's name printed. "And...well, it turns out that when you have a hand in the Dark Lord's downfall, most of Slytherin house would rather avoid you."

Harry winced. "Sorry to hear that." To his surprise, Draco just shrugged.

"It's been a while in coming," he admitted. "Ever since my Penalty Game last year, things weren't right."

He sighed and shuffled the papers again, tucking a few away into his pocket.

"Still," he carried on with a forced kind of briskness. "Got to keep busy. Only a year left. It's not such a long time..."

The jolt of sympathy was slightly alien to Harry, and he examined it for a long while, before sighing.

"C'mon," he jerked his head. "Plenty of room in here. And you won't break your ankle falling off your trunk."

Ron's face was a picture of surprise as Harry and Draco wrestled the trunk in through the compartment door.

"Slumming it with the Gryffindors?" Ron asked. Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"Be nice," she grumbled, going back to her book. "Both of you," she added, shooting the visiting Slytherin a warning look. Draco just looked sheepish in response.

"Well, I didn't expect the last six years to erase themselves..." he admitted, taking a seat by the door carefully in case he needed to bolt again.

"Yes, but you did help us save the world," Harry put in fairly. "And you're friends with Malik. The least we can do is be civilised." He munched on a chocolate frog, while Draco, satisfied that they were not going to toss him out, began pulling out the parchment again.

"So if that's to Malik," Harry nodded at the first completed scroll. "Who's that one too?"

"Ali," Draco said, not looking up from his fast paced scribbling. Ron's head perked up in interest.

"Demir?" He chuckled. "Mokuba said there was something going around that hospital. You got a little crush there, Malfoy?"

He yelped as Hermione elbowed him again, and Harry snorted as Draco's cheekbones took on a very interesting shade of pink.

"Not a crush!" he defended. "She's just really nice, and really interesting! She goes to the Burj Sihr School in Dubai – did you know they have over a thousand students there? And their school is this huge skyscraper in the middle of the muggle city, right next to the tallest building in the world."

"I've read about it," Hermione admitted from over the top of her text book. "It's got an excellent reputation – high student satisfaction, zero tolerance bullying policy, and it's one of the few wizarding schools in the world to offer a dual magic and muggle curriculum."

"How many magical schools d'you reckon there are out there?" Ron asked, stuffing a chocolate frog whole into his mouth.

"Twenty six major institutions, alongside countless other smaller community organisations," Hermione rattled off without thinking. After so long, Harry was not surprised. Hermione knew everything after all.

"So out of the twenty six magic schools on the planet," Ron asked, waving his chocolate frog box around like he was announcing the winner of Best Leading Actress at the Oscars. "Why d'you think Yugi, Malik and Ryou had to come here?"

Hermione and Draco put down their literature to frown, while Harry's eyebrows lifted, unsure as to exactly what Ron was getting at. "Well it was Professor Dumbledore who discovered them-"

"I know that," Ron waved the box dismissively. "But, they were sixteen – almost seventeen. You'd think one of the other schools in Japan or that side of the planet would have noticed them first."

There was a long silence in the compartment as everyone mulled this over. Harry turned the information around in his head. It had crossed his mind before of course, but never had he given it any serious thought.

"Maybe they were always meant to come here," he wondered quietly. "If they'd gone anywhere else, they might never have been able to come to England and help stop the Orichalcos and Voldemort."

"Are you talking about fate?" Hermione asked sceptically.

"I still don't know if I believe in fate," Draco admitted.

"Well I'm not ruling it out after everything we've seen in the last year," Ron pointed out. "I mean, I didn't think I'd see cards come to life, but there we go!"

"Just think about it," Harry insisted. "If they had gone to one of the schools in Japan or the Far East, they would have been the other side of the planet when the Death Eaters were taking people's souls. We can fight Voldemort, but let's face it, against the Orichalcos, we were rubbish. We needed them. Maybe they would have got involved later on once it became obvious that the magic was back, but by then it might have been too late, and they might not have had a clue who they were fighting against."

"Or maybe, things would have played out differently, and it might have all gone well regardless," Hermione pointed out, tucking a mark in her book at the prospect of a good debate. "The thing about fate is you can't just say that things would definitely have gone differently if you changed one variable. Things like this are made up of a million different changes, and we could never replicate the last year again perfectly and see if things would have gone badly if Yugi and the others had never got involved. That's why fate isn't really any more reliable than guesswork."

Harry deflated in the face of Hermione's utter logic and certainty.

"...but if you can't test if fate is real because you can't copy the same test twice," Ron said finally, breaking the stillness. "You can't test to say that it's not real either, right?"

Harry's eyes nearly fell out of his head at the sound of Ron saying something profound. Even Hermione was flabbergasted, spluttering for a suitable retort, before finally elbowing Ron once more in the side and going back to her book. Draco snickered and went back to his letter, and for a moment, Harry thought could see Yugi and Ryou failing to stifle their giggles over the arguing couple, and Malik snarking at them obnoxiously from across the seat.

This was the kind of thing that they would miss, he realised, and he dove into his trunk for some parchment and a quill. There were so many letters to write now...

OOO

Black…everything was black…but not the oppressive black of cold night, but the warm comfort like having your eyes closed in a snuggly bed. And Gods did she want sleep…she craved sleep…she was so tired…five thousand years was long…so long to think…so long to smile…so long to be the strong one when all she wanted was to just rest…rest now…rest forever…

"Akila…"

The blackness swam away to reveal colour that tried to penetrate her mind and force her into activity. She fought it...she did not want it…did she?

She was tired of waiting…

"…time to wake up, child…"

…but she was also tired of fighting.

Soft blue eyes blinked open.

"…what...?"

Slowly, the girl picked herself up and glanced around, jagged black hair catching her in the eyes as she swivelled her head around. She was somewhere...somewhere she didn't know. It was white, almost cloud like behind her, but ahead she saw steps...golden, beautiful and instantly familiar. She could not believe her eyes.

"But...I can't be..."

"And yet, here you are." A gentle voice purred.

Gasping the girl felt her heart beat into her ribs – though how it was beating, she was not sure – as the figure slowly descended the staircase. She wore a dress of sheer white fabric, through the back of which a black tail flicked and twisted curiously. Her yellow eyes were sharp and her features were cat like, with pointed furry ears poking out from under her black hair.

Akila could not help but feel humbled. "Bastet..."

"Akila," the goddess greeted. "Do not be afraid, child – this is no dream."

"But..." the girl was confused, and chewed her lip. "How can I be here? Big brother said –"

Bastet gave a laugh that made delightful shivers run up Akila's skin.

"Walk with me, my dear."

Trotting obediently to her side, Akila followed the beautiful woman up the staircase into a magnificent courtyard. The stones were sand coloured, and the pond in the centre had water lilies drifting lazily across the water. She was dreadfully confused, because after all, Bastet was not usually a Goddess who met with the dead.

"He was not wrong," Bastet explained. "You should not have survived what happened to you. Your soul would have been cast to the winds, divided, torn and unable to find peace."

"But..." she continued before the inquisitive child could ask questions. "Shadow Games are not the be all and end all of power. Shadow Games have their rules my dear, and it is true that these cannot be broken...but we as Gods make our own rules. And...just occasionally...we do work miracles." She paused to chuckle. "Your brother may be clever, but he is a dreadful cynic."

"So...where am I?" Akila asked, peering around the courtyard. "This place is...beautiful."

"You're on the other side, my dear. Beyond the Dominion of Souls," she glanced to the doorway, which creaked open to allow a new figure to step out. Akila barely fought down another gasp at the jackal-headed lord of the dead – Anubis.

"This is...the Hall of Judgement?"

Bastet nodded, her cat ears flicking. "It is."

"You brought me here for my judgement?"

Another nod. "You've waited five thousand years for your judgement my dear...the least we could do was let you have it. Give you a proper afterlife instead of being torn apart and scattered. If anyone deserves the chance to be happy it's you."

"Every person," it was Anubis who spoke this time, approaching them with an air of authority – Akila felt terribly small in the presence of such powerful deities. "Who has passed through this hall in the last five thousand years, has told us of you, little one. Of your comfort and good wishes before they came to this place. Of your kindness. Five thousand years is a very long time for a mortal to be kind. We – all of us – think you have more than earned this rest."

Both doors had creaked open, and Akila's breath caught as she saw indistinguishable figures moving around inside, and the low murmur of conversation. But something occurred to her, and her gaze swept back across the courtyard, off in the direction that she knew the Dominion of Souls to be.

"What about Bakura? I stayed there because I wanted to wait for him – so that he would not have to go through his judgement alone."

Bastet's smile was kind, and Akila felt her hand being squeezed. It was soft and warm.

"You know your brother Akila," she said. "You know of his last few years. Tell me? Is he alone? Does he need waiting for anymore?"

The little girl's face frowned as she thought very hard about everything she had watched Bakura doing. Every battle, every bad guy, every frown and every smile...slowly her own frown slipped off, replaced by her own comfortable smile.

"You're right...I don't need to worry about him now. He has Ryou. He'll look after him for me. He's a good boy." She declared with the finality of a child who was positive that she was right.

Bastet chuckled again. "That he is."

"And Bakura will look after Ryou," came a fourth, firm voice from the open doorway. "And if he doesn't...well, he already knows what I'll do to him!"

"Amane!" Akila was across the courtyard as fast as her feet could carry her, throwing her tiny arms around the girl. A giggle was her response and she squeezed back.

"It is time," Anubis said firmly, gesturing into the hall. "Osiris awaits you."

"Look after yourselves," Bastet kissed both girls on the forehead, before turning and padding back across the courtyard. She had vanished before she even made it to the steps.

"Come."

Taking Amane's hand, Akila passed Anubis, and stepped into the dark hall, hearing the door close behind them.

See you soon big brother...

OOO

~ fin ~

Started: 15th February 2009

First Post: 24th September 2012

Finished: 12th September 2015

Last Post: 24th September 2015

A/N: Aaaand CUT!

In case anyone was curious, Burj Sihr is Arabic and translates to Tower of Magic. I quite like it as a school name. And yes, I did spend a weekend mapping out schools of magic in the world and inventing my own – would anyone like me to blog this?

Also if anyone is interested, I worked out in my head where all the kittens ended up!

Neffie went to the Game Shop, to keep Yugi's grandfather company. Her favourite place to sleep is on top of the glass counter that contains the rare Duel Monster cards, and she has been known to steal mobile phone charms from customers when their backs are turned.

Layla went to Professor Dumbledore. When the headmaster takes to the corridors, humming to himself, Layla follows him wherever he goes, and meows to make sure that he does not take a wrong turn. She gets on well with Fawkes, but Mrs Norris is terrified of her...and with good reason.

Akila went to the Kaiba's. Some of the staff in the mansion say that she knows the corridors better than the Kaiba brothers themselves. She has a tendency to get stuck on top of doors, and likes to drape herself over Kaiba's lap when he's trying to use his laptop. To everyone's surprise, he doesn't seem to mind this.

Finally, after a lot of searching, Kebi went to Draco, after the Slytherin wrote to Malik and offered to take him. In a dormitory where most of his fellow students were now spiting him, Kebi gave Draco a bit of peace from the verbal abuse. Kebi still has not learned that homework and textbooks of the other Slytherin students are not for shredding, and Draco doesn't think that he ever will.

Thanks go to: The list was quite long last time so let's see how I do this time.

All of you fabulous readers deserve my thanks for making my traffic figures soar (and affirming my existence as a worthwhile human in the process). In particular, my reviewers are lovely people, who deserve only good things in their lives. Special thanks to my lovely regulars, The Imaginatrix, GoldenGriffiness, ForestGuardian311, Dani Marik, DarkAngelofOtaku, Icepool123 and Namara Jane Knight. You guys are fabulous, and deserve cookies!

My friends who've sat and listened to me whine and bitch about this story for the past four years need extra hugs with chocolate on top – MichaelDJ54, Emmersonne and Tai Greywing in particular, need chocolate and marshmallows on their hugs.

I give massive thanks to Scarlet Weather, who came racing to aid on the duelling front when this story hit the obnoxious roadblock that was chapters 17 and 18. You, mister, are awesome!

My long suffering beta and friend Isis the Sphinx deserves some kind of medal (made of coffee and chocolate) for the levels of patience she's had with me for the past few years, as well as being a brilliant sounding board for my plot. Go have a rest, my dear. You've earned it.

Finally I owe special thanks to 7th Librarian. Turns out you were right, my love – I can do it.

Housekeeping:

Will there be any more?: Yes, I have a series of oneshots relating to this series coming out soon, titled The Soul and Destiny Chronicles. They're mostly little in-between stories to fill a few gaps that I left, and some amusing anecdotes (including Bakura's trip to the harem, for those of you who were interested).

What about another sequel?: No. No. No. Hell no. No way in hell. I am so DONE with this series, it's not even funny. I will put my oneshots up, because they are pretty much complete and waiting in the wings, but that is it. I have spent over seven years agonising over these crossovers. I need to put them to bed, for my own sanity.

What about more fanfiction?: Fanfiction is so important to me – I've dedicated over a decade of my life to it. And I don't see that stopping. Some of you may have noticed that I've been making efforts to finish season 2 of the Anti-Cliché and Mary-Sue Elimination Society. That is still ongoing, and I plan to get it done before the end of the year. I also have two Yu-Gi-Oh projects on the go, and if I am going to post anything, it will probably be these. Firstly, I'm contributing to Cyber Commander's Shadowchasers series with a short story (7th Librarian's fault, not mine!). Secondly, I have a long term ancient Egypt fanfic on the backburner. I don't know if this will get posted, but if it does, it won't be for a really long time, because…

Will there be any other projects?: My goal for the end of 2015 was to be in a position to throw something of mine at the shortlist of literary agents pinned to the wall of my room. A very serious redraft is currently separating me from that goal – and that's if I'm strict with myself. If this fanfic has done anything it's proved that I have no self-discipline, so somewhere in the next few months, I'm going to have to learn that. Fanfiction will almost definitely take a backseat for this.

The Final Word: If you don't want to check fanfiction every day for news, I suggest following me on twitter (MeiBennu) or checking my blog bennusnest, which is located at blogspot. If I do get published, or start posting more fanfiction, this will be where you hear about it.

In the meantime, please don't forget to leave reviews and thank you for joining me on this rollercoaster.

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

Ernest Hemmingway.