Welcome all! A few important notes before we begin: this story contains SLASH and HET pairings. Only the main pairing will be detailed and followed. All others will only be vaguely mentioned or implied in the background, so if you come across a pairing you don't like, references to it will be so mild that you can probably just ignore it and hopefully enjoy the story regardless. This story will NOT contain explicit sexual material, although I make no promises about implications ;) If I decide to write lemons, they will be posted separately and will not have any bearing on the plot. Finally, there is NO character bashing in this fic. I intend to give Rowling and Takahashi's characters the respect they deserve. Hopefully I'll succeed :)

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 1 - Neighbors and Novelty

Harry stepped out of the taxi that had carried him and his meager luggage from the bus stop a half-mile north of the Yokohama International Portkey Depot. It was a crisp day in early March, warmer than it would be in England. Good day for Quidditch, he mused, taking in the clear sky. He sighed, knowing that there would be little flying for him in the immediate future. He stretched for a brief moment and stared up at the seven-storey brick apartment complex that would become his new home. Apartment 519, he reminded himself, turning around to pull out of the taxi a box of clothes and mundane knickknacks, and his old Hogwarts trunk, locked tight around all his blatantly magical belongings. He waved off the taxi, before returning his gaze once more to the building.

He popped a Might Melt (Heft Your Honey High in the Sky! – WWW) into his mouth to give himself a brief burst of strength for carrying his box and trunk up to his unit. Box settled on his shoulder with his arm curled about and his trunk dragging behind him, Harry nudged open the lobby door and made his way over to the elevator, wondering idly what his apartment would look like. After the impersonal sterility of Petunia's home, the general messiness of Gryffindor Tower, and, most recently, the general gloominess of Grimmauld Place, Harry was looking forward to a simple, clean space he could decorate to his own liking. His real estate agent had told him that it was a large, recently renovated apartment in a good area, and he hoped that meant it was clean and that he wouldn't have much trouble from the neighbors.

As the elevator doors began to close, Harry was broken from his musings by a harsh voice calling out to hold the door. He watched as a man on the taller side of average strode in and jabbed his finger at the floor buttons, forgoing any word of gratitude. Harry was immediately struck by his strange appearance. The man was several inches taller than Harry's own modest 5'6'', and had a gaunt look about his young face that reminded Harry of Sirius when last he had seen him, evocative of past starvation and tortuous thoughts.

Harry shook off thoughts of his godfather, and continued to study the man from the corner of his eye. He had shaggy, messy pale gray hair that hung about his shoulders, and a startlingly dark complexion for his light hair. Harry couldn't see the man's eyes from his angle, but noted a nasty looking scar down his right cheek. He averted his eyes quickly when he saw the man pass a cursory glance in his direction, and stared straight at the elevator doors until they opened on the fifth floor.

The man pushed his way out and glanced again at Harry – giving him a glimpse of pale eyes – when he stepped out after him, box still on shoulder and trunk still dragging behind, but remained reticent. Harry could do nothing but follow along behind, awkwardly silent, as the man turned down the hallway in the same direction as Harry assessed his new apartment to be. Bloody hell, Harry thought uncomfortably, where's this guy going, anyway? Wish he'd just reach his door already… But the man kept striding sinuously down the hallway, all the way to the end, before stopping at the very last door in the corridor. Apartment 520. Precisely next to Harry's own. He sighed under his breath, and decided to take the plunge. Should at least make at attempt at civility, if we're next-door neighbors, Harry thought, rather disgruntled by the awkward walk and the man's aloofness.

"Er…" Harry started, "looks like we're neighbors, then." He glanced at the odd man beside him, who grunted out an "apparently," while fishing out his keys to open the door.

"Um. I'm Harry," he tried again.

"And I don't really care," the man shot back, and stepped inside his apartment. Harry scowled, put-off, but not caring enough to be offended.

"Right then," he muttered, pulling out his own keys and towing his trunk inside.

Well, he thought, as he took in his new apartment, this will certainly due. The front door opened into the carpeted living room, apparently, which faded to the left into a decently-sized empty tiled strip – big enough for a nice table, he murmured under his breath – just before the kitchen's faux-granite countertops rose up, nestled around a stainless steel refrigerator and stove-top oven. The walls were painted a very light blue to compliment the navy carpet, and two large windows on the right looked out over the street and apartment entrance. He dropped his baggage near the door and continued straight through the living area to the corridor beyond, which was lined with several doorways that led to a pair of closets, a full bathroom, and two bedrooms.

That'll be a good spare room for Teddy, he mused as he peeked into the smaller room, and Andromeda can take my bed when they visit. Ron and Hermione can sleep…somewhere. Maybe they can set up the old travel tent in the living room, he snickered, and made a note to buy a couch comfortable enough to sleep on, possibly a pull-out, for when he entertained several guests.

He jumped slightly, startled by a sudden knocking on his door. Who knew he was here? Rather confused, and rather more paranoid than he might have been a few years ago, Harry cautiously made his way to the front, the tips of his fingers slipping into his right trousers pocket to finger the end of his holly wand. He checked the peephole on the door, and was startled yet again to see a shock of pale hair, which obscured his view of the person's face. Assuming it be his rude neighbor – because really, how many people have hair like that? – he opened the door, and was bemused to see a small, but earnest smile light up a pale face.

"Hello," the man said, "I'm Bakura Ryou. I heard from my cousin that we've got a new neighbor, and given that it was my cousin who told me, I figured I should come over and do some damage control."

"Your cousin? The, er, tall quiet guy?" Harry stuttered out. "Oh, I'm Potter Harry, by the way."

"Ah, it's nice to meet you, Potter-san, I hope we get along! Yes, the pale-haired man who was just here, my cousin Touzokuou Bakura. I apologize for him, he's rude on a good day," Bakura sighed long-sufferingly. "He's not quite as aloof as he comes off. Um. Deep down."

"'S alright, really, I suppose I didn't make a great impression with him either. Um, sorry, but is your family name the same as his given name? Uh, you can come in if you like," Harry said, stepping aside and holding the door open to let the man wander past.

Harry examined the young man in his apartment, wondering how he could have mistaken him for the rude guy he'd encountered earlier. This Bakura was shorter than his cousin, though still taller than Harry, and had skin paler than even Harry's. His face was rounder, fuller; he'd obviously never suffered the starvation that seemed carved into the face of Touzokuou. His hair was longer and tamed, whiter compared to the other man's light gray. His eyes were deep brown to his cousin's pale ones, and he held himself less confidently and moved with less lithe grace. His kind, shy smile was somewhat at odds with his bold, friendly introduction, and Harry wondered which was more characteristic of him.

"Yes, that's right. His mother and my father are siblings, but she wanted a reminder of her family name after she married, and gave it to her son as a given name." The explanation seemed oddly rehearsed to Harry, but he shrugged it off, guessing they must get the question a lot. The pale-haired man stared around the apartment curiously, eyes finally alighting on the lone box and trunk sitting beside the door. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sure you have more things to move in, and I'm holding you up! Shall I get out of your way, or would you like some help?" he fretted.

"Oh, uh, no, this is all of it, really," Harry scratched at the back of his neck for the sake of having something to do with his hands, and to distract him from the way Bakura's sudden stare was making him vaguely uncomfortable.

"Ah – sorry for staring, but is this really all you have?" Bakura questioned, a little off-put by the completely bare apartment.

"Yeah," Harry replied a bit sheepishly. "I didn't feel comfortable bringing any of the furniture from the place I was staying before, and anyway moving is such a hassle, especially overseas. I figured it might be easier to just, you know, buy new stuff." Not to mention how grimy and frankly creepy most of the furniture at Grimmauld Place had been. And even if he had wanted or needed any of it, Harry would have likely lost any favor he had with Kreacher for attempting to remove any more of the Ancestral Black artifacts; poor elf still had nightmares of Mundungus Fletcher swiping the silverware.

"Well, if you'd like I could point you in the direction of some decent shops," Bakura offered. "I'm afraid I haven't much time at the moment, but perhaps later in the week my cousin and I could show you around the city?"

"Oh, yeah, I'd really appreciate that. Both, I mean," Harry grinned, relieved at not having to ask for help. Then he paused, replaying Bakura's offer in his head. "Erm, did you say your cousin, too?" Harry repeated weakly.

Bakura giggled. "Yes. He's really not that bad, just rather grumpy. He offends people unintentionally, and I'm sure he'd like to apologize for his rudeness earlier."

Somehow I doubt that, Harry thought dubiously, but outwardly agreed as genially as he could, which admittedly wasn't very much.

"So, Potter-san, you mentioned before that you moved here from overseas?" Bakura asked lightly from his place across the table. Two days after Harry had moved in, Bakura had showed up again at Harry's door, cousin in tow, and invited him along for an easy tour of Domino City. They had wandered about for two hours or so, Bakura pointing out interesting stores, local landmarks, and useful administrative buildings. Harry had done his best to remember everything, but had a feeling he'd have to get Bakura to repeat himself later; the city was rather overwhelming.

It was everything he'd hoped it would be, however. He'd chosen Domino City as his new residence for its proximity to Tokyo, and for its reputation as a frontier of muggle technological advancement. Harry had heard that Kaiba Corp, based in the city, was pumping out some really incredible tech, and after all the unpleasantness he'd faced in Magical Britain the last few years, he really wanted to familiarize himself with everything the muggle world had to offer, in case he ever had to go deeper into hiding. At the very least, Arthur would be thrilled to hear about the city the next time he visited the Burrow.

Touzokuou, meanwhile, had just sauntered along behind them, grunting when Bakura spoke to him occasionally, and generally just looking very sour and grumpy. Harry wasn't particularly surprised to have never gotten an apology.

Despite that no one had been paying Harry particularly much attention, the glances and nudges from the crowd had begun grating on him, and he had been eager to sit down out of the way to regain his composure. He had been inordinately grateful when Bakura suggested they grab a bite to eat and led them to a fast food restaurant called Burger World, where they settled at a table all the way in the back.

"Yeah I did, was living in London before."

"Long way for a young guy to move. Expensive, too. Something pretty important must have happened for you to drag your ass all the way here," Touzokuou spoke up for the first time, eerie pale eyes alight with sudden, faint curiosity.

"Er. It was just a good job opportunity, really. A friend back home gave me a great recommendation for the position, so it wasn't really nerve-wracking or anything; helped knowing I'd have job security," Harry responded as vaguely as possible, trying to sidestep the disturbingly direct implication.

"That doesn't answ–" Touzokuou started, before Bakura cut him off sharply.

"Stop prying, Bakura, it's not any of your business," Bakura huffed, before turning a smile on Harry. "You mentioned a good job opportunity? Can I ask what line of work you're in?"

"It's a government job, sort of. Special police consultant," Harry replied, again going for vagueness, but continued at Bakura's prompting. "I'm a criminal profiler. Case-by-case. I receive information about serial criminals, and I try my best to gather what I can about their personality, habits…anything that might help the police catch them, really." While he, Ron and Hermione had decided not to reveal the details of precisely how far Riddle had gone in his creation of the horcruxes, it was generally believed by the public that he had, in fact, delved into forbidden soul magic, and further believed that Harry himself must be particularly knowledgeable on the subject to have been able to defeat him. He had decided to conform to their expectations just this once, resolving to learn as much about obscure soul magic as the Black and Hogwarts libraries could provide in his free time from basic Auror training.

His studies had paid off, and when he had needed an out from Magical British society, Kingsley had recommended him to the Japanese Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had been promptly hired as a case-by-case special consultant, profiling dangerous dark wizards, especially those that used soul magic to commit crimes. Apparently, there had been an alarming rash of soul-stealings in the past few years in Japan, and Aurors had yet to discover the source.

Bakura seemed to pause a bit at his words, while Touzokuou leaned forward, the curiosity in his eyes hardening into something a little less innocent.

"Criminal profiler, eh? I don't suppose you've 'profiled' anyone I might know?" The scarred man's grin edged on predatory, Harry noted.

"Sorry, a lot of what I do is classified. Can't really say anything more about it," he responded coolly. He noticed Bakura glancing back and forth between them, his brows knitted slightly, looking for something to say that would break the sudden, slight tension.

"Um, Potter-san–"

"Er, just Harry is fine, used to it from back home…"

"Oh, in that case, please just call me Ryou, and him Bakura. It's our preference, really, it's how all of our friends refer to us. Anyway–"

"Hey, Ryou! Bakura! What's up?" an unfamiliar voice called out. The three at the table turned to regard a blond man trailed by a brunet heading their direction.

"Jounouchi, Honda, hello!" Ryou smiled, seeming relieved at the interruption. His friendly greeting drowned out Bakura's vague grumbles. He quickly introduced Harry, who nodded in greeting, hunching a bit in his seat at the unexpected company.

"A criminal profiler, huh?" grinned Jounouchi. "Waddaya say you profile this lug right here?" he continued, throwing an arm about Bakura's shoulders, receiving a truly poisonous glare in return. "Say the dude's, I dunno, a total klepto or somethin'. Hypothetically."

Bakura turned back from glaring disgustedly at Jou and his offending arm and directed his gaze at Harry instead. "Yes, why don't you tell me something about myself?" he smirked challengingly.

And Harry couldn't help but rise to the challenge, oddly eager to disarm the man somehow. He looked the man right in the eye, took in his haughty smirk; the confident posture and limber form; the controlled way he moved, his every step falling directly in place and his hands never overreaching; the aloof manner when uninterested…

"You'd be arrogant. Likely with good reason to be; you'd be a good thief and you would know it, but that also makes you prone to underestimating your opponents – the police, or security systems, or whatever. You'd be caught off guard when something or someone rises to a challenge, it'd throw you off your game. About the stuff you'd go after…you're obsessive. Don't care at all about anything unless it really grabs your interest, so you probably wouldn't stop going after something you want until you got it. Might make you easy to draw into traps, but I get the feeling you're too self-aware to be easily baited. I think you're more self-aware than you are arrogant, even, so it would be difficult to catch you off your guard. Not impossible though. Just a matter of sweetening the pot enough to have your fixation overwhelm your self-awareness, and your arrogance would do the rest. Hypothetically, of course. "

Harry took a moment after his exposition to regard the others at the table. Jounouchi and Honda's eyes were bulging slightly, and Ryou was staring at him with wide, shocked doe eyes. Maybe not so hypothetically, Harry considered. Not my business, though, or my jurisdiction, unless he steals the souls of his victims, or something.

"Of course," Bakura murmured back, his face disturbingly blank. He stared for a moment, before a broad, insane grin split his face and he threw his head back with an alarming cackle. He calmed quickly, and returned to his drink. They all sat silently for a moment, awkwardly not-looking at one another. Jounouchi was the first to break the silence, with all the subtlety of a Hippogriff in an apothecary.

"Hey, so, do you play Duel Monsters?" the blond asked Harry eagerly, who could only stare blankly for a moment.

"Erm, what's duel monsters?" he questioned. He was startled when he was treated to four very blank looks. He was reminded of the first time he had met Ron, when he was forced to admit he had never heard of Quidditch. He started to get the feeling he had just committed a similar offense as the men incredulous exchanged glances, before looking back at him. The brunet answered this time.

"It's a card game," said Honda. "Really popular in this city. Domino's kinda known as the Duel Monsters capital of the world, you know? There's signs for it everywhere, surprised you didn't notice. It's, um, kinda odd you moved here without knowing about it…" he continued dubiously.

"Oh. I guess when you put it that way it's pretty weird. And um, about the signs and stuff? I can speak Japanese all right, but I'm still learning how to read it, and when they use crazy fonts on the signs, it makes it pretty difficult…" he trailed off, thoughts flitting briefly to the evening reading and writing classes he would be attending five nights a week. The temporary, disposable language patch he wore on his upper arm, meanwhile, allowed him to speak and understand Japanese for a few days with no issues; he had several boxes of the ludicrously expensive of Language Labels back in his apartment.

They exchanged small talk around Bakura's pronounced sulk for a while longer, before Jou announced that he was late meeting someone he called 'Mai,' which Honda responded to by snickering and sending a leer Jounouchi's way. Girlfriend, then, Harry decided absently.

"Yeah, I should probably head out now, too," Harry said, standing up and already edging towards the door. "Made some online furniture orders a couple days ago, so I need to go pick them up." He made his escape quickly, wading out into the crowd before anyone had the chance to offer help.

Harry slumped on his new dark brown couch, attempting to enjoy the deep, voluminous cushions, but having only minimal success due to the noisy presence scuttling past him.

"Kreacher is so happy Master Harry did not forget about him. Master Harry knows Kreacher is still useful, yes! Kreacher has brought Master Harry his favorites, too, see? Hot stew and shepherd's pie, and treacle tart. Master Harry must not forget to eat like he usually does…" The diminutive old elf puttered about the apartment, making the bed, levitating dishes into the cabinets, and placing heating charms on the heavy meal he'd brought with him.

After leaving the pale-haired cousins and their friends at Burger World, Harry had stumbled about the city for a while yet, knowing his furniture orders would not be ready for several more hours. He'd gotten himself lost several times, but a few discreet Point-Me spells had put him back on track. Moving the furniture had been no trouble at all; it was simply a matter of having the store employees haul the boxes out behind the store, Confunding them into thinking he'd packed them into a moving truck, and calling Kreacher to snap the furniture directly into his new apartment. Which he was vaguely regretting at the moment; Kreacher's high-pitched, croaky voice was doing little to improve the stress headache he'd gotten from dealing with Domino's considerably crowded streets.

The elf turned a creaky, toothless smile Harry's way, and he was immediately struck with guilt over his uncharitable thoughts. Kreacher had been extremely helpful and considerate today.

"Master Harry?" Kreacher croaked, a small frown contorting the loose, papery skin of his face as he examined the young man. "Has Master had his medication today?"

"Yes," Harry lied. The last thing he wanted to do was tell his hen dragon of a house elf that his anti-anxiety prescription had run out a month ago, and he had never bothered to refill it. After all, the more he continued the regimen, the more likely the press was to discover the identity of the medication, and that was the last thing he wanted after his visits to a therapist had made national headlines. Then again, he thought, I'm not in Britain anymore. Maybe I could make up a story and go see a muggle therapist about getting a similar prescription…

The wizarding world had not been particularly kind to him after the Battle of Hogwarts. They had not shunned him, but rather had gone entirely too far in the opposite direction. Harry quickly found that he could not visit even the grocery store without getting mobbed by superstitious witches and wizards hoping to touch him for luck (not many people walked away from two Killing Curses, after all, and curse Hagrid for drunkenly confirming the second one). His distaste for the crowds grew into a genuine anxiety disorder, which Hermione had recognized early on. At her insistence Harry had gone to a magical therapist for help to keep the anxiety from becoming debilitating, but apparently confidentiality clauses don't apply to Boys-Who-Lived.

"If Master is sure…" Kreacher muttered suspiciously, sending a narrow-eyed stare Harry's way, as though the lie were written in acid green ink across his forehead.

"I am. Really. Just had a long day, and I've got a bit of a headache. Thanks for bringing the food and stuff, Kreacher, but I think I might go to bed early."

"Kreacher insists that Master Harry have at least a bowl of stew before he goes to sleep." The elf was surprising demanding, at times, Harry mused, as he conceded. He ended up having seconds of stew, half the shepherd's pie, and the treacle tart. Kreacher really was a terribly good cook. He sighed contentedly, sleepily, as Kreacher hustled him off to bed. He couldn't muster the energy to change into pajamas or brush his teeth; he simply let himself fall into the brand-new mattress and freshly washed sheets. Harry was asleep the second his head hit the pillow.

Hello, all! Thanks for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it! On that note, this chapter is just a bit of a preview to gauge interest. If you'd like me to continue, say so! If you're not interested, please tell me. Also, please be advised that if I do continue this story, there will probably not be an update for some time; I'd like to have the story finished before continuing to post so it can be updated at short, regular, guaranteed intervals.

Thank you!

~Breather