Author Notes: I suck. Behold my very very very late update. And to make it worse, pretty much nothing happens in this chapter. How I manage to write 8000 words about absolutely nothing I don't know... but at least you have something to read. I've been distracted by other shiny new story ideas, but I've finally gotten to finishing this chapter. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, positive or not. As it evidently wasn't clear before (I don't know why I'm only just getting these reviews), Bakura's so-called feeling of unwarranted "guilt" is a part of the plot. For those of you disbelievers out there, I will tell you now that no, he will not go "soft". It's a passing thing. Remember that Millennium World/Ancient Egypt happens almost right after this, and if I recall correctly, he is the VILLAIN in that arc. Still, I'm glad you all told me how fail he was being, because that means you actually care :3. It's my fault anyways, for not pointing it out clearly enough in the footnote. Or for hitting you too hard with that frying pan. But yeah, thanks anyways. I will attempt to be more straightforward in future footnotes. Again, thanks to everyone who reviewed. Okay, now for the anonymous reviews:

To caiancaldasar: Yay, questions. Ryou isn't weak in magic. He's about average at it, while the spirit is good at it. If you'll recall, Hermione, being a prodigy, manages spells on her first or second try, but everyone else takes a few dozen attempts and blows things up in the process-- and that's with an instructor. Ryou has only ever read a few books on theory, and it's not surprising that he has some trouble with the practical aspects. I'm trying to be realistic here, and not make him a modified Gary Stu. As for wand and shadow magic, I personally believe that all magic is inherently the same. Shadow magic simply draws on an outside source (shadow realm) in addition to one's own magic, making it more powerful but less controllable. Wizard magic, in comparison, while complicated, is usually easy to control once understood and draws on a minimum of ba, so little that a wizard can use magic all his life without danger, assuming he doesn't continually perform advanced spells such as the Unforgivables. Everyone has ba, and therefore everyone could potentially use magic, but I believe it must be cultivated at a young age. Like all other talents, of course, some people show extraordinarily more innate ability, and these are our "wizards". Of course, that's just what I think, and how I've combined the worlds of Yu-Gi-Oh and Harry Potter.

To ghost nappa: To address those points you brought up: First of all, Bakura doesn't have conscious mental barriers, because he's never needed to. They're just there. It's one of the perks of having an Item. I don't think the spirit would have perceived an inanimate object like the hat as a threat, whether or not it can read minds. He had to have had some sort of "heads up" from the golden trio, and he would have been prepared for it. As for what house he's in... I'm not trying to write an easily progressive story. I'm trying to realistic. There is no way that Bakura could ever be in Gryffindor, bar influence on the hat from Dumbledore. He isn't reckless or daring, and he isn't chivalrous by any means. Dumbledore wouldn't care enough to rig the hat (and I'm not certain he even can), as despite the intrigue that a strange foreign wizard may provide, he is still focused on Harry Potter, as he should be. As for Marik and Yugi, neither of them are particularly close with Bakura. Marik had a business deal with him, while he and Yugi are acquaintances at best while there is that rift of distrust between them. There is no feasible reason for either Marik or Yugi to be anywhere in the vicinity of Britain, and those who do not live on the British Isles do not get invited to Hogwarts. Additionally, I do not wish to write a cliche "Yugi, Bakura, and Marik go to Hogwarts" story. There are enough of those as is. I hope you can enjoy the story the way it's being written.

To anon: Yugi and Marik are addressed above. Kaiba will not be going Hogwarts, if that is what you mean. However, he/his technology may appear once or twice, depending on whether or not I can fit it in. It is unlikely that he will show his face, but maybe his jet will fly overhead or something. Heh.

Disclaimer: [--- Doesn't own ---]

"Speech"

"Telepathy"

'Thoughts'

(Footnote Number)

Constructive criticism, suggestions, and pointing out of errors in syntax are always welcome, as I don't have a beta and self editing only does so much. Plus, my word processor's not working, so there may be grammar errors, as neither GoogleDocs nor Fanfiction have a grammar checker.

xxxxxx

Ryou sat down dazedly beside Malfoy, who clapped him on the back and nodded at him. On the other side of the room, Ron Weasley shook his head, staring disbelievingly at the boy with the shock of white hair that was visible even from where he sat. He had thought Bakura was his friend. It was no less than betrayal, that the albino be put in the house of serpents.

"You won, mate." Fred told his brother, prodding him. Ron blinked, looking up at the twins.

"Wha-- oh. Yeah, I s'pose I did, huh?" he muttered. He had previously thought that Bakura was a snake, even bet on it, and his instincts had been right. But... Ron thought back to his broom. The newest Comet model. He'd only ever dreamed of owning it, and now, soon, the package would arrive. Bakura had paid for most of it, and the redhead knew it. There was no way his mother could have afforded it otherwise, anyways. He supposed the albino had been okay most of the time. But Slytherin!

Harry Potter was confused, and doubt flooded its way into his conscious. The strange inconsistencies in Bakura's story, his knives, even his pet. It all made sense. Why hadn't he seen it before? The guy was chummy with Malfoy, for God's sake! And Dumbledore had trusted him, let him into Grimmauld Place! What if he was a Death Eater? But Harry kept his reservations to himself. He knew that Ron would flip out, and Hermione would try to analyze the albino's character rationally, or something. He brooded over it, unsure of what to think.

Ryou sat in his own little world, unaware of the stares directed towards him from not only the Gryffindor table, but from the other two house tables as well, for his introduction was certainly something interesting and strange. Whispers fluttered about the room, their content varying from his looks to his reason for attending Hogwarts, wild speculation often much stranger than the truth. But as the sorting progressed, so the attention slowly shifted from the strange albino to the pristine golden plates before them, which the returning students knew would soon fill up with delectable food. Their stomachs grumbled loudly, and they were impatient for the sorting to end so that they could dig in.

The spirit looked through Ryou's eyes, frustrated that he couldn't turn his head or even move the eyes for that matter, in order to change his field of vision. Briefly, he thought of separating from the body, but he was unsure if the ghosts would be able to see him. Besides, it was annoying to do so anyways-- being in a body was much more preferable. Irritated, he knocked Ryou out of the body and took over. The boy was so lost in thought, he probably didn't even notice, anyways. And if he did, well, he wasn't putting the vessel to good use, so he may as well give it over.

Now in control, the spirit satisfied his curiosity, burgundy eyes darting around and taking in the scenery. Although her face made him cringe, he forced himself to look at the toad with the fashion crisis. He marveled at how ugly a person could get. Even Akhenaden was better looking than this, which was saying something, considering the priest had been extremely old, if Bakura remembered correctly. But there was something weird about it. He scrutinized every detail of her face, as well as the entire system, wondering just what made her so disgusting. Her face had odd proportions-- the forehead was too prominent, and the eyes bulged. The simpering expression she wore scrunched up her face, giving her more wrinkles than she already had. Her head was squashed, and although she wasn't exactly fat, the short curls that stuck to her scalp made her already flattened head look much wider than it actually was. Along with this, her tightly buttoned cardigan, rather than making her look slimmer, simply extended the illusion of flab, for the robes underneath were rather bulky.

But all of that still did not explain the utter revulsion he felt from simply looking at her. Those features weren't enough to make a not quite middle-aged woman hideous. There had to be something else about her that inspired loathing and disgust, not just her outward appearance. Perhaps it was the smug glint in her eyes, or the aura of contempt that she exuded. Aura... That was it. Her aura reeked of hypocrisy, if his rudimentary ability to read souls was any indication. If there was one thing the spirit could not stand, it was hypocrisy. It wasn't some petty moral issue; it was simply because hypocrites had killed his family and destroyed Kul Elna. The Pharaoh, the accursed Pharaoh, had, in the name of the righteousness, slaughtered his entire village in an unholy ritual, and dared to deny that he had done any wrong.

Bakura growled under his breath. Hypocrites were disgusting. Like him, they killed, they manipulated, and they tortured, but unlike him, they held meaningless principles and tried to justify their actions. They made excuses, as if they hadn't enjoyed it, or were doing it for some greater good (1). Justice was for those who believed in good and evil, black and white. Justice wasn't something that applied to the real world. Trying to defend actions in the name of justice was simply ridiculous.

The spirit was prodded out of his brooding thoughts by the tail end of Dumbledore's words, the irritating voice of the old man finally getting to him. "--for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

He blinked, a little startled as the golden plates filled up with a plethora of food. Frankly, he was unsure of what to eat. Glancing around, he was satisfied at the sight of various meat-containing savory dish and a few large joints of mutton. It wasn't that he didn't like vegetables or anything of that sort. He simply hadn't gotten over the fact that the presence of meat at a meal was taken for granted these days, when in the past his village was hard pressed to find anything to put on the table at all. It wasn't as if the village of thieves owned any good land for agriculture. Rather, the place was stranded in the middle of the desert, its inhabitants fighting to survive.

At any rate, he'd never seen such a feast, not even at the Pharaoh's table when he'd barged in at mealtime. Then again, he'd never actually crashed any royal parties, so he didn't know if celebrations warranted that much more and better food.

His eating was interrupted by the realization that there was a large transparent mass before him. Without making it obvious that he'd been caught off guard, he put down his fork and tilted his head upward, giving the ghost a blank stare.

"Hello." the spirit said pleasantly, thinking it ironic that he was probably much older than the deceased man floating above the table. The ghost had an angular face, with thick eyebrows and lines that suggested he scowled often and smiled rarely. More notable was his dress, an embroidered frock coat and silken trousers adorned with silvery tendrils of ghostly blood and what looked suspiciously like chains. Interesting.

"Greetings, I am the Bloody Baron." the ghost informed every first year in the general direction of Bakura, inclining his head. It was a fitting name, and described pretty well both the expensive looking clothing and the liquid that covered it. Bakura nodded to the ghost.

"Pleasure to meet you." he said, a little of the interest he felt seeping through his voice. The other first years, on the contrary, looked terrified. Idly, he wondered when the man had lived, that he would've been murdered so messily. While Bakura enjoyed making his victims scream, too much blood was always a hassle, as it was liable to stain the murderer's clothing, and then people would ask questions. Then again, perhaps the name "Bloody Baron" wasn't actually referring to his physical state in death, but to his conduct in life. Perhaps he was killed by an angry civilian mob, and no one cared that he'd died, feeling better off without him. The spirit scowled, realizing that his thoughts had gone off track. Frankly, it didn't matter how the Baron had gotten his name. He closed his eyes and attuned himself to his surroundings once more, remembering to listen instead of simply hear and to be observant. It wouldn't do to be caught unawares once more.

The ghost seemed content with simply introducing himself, and he soon drifted away to speak with some of the older students. Bakura continued eating, forcing himself to mind his manners to keep up appearances. This was completely different from his host's apartment, or even Grimmauld Place. He was in public, and everybody at the Slytherin table and then some would be judging him on first impressions. It was always a wise idea to make a good first impression, especially where manipulation and concealment was concerned. If he recalled correctly, the reason why he wasn't close friends with the reincarnated Pharaoh and able to get to the puzzle was because he'd been too certain that he could defeat Yugi, and failed to take into account that challenging someone to a shadow game wasn't exactly the best way to gain their trust. Actually, he couldn't remember what had possessed him to be so rash and overconfident (2). In the past, he'd always managed to study and take advantage of his enemies' weaknesses and conceal his own before he struck. Yet, he'd somehow decided that he'd be able to beat Yugi just because he had ways of cheating. He must have forgotten that cheating at all was a blatant weakness in and of itself, and something that could be exploited by the keen-eyed opponent. And by one's own hikari.

A surge of resentment washed through him, and he couldn't believe he'd let himself be influenced by the boy. The spirit's rational mind told him that it was an event long past, and that his prospects were by no means gone, yet he could not help but feel anger and disgust, both at Ryou and himself. And though the initial burst of negative emotion passed, the dregs of annoyance and unease still stirred at the bottom of his conscious, even as he helped himself to a lemon tart once the dessert appeared.

As he finished his pastry, Bakura realized that he was full. Incontrovertibly full, and unable to eat another bite. This revelation surprised him, as he couldn't ever remember having eaten so much in one sitting before. He hoped that this sort of feast was not an everyday occurrence; if it was, he would have to pay attention to how much he ate, for being sluggishly full made him less aware and dulled his reflexes. That, and he didn't want to get fat.

The spirit found that he was falling into yet another reverie, a pool of irrelevant thoughts seeking to drown his hold on reality. Shaking himself, he sat up straighter. It felt like he held a stone in his stomach, and he again reprimanded himself for eating so much. He couldn't believe that the children around him were still devouring more food, shoveling sweets into their mouths. Glancing over at the Gryffindor table, he spied Ron Weasley, who was stuffing his face without a care in the world. So perhaps Slytherins were a bit more refined... but they were still eating ridiculous amounts.

Eventually, the desserts vanished as the main course had, and by then, even the most avid of eaters looked just about full. Bakura trained his eyes on the headmaster as the man stood and prepared to speak. Even if the spirit didn't care what he had to say, he felt it wise to listen carefully in case there was something important to be missed.

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," the old man said. "First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students-- and a few of our..." Bakura pursed his lips, wondering why that was so. While Dumbledore was an annoying old prick, he probably did care in some ways about his students. And from his words, the spirit concluded that this had been the norm for many years now. Perhaps there were dangerous creatures in the forest. His thoughts were interrupted as the headmaster spouted more useful information.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Bakura's eyes darted up to the toad woman once more. She was smiling smugly, although she seemed a bit distracted. Disgusting. The expression just made her even more repulsive. He smirked at her reception, which was lukewarm at best, as most of those in the hall did not even bother to clap. He certainly didn't. Beside him, however, Draco Malfoy clapped enthusiastically, although his face didn't show any appreciation for the woman. Bakura was confused for a moment, before he recalled something. Draco's father worked at the Ministry of Magic, and was chummy with the Minister himself. The toad woman, Umbridge, also worked there. Malfoy was probably expected to welcome her.

"Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the--" he stopped, giving Umbridge a questioning look. Bakura sneered. The woman gave an extremely fake imitation of clearing her throat, obviously intending to speak. Dumbledore had actually stopped his speech for this sad excuse for a human. The spirit couldn't believe the manipulative, adamant headmaster had actually given way to the disgusting woman. If the startled expression that flashed for a moment onto the old man's face was any indication, it wasn't the norm, and Dumbledore seemed to regret shutting up. A moment later, however, he composed himself and sat down, pretending to be very interested in what Umbridge had to say.

"Thank you, Headmaster," she began in a revoltingly girlish voice, a voice that made the spirit want to seize her by the neck and slam her against a wall before impaling her on a volleyball pole and leaving her to die slowly and agonizingly, "for those kind words of welcome." she cleared her throat falsely again.

"Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" Bakura subconsciously noted that her teeth were very pointy. Was she a vegetarian (3)? "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me."

The spirit wondered if she was referring to Draco Malfoy, who had a strained and obviously forced smile on his face. No one else in the hall appeared to be happy at all. He himself was currently livid. The woman needed a severe wake up call, for she seemed to think a little too highly of herself.

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!" Those words, though trite and expected, would have been pleasant and welcoming, if it hadn't been for her tone. She continued to speak in a condescending manner, as if those she addressed were toddlers. Umbridge cleared her throat again. Her speech was dry and businesslike now.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community," Bakura snorted at this pronouncement, "must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching." Here Umbridge stopped and bowed a little to each of the staff. Bakura noted that, far from being respectful, the bow seemed as fake as all of the other well-meaning expressions the woman had displayed so far.

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay." The spirit was intrigued by this arrangement of words. 'And that is as it should be' seemed awkward and unfitting for a speech that had doubtlessly been written with care and was now recited word for word. It seemed like a bad attempt at being subtle, as if trying to say that 'it's not how it should be, but we can't say it outright or there will be protest.' Umbridge's next words bolstered these suspicions, "There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation, because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors in judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what out to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited." she concluded (4).

The extreme repetitiveness of the speech along with the bad presentation of the stuffy and flowery prose seemed to Bakura intentional. It was a threat. A threat made for the teachers, who had less power than the children in regards to their freedom of speech, and it was made to pass over the heads of most of the students. Indeed, only a spare few had actually heard and understood the entirety of the speech; most of the occupants of the four house tables looked on the verge of sleep. Essentially, the ministry wanted things to go their way. 'Tried and tested traditions indeed,' the spirit thought. From what he'd seen of the wizarding world, most of their ways were archaic, complicated, and inconvenient compared to so-called "inferior" muggle methods of doing similar tasks.

It was evident, however, that a good part of the prejudices of wizards came from the ministry itself. And it was evident as well that it had no interest in changing its ways, and wanted to bring any radical ideas to the standstill. And from the somber and slightly angry glint in Dumbledore's ordinarily bright eyes, he was one of the proponents of such radical ideas.

In Bakura's opinion, disaster would fall either way. The ministry was idiotic and had too much power, while Dumbledore was manipulative and too righteous. But in the end, the spirit really didn't care. It wasn't his problem, however embroiled in the wizarding world he was. He was merely a spectator in their battles for power. All he needed to do was get out of the place alive, and get back to his true goal of attaining the Millennium Items.

Of course, getting out alive was more easily said than done. Even with the hefty distraction that current issues provided, he wasn't sure that the fact that there was "two" of him would remain undiscovered, not when he was surrounded by potentially nosy children. The adults would not likely be as much of a threat, as they had to deal with more important things. Even Dumbledore, who had presented such an infuriating man, would eventually lose interest in him, if he managed to prove himself an ordinary child. He wasn't some savior of the world, or the "Boy-who-lived". He was simply a foreigner, and any curiosities he stirred up would quickly depart.

But with children surrounding him for an entire year, someone was all too likely to get suspicious. If he made any slip-ups, revealed any indication that he was anything but an ordinary teen, there would be hell to pay. If the students discovered him, the teachers would be next to know, and after that came the higher-ups in magical society who would either imprison him in a hospital or attempt to kill him. Both circumstances were those he'd rather avoid.

He would just have to be extremely careful, and also make sure his host did not get too friendly with anyone. All to often, "friends" leaked information, whether intentionally or not. Confidentiality was essential, and the hikari would do well to get over his moralistic worldview and face reality.

Speaking of which, he'd heard nary a breath from Ryou all the way through the meal, something he found strange. While the spirit wasn't going to complain about the lack of inane chatter, it was something abnormal. Reaching into the recesses of his mind, he ran into a wall, metaphorically speaking. And it was his own wall.

It was strange, but he had somehow blocked off his host unintentionally. The wall was familiar; it was the same kind he'd always used to suppress Ryou's consciousness when he needed to work without distraction (essentially most of the time). Well, it didn't matter, really. The input of his other self was not needed at the moment anyways. He glanced back up to the staff table just as Dumbledore stood once more.

"Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the twelfth of September. Now, I'm sure we're all ready to turn in, so good night (5)!" he said, and at these words, the hall burst into movement as children scrambled over the benches and made for the doors.

"First years, come with me." Draco called out, before he turned to Bakura.

"You're not exactly a first year, but come with me anyways. I need to show you where our common room is." he said amicably enough, though his demeanor was haughty. The spirit had the distinct impression that Malfoy was trying to lord even this triviality over him. Well, it wasn't very important, and if the blond wanted to act immature, then so be it.

"Of course." he returned, and followed Malfoy at the fore of the procession of first years. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors headed up the first set of staircases, while the Hufflepuffs and his own house continued down the hall and proceeded downwards. Soon, the Hufflepuffs went down a side hall while the Slytherins continued to trudge deeper into the bowels of the castle.

Bakura could tell that they were now in the dungeons, although he doubted that the place had ever been used as an actual prison, not if the Slytherin common rooms were located there. He'd read enough of Hogwarts, a History to know that the builders of the castle had intended it for a school, and not a fortress, although it was well defended by wards and could serve as one in times of war.

Eventually, after traversing countless winding corridors, they arrived in front of an empty wall. Draco presented it with an overdramatic flourish.

"Memento mori (6)." he murmured, and a piece of the wall moved out of the way to reveal a set of steps leading down into the common room. Bakura stepped inside, committing the password to memory. He sauntered casually down the steps, drinking in the contents of the hexagonal room. Here and there were black and green couches and wooden chairs, usually leaned up against the walls, which were papered in a disconcerting pattern that wavered in the dim lighting. Desks and tables were positioned conveniently before the seating areas. Many paned windows revealed that the Slytherins were, in fact, under the lake, which only added to the mysterious quality of the common room. The entirety of it was lit by torches mounted at intervals and encompassed by colored glass so that they would cast green rays. An unlit hearth stood on the opposite side of the room. Bakura turned and headed towards the appropriate dormitory, intent on getting to bed.

The boys' dormitories were down a short set of stairs. Two staircases on either side led to separate parts of the landing below, which evidently contained the second and fourth year dorms. A quick analysis of the sign on the wall told him that this year, fifth year rooms were on the third basement floor, and could be accessed by going down the staircase on the right, which also led to the fourth year side of the second floor.

Bakura turned and headed down the stairs, stopping briefly at the fourth years' landing to peer down the gloomy hallway, which was lit only by small lamps that gave off a flickering green glow. It was currently empty, and relatively uninteresting. Further down were the third year dorms, but the spirit felt no need to explore the bottommost landing. Instead, he entered the similarly lit corridor on his appropriate floor, searching for his room.

It was evidently behind the last door in the hallway. The plaque upon it read "T. Nott, K. Anderson, A. Montague, B. Zabini, R. Bakura (7)". The spirit noticed that his host's name (his own by extension) looked darker and fresher than the others. It made sense, as he was a recent addition.

He grasped the door handle and turned it, pushing inward to open the door. The interior was almost entirely dark, devoid of even the green lanterns and lit only by the two torches mounted above the door. As far as the spirit could tell, the bathroom was to the left. The area surrounding the four-poster beds were personalized, of all except for one, which was obviously his. Sure enough, the trunk standing by that bed was his host's. Briefly, Bakura debated whether or not to have a shower, before deciding that it could wait until tomorrow morning. He extricated himself from his robes, carefully removing all the sharp weapons in his clothing and shaking his wand loose from where it had gotten stuck to his arm. He changed into Ryou's pajamas and slipped the magical stick of wood back up his sleeve. Unsure of what to do with the remaining weapons, he finally decided to place the small daggers in the trunk, keeping his own knife under his pillow, serrated edge inwards so he wouldn't cut himself in his sleep. Tired and ready for bed, he climbed onto his mattress, pulled the curtains shut, and crawled under the covers.

Ryou awoke in confusion, unsure of how exactly he'd gotten to bed, or why the bed he was in was unfamiliar. His right hand was numb and hard to move, as it was under the pillow and bore the weight of his head. As he moved it, however, he felt a measure of pain that, though dulled, was still noticeable. He sat up groggily and inspected his hand, which, to his confusion and irritation, was bleeding slightly from a neat little cut that looked as if it had been inflicted by a blade. Set was curled up at the foot of his bed, still fast asleep, so it couldn't have been the snake.

On second thought, it probably looked the way it did because it had been the work of a knife. Whipping around, Ryou shoved his pillow aside, grimacing as he spotted the long knife that lay there, exposed. He was fairly certain now as to where he was, and how he'd gotten there. Gingerly, he picked up the weapon and set it down on his now sideways pillow. Sucking on his finger, which was quickly regaining feeling and experiencing more pain, he pushed the heavy coverlet away and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. He flinched a little when a draft of cold air swept over his bare feet as he swept back the drapes on his bed.

At least the spirit had had the decency to put on his pajamas before going to bed. Ryou doubted that robes were the most comfortable thing to fall asleep in. He glanced around the room. His bed was at the rightmost corner, and the walls around it seemed dismally bare in comparison to the meter of wall that his neighbor's space included. A plethora of posters, all with moving pictures of white and gray clad people rocketing around on broomsticks, plastered the surface from ceiling to floor. The name, "Falmouth Falcons" was visible here and there, and, along with the image of a falcon's head, was emblazoned extravagantly on a banner that hung below the largest poster (8).

Ryou saw that the window between his and his neighbor's beds was open a crack, letting in the chilly morning air-- or was it air at all? Upon closer inspection, it seemed that the dorms were deep underwater. Ryou could only conclude that it was magic channeling fresh air into the area. The clock on the wall by the door told him that it was five in the morning. Despite the ungodly hour however, the middle bed had its curtains pinned up and was made neatly, its occupant nowhere to be found. The living space around this bed was not as brightly bedecked as was the one beside Ryou's, but it certainly looked lived in. A single large piece of parchment hung on the wall, depicting the unmoving visage of a smiling woman in a black and white charcoal sketch that was surprisingly detailed and lifelike. On the side table rested a teetering pile of books and an ornately framed picture showing the same woman. She was rather pretty, and looked to be in her thirties in the photograph. Ryou wondered if she was the mother of the boy who occupied the bed. If so, he could only imagine that she was deceased, for there was no other way that a teenage boy would put up pictures of his mother for all to see.

The curtains around the last two beds were still closed, and audible snores emanated from the one at the end. Ryou felt groggy, and decided that it would be nice to take a shower, especially while everyone else was still asleep.

The door to the bathroom was on the other side of the room. Inside, he met a boy with dark brown hair and deep, penetrating eyes. He turned as he saw Ryou in the mirror.

"Hello, you must be Bakura... Ryou, if I'm correct." he uttered softly. "I am Theodore Nott. Nott, if you please, or Theo. Either is fine. And welcome to Slytherin, of course." Briefly, Ryou wondered how the boy, Nott, knew his name, before he remembered, feeling foolish, that it had been announced during the sorting.

"Thank you." he replied, nodding his head. Nott nodded back, readjusting the towel in his arms.

"Well, I'll leave you to yourself then." he said, turning and walking out the door. Ryou's first impression of Theodore Nott was that he was... well, kind of creepy. Now alone however, Ryou felt less nervous and self conscious, and set at once to brushing his teeth. He realized just how fortunate he'd been that he was so used to concealing the Ring that it was under even his pajamas. Once his teeth were done with, he stripped and stepped into the shower, quickly becoming more awake as the warm water cascaded over him.

As much as he wanted to stay in the shower for a long time, maybe forever, his skin was starting to feel rubbery and he knew that he'd already spent a ridiculous amount of time washing and was sufficiently clean. As he exited the stall, he realized that he'd forgotten to bring his towel into the bathroom. Understandably, the modest boy was a little panicked and rather unenthusiastic at dashing across the dorm rooms stark naked but for a large gold pendant to rummage his trunk for the desired article. Fortunately, he was spared the potential embarrassment when he spotted a rack partly concealed by a wayward shower curtain, upon which lay folded several fluffy white towels for public use.

Wasting no time, Ryou dried himself off, rubbing the towel vigorously through his mane of white hair, which was currently loose and puffy from the frictional static. Frustrated that he'd forgotten to bring any necessary items into the bathroom, he wrapped the now very damp towel around his waist and hurried back into the room, where he discovered the remaining three occupants still sound asleep. Letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, he dashed over to his trunk and threw it open. Unsurprisingly, the interior was no longer organized, but haphazard and messy. Ryou spotted his knives laying around along with a twisted pile of dirty clothing from the previous day and a wrinkled black robe. It figured that the spirit didn't understand the need for orderliness or cleanliness.

Sighing, the albino pushed things around in search of all the unprovided components of his school uniform (9), resolving to reorganize it all later. He managed to produce a clean white shirt, a pair of black pants, and his belt and duel deck, but could not for the life of him find where he'd put his shoes, of all things. Apparently, he needed nice black shoes instead of just the tennis shoes he usually wore. Giving it up for now, he turned to the house-specific clothing that was laid out for him on his side table, neatly folded. A dark green and silver silk tie sat on a charcoal sweater with green and silver on the cuffs and neckline. To his surprise, another robe was provided even though the supplies list had asked him to buy his own. Upon further inspection, however, Ryou was able to conjecture that the robe he'd bought himself was for when school was not in progress, as the new one was lined with green and sported the Slytherin crest on the chest. A warm looking scarf, again in the Slytherin house colors, was rolled up beside these. Ryou took it and stowed it in a drawer in the large side table that doubled as storage, figuring that it was meant for the colder seasons. It was rather chilly outside already, however, so he slipped the sweater over his head and did up his tie as best he could without a mirror. Pulling his robes on afterward, he found that he was snugly warm.

Turning back to the mess of his trunk, he decided that he might as well unpack. Taking out his still somewhat folded clothing, he pulled open the drawer he'd shoved the scarf into and proceeded to fill it, removing the scarf in the process.

In the drawer below that, he placed the scarf and his other school clothing, including the many white shirts he was now glad he owned. He only had three pairs of black pants in his possession, but he supposed he'd make do. Wizards seemed to have particularly complicated school uniforms, really. Added to the fact that it was never specified what would and would not be provided, and the entire thing was just confusing.

Finally finished with putting away most of his clothes, he turned his attentions to the other things he'd brought. Sometime during the process of extracting his blue shirt, which had gotten stuck at the bottom of the trunk and tangled up, the black shoes he'd sought for had been unearthed, along with his hairbrush. Dropping everything else, he snatched up the brush and stalked back into the bathroom, glancing at the clock along the way, which told him that despite the amount of time he'd taken in the shower and unpacking, it was still early, only five forty-five. Once in front of a mirror, he attended to his neglected hair, pulling the bristles on the brush gently through his locks. They untangled without much fuss, but he realized that they were still very wet, only given the illusion of dryness by the expanded state it had been in. Retrieving the towel he'd used, he rubbed it through his hair again, brushed it again, found it still damp, and repeated the process a few more times. Eventually, he deemed his hair dry enough, if still rather cool to the touch (10). Straightening his tie and smoothing his hair uncertainly, he finally deemed himself presentable.

Unsure of what to do with the towel now that he'd finished with it, he simply returned it to the rack and exited the bathroom, depositing his brush on his side table and closing his trunk, which still contained his school supplies and some wayward items. He was halfway to the door before he realized that he'd forgotten to arm himself, returning to his bedside and retrieving the knives that he'd casually left there. He slipped them into their customary positions and was about to leave again when he remembered that he had a new weapon-- his wand.

...Where exactly was it? He couldn't remember, for the life of him. The day before, it had been up his sleeve as the spirit had suggested, and when he'd fallen asleep during dinner-- wait, how had he fallen asleep during dinner anyways?

Ryou couldn't remember what had happened at dinner either. It occurred to him that the spirit might well have suppressed him, as he couldn't even recall eating anything, or seeing the spirit eat. And he had been kind of hungry beforehand, so he should've noticed. Besides, Ryou didn't doubt for one moment that the spirit was capable of "going back" to his old ways. He hadn't really left in the first place, after all. Just because he'd been more talkative and less conniving didn't mean that his personality had changed a whit. It was simply that there was no Yugi or his friends here to bother them and no loose Millennium Items to be stolen, and therefore no need to be so... businesslike. It was the only word Ryou could think of to describe the spirit. Everything he did seemed related to his goal of gathering the Items. Odd as it may seem to call a thief businesslike, it was what he was.

But back to his wand. Ryou tried to think like a paranoid thief. What would he do with his wand before bed? It wasn't that great of a weapon, considering neither of them knew if they could do anything more than the simplest of spells, and there was already a knife hidden under the pillow. The other knives had been thrown carelessly-- well, maybe not carelessly, exactly-- into the trunk, and Ryou was sure the spirit was not the type to go to bed with only one weapon nearby. Besides, he'd woken up stiff and his arm was numb. What if-- maybe the wand had been kept up his sleeve, in his pajama sleeves (11). Jerking around, Ryou grabbed his discarded sleepwear and shook it out, extremely pleased with himself as the stick of wood dropped out. He'd been right.

Stuffing it up his sweater sleeve, he headed towards the exit of the rooms, intent on finally getting outside the oppressively quiet atmosphere of the dormitories. It was already six, but his remaining roommates were still asleep. Ryou figured it was normal, however, as breakfast didn't even start until seven thirty, and classes began at nine, three hours away. He supposed there was no point in being up now. And to think that Nott had gotten up even earlier than he had!

As he exited the corridor his room was in, he realized he had no idea which way to go to get to the common room. He wasn't even sure if it was up or down! However, considering they were under a large body of water, probably the lake that they'd crossed the previous evening, Ryou supposed that it was only logical to go up. He wasn't wrong, and soon enough, he ended up in the deserted Slytherin common room. He couldn't help but gawk at the green walls of the oddly shaped and decorated room. It struck him is strange that Nott wasn't here. Where could he have gone this early in the morning?

Then again, it wasn't really Ryou's business to know or care. He was only the second fellow Slytherin Ryou had really talked to so far, the first being, of course, Malfoy. Nott was just weird, while Malfoy was arrogant, but seemed to want to associate with him. Either way, Slytherin didn't seem the best house for making friends. Even the very nature of the house wasn't conducive to relationships. Ambition, cunning... well, Ryou supposed that those qualities could be used to pursue love and maybe create obsession, but he doubted that one really wanted such friends. Then again, he was in the house himself-- did that mean he was an undesirable friend?

There was still the spirit of course. He was certainly very ambitious and manipulative. But Ryou could understand why he himself was where he was. He was intelligent and self-preserving. Both of those were just one step from the bolder qualities used to describe the model Slytherin.

Yes, he was self-preserving. And to Ryou, that meant not only his life, but his mind and body. There was always a potentially malevolent spirit around to wrest him from consciousness. And while he was sure his body was in good hands when he was possessed, his mind was often locked away. It hadn't been that way recently, unless his suspicions about last night were true. They probably were.

Ryou would like nothing better than to get rid of the spirit of the Ring. However, something seemed to keep them attached, something more than just the attractive powers of the Ring itself. Deep in the recesses of his soul, Ryou knew that he would never be rid of the spirit.

'"I am you."' those haunting words, words that the spirit had uttered to him when he'd first discovered the Ring's former inhabitant, were still easily recalled. Ryou's logical mind told him that it was simply an intimidation tactic, but he couldn't help but believe those words. He couldn't deny that he had some similarities with the spirit, past his appearance.

But either way, the spirit was a problem. He didn't seem to care what kind of trouble he got his host in, so long as it wasn't life threatening. But now, now they were in an unfamiliar place. A place where they were forced to keep secrets from everyone. A place where they could trust no one but each other. Essentially, that meant that Ryou Bakura could trust only himself, seeing as he and the spirit were technically the same person.

Ryou figured that the spirit was trustworthy as long as it wasn't about anything Yugi or Millennium Item related. The spirit knew just as well-- no, better, as it was his idea in the first place-- as Ryou that they needed to seem ordinary at all costs and somehow manage to get back home to Japan.

After all, Ryou figured as he was greeted by the frigid air of the dungeons, he still had a normal education to worry about.

xxxxxx

Footnotes (*faints* Look at how many there are!):

1. *Cough* Dumbledore *cough*. I respect him, but hell, he fit this description well.

2. Heh, because he actually is possessed.

3. It's mentioned in OotP that Umbridge had pointed teeth. While that may just be Harry's vilifying of her, I'm taking it at face value. Vegetarians may have pointy canines because they don't dull them trying to tear through meat. As repulsive as Umbridge is, I can imagine her as a vegetarian. Vampires also have pointy teeth, but it isn't something that would come to Bakura's mind. Besides, Umbridge+vampire = WTF.

4. I grafted the two sections of Umbridge's speech together. In between them was a bit where Harry stopped paying attention and started looking around the room at other people who also weren't paying attention. However, I think that the entire speech was included anyways, as the parts fit together into a cohesive, if redundant, message.

5. I made up a date for the tryouts, because it wasn't actually mentioned (at least, I don't think it was, correct me if I'm wrong). They're usually held sometime during the second week of classes, so I picked the twelfth as a decent date. Also, in Harry's first year, Dumbledore sent everyone off after the school song had been sung. However, in OotP Harry doesn't even notice that everyone's been dismissed until he realizes that people are moving. I assume then that there wasn't anything sung, because Harry would have noticed raucous chorusing... right? I suppose Dumbledore was preoccupied by the ministry influence anyways, and forgot about it.

6. This password has no significance whatsoever. It was just the first Slytherin-ish thing that came to mind. It roughly means "remember that you must die" in Latin, and was supposed to quell overconfidence and pride. I figure since Slytherins are ambitious and usually prideful, it fits.

7. For the HP obsessives out there, I am aware that the Montague mentioned in the books is old (either 7th year or graduated by OotP). However, I wanted a name that wasn't too random, so let's just pretend this is Montague's younger brother or something. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anyone else that wasn't Malfoy to put for person number 5, so I made up Anderson.

8. The Falmouth Falcons do indeed exist in the HPverse, and are taken from Quidditch Through the Ages. They are a team known for their hard play and their beaters especially. I figured they sounded kind of like the Slytherin team.

9. I'm crazy. I think I did way too much research on school uniforms to just write this one paragraph. Anyways, does anyone understand why you have to wear all this crap underneath your robes, even in late spring? I mean... wouldn't it be hot?

10. They don't have hairdryers, I assume, and it IS a boy's dorm, and boys are supposed to have short hair. I never use hairdryers anyways (they damage your hair :O), so I assume Ryou would treat his long hair like I do mine and just wring it out, rub it with a towel, and brush it, either forcibly drying it with repeated toweling or letting it dry naturally. I assume he wouldn't want wet hair all morning (it'd soak his clothes), so he's drying it out. Then again, I'm wasting time. Do you REALLY care about Ryou's morning routine? Heh.

11. The American spelling of "pajama" pisses me off. I'd much rather spell it pyjama, but I've been spelling everything the United States-ian way, and I don't want to randomly change.