xXxXxXx

"What are—who are—" Harry started, his mind running at a thousand miles a minute. He was usually quick to action no matter how unexpected the circumstances, but he couldn't even begin to think of how this could have happened.

He remembered this man from the alleyway, as surely as he remembered what the Egyptian had done afterwards. He had no idea why the man would be here.

"Do be quiet will you?" The silver haired Egyptian asked, his voice pitched low and his dark violet eyes glittering with menacing warning, "Surely you don't want us to get caught before we even really begin? It'd so ruin my reputation."

There were a million questions running through Harry's mind. Foremost among them were what the man was doing in Harry's cell. He didn't buy the implication that the man was here to rescue him, because Harry could see no reason why the Egyptian would.

Unless…. unless this doesn't have anything to do with me, and I'm just caught in the middle of whatever he's doing? Harry thought in confusion.

That was much more likely, and while Harry wasn't sure if he trusted the Egyptian, he also had to take the chance if he wanted to escape.

So, despite his misgivings, Harry nodded.

The silver haired man smiled, showing all teeth, and then he ducked his head and Harry couldn't see his face anymore and began tinkering with Harry's cuffs.

"Who are you?" Harry whispered instead, because however inadvertently, the man was rescuing him after all, and he thought he should know the name of his savior.

A glint of teeth in the form of a mocking smile was all Harry got in response, "You want to put a name to a face? Very well. Bakura, the greatest thief of the lower lands."

"A—a thief?" Harry stuttered in surprise.

"Yes." Bakura's head came up, violet eyes darkly amused. But there was a hint of menacing danger within them that Harry knew better than to not heed. For the first time Harry noticed that they were the same color as Mahad's. Unlike Mahad's gentle and accepting eyes however, this man's was wild and unpredictable. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Harry silently shook his head. How could he have a problem with someone who stole for a living when he'd always crept into the Dursley's kitchen late at night to grab an extra bite? Besides, he was something out an outlaw himself now, wasn't he?

"Good," Bakura chuckled, his laughter light with a hidden amusement only known to himself, "though I suppose it wouldn't matter if you… didn't."

There was something about the way he said those words that put Harry on edge, but before he could make an adequate reply Bakura had undone his chains and for the second time Harry was freed by somebody else.

"Let's get moving then," Bakura said, grabbing onto Harry's upper arm hard enough to bruise and pulling him to his feet with a harsh tug.

Harry winced but didn't complain, because they did have better things to do.

Bakura led the way. Unlike his, Mahad, and Mana's sad attempt at escape, the silver haired thief seemed to know what he was doing. He weaved around the passages, but there was always a sense of purpose about him that dared to let Harry question whether he knew what he was doing. Unlike last time, they did not run in circles, and Harry somehow knew that they were slowly but surely making their way to the exit.

The silver haired Egyptian would also intermittently pause and make them wait around a corner, and it was only when Harry heard the familiar telltale sounds of passing boots that he realized they were avoiding the guards. But, strangely enough, they did not stop anywhere else down in the dungeons, and Harry could not being to guess why the thief had come down here in the first place.

He'd thought that the silver haired Egyptian had another purpose for being in that mansion and getting Harry out was just a bonus, but Harry wasn't seeing him take anything.

It was a very real possibility that the Egyptian was maybe trying to pay Harry back for what had happened in the alleyway, and although Harry wouldn't have pegged the man for the type who'd try to settle a debt, he'd been wrong before. Hadn't he misjudged Snape completely after all?

Yeah, Snape was never going to get the teacher of the year award, but perhaps it'd been unfair of Harry to assume that he was the culprit after the Philosopher's Stone.

Still, even if Harry had misjudged the Egyptian's character, it begged the question of how the Egyptian had found him and why he chose this moment to act. Harry wasn't usually one to question circumstance, but there were too many variables this time for him to ignore.

The only way for all of this to make sense was maybe if—

Harry's eyes lit up at the thought, "Did Mahad send you?"

The Egyptian's raised brow at the question dashed all of Harry's hopes. "Who? Terribly sorry little magi, but nobody asked me to go get you."

He didn't sound sorry at all.

Harry visibly deflated. It had been a long shot, but then, it had been the only shot which made any sense at all.

"What's—" he began, only to be cut off as the silver haired man suddenly shoved a hand against his mouth, shutting him up. It was only Harry's supreme tension that caused him to recognize the cause and swallow down the surprised scream that would have surely alerted the whole mansion to their intruder.

The silver haired man narrowed his eyes, and a moment later he put up a finger in the universal gesture for 'silence'. He cocked his head to the side, and it was just then that a man uniformed in red came barrelling past the corner.

The silver haired Egyptian cursed, and moved quickly to press both he and his quarry up against the wall.

But it wasn't enough.

The guard's eyes widened as he spotted two interlopers who were definitely not meant to be there. He opened his mouth to give the sound of alarm.

Bakura didn't let him. Within the span of a second the thief had moved from Harry's side to the guard's, a silver dagger somehow appearing in his hand. The guard barely had time to raise his weapon before Bakura had twisted his arms around the man's neck, and slit his throat.

The guard let out a gurgle as he dropped. Bakura caught him halfway and lowered him gently to the ground.

Harry stared in shock, unable to comprehend what he'd just seen.

"Of all the things," Bakura said with an expression of pure disgust on his face. He grabbed onto the color of the guard's uniform, not caring for the blood that had already stained the cloth nor for the guard's wide, dead eyes which stared up at him. "I can't believe that it was a guard skiving off duty that caught us. Huh, these lousy bastards can't even follow a good schedule."

Harry was too numb to react as the silver haired Egyptian proceeded to drag the body around a corner so that it wouldn't be found, and then advanced to forcibly lead Harry away. The green haired boy's body seemed to move on autopilot as the other man guided him out of the dungeon and out of the mansion.

It was only when they'd gone far enough from the large house belonging to the governor and only the waxing moon lit the streets that Harry came to his senses.

"Wait, stop!"

Bakura paused in his step, looking back at Harry curiously.

"You just—you just killed him!" Harry said semi-hysterically, finally, somehow, finding his voice. He'd experienced many things since going to Hogwarts, but he'd never seen someone—a real person—

"Keep your voice down, will you?" The silver haired man asked in annoyance. He turned back to the corpse with a look of disgust, turning over the body with the toe of his shoe, "Look if I knocked him in the head we wouldn't be able to predict when he'd wake up, and maybe your escape would be discovered much sooner. We had to make sure he couldn't yell for help. You should be grateful."

Harry just stared at Bakura, wondering if he was serious.

"What?" Bakura snapped, grabbing onto Harry's arm with enough force to bruise, "Stop standing there just gawking. We might be out of the manor but Dendera is still in Jibade's jurisdiction. We can't be here by morning."

Harry wrenched his arm away, "You can't be serious! You just killed someone!"

Surprisingly, Harry's outburst seemed to calm the man.

Bakura rocked back on his heels, a glint of amusement entering his eyes, "Oh, you've never seen someone die before?"

"That isn't what this is about!" Harry said in horror. How could the man not see what was wrong here? "You can't just murder someone in cold blood like that and—"

"You're repeating yourself," Bakura interrupted lazily, "I tire of it, and we need to get moving."

There was seriously something wrong with his rescuer, and Harry was only realizing that now. He stumbled back a step, but he was too late.

Bakura made a move much like the one Harry had seen before the guard had went from mercifully alive to lifeless, and before Harry even knew what was happening there was a sharp pain in the back of his head and his world slid into darkness.

xXxXxXx

He was, Harry thought tiredly as he was brought back to the realm of conscienceless, really tired of waking up like this.

With a groan Harry manoeuvred himself to a sitting position, wincing as he raised an arm to rub his head. Surprisingly he felt no large bumps, though he'd been sure that the man had hit him hard enough to impress one.

He took a moment to get stalk of his surroundings. He was in a hut again, though this time he wouldn't be greeted by the kindly face of Akil. There was one window which showed the abandoned streets and one door which was tampered only by leather flaps. He must have slept for at least eight hours because it was bright outside and he already felt hot, which meant that the sun was high up in the sky. There was a woman sitting quietly in the corner of his room

He shifted uneasily, "Hello."

She only nodded at him before rising gracefully from her seat, and exited.

Harry just stared after her for a moment.

A part of him that sounded an awful lot like Hermione huffed at the rudeness. A much larger part that was solely Harry didn't care much and decided to take this chance to maybe get out of here. The only problem was, he had no idea where here was.

Biting his lip, Harry sat back against his bed. He glanced out the window again, and confirmed that he didn't recognize the streets. All in all, it didn't mean much, but it wouldn't do him much good to get out onto the streets only to be captured by Jibade. At least here he wasn't in chains.

His brows furrowing, Harry thought furiously about what he should do. If there was only a way to get a message to Mihad…

And then his eyes brightened as he realized that there was.

His wand!

He was a wizard wasn't he?

Mihad had taught him a messaging spell to help the elder wizard find him if Harry were ever lost. Harry had a feeling the Holy Priest had been thinking more along the lines of taking a wrong turn at the market, but it would work for this equally as well.

He quickly began digging around in his pockets, rummaging for his wand.

A minute passed, and then two, but his fingers never hit the hopeful stick of wood.

And then he remembered.

His heart sunk as he realized that he didn't have it. No, it had to be back still at Jibade's place like Mahad had told him. He'd just completely forgotten about it in the heat of his escape.

"I'm such an idiot," Harry groaned, but had to shake that thought off in light of time. Even if he didn't have magic, his message idea was still pretty sound. He thought he had a fairly good chance of getting a message out before Jibade found him, and then he could quickly come back here.

He made to move out of the bed, but it was just at that moment that the door flap opened again. The woman came back, but this time she was accompanied by Bakura.

"You can go now," the self proclaimed thief said dismissively to the woman, and with a bow, she went.

"What do you want?" Harry asked warily, thoughts of sending a message quickly evaporating from his mind. Forget that, he just wanted to get away from this man.

He looked subtly around the room, still looking for escape routes and calculating whether or not he could outrun the man. The silver haired Egyptian was quick on his feet—Harry had seen that much last night—but Harry was not Hogwart's youngest seeker for nothing.

The thought of home sent a pang through his heart. What he wouldn't do for Ron and Hermione right now. Maybe not here here, because he didn't want them to be in danger, but he wished that he could have Hermione's advice or Ron's reassurances.

The silver haired Egyptian replied with a slow smirk. It spread across his face like a disease. "Now now, is that any way to talk to your savior?"

That remark sent a spark of anger through Harry. He knew it was stupid to aggravate his captor when he still didn't have a way out, but Harry had never been one to back down. "Savior? You killed someone!"

"To save you," Bakura pointed out easily, leaning casually against the side of the door frame. "Now shall we get down to business? I didn't save your hide from the slavers just to piss Jibade off, though that is a plus."

There was a heartbeat of silence.

Harry couldn't believe what he'd just heard. It was like Dudley again, and the way he carelessly talked about beating up kids half his age as if it were something to be proud of. But this was worse, much worse. This wasn't just some schoolyard fight. This was people. Real people.

And the Egyptian discarded their lives as easily as if they were the spitballs Dudley used to torment his victims.

This was like Voldemort.

Harry's fists clenched at his sides, "You're disgusting."

Bakura must have heard something in that tone, because for the first time, he turned back to look at Harry as if he were more than just a piece of cardboard. The Egyptian's eyes narrowed at the younger boy's words, his voice pitched so low that it was almost a hiss, "What?"

"You heard me," Harry said with a defiant tilt his of chin, "you disgust me."

"I just save your pathetic little hide, and you have the nerve to call me disgusting?"

"I'd rather die than be saved by someone like you!"

"Oh," the silver haired Egyptian's voice came out soft, an underlying tone within that had not been there before. He took a step forward, and for the first time Harry noticed how much larger the Egyptian was than he. Pale lips curled up into a snarl, "I can still make that come to pass."

But Harry wasn't afraid. He'd stared death in the eyes too many times to be threatened by something like this. In fact it invigorated him. Blood was drumming through his veins, making him feel invincible.

"Then do it," he spat, "do it and I hope that whatever goal you had in rescuing me in the first place will never come to pass!"

Bakura moved so fast that Harry didn't have time to react. Quite suddenly he found his back to the wall and the silver haired man's elbow pressed up against his throat, preventing him from moving an inch. He clawed at his neck, choking, but Bakura didn't let up.

"You dare withhold something from me?" the silver haired man hissed, menace lining every inch of his voice, "I saved your pathetic little excuse for a life. What do you suppose would have happened if you'd stayed a slave? Magician or not, you are a foreign little boy, and do you know what happens to little slave boys?"

Harry swallowed convulsively. Somehow he had a terrible feeling that he didn't want to know the answer.

The Egyptian leaned in close, his breath hot against Harry's collar. His voice was low and menacing, augmented all the more by his words, "I'll tell you what. They'd rip you apart. Anyone rich enough to afford a specimen like you wouldn't see it as a transgression to whip you, toy with you, and bathe your blood. They'd rape you brutally and probably enjoy your cries of pain. They'd decorate your body with bruises. If you're unlucky enough, they might even invite friends and take their turns with you."

Harry was shaking uncontrollably now. His stomach churned at the Egyptian's descriptions, and he felt as if he were going to throw up. This wasn't a side of life he'd ever really encountered but he knew what the words meant and they made him feel sick.

He tried to shake his head, to disagree with the silver haired man. Bakura's eyes only gleamed in reply, as if he understood perfectly Harry's line of thought.

"Oh it doesn't have to be like that I suppose," the silver haired Egyptian repeated mockingly, "but with your age, your looks, your abilities? It would take a miracle for it not to happen, and by your expression, it doesn't look like you believe in miracles either."

"You owe me…" the Egyptian began, before his eyes suddenly hardened and his grip tightened, "…everything."

And then he let go, as if Harry were some little insect that he couldn't be bothered with.

Harry hit the bed on all fours, gasping as he struggled to draw in the long awaited air. A shaky hand rose to his throat, rubbing the red skin tenderly. His head rising slightly, he glared hatefully at the silver haired Egyptian. He'd never detested anybody so much—not even Snape.

"Are you ready to listen now?" The Egyptian asked with an arched brow.

He wasn't, but he couldn't find voice to say the detesting words on his mind.

"Good," Bakura purred, "now once upon a time, there lived a man who lived to become the ruler of Egypt. His name was Pharaoh. But his story is boring and not very important. What's important is that his government was very very corrupt, and lots of people starved because they had nothing to pay his horrendous taxes. So then, one day, a brave troope of resistance sprang up, stealing from the rich and giving to the… well, since they were poor themselves, it only makes sense that they kept the money. And so they formed a little band of sorts, and the Pharaoh branded them as thieves and made a law that extracted dire consequences if anyone should be found to be such a person. Still, the thieves were clever, and they still survive to this very day, thriving under the rule of the Thief King."

"Is there a point to this story?" Harry asked snidely, finally regaining some of his momentum.

"Patience, patience," Bakura tsked, though something in his eyes warned Harry against interrupting again. "Now, see, a new Pharaoh is decided every time the old Pharaoh dies. That is not the case with the other side. And personally I find it a better system, since we then only get the best rulers. A new Thief King is made only when the old one is overthrown. Well, I suppose a new Thief King is also made when the old one chooses a successor, but that makes it awfully hard for those who weren't in the old Thief King's favor. So really, any self respecting thief would go by the first option."

Harry glared hatefully up at him, "And I suppose you want to be put on the throne."

Bakura gave a smile that was all teeth, "Of course."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Oh, but it has everything to do with you. When I saw you back there in the alleyway, performing your little magician tricks, it hit me. I thought 'oh! Wouldn't Moneim be surprised if I had magic on my side?' You see, the Thief King has some pesky magicians of his own, and I need to match at least that if I am to take the throne. You wouldn't have to do much. Just show off some tricks and make them think that you're a threat. Easy enough."

"I'd rather die," Harry spat. He had no idea who this Thief King was, but he was sure that exchanging him for Bakura would likely be no better. It'd probably even make things worse, with Harry's luck.

There was something dark and dangerous in Bakura's eyes as the thief leaned down and brought Harry's face before his, "You don't have a choice."

"You can't force me to do magic for you."

Harry expected the Egyptian to be mad, but somehow the amusement that flashed through those violet eyes was much, much, worse.

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

Harry shivered, and it wasn't from just the words.

"Y—you can't," Harry said insisted stubbornly, and never more had he felt more relief at the mistakes that he'd made, "because I can't do magic right now."

The silver haired Egyptian rolled his eyes, "To attempt to lie to the master liesmith little magi, is very unwi—"

"I'm not lying," Harry grounded out. "To perform magic, we need wands—that is, channels for our powers. We left my wand back in Jibade's place."

There was a moment of silence.

Then, so low that Harry almost couldn't hear it— "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes," Harry said bitterly, struggling to a more dignified position. "Or else don't you think I would have tried to escape already?"

Bakura must have read something in his eyes, because the dawning realization on his face could only mean one thing. Harry couldn't help but feel triumphant.

"Then you are useless!" Bakura snarled.

Harry winced at the spittle which hit his face. He glared back at the man, "And even if I wasn't I'd never help you!"

Bakura kicked the bed with enough force to send a jolt through Harry's body. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck it all! Get out! Get out!"

"Gladly," Harry spat, quickly slipping out of the bed and moving towards the door. He couldn't deny that a part of him was deflating in relief at the easy escape, having been more than a little fearful of the silver haired Egyptian.

As soon as he stepped outside however, the relief vanished.

"This isn't Dendera," Harry said with a growing sense of horror. It didn't even take one look for him to realize that the small huts lining the streets were a far cry from the much bigger and much more pristine houses of Jibade's city.

"No," Bakura snarled, having slipped out of the hut himself, "it isn't."

"Where are we?"

"The Village of Trampon." Bakura sneered, "Get used to it. It's your new home."

Harry whirled on the silver haired Egyptian, anger and dread mixing unpleasantly in his belly, "But you said I was free to go! You don't need me anymore!"

"That's right," Bakura replied, his eyes glittering harshly, "I don't. But you've already cost me three days, so neither am I going to waste any more time bringing you back to Dendera."

Harry gaped at him. Of all the unreasonable logic—!

And then he snapped his jaw shut. He wouldn't give Bakura the satisfaction of seeing how much Harry was affected by the news. Besides, Harry really should have expected it.

"Right," Harry said stiffly, turning on his heel and marching off. He was used to things like this after all. To be used for another's convenience and then discarded without a thought towards what he wanted. He'd forgotten in the light of Mahad's kindness, but this was how the world worked and he was not special enough to escape that cycle.

It was still mid afternoon and not many were outside. The light skinned boy especially had learned to avoid this time of day, because he burned easily, but at the moment Harry just didn't care. He just wanted to get as far away from the silver haired thief as possible.

He stalked down the streets, fixing his gaze ahead, just wanting to forget anything associated with the last twenty four hours.

He came to the edge of the village easily. It was much smaller than Dendera, or Harry had just been situated close to the borders. He didn't really care.

He only had to pause for a moment to take in his bearings.

It looked like desert in all direction. His heart gave a thud and threatened to sink, but he stoutly fought off any signs of depression. So what if he was in the middle of nowhere? He'd just have to get back to somewhere, that's all.

If he remembered correctly, most of the desert cities in Egypt were on the left side of the Nile on a map, which meant that they were on the west side. Therefore, if he walked east, he should eventually come across the river and hopefully a town there. Then he could get a boat and head to Thebes himself.

Nodding to himself, Harry started off.

He didn't know how long he walked for. It was becoming a tediously common occurrence in ancient Egypt. His breath became labored as well as dry, the afternoon sun dehydrating him, and he had nothing to replenish himself with.

Harry rubbed his eyes and glanced back at the way that he had come, but the village had long since disappeared from his sights and there was no going back for food and water.

It doesn't matter anyway, he reasoned, who would have given me supplies?

No, his best bet was to find the Nile as soon as possible.

It was just then that sand filled his nostrils.

Surprised, Harry jerked his head back towards the east, because while the winds occasionally did pick up sand, it was never harsh enough that they'd forcibly cast it into his breaths. His eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.

The sky darkened with sand.

It seemed to happen in an instant, but he knew that these things hit without any warning. He remembered vaguely a basic geography lesson back in the fifth grade.

Sandstorm!

He covered his nose, coughing. He tried his best to filter out the sand that was quickly piling up in the air.

But it was useless. He could breathe but he couldn't really see anymore and he had no idea where he was going. He couldn't get out of the sandstorm. And he had to if he wanted to survive.

Lumos, he thought desperately, wishing for light even though he knew it was nothing short of impossible, lumos lumos lumos!

Nothing happened.

The winds became stronger, the sand thicker, and a particularly strong burst of wind knocked Harry clean off his feet. He fell against the floor, wheezing. He tried to stand again, but he was too weak to fight against the raging winds.

He'd be buried alive.

Shakily he lifted his hands and stripped off a piece of his shirt, tying it around his nose as an added filter. He vaguely remembered seeing somebody do that in one of Dudley's movies and while he had no idea how effective it would be, he had to try.

The sand scratched at his skin, making him bite his tongue from the pain of it. He'd known that sand wasn't exactly the friendliest surface but he'd never thought it could be painful like this.

The lack of oxygen was making it hard to focus, to stay awake. He knew he had to stay awake but it was quickly becoming too hard. He was tired and thirsty, and he wanted more than anything to just wake up to find this at an end.

Just before he blacked out, he thought he saw something like a huge sand dune walking towards him.

If I'm having hallucinations, was his last thought as his body finally gave in, then that must mean I'm probably not going to make it...

Harry woke up to find indeed, the sandstorm at an end. It was nearly completely dark, so he couldn't tell from sight, but the feel of grain rubbing against his body was gone. The atmosphere was a damp and cool one.

Harry groaned as he sat up. His skin felt raw and tender, as if he'd just been put through gym class after a round of Harry Hunting which he'd lost.

It was just then that he noticed that he wasn't, actually, still in the desert.

He sat up ram rod straight as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. He was in some sort of cave.

And he wasn't alone.

"Oh awake are you?" Bakura asked lazily from his spot on the other side of the room. He had a knee pulled up to his chest, one arm wrapped loosely around his leg. "You're lucky I found you before the brunt of the sandstorm hit. Otherwise there'd be no 'you' to speak of. I didn't realize it was possible to reach this level of stupidity, but congratulations, you've proven me wrong."

Harry scrambled back, putting as much distance between himself and the Egyptian man as possible, "You!"

"Why," Bakura sneered, in a mocking parody of Harry's first rescue. Because there wasn't the smile that spoke of shared secrets and purpose. There was only contempt dripping from that voice now. "Is that any way to describe your savior?"

xXxXxXx

A/n: Annnd, I've lost my motivation for Harry Potter and Yugioh. Managed to get this chapter out but next one probably won't be coming out for a while. Well who knows, something might rekindle my obsession, but you've been warned.