Disclaimer: Yugioh and HP aren't mine. Shocking, isn't it?

Summary: Dumbledore decides it's time for a change, hiring a new... History of Magic prof?! A History of Magic prof with tri-coloured hair, violet eyes and an unusual affinity for black leather. :D

Notes: Hn... Lizzie has jumped on the crossover bandwagon, but she's trying to do so in a way that (hopefully) no one has done before. As such, certain things must be assumed... like Yugi knowing enough of the wizarding world to apply for a job at Hogwarts or alternatively, Dumbledore knowing enough of the Mill. Items to ask Yugi for help.
Yes, this is set in fifth year... why? B/c I wasn't satisfied with OotP at all. I was growling every time Harry threw a temper tantrum... and then my 11 year old brother told me Harry was probably just a little imbalanced 'cause he was going through puberty... and I started laughing my head off instead. ^_^()

Anyway, enjoy!

Edited Dec 8th, 2003 with thanks to Menolly.

History of Magic
By Lizeth Hallington
ww w. geoc ities.co m/lizeth_hal (take out the spaces)

Chapter 1: Flourish and Blotts

10:22 pm Domino City, Japan.

The yami leaned casually against the desk as he watched his hikari pack in the dimly lit, second-floor bedroom of the Turtle Game Shop.

"Are you sure about this, aibou?" His crimson eyes shone warmly; surprisingly solid compared the rest of his transparent, leather-clad body.

Yugi turned and smiled at his other half, tossing a bunch of clothes into his suitcase. "A little late for doubts, don't you think?" he asked, tossing in a couple of books for good measure before shoving the suitcase closed with some difficulty.

The spirit shrugged and smirked and Yugi wasn't quite sure if he liked the liked the glint in the other's eye. "It's your neck... Professor."


"Mr. Mouto, are you quite alright?" Jonathon Brooke called from the top of the stairs.

Yugi Mouto sat under a pile of books and scrolls and blushed furiously. "Yes sir. Sorry sir. I keep forgetting about the dust bunnies..." he said sheepishly, pointing at the group of brown-grey rabbit shaped... things that were nuzzling his legs.

Then he sneezed, sending the bunnies scattering with a collective squeal.

Jon shook his head. It had been 2 weeks since Yugi (who, upon first inspection, looked more like a muggle punk than anything else) had taken the job of organizing the near-forgotten basement level to the Flourish and Blotts, which consisted mostly of ancient, undecipherable scripts and various other texts in foreign languages. Mr. Mouto, it seemed, was a fluent linguist and had offered to organize the place before his full-time job started in September.

Jon snorted quietly. Even after all his prying, he still hadn't been able to figure out exactly what the young man would be doing come September. Any sly conversation on that subject was deftly steered away in another direction with the grace of a seasoned politician.

He wondered about the kid sometimes. It seemed like he had little to no experience of the wizarding world, and he'd never actually seen the kid perform any spells, but the way the old magic of the building... the foundation of the Flourish and Blotts accepted him... wove around him almost tangibly... A squib maybe?

Jon shook his head. No, that's not right...

At the age of 22, Yugi could still pass as an 18 year old (something that bothered him immensely at times) and still carried the same air of innocence that he had borne throughout his earlier years. His hair, though longer, was still spiked and multi-coloured. His skin had taken on a bronzed tone due to the time he spent doing fieldwork in Egypt, and there was a definite sense of muscle under that skin, gained from long treks and manual labour. His eyes were still wide, but they'd gained a sharpness to them... a sort of awareness that hadn't been there before.

In short, Yugi had grown to look a little more like his other self.

/Ne, Yami, maybe we should just tell him we're going to work at Hogwarts?/ Yugi asked as he picked up the scrolls, sparing a quick glance at the contemplative storekeeper.

Though he received no answer, the dark mischievousness he sense from his other was answer enough.

/Sadist,/ Yugi ribbed gently.

The spirit scowled indignantly, and peeked out of his hikari's eyes. He smiled. //We'll see if it pops up again.//

/And you'll let me tell him? No back-seat driving?/ the hikari chided.

//That's classified information.//

Snorting, Yugi returned to work.

... ...

... ... ...


And the dust bunnies had returned.

"Harry, Ron, hurry!" Hermione called impatiently as she sped down Diagon Alley.

Ron groaned.

"What's... she on... about?" Harry asked as they followed their friend.

The redhead shrugged as he ran. "If it's another Lockhart... I'm going to... hurl."

Harry grinned in reply. "Knowing Hermione, it's probably something school or book related," he said, and the redhead rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on you two," Hermione called, doubling back to snatch their robes before dragging them into the Flourish and Blotts (Harry thought all that heavy book carrying was starting to affect the girl's strength). "There's a new History of Magic teacher this year and I want to pick up the course books so I can read ahead. Maybe we'll do something other than goblin wars this time."

"School and books," Ron bemoaned quietly in a long-suffering voice.

Harry snickered. It was no secret that Ron had no particular love for scholarly sources, but if Harry (and the rest of the school) was right, he did have a little thing for the resident Gryfindor bookworm. Hermione, though, was too enthused to notice her friends' grumbling, flitting around from shelf to shelf with all the exuberance of a kid at Christmas.

The green-eyed boy shook his head. "New HoM teacher?"

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "Binns finally decided to retire. If you ask me, it's about bloody time."

"Don't slander a teacher, Ron," came a prim voice from around a stack of books.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh c'mon Herm! Even you had trouble staying awake in that class. That's gotta tell you something."

The peevish look on her face said 'must you remind me?'.

"Never the less, you're a prefect now, Ronald Weasley, and I'll thank you to conduct yourself accordingly."

The tortured look on his best friend's face said 'must you remind me?'.

Harry had to cover a smile.

"Well, if we're here anyway, might as well get all of the books we need now..." Ron groused, pulling out his list and ignoring the female member of the team. Harry leaned in and read over his best friend's shoulder.

Fifth Year students are required:

Standard Book of Spells: Grade 5 by Miranda Goshawk
Defensive Magical Theory by Bak Atchu
Potions in the Making by Mel Ting
Foresight and Hindsight by Ican Siu

"Um... Hermione?" the green-eyed boy called hesitantly.

"What, Harry?"

"I don't think there's a text book for History of Magic."

"What?" Disturbed, the resident Gryfindor bookworm pulled out her own list and looked it over. "But it's history of magic... there has to be a text book."

"Nope?" Ron called (with just a bit of glee), picking out his own books from the next aisle over.

"Oh bother," Hermione sighed, staring at something over her head. "Fine then. Here, Harry..." so saying, she dumped the books she'd gathered into Harry's arms and went to fetch a ladder.

"'Mione, what are you doing?"

"Getting our potions book," she replied, pointing at the uppermost shelf. "Professor Snape, it seems, likes to make things difficult for us no matter where we are," she said, climbing. Reaching out, she plucked three copies of Potions in the Making and cradled them in her arm, just short of coming down when something caught her eye.

"Curious, what's this?" she whispered as her brows furrowed, reaching out towards the shiny object with her free hand. Fascinating really, the way that thing glittered... so invitingly...

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry called worriedly from the bottom of the ladder. For some reason his throat suddenly felt tight and his palms were sweaty. "Herm? Get down, please! Herm?!"

"One minute, Harry," Hermione called distractedly. "There's something..."

"Can I help you with anything?" a voice asked abruptly from seemingly nowhere and several things happened at once.

Hermione, startled, shrieked and lost her footing.

Harry, horrified, dropped his books and attempted to catch her, vaguely aware of a shadow moving in synchrony beside him.

"Herm!" Ron yelled, careening around a corner.

...And Hermione fell into his arms amidst the dull clatter of books and thumping of shelves.

"Oh..." the girl mumbled, wide-eyed and shaken. "Oh... thank you. Both of you."

Both? Harry thought bewilderedly as he stared at the ceiling, trying to get his breath back. Ron was at the end of the aisle.

"It's nothing. It's my fault. I didn't mean to make you fall..." came the muffled voice from somewhere around the vicinity of Hermione's feet.

Oh, thought Harry intelligently, That "both".

"No harm done," Harry groaned back and paused. "Well, except to my spine."

"What?" Hermione yelped.

Groaning, the green-eyed boy snatched a book from under him and held it up, pages hanging limpy from its split spine.

"Harry!!" Hermione berated forlornly as the strange third-party chuckled.

"I apologize for breaking your spine, then," the stranger quipped.

Turning his head a bit, Harry grunted, "Nah, it's salvageable. Gives it a nice worn-in look anyway... ... ... Herm... can you get off?"

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed, and Harry could picture her blushing. "I'm so sorry!" she said, scrambling off them both.

"S'fine. Divine justice and all that," the stranger murmured, sounding a bit dazed as he sat up.

Now face-to-face, Harry couldn't help but stare at the stranger's eyes... The stranger's violet eyes.

"Are you ok?" the man asked, brushing himself off. He blinked, took in Harry's stunned expression and started laughing quietly (still sounding a little strained from being sat on). It wasn't a malevolent laugh, but rather one that was light and well-used, showing no contempt or arrogance. "What is it, the hair?" he smiled, running a slim, ring-adorned hand through his tri-coloured locks.

"Yes," Harry blurted automatically, "I mean no! I mean-" Heat was creeping up his neck. He knew just how uncomfortable it was to have people stare at you because of an "abnormality" and the first "strange" person he encounters he stares at like an animal in the zoo. Well done, Harry. You've just become a hypocrite, he groaned to himself.

But the other only grinned. "Yeah, I know, but I like my hair... and it's naturally this way, believe it or not."

"No way," Ron said, coming up beside his best friend only to be elbowed by the only female in their group.

"I'm really sorry for falling on you, sir," she apologized, picking up the books that she'd dropped. Belatedly, Harry recognised his cue and started doing the same, piling the numerous volumes into Hermione's waiting arms. "You too, Harry. I was just... startled."

"It's no problem," the man said, amused. "People do tend to look over me. Anyway, I should be apologizing to you for popping out of nowhere, ne?" He ducked his head.

Harry thought that was true, but somehow he also found it hard to believe that they'd never noticed the stranger before. In full view, the man in front of them was probably in his late teens. True, he was short, coming up only to 5 foot 5, but if the purple eyes and multi-coloured hair weren't enough, the leather certainly clinched it. Glossy, black leather decked with countless, sparkling silver buckles. A black, silver studded collar wove easily around his neck and the up-turned, golden pyramid that hung against his chest topped it all off like icing on a cake.

Harry suppressed a frown. Something about this man radiated a sense of darkness, despite his near-cherubic face. What was he sensing just before the stranger showed up?

"Well, if you don't need help, I'll go crawl back to the basement and finish cataloguing instead of frightening unsuspecting customers," the odd man said wryly. "I suppose I've done enough damage for the day." He bowed then, which Harry found rather odd. Come to think of it, the man had an accent too... "I apologise again for scaring you," the man said, turning.

"Wait, you work here?" Hermione questioned, blinking. "I've never seen you before."

Looking over his shoulder, the man smiled. "No, I wouldn't think so. I just needed a little extra cash and Mr. Brooke was kind enough to give me a summer job."

"Oh," she said.

"Don't worry though," the strange man grinned. "I'm sure we'll see each other again," he said with a wave, and slipped around a shelf.

When Harry followed a second later, the stranger was nowhere in sight.

"That was strange," Ron retorted flatly as they entered the Leaky Cauldron, waving at Tom, the barkeeper.

Hermione frowned. "I wonder why we've never seen him before..."

The redhead shrugged. "Maybe his hair was normal until recently. He would be easy to miss if he changed his hair and wore different clothes."

"But he said his hair was natural," the girl pointed out.

"He didn't sound British," Harry added, eyes sweeping around the room.

The dinner crowd was just starting to trickle in. The warm interior of the pub was filled with the low murmur of conversation, the clatter of glass and the occasional "POOF" of floo powder.

It felt good to be here, Harry decided, in a place where he wasn't quite as out of place as he would be at his relatives'. Beats the cupboard under the stairs any day, the teen thought grimly.

"Hey Herm," he said, turning his attention back to the present. "What were you looking at up there anyway?"

"Hm? I was looking at something?" she answered distractedly and Harry stopped abruptly, staring.

She doesn't remember?!

"Harry dear!" was heard above the din and Ron grinned.

"Brace yourself, Harry," the redhead warned.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley called again, bustling over and enveloping the undersized teen in a hug.

"Mrs. Weasley..." the teen replied, somewhere between choking and smiling. Gently, he hugged back.

"Mum, let him go," George (Fred?) ordered mock-disapprovingly.

"He's twiggy enough without you squeezing him anymore," Fred (George?) scolded with a smirk.

"Oh hush," the Weasley matron replied, but loosened her grip as she smiled at the only black-haired member of the family. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

How was he, really? After spending months dreaming of Cedric's death, of merciless red eyes and laughter...
Months slaving, day in, day out, for relatives who thought him to be lower than trash. Months of isolation from the world that he had come to love so dearly.

Harry looked up and met the red-haired woman's concerned gaze.

"Glad to be back," the teen answered frankly.


//That was close, Aibou,// the pharaoh warned, radiating a controlled sense of frustration.

/Hai, I know, and school hasn't even started yet,/ Yugi sighed, eyeing the shadow-enclosed silver snake broach that floated beside him as he walked through the basement of the Flourish and Blotts. The charm's emerald green eyes seemed to flash angrily at the Game King through its prison of shadows.

//I'd like to know how that Gate got into the shop in the first place.//

/Portkey, Yami. It's called a 'Portkey'./

The spirit gave a mental shrug and his hikari sighed.

/We're gonna have our hands full this year./



End Notes: Anyone know the actual name of the owner of the Flourish and Blotts? -_- And should I keep Umbridge or re-recruit Lupin for DADA?

Deepest thanks to Ary for Beta-ing.