Notes: If you haven't reread the "Mostly complete chapter 7", go back and do so. I hope has it up by the time this chapter is up... x_x

**cough** No, this isn't a Mummy crossover. Trust me, Mummy and Mummy Returns aren't the only places where Medjai exist... they're real people who reached the height of... er... "prosperity" in around the New Kingdom. That's when they were bodyguards for the pharaoh. Considering my timeline has Yami ruling pre-Old Kingdom, when the Medjai were somewhat at odds with the Egyptians, that kinda throws real history out the window, but oh well, what can ya do? ...BTW can anyone tell me why they wear black in the movie? Are they insane or just terribly resilient?

Fanart: I got two new fanarts! ^_^ One by Auzure at
ww w.deviantart.c om/view/4327648/ and another by Ky at
hom t/oniko_namino/art/yuugiou/HoMYuugisketch.jpg
**giggles** So cute. Go check 'em out! My eternal thanks to the artists. :)

**Hands everyone a large bottle labelled "Suspended disbelief"** And don't worry too much about remembering the OCs in this chapter right now.

Warning: This is a pretty heavy chapter and it's got a fair amount of violence and people being pointedly evil... kinda like chapter two but worse. You have been warned.


Ab = "father"

Abii = "my father"

Ahk = "brother"

Khanh = "Prince" (I think... x_x) Title used by central Asian tribal chieftains and ruling princes.

Laa = "no"

Marhaba = "hello"

Ma'assalama = "goodbye"/"go in peace"

Na'am = "yes"

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

Chapter 8: Skull Masks

"Aibou..." he heard someone call lowly.

He cracked his eyes open, feeling as they'd been lined with sand.

"Yami?" he asked sitting up.


Yugi's eyes focused sharply on his other. Yami's voice sounded... wrong.

"What is it? Where are we?"

Grasping his light by the elbow and lifting him to his feet, the Egyptian nudged for his other to turn. Yugi did so reluctantly and hissed.

They were back in the desert they'd only left a few months ago, but instead of the tentative peace they'd left it in, the scene before them was chaos. From the summit they were standing on they could see the settlement before them burn with unnatural fire and hear voices raised in anger and fear.

Wordlessly, light and dark moved as one towards the source of the screams.

Harry watched helplessly as the tents burned.

Dammit! he cursed, fists clenching at his side. Turning, he glared at the pale, black-cloaked figure. Although the man's face was covered by the customary white skull-mask, it did nothing to conceal the man's voice.

"Where is it?" Lucius Malfoy asked coolly at the gathered group of people. "I want it." The snake on the man's shoulders hissed and Lucius flinched almost noticeably. "My Master wants it."

Other Death Eaters brought forth a man who Harry assumed was the chieftain, also clad in black despite the desert heat. Bound as he was, he held his head high.


"I cannot answer when I have no answer to give," the man replied in strongly accented English.

"That's preposterous," Lucius said, eyes narrowing. "How can you protect something if you don't know where it is?"

The man was silent.

Lucius scoffed. "The brave and fearless Medjai. It seems you live up to your reputation. How very... Gryffindor." The Death Eaters chuckled lowly and Harry found himself thinking uncharacteristically violent thoughts. Malfoy's lips stretched into a sneer as he lifted his wand towards his captive. "Reducto!"


Harry swallowed bile as the man's arm shattered into pieces, white bone mingling with red blood. That spell was not meant to be used on humans. The Medjai bit his lip hard enough to bleed and shuddered, a strangled, barely audible sound making its way past his throat as he paled sharply under his tan... but it was enough.

God, Harry thought as he felt a burst of heady pleasure that was not his own. Somehow, he knew Voldemort was watching, and that the Dark Lord was enjoying the show to the fullest.

It made Harry sick to the stomach.

Lucius leaned forward. "I could make you do horrible things," he whispered to the wounded man. "I can make you feel the utmost pain... or I could simply kill you."

The Medjai gritted his teeth, raising his head once again in defiance.

"Or not," Lucius chuckled. "Since you insist that you have nothing to protect, I can't see why you'd need to continue..."

What? Harry thought. Malfoy had obviously been referring to the Unforgivables. What else could he do?

Now the Medjai frowned. He, too, sensed that something was about to go terribly wrong.

"You have such a quaint little settlement here," Lucius continued, waving a hand at their surroundings. "Well... had. I'm sure you were happy here, hmm?"

"I cannot give you the answers you seek, Skull Mask," the Medjai hissed, breathing heavily. "I cannot."

"Pity, really," Lucius said sardonically and smiled underneath his mask. Slowly, he straightened and turned to his comrades. "Take their children."

"What?!" The Medjai cried, jerking in shock.

"Well obviously, they no longer have any purpose in life, if protection of the-"

"Skull Mask!" the Medjai yelled, struggling. "Leave them! You will gain nothing-"

"I will gain..." Malfoy paused, hand circling leisurely in the air, as if searching for the appropriate term, "...a happy memory."

"Skull Mask!"

"Ab!" one of the children cried, a pretty, dark-haired little girl.

In the crowd, voices were raised in anguish, mixing into indecipherable wails as children were torn from their parents. Deatheaters quickly bound anyone who protested, throwing petrifying spells and impediment jinxes at leisure.

"No," Harry whispered, turning towards his rival's father. "Stop it."

Lucius, of course, did not hear. "Into the center. I want a good view!"

Harry lunged desperately at the man, but his form merely passed through the Death Eater's body as if he didn't exist. He was a dreamer. Totally useless.

Lucius looked back at the struggling Medjai, at men and women calling for their children.

Harry locked his eyes on that one dark-haired girl.

Lucius raised his wand.


"Potter!" hands pulling him away. Harry had been reaching for the flames. He could almost feel their heat. So close...

"Potter, snap out of it!" a deeper voice commanded and Harry's vision was filled with crimson when someone jerked his chin up. "Sympathetic pain won't do you any good."

"I can't save them," Harry said hollowly, "But maybe... maybe I can try to take their pain..."

Somehow... somehow...

"So young," another voice sighed, inexplicably carrying above the screams, and this time Harry saw violet. "Too young. Leave it to me," the voice coaxed.

"My responsibility," Harry protested dazedly.

"No, it should not be. Let me help."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "Why?"

"Just because..." the voice said soothingly.

Cool hands flitted across his forehead, and Harry blacked out.

Harsat Aswad, chieftain of the 8th tribe of the Medjai, was careless of the tears running down his face. They dried almost instantly in the heat anyway. My children... My little lights... Burning alive.

He watched the unnatural flames in agony, ears filling with the shrill cries of his people. The stench of burning flesh was unbearable.

...The Death Eaters only laughed.

Parents, bound by spells, screaming with their children, failed to notice when the little cries dwindled away, pain melting into peace.

"Amai namida... rakuen de mata hohoen de..."

They could not hear the soft, sweet voice, lulling away the pain, and even if they could, they would not understand.

"Hikari ni yasuragu toki, samishii kao ni sayonara..."

Only the children, caught between life and death, could hear the calls of a spirit far away, reaching out with magic of the heart.

"Hitori ja naite yakusoku shita ne heaven, jaa mata, osamaru..."

Be at peace...

"Aibou? Aibou!"

"Mmmrrh?" Yugi groaned.

"Hikari, you try to do too much." Arms, lifting his body.

Yugi cracked an eye open long enough to recognise his surroundings and the speaker. He was in his soul room, in his bed, and Yami was standing over him worriedly. "The boy?"

The spirit sighed. "Sleep. I'll do the rest."

"Mmmm..." Yugi acquiesced, snuggling deeper into the bed.

Yami willed himself back to reality only to find himself beside yet another bed, this one containing a figure with messy black hair. The Egyptian brushed back the boy's bangs from his forehead and frowned as he traced the scar there, then he winced, lifting a hand to his face. His palms and fingers were covered with ugly blisters.

Ouch. Yami thought flatly, hiding his hands within his cloak. Turning his gaze back to the boy, he quickly checked the boy's aura. Not quite normal, but better... he shook his head, then wobbled slightly when dizziness hit him. He locked his knees immediately. Pharaohs... even ex-pharaohs, did not wobble.

Glancing blearily out the windows, he was surprised to see the first rays on dawn peeking above the horizon. ...I need to leave. Someone would probably be in to check on the boy soon.

Whirling away, Yami stalked out of the hospital wing, too tired to worry about stealth or grace. The hallways passed in a blur, and the spirit had to stop a few times to make sure he was on the right path. Halfway to his chambers, he stumbled and reached his hand out reflexively to catch himself. The burns on his hand scraped painfully against the stone wall and he hissed quietly.


Strong hands caught his arm, supporting him.

Startled, Yami jerked his head up, blinking the spots of darkness out of his eyes. "You..." he said in recognition.

The other was silent, pulling the exhausted spirit onwards until they reached the Japanese man's chambers.

"Disequilibrium," Yami said tiredly, and the portrait swung open. Shrugging off his helper, Yami stumbled over to the bed and fell face-first on it.

He didn't notice when hands carefully removed his boots, or when they lifted him properly into the bed. He didn't notice when they tucked the covers around him or when they smoothed his hair.

He was oblivious to it all.

Dobby popped into Professor Mouto's quarters, earrings jingling quietly. Dumbledore had told him to keep an eye on Hogwart's latest professor. Oh, he knew that meant suspicious activities and such... after all, Hogwarts had a really, really, embarrassingly bad record when it came to new teachers, but that order also included watching the man's health, right? The foreign professor had missed both breakfast and lunch and the house elf was rather worried. Perhaps Professor Mouto would like a meal brought to his chambers?

Hopping over to the bed, Dobby spotted telltale multi-coloured hair poking out of the sheets and frowned, when suddenly a large hand fell on his shoulder.

Intruder in Professor's chambers! his mind screamed. That wasn't right! No one else should be in the professor's quarters while he was sleeping! Squaring his shoulders, Dobby turned with the intent of blasting whoever-it-was out into the hallway when he caught a good look at the owner of the hand.

He squeaked.

Standing a full four feet taller, warm brown eyes stared down at him from underneath blonde bangs, but that wasn't what that caught Dobby's attention. Also poking out from the blonde hair where two very long, large, pointed elf ears.

Dobby squeaked again, eyes widening impossibly.

The man... elf... ... thing... calmly placed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.

Gulping, Dobby nodded and the taller figure smiled, stepping away. The poor house-elf could only watch in awe. This stranger standing in front of him was a creature out of legend, dressed in silver and green armor, broadsword sheathed at his side.

"He's tired," the other elf mouthed silently, turning to watch the figure in the bed with unmistakable fondness and a hint of sorrow, "Let him rest."

Dobby only nodded vigorously in agreement, eyes slightly glazed-over. The Celtic Guardian looked down at him with a quirked eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. Dobby stared back catatonically.

Shaking his head slowly and chuckling soundlessly at the house-elf's stunned expression, the warrior settled himself at the foot of his master's bed and stood watch, resting his sword comfortably over one shoulder.

"Dobby will..." the house-elf wet his lips, "Dobby will bring something to eat later," he whispered softly.

The warrior nodded once, perfunctorily.

Gulping again, the trembling house-elf backed hurriedly out of the room, feeling those sharp brown eyes following his every move. Dobby almost pitied any intruders that would dare invade the Japanese man's chambers. Somehow, he knew, nothing short of the world's end would disturb professor's slumber that day.

"Sabir!" a young voice cried.

The old warrior took one glance at the approaching figure and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. A young boy of about 13 or 14 was running towards him across the sand, frantically struggling into the formal black robes of the Medjai as his dark blue sash waved wildly behind him.

With the barest hint of a sigh, Sabir went back to the sword he was sharpening.

"Sabir!" the youth called again as he approached the tent, panting. "Have they started?! Am I late? Ab will kill me-"

"I very much doubt that your father would kill you, young one," Sabir replied with dry amusement. "And no, the council has not yet begun. They are waiting for one other."

Turning pale and red at the same time, Khalaf of the Azrak clan gulped. "T-they're not waiting for me, are they?"

Sabir let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort. "You are not that important yet, young one."

The boy didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted, so he let the comment slide. "Who else are they waiting for, then? All eight chieftains are already here."

Raising his head at some slight noise, Sabir focus his eyes on something behind Khalaf and nodded pointedly. "They are waiting for him."

Blinking, Khalaf turned and his eyes widened in understanding. Oh, HIM...

A young man of about 22 was walking into view, but instead of the black attire of a Medjai, this man wore a loose beige coloured robe marked with ancient writing. His blonde hair shone in the desert sun, glittering almost as brightly as the earrings he habitually wore. His eyes, a pale lavender colour to match his sash, were very unusual for a man of his descent and were lined sharply with kohl. (fanart: ww w.deviantart.c om/view/4133430/)

"Akh! Brother! Play with us!"

"Can I ride your motorbike, Akh, please?"

"Oh please, Akh, please?"

Sabir snorted at the sight of the man with children dangling off the tomb keeper's arms and shoulders like overgrown Christmas ornaments. No self-respecting Medjai warrior would ever put on such a display in public... but then, the man wasn't Medjai.

Khalaf recognised the man as the unorthodox chieftain of the Tomb Keeper's tribe whose escapades were often criticized and scandalized by the other tribes, but underneath that, there was resentment and apprehension.

...Malik Ishtar had done something that no Medjai had ever dared...

"Akh! Akh! Akh!" the children chanted, breaking Khalaf's train of thought.

"Another time, children," the man promised, grinning. "Akh is busy, and if he doesn't attend the meeting he's supposed to attend right now, old Sabir will crack Akh's head open with that sword he's so conveniently sharpening."

This time, Sabir did snort loudly. "The elders will not be happy that you are late, Ishtar."

"I can't remember the last time they ever were," the man said flatly and shook off the pleading children. "Na'am, na'am! I'll give you a ride some other time," he promised the children, and they left with reluctant pouts and waves.

Turning his full attention to his remaining audience, Malik saluted crisply. "Marhaba, Sabir."

"Marhaba," the warrior nodded in return. "Now get in before they lose all patience," he instructed, jerking his head at the tent flap he was guarding. "And take this young one with you."

Khalaf blinked.

"Sure," Malik shrugged, and gestured for the boy to enter before him.

Swallowing, Khalaf raised the tent flap and entered, immediately picking up on the low, tense voices inside.

"I'm Malik of the Ishtar clan," the man introduced himself softly with a knowing grin.

"Khalaf of the Azrak clan," Khalaf nervously whispered back.

"You are the chieftain's son?" Malik asked, even though he already knew the answer.


"Just relax," Malik assured, pushing past the inner flap.

The voices were louder now, but they stopped when the two newcomers walked into view. Malik raised his head proudly in the opressive silence, daring anyone to comment on his presence.

Finally, one spoke, addressing the younger boy. "Khalaf. You are late."

The young boy winced, floundering for an answer. "Ab..."

He was saved, however, when Malik stepped smoothly forward instead. "Forgive me, Khanh Azrak, it was entirely my fault. Your son was delayed because he chose to escort me," Malik saluted.

"Khanh Ishtar, we were not entirely sure that you would come," another voiced from the left.

"How could I refuse?" Malik replied politely, shrugging, but Khalaf thought he heard the man mutter, "Nothing I like better than being in a tent full of grumpy old men," under his breath. Malik held no illusions. The men in the room would've been just as happy if he hadn't come.

Scandalized, the boy bit his lip in hopes of suppressing the smile that threatened to appear. The few men that had also heard glowered darkly, glaring at the placid 22-year-old.

"Sit, both of you," Azrak finally sighed, gesturing to the cushions remaining: one at the very end of the tent and the other at the front at Azrak's right.

Khalaf took the seat beside his father somewhat warily.

The murmuring started again as Azrak spoke. "You all know why this council was called?"

"War!" someone shouted.

"We want no talk of war, Khanh Ihtisham!" another protested venomously.

"How can we not after what the Skull Masks have done?" Ihtisham hissed back, head raised high. "There is a blood price to be paid!"

"But war..."

"Is it not what duty demands?! Not only for our fallen kin, but also for our creed?"

"Are you willing to sacrifice hundreds for the sake of duty?" Malik cut in.

Ihtisham smirked mockingly. "Figures that an underworld brat would have no honor-"

"Just thought you should have fair warning," Malik continued scathingly. "Your enemy is a group of modern-day magicians with powerful spells and unknown resources. You've already seen that they have no bias towards women or children. Their cruelty is unmatched. You would not stand a chance in the long run."

"It is our duty to protect the object they seek. What would you have us do, tunnel rat? Simply hand it over?"

"Did I say that?" Malik asked, eyes narrowing.

"You implied it."

"I did no such thing," the blonde hissed dangerously.

Ihtisham sneered, his handsome faced marred by the expression. "Oh? I beg to differ. We all know how successful you have been, Khanh Ishtar, at living up to your duties. I think it's time for you to crawl back into that hole you crawled out of..."

Malik hissed furiously, lavender eyes flashing. "You dare-"

"That is enough! Khanh Ihtisham, Khanh Ishtar!" Azrak ordered sternly, shooting both men a disapproving look. "We are not here to fight amongst ourselves!"

"Ihti, you will treat your equals in a manner befitting a man of your stature," a solemn old man three seats down reprimanded quietly. His clothing marked him as the chieftain of the Ramadi clan... and as Ihtisham's father. "Control your temper and curb your tongue."

The young man growled. "As you wish, Abii," Ihtisham backed off reluctantly, arms crossed defiantly as he glared at the leader of the tomb keepers.

Malik glared back just as violently.

"Khanh Aswad," Azrak said wearily. "What say you? It was your tribe that was attacked."

As a figure leaned forward from the shadowed, Khalaf swallowed a gasp. He had not noticed the man there.

Hasrat of the Aswad clan was a man in his forties with a strong build and powerful features, but the slump of his shoulders belied his frame. He was pale to the point of being sickly, eyes dull in the darkness, but other than the sling around the man's arm... stump of an arm... there was no sign of serious injury.

Heart sick, Khalaf realised with a certain degree of empathy.

All watched grimly as Aswad squared his shoulders, pained eyes seeking out everyone in the room.

"I saw my daughters die that day," he said, so lowly he was almost inaudible. "Watched as they burned, listened as they screamed, and I could do nothing," he shut his eyes at the memory, exhaling slowly. "All I know is... the Skull Masks must be stopped. I know not how, but they must. Allah forbid that they should be permitted to kill any others and Allah forbid that they should find what they seek."

The men in the tent shuffled uncomfortably.

Aswad's gaze never wavered. "We have all been taught not to fear death, but none of us were ever taught to watch as death claimed our children..." Aswad's eyes hardened, glinting in the dim lighting. "Laa... It will not happen again."

Heavy silence followed the statement and Aswad's brave front cracked. He slouched forlornly in his seat.

"...I cannot even give them a proper burial..." he whispered brokenly, and without another word, Aswad stood quietly and left the tent.

Not one dared move to stop him.

The moment he was out of sight, the tension snapped and the remaining men burst into fervent conversation, breaking the seating pattern and forming their own small groups throughout the tent.

Khalaf watched wide-eyed as the adults argued, Ihtisham making a particularly powerful call to arms.

"They cannot have gone far. They have not found what they seek. We must rise up and strike them before the strike us yet again! They are overconfident and prideful..."

Making sure that his father wasn't watching, Khalaf slipped out of the tent.

Sabir, still standing watch, said nothing as the boy exited.

Khalaf's keen eyes scanned his surroundings briefly and upon finding the object of his search, he straightened resolutely and marched towards his goal.

...Or at least he would have, if a hand on his shoulder had not restrained him. Looking up, Khalaf stared into the stormy lavender eyes of Malik Ishtar.

"Leave him," Malik ordered, eyes flickering to the diminishing figure in the distance. "Khanh Aswad does not wish for company or comfort."

"That isn't right," Khalaf frowned.

"I know," Malik said and patted the boy on the shoulder and turned away himself.

Blinking, Khalaf stared between Aswad and Ishtar and back again, mind reeling with a thousand questions. In the end, he ran after the blonde, feet pattering lightly against the hot sand.

"Wait!" he said, "Wait, Khanh Ishtar!"

Malik slowed his steps but did not turn, weaving through the semi-permanent tents to the outskirts of the settlement, where he had left his bike.

"Khanh Ishtar!"

"What is it?" Malik asked, shrugging off his robe.

"You-" Khalaf paused mid-ramble when he realised that the blonde Egyptian was wearing modern, western clothes underneath his robe. A tight black sleeveless shirt and pale khakis. He blinked. "You're leaving?"

"My presence is no longer required."

"But-" Khalaf floundered, uncertain of what exactly he wanted to say.

"They wouldn't have listened to me anyway," Malik shrugged, suddenly sounding a lot more colloquial. "I'm not Medjai; I'm just an 'underworld brat'. Frankly, it was out of mere formality that they invited me at all," the man confessed, stuffing his robe carelessly into the pack tied to his motorbike.

Khalaf stayed silent, embarrassed. He, too, knew that the tomb keeper's words were true, but the embarrassment soon gave way to defensiveness.

"Well, I think Khanh Ihtisham is right! We should be fighting the Skull Masks!"

Malik gave the boy a pointed look. "A war won for the wrong reasons is a war not won at all."

"...What?" Khalaf blinked, perplexed.

The tomb keeper sighed, turning from his bike and facing the boy. "Khanh Khalaf-"

"I am not a Khanh yet," Khalaf objected.

"You are," Malik insisted, "And one day you will be Khanh Azrak like your father, and his father before him. Every new generation wishes to prove himself greater than the last... different... outstanding... Ihtisham is no exception." Lavender eyes darkened. "I have no doubts that there will be a war... such a thing was started before the Skull Masks ever set foot on Egyptian sand. My words could not have changed that. I just hope that Ihtisham will learn to give more consideration to his words, and that he can bear the consequences when they come."

"...?" Khalaf gapped.

The blonde blinked and his eyes softened. Sighing, Malik reached for his helmet and plunked it on his head. "Never mind, Khalaf. Ignore me. The rumours were right; I'm not all there in the head," he smirked, and Khalaf got the distinct impression he was missing something.

"K-khanh Ishtar..."

"Forget it, Khalaf. Forget what I said about Khanh Aswad as well. You go and make sure he's alright, 'k?"


"Good lad," Malik approved, revving his bike and turning a 180 on the spot, kicking up a decent amount of dust.


Malik arched an eyebrow, looking back at the boy. "What?"

"Is... is it true what they say?"

Malik looked vaguely amused. "Which part of what they say?"

"That you... you tried to... well, kill the Nameless Pharaoh reincarnated, but ended up becoming his friend in the end?"

The blonde blinked, stared, then snickered. "I suppose so."

"What's he like?" Khalaf asked, eyes wide with awe.

"Human," Malik replied dryly, amused by the worship in the boy's eyes.

Now Khalaf scowled disbelievingly. "He can't be only human! He's pharaoh! A living god."

Malik shook his head, smiling nostalgically and squinting at the sun: at Ra. "Khalaf, sometimes there's nothing greater in the universe than the ability to be 'only human'," he mimicked. "It's probably Yugi's greatest gift. He... feels so much."

The boy stared. The man had called the Pharaoh by name. Granted, not his true name, but still his name. "Sounds dangerous."

"It can be," Malik agreed blandly. I took advantage of it often enough. His lips thinned, and he kicked his feet off the ground. That wasn't a memory he wanted to get into. "Ma'assalama, Khalaf, I hope we meet again."

The boy watched as the tomb keeper speed away, leaving a trail of dust to settle into anonymity. With a frown he turned away, a small, black speck under the scorching sun, and made his way back into the village.

Khanh Aswad could not have gone too far...


Chapter Bonus by Tuulikki! ( id: 362293)

Liz: I'd sent this chappy to her before the holidays (**coughs** Yes, chapter 8 was done before x-mas)... so this is a little Christmassy... **sweatdrop** Bad me... I should've had this up much earlier.

Lying in his bed he tried to shut away the screams of the dying children, but the horrible events of this day refused to let go off his mind. He was vaguely aware of another presence in his room, a very familiar presence, that of his Celtic Guardian. There was someone else too, someone... Jingling... Jingling earrings... Dobby... Celtic Guardian... Dobby... Celtic... Dobby Guardian... jingling... jingle bells, jingle... He drifted away into sleep.

The children were screaming. The black-haired boy fought him, desperate to help them, but he held him back. "Leave it to me."

Giving a stern look at the laughing Death Eaters he drew a card from his deck. Holding it up in the air he shouted:"I play Celtic Dobby the Christmas Elf!"

Harry blinked as Dobby appeared suddenly on the scene, dressed in a strange armor decorated with jingle bells. He didn't have a sword or any weapon visible, though, but... he had a Christmas hat and a big brown sack.

"White Christmas Attack!" Yami yelled, and with a wide grin Dobby opened his sack. From within its depths came a strong wind, strong enough to almost knock everyone down. The wind carried snow with itself; it was a real snowstorm, painting everything white in an instant. Harry shielded his eyes from the blinding whiteness trying not to fall down. When he looked around again, he saw that they were all standing in the snow up to their knees – the youngest children up to their waists. The flames had died away, smothered by the snow. Behind the children stood a glistening castle of snow.

As the Death Eaters were still gaping around, Dobby turned his mischievous grin towards them. "Snowballs ready!" he shouted, and the kids grabbed quickly some snow. Dobby raised his hand. "Aim!" The kids raised their snowballs, staring at the Death Eaters through slit eyes. "Fire!" The snowballs flew, raining upon the Death Eaters, who soon were covered in snow as Harry and the adults joined the assault.

It didn't take long before the Death Eaters were really beginning to look like snowmen. Harry grinned as a big snowball he had just thrown hit Lucius Malfoy right into face just as he was about to cast a spell, silencing him quite efficiently.

Yami smirked. "Snowman Attack!"

>Dobby's grin was turning plain evil as he opened his sack again. He put his hand into it, and as he drew it away he threw golden dust upon the Death Eaters. Harry watched, fascinated, as Malfoy (as well as others of his group) began to turn rounder and whiter... and his nose grew longer, and longer, and longer until it was... a carrot.

As the last particle of the gold dust gave its last sparkle, there was a group of snowmen standing around, complete whit top hats and scarves.

After a moment's silence everyone began to cheer. "Time to active the special ability," Yami whispered to Dobby, who, still grinning, ran into the snow castle. In there was a huge Christmas Tree, thousand candles shedding their soft light on its branches. From Dobby's sack appeared a pile of presents underneath the tree. The kids ran to it screaming with joy – and so did everyone else too, including the Boy Who Lived and a certain ex-pharaoh. The celebration continued long into the night in the candles' light, the snowmen guarding the door.

Yugi's song, roughly translated:

Sweet tears, smile again at paradise...
Now the Light calms me,
I'll say goodbye to sad faces...
You won't be alone in Heaven, I'll see you again,
Be at peace.

It's a butchered version of "Raspberry Heaven" by Yoko Ueno and Masumi Ito from Azumanga Daioh... one of the weirder animes they've shown at the ctrl-a (club that really likes - anime) meetings... @_@

Arabic name meanings, if it'll help you remember... (Yes, I do give some thought to names :P)

Sabir = Patient

Malik of the Ishtar clan = Master of the (Ishtar) clan

Imam of the Azrak clan = Chief of the Blue clan

Khalaf of the Azrak clan = Successor/heir of the Blue clan

Ihtisham of the Ramadi clan = Pomp/magnificence of the Grey clan

Hasrat of the Aswad clan = Grief/distress of the Black clan

End Notes: Have fun guessing who Yami's mysterious helper was? :D In my world, the Celtic Guardian is one of three of Yugi's monsters that can support themselves in the real world for limited amounts of time. You get... um... virtual cookies if you can guess the other two. Outside of Yugi's deck, the BEWD is the only other one that I'm aware of.

Hope no one was too disturbed by Lucius. He was probably a little OOC, but see! He gave me a reason to drag Malik into this whole mess. :P Um... **scratches head** Maybe I should've put a tissue alert at the beginning? **sighs** Saa... after this we need some humour...

Next chapter, Yami and Yugi's stroll into Harry's mind wasn't without consequences. =^_^= Can't catch a break, these guys... and I think it's just about time for Umbridge to show up.

Special thanks to: Tuulikki, who fed my ego and Menolly, who beta-read and found all my plot holes for me. Fixed up a ton of grammar mistakes too. **draws circles in the ground** I'm such a failure as an English major. Also thanks to everyone who's done fanart for me so far. **glomp!** I luv you guys!

Review Responses:

Will be up... eventually... x_x