Monster Reborn

Summary: A promise was made millennia ago, and even now he is still fulfilling it. A magician's devotion to his King seems to know no bounds, even those of time and death. Reborn!Mahaad.

Chapter 1: Soul Release


Death was coming for him. Finally and years after he was first supposed to die, he was sure that he was at his end. Part of him rejoiced in the hope that maybe now he would at last be able to be with his parents, the family he knew for such a short time and could not truly remember; but most of him was terribly regretful that it had to happen like this, so soon and in company of someone he had wanted to save. He was dying and Sirius was dying and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

His resignation brought him a kind of peace he had never known before and, for a moment, all was well. And then it happened.

He felt a terrible and painful tug at something deep inside him, something that was not supposed to be disturbed at all, and it hurt. He felt that something dislodge from its rightful place and for a second, just one second, his soul was away from his body and he was dead.

Then, as though the day had not been strange enough already, something spooked the soul-sucking Dementors away from their unfortunate prey. He felt life in him again when his soul – precious, precious soul, don't ever go away again! – snap back into place almost immediately, like a rubber band that had been stretched too much and fought to get back to its original length.

Normally that would have been it, the boy wizard and his godfather would have their souls back and they would be saved and everything would be alright. Harry Potter, however, does not do normal.

The moment his soul was back and connected to him again, he knew there was something different about it. Not wrong, perhaps, but…strange. It was also then that the blissful darkness brought by exhaustion, which had in fact been threatening to overtake him for the last few minutes, finally came for him.

And he was unconscious.

Only, it wasn't like any sort of unconsciousness he had ever experienced before. Usually when one passes out, there are no dreams, no sights, no sound, no nothing except for the same darkness. This was most certainly not like that.

There were pictures moving everywhere, scenes as though in a movie that had been filmed wrong, with bits and pieces scrambled like an unsolved puzzle, one over the other and so many together that they got lost in it all. It was confusing and a bit terrifying, but for some strange reason it was also so very familiar, almost comforting.

The pictures slowly seemed to get some sort of order amongst themselves and he suddenly knew, not knowing how, that these were not just pictures, not just visions of a crazy dream…these were memories. And somehow – he could not explain it to himself but also knew it to be true – they were his.

The sight of a city, ancient and primitive but somehow much more magnificent than anything the modern world had to offer. It was a city hidden amidst vast oceans of sand and merciless deserts, but comfortably cradled next to the kind life-giving river. And so many people lived in it, from all kinds of social classes and with all kinds of jobs and functions, all together and all in harmony.

This was his home, he knew, and it was his duty to protect it because he loved it, because it was the right thing to do. But, that couldn't possibly be right; he had never seen this city before, never walked through its dirt roads or into its ancient buildings. And yet, he had, somehow, someway, sometime.

He knew then who he was, just as he knew of the city that was his home. He was a magician, powerful unlike any of his contemporaries and burdened for it. He didn't mind the burden, he liked to help his country, he liked to serve his King and protect his people; he was happy. And then he'd died.

That couldn't be correct either, because he was sure that he was alive. And yes, he had magic but he wasn't some sort of powerful hero and protector, he was just a student who had not even finished school yet and his name was Harry.

Only that wasn't his name and he was not just some student and he was not always alive. What was this? All these memories, scrambled and jumbled, making no sense? He was so confused that his head hurt even though he was pretty sure that wasn't supposed to happen while being knocked out. Nothing made sense anymore, he was something that he wasn't, had been something he wasn't now.

- What?-

And then when the confusion and the pain and the whole bloody thing escalated to a point where he was sure his head would blow up, it all clicked into place. He knew now.

He was alive, but he'd been dead once.

He was a student, but he'd been a master once.

He was born in Britain, but he'd been born in Egypt once.

He was Harry, but he'd been Mahaad.

He had been that and more, and he understood.

He turned his head to the side, leaving for a moment the images of strange places and times – home! – because he could feel something else calling him, some tug at his very soul, already hurt and sore. His green – or were they gray? - eyes fell upon a form he had seen many times and yet none in this life.

"Ka" He called to the other, his voice soft and warm as though welcoming back an old friend who had been off in a very long holiday.

The other offered a nod in response and a small smile adorned his face as the two locked gazes. The young wizard – ancient magician – felt comforted to have his other here now, because now that he had woken up he realized that he had missed this particular company. Ka was always good, Ka was always comforting.

"So much has happened" He spoke to the other, non-human magician, his voice nostalgic and full of pain but also understanding and resignation, and its sound oh-so-very different from that of the boy he was supposed to be.

The other nodded again and turned to watch the still flowing images. It wasn't only Mahaad's life that he had lived. He had been reborn many, many times, but he could not recall them very well if at all. He knew though, from what he saw in the foggy and unclear memories of these people who were also him, that he had always ended up the same.

"We swore an oath, Ka, and we have to keep it" He said, his voice still carrying those sad feelings, but also a renewed strength and determination.

No matter what happened and no matter how it happened, it seemed that his soul was simply bound to the service of whom he had sworn himself to. Memories told him, Ka himself told him in his particular way of communication, that regardless of where we was born and who he was born as, he still found himself back in the tomb of the man he'd died for and lived for. From warrior, tribesman, merchant and even historian, he had always, in all lives Ka could recall, been brought by Fate itself to protect his Pharaoh's resting place.

He would do it again, he knew, because it was his duty and he fulfilled his duty, because Pharaoh was his King and his friend and he owed it to him, because it was the right thing to do and he would do it. Ka nodded for the third time, his blue eyes narrowed and filled with the same fire that filled his human counterpart, agreeing wholeheartedly.

Not yet though, for now, he had to wake up…


When Harry Potter next woke up, it was to find himself –once again! – in the Hogwarts Infirmary. For a moment his thought process paused, probably trying to give him time to wake up before assaulting his senses, and he couldn't remember what could have possibly happened that made him end up here. It wasn't Quidditch match day, was it?

Unfortunately, before the poor boy could make some sense of the situation, Hermione was already upon him almost as soon as he'd opened his eyes.

"They've got Sirius! They're going to give him the Kiss!" The girl's frightened and frantic words pierced through the haze in Harry's mind almost instantly.

Sirius! How could he have forgotten about the innocent convict that was his godfather? And, according to Hermione, the man had been caught and was about to receive a sentence worse than death itself. Death he could deal with, he wasn't afraid of it, he'd already gone through it before, but losing a soul forever was something reserved only to the very worst of human scum – Tomb desecrators! Pharaoh's enemies! – and Sirius didn't deserve it.


It was then that he also realized what had happened while he was lost to unconsciousness. He had remembered something that no one was ever supposed to remember. He knew who he had been once, before Harry Potter was even created, and he remembered. He could recall his life, and his death, and even tiny little snippets of other lives he'd gone through before although Mahaad's was certainly the clearest. His. He was Mahaad, wasn't he?

"Harry!" Hermione's voice once again broke him away from confusing thoughts; the girl had probably noticed him drifting away for a moment.

"I heard you" He answered, for some reason calm and confident even in this tragic time. "But I will not let it happen" His words held an assurance that he didn't think any thirteen year old – three thousand year old! – had the right to possess, but he couldn't help himself.

"What are we gonna do, mate?" Ron's voice came from the other side of the room, where the redhead lay in another hospital bed, injured leg but still willing to follow his friends into another dangerous situation – brave warrior, good soldier-friend.

"We'll tell them the truth, that's what we're going to do!" Cried Hermione indignantly, her hair suddenly even more bushy, reminding Harry a bit of an angry cat – fair judge, good heart. "There's no way the Ministry can just kill an innocent man!"

"While I do agree with your sense of doing what is right, and I do believe your claims, I am afraid the word of three teenagers will not get through the ears of the Ministry" Said the Headmaster, whom Harry had previously failed to notice was even there.

The boy's green eyes made contact with the old man's blue ones and to be truthful neither of the two could tell which set carried more wisdom and age, for both gazes seemed heavy and burdened. Harry's, though, also seemed to carry a sense of purpose and pride that not even his friends had ever seen in the young wizard, some fire that had been suddenly lit and refused to go out.

"If they will not hear of justice, then I will seek it by himself" The black-haired teen's words and his very voice seemed to carry a promise in them, and a warning to those who might dare stand in his way – the way of justice!.

Harry knew, in some deep part of himself, that were it not for the changes that his suddenly revealed past had brought, then he would not be speaking or even thinking this way. Harry Potter jumped into reckless situations without a plan, following his gut instincts but also the advice and will of Albus Dumbledore. Mahaad was quick to defend those he cared about, but he went through it with a careful plan and thought-out actions, and he followed no one but his Pharaoh. He wasn't sure which of the two he was right now, but he was suspecting that both were influencing him somehow.

The old man raised a curious white eyebrow, and his twinkling blue eyes seemed to be inspecting a particularly interesting book or artifact. The young wizard's gaze did not waver and neither did his confidence or his intentions, and the older one was the first to look away – stronger will, those who fight for right and for his Pharaoh.

"A worthy campaign, no doubt. Miss Granger, I do believe three turns should be enough to save more than once innocent this night" The headmaster said cryptically, before walking out of the infirmary without another look back.

"He is barmy, you know" Ron exclaimed from his place in his bed, shaking his head a bit dumbfounded.

"Not that much" Hermione contested before grasping a thin chain from around her neck and walking even closer to the still sitting Harry. "Sorry, Ron, but seeing as you can't walk…" The girl said and then turned her attention back to the chain.

She placed the surprisingly long chain so that it would be around both her and Harry's neck and then took the strange pendant that hung from it in her hand, giving the hourglass that decorated it three spins.

And just like that they were off, trying to save someone who deserved to be saved.


Author's Notes: Okay, yet another HPxYGO crossover of mine. For some reason the idea of Mahaad just vanishing (sure, we have the Dark Magician but it's not entirely the same) never sat too well with me, so I decided to bring him back…sorta and with a little twist as well ^-^ Poor guy is gonna have some identity issues now XD

Also, I realize that this chapter might look like the story is going to follow HP from now on, but trust me, there's gonna be some very distinguishable differences and then it goes completely off-course. And in case you were wondering, yes, there will be other YGO character coming in a little bit later in the story. ^-^

So, what do you think of this one? Make sure to leave comments, suggestions and critiques in your reviews! They really do help ^-^