/mind to mind/
*Egyptian*
^Japanese^ &a change of perspective&

Okay I admit it.

I came so close to abandoning this story because of so many reasons. But then I received some of your reviews, which melted me a little inside. And I couldn't let my fans down :D so I - drumroll please - decided to update.

Ryou: zzzzzzzz...*wakes up suddenly* sorry, did you say something?

Marik: nothing of note *rolls over* go back to sleep. The author'll probably forget about us for another six months before updating again. Don't bother moving.

Mokuba *chibi eyes*: Unless there are MANY reviews.

WARNING! The first part of this was originally intended to be a gag chapter. BE NOT OFFENDED IF IT IS UNLIKE PREVIOUS PARTS OF THE STORY.
WARNING!


The Boy-Who-Lived-Despite-Occasionally-Suicidal-Wishes was torn between banging-his-head-against-the-local wall-for-stress-relief-from-Insane-House-Members and hexing said house member with the dirtiest spells he could think of.

Sai Goldfinch was nothing but trouble.

In the first morning of the first school day, he had already set fire to the curtains, charmed Dean's nose purple and furry, and made Lavender have to hop around on one foot squeaking: 'I am a duck! Quack! Quack!' in intensely serious tones.

Okay, so the last one was rather funny...

Harry tried to hide a snicker, then felt his head churn and remembered why he was about to bang his head against aforementioned local wall.

Mokuba Kaiba had spent all dinner talking with the Ravenclaws, spent his first night in Hogwarts reading his textbooks(somehow sneaking after curfew), and managed to be in the Great Hall by six the next morning.

He introduced himself to Sai, mentioning that he had heard of him before, and asking if he had, in fact, been the one who managed to hang Filch upside-down under a moving staircase.

Sai had smirked.

Harry seriously wondered how this boy had managed to avoid Slytherin. He hadn't appeared to be very happy when the hat said Gryffindor. In fact, he had scowled and pouted about it last night - being insolent to the prefects and asking questions in a slow, childish voice insinuating that the person he was speaking to had an IQ of a five year old.

Umbridge already did that. He did not need a second pink nightmare.

The crowd of first years had been following Mokuba everywhere, awestruck. Harry found out that the boy had managed to save a damsel in distress on his arrival across the lake.

He didn't dislike Mokuba at all. It was the fact that Mokuba had taken a friendly shine to Sai, and now the others were following suit.

Now Sai had taken things too far. Despite saying that he 'really had no idea that this spell meant that', Harry was sure the half-American boy was lying.

He had spelled Harry to sing sappy love songs whenever the snarky Potions Master passed by.

It was gradually fading, but it didn't stop Harry from getting thirty points off Gryffindor in their first Potions Lesson.

Sai didn't seem to care at all. He blew up a caldron - promptly blaming it on the first person he spotted near him (which happened to be Hermione) - and earned a Slytherin badge of honor for being able to do so much damage to his own house.

Transfiguration was no better. In a different way.

Sai turned his bird into a writing desk (1) before changing it into a mirror, in which he immediately began primping. Then it turned into a magazine with...curious pictures.

McGonagall politely - through gritted teeth - explained that he was supposed to turn the creature into a patterned cushion.

Sai looked up at her with a surprised expression, then waved the wand lazily and turned the magazine advertising the size of a woman's breasts into a lumpy pillow with a big smilie face painted on.

McGonagall was taken aback. "You wouldn't happen to be related to a Black, would you Mr. Goldfinch?"

"Now, now, Minnie," said the charming young man in a soothing manner. "Racism is not appreciated."

Another earned detention, another Slytherin badge.

Why did Sai always end up sitting next to him, Harry wondered. Sai was a magnet for trouble and seemed to delight in it.

It was only when luncheon came around that he realized it could get worse.

Draco Malfoy was talking with Ryou Bakura who was wrinkling his cute little nose and nodding occasionally. Pansy was watching with a very strange expression. It was almost...sappy.

Then it morphed into an evil grin and gleaming dark eyes.

Okay...Harry was officially weirded out.

"Potter, what are you doing around here?" Harry had unconsciously stepped one foot closer to the Slytherin table then was mutually acceptable.

Draco Malfoy was glowering at him in a distinctly I-am-going-to-kill-you-slowly-by-hacking-your-head slowly-off-your-shoulders-with-a-blunt-axe-but-not-before-abandoning-my-aristocratic-cool-and-laughing-manically-while-I-dance-on-your-blood-soaked-grave.

Or it could have been Die-Idiot-DIE!

"You know, you two should stop staring at each other so much," said Sai who randomly managed to appear beside Harry. The boy nodded thoughtfully. "It really looks like you two are trying to discretely check each other out. Get a room already!"

Something inside Harry died. He believed it was called hope.

"Sexual Tension High in Hogwarts?" Sai mused, nodding appreciatively. "I could probably get a paper on that. The newspaper always like to hear about the latest scandal written by young, promising students who are fond of overusing exclamation marks."

Half the inhabitants of the Hall were coughing on their food. Fred and George were in hysterics.

The Slytherins were dumbfounded for the most part. Draco Malfoy's eyes were wide in horror and a faint pink was in his pale cheeks.

A small voice picked up from the table of green and silver.

"Unlikely. You should collect more data if you want the story to work, Goldfinch. If you really want it popular throw in a third wheel to this exciting romance."

Ryou...bloody hell!

The whitenette primly wiped his unsoiled lips on a serviette. "Now, I'd go for a female as a third wheel. Add some variety. Perhaps this is a one-sided crush, a mere momentary infatuation. Does the love run deep under all that all-too-obvious-hate-that-is-likely-hiding-a-deeper-emotion. Perhaps Malfoy needs to assert his domination of Potter, and in this way tries to outwit him and defeat him. Potter on the other hand may be the one pressing his suit in the manner he finds best, proving his worth to the dashing Malfoy by excelling at everything he does! Who shall give way first, why must this agony go on?"

Sai was staring at the Slytherin as if he had never seen him before. "Sai Goldfinch." He held out his hand.

"Ryou Bakura," replied the Slytherin, shaking it cordially. "Now, Cassiopea do you have that all written down?"

A timid - no longer! - second year Slytherin nodded, brandishing quill and pad like a weapon.

"First Installation to Daily Prophet," said Ryou coolly. "I'll send my owl off with it."

"You can't do that!" shrieked Ron Weasley.

"I don't believe you've given me any...incentive to do otherwise?" Ryou lifted delicate brows and Sai cackled.

Harry swallowed. Just what had happened to Ryou, the sweet boy who listened to him thoughtfully and told him about his mother and sister's deaths?

These Slytherins were influencing him badly! He had to do something about it.

Needless to say, by dinnertime, all Slytherins and Gryffindors managed to cough up something to stop this story from going 'viral'. One of the green house's members had tried to steal the notepad from Cassiopea Nightwing. It had thirteen curses on it that involved three hospital trips and elephant ears.

Once Ryou managed to cordially receive all the blackmail presents, and offered Cassiopea a creampuff that Mokuba had kindly given him a box of, he sat back at the Slytherin table, ignoring the gaping mouths of teachers.

"Young man...did you just..."

"It's his birthday today," said Mokuba, snickering. "He just wanted to find an original way to procure presents. Nii-sama would totally approve!"

This time all the other students did choke on their meal. With three exceptions. Sai laughed aloud. Pansy HUGGED Ryou and offered him a dumpling. Blaise Zabini lifted a black brow and turned to Theodore Nott.

"And you thought he'd be a Hufflepuff."

This was the reason Harry now wished to off himself. Even though the story had not been leaked (the Slytherins had a healthy fear of a Malfoy's wand work) random students giggled about it in hallways and Parvati and Lavender began to bring popcorn to Potions classes 'to watch the romantic drama with'!

Snape didn't bat an eyelid. He took points from Gryffindors, but seemed to neither like nor dislike Ryou. The albino was horribly polite to the greasy git and never contradicted him even when Snape was making cutting remarks about Sai's potion.

Sai glared at Snape, and told the Potion's Master to 'get stuffed.'

Ryou face-palmed.

Harry had never seen anyone actually face-palm before. He realized he was stared when Ryou glanced up and smiled at him. He nudged Draco who was beside him and pointed.

Did Draco just turn pink again? Wait...did he just call him DRACO?

"Can it, Bakura!" the Malfoy hissed, swirling his robes and stalking to another seat.

"Unrequited love..." said Sai in a stage whisper and Lavender and Parvati burst into laughter that would have made a hyena cringe.

Did Snape just crack a smirk. No. It was a trick of the light.

Harry shivered.


In all his years of...well, aside from eleven years in Azkaban and the time in school, he hadn't been around all that much...but in all his years, Sirius Orion Black had never been in quite a situation.

"Let me get this straight," he gulped down yet another shot of Firewhiskey - to which Molly gave a disapproving look which made him want to give her the finger badly - "You want ME," he gestured drunkenly to himself, "To TEACH?" he hiccuped and flourished an arm vaguely in the direction of the hall, "Yuugi Moooootouu MAGIC?"

Dumbledore nodded serenely. There was that damned twinkle in his light blue eyes. Sirius found - in this state - that he did not like being on the receiving end of it. That was Snape's job - slimy Slytherin deserved being put in that position! - not his!

"Yeah!" he said suddenly. "Okay."

Sirius Black held out an object; an empty shot glass dangling between thumb and forefinger.

"Get me another one?"

So this was why, on September 2nd, he was stuck in the Black's family library 'fishing for knowledge' as Remus had once called it. (I was eleven, fuck you Padfoot!) Ehem.

When a third book landed on his head -nearly knocked him out- before jumping up on squat green legs and running away cackling, Sirius gave it up as a bad job and instead wracked his brains for the early tests they had done between Maurading and humiliating Slytherins.

"Is Master looking for anything?" a familiar, decidedly creepy voice spoke almost in his ear.

"Dammit Kreacher!" snapped Sirius, jumping, before swatting the house-elf away roughly. "What I am doing is none of your business!"

"Whatever the Master believes," crooned Kreacher sickly. His eyes were bright with malice.

Sirius was not falling for the old elf's ploys. He recalled the same elf locking him away in the basement after his parents had found out that he had been sorted into Gryffindor. Kreacher had laughed at him as he banged on the door uselessly, screaming for them to let him out, and he had never forgotten the sound.

An idea struck him. "Kreacher, Master wants you to find a teacher's addition of years one to five. It should be somewhere around."

Kreacher narrowed his eyes and hid a scowl. "Whatever Master wants," he muttered, glowering.


/I hope Anzu and Jou and Honda are okay./ Yuugi leaned back on the step he was sitting on. The stairs were a comfortable place to view newcomers and had the screen of a rail to blur his presence. There was also the familiarity of the gesture; sitting on the stair...waiting for the parents to come home. He had been a six year old in pajamas when he sat there until grandpa peeled him away from the rail...waiting for them...

The resolve in Yami's voice was untouchable. /They will be./

Yuugi's link trembled like a wave of laughter turned a little hysterical /And if they try to go after Otagi, he'll probably just turn them into drooling fangirls. I mean/ he made his mind accented with some effort /dat ass.../

A pause, and then. /I will never understand modern youth./

Yuugi snickered; enjoying the pharaoh's moment of discomfort. /You'll never get any if you act like such a prude, you know./

/And you've been hanging around Marik far too much. For shame! Everyone thinks you're a little innocent; imagine if they could hear you right now./ Yami's voice turned sly suddenly. /But if I did want to 'get some' as you say, you realize that I would need your body./

Yuugi turned green quite suddenly. Table turning was what Yami did best, damn that Pharaoh. /Actually I hear long term celebacy invokes a greater knowledge and wisdom. You don't need sex...heh.../

Quite suddenly the dark mind turned cold. /Besides, who would I be able to share intimacy with here? We are to not leave this decaying building directly./

/Rules are made to be broken,/ reminded Yuugi flippantly, trying with his usual quiet means to keep spirits light - pun fully intended. Something was bothering Yami. Something that Yuugi ought to know but kept evading his grasp and trickling out his fingers like water through a fist.

Another pause; longer, and then. /Yes. I reiterate. You have been spending far too much time around Marik./

Yuugi gave a sort of bittersweet smile. /Actually I was just copying Jou and Mai - she was the one who said that about Otagi's ass - and stopped at the part where they decided to liplock and upset the dining table./

There was a little silence. /I miss Jou.../

Yami sighed, and there was a trace of overwhelming weariness in the gesture. He was tired, so very, very tired. Because if anyone had taken the tablet, they had known what they were looking for. And they were dangerous. So very dangerous.

Marik being held down by elders as his father raised a knife and pressed down on bare skin...a small boy with white hair and a dozen life-like dolls slipping through his fingers...laughing...crying...

Sometimes it was best not to remember. Yami tried not to muse on those implications. Because he did...he did remember...

/Mai will be there with him. That woman is sharp enough to keep him out of trouble if anyone can. And you know Tristan will protect Anzu to the best of his abilities. We will be safe, Aibou./

A creak on the floor below and a loud curse abruptly muted.

/Look's like our teacher's preparing./ Jou would get along with their teacher splendidly. Tristan too. He really should do some introductions when this was all over.

Because they would still be around. Of this Yuugi was certain.


Yuugi Motou was a cute kid. He wasn't snobbish like a Slytherin, and he wasn't walking with his head around in a book like a Ravenclaw. This might actually work.

Sirius cleared his throat, well aware that he hadn't shaved and the room he was standing in should have been classed as a national disaster.

"We're going to start with basic charms."

And that was how it started.

Yuugi was smart, but sadly lacking in the usual education and often asked bizarre questions like 'Why exactly does magic effect electricity?' and 'if I transfigured that dead rat into a bone, where would the moisture from the blood go?'

To which Sirius said: "Read this." and shoved a book on Divination towards Yuugi for no apparent reason.

Yuugi did, however pick up on charms with ease. His wand was short, like him, and made from a golden-brown wood that Sirius had never seen before.

Once, the kid asked brightly why there was a surge of positive power with dispelling charms when the surge was negative with levitating charms.

Sirius gave him the Divination book again, nearly tearing the front page in his haste.

Yuugi seemed to be pretty happy with his studies, but Sirius was sweating it out until they reached Defense against the Dark Arts.

That class had always been a breeze - and fun too!

He saw no harm in scaring the boy a little. Yuugi could handle it, he told himself as he began to go into detail over the feeding habits of mad olde vampires.

Yuugi.

Did.

Not.

Bat.

An.

Eyelash.

"Oh yes, Ryou told me all about that. It does seem very hard on the human when the vampire forgets to break the neck in that instance," he gestured to the picture in the book Sirius was holding, "Ryou thought it was fascinating that the main veins they go for are the..."

Ryou? Ryou Bakura - the small albino boy with large innocent eyes (like Yuugi's rather, in fact) who probably couldn't swat a fly without feeling guilt - thought that vampires' feeding habits were fascinating?

He wasn't talking about the little children's versions either. This was the real stuff and it was GORY. James had peed his pants when he'd read up on it in the third year. (He had gotten the fifth year's version, which was later adjusted to appear less horrifying and graphic).

Sirius' eyes drifted to the page open on his lap.

*The Bloode Demon then tears open the human jowls to be assured that if the human is turned by accident or design, he will not overpower his Sire and drain the black blood from his own cursed veins.*

Yuugi sighed quietly. "I feel sorry for the vampire."

Sirius stared. Sirius gaped. "For the vampire?!"

Large amethyst eyes, utterly devoid of guile, met his. "But of course! The poor thing's gone mad! I can only imagine what kind of horrible thing could put a vampire in that state when mentally and physically they are supposed to be a great deal stronger than humans!"

Sirius Black decided that day that Yuugi was a good kid, but he had a very strange outlook on life. It was quite refreshing. About as much as it was exasperating.

You just couldn't win when someone said that no person was evil without reason. (Even if the reason isn't a particularly good one, Yuugi had added quickly.)

Dumbledore said something very similar once.

Sirius was afraid. very afraid. If Yuugi started offering him lemon drops he was quitting immediately, promises be damned!

Somewhere - he was sure - an old Headmaster was sitting with a smile on his lips and an unnerving twinkle in his light blue eyes.


Zigshak curled his long goblin fingers over the roll of parchment. If he held tightly enough, he could feel the press of ink and blotting salt.

If he held it tightly enough, he could pretend that he was crushing the written words out of existence.

The morning air had a clean, cold snap to it, like the pleasant feel of polished marble in a clear-grey autumn afternoon.

September had started with a strange chill. If Zigshak had believed in foreboding, he might have used that very term to describe the shifting wind and the cold, smiling face of Nature breathing frost against the windows.

But Zigshak did not believe in foreboding.

As High Treasurer and keeper of deepest vaults in Gringotts, Zigshak was unsurprised when he was informed that his presence was needed. He had duly placed the four lead paperweights on each corner of the report he had been addressing, and covered it with a thin slab of pinewood.

The HumanInteractions committee had said that the faint smell of pine made 70+% of humans more comfortable in a office. He did not care for humans, but schematics were important and so was business. That was the only reason he caved at all.

In a few minutes another wizard would speak to him. Another wretched wizard would attempt to use him - like one would use an owl. A slave. A lesser being.

His lip curled back. Let the wizards fight their battles. The less wizards the better. Meanwhile, the goblins would live on; having made themselves necessary for both sides.

Let all those humans be punished for their crimes. This war was nothing less than what they deserved.

While he waited in his High office, the stacks of parchment fluttered like many butterfly wings. It was a crisp sound and strangely nostalgic.

There was no wind in the High office.

If he had believed in foreshadowing, he would have recognized the signs and not let the visitor step over the threshold. He would have stopped this meeting long before it had a chance to start and would have placed one name on red alert.

But Zigshak did not believe in foreshadowing.

So when the muted clarity of important footsteps beside a lower goblin's carried through the door, Zigshak merely said: "Seto Kaiba, I presume?"

"Your presumption would be correct."

He glanced up at the young face that had grown old too quickly and the blazing chill of shaded blue eyes. Seto Kaiba was dangerous. Seto Kaiba was a customer.

"I hear you wish to obtain a vault in the lower levels."

"I do."

Seto Kaiba fluidly seated himself opposite Zigshak, looking entirely at home upon doing so. (He wrinkled his nose, much like Zigshak had, at the smell of pine.) There was the simple importance in the brief replies. He did not try for grandiose because it was unnecessary.

His voice had a low, cold ring to it like the sharp, crystalline bat of a silver spoon against an emperor's glass.

It was the voice of a general who had sacrificed his men at the drop of a hat. A hat that had 'correct protocol' written across the brim.

And yet, Seto Kaiba did not look like a wizard.

He wore a navy trenchcoat with silver buttons and white lining. His dark boots were buckled over multiple times with pale, shiny material that Zigshak had only ever seen muggles and muggleborn use.

At odds was the black string around his neck that dipped into a rectangular...was that a card? The rough colour added a strange sense of grounding to the fine material and the fact that he had not removed it when his uniform was concluded spoke volumes.

There was the odd outline of a dragon emblazoned on his uniform. Perhaps it was a Japanese symbol. He had never seen head or tail of it. And he had seen many, many family and magic symbols alike.

Seto Kaiba's fingers were long for a human's. Zigshak noted this with subtle curiousity. He had made a note of those with longer fingers; deeper intelligence in matters of money.

That or a musician, but he'd eat his ingots if Seto Kaiba made his wealth as a musician.

The black kid gloved fingers laced themselves together over a crossed knee in a very familiar manner.

Politician.

"The deeper vaults have thirty percent higher cost," he began, attempting for a apologetic smile, and probably looking more like a nasty bully. "The amount could be crippling for any small pile of Galleons."

He never, ever had dissuaded a customer from buying like he was doing now. It was the oddest, most outrageous thing he had done in his life. Zigshak felt a strange welling of merged anxiety and power.

Seto Kaiba did not blink.

"Understood," he drew a slip of paper - not parchment, lily white paper that smelled like days underground - out of the inner lining of his coat, and pushed it before Zigshak with a flourish from the edge of his fingers. "This is the amount I wish to deposit."

The High Treasurer realized with a bizarrely calmed sense of overwhelming that Seto Kaiba was already on his list of top ten customers.

"I see," Zigshak cleared his throat and scribbled down some details on a ledger. His voice did not alter a breath. "I'll need three drops of your blood."

He held out the parchment and watched as the young man removed his left glove and poked the back of his hand with a penknife as smoothly as if he did this every day.

One. Two. Three. The red blots looked like bright spots of ink on the parchment.

"And three more," Zigshak used tongs to lift a silver ring encrusted with a clear, glassy stone.

One. Two. Three. The stone dipped red, then blue, and carved words appeared on the inside of the silver band. 'Kaiba, Seto'.

"You may wear this to enter your vault. Only the deeper vaults use Shadow Rings."

Kaiba gave a little cold chuckle that was almost identical to Prince Ragnok's. Zigshak found the comparison was frightening. "Is that what they are called?" he breathed.

He slipped it on the third finger of his left hand.

The lights flickered momentarily, giving Kaiba's eyes the appearance of flashing dark.

"Are all the Rings like this?"

"The colour is different for the person, but yes. They are alike, for the most part."

"I see." And he must have, for there was something in that voice that Zigshak did not understand. An eerie feeling grew and was pushed away.

"You have seen one before, of course."

"Yes," he brushed the stone gently with his right thumb. His voice was silky and dangerous and gave Zigshak a strange mental image of the opening of Pandora's box and a world of darkness rushing out. "I have."

Seto Kaiba covered the mark of damaged skin with a fragment of something clear and shiny before he slipped off the ring and returned the glove to his hand.

"You did not use magic?" Zigshak's tone was mild, but something stirred within his blood.

Seto Kaiba's reply will be recorded in the list of Goblin Transactions and Annomallys. Or, for a more accurate term, the list of Human Statements that Thunderstruck Goblins.

"I do not believe in magic. However, if I must be pent up with madmen, I might as well earn something for my pains."

Zigshak said nothing as he led Kaiba to the vaults. This was highly out of order, as he had stacks of work upstairs waiting for him, but Seto Kaiba was as abnormal as he had ever seen a wizard and that intrigued him a little.

He would, of course, never admit to this.

"Are females disallowed to work here?" asked Kaiba, after they had seated themselves in a cart. "I didn't notice any in the main building."

zigshak again felt every drop of blood inside his veins beating a tattoo against each other. He could not recall ever having been asked such a thing before. "Our females do not like to deal with humans," he said shortly. "They would not be able to efficiently keep our clients. It is their own wish that disallows their presence."

Kaiba's eyes had been closed when Zigshak had turned to face him. Now they slitted open so that a sliver of blue observed him.

There was no condescension in his voice as he spoke, just cool, clipped statement of fact.

"Is that not detremental to company earnings? Why not give them jobs where they do not come into contact with humans regularly? Statistics reveal that having a twenty-five percent allowance of women in a primarily male company increases earnings by thirty-eight-point-five percent."

The cart started.

"The chances of finding positions that never enteract with humans are not entirely low, but twenty-five percent is certainly," Zigshak replied, trying not to sound interested.

"Then let them take down children," said Seto Kaiba softly, cool voice somehow discernible above the shrieking of cart wheels on rails "Feminine traits demand a soft spot for the young of any kind."

Zigshak had never wanted to hire a human before. Now the want was a little overwhelming. And yet there was something about this wizard - no, this human - that bristled him beyond reason.

It did not make him angry...no, that was the odd thing...it made him cold and a little afraid.

It had taken him a while to fit the word with the feeling. Zigshak could not recall having been afraid like this before. The one time fear had ever come into his equation was when the tunnels collapsed years ago in the new constructed areas and they had lost thousands of Galleons as consequence.

He had never feared a wizard before. Not Dumbledore, not Riddle (oh yes, the goblins knew his real name). Both had all the potential of killing them but death was not what Zigshak was frightened of.

what was he frightened of...what swathed Seto Kaiba like a robe - like a shadow - and crept up his collar like ice cold sweat...?

Kaiba did not flinch when the cart sailed downwards like a falling tornado. He tapped the vehicle with one-fingered bored indifference and kept his eyes on the rocky ceiling.

His trenchcoat flapped wildly around him, silver buttons glinting in the flicks of light from the passing lamps that lit sapphires in his eyes.

He was...impressive. Imposing. Powerful.

And yet, not once in the proceedings had he looked down on Zigshak. He had been curt, sharp; dislikable by all human reasoning - but there it was: Zigshak was not human.

If Seto Kaiba had been a goblin, Zigshak would have gone as far as to say he liked him instantly. As it was, there was one human he did not quite detest.

"Is this the only wizarding bank in England?" asked his tall companion, eyes clear with calculation.

Zigshak nodded, mouth tightening with his eyes.

Seto Kaiba 'tsk'ed'. "So you cannot refuse clients?"

Zigshak said nothing at first. Then "Are you planning on making yourself likely to be refused?"

His tone was downright rude. The cruel grin on his face even more so. Bluntness rubbed arrogant wizards up the wrong way. It was different with goblins...it always had been different with goblins...

Seto Kaiba snorted. "Unlikely, but who knows." He tapped the cart lightly, murmuring to himself. "A branch...that is it! A branch of your bank renamed and run by humans. Then clients may be refused in Gringotts and the price may be raised in the branch."

The cart swirled downwards and rushed past a dark hulking shape, but all Zigshak could see were Galleons.

He forgot the danger spinning around his companion. He forgot the cold sweat that had risen on his prickling skin. He forgot the way Kaiba's eyes had darkened in the room upstairs when he had looked at the ring.

"You are unlike any of my cliental," admitted Zigshak brusquely, looking a little bemused.

"Your clients are idiots and psychos," said Seto Kaiba flatly. "But they have their uses."

Zigshak smirked widely. He could not help it. The deep rumbling laughter that did not spill out of his lips coloured his low voice. "What do you have planned?"

And the temperature dropped from cool to chilling as Seto Kaiba smiled.

By the end of that day Zigshak would be convinced that Seto Kaiba was a Goblin Warlock. He was merely hiding beneath human skin.

The Treasurer might even go as far to say he'd feel a measure of sorrow when the time came to kill him.


That button below there...press it! You know you want to! REVIEW! REVIEW!

Serious happenings with Ryou and Marik...ehem...SAI will come forthwith. They are simply coping with anxiety in their own ways.

Seto Kaiba has seen a ring like that before...the question is WHERE?