Note:
Malik didn't die in Battle City. He survives but he gives his rod and God card to Yugi.

And As far as I know, Bakura keeps the millennium eye, but yes, Yugi did have the ring for a while. He wasn't going to tell Ryou that he had it (Yami Malik had taken it when he defeated Yami Bakura and Malik gave it to Yugi at the end of Battle City), but Ryou found it and put it on again. I really wish I understood Japanese so I could find out what reasoning possessed him to do that, no pun intended.

It was a clear night with a half moon casting just enough light to see by. A solitary teen boy sat at the open window of his home, staring out at the night. He had wide, thoughtful brown eyes and hair whiter than the moonlight itself. In his hands was a letter, written in perfect Japanese lettering. He turned from the window to read it for at least the fiftieth time that day. He sighed heavily.

<Please may I go, Yami? Just to see what it's about?>

<I've told you, no, Ryou,> came the reply from the back of his mind. <You know it is nothing more than a trick. I will not be made a fool of.>

<But on the off chance that it is real->

<You are far too naïve. The millennium items are the only source of magic this day and age. Mortals don't have natural magic anymore. How could there be a school for it?>

Ryou continued to gaze longingly at the letter. An invitation to a new school and a request for a meeting at one o'clock the next day. He so wanted for it to be true. If he could be accepted for what he was anywhere, surly this was the place. And England was where he was born. If this was a joke, it was a cruel one.

<I don't see what harm it would do to just go see,> Ryou said, unwilling to give up. <I can always leave the ring at home if you don't want to be a part of it.>

<Oh, yes, like I am really going to let you do that,> Yami Bakura replied sarcastically. <If you insist, I'll allow you to go, but you'll be punished it this turns out to be a waste of time.>

Ryou cringed. "Punished" could be so many things. His Yami was not as cruel as he was before Battle City ended, but he was still not exactly a nice guy. "Punished" could mean anything now between polishing the millennium ring and being completely possessed for a week, whatever Yami Bakura happened to be in the mood for. But Ryou didn't really have to worry about waking up with strange knife wounds anymore (unless his Yami got him into a bar fight), so...

<Alright,> he agreed.

....................................

On the other side of the globe, the blonde-haired, lavender-eyed youth known as Malik Ishtal was just getting up. The harsh sunlight streaming through his window almost made him wish he still lived in the Underground. At least it was cooler there.

Malik sat up reluctantly and pulled on the pair of jeans that he found at the base of his bed. He could care less if it was the same pair he had worn the day before. He wasn't trying to impress anybody. He thought for a moment and then pulled on a muscle shirt as well. His sister, Isis, did not appreciate him walking around bare-skinned, and seeing as she had taken him in after the Ghouls disbanded, he felt he might as well respect her wishes.

He made his way to their kitchen area and grabbed a random piece of fruit out of the basket on the table. It turned out to be an apple and he sat down and began to eat it. Isis always kept the house stocked with a large supply of fruit.

Malik turned away from his apple as his sister walked into the room, dressed for work at the museum. She sighed as she looked at him. "Going for that 'just rolled out of bed' look, are we?"

He gave her a look and pointed to his apple. "Can I eat, please? I was unaware that breakfast required shoes and combed hair."

"Be as smart elect if you wish," Isis replied. "Did you decide what to do about that letter you got yesterday?"

"I'm going to go," Malik answered through a bite of apple. "I want to see who had the nerve to address it 'Malik Ishtal, The Most Unkept Bedroom.'"

Isis laughed at him. "Well, it seems your messy bedroom has become common knowledge. But I do want you to take the rod, just in case."

"Of course," Malik replied.

A serious look came across Isis's face. "And don't forget, whatever happens- "

"Always keep my temper," Malik finished for her. She gave him that little speech almost everyday, and she had good reason. But that didn't mean Malik didn't grow tired of it. He knew that deep in the back of his mind, the consciousness of his dark half still lurked. Yami Malik, unlike the other dark halves, was not a spirit trapped inside of a millennium item. He was an actual part of Malik that had been created when the boy had been forced to get the tattoo on his back at the age of ten. Since that day, Malik's alter-ego came out when Malik lost complete control of his anger. And it was almost impossible to return the evil personality to the depths of Malik's mind. And Yami Malik existed with or without the millennium rod.

Malik shivered involuntarily. He still had nightmares about his dark half. And he couldn't even blame it on a millennium item. He decided to change the subject.

"Rishid left for work, already?" he inquired about his step-brother, whom Isis had also taken in.

"At the crack of dawn, as always," Isis replied. "He wanted to prepare the museum. At least somebody is giving me a hand, not that you aren't a great housekeeper and all." Malik ignored her and grabbed another apple.

Later that day, Malik, now fully dressed in all his finery with the millennium rod tucked safely in the large cargo pocket of his jeans, made his way through the streets, his letter held firmly in his hands. He had no idea who's joke this was, but he didn't find it very funny. A magic school, really.

He turned a corner and found himself in the center of the city, as the letter had instructed. Now he had to find this Albus Dumbledore character. The letter said he would be noticeable. Malik scanned the crowd until he noticed someone waving at him. It was a very old man with long white whiskers, dressed all in robes and wearing a pointed hat. Malik had to just stop and stare. He'd never seen anybody like that. He looked just like a wizard out of a storybook. But the strangest thing was that Malik seemed to be the only one who noticed him. Everyone else's gaze passed over the old man like there was nothing strange about him at all. In fact, more people gave Malik odd looks, and most of them had at least seen him before.

Dumbledore motioned to Malik again. He was equally baffled by Malik's appearance as Malik had been with his, but the venerable wizard did not express it. Knowing that the youth had no knowledge of the magic world, he wondered how his eyes came to be such a shade of lavender. Perhaps it was due to the boy's own magic, or a strange family trait.

Malik cautiously approached. The old man certainly did not look dangerous. He looked gentle and friendly. But looks can be deceiving. He was reminded of Bakura back in Domino City. Dumbledore motioned for Malik to sit with him on a nearby bench. Malik had walked that street many times, and he could never remember seeing a bench there before. He sat on the farthest edge, still not trusting the old man. "You would be Dumbledore?" he inquired.

"And you would be Malik Ishtal," came the answer. "I am pleased to meet you." Dumbledore reached and hand out and Malik shook it before he even realized what he was doing. It was hard not to trust this man. He spoke Malik's language perfectly, which he had not expected seeing as the old man was from England.

"Alright, what's the joke?" Malik said. "I am not in the mood for games."

"No joke, no games," Dumbledore answered. "I am merely here to invite you to improve your magical abilities at our fine school and answer any questions you may have."

Malik scoffed. The old man had to be senile. But he would play along. "Just how many students attend this school of yours?"

"Several hundred," Dumbledore answered. "I had an exact count, but I have misplaced it. It should be close to a thousand students this year. We have quite a few new first years."

"Anything you can do to prove you are telling the truth?" Malik asked.

"What did you have in mind?" said Dumbledore, not the least put off by Malik's bluntness.

"I don't know, you're the wizard," Malik replied, losing his patience. "Disappear or something."

"As you wish." And with that, he was gone. He vanished right before Malik's eyes. Malik stared at the spot where the old man had just sat, blinking furiously as if his eyes were playing a trick on him. Maybe he had been in the sun too long. He scanned the crowd, trying to pick the old man out, but to no avail. He then jumped as there was a tap on his shoulder. He spun around to see Dumbledore beside him again.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" Malik exclaimed. "I can't stand it when people sneak up on me!"

"I beg your pardon," Dumbledore apologized. "But are you now quite convinced of the truth of what I say?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Malik replied. He still thought the old man was crazy as a loon.

"Are you interested in our offer?" Dumbledore asked.

"What's in it for me?" was Malik's only answer.

"I can tell that you have a great deal of magical ability. Very ancient magic, indeed. We at Hogwarts can teach you how to use it to its full potential. You would learn with students your own age. Of course, you are a bit of a late starter, so we would have to have the staff help catch you up to your age level. You're four year's behind the rest of your class. Most students start at eleven or twelve."

"I've never really been to any kind of school," Malik said. "I've learned what I needed to know on my own. And I have no need to learn parlor tricks."

"I will not lie to you, Mr. Ishtal," Dumbledore said gravely. "These are dangerous times in the magical world. There is an epic battle occurring between good and evil magic. You might be able to avoid getting involved in it if you stay away. But, having sensed the extent of you're power, I do not feel you can safely stay out of it. There are those who would exploit your magical abilities for their own use. And you will not be able to stay hidden from them for long. But I can promise you safety at my school, as well as a chance to better yourself. The magic you would learn at Hogwarts would be well worth the effort."

Malik found the old man's story to be impossible. But something about the way he said it.... Malik felt as if it couldn't be anything but truth. "So this school of yours will help me increase my power?" Dumbledore nodded. "Well I certainly hope they can all understand me there as well as you can. I don't speak a word of English."

"That can easily be fixed with a spell," Dumbledore said. He reached inside his robes and pulled out a few papers. He handed them to Malik. "This is your supplies list. I'm afraid that we had to assign you to whatever classes had an open space, so you don't have much of an option, but I think you will enjoy Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Ruins class. Also enclosed is your ticket for the Hogwarts Express, the train that will take you to the school. You have a week to prepare to leave here. In exactly a week, go to this address. The people there will help you travel to London and will take you to a place to stay. You'll have a few days to buy what you need there. The train leaves on September first. You may tell your immediate relatives, but no one else, please. And you may have your family escort you as you buy your things."

"My brother will be with me should I decide to go and provided my sister doesn't need him," Malik said. Rishid was a bit protective and Malik knew he would not want him to go alone.

"Very well. Now, if there are no further questions, I have other students to see today."

Malik stared at the papers in his hand and shook his head.

"The decision about whether to come is entirely up to you now. You have all the information you need. I hope to see you at the start of the term." And with that, he was gone again, but this time he did not reappear.

'I must be as crazy as that old man,' Malik said to himself. Regardless, he began sifting through the papers.