Malik followed the boy through the crowd until he entered a shop by the name of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Malik hesitated, then entered as well. He was just in time to see his target being escorted to another room. There was no one else in sight. 'Great,' Malik thought. 'I missed him.' He was about to leave when someone called to him.

"Excuse me, do you need to be fitted for uniform robes?"

Malik turned around to face the woman addressing him. She'd just emerged from the back room. Malik wasn't sure how to respond. He DID need robes... it was payment that was a problem.

"I... well I, uh..." he muttered.

"I can take you to be fitted now, if you are ready." She motioned to the room where his target had just been taken. Malik figured this was his only chance.

"Sure, I'm ready," he answered.

The woman motioned for him to follow her. Sure enough, the first thing Malik saw when he entered the room was his target standing on a stool while one of the attendants measured him. The woman beckoned Malik over and he, too, stood on a stool and measurements were taken of him. Malik had no idea if he had enough to pay for the clothes, and there would surely be quite a scene if he didn't. The boy eyed Malik, as if sizing him up. Malik pretended not to notice him. After five or six minutes of general measurements, fitting, and adjusting, Malik and the boy were left alone while the attendants went to fix their robes.

The boy finally spoke up. "Hogwarts?" he asked. Malik only nodded. "I've never seen you before. What year are you?"

"Fifth," Malik said simply.

"That's my year. How come I've never seen you before?"

"I guess you'd call me a transfer."

"From?"

"Several places, but Egypt first and last."

"Do you know what house you're in?" Malik shook his head, not having a clue what he was talking about. "I'm in Slytherin. Best house there is. I'm Draco Malfoy, captain of the Slytherin house Quidditch team. And you?"

"Malik Ishtal."

"Malik, huh? You're pure-blood, right? Family's magical?" Draco asked.

"Ishtals have practiced magical rituals for centuries," Malik replied.

"That's good. Far too many muggle-borns in the school already, if you ask me. Dumbledore'll let just about anybody in." Malik didn't care for Draco's attitude, but he didn't let it show. He was biding his time. He had to find a subtle way to get close enough to snatch the boy's coin pouch. He could see it tied simply at Draco's side. It would be a snap to just tug lightly on the string and silently grab the pouch. If only he could get close.

Malik was so absorbed in his thoughts that it took him a few minutes to notice that Malfoy was staring at him. "What?" Malik asked.

"Do you get your hair done at Madam Richard's, too?"

"Huh?"

"It's just that the color looks similar to mine. That's the way Madam Richard does it."

"I don't color my hair!" Malik said, a hint of insult in his voice. The nerve of that guy making that accusation.

"Yeah..." Malfoy replied sarcastically, "Sure you don't."

This Malfoy kid was really starting to rub Malik the wrong way. He wanted to get the job over with and get out of there and away from that guy as soon as possible. Malfoy, however, was equally insulted, and when he felt insulted, his observations got meaner and meaner.

"What's with the shirt?" Malfoy asked. "And the earrings? Only girls where stuff like that. Or is that an Egyptian thing?"

"It's MY thing, do you mind?" Malik fumed. Really, first Yami Bakura and now this.

"Well if your thing is to wear dirty, girly clothes, then I guess that's up to you."

"This coming from a guy who just admitted to coloring his hair?" Malik shot back.

"At least you can tell I'm a guy! I'd swear I heard the attendant call you 'miss' twice!"

"Why you stuck-up, big headed, son of a-"

"Don't talk to me that way, you dirty, long-haired, girly Muhammad!"

"That's it!" Malik lunged for Malfoy. He caught Draco off guard and got a quick punch in which knocked Malfoy to the ground. Draco retaliated with an upward kick that hit Malik in the stomach. The boys scuffled for several minutes in a fit of swinging limbs and swear words before the attendants heard them and rushed in to stop the fight. Malfoy nursed a bleeding lip and swollen eye while Malik gingerly held a hand over his bruised stomach.

"Out, you two, out!" the woman in charge yelled. "You can send someone to pick up your robes later, but I don't want to see you in this store again! Out!"

Malik and Malfoy were forced to leave their names and exit the store and they both went their separate ways, with Malfoy cursing himself for not thinking of using his wand. Malik turned several corners to make sure he wasn't being followed, then he smiled and pulled out Malfoy's coin pouch that he had stashed in his pocket when the attendants had separated them. One peek inside told him that he would have more than enough to buy his school supplies. And Yami Bakura had called him an amateur. What better way to get close enough to pick someone's pocket than to purposely start a fight with him? 'One of my more clever plans to date,' Malik thought as he laughed. He put the contents of Malfoy's coin pouch into his own, throwing Malfoy's pouch away after, and once more he began looking for the stores on his list.

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

Yami slowed down his run to make it easier to spot his lost companion. He looked in several shops and asked several shop owners. None had seen Bakura. Yami stood out, though. He was attracting quite a bit of attention from the passer-bys. Two in particular.

"Would you look at that! George, over here! Check that guy out!"

"Wow... Is he from school?"

"Probably. But I've never seen him before. I think I would have noticed the hair. I'd guess he's a first year, although he looks a bit old."

"Doesn't matter. The boy's a bloody genius! I'd 'a never thought to do that. Great joke, don't 'cha think? Doing that to his hair. Brilliant way to start the school year. Looks like we may have a rival this year, eh, Fred?"

Fred shook his head. "Not once we get back to makin' our jokes. Mum really put us behind schedule, not letting us work on 'em at home. Speakin' of which, aren't we supposed to get back home? Everyone else left already."

"Mum said we had the afternoon to stay in Diagon. Last time I checked it was still afternoon. Besides, that guy looks lost. Let's help 'im out."

"Alright! I do wanna ask him how he gets his hair to stay up like that."

Yami was just looking around the restaurant where they had eaten earlier when he heard the voices of Fred and George, the Weasly twins, behind him.

"Need some help?"

Yami turned around. Once more, the twins were astounded.

"Wow! How'd you do that to your eyes?" Fred exclaimed. George elbowed him for it. That was a bit blunt. Yami raised an eyebrow at them.

"Sorry," Fred apologized. "Just really like your look, is all. For shock value, right?"

Yami was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Just think the hair is cool," George said, "And the eyes. And the buckles. And... Damn those pants look tight. How do you breathe in those?"

Yami went from puzzled to baffled. He could honestly say that no one had ever questioned him like that before. It wasn't his fault the pants were tight. Yugi was smaller than him, after all... So he chose to ignore that question. "It's just my style," is all he said.

"Don't think me rude," Fred said, "But do you mind telling me how you get your hair and eyes like that? You go to a magic salon, or something?"

"No," Yami answered. "It's natural."

The twins gawked again, then laughed. "Alright, I get it," Fred said, "Don't wanna share your secrets. That's fine. Believe us, we understand. I'm Fred Weasly, and this is my brother, George."

Yami figured he shouldn't use "Yami" as his name, so he replied, "My name is Yugi."

"Nice to meet ya, Yugi. Shopping for Hogwarts school supplies?"

"Yes and no," Yami answered. "I need to get my supplies, but I'm looking for someone right now. Maybe you've seen him. He's a bit taller than me, with street clothes and white hair."

"White hair? You're partner in crime, eh? Haven't seen him, but we can help ya look. We know Diagon alley and all the adjacent streets like the back of our hands."

"Thank you," Yami said. This might make things a little easier.

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

Yami Bakura had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he walked the almost-empty street looking in the shop windows. He was unimpressed so far. He selected a random shop and entered it. There seemed to be no one inside. He examined the items on the shelves. Useless, all of it.

"Can I help you?" The shopkeep said as he entered the room from the back. He narrowed his eyes at Yami Bakura. "Aren't you a little young to be shopping here on your own?"

'I am so sick of people giving me that "too young" crap,' Yami Bakura thought. 'I swear I'm going to send the next person who tells me that to the shadow realm.' The shopkeep merely shrugged off the cold stare Yami Bakura was giving him. "Well, have you found anything that interests you? We have the best tools of the occult available."

"If this is the 'best' then I'd hate to see the worst." Yami Bakura said. "This is trash!" He gestured to the shelves marked, "Tools of the thief". "Any thief who would stoop to using this has no right to call himself a thief. Magic candles? A real thief has no need for such things."

"And I am so sure that you are an expert in the ways of the thief," the shopkeep replied sarcastically. Yami Bakura ignored this as something else caught his eye.

"Now this could be useful," he said. On a lower shelf was a handsome pocket knife. Ryou had thrown away his old one after the whole Battle City thing. Really, one little cut and a few pints of blood and Ryou felt the need to get rid of it. Yami Bakura still resented him for it. This new knife had a lovely polished handle of smooth cherrywood, and a blade of beautiful silver.

"Well, it seems that you've been drawn to the least magical of our items," the shopkeep said. The blade is unbreakable and it never needs sharpening. And it's stain-proof. But that's all. You obviously know nothing about the tools of the trade, kid."

Yami Bakura narrowed his eyes dangerously, the blade still in his hands. But before he could think about doing much, the door the shop opened. A man entered, a familiar boy following behind him.

"Really, Draco, I can't believe you could be so careless."

"But father, I'm telling you, that guy stole it!"

"I don't care, Draco. You should have used you brain and your wand. This person obviously didn't even have a wand, and you came off worse in the fight." Draco considered bringing up the time his father had fought with Mr. Weasly, but thought better of it.

"Lucius, back again?" the shopkeep said, unwisely turning his attention away from Yami Bakura.

"Still nothing on those...artifacts?"

"No, nothing yet. All my people are on the lookout for them. You'll be the first to know if something turns up."

"You understand how much we need those items, right?"

"Yes Lucius, I do, now if you excuse me." The shopkeep turned to where Yami Bakura had been seconds before, and saw nobody. Yami Bakura was gone, and so was the pocket knife.

"Why that little..."