Rewritten Magic

Keiko: Heyo minna. I come bearing gifts of a second chapter *some random cheers mixed with boos in the background that I ignore* This chapter is the early reason why this is an NC-17 rating… though I’m surprised it stayed on ff.fuckingnet because of it. Hail to those not afraid to get kicked off because of lack of censorship *waves a lighter in the air* Ara? Where’d I get a lighter? I don’t own one *mild panic attack*

Bakura: Just shut up and go… no matter how much I hate you.

Keiko: You say that like it means something to me.

With Pomfrey administering potions to him every few hours, Bakura’s fever lessened within days. Finally, she left just a few last potions for Dumbledore to give him, and went to enjoy a short vacation. While Dumbledore kept an eye on the semi-delirious boy, Snape came and went with reports on how the wizarding world was dealing with the Death Eater congregation, as well as the mysterious happenings around Surrey that left a deep hole in the ground. With all the memories that had been modified, the final story was that there was a practice drill in the army, which ended with an accident that led to a bomb being dropped. No one in the muggle world was reported dead, but the wizarding world was suffering with renewed fear about Death Eaters.

But, for Bakura, none of that mattered. In fact, he wasn’t even aware it was happening. He was living in a semi-dream, semi-reality, semi-nightmare. On occasion, he was aware that he was lying in a warm, comfortable bed, and that someone was watching him, and helping him get better. For the majority of the time, he was forced to re-live agonizing moments of his past. From the most recent, his banishment from his hikari, and all the way back to his childhood, forced to watch helplessly as his family was stabbed, raped, and then melted into pieces of gold that haunted his eternal life.

One memory stood out, and came to him even in the midst of other memories…


~~~~

A ten-year-old Bakura, the smell of burnt flesh and the sounds of screams and fleshes deadly meeting with a blade still firmly implanted in his mind, couldn’t stand standing in the shadows any longer. Bolting from the hiding place that had saved his life, he ran for the desert, to run away from the memories implanted in his now decaying mind.

He had barely made it to the border between Kuru Eruna and the freezing desert, when he heard someone shouting. He knew that all the villagers were dead, and in a panic, knew some of those murdering guards were after him. He tried to run faster, but it became hard to breathe really fast, and he began to lose speed without noticing it through the tears that were blocking his vision.

It didn’t take long for an arm to snake around his waist and lift him up off his running feet. Desperately, knowing his fate would become one with his villagers, he kicked, struggled, bit, and screamed, trying to rid himself of those hands that would take him, and kill him.

Vaguely, he heard the guard talking and laughing with some of his fellow butchers, and taking him to the priest-man that had stood there and chanted the words that had made his families blood and bodies turn to gold. Stopping, an exhausted Bakura looked up at the cold face of the priest through watery tears. As he was looked down upon in disgust, he couldn’t register any of the words between the guard and the black haired man. Finally, the priest leaned down and took the child’s chin in his hand.

“ Boy, if you live and survive, remember this forever. What happened here, was the will of the Pharaoh, and he is to blame for all the suffering of this useless village.” Then, with a careless wave of his hand, the priest had signaled for Bakura to be taken away, as he mounted a horse, picked up the items of gold, and rode away in the direction of the capital.

Bakura’s mind was stuck in a circle. The Pharaoh had wanted this? Why? Did his home village do something to provoke their rulers will?

Abruptly, he was thrown to the ground in one of the houses that weren’t on fire. Crawling away on his back, he wanted to get as far away from death as possible. Looking up at the guards, he was too young to recognize the look in the guard’s (there’s more than one) eyes. Much later, he was able to understand the look. It was lust.

“ Well, in’t this a pretty little face in this village of freaks,” drawled the first one as he casually walked towards the cowering child. The others laughed and nodded their agreement as the main one leaned over and pinned the crying boy to the floor. He looked over at his fellow guards, and tilted his head towards the boy. Getting the idea, the other two came up to hold Bakura down by his arms, while their leader was able to release the boy.

Pulling out a small knife from the back of his kilt, the guard easily cut off all of the child’s clothing. Bakura was practically hyperventilating in fear as the guard pulled down his own kilt, revealing his hard member. Even struggling as hard as he could, Bakura couldn’t get the men holding his arms to budge in the slightest.

Leaning back over the boy, the guard grabbed his legs, spread them wide, and positioned himself. In seconds, he slammed into the young, tight body beneath him, relishing in the throat tearing screams of pain from his victim. He looked at the boys’ face, wanting to see the looks of pain, and was rewarded with the agony the tear stained face held for him.

Quickly, he pulled out, and forced himself back in, as deep as he could go. Pacing himself so to enjoy the formerly virgin passage more, he plunged in and out, indulging himself on the screams as if they were some form of alcohol.

Unable to stop screaming, let alone feel anything other than extreme agony, Bakura no longer had the frame of mind to struggle against the men who held him down. His only sane thought left to him was that he hoped that this man would stop hurting him soon. His wish was seemingly granted when he felt some sort of disgusting fluid burst into him, and the man pull out of him.

Expecting the pain to stop, he almost cried harder out of happiness when one of his arms was let go. That was brief, because the arm that had held him down switched with his former tormentors. He opened an eye a slit, only to see a second guard pull off his kilt, grab him by the hips, and plunge back into him, eliciting more screams from the damaged body beneath. The last sane thought of his vanished.

It seemed like agonized hours later when that guard let loose another jet of the gross fluid. His other arm was released for seconds, before the process of his hips being grabbed, and the third guard raping him started. By now, on the verge of blissful unconsciousness, the only thoughts left to the boys’ mind was that he wanted to die, and that this was all the Pharaoh’s fault.

When he just about lost consciousness, at the edge of his mind, he felt a presence. In less than a second, his tormentors screamed in agony themselves. Because of that wonderful music, Bakura forced his eyes open. What greeted his dulled eyes was each guard with a mortal wound bleeding him to death. Surrounding them were transparent forms of Bakura’s now dead family, each with eyes full of murder for the guards who had harmed their last surviving member.

In minutes, each guard lay dead in a crimson pool of his own blood, and the memory ends with the spirit of Bakura’s mother cradling the almost unconscious body of her sanity deprived son. The last thing in his mind before his memory ended was: This was all the Pharaoh’s fault. And he must pay for each and every life in full.

~~~~

At last, and to Dumbledore’s immense relief, the boys’ fever broke, and he entered a hopefully untroubled sleep. His sickness had lasted until early morning, and now that the boy was sleeping soundly, he could get more work done for the next year of school. He stood up, and left to go back down to his office.

As the light in the room shifted from the glowing light of the fire in Dumbledore’s room, to a brighter light coming from outside, Bakura’s eyes began to twitch as he left his haunting dreams. Slowly, to adjust to the light, his eyes opened. In minutes, he was able to see, albeit foggily. He forced his exhausted, achy body to sit up, and looked around the cluttered room he was being kept in.

He tried to think back to the night when he collapsed. He wasn’t sure if he was some sort of prisoner or not. The room just didn’t seem like a place where one would be locked in.

He blinked slowly, then looked down at himself. He was wearing what looked like a dress, and an old well used one at that, but upon closer inspection, was some sort of moon-shape covered robe. He sighed, and decided it would be best to check the room he was in for any clues as to what happened to him. He started by rummaging around on a desk covered in papers. Reading a couple, they seemed to be letters, strange ones (even for him) at that, for a school called ‘Hogwarts’. Going deeper into the mess on the desk, he felt some relief that he found a not-so-old newspaper. Again, it was strange that he had never heard of the newspaper ‘The Daily Prophet’ before.

He pulled it fully from out of the pile, and dropped it in surprise. On the front page was the title “Death Eaters Murdered By Unknown Force”. But, that was not what bothered him so much. The picture of a coronary, with the bodies of many men lying on boards had coroners walking around the bodies, and shaking their heads. Not just a picture of that happening, but an actual MOVING picture of it happening.

Bakura picked the newspaper back up off the floor gingerly. Shuffling over to a chair right by the solitary window in the room to see better, he sat to read the strange paper.


Death Eaters Murdered By Unknown Force
By: Herald Pennings

Late Saturday night, in the countryside of Surrey,
an old fear of the wizarding world was reborn.
12 Death Eaters were found at a crime scene
unlike any before seen to our world. Not only
were these men there, but they were all dead,
without any markings of how they died.

Yes, it may have been the Avada Kedavra curse,
one of the Unforgivables that could land a wizard
in Azkaban, but it would not explain what had
happened to the land surrounding these men.
Large gashes of earth had been ripped out, and
a large crater in which all the bodies lay. The ground
was scorched, and the forest at the edge of the fight
caught on fire, but was easily doused by the rain, and
by resourceful wizards.

How could something kill a number of Death Eaters,
and cause such devastation? Minister of Magic
Cornelius Fudge claims that “ It must be a new type
of magical creature that has yet to be found. My men
are working at all hours to discover the creature,
so we may examine it, and decide whether it must be
exterminated, or placed in an area where it could do
no harm”.

This reporter does not believe that it is some type
of unknown creature. With such devastation left
behind, how could it not have been heard of or seen
before last night? Another possible solution, which
is much easier to explain, is that the Death Eaters
were attempting a new dark spell, which backfired,
and killed them all. But, the question remains, if that
is the case, is what were they attempting to do? A spell
to destroy cities, and revive old terrors? Or, worse yet,
could they have been trying to revive You-Know-Who, who
has been dead for 11 years thanks to the Boy-Who-Lived?

Much is unclear about what happened, but one must wonder,
what is happening, and what might still happen in the future,
and for the future of the wizarding world.

At least that answered what happened, but raised too many questions. What are Death Eaters? Who are You-Know-Who, and the Boy-Who-Lived? And when was there a wizarding world, and why didn’t Bakura know about it, or sense it? It left him confused, and overly exhausted, so he leaned his overheated forehead against the cold glass of the window.

And looked outside.

And saw he was in a very, very high tower.

He was transfixed by the sight, even as he began to grow dizzy. This could be it, he thought excitedly; this could be the way out! No magic, just a quick fall to oblivion. His blood raced, and he leaned forward to unlatch the window. It opened easily, and he felt a perverse sense of joy to see there was enough room for his thin and sickly body to fit through.

“ You may wish to be careful, lean too far out and you could fall,” a calm voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he jumped slightly, hitting his head on the glass. Pain swept through his skull, and his vision dotted black. Careful hands guided his throbbing head back through the window.

“ Poor thing,” murmured the voice, inciting rage within Bakura. He didn’t need pity! He hit the hand away from his face, glaring through watery eyes at the man who startled him.

He was a very old looking man, but probably not past his hundreds, which still gave Bakura an age advantage. His hair and beard were entirely white, while the beard was long enough to hang down past his belt. He was wearing another one of those robes, which made Bakura suspect he was wearing one of the mans older ones, and it was covered in blue stars on the yellow fabric. His eyes seemed to be cheerfully twinkling, which made Bakura instantly dislike him (anyone who was anywhere near as cheerful as the Pharaoh’s hikari disgusted him), and the half-moon spectacles gave him a seriously senile look in Bakura’s mind.

The man smiled, and shuffled over to a blackened fireplace to pick up a kettle that was resting there. Heading back towards Bakura, he brought out two teacups, and poured two cups of tea.

“ I apologize for startling you young man, it was not my intention,” he began, while offering Bakura one of the cups. The Ring spirit picked it up and sniffed it. Seeing that there was nothing wrong with it that he could smell, he took a hesitant sip to see if it was hot. The elderly (though not as old as others) man smiled, and continued, “ My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of this school you are in right now, named Hogwarts. I hope you are feeling well enough now. When I found you, you were almost dead.”

Bakura wanted to laugh at the irony of that statement.

“ Anyways, I wish to discuss something of a more serious nature with you.” The twinkle had left his eyes, instantly bringing Bakura to full awareness. “ I doubt you are aware of this, but the men who attacked you, and the man they work for are infamous in our world.”

Bakura quickly glanced towards the moving newspaper. Catching the glance, Dumbledore smiled, “ So you have read something about what happened.”

Bakura rolled his eyes. “ That and you Ministy thing has pegged me as some magical creature.” Wait. He hadn’t wanted to say that…

Dumbledore’s smile grew. “ I apologize in advance. I had to put a potion called Veritaserum in the tea. It is essential that I gain as much information from the incident concerning you as possible. You see, You-Know-Who and I are enemies. He has done many corrupt things, and I need to stop him. The people of the wizarding world thought he died eleven years ago, and I knew that was unlikely. But, what about you woke him up, and why?”

His head was going fuzzy. He felt his mouth moving and his voice speaking, but he couldn’t understand what he was saying. He knew Dumbledore had made a speech, and he was pissed, but then the world did a 180, and he lost track of his anger and everything else.

Dumbledore was worried, to say the least. The boy was trying to answer his question, for that was the purpose of Veritaserum, but it was coming out in slurred speech, completely incomprehensible. It almost looked as if he had a fever again. Quickly, he reached over and felt the boys forehead. He did have a fever! How did that happen?

Wasting no more time, Dumbledore lifted the boy back onto his bed. Moving over to the fireplace, he called Severus from his house. The fire bloomed, and the man in black was striding over to the fevered boy.

“ What were you just doing Albus?” Outlining how he was trying to get information, he never took his eyes away from the boy, who’s face was turning a sick shade of green.

“ What is wrong with him Severus?” Snape flicked his eyes towards the panicking Headmaster, before turning back to the white haired boy. “ I believe he is having an allergic reaction to the Veritaserum…”

It took three days to flush all the Veritaserum from Bakura’s body. During all that time, they almost lost him just as many times. But, finally, the green dissapeared from his face, the fever was gone, and he was once again sleeping peacefully, unaware how close he had come again to death.

Now that the danger was over, all Albus could do was be angry with himself. He should have known that since the boy was so obviously different (or else why would the Death Eaters attack him), that his metabolism might have had some differences too. He should have asked the boy first, he may have told him without the need for Veritaserum. He should have tried Occlumency (Author: Or is that Legilimens?) if that had not worked. He should have remembered that some people are allergic to the truth potion and checked first… he blamed himself for almost killing the already weak boy.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he looked at Severus’s cold eyes. “ It was nothing you could predict Albus. Just like you could not predict what happened to the Potters, and just like you couldn’t predict what Riddle would become. Leave it be, and don’t try to blame yourself.” with that, Severus turned around, and dissapeared into the fire.

Left to his thoughts for hours, he didn’t notice Bakura was waking up.

Plaugued by a migraine, Bakura tried to open his eyes. Instantly, it was too bright, so he closed them as tightly as he could. What happened to him? Slowly, he started to open his eyes again, letting them adjust to the light before opening them fully. Turning his head slightly he saw the old man stuck in his thoughts.

Dumbldore looked up at him, and it took a moment for it to register in his mind that the boy was staring at him. He attempted to smile, but all he got in return was a glare, so he let it drop.

“ How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“ Like shit.” was the hoarse reply. Dumbledore winced at the wording, feeling guiltier that it was his fault that he felt that way.

“ I must apologize. I wasn’t aware you had an allergy to Veritaserum.”

“ Neither was I.” Bakura snapped back.

“ And I must apologize for using it on you. I should have asked first. I was in too much of a rush, and I apologize for that.”

Stony silence was his answer.

“ I know this is a bad time to tell you this,” Dumbledore began. He had been thinking about this for the past hour or so, and it was very important. “ Because of whatever you are, or at least what you caused, there are unfortunatly two options left for you future. I wish I didn’t have to sound so cold about this, but you can either attend Hogwarts, this school, and I can keep you safe, or I will, unfortunatly have to hand you over to the Ministry for your protection.”

More silence. Bakura knew there was another option, and one that he still favored. Death was always an option, but he wasn’t going to tell the old man that.

“ I’ll think about it.”

Keiko: WhoopdeRabloody doo! I feel refreshed and energized after deleting all the rape warnings 8D… too bad its 11:00 at night… I don’t need refreshment now, I need sleep. *smacks forehead*


And, for the first little while, chapters will come kinda fast… mainly because I already have 15 written *whistles innocently* hmm… maybe I should get back to writing… nah, sleep sounds about right…