Chill of Death

Disclaimer: I don't own Warcraft or Harry Potter, I just happen to have inspiration… see, most people have Harry find Frostmourne and then let him go all lich king on the rest of the world, creating an undead nation which will be only under his control… nothing wrong with that, but hey, I got inspired and just went crazy with the idea; What if Harry was a Death Knight… It'd be somewhat similar, but well, it'd be more based around dynamics and such, it being set in warcraft world and harry potter world in separate things… oh well, you'll see.

Death of Harry Potter

Harry Potter, the person who was currently seated on his rickety bed in Private Drive number four, was not a normal person. Others who looked upon him, at least the ones in this neighborhood, saw a criminal in the works, a vile blight upon the world, a hoodlum who stole, at least that's what the Dursleys said, and not even the evidence that Dudley was the one who was rotten could persuade the other people to not think of him like that. He looked at the measly room that he had been given and wondered whether he would be better off dead. It had been almost two days since the school had let out, and he wondered if it would ever be alright again. Cedric had died, and now what was there to life? He had been the one to take his body back to his family, but who was he to have done that? Why did he do it, if not for the apparition of Cedric having stood there and asked him to take the body back.

He whimpered softly as he shivered, the only clothing that he wore being Dudleys over shirt and a pair of his trousers, which were ragged and worn from the continuous use, even after he had gotten them from his aunt. His eyes focused on a spot on the wall, and he wondered if it would be better to just take that knife that he had filched from the drawer and draw a line over his skin, how much it would bleed and such. As he wondered about it, he mentally counted the days till he would have to go back to Hogwarts. He was anticipating it, wanting to return on one hand, but not to return at the other, since there was the place where Cedric had died by the hands of Voldemort, his body having returned just there. A brief thought whether the Wizarding World held psychiatrists who would be able to give him some peace of mind entered his mind but was dismissed just as fast, as he knew that nobody would be willing to spend that much time and divulge such secrets to just anyone, who might get bribed, use magic for their own purposes or worse.

It was sad, really, as he was contemplating it, a movement from outside pulling his attention away for a moment, as he saw the light of the streetlight flicker for a moment, it being probably what had drawn his attention. He felt hopeless all of a sudden, as the thought entered his mind: What would he do against Voldemort, being untrained and apparently untalented? What would he, a schoolboy, do against one of the most powerful Dark Lords of this time? Of course, there were rumors of training by the ministry that Ron had told him about, but he was not sure whether to trust them. They looked to be unsafe and unsuitable, so he just ignored them, and just focused on the whole aspect of surviving the trials every year.

He tossed himself down on the bed, being restless and slightly irritated by his lack of focus, going over everything that he had ever learned, from the levitation charm to the transfiguration of a matchstick into a needle, that trick of doing it being replayed almost to an infinite amount of times, until he could recall every little detail about the way that his hands had moved, how the sounds in the classroom had been, how Professor McGonagall had been teaching the subject in the first lesson, then the success when he had finally accomplished the transfiguration, Hermione having done it before him, though it had not distracted him one bit, his mind busy with the whole achievement of having done the spell.

Then, suddenly, his mind switched back to that night at the graveyard. The feeling of nausea came to him as he looked around the room, his breath picking up as he remembered everything crystal clear, from the air which he inhaled every moment, till, Cedric was hit with the Avada Kedavrqa, to the moment where he was bound against the gravestone, the form of Lord Voldemort rising from the cauldron, naked and pale, his skin having big angry veins bulging on them at the moment when he emerged from the cauldron, before he was handed a robe, the veins slowly deflating to normal sizes, apparently a side-effect from having the blood within his veins once more. Dark thoughts came to his mind, as he wondered how it would be if he just killed himself, to end the pain. It hurt a great deal, to have faced that monster after such a time of being shocked by the death of someone who he had barely known, but still had formed a connection with, if only because Cedric had been dating with Cho and gone to the ball with her.

He got up, walking unsteadily towards the nightstand, where he had placed the knife upon. From downstairs, he could hear the telly being on, Vernon laughing boisterously about something or the other, no feeling of love or comfort going through him. As he looked at the knife, glistening in the moonlight, he felt the loneliness bear down upon him, as he grabbed it without a second thought. His friends would be sad about it for some time, but they would grow over the loss, and someone else, more experienced than him, would take over and defeat Voldemort.

"I guess this is it, Hedwig." He said, the owl looking at her master sadly as he placed his hand on her cage, fumbling a little with the latch and then unlatching it. "Go to the Weasleys, have a nice life as their owl. Maybe Ron will take good care of you, even though he has Pig." He gave a small smile to the owl as he looked over her white plumage and stroked the feathers a little, his eyes going blurry for a moment as he recalled the moment they had met, the way that Hagrid had bought her for him as a present, wondering whether there would be a better home for her with the Weasleys then here.

"Goodbye Hedwig." He said, looking at the ceiling as he grabbed the knife handle with both hands and then put it to his throat, pushing a little, the knife being just sharpened that day, the skin parting and a sting of pain going through him. He had seen it in movies and knew that it was a good way to die, to die with your lungs full of blood, your consciousness fading out slowly as death took you. His wand he didn't have any more, it being put with the rest of his luggage in his old bedroom, momentarily wondering whether it would be okay, though his eyes felt weary as the knife went in deeper, the muscles of his throat giving some resistance, tears coming out of his eyes as he thought of the lifeless look in Cedric's eyes in the graveyard, and how nobody would really miss him, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Failed.

The knife cut through most of the skin separating his throat from the air, a ragged sound coming from his throat as he chucked the knife away, blood splashing over his hands as the pain overwhelmed him, his hands cramping up and a shiver going through his body as he looked at his hand, before weakness took over, his magic reacting violently, energy flowing out of his fingertips, the bedding around him scorching slightly as it reacted to his feelings of sadness, his body winking out of this existence, placed into another one.

Arthas Menethil, or the Lich King as he was now called, ruled the lands of Northrend undisputedly, his reign being facilitated by the way that his undead troops marched over the cold unforgiving lands and conquered all in their way, since all people, would eventually serve him. As he sat upon the frozen throne, his mental dominance extending over thousands of soldiers and ghouls, his presence was disturbed by a blast of foreign magic, his head raising slightly to watch a body being flung from a hole in the air, landing before the throne in a heap, fresh blood seeping from the wound on the throat, clearly a sign that the former possessor of that body had been sliced across the throat, but was not quite yet dead, though he would be soon enough. He got up from his throne, walking towards the body, seeing the ragged garments which it wore, which were of a strange make, the gaunt features being something he was more familiar with, along with the hint of piercing green eyes, a momentary distraction as he felt the cold chill of death go through the body, his decision made, as the magic within the body reacted to death, sending some of his power into the body, it jerking violently, limbs splaying out in a chaotic movement as the head of the body rose, the body scrambling up it legs to stand unsteadily before its new master.

"A scholar of foreign magic, are you? Yes… I have use for you. If you killed yourself to prevent the knowledge from falling into my hands, you have failed. Tell your king your name." a raised hand was pressed against Harry's cheek, the warmth within the body bleeding out of it at the touch of the Lich King. The eyes of the young body turned towards the one which had revived it so brutally, a voice coming out of the throat which was unlike Harry's at all, but also similar to his. "My name is Harry Potter."

The Lich King stroked his cheek affectionally and then smiled maliciously as he forced more magical power into the body which belonged to Harry Potter, mentally thinking about the strange happening with the entire body being thrown before him, before chalking it up to a lucky incident. The necromantic energy seeped into the body quite readily, a plan forming within the Lich King's vast consciousness. He would make this body into one of his Death Knights, the one who would be delivering His Will upon the living…

Alright, I hope that worked as an intro! Give me reviews to give your opinion on what you think of this idea!

10 Reviews would make me really happy!

For the Record: Harry has some limited free will, but is loyal to the Lich King. It will be delved upon in the 3rd chapter.