The room shook with the force of all the shouts of outrage and passion and desperation as the messily arranged group of Weapons and Meisters clambered over each other to reach the central podium where Death stood, quiet and regal in the face of their horrified panic. He towered a good three heads above the writhing mass of students and worried staff, watching keenly and a bit tiredly for anyone to move and calm the wild crowd down. Several students lingered at the fringes of the mesh of people, an odd clump of friends that dallied against the courtyard wall in the shadows utterly silent save for the furious whispers they traded among themselves. A loud shout of anguish and despair as the Meister Blackstar, a stocky, blue-haired teen with a round face and loud voice reluctantly recalled the details of his failure. Death sighed at the girl opposite him's face. She was skinny and lithe and her round olive face was twisted in frustration. The children around her murmured words of shared anger, resolution and comfort.
Maka was always quick to anger, proud and fearless and self-assured, mostly, and if Death listened to the utter drivel that the total idiot that was his Death Scythe spewed like a business campaign, absolutely perfect in each and every way. Not true of course, she was as flawed as she was otherwise, but Maka was talented, very talented and she and Soul were strong together, almost inseparable, and the battles they fought were breathtaking. He had high hopes for the twig-like , twin-tailed girl, once she loosened up and relaxed, after all, she was a fellow Scythe-Meister.
He regretted sending her and her friends off to protect what he should have been able to keep a secret, locked deep beneath the school and sealed in the darkest corners of the basement-like catacombs that laced the foundation of the DWMA like a sewer. But they were among the strongest students in the school. They had, at one point, been but a soul away from Soul, Maka's Scythe, becoming one of his own personal weapons, which would have been exciting to say the least. It was no secret how opinionated Soul could be, especially with Maka fuming on his back, and brandishing one of her heavy-set text-books.
The were children still. Maka was fond of being in charge, of planning things out to the smallest of details, and of keeping every situation under control. Soul liked to fight and fight and fight, to be cool, and do whatever it was he wanted to do at the time, and drop everything else unless someone had a gun to his back, or, in Maka's case, a book to his head. Blackstar loved being the center of attention, being and bright and the very best, while Subaki liked to follow, help and support.
No, they were far from being polished. Death needed someone who wasn't young and stupid and ( probably ) in love. He needed someone who could stare death in the face and laugh, someone who could look at a map and say, " There he is", someone who could take charge, command, endear himself to the masses, and lead the battle to victory with nary a doubt towards loss; and there was only one person who could do that. Only one person who could outshine even his little ducklings of the academy, who could beat him on the battle field and save the world in the process.
" EVERYBODY, STOP."
The crowd stilled with an audible gulp of shouts and angry roars being swallowed hastily. Death peered at the ensuing nervous stillness with a sort of curious bemusement, before "hmmm"-ing his approval rather noisily.
" I believe it it time, " he began loudly, clearing his throat and speaking above the renewed whispers that ripped through the shuddering crowd, " -I believe it is time you all learn of the truth."
Wide, innocent eyes turned his way with bated breath, foreheads crinkled in confusion and bodies taught with excited and wary tension.
" It is no longer looming on the horizon, this is here and this now, this is all of you, students and staff of the DWMA and me, will be at war." The crowd once more erupted into noisy jeers and calls from the silence.
" Silence!" silence fell, " This is a war. A war between us-"Death gestured grandly with one overly-large white hand, in one sweeping arc across the courtyard, eyeing the still figures of Maka, Soul, Blackstar, Crona, and Subaki and noting the light of trepidation in Crona's pale, jaded and nervous eyes, and the fierceness shining from the others." -and the Kishin. He will not be alone, he will battle alongside the Witches and together they will seek to destroy us all… But that's fine, because we are not alone, either. Alone we would fail-"
Cries of outrage rose like the roar of the ocean from the crowd.
" No! It is true, so shut up, all of you." Daeth frowned, pouting in annoyance as he waited for the hissing and muttering to die down, " I have brought you here not to hear you whine. You can do that amongst yourselves. No I have brought you here to meet a colleage of mine, and a dear old friend."
How untrue that was. The man was utterly astounding on the field, many agreed with him on that, but outside he was unbearably gloomy and awkward and vehement. Death couldn't count the number of times the dark-haired boy had slammed him into a wall in a fit of rage triggered, seemingly, from the use of his name, the use of his title, or, oddly enough, the endearing sight of Deaths mask. Death had watched him burst in silent tears when certain songs were played or certain names called, or book-titles read, or favors asked. Creepiest of all was when the boy grinned, which should be never, he was much too pale and gaunt for something so human as GRINNING.
" His name is…"
Silence. The wind blowing through the hushed mashes. The eerie screech of failing machinery as the cogs in Death's brain slowed to a violent stop. Name?… He had a name.
" His name is…."
Again the baited breath. A slight tap on the head, closing his 'eyes' didn't work, sodding, shaking his head no…. Nothing. No name. Nada. Information never uploaded.
" Harry." It wasn't death that spoke, the voice was deeper, rougher, rounder, and younger all in one, and it emanated somewhat amusedly from behind Lord Death thin back. The aura of the voice was unmistakable, bright and stinging and hot like summer and earl grey tea. Death hadn't noticed him arrive.
" Oh, thank you. I always seem to forget. It is quite normal though, isn't it… Forgettable."
" I wouldn't know, I've always remembered it myself. Never got around to changing it."
Death sighed and, reluctantly, turned to face the slip of a man standing behind him.
" Such a shame, you are rather pretty-"
Bright emerald eyes glimmered nastily at him and the polite, tired smile ghosted across his pale, drawn features for but an instant before being swallowed by the shadows of his dark, scraggly black hair. The man slouched in his baggy shirt and ripped jeans, having appeared silently, or, semi-silently, behind Death the moment the tall, black-robed Meister had conjured an image of him in his head, looking tired and out of place in the middle of the gathering of tense, wide-eyed, gaping-mouthed students ( and staff ). He looked no older than seventeen.
" -Master."
The bow was low and sweeping, the tip of Deaths elbow brushing the floor at his Masters feet for a single instant before Harry's warm white hand was pressed on his shoulder with a sigh of aknoledgement. Death sprang back up, intent on ignoring the yawning figure behind him in favor of his cute, cute students. His cute, cute student who were staring at him in shock and astonishment, jaws slack in amazement and silent for the entire, confusing exchange.
" WHO THE HELL IS THIS BASTARD?!" It was, predictably, an infuriated Blackstar, his eyes narrowed suspiciously and finger pointed accusingly at Harry's lounging silhouette. Death took the opportunity, however to sweep to the side, hands out as if showing off a flashy piece of jewelry.
" This, my dear staff and academy student, is our very own wizard, our soldier extrordanaire and- " unfortunately, "- the one and only, Master of Death."