Welcome, dear readers, to "Dead Wizard Walking". This story is a crossover between 'Harry Potter' and the game 'Shadows: Heretic Kingdom', and starts in Hogwarts at the end of Harry's first year. There will be no bashing, and (for now) no pairing.

I hope you'll have a good time reading this.

Dead Wizard Walking - Book I: What Makes A Soul

Albus Dumbledore was running around his school's corridors as fast as his poor choice in clothing was making possible. Old-fashioned wizards robes just weren't cut for a marathon, and proved it by restraining every single step taken by the headmaster. Levitating down the trap-door and passing the several trial rooms in a row was just as difficult for him.

Had he wear something else, anything else, he perhaps may have made it in time to save the one boy the Wizardry World's future rested upon.

He hadn't.

Dissipating the flames and entering the room, Albus immediately focused his attention on the boy's body. And like that, he knew. The peaceful expression was too peaceful, the muscle way too relaxed...

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and child of the prophecy, was dead.

- DWW -

When Harry Potter regained consciousness, he couldn't trust what he saw.

Darkness.

Or at least, something close-by. Several tones of blue, purple and black were mixing, casting the world in an unhealthy glow.

He rose from his crouching position and looked around him, confirming that he was still in the room where sat the Mirror of Erised, said artifact glowing in the same supernatural spectrum. Magical child or not, Harry was pretty sure that seeing things in such colors couldn't possibly be natural, nor good for him in any way.

Something had to have gone terribly wrong during his fight with Quirell. Well, sort of fight. He had just grabbed the man, turning him to ashes in a matter of seconds with some unknown ability. Then that shadow had went through him and…

"Wait, that's it, the shadow. It must have been a trick of Voldemort, a curse or something."

"Well thought, boy. Though thou are wrong."

Harry turned around, coming face to face with… something.

The creature was looking like a half-finished armored skeleton. It had no neck, no waist and no legs, those last parts replaced by what resembled an opened and half-done robe made out of the same bone-like structure composing the rest of its body. The interior of said body was inhabited by a blue flame-like energy, projecting vicious shadows from and on the creature. As for the head, from where originated the deep guttural voice he had heard, he couldn't figure out it's shape, covered as it was by a giant bird's skull.

"Thou aren't cursed, but dead."

"Dead? I can't be dead." replied Harry.

"And yet, thou are. Thy soul has been forced out of thy body by a wraith and sent to the Shadow." it said casually.

No. Way.

There was just no way in hell that he could be … well, dead. Not like that, not when he had just found friends, not after finding a home, and definitely not because of something as stupid as this … Right?

But being dead would explain the whole "neon-world" thingy… probably. What it would explain without a doubt was that weird realization he had just had, that he hadn't breathed even once since regaining consciousness.

…

So that was it?

…

He was dead?

…

Just like that?

…

"Well, F# %!"

- DWW -

The creature stayed stoic when the young wizard vented his frustration and anger, in a seemingly endless string of swear words that no eleven years old should know, was it not for the joys of boarding schools. Dying was hard for the livings, he had come to understand and somehow respect that, before, in another time. Besides, time meant nothing for one like himself. And so he waited…

Until he felt a tingle around his neck. The old fool was being impatient and playing with his leach. Damn that old man to oblivion for what he had done.

Reluctantly, he floated to the boy and interrupted his ranting.

"Thou hast yelled long enough. Cometh boy, we have much to do."

- DWW -

The voice totally startled Harry.

"What the? Oh, right, you're here."

The… thing was so quiet that he had forget him … it … whatever.

"What did you said?"

"Thoo must join me." replied the entity, more forcefully.

Join him? What for? What was he anyway?

"Excuse me but… are you a Grim Reaper?"

Hey, if he was dead, that was the most logical explanation to the presence of this being. He had come to collect his soul and escort it to the afterlife.

"Don't comparest me to those weak beings. I am a Devourer."

"Oh, sorry then."

He truly was, even if he had no idea why. Still, he had mistaken that thing for another and it was apparently an insult, so he just had to apologize.

"What's a Devourer?" he asked a little more warily, as the name sounded sinister. That the creature was speaking what sounded like Middle English wasn't helping either, as its voice and tone were as menacing as that name.

As only answer, he saw the bird mask lift slightly and a lower-jaw entered his field of vision, as this same vision started to become blurry.

Harry felt like his body was being consumed by a raging inferno, before melting away. He saw the open mouth come down on him and then… nothing.

- DWW -

Harry blinked.

Then he blinked again.

Okay, he had heard somewhere that third time was the charm. Surely it would do it.

Aaaand nope, he was still seeing the infirmary's ceiling, without the funny colors. But he couldn't be in the infirmary. He was on the third floor, plus he was dead. There was just nothing that Madam Pomfrey could do, unless she truly was an evil necromancer like he had heard from some six years.

He glanced around the room. There were flowers, some wrapped gifts, and no sign of any blue or purple outline around anything. Oh yeah, and he was breathing.

So the colors, him being dead, that devourer thing… could it had been nothing but a dream?

A second passed, then a few dozens.

Harry started to laugh. He was alive and somehow surrounded by gifts, life just couldn't get any better.

"What are thou doing, boy? Hath thou lost thee mind?"

But it could get so much worst. Those few words had shattered his joy as surely as a lifetime jail sentence alongside his cousin Dudley.

Harry screamed.

"Harry!"

And screamed.

"Harry!"

And screamed some more.

"HARRY!"

The headmaster shaking him and yelling in his face managed to get through to him, barely. Getting out of his panic attack, the boy threw himself at the old wizard and started to cry in his beard.

All the while, he was muttering "Dead… I'm dead..."

The wizard let him cry for some time, before taking the boy's shoulders and extracting him out of his beard. He looked Harry in the eyes and calmly said "And yet, you're here."

That surely lightened a little something in the poor boy's eyes.

"I… I am. But how?"

"Because I brought thee back."

Harry flinched.

The headmaster saw it and gave him a faint smile.

"He's talking to you, isn't he?"

Harry nodded weakly.

"What is he? Some kind of ghost?"

The headmaster smile wavered a little.

"You are close enough, Devourers are high-ranking demons living in Shadow."

"Shadow? Is that this weird neon place I saw?"

Albus chuckle. Only this boy could oversee the whole demon business and jump straight on Shadow while making it sound like a nightclub. How Albus Dumbledore knew what were nightclub was better left unsaid.

"I've never heard anyone describing it as neon, but yes, it is."

"Wait, you said he's a demon?"

"Sadly yes, but you don't have to worry about him, he has no control over you."

"That is what thou thinkest, foolish wizard." said the Devourer in an even deeper voice. "This boy is dead and thus rightfully mine."

Harry's brain was turning a little faster than what it was used to. He was dead, yet he wasn't. The Devourer was apparently somewhere in him and had just called for possession over him.

"Is it… is it true then? Am I truly dead?"

Albus sighted. He wasn't payed enough to announce this kind of thing to a child, no matter who that child was.

"You are, in a way."

That answer only got him a raised eyebrow.

"Why 'In a way'? Did that thing brought me back to life?"

"Again, yes and no. Harry Potter did died in that room, but his soul lingered in Shadows. It allows the Devourer to find and assimilate it, so that you could take his place. Through the Devourer's influence, Harry Potter became what's know as a Puppet. You've both ceased to exist as individual entities and became something part-human and part-Devourer, two souls sharing minds and bodies."

Harry's mouth opened wide.

"I'm a zombie."

"Not quite my boy, you're very much alive and perfectly healthy. You're merely cohabiting with a demon. That's precisely why calling him was better than any other solution."

"Calling him? YOU CALLED THAT THING?"

"I'm ashamed to say that I did."

Harry's vision of the headmaster took a good shot. The man he was starting to see as a grandfather of sort had made him into this.

"But… why?"

"You had to live, for all of our sakes. I wasn't planning on bothering you with those details, for they would have ruin your childhood, but given the circumstances..."

The man's voice was dead and he was looking more than a little frightened. He took a deep breath and spurred those dreaded words.

"Prior to your birth, a prophecy was made. It stated that a child would be the downfall of the Dark Lord Voldemort. And you were, on that fateful night years ago. But as you've seen, Voldemort took many precautions and is far from being gone. It's for that reason that you, Harry Potter, are still the only one capable of bringing him down. With you dead, Voldemort would have been unstoppable and the Wizardry World would have fallen. So yes, I called the Devourer, because sometimes, the sake of many is greater that the sake of one."

Harry sat back on his bed and his eyes glassed over for a few seconds. Well, more like a few minutes, but that was a hell of a lot to process.

A prophecy? Someone, someday, had predicted that this would happen and that HE would have to take a stand? That he would stop Voldemor? Somehow?

But how could he? He was a boy, just a boy. How could he face a grown wizard, a dark one to boot?

He wanted to cry, to yell, to flee and hide far away. But above all, he wanted to curse the headmaster into the next century. The man intentionally had hidden this for almost a year, and turned him into a living dead.

Albus sat in front of the silent boy. The next part of his explanation was going to be difficult and he truly was getting too old for this kind of things, but it would definitely relieve Harry of some of this building up anxiety. He decided that a picture was worth a thousand words and put his hand inside his robe's pocket, retrieving an object. The blood red Sorcerer's Stone soon shined in the light, forcing Harry to blink and come back to the present.

"Now, if you're afraid about the demon controlling you, know that it would indeed have been a true problem if not for this."

Despite the Devourer sudden grumble, Harry kept quiet, waiting for what was to come.

"Devourers are usually the dominant force in this kind of relationship, capable of handing or taking over their puppet's control at will. Thankfully, the stone can be used as a focus to actively repulse the demon, and its elixir, though inefficient in reviving you as a human, was perfectly suited to act as a soul anchor for this form. It helped stabilized you, making your soul slightly more powerful than it was supposed to be and giving you full control. The Devourer will still remain, but you'll get to stay true to who you truly are."

Harry fell down on his mattress and laughed, looking at the ceiling. It was definitely not a happy laugh, it sounded of sorrow and uncertainty.

"Who I am? I don't even know anymore."

Albus used his best grandfatherly voice to answer.

"You are Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, first year Gryffindor and Seeker for his House's Quiddich team, friend of Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom and one Hermione Granger. No matter what happen, you must never forget that."

That night, Harry's body shook for hours as he cried himself to sleep.

- DWW -

When morning arose, Harry spent a good amount of time thinking of this new development in his life, or afterlife apparently.

His first year was almost done, which was a good thing. He also had killed a teacher (possessed maybe, but a teacher nonetheless) with his bare hands. How, he hadn't the slightest idea.

"It looked like an Incineration."

The voice took him by surprise and he jumped gracefully.

Oh yeah, he couldn't blamed Quirell anymore, since he was himself living with a soul-eating demon.

"A what?"

"Incineration, a defensive contact spell favored by The Daughter of Fire."

"Who was she?" asked Harry with genuine curiosity. The demon had sounded almost proud for a moment.

The Devourer kept silent, reminding of another time, in another place. Working with Evia Garulian had been eventful but… he had gained much.

"She was another soul I lived with, long ago… Thee remindest me of her, boy."

"Really?"

"Thou art as foolish and hot-headed as her."

And now he sounded smug.

Harry decided to ignore him and went back to his thoughts. He was somehow destined to stop Voldemort, which would be a hell of a task. The good point was that he was aware of it and would have time to train.

The final thought he had was that he was slowly starting to hate a certain old wizard. Albus Dumbledore had turned him into a sort of schizophrenic undead for the sake of the world. Oh he got it, truly, he did. Had he been aware of that damn prophecy sooner, he would have volunteered anyway. But being lied to because it would have 'ruined his childhood' was like a bittersweet symphony to him. He never had a real childhood, it wasn't like it would have made a difference anyway.

He got out of his day dream upon hearing the smooth voice of the nurse, Mme Pomfrey.

"No, no and no."

Okay, so there was no smoothness in her voice. In fact, it appears that she was yelling.

"M. Potter needs rest and can't receive visitors."

"But you let Professor Dumbledore see him yesterday." argued the small feminine voice of one Hermione Granger.

"He IS the headmaster, that is quite different."

"But..." tried one Ron Weasley.

"I'm fine Madam Pomfrey, I can see them." said Harry, leaning toward the door.

The medi-witch seemed to put her patient's safety above her need to forbade visitors, as she rushed to his side without caring for the two students who were following her.

"That is not for you to decide, Mister Potter. It is good that you're awake, but such deep weariness doesn't get away in a night, you have to rest properly."

"It does for us." provided the Devourer, much to Harry's surprise.

The woman grabbed her wand and did several scans, before nodding approvingly.

"You appear to be fine so I'll allow yours friends to stay for five minutes. But five minutes only."

"Yes mam, thank you."

She smiled before returning to her office, leaving the friends together. Perhaps her reputation wasn't deserved in the end.

"Oh, Harry, we were so worried when the headmaster forbade us to see you."

"He did?"

What an old bastard.

"Yes, he said it wasn't safe." said Ron.

Well, it was to protect them… maybe it truly wasn't safe yet.

"When was it?"

"Yesterday, after he went in the chamber to help you."

When he had still be dead, before the Devourer had swallowed his soul. Dumbledore was right, it wouldn't have been good for his friends to see his body.

"He did well."

"Why? Were you cursed or something?"

"Yeah… something."

"But you're fine now, right?"

"I am, Hermione."

"We both are." added the demon, apparently fond of ill-timed comments.

"I am" repeated Harry.