Welcome, dear readers, to "What Roams The Night", the second book of Dead Wizard Walking.
This story is a crossover between 'Harry Potter' and the game 'Shadows: Heretic Kingdom', that didn't changed. There will be any bashing, and (for now) no pairing.
I hope you'll enjoy this.
Dead Wizard Walking - Book II: What Roams The Night
For a formerly young wizard, now dead and resurrected as a Puppet, life was good.
All pink, and fluffy, and stuff.
In fact, so was the afterlife, expect that instead of pink, the whole thing was blue, sometimes green, and always very neon-like.
Harry Potter, or rather what was left of said boy, had just turned thirteen. He was currently enjoying his birthday just like he'd done his first deathday, on June the 4th. At midnight sharp, he'd let the demon sharing his soul loose, choosing to take a 24-hour-long nap away from everything.
With the Devourer in control, busying himself with the skinning of smaller demons, Harry was but a soul and essentially completely dead, thus no longer walking the physical world. Sure, being nothing more than a consciousness had taken some getting used to at first, but he'd had a whole year to manage and was more than fine with being in the passenger seat. In fact, he even had a comrade-in-arms in the form of Slytherin's pet Basilisk, the third part of the complex being that they now were.
The reptile, when he wasn't slithering around the countryside and swallowing rodents or other furry creatures, was a professional napper with a record of ten days, seven hours and thirty-two minutes of sleep, straight. It was humbling.
But if there was one thing the snake definitely wasn't, it was a conversationalist. He had a weird snake-oriented vocabulary and few subjects ever interested him, subjects including but not limited to the last meal he'd had and the next one he'd take.
That was fine with Harry. He wasn't here to talk with the Devourer, nor the Basilisk. He was here to get a well deserved rest.
He closed his momentarily non-existent eyelids with a thought and drifted in a dreamless slumber.
Unknown to him, three owls had recently entered his very bedroom. They were carrying presents and news from his friends, as well as the necessary material for the upcoming year.
Even more unknown to Harry, the Daily Prophet article contained in one of his letter would be the direct trigger of a chain of event resulting in world-shattering changes in his life.
- DWW -
Policemen all around the word shared one very specific thing… their careers were made of highs and lows.
Sometimes they were on a rush, arresting right and left, stopping terrorists, saving innocents… and sometimes they became a disturbance in their colleagues' work, ending up with desk work in an obscure service lost somewhere in the countryside to avoid causing others further embarrassment.
But in the magical world, things had to be done in style. Thus when an Auror was assigned to desk work, he ended up guarding Azkaban.
That assignment was a living hell. You were in a dreadful place where the sun never shined and thermometers never crossed the minus six degrees Celsius threshold, isolated from pretty much everything but psychopathic criminals and soul-sucking demons, demons who did their job of sapping one's moral and happiness without discriminating, which meant that guards were just as affected by the gloomy cold and nightmare-inducing memory fog as the prisoners.
"He's in Hogwarts… Hogwarts… he's in Hogwarts..."
Add to this the constant babbles of some of the residents, and you had one hellish little siding for incompetent or disobeying recruits.
"Hogwarts..."
- DWW -
For what felt like the hundred time in seven days, Harry sighed loudly.
His 24h-long nap had been wonderful, but the news he'd found out when he had awaken from it had pretty much shattered his satisfaction.
Marge Dursley, the sadistic baboon of a woman with an unhealthy animal fetish and that he had the pleasure of calling his aunt, had come to the Dursley's. Worst, it wasn't merely a "Hi, how are you? Fine? Excellent, see you later." type of visit, she was here to stay.
His initial answer to that would have been to swear profusely and go back to his nap. Maybe let the Basilisk in control to sooth his nerves by maiming little furry animals.
He'd just sighed and returned to his room to open his friends' birthday presents, there was simply nothing he could gain from acting like that. Well, except for soothed nerves.
It was now August the 6th and dear Aunt Marge was once again badmouthing his parents, calling them drunks and good-for-nothings hippies.
It was sad, really. The Dursley had given up trying to make him react long ago... the woman just wouldn't learn. The wizard just sighed again, marveling at his own ability to remain calm.
A few weeks before, he would have let the Basilisk eat her annoying dog. However, on his first deathday, Harry had made himself a promise.
The previous year had been full of anger, trust-issues and quick-tempered reactions. It had been disastrous. According to the Devourer, he'd made a transfer of sort, blaming others for his fate.
But his fate was gone now, Dumbledore was sure of that. The Horcrux in Harry had been consumed, the prophecy had become null and void, and Voldemort – or Tommy-boy, as he liked to call him now – killable by pretty much anybody. Harry wasn't stupid enough to believe that Tommy had only made two of the damn things, but Dumbledore could most certainly find them by himself, and having the Devourer eat them would be more of a game than anything.
As far as he was concerned, Harry was done, thank you very much.
…
Ha, who was he kidding, it wasn't over, not by a long shot. The bad guys didn't know any of this, and they would be after his hide soon enough.
But in the meantime and despite the intense training he would absolutely need to do, he would still try to enjoy his youth as much as possible, and that meant not being bothered by unimportant things.
His dear old aunt was so beyond unimportant it wasn't even funny.
"– in a car crash, like the drunkards they were. They died and left their burden of a son to respectable diligent peoples who didn't deserved any of it. You're a nuisance and –"
He'd heard it all before.
Harry was about to sigh again when a thought it him.
'Why am I still here?'
Seriously, why did he bother with them? The Dursley avoided him like the plague for nothing else than his 'I don't care' attitude, Marge was just a big hump of nothing. The so-called blood-wards around the house even had had more than enough time to recharge, if Dumbledore's estimations were correct. So what was he still doing there?
A small smile slowly made its way to his face.
He was done sighing.
"You know Aunt Marge, you're perfectly right."
That rose quit a number of eyebrows. Mostly because he'd remained silent for hours on hand until this.
"I've intruded in this house for too long now, you made me realize this. Thank you, you opened my eyes. Now I'll retrieve my stuff and leave. Have a nice evening, and don't bother, I know the way."
When Harry exited the house and summoned the Knight Bus five minutes later, his relatives were still gobsmacked and petrified in an almost comical setting.
- DWW -
Sirius growled, his canine body tense.
Harry had just entered the bus and disappeared in the distance, probably going to Diagon Alley. Pettigrew wouldn't do anything with so many witnesses around, his godson would be safe there…
Except that he wouldn't be. Not as long as that… thing kept following him.
The Black heir had been capable of seeing his kind ever since he'd completed his animagus training. Humanoids shadows passing by at first, they had slowly started to gain consistence. Fearing unexpected side-effects, he'd buried himself in dusty books and obscures grimoires, borrowing James' cloak for days to explore the restricted section. What he'd discovered had freaked him so much that he'd never talked about it. Ever. To anyone.
Those things were soul-eating demons, residing in a transitory dimension between their own and whatever place the dead went to. They were thankfully harmless to humans, living ones at least. But with his new form being a Grim, a deathbringer dog, Sirius now had a paw in that dimension and could interact with it, if he ever dared going against demons.
He'd never dared to.
Before today, that is. One of those things was following Harry around, and he would gladly fight hell itself to keep his godson safe.
The animagus growled in anger and disappeared in the night.
- DWW -
Harry didn't know what to think of his present situation.
The Knight Bus had been one hell of a bumpy ride, and he'd almost threw up when the thing had stopped. Good thing he hadn't, since he'd been dropped right in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and Tom wouldn't have liked to have his door desecrated.
Harry had then rented a room and gone straight to bed, skipping dinner. It had been a pretty eventful evening, and he wanted nothing more that to nap til morning.
Sadly, it wasn't meant to be.
Instead, he'd been disturbed by Minister Fudge pounding on his door.
Apparently, the man had asked to be called immediately by any shopkeeper who would happen to see Harry around. What the man could possibly want with him was a mystery, he hadn't done anything that could warrant a ministry intervention.
Despite his quite unclear motivation, Fudge had been polite enough and mostly asked questions about Harry's intentions regarding the upcoming Christmas and Easter holidays. Satisfied with "I'll just stay in Hogwarts, Minister.", he had said his goodbye and advised him to stay out of trouble.
The young wizard had ignored the nagging feeling – he just called it the Devourer – that wanted him to ask what was up with all those considerations, and just hurried to thank the man. A shacked hand later, Fudge was gone and Harry was back to bed.
Fifteen minutes, that's the only shuteye he got before his door was violently opened.
Here he was now, facing a growling, barking, snarling black dog. He didn't know how the beast had entered the pub, or what it was doing in his room. It probably was just his crappy luck manifesting itself again. He had escaped Marge and Ripper without enough drama, and this brand new dog was the Universe's way of saying 'You won't sleep tonight, deal with it'.
"Can thou kill the mutt?"
Harry rolled his eyes. Trust the Devourer to have refined methods for every problem.
"Why should I?" he asked in return.
Under other circumstances, he would have refrain from talking out loud, but he was in an isolated motel room with nothing but a dog and his trusty owl. Nobody was around to question his sanity.
"It's annoying."
"Can't argue with that, but I'll stun him if you don't mind. He's just a stray dog, not a rabid wolf after my hide."
"Thou are too kind."
"And you're too bloodthirsty."
[Can I eat it?]
The Basilisk was joining the insanity now.
Great, just great.
[No, you can't eat it.]
[But it's noisy.]
[I'll take care of it.]
The wizard grabbed his wand from under his pillow and leveled it on the dog. As a stunning curse was about to escape his lips, he remarked that the rabid beast wasn't so rabid anymore. The dog had fallen silent and was looking at him intensely.
No, not at him.
It was looking right behind him. But at what, and why?
"Huh… what are you looking at?"
It wouldn't hurt to ask, right?
The dog's eyes narrowed slightly and he made a slow pointing motion toward the wall with his snout, a slight growl punctuating the motion.
Harry warily looked behind his shoulder, his wand still firmly gripped in his hand. He really wanted to see what was putting the animal in such bad mood, but was still a little reluctant to turn his back to what could possibly be a feral beast.
No, nothing there. Just a wall, and a stained one at that.
He turned back to the dog and was happy to find him in the same position. He was still growling, but at least he hadn't attacked.
"Something wrong with the wall?"
Great, now he was hallucinating. For a split second, it had looked like that dog had shaken his head.
"You… you can understand me?"
A bark and a nod.
Okay, that scene was completely surreal.
"Right, you're a clever dog… so, what are you're looking at?"
More growling, another pointed snout.
Harry began to wonder if that dog could perhaps…
"There's something behind me?"
Bark, it probably meant yes.
"Something I can't see?"
Another bark, it had to be a yes.
"A big blue thing, with claws and a nasty look?"
Three barks, definitely a yes.
According to some scientists, animals were more attuned with the supernatural. It had just been proved to be true. Harry repressed a sigh and lowered his wand.
The dog was growling at a ghostly Devourer. The demon wasn't really standing behind him, for as long as Harry was out, he or the Basilisk just didn't exist anymore, but if the dog was to be trusted, a sort of afterimage lingered, a mirage.
"Don't worry buddy, he's not really here." he said.
The dog's head inched to the side, tongue out. His perplexity was evident.
"The Devourer isn't like us, he's not really alive. He's not even in this world, merely stuck in Shadows. He can't reach you, and he can't hurt you."
A hesitant nod. The dog looked just as afraid, but a little more accepting. He took a few step forward, coming closer to the wizard, and whined softly.
"You're worried about me?"
It wasn't a bark, more like a whimper, but it still felt like a yes.
The wizard laughed loudly. The dog did the canine equivalent of raising an eyebrow and Harry hurried to explain, stroking the beast's fur.
"Thank you, little guy, but I don't need any help. The Devourer can't do anything, Albus made sure of that."
Was that a spark of recognition he'd seen in those eyes? Did that dog somehow knew Albus? Frankly, after the day he'd just had, it wouldn't be surprising anymore.
"You know Albus? Albus Dumbledore?"
The dog barked happily, tail waging.
"Of course you know him… this day's becoming weirder by the minute. Anyway, ever heard of the philosopher stone?"
Another bark, though a more inquisitive one. How a dog could possibly know what a philosopher stone was was left unsaid.
"In my first year, he had one in Hogwarts. It was a trap to lure Tommy-boy out." explained Harry. "Ever heard of him? He also goes by Voldemort, but I'm more partial to Moldyshorts."
This got an unexpected reaction from the dog, and Harry briefly wondered if that awful night wasn't worth it just for this. Truly, a dog rolling around the floor, laughing his head off, was a sight to see.
Once the dog had calmed down, he returned to the boy's side and gently bumped him with his head. He wanted to know how that story ended.
"So, we have a treasure and a villain. Now we just miss a dumb hero. That would be me." said Harry, grinning. "My pals and I slowly got around the stone's protections, but Ron was hurt by a giant chess piece. Hermione stayed by his side to warn a teacher, and dumb old me charged ahead to face the evil potion master who turned out to be innocent. Instead, I met the Defense teacher, Quirell, with a shade of Moldyshorts sticking out of his head. He tried to kill me, I killed him, and the ghost passed through me when it fled away. I died on the spot."
The dog let out a mix of a whimper of incomprehension and a howl of anguish that left Harry with the desire to reassure him with a big hug.
"There, there… don't cry buddy. I got better. See, perfectly fine."
It seemed to work, as the howl ceased and a perplexed whine took its place.
"Yeah, I don't look much dead, do I? The exact process is rather complicated, but let's just say that Albus found me and bonded the Devourer to keep me around."
That caused a new set of growls. The headmaster had just made a new enemy.
Harry ignored the Devourer's "You're welcome." and poked the dog on the nose, giving him a stern look.
"No growling at Albus. Yes, he deserves it, but he's looking after me, even if it's partly out of guilt for what he did. He used the stone to give me the upper hand, so that I don't have to let the Devourer out if I don't want to, and he helped with the Basilisk. He exceeded his rights when he resurrected me, but still, he saved me. I can't resent him for that, and you shouldn't either."
The dog harrumphed softly. He appeared to understand, but wasn't happy about it.
"Now that you're reassured, can I go back to sleep?" finally asked Harry, part amused at the beast's concern and part annoyed at the fact that he wasn't in bed yet.
He received a wet tongue on the cheek as only answer, and assumed it was a confirmation.
"Goodnight then. Please, don't drool on my stuff."
And without wasting another second, the young boy disappeared under his bedsheets.
- DWW -
Escaped convict Sirius Black, currently in his grim animagus form, was nervously pacing in his godson's room, his mind reeling at breakneck speeds.
So many incredible news had been dumped on him that he didn't know where to start. He needed to organize it, to make sense of this mess, but no matter what, he always came back to the central point, a point that anguished him so badly that he almost lost control of his transformation on several occasions.
Harry was dead.
Not dead per say… well, not anymore, but he had been. Moldyshorts – damn, he liked that nickname – had killed him more than a year ago. Then Albus had summoned a demon, a demon of all things, and used it to resurrect his godson.
With all the researches he'd done in his youth, he knew that Harry was truly alive. And at the same time, he wasn't. He may be closer to a human that the usual type of undead, Inferi… but it didn't change the fact that he wasn't human anymore, not really. He was a part, just a part of something bigger. Harry and the demon were now united as one, each only half of the resulting being.
It was mindblowing, and more than a little scary. If Prongs had been alive, he would probably kill him for allowing this to happen.
The dog growled slightly, shaking his head to chase away the thought.
It didn't matter, his godson was still himself and he had to look after him. Pettigrew was still out there, and he needed to be stopped. As to how he would do that, he wasn't entirely sure but an idea was starting to bloom in his mind.
Sending one last caring look to the kid's sleeping form, the animagus exited the room and hurried back into muggle London.
He had to visit an old friend.