Author's note
And now for our first venture into Crossover land. Can you guess what universe we have merged with.
For all the entries in Crossover land the focus shall of course remain on Harry and company as that is the point of the project. But I saw no reason not to throw in a few epilogue's that threw in characters from some of my other favorite books, movies, anime, etc.
Can you spot what universe we crossed this time. Tell me in the reviews.
End Author's note
...
The Lich King
Standing at the highest window of his tower the Lich King surveyed the writhing throng of flesh as it moved along. Undead they were though not of his making nor the makings of any mage. These were no inferi but creatures created by science gone horribly wrong or, in the Lich Kings opinion, just horribly out of control.
He watched as a handful of witches and wizards attempted to yield the advance, casting fire at the creatures as this was how inferi were dealt with but it did no good. These were not inferi and they had no fear of flame, nor anything else for that matter. The fools would be overrun soon enough and be either eaten or turned, in truth he didn't much care which.
"What are you watching?" asked a sweet elegant voice with a distinct French accent.
"Is it funny, or gory? Ooo, I hope it's both" said another voice, this one guttural with a distinct rasp.
"It is neither I'm afraid. Nothing but fools fires and zombies as far as the eye can see" he replied, continuing to watch despite the boredom in his tone.
"Oh, that's nice" said the sweet voice.
"Boring, we've seen it all before" complained the guttural voice.
"That we have" agreed the Lich King, "thus I suppose is the great curse of eternity. Boredom."
The guttural one snickered.
"You are most eloquent today my lord" said the other.
"Next you know you'll be talking in sonnets" quipped the guttural voice.
"Oh I don't know about sonnets, but perhaps a limerick or two" he said, turning away from the fight outside to the single woman in the room with him.
She was beautiful, the part that could be seen anyway. Half her face was covered with a white mask from forehead to chin, a stylized rose painted on the cheek. The other half was alabaster fair, beauty beyond the pale of common women. Her blonde hair was in two braids, one tied with a pair of angel wings, the other by a pair of tiny skeletal hands.
Her dress was a simple yet elegant affair done all in black and white. The top in white but trimmed in black, and the long flowing skirt in black but trimmed in white while a high collar that covered everything up to the mask was evenly split between black and white while trimmed in the opposing shade. Her appearance was a reflection of the duality of her personalities. Rose and Thorn as they liked to be called were among his most faithful subordinates and little surprise for it was he that had taken away their pain and given them their rebirth.
He reached out and stroked the Roses unmasked cheek. She leaned in to his touch, a look of bliss upon her face.
"You are looking especially beautiful today" he said.
"You're just trying to get in to our knickers now" said Thorn, even as the visible lips of Rose made no movement.
"It that an objection?" he asked playfully.
"Not at all" crooned Rose in a voice that sounded simply euphoric.
"Oh my, this looks terribly naughty" said a new voice, intruding on the scene.
"Go away Banshee" growled Thorn, "It was just getting good."
"I know, that's why I'm here" she said, her glowing ghostly form rising up through the floor, "by all means keep going, don't mind me" she said with an impish grin.
"My lord I, I can't…" said Rose plaintively.
"My delicate Rose" he said, "so very innocent, so very shy."
He placed a gentle kiss upon her cheek which made her blush, and then he withdrew to the window.
"Uugh, Rotten dirty little voyeur" groused Thorn which simply made Banshee titter.
Banshee, his other most faithful was a unique sort of undead, not truly a banshee, but a completely new sort of Spirit. She had been his very first creation, her body beyond repair he had been forced to seek other avenues. A ghost would simply not do, a mere echo of the person that once was and she deserved better than that. He had succeeded in creating the first magical ghost as all her magic remained with her in undeath, a feat no Necromancer on record had ever accomplished.
He watched the battle below as he listened to his two lieutenant's banter back and forth and couldn't repress a smile. When he had first made the jump to undeath it had been in a moment of weakness, an attempt to stop the nightmares that had plagued him since his final victory over his great enemy. Things then had been so different than now, in the midst of a zombie apocalypse, back before he truly understood the repercussions of being the master of death, back when he had still answered to the name Harry Potter.
…
After his own death and the following destruction of the most feared dark lord of their time Harry Potter hadn't really known what to do. How does one come to grips with coming back from the dead? He didn't know, and none of his so called friends had been terribly helpful. Ron who had the emotional depth of a teaspoon had been completely uninterested in his problem, being far more interested in getting into his girlfriend's knickers. Hermione had told him just to put it out of his mind and was much more concerned with things like keeping her boyfriend out of her knickers.
Luna had been honest with him, saying she really didn't know. She at least tried to listen to him but had very little to offer despite her own experiences with death. Her company became one the few he could tolerate after a while, but thanks to the efforts of the youngest Weasley it wasn't a company he was able to enjoy much. Ginny of course had been another problem, latching onto him like a leech and insisting the restart their relationship. He was not so enthusiastic, quite the opposite in fact he found himself completely unattracted to the girl.
Sitting alone in Grimmauld Place he came to the most likely conclusion for the complete turnaround in his views of the little Weasley. There was of course no way to prove she had potioned him but it hardly mattered, he simply made every effort to stay away from the possessive little psycho as possible. In point of fact he began avoiding most everyone after a while. It wasn't that he detested company but by then everyone was demanding to know what he planned to do next, and of course everyone had their own thoughts to offer/ shove down his throat.
It got so bad at points he almost wished he hadn't killed Kreature, the little monster. At least he would have been able to go out and fetch food and other such things. And without his wand what he could do with magic was limited, or so he had believed at the time, and who could blame him, he was a Hogwarts student after all.
One thing he had no shortage of however was booze. At some point, someone had filled the wine cellar with a wide assortment of liquors, everything from fire whiskey to French sounding wines to what he was fairly sure was a very large keg of mead. At any rate, since it was there he decided he should drink it, and thus began a rather dark period of his life that consisted of a great many drunken blackouts whilst bumping around Black Manor, hardly the safest place for such activities.
On top of all this of course were the nightmares. It became something of a game to see which liquor would help him sleep and which ones would just make the dreams worse. It was a crapshoot on the best of days as he didn't have the foggiest idea what most of them were and was usually too drunk to really pay attention.
Strangely enough, his drunken wandering often led him to the library where he would simply grab a book off the shelf and begin paging through. This was also usually the point he would black out, waking up either still in the chair, or passed out on the floor. He couldn't really remember what he'd read but at the time he really didn't care. The hangover would be setting in and that meant he needed to get some more alcohol into him.
Eventually one night it happened and he awoke the next morning stark naked in the middle of strange ritual circle. His mind for the first time in ages was clear of the haze that had clouded it and he could remember things with a startling clarity he had never before possessed. The answers as it happened lay in the book sitting in his usual reading chair, but one of countless tomes in the black library that had no title or author yet he knew what it was about. The book was a detailed overview of Necromancy, a sort of apprentices guide to the art.
The ritual he had performed on himself was a cleansing ritual usually performed on corpses before they were to be reanimated and it gave him chills to know that not only had he performed it on himself but it had worked perfectly. The haze of alcohol was gone as were all the usual aches and pains he associated with having grown up the way he had, and even his vision was clear, clearer than he could ever remember it being.
Not surprisingly he returned to the book and read it again, then went in search of others concerning the discipline. This then became his focus for several years and it was during this time he realized he had no need of a wand to do magic. It could be a help but it was not the least bit necessary. Over and over he cast off the shackles that had bound his mind and performed magic in ways the so called 'experts' claimed shouldn't be possible.
He also retrieved the other two hallows, summoning them with ease and keeping them with his cloak which he used with great frequency to escape his 'home' to retrieve the things he needed to survive, now that he wasn't existing on alcohol anymore. The longer he studied the undeath arts the more comfortable he became with his own condition till one day he came across a reference to the Master of Death that was not in a children's book.
Apparently the necromancers knew a great deal about the hallows in their day and Harry was more than a little frightened by what he learned. The artifacts were more than what they appeared and if used properly could in fact resurrect the dead and not in the fashion of undeath but actually reach beyond the veil and return the dead to life. This had been done once before and swiftly had gone out of control, Opening a portal into the realm of death itself they had released a plague that had wiped out countless numbers.
The Black Plague had been the result of this magic gone awry and the three artifacts had never been brought together again, their existence falling into obscurity and myth with the destruction of the Necromancers guild some hundred years later. Following this story was the recording of a prophecy concerning the master of death. He was horrified as he read of the day the dead would outnumber the living and rise up to cleanse the earth of the curse of life. Reading this he had thrown the book to the grounds and melted it with a powerful jet of acid.
In this state he was of no mind to work and so did something he did not often do. He sought out company, more specifically, company he could stand. He arrived at the Rook around mid-day hoping that Luna would be home. He thought nothing of seeing the door half open, it was not uncommon for Luna to do. He was absolutely shocked however when he found her body lying broken, beaten and, by the look of her cloths, raped on the floor.
He rushed to her side and begged she still be alive. She was but only barely. Throwing her in a powerful stasis spell he returned to Grimmauld Place and did everything he could to save her. Alas, it was not enough. Her body was too badly damaged from her ordeal for even the best Healer to repair but Harry swore he would not lose her.
For the first time since the cleansing ritual he practiced the necromantic arts on another person. Nothing existed in the tomes he had that would be suitable for his needs, her body was too damaged for any of that and the few spiritual type undead seemed so far removed from the quirky girl he knew he didn't even consider them. Instead he began the creation of a new undead, something mentioned in a few books but never before accomplished.
It took three days and three nights of constant work before the ritual was ready. He laid her body in the center of the circle, canceled the stasis spell and began. Her body burned to fine dust in moments but everything else remained, her spirit and her magic changing in such a way that they were all that was needed for her existence to continue. Luna Lovegood had become the first Magical Ghost.
She was confused at first but adapted to her new condition quickly. She told him of the men who had attacked her, old death eater supporters who didn't care for the things she was writing in the Quibbler. Harry was incensed and with Luna's help proceeded to hunt down the guilty parties and share with them his displeasure.
With each death he became more and more disgusted with humanity in general. The men who had attacked Luna were but a few among those he killed in this crusade. It was difficult to be restrained when he came across the filth that polluted the world with their bigotry and hate. He had never suspected that so many had supported his enemy. It was hardly any wonder why Voldemort had almost won.
Disillusioned with humanity, Harry returned to Grimmauld place with his quest completed and Luna at his side. She decided that since she had been reborn she should be renamed as well. She decided on the name Banshee as her voice had become the primary means with which she used her magic. Harry enjoyed the irony that the voice everyone had ignored could no longer be ignored.
Sick of people and all they represented he threw himself into the study of Necromancy with renewed vigor, forgetting all about the master of death and the prophecy he had read.
A decade past and that was when it began. The first reports of them were of an isolated incident in a place called Raccoon city. He watched the newscast on a TV in a window and chuckled. So it has begun he had thought. That night he put the final touches on a new ritual and made his own jump to undeath, choosing to become a Lich, the first and truest magical undead. His skin turned gray and his hair white but he was otherwise left the same and would remain so forever.
It was a simple thing to cast an illusion when he wanted to go out and he did so with greater frequency as the sightings of undead grew in the America's. He couldn't hide his grin when he saw the first report of sightings in other countries. Germany was the first, and then France, Italy, and Jolly old England were soon to follow.
These undead, these creations of science were like nothing described in any of his research and it took him three test subjects and a full week to fully document everything worth documenting, including the necessary spell to take control of them, the usual ones having absolutely no effect.
As the incursions grew and the hordes grew the magical population finally decided to get involved. Sadly it was the Order of the Phoenix all over again, quickly assembled groups of well-meaning but mostly untrained magicals that were mostly worthless in a fight, particularly against an enemy that did not fear, anything.
It was around this time that Harry heard through the grapevine about the injury of Fleur Weasley, by her own husband no less. The details were sketchy and he couldn't help but be curious so he went to Saint Mungo's where she was being treated for a visit. The Healer on duty tried to shoo him out but a mild compulsion and she completely forgot he was there.
Fleur was screened off from the rest of the patients in the ward and the moment he saw her he understood why. Half her face was nothing more than a massive painful looking burn which extended down her neck and under the sheet. According to the chart most of the left half of her body had been burned by a misaimed fire spell cast by William Weasley who had died in the attack.
Upon waking, she looked at him for a moment in confusion before her mind put a name to the face.
"Well well well, look who it is" she said in a sarcastic rasping voice.
"Ello Arry" she then said in a voice more reminiscent of the one he knew.
"Hello Fleur" he said, "How are you."
"A perfect example of a stupid question" she rasped.
"I ave been better" she said.
Harry simply nodded and sat down beside her bed.
"Did they tell you about Bill?" he asked.
"No" growled the raspy voice.
"But they did not ave to, It was only by chance that I did not die with him" said the sweet voice.
"They came at us like a swarm of rats, hideous, horrifying, we all panicked" she rasped ruefully.
"William tried to fend them off with fire but it wasn't working. He started spraying it around in a frenzy, he must not have seen me" she said, tears beginning to fall from her good eye.
"I saw the one that tackled him take a chunk out of his neck before I tripped on that trash bin. Something must have set off my portkey because when I woke up, I was here and screaming my lungs out" said the raspy voice.
"There is nothing they can do?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Non" she said.
"But it doesn't stop the bastards from keeping me alive" she snarled.
"Arry" she said plaintively, reaching her burnt hand from beneath the covers and reaching for him.
He could see the motion pained her and he took her hand in his without even the slightest flinch.
"Will you do somesing for me Arry?" she asked weakly.
"What?"
"Kill me" she replied.
"The potions they give me barely dull the pain enough to keep me from screaming with every breath" she growled.
"They will not let me ave my peace Arry, yet they know there is nothing they can do. Please Arry" she begged, tears streaming freely now.
The little humanity left in him ached for her, but he would not give her up to callous uncaring death.
"I will not kill you" he said.
His reply drew a whimper but he held her hand fast when she tried to pull away, his free hand moving to stroke her hair gently.
"But, if you will let me, I can take away your pain" he said.
Once she was looking at him, he casually dropped his illusion, showing her his true colors.
"What, Arry what have you…"
"I have embraced a new lifestyle" he said in answer to her question, "the un life style."
Her eyes lit up upon realizing what he was saying, "Necromancy."
He smiled at her, "I always knew there was a good brain in that pretty little head."
"You, you can make it stop hurting, truly?"
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
Whether she truly did or not she was suffering and desperate beyond reason. She would have agreed to anything at that point. In the end she became his second big project and second great success in his chosen field. For a time it seemed as if her mind might heal as well, at least until she tried to visit the Weasley's. After that there was no fixing it, Rose and Thorn were born and danced upon the corpses of the entire Weasley clan.
…
"Are they dead yet" asked Thorn, joining him at the window
"Not yet, but it's really just a matter of time" he said as the first of the wizards fell and was quickly swarmed.
"You would think they'd learn" said Rose.
"I want to bathe in their blood" said Thorn.
"I want to make them dance" said Banshee who had stuck her head through the wall to watch.
"Dance, really" rasped Thorn, not believing what she was hearing.
"No one can resist the THRILLER" she said with a manic grin.
Rose giggled at the spirit woman, "Honestly you and your idols" said Thorn.
"At least he's dead" she said.
Harry could only shake his head. It made little difference to him what happened. Regardless what the world did they would never be able to stop this plague but who knew, maybe he would take control of it and establish a little order to the chaos. Or maybe he'd go hunt down the rest of wizard kind and let thorn bathe in their blood. There was even a very good chance he'd let Banshee make them all dance the thriller at some point.
All he knew for sure was, he had nothing but time. Death could not touch him anymore.