Summary: "Death the Kid and the Broken Soul" AU – Ten years ago Voldemort disappeared without a trace. Harry Potter is a normal wizard child who lives with his loving parents. This year he starts in Hogwarts; among his classmates stands a mysterious boy by the name Kidd d'Eath.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything related is the mind child of J. K. Rowling while Soul Eater characters and world were created by Atsuchi Okubo.
While I was writing my fic "Death the Kid and the Broken Soul" it was stated that Lord Death sent people from DWMA to collect the souls of some Death Eaters but not Voldemort's, so it was only natural that the feared "What If…?" question would pop in my twisted little mind.
What if Lord Death did send someone for Voldemort's soul? How things would have changed in the HP universe? Turns out the answer is a rather long one…
The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School.
Chapter One.
The Theft and the Heir.
His attacks were continuous, but restrain; he had learnt that giving the witch time enough to concentrate would allow her to disappear; in the other hand, pushing her far enough would make her disappear anyway, leaving back a limb or some other body part.
Though it would be amusing, it wouldn't ensure her death.
His yellow eyes locked in his prey, the Meister raised his Weapon and charged forward.
Breathing hard, the witch raised her wand and sent ray after ray of green light.
The thirteen years old dodged every shot, got in range and punched with his open hand on the woman's stomach.
The witch was propelled backwards, landing on her back, nursing her aching middle section; she bent as her mouth opened and blood poured out of it.
Not wasting a second, the Meister swung his scythe and cut.
The witch's body reaped apart in darkness, leaving behind nothing but her corrupted soul…
"They may called themselves 'witches' if they want, but their souls turned in Kishin-eggs just as regular humans souls do," pointed one star, thirteen years old DWMA student, Spirit Albarn after swallowing the red glowing orb.
"There isn't any major difference before either," shrugged his schoolmate and partner Franken Stein scratching the side of his head and popping a lollipop in his mouth.
"Well," Spirit stretched, "time to report to the boss."
"You do it."
The red headed rolled his eyes. "Come on, Stein. You can't be afraid of him forever..."
"Yes, I can."
The Scythe shrugged and walked to a nearby store; once there, he breathed on the showcase surface and drew the numbers:
"42-42-564, whenever you want to knock on Death's door…" mumbled Spirit.
The glass turned foggy and gave way to the Skull-cartoonish mask of the Grim Reaper.
"Ah! Spirit and Franken! How did it go~?"
"Well enough, sir," informed Spirit. "We got the Kishin-egg."
"Any trouble?"
"The hard part is to catch them," sighed Stein, running a hand through his already messy hair. "That ability of theirs to appear and disappear as they please it's frankly troublesome."
Lord Death nodded. "I'll dispatch the hellhounds. Anything else?"
"The real problem is their leader, sir. If not for him, most of this people wouldn't be killing nor turning into Kishin-eggs."
Death sighed. "Yes, I know. We have to cut the snake's head, so to speak." He remained in silence for a moment. "Though there is something odd about that particular soul…" Lord Death frowned before sighing. "This requires further investigation…"
Looking back at his young students, he blinked and frowned.
"You looked tired, Spirit," observed Lord Death.
"It's nothing, sir. I've been having troubles sleeping, that's all."
"Don't say... Anything unpleasant?" asked the Reaper, eyeing Stein, who was whistling innocently, hands in his pocket.
"Just some weird nightmares where a psycho strips me to a table and experiments on me."
"Oh, don't say..."
Stein shivered; Lord Death knew or at the very least suspected. He'll have to stop experimenting with his partner for the time being...
-o-o-o-
It was a cold, wet night.
In a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn, Professor Dumbledore -Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizarding School Headmaster- was at the end of an interview for the post of Divination Teacher; it had proven to be a big waste of time.
Sighing deeply, the old wizard stood up, being imitated by the young witch in front of him.
"I am sorry, Miss Trelawney," he said, pulling his cloak over his shoulders, "but I'm afraid you would not be suitable for the position."
The man was about to turn around and head for the door when the Seer suddenly became stiff; her mouth opened and a harsh, rough voice -completely different from her own- spoke:
"The Theft shall flee once again; even so, Death will prevail in the end."
The room fell in absolute silence as Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed on the entranced woman; her lips kept moving and the words kept flowing:
"Mighty and powerful, fear by everyone though reign by his own fear, the Evil Lord stands proud… But it is by the Heir's hand that he shall find his fall and demise on All Hallows' Eve night… And the Dark Lord's will shall be granted… And the Evil Lord will meet his biggest desire at the time he faces his biggest dread… And he will chase the Heir not knowing what he seeks… A Child born from his Worst Nightmare… A Fragment born by the same fashion he has entrusted his existence, with a whole different meaning … Belonging to Death, the only soul Death will never claim… The Heir shall ascend to the Dark Lord's place…And the World will be shaped in a new Order."
Trelawney's head fell forward; her breath was elaborated. She blinked a couple of times before regaining her composure.
"I'm so sorry… What I was saying?" She giggled softly. "I've feeling off all day; I guess I lost consciousness for a moment…"
As Dumbledore regarded her with an intense stare, a commotion was taking place outside the door; in the threshold stood the barman, holding by the collar of his robe a thin young man with black greasy hair.
-o-o-o-
Lord Voldemort dismissed his trusty Death Eater and leaned back on his chair, considering the information he had just been given.
A prophecy foretelling his downfall…
The wizard frowned. He must find this Heir… before he has any chance of finding him.
Before the night of All Hallows' Eve.
-o-o-o-
Kill the Heir before he kills you.
Kill the Heir before he kills you.
Voldemort was obsessed; the Prophecy kept haunting him anytime, every time; Severus' words echoed in his ears, waking him at midnight, distracting him from his meeting with his Death Eaters, carrying his mind away, scattering his heart with dread…
The Prophecy was incomplete. He only knew that some Heir would bring his fall and demise on Halloween night… and even with the precautions he had already taken for that dreadful day; it didn't mean the danger would pass with it…
It would only mean that that wasn't the year.
To be sure he had killed the one destined to defeat him…
He needed to know the whole prophecy, damn it!
To get the whole damn thing he would have to go to the Mystery Department at the Ministry.
The Seer –more likely than not- would be completely useless, though Voldemort wasn't against… interrogating her. Seers usually had not recollection of their own prophecies but he always could torture her until she… decide to cooperate and foretell a way to stop that bloody Heir or secure the Dark Lord survival.
Not like that was any likely but it could greatly help to release some frustration.
But she was at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's watchful eye.
Voldemort closed his red serpentine eyes and massaged his temples.
He couldn't kill every wizard and witch, hoping that one of them will be the Heir. It would take too long and he would never be sure of getting the correct one.
He needed to be sure.
Who could be that Heir? Someone who has something to inherit, but what?
He didn't even consider Muggles and Mud-Bloods; they were heirs of nothing but filthiness.
No, his Enemy was of magical lineage -Half-Blood or Pure-Blood- and it will be their lineage what shall reveal them.
Fame, prestige, richness, power…
Taking himself as example: Slytherin's Heir, the Last of the Gaunt Family.
Richness meant nothing; fame could easily became infamy; and Prestige was plainly laughable.
The only thing that matter, that always had and always will, was Power.
And that's how he'll find his enemy.
Of course Lord Voldemort could only be challenged by the most powerful and skillful of them all!
He'll center his search on the descendants of the most powerful and imminent wizards of all times.
But, just as himself at the beginning, the Heir could be ignorant of their lineage.
To be sure, he'll get rid of any outstanding wizard or witch as well of any "Heir" in the wizarding world for good.
Pure-Bloods had proven to be the perfect pawns once again.
Once their Master had showed the slightest interest in tracing the most important and ancient wizarding families, every single Death Eater had ran forward to present their entire genealogy, everyone claiming to have the more important and powerful ancestors.
Fools.
Lambs running to the Slaughter.
He hadn't tell them the reason behind his renewed interest in genealogy, and he had made sure to keep Snape (the only one amongst his forces who knew about the prophecy) ignorant of his latest main activity.
Truthful, the descendant of the Prince family was high in his list of possible "Heirs"; his approaching deceased was already planned, way before All Hallows' Eve Night.
But, even if he had ordered the few chosen (those who possessed the more specific and hopefully veritable genealogy trees) to remain in silence, he should have count with their veiled gloating, incisive comments and the impossible prideful smiles which they regarded the stupidest of things… and the ability of one Severus Snape to add two plus two and see what was really happening, confirming his theory even more with each single passing day and the various "accidental" deaths that came with them.
Therefore, Lord Voldemort hadn't caught the glimpse of understanding –and the fear it brought with it- in the black ink eyes of his most trusty lackey.
Black, Malfoy, Weasley, Lestrange, Avery, Crouch, Longbottom, Potter, Bones, Macmillan, Goyle, Diggory… And the list kept going.
But there was one… the last of a rather important family and -even if he weren't the prophesized enemy- a danger by his own.
Albus Dumbledore.
Another problem was the DMWA.
Death's goons had been mining his forces, though nothing he should worry about.
After all, they all were expendable and easy replaceable. And in some cases, he already had decided their deaths anyways.
As long as Death didn't bother to take the matter in his own hands, before Lord Voldemort was ready for him...