I do not own Harry Potter, nor the Chronicles of Riddick. This challenge was set by Serpent In the Shadows and also taken up by Mistina (Go read her story)

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Challenge six: Serpent in the Shadows

Harry Potter/Chronicles of Riddick Crossover

Pairing: Harry/Riddick

Summary:
Underverse - What the Necromongers all strive and live for. The New Lord Marshall Riddick decides that it's time to take his newly won people and go to the one place he had heard so much about - if only to rid the universe of these people and their foul religion. But when his fleet entered, Riddick didn't think that a lush, green forest sitting on the edge of a stone castle and a group of humans clothed in 'dresses' pointing sticks at them, being led by a green-eyed man, was what the Necros had in mind.

Requirements:
- Harry is at least 25 yrs of age
- Voldie is DEAD (Death Eaters can still be around though)
- Harry must NOT be a blushing bride! Make him confident people! Powerful helps too - don't think Riddick would go for a weakling.
- Harry is a teacher at Hogwarts (any subject is ok)

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What can I say? I felt like joining and I adore Serpent’s stories. Worth the Wait is on my favourites list, both on FFnet and saved onto my computer. X3 My internet sometimes doesn’t like me enough to work so I reread what stories I’ve saved from the site. Anything so I have an excuse to ignore my mother when she starts watching soap operas. (Shudder

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When Worlds Collide

Chapter One

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“What is it really
That's going on here
You've got your system for total control
So is there really anybody out there
Now watch us suffer cause we can't go
What is it really that is in your head
What little life that you had just died
I'm gonna be the one that's takin over
Now this is what it's like when worlds collide”

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Green eyes did not even look up from the endless lines of messily scrawled script on parchment, eagle-feathered quill paused, hovering over two separate pots of ink, green and red, as he reread the nearly illegible writing of a first-year Muggleborn student in his Defence classes.

“No. Never again. Not for all the gold in Gringotts. Piss off.” He stated flatly, if more than a little rudely to the nervously twitching little man stood in front of his desk, twisting his hat in his hands as his little brown eyes took note of where all the exits were and desperately tried to avoid looking at the man in front of him. At the Professor’s harsh words, he jerked and puffed himself up in indignant –and pointless, anger.

“But Mr Potter!” He began only to be once again cut off, this time with a knife edged green glare from between quill like black hair,

“I am a Teacher, Mr. Olsen, no longer a Bounty Hunter.” He explained slowly, as if to an idiot child, making the Ministry official that was sent to grovel to him very uncomfortable as the young Professor placed his quill down and turned his full attention onto the balding man who was beginning to stutter slightly and sweat, “And not an Auror. In what official capacity, does a school teacher have capturing Terrorists, when the Ministry’s Auror Division is more than enough to handle a handful of Wet-behind-the-ears Dark Magic fetish brats fresh from Durmstrang?” He finished as he leaned forward on his elbows, chin resting on laced fingers as his eerily coloured eyes rested upon the pink faced man in front of him.

Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry James Potter, now aged twenty-seven, and still alive to the amusement and shock of his long term friends, had greatly changed from the seventeen-year-old, the child, he had been when he finally murdered the Dark Lord Voldemort. Though to be honest, he wasn’t much of a Dark Lord in Harry’s opinion, he had come across some truly evil characters in his travels that made Tom look like an angry toddler. Upon Tom-dearest’s death, his Death Eaters scattered across the planet, fleeing to avoid the law, not that they really had to, the Ministry was too happy about Voldemort’s death to bother hunting them down. Harry, however, was not. For the next five years Harry became a world-renowned Bounty Hunter, known for hunting down Death Eaters and other Dark Magic practitioners who actively went about harming others and brought them before the courts for fair trials with Veritaserum and Pensieve witness accounts. Regardless of how guilty the rest of the world knew they were. After four years, he had tired of that life and returned to England, he settled down at the only place he had ever really called home and applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position – still only slightly cursed – and was accepted, continuing to stay on for the next five years and become what was perhaps the best DADA Professor seen at Hogwarts for a good long while.

The fact he was now a teacher didn’t stop the Ministry from wailing to him every time there was even the slightest hint of trouble with Dark Magic practitioners. No wonder Dumbledore had gone barmy.

It was enough to drive a man to drink.

“Now. I thank you for visiting and I’m flattered that the Ministry believes me more skilled than their whole Auror Division, but the education of children awaits, and, as a teacher, it would be immoral of me to give anything less than my best 100-percent when preparing them for life outside Hogwarts. Good evening Mr. Olsen.” The green eyed man stated getting to his feet and escorting the diminutive Official who had seemed to freeze up completely as he moved.

Mr Olsen finally came to his senses as Harry closed his Office door firmly, the Ministry official groaned as he realised not only had Potter refused to help the Ministry – again – but he found himself being very politely, and elegantly, kicked out of the man’s office in such a way he could not even claim was rude or even discourteous. The Ministry Official sighed and put his hat back on, wondering what paperweight the Minister was going to break this time when he found out Potter had refused him. Honestly, his Superior was like a toddler denied his favourite Potter-Plushie.

Harry sighed rubbing at his temples as he leaned against the door, he always hated it when the Ministry came crying to him about their stupid little problems, as if he actually gave a flying Hippogriff’s ass about their reputation.

The green eyed man snorted and then outright laughed, he’d probably done more since his thirteenth birthday to destroy the Ministry’s precious reputation than Rita Skeeter could even dream of.

“He gone yet?” Asked a disembodied voice from behind Harry’s desk.

“Yes, you can come through now.” Harry called back, grinning as his surrogate brother stepped out of the floo, brushing soot and dirt from his clothing.

“What did they want this time?” Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom asked as he finished shaking out his dark burgundy and green trimmed robes. Harry sighed and plunked himself heavily in his seat, wincing slightly as his back protested most ardently at its mistreatment, the black haired male placed his feet up on the table, making his brother chuckle and mutter about House-elves out for vengeance,

“Durmstrang Supremacist brats are causing a fuss.” He said by means of explanation as he conjured up another chair for Neville, which he gratefully sat in as his brother summoned a bottle of Jack Daniels Whiskey – the both of them preferring the muggle whiskey to its magical counterpart – and pulled out two glasses from his desk draw.

The Herbologist sighed, “Isn’t Ron head of the Auror Division? Why isn’t he dealing with this?” Neville asked accepting the shot poured for him.

Harry sighed, “They come to me first.” He explained, “They ask me to deal with the problem first, to show they have me on a leash so to speak, that I’m supporting the Ministry that I’m a dog of their Military. The Aurors are only called in once I’ve turned them down. It really annoys Ron.” He explained, pausing slightly to knock back his shot, Neville watching him shrewdly.

“Is that why you two aren’t talking?” He asked, eyeing his best friend intensely.

Harry sighed and poured himself another glassed, “Yeah. That and Ginny’s engagement fell through, apparently I’m being blamed. Evidentially, she didn’t get over that little crush as much as she said she did and now her engagement’s fallen through because I, and I quote: ‘Have been leading her on.’.” He explained with a disgusted expression that was returned with a confused one from Neville.

“Last time you spoke to Ginny was three years ago Harry.” He pointed out with a frown, “How exactly is that leading her on? You’ve ignored her for over nine-hundred days. Over a thousand if my maths is correct.”

“It’s correct. But I saw her last Christmas at that Charity gig Remus threw for the new Werewolf sanctuary; she got pretty drunk so I stuck with her most of the evening.” He explained with a glower at his glass, “Keeping her from walking into walls, hitting on people three times her age, taking drinks from greasy unknown politicians. The usual stuff you do with a drunk. She might have taken it the wrong way I don’t know but I ended up walking her back to her apartment, she was so out of it she fell over eight times and once into a gutter.” He shook his head in disgust, not even he’d drunk to that point, even when he was trying to drown out the memory of Tom’s corpse slowly melting beneath his hands.

“Then what?” Neville asked, “There’s more to this I can tell.”

“She kissed me. Sloppily and drunkenly, right there on the doorstep while I was trying to move her dead-weight through the door and not kill myself falling down the stairs.” He admitted with a dark scowl, “I ditched her in her room; she seemed to think I was going to stick around but I just left a hang-over potion in the bathroom and got the hell outta dodge.” He shook his head, “No way I would sleep with her, or even kiss her on the mouth willingly. She’s like a kid sister to me.”

“And its only Ron giving you flack about it?”

“Yup. The twins keep making innuendo about it but they don’t believe it either. Moody seems to find the whole thing eternally hilarious, crotchety old bastard.” He explained with a small fond grin as he thought of not only the twins but of Moody, there had been a very nasty close-call in the final year of the war, George almost lost an ear when Harry was leaving Privet Drive but, George hadn’t been one of Gryffindor’s best Quidditch players for nothing and he managed to dodge the curse. Fred was just as lucky, if he had been even three feet further forward he would have died when the castle walls were blown in. Moody had been M.I.A. for a good long while after he crash landed during the Death Eater attack at Privet Drive, the crash had knocked his eye right out from its socket and broken three ribs and snapped his peg-leg but Moody wasn’t one of the toughest bastards to survive the first war for nothing and he got himself out of that mess.

He had found the Golden Trio not long after they’d set out on their fantastical journey of hope and wonder (Note the sarcasm) to find the Horcruxes and opted to follow them like a bad smell. Nothing they did could get rid of him so they decided to put him to good use and took that year in Defence that they never got from the real him at Hogwarts. During which time he and Harry seemed to form a kind of Mentor-Student-Father-Son relationship, which just really boggled the mind of most people who tried to figure it out so everyone got drunk and left it at that.

Neville laughed and gave the three a silent toast as he drank the last of his whiskey, holding the glass out for a refill. His brown eyes studying the man he had come to view even more-so over the last five years as his brother than he had during Hogwarts.

Harry would never be an incredibly tall individual, 5’6” was his height limit, 5’8” if he stood on tippy-toes, he wasn’t a muscle-bound powerhouse, he had muscle but he was more a creature of speed than strength, his tanned skin a testament to his active life outside and around the world – you wouldn’t believe the number of Death Eaters who ran away to Florida and the Caribbean – and his body a patchwork of scars from his life before Teaching. His hair was longer and a little more tamed the black quills still scattered across his features messily but was now long enough to be tied back into a stumpy pony-tail at the base of his neck, his eyes were no longer the same shade of green as his mother’s, the Killing Curses he’d been struck with had ensured it and no longer were they hidden away by those horrible glasses he used to wear. Potions were a wonderful thing when correctly applied. His eyes were now stained a dark Avada Kedavra and marbled emerald green with twenty-twenty vision.

The muggle-clothing clad Professor tilted his head back and sighed lustily, “Teddy should be coming to Hogwarts this year.” He said with a smile, thinking of his godson Ted Lupin.

Neville laughed, “He’s going to drive you nuts isn’t he?” The Herbology professor asked, grinning.

Harry nodded, “Remus has many stories, and photos, from when I was nought but a brat in arms. There goes my reputation.” He muttered sulkily, Harry was known at Hogwarts as a difficult teacher to please, tough but fair man who would accept no disobedience arrogance, house rivalry or stupidity in his lessons but he was also kind and willing to help his precious students, shifting from stern Professor to ‘I’ll-eat-your-face-vengeful-scary’ when someone threatened them. While he was the Head of Gryffindor House, he also held himself open to all the other houses, specifically Slytherin who often needed a sympathetic ear and couldn’t get one from their own Head, Horace Slughorn, whom was too busy trying to curry favour with Hogwarts’ best and brightest to bother with his responsibilities to those who needed them. He had warned all of Gryffindor and most of Slytherin to avoid the man and his warnings were truly taken to heart as information about the ‘Slug Club’ circulated the school.

The two sat in silence, steadily drinking their way through the bottle of muggle whiskey in silence, each caught in their own memories as was a common occurrence for the two youngest Professors on staff.

“Firenze told me something very interesting earlier when I went to drop off some Sage and Mallowsweet for his lessons.” Neville finally spoke, his glass held up as he watched the light from the dying candles filter through the dark red amber liquid within. “He claimed that the Veiled Stars have begun to speak, that the Nightmare will return bringing with them Death’s Left hand.”

“Sounds emo.” Harry muttered before the words really registered and he jerked violently, twisting his whole body to the point where he was now leaning over his desk and staring at his brother, “‘Death’s Left hand’? Are you positive he said ‘Death’s left hand’?” He demanded harshly, Neville nodded unperturbed by his brother’s mood swing. Even before the war Harry’s moods had always been very mercurial, earning himself various nicknames amongst the students –Professor Arashi (Meaning Storm) for one, he was connected deeply to his emotions, which made learning Occlumency next to impossible for him but made it all the more easier to become a Multiple Animagus and Elemental Wandless magic user.

“He was very specific about that part.” The Earth Elementalist assured as Harry dropped back into his seat, hand over his eyes, “I’m assuming Death means you, so whom ever is coming is supposed to be your left hand. Correct?”

“Sounds like.” Harry muttered, not even bothering to question how Neville knew he was the Lord/Avatar of Death, an additive of being Master of all Three Hallows that no one told him about; Neville was just perceptive like that.

Neville sniggered, “Looks like Witch-Weekly’s most eligible bachelor is going to be settling down soon. Ginny will be crushed.” The brunet teased grinning wickedly as his friend shot him a petulant glower.

“Yeah, her and the rest of the world. And do shut up, or I’ll tell Luna the happenings from your Stag Night. Collin still has pictures, and all I have to do is bat my lashes and ask.” He threatened with an evil smirk as the other Professor groaned and tried to drown himself in his whiskey.

“Slytherin bastard.” He growled making Harry smile sunnily.

“I know.”

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Molten silver eyes overlooked the High-born men and women in front of him, feeling a steady thumping in the back of his skull, the deep thrum of his Furian nature in his blood and bone, demanding he take action and kill these pathetic creatures that clung to the hallow existence of their lives and yet still dared, still had the arrogance, the Audacity to stand in front of him and try to order him around. To challenge his authority as their leader.

He growled, silver eyes narrowing in warning, causing the leather clad blond Necromonger to taper off his words and stare at him, having never expected such an... uncivilised sound to come from their Honoured Lord Marshall.

Richard B. Riddick was thoroughly disgusted with the Necromongers. Revolted would probably be the closest word he could come to describe his feelings for them, beyond the bloodlust that threatened to rise up and tear them limb from limb as more than one Necromonger could attest. Vaako and his wife having tasted the sharp edge of his blade for their impertinence.

“Leave.” He grit out, temper already frayed from having to deal with these half-life morons. For once, the foolish creature noticed how close he was to death and fled the room, taking with him his retainers and the Breeder –his wife supposedly, assigned to him by the previous Lord Marshall.

Riddick leaned back against his seat and rubbed at his temples, trying to desperately quell the steady thumping throbbing ache and his desire to just up and leave. He never had any intention of becoming the leader to these twisted people, he just wanted revenge. Revenge on the Lord Marshall for destroying his people, destroying his life, harming his people, revenge for killing Imam and making little Ziza grow up in life without her father. To rescue Kyra. His sister, his daughter, his best friend, his victim, his saviour, his pack-mate, his.

He snarled wordlessly and slammed his fist on the arm of his chair, his knuckles rattling in his hand, welcoming the cold rush of blood and the familiar surge of adrenalin and the knowledge that his hand would bruise.

They had been his pack, his family, whether or not he consciously accepted them as such, whether or not they consciously accepted, his Furyan blood demanded it and they, subconsciously, returned it. Since the first moment he met them on that godforsaken planet of eternal darkness and light.

Imam and little Jack or Kyra as she grew, even Carolyn, the first person his inner animal considered for a mate, then by association Imam’s kid and wife, Ziza, first child of the Pack, good as his own child in his eyes. He would have protected her just the same. But now... no one left, only little Ziza and he could not return to her, could not protect her, Imam’s wife rejected him when his presence brought a threat to her baby. It was her right to reject him if she felt him a threat, it burned that she did so but she was a mother protecting her child, and he respected that.

He sighed and hunched over slightly, Necropolis – because that wasn’t a fucking anally retentive name for their home – was colder than he was used to. Necros seemed to be rather cool blooded, to a hot-blooded animal like him it was annoyingly cold. The ex-con told himself to suck it up, he had ordered the Fleet to head into the direction of the so vaunted and revered ‘Underverse’ his people spoke of so much and had plans to just ditch them in their new home and fly back to Helion Prime, check on little Ziza and carry on his way.

It went against his nature to hang around in hostile territory, once he found his place, possibly accepted others into the close knit community he called his pack, he would stay. Maybe even become happy.

It was a ridiculous thought, but one he couldn’t help yearning, even if Karma was a bitch and would deny him that. Just as she had denied him Kyra’s life in the last battle, how he had only time to bid her goodbye before the light faded from her warm green eyes.

They should arrive within the month, Riddick could almost taste his freedom and sat back with a small smile on his face. All he had to do was avoid those fucking noble necro-cunts and their constant demands to Convert some of the under-developed planets they passed, for him to take a wife (like he wanted one of those weakling bitches who would sooner stab him in the back and drink his blood than stand beside him and defend him) or at least donate himself to science so they could find out just how he managed to keep his soul when their Lord tried to tear it away.

He grimaced and decided to hide in his room for the duration of the trip, sharpening his Shivs.

Hopefully they’d take the hint.

If not, well, he knew a lovely Air-lock only a few corridors down.

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8D End of Chapter one.

NOTE: This will not get hot and heavy immediately. They have to do all that fun stuff like fighting and denial and attempted rapeage and other fun stuff. So yeah. You will have to wait!!! Down you horny little slash fans, down, or I’ll set the Draco/Hermione, Harry/Ginny fanbrats on you. 8D

Please review and give me your thoughts, flamers will get the sharp side of my tongue. Ergo, not the fun side I stick down people’s throats when I’m drunk 8D

Araceil

PS: I have gotten permission from both Mistina and Serpent in the Shadows for this. So no flamers please. And for the love of all that is chocolatey and good in this world, go and read their work, srsly, Mistina’s Convert or Die is the same challenge as this and her work is very unique and well thought out as for Serpent in the Shadows... (Falls to knees and worships) 8D you cannot deny its awesome.