Enigma of Mine
Beta: Twinfetish (who is so wonderful she fixed this up in less than a day).
Disclaimer: I don't own Riddick or Harry Potter.
Author's Note: So many people seemed to like my Drabble/oneshot Enigma, I got so many reviews (for one day) asking for more, I just wanted to write more. So I did. I hope this explains why Harry/Keiran Is so strong, it's not that I wanted to make him Gary Stu-ish but if you lived over 8,000 years, you'd be pretty damn strong too...and brooding-ish :)
It had been eight thousand years since I defeated Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. Eight thousand years since I was labeled a potential Dark Lord and definite Dark wizard. A threat to the very world I had risked my life for on more than one occasion to protect—the world I was thrown into without so much as a warning and without a choice. Eight thousand years since I had been exiled and betrayed by those I had considered my family.
Eight thousand years since I became the unwilling Master of Death.
If there was one thing, I had to say about immortality: it wasn't as cracked up as it's said to be. I still don't understand why Riddle wanted it so much, living day after day in monotone, with no purpose and no precious people. The first five hundred years I had spent locked up in my mansion in the Bermuda Triangle, hidden from the world that had hurt me so much.
The world I had given my mortality for.
Looking back on myself, I had been scared. Still am, actually. I wasn't scared of dying, or pain, or loneliness or anything else most people are. In fact, I relished those feelings.
What was I scared of then?
I was scared of getting close to anyone. Of being hurt like I was so many years ago. So I had hid, which I admit, was pathetic. But at the time I had just wanted to be alone, to protect myself from the outside world where I was both exceedingly strong as I was fragile.
Without much to do, I began to train. I studied, reading anything and everything I could get my hands on. That had been the only contact I had with the world for five hundred years, ordering books by mail and owl. I began to train in any and every martial arts I could, learning even the ones that began to spring up as they years past. I began training with weapons, my favorite being a pair of long, knife-like claws that reminded me of the Wolverine character from X-Men, except instead of shooting from my knuckles it attached to my leather gloves, remaining in metal plates on the knuckles until I unsheathed them. And after five hundred years, I was good. Not to sound vain, of course, because anyone with that much time to train would have become as good as me.
But the most important thing that had happened back then was my dissension to leave. I had grown tired of all the silence; I had wanted to leave my self-prison so I could travel. See the sights I had kept from myself for hundreds of years.
So, I did. And I admit that it had been refreshing. I avoided humans as much as I could, only occasionally staying in cities, to personally see how life changed. And it had changed. Magic, of course, was still hidden but the Muggle world, I am proud to say, really advanced—much more then the Magical world which had just begun to use pencils and pens and notebooks instead of quills, ink and parchment. Space travel had just started and there was even talk of living on other planets.
But the news that had surprised me most had been my own disappearance from history. Instead of 'Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived', it was an 'unknown, unnamed child' who had done it now.
I was more relived then anything.
After that, the years really blended together for me. It wasn't until another eight hundred years that I finally made my 'debut' into society.
Police Officers, FBI, and Aurors... had begun to fade. Crimes went up and I couldn't stomach just sitting there doing nothing when the bodies of children, and women and men turned up while murderers, rapists and criminals remained unpunished.
So, I did the only thing I could think of. I took on the name Keiran de la Noir and began the career that would later be dubbed 'Mercenaries' or Mercs for short. Although I didn't, and still don't, charge to capture criminals. I also founded what is now the world's most infamous prisons: Butcher Bay and then six hundred years Slam City. I became famous, but this time it was actually for something that I did. As the world became safer, I found myself becoming increasingly content with my immortality. Now that I could do something good, it wasn't as bad.
And soon enough, I became a legend to everyone who thought I was dead. Anyone who wasn't a Merc thought I had died at the age of one hundred and eight. And even though the Mercs knew different, only because I work with them occasionally, they didn't know how I still lived.
I liked it that way.
But as the years passed, the group I had founded had begun to lose focus. In the beginning, it had been focused on helping others, and making people safer. Now, it was 'how much could I get for...'. It was an inevitable change, but one that still irritated and disappointed me.
Shaking my head, I calmly boarded the cargo spaceship and stared at the large crate, I knew held the prisoner, Richard B. Riddick, with a small sense of curiosity. It had been years since I had encountered someone, or something, that even aroused my vague interest, but this Riddick had definitely gained it—if only a small amount.
He was the only one I knew to have ever escaped the only two prisons I founded: Butcher Bay and Ursa Luna Maximum Security Prison (also known as Slam City), the last one in an impressive eleven hours and twenty-two minutes.
Truthfully, I had only joined the passengers because I had wanted to meet him—the only man to have gained my vague curiosity in eight thousand years.
I just hoped things went well. But, then again, knowing my luck, I didn't suppose it would.
Only the Prologue will be in Harry/Keiran's Pov. I hope you liked it, Review please!
Keiran (Celtic name meaning Little and Dark)
de la Noir (French, meaning of the Black)