OK, first of :

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (he'd be a bad-ass if I did) or Warcraft, they belong to J.K Rowling an Blizzard.

Now that it's done with; hello dear reader! This is one of the few ideas I had about a HP/Wow crossover, I hope you'll like it! As I am quite a recent writer (and French) all your comments/piece of advice/observations are welcome here. Just don't be too harsh, my newbie ego is still fragile :p.

Chapter 1 : Monster

Harry fingered his golden ring lightly as he prepared himself, it wouldn't be long now. The outer runes and wards that protected his manor had fallen a few minutes ago and he could hear and feel from here the spells and curses slamming on his front door.

It seemed that fate wouldn't let him be; only a few months had passed since the end of the war.

Since I ended it! And already they were at his door step. Should have seen it… the signs were there…

He crossed the well furnished room, Black wood and dark red silk giving off a feeling of sober elegance and warm acceptance, it was his bedroom after all. He stopped in front of a highly decorated pedestal: 4 feet of black wood carved in an ancient tree from the forbidden forest supported his greatest weapon.

He picked up his trusty sword with great care, the runeblade shining briefly in the candlelight as he swiftly sheathed it in the ornate scabbard on his waist. The time has come, he thought, as he felt the runes of his front door weakening. A wave of anger washed through him, How DARE they!

He held on his anger, let it warm his blood and prepare him for the battle to come. Let it turn into hate so he wouldn't show mercy. He'd learned a long time ago, through pain and trials, that all the things they said about shiny white knights who felt sorry for their enemies as they slayed them, went to battle with a heavy heart and left it with tears for all the fallen, was utter rubbish.

Compassion and hesitance were as dangerous as blind anger in battle. But hate... Hate helped him focus when his mind wandered, helped him rise his arm when his strength wavered and helped him kill when his heart was still tender.

So it was with hate running like a frozen fire through his veins that he strode to the entrance hall to greet his guests.

The great doors of Potter manor were visibly shaking under the onslaught, which hadn't diminished since when it started 15 minutes ago. Fine warding, I'll congratulate the goblins next time I see them… If I see them again that is… He smirked, baring his sharp teeth slightly, but soon wiped that expression from his face to take on an emotionless one, lips tightened and eyes devoid of any light.

He checked one last time his many rune traps carved all around the hall and positioned himself a good 50 feet from the entrance. Right in front of it; like a repentant criminal ready to surrender; or a comics' villain, alone for his last stand : an honest duel with the sanctified hero.

Fools! They won't know what hit them… he thought cruelly. The Egyptian runes all around his ring glowed a fierce red as he summoned magic around and in himself. He reached to his collar and squeezed the black scorpion amulet there, letting its familiar touch remember him who he was, and chase the last doubts and fears from his thoughts.

The doors shook violently.

He called to the elemental planes of fire and earth with a thought, something that had become as natural as breathing to him. Well… technically it IS natural for me now… and felt their power surround him like warm cloak, ready to lay waste on his enemies at his command.

The doors finally gave in and burst in the room with a resounding CRACK.

Harry unsheathed his sword and took a relaxed stance, his sword pointed to the ground beside him, his glowing ring hidden from view.

Figures started to emerge from the smoke where his doors used to stand, robes billowing in the cold wind of the early morning. The dim light of dawn wasn't enough for him to make out their exact number.

Twenty, maybe thirty... He would have to wait till they reached the torch lights.

When the leading figure finally came into view, confirming what the earth had already told him, Harry felt a fresh surge of hate course through him, the snake wants to finish it himself! He "won" the war but couldn't let me be, wouldn't even let his "followers" do the job… He thought, cold fury wracking through his thoughts; he squashed the urged to eviscerate the man on the spot with practiced ease, not yet...

The invaders slowly entered the hall, he recognized some of them from the war and some from before that. Wands trained on him, some faces gleeful, others, more informed ones, trying not to show any fear.

He let them advance in his trap, just a little more… there! He shifted and let them see the ring. They stopped at once. Right in place.

He started charging the runes that would doom them all. They didn't attack, he would want talk first, he always talked to much; but before he could open his mouth Harry uttered his name. He would let this man know all the hate and contempt that he felt for him:

"Dumbledore.." His voice, cold as ice, dripped with venom.

He didn't have anything to add to that, words couldn't express the depth of the disgust he felt for the man. Which was good, he concluded, because the runes were charged.

Pain suddenly flared in Harry's body taking him completely by surprise as he was about to activate the runes. He gritted his teeth and willed himself not to show any signs of his predicament.

You won't kill me Dumbledore! I. AM. KILLING. YOU! The pain receded under the pressure of his occlumency, but the edge of his vision started to change and twist. He snarled and thrust his hand forward, unleashing the traps as the rest of his vision was filled with a twisting nether. The last thing he saw of this world was Dumbledore, the aurors, a few Weasleys and former friends being engulfed in white hot flames.

Idiots… He smiled.

In the entrance hall among the wails of the livings and the stench of the dead, Mathias Mallory stood. He had been far enough from the center of the hall to escape the tower of white flames which vaporized Dumbledore and the majority of their forces. He and the others who survived had immediately raised their most powerful shields in order to protect the injured; just in time, as several other pillars of flames promptly slammed into them from everywhere at once.

At the end of the onslaught, a good half of his magical reserves were spent, just to maintain his shield. Several others were on their knees or breathing hard; Had Potter still been there he would have slaughtered them like cattle. He knew, he had fought beside him a few times during the war.

What did they expect?, he thought sadly as he stared at the charred remains of the leader of light. He felt dirty from being there and sick of the very situation. All of these years, gone to waste because of fear and politics. He gazed at the place where Potter had stood just a few moments ago, at least he didn't let us stoop that low, he didn't let us kill our hero.

A few floor higher, a post owl flew through the opened window and dropped its charge on the dark wood of the nightstand. Seeing that the resident wasn't there, the owl hooted in dismay and took off, he usually had treat for it. On the front page of the owl's charge one could read in great characters: "The Prophet September 9th, 2011"; and just below:

Harry Potter, Our monster.

My dear readers, today is a sad day for Wizarding Britain, and for all of us who call ourselves wizard or witch; a sad and shameful day which will see Harry James Potter arrested. I was present yesterday, at the evening session of the wizengamot when the vote took place. And it is with a heavy heart that I saw the accusations from almost every ICW representatives and the Light followers lead by Albus Dumbledore, finally sway minister Scrimgeour to their view, and thus declaring Mr Potter a war ciminal.

You my dear readers, will ask: "Why do you defend him Rita? Did he not kill hundreds of European, African, and even Asian wizards? Did he not cruelly slaughter all who opposed him under the pretense of waging war?" Faced with the list of horrors and atrocities he committed you will say "Even war has rules, he cannot be excused, the "black scorpion" must be put down before he turns against us!"

As all of you know, as the brave seeker of truth that I am, I followed Mr Potter during the war and was present at his side during most of the 15 years it lasted. I saw it all. Like you, I read the list given by the ICW: murders by the hundreds, kidnappings, illegal use of veritaserum, mind rape,… the list goes on. And I can tell you, it is not thorough.

Harry James Potter used every mean at his disposal to strike his enemy. That is one of the reasons why he is treated like he is today: instead of protecting us from the terror that the death eaters, the satyrs, and other hell fiends spread, he brought it to them before they could even think of attacking, and as a consequence we see them as victims. Should he have allowed all those foreign wizards to kill a few muggles before slaying them? Just to put our minds at ease? I don't think so!

The black scorpion, as we call him is undoubtedly a monster. A terrifying, ruthless, cruel and merciless monster. Why do I defend Him? Because I saw it all. And to fight this war, to win this war against You-Know-Who and his allies, we needed a monster. If not for him, the burning legion and its demons would have consumed us all. Why do I defend him? I defend him because I discovered that despite all its flaws, it is quite warm and safe to be in the shadow of a scorpion.

Rita Skeeter.

First one down, many to go?

Give me your opinion, whatever it is, it may help me making this story a better one.

For those of you who have questions about... anything! I'll answer the most relevants in the next chapter.

Until then, goodbye and thank you for reading!