Duskborn

Co written by:
Naoi & cait-the-fangirl

Note: Twilight settings will not show up for a while. We have a long set-up for the HP scene, so just stick with us, k?

Also, guys, we are following the official timelines as closely as we can considering certain inherent flaws. Please keep in mind, we have an explanation for almost everything we do!

Check out the Duskborn community at .org for timelines, in-depth plot explanations, update schedules, links to fanart, and more!

Summary: Harry is captured by Death Eaters soon after entering his 6th year at Hogwarts. Rescued years later, he is taken back to an Order safe house to heal before being swept away to safety.

Warnings (all explicit content will be 'fade to black' and extreme chapters will be marked): Slash. Grey!Harry. Mentions of self-harm. Abuse/torture. Mentions of forced cannibalism. Disturbing Images. Mental torture. Sex/intercourse. Threesomes. Creature fic.

Copyright: Neither Naoi nor Caits own Harry Potter or Twilight. (We wish we did, but that might lead to a bit of mental scaring and some psychiatrist visits. Oh, and Bella would have died in Arizona.) We are not making any money from this.
Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling, etc.
Twilight © Stephanie Meyer, etc.

Revised January 2013. (and oh my at the number of mistakes and formatting errors!)

Prologue

July 25, 1996 ~ Number 4 Privet Drive

Harry tripped as another shot of pain lanced through him. The pain had been getting worse over the past few days, and it was starting to interfere with his chores around the house. Petunia was already giving his strange looks. The last thing Harry wanted was for Vernon to get involved to help "motivate" him.

He quickly bent over and picked up the pail he had dropped. "Be sure you get the weeds in the back as well!" Petunia yelled at him.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry straightened up and scurried over to the back of the garden. Another, milder, streak of pain ran across his shoulders, but he steadfastly ignored it. Looking at the plants in the garden, he smiled slightly. It had taken him years to understand what had to be done for each plant, but once he did, they had thrived. The garden was one of the best on Privet Drive, and Harry was proud of himself, even if the Dursleys did take all of the credit for it.

He knelt down in the grass and allowed himself a quick sigh of pain before getting his tools out of the pail. Humming softly to himself, he began the tedious process of weeding the garden and ensuring that each plant had enough fertilizer and water to last until he came around again next week.

Harry whimpered as he lay in bed that night. The pain was always worse at night. A few nights ago, he had managed to sneak a handful of aspirin out of the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom, just enough to last him a few nights. They didn't help much, but they at least let him sleep.

Grimacing, Harry rolled over on his thin mattress and pressed up against the wall. The cooler, solid touch of the plaster was a balm to his tense muscles. Another soft whimper, and then the pain pills took effect and Harry drifted into a fitful sleep.

July 30, 1996 ~ Number 4 Privet Drive

Harry moved lethargically through the kitchen making breakfast for the Dursleys. The pain came in almost constant waves now, and Harry didn't care whether Vernon noticed or not. 'He can't make it any worse than it already is.'

His aunt bustled into the kitchen to check his progress. "What is wrong with you boy? Can't you even make scrambled eggs correctly?" She pursed her lips in disdain when he didn't respond. "Boy!" She grabbed his shoulder roughly to get his attention.

Harry watched as the pan he was holding was jerked off the stove and fell to the floor spilling the runny eggs across the tiles. 'It's like blood…yellow blood.' He giggled slightly at the morbid thought. 'Do chickens have yellow blood? No,' he frowned, 'I've had to cook them before, it's red.' His aunt was screaming at him, but Harry could barely hear her over his own thoughts.

Petunia watched as her nephew stared blankly at the eggs on the floor. "Vernon! Get in here! The boy's acting strange!" She saw his lips moving and backed away slightly.

Immediately her husband came lumbering into the kitchen to see what was wrong. He was missing the news because of this. "BOY! What have you done now!" He neck was already starting to turn purple. He glared at Harry who had slowly raised his head to stare at him. Vernon was infuriated by the blank stare and slapped the boy across the face.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts as he felt the sting across his face. He saw his uncle standing in front of him with a scowl in his face and it didn't take long for him to realize what had happened. 'Shit.' "I'm sorry Uncle Vernon! I won't do it again!" He cursed himself as he felt his eyes start to sting. 'Don't you dare start crying Harry. Don't you dare.'

His uncle's face turned a deeper violet. "Damn straight you won't, boy!" He grabbed Harry's arm tightly and began to drag him across the kitchen. "You're going to your room!" He jerked Harry's arm forward when they reached the stairs.

Harry stumbled as he attempted to keep up with his uncle. 'Thank God it's not the cupboard.' As soon as they reached the top landing, his uncle slammed him against the wall. "You can just stay in there for a few weeks to think about what you have done." Harry was roughly propelled into his room. He hit his back against the wardrobe he had salvaged and collapsed to his knees coughing.

From the other side of the door he could hear his uncle pulling out his keys and locking it. His throat closed in on him, and the sting behind his eyes lessened as the tears began to pour out. He hiccupped in an attempt to keep from crying out. Stifling his sobs in his knees, he began to try and take stock of all his new injuries.

From the way his shoulder was hurting, his uncle had most likely pulled his left arm too hard and strained the muscles there. His arm itself would likely have a large hand-shaped bruise on it by night, along with his cheek from where he had been slapped. His back hurt from being slammed into the wall and the wardrobe. He gently moved his hand down his legs to make sure they were okay from being dragged on the stairs. They hurt, but nothing seemed broken thankfully.

'And then there's this goddamn fucking pain! Where is it coming from?' His tears spilled out quicker in frustration. The waves of pain hadn't stopped, even when he was slammed against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling of his room in defeat. 'I only have two aspirin left.' He laughed to himself bitterly. 'Two aspirin and fourteen hours before it gets dark.' He would endure it though, because what other choice did he have?

He was hot again. Five minutes ago, he was cold. Sometime around nine in the morning, he had blacked out after getting to his bed. It was now 4:15 P.M. For the past few hours, he had been having these hot and cold flashes and the pain had now turned into a heavy pressure. He felt tired and worn out.

A couple times during the day, when the pain and heaviness pressing against him receded to the edge of his mind, he was overwhelmed by sadness. It was during these times he contemplated killing himself. Sirius and Cedric had already died for him. When would he be allowed to die and join them again?

At one point, he had thrown Hedwig's cage across the room in frustration. He had quickly rushed over to apologize to her afterwards, but she hadn't been there.

He looked over at the clock. 5:00 P.M. 'Hedwig will be back from hunting soon. I need to open the window.' He carefully levered himself up and over to his desk to open the window. It was stuck because of the rust that had built up on the latch, but Harry just managed to get it open. From there, he simply slumped down onto the ground where he was in exhaustion.

His glasses were sideways, offering him a blurry version of the world in his left, and a too-clear one in his right. He was cold again, and he shivered slightly from the draft brought in through the window. The breeze was warm but it didn't help. He felt himself slide further down the wall.

A mismatched thumping came from the stairs outside his door; it had to be either his uncle or his cousin. His aunt didn't make the house shake like that. A flat tray was shoved roughly through the cat flap in the bottom of the door. His right eye made out a bowl of something, a piece of bread, and some water in one of the old glasses they kept in the back of the cabinets.

'Petunia must have gotten a stool out to be able to reach that far back.' His stomach gurgled, but the thought of food made him feel sick. He leaned forward so he could look at the clock on the bedside table. His glasses fell back on his nose closer to the way they were supposed to lay with the movement, and he was able to read the numbers. 7:53 P.M. He fell back against the wall with enough of a thump that made him finally continue his slide down the wall. Gravity pulled him sideways, and ended up staring at the brown fibers of his carpet. His glasses dug into the side of his head so he turned his head upwards and curled into a ball.

He felt tears start down his eyes again as the pressure in his chest got worse. His bones felt like they were about to break.

He was hot again.

Harry came back awake with a start. His head felt light, as did the rest of him. It only took him a moment to realize that the pain was gone. He lunged upwards, ignoring the swimming feeling in his head and the pain in his shoulder from the way he had laid on it. His heart began pounding in his chest. He clutched the front of his oversized shirt. He still had the two aspirin hidden under his bed.

He didn't know when, but he knew the pain would be back. The thought of living without it was so remote as to be not possible anymore. He reached under the bed and pulled out the plastic bag the pills were hidden in. He opened it and dumped both into his mouth, mustering up enough saliva to get them down without choking despite the thick feeling they left in his throat. He leaned heavily on the bed, one hand still on his chest.

'Breathe. Breathe, Harry.' He took a few deep breaths and fell onto his bed. He had the urge to laugh, but he knew if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. He glanced at the clock. 11:58 P.M.

'Almost midnight.' He rolled onto his back. 'It'll be my birthday tomorrow. I wonder if Ron and Hermione will send me any presents.' He let his eyes go out of focus and trace random patterns in his ceiling, allowing himself the second to get lost in his own thoughts.

He gasped when a familiar flutter returned to his chest. 'I was right. I was right. Why am I always fucking right?'

The pain was back – worse than ever. He felt more tears begin to form in his eyes, and he clutched the sheets in frustration. A chocked hiccupping started in his throat, clogging it and making him choke. Vaguely he heard Hedwig hoot warily from the corner. Relief flew across his mind. 'She made it ba-.'

Harry wasn't sure if the screaming he heard was real or only in his mind. As the pain and his voice swelled to impossible heights, he blacked out.

A/N: And thus ends the prologue. Whatever could be happening to dear Harry? :] Reviews are love!

Ja,
Naoi and Caits