Title: Immortal Weapon
Author: Azure the Dragonlady
Beta: The Real Hagrid 13
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter or Twilight.
Summary: Harry Potter / Twilight Crossover. AU. Wizards begin to slaughter Vampires for their involvement in the war. The Volturi intervene and retaliate. In order to obtain peace between the two, the Wizards hand over their greatest weapon, Harry Potter.
Alternative Summary: He had hoped for some peace, now that the war was over and Voldemort was gone forever, but Harry now finds himself a pawn once more. His dream of finding a family where he truly belongs is lost to him now; all that is left is an unachievable desire. Will he ever escape, or will he always be used as a weapon for someone else?
Spoilers: All books of both series are fair game.

Chapter Two: Rebirth

Harry woke up feeling groggy and weak once again. His eyes opened slowly andas they adjusted he was not at all surprised to see the blinding white walls ofthe secure and secluded hospital ward that had become his prison cell. He had been in here since the death of Voldemort, where he was found on the bloody battlefield near the remains of the Dark Lord.

He tried unsuccessfully to raise his head and sit up, but was not shocked when he found that he was too weak. The attempt left him shaking a little and he let out a heavy sigh. Ever since the battle he had been feeling lethargic and weak, only able to make the slightest movements. He didn't think before the battle that when he killed Voldemort, it would lead to this - too pathetic to do anything. To add to that, he could feel himself growing even more sluggish as the days pass by. His heart beats were slow and some days he struggled to breathe, even with assistance.

It was quite frustrating. Harry was used to being independent. He was used to looking after and taking care of himself, ever since he was a small child. He had realised at that time that if he ever wanted something, he would have to do it himself. His Aunt and Uncle would never have done anything for him. He quickly learned the skills needed in order to survive. It was either that or starve or be beaten by his cousin and occasionally by his uncle or aunt. But he did learn andhe learned that was what he was, a survivor.

All he did was sleep now and instead of feeling refreshed, as one normally was after a sleep, all he felt was drained. The life was slowly being zapped out of him, rather then being replenished.

What could be the cause of this?Harry wondered, as he had previously during these long months on bed rest in St. Mungo's. It had to have been something, some dark curse or an equivalent, during the recent battle with Voldemort. He was certainly very healthy before it, if not a little tired or exhausted, due to the preparation beforehand. Tracking down the horcruxeswas quite a painstaking task. Luckily, with the help of Ron and Hermione, they had accomplished the task that Dumbledore had set for them. Harry's heart clenched as he remembered that his friends or any of the Weasley's or anyone at all he knew didn't come to visit him in the hospital. Did they too only view him as a weapon and now that he completed his duty, they didn't feel the need to associate with him anymore? No, he couldn't believe that, but still, the doubt did linger. Why hadn't they come to see him? It hurt that they did not see him. Is something the matter? Is something wrong? He thought, worried. Maybe they were hurt after all? Maybe they were dead?! His heart skipped a beat at the thought, and he grew weary and exhausted, which didn't take much these days.

All he saw was the same two healers - one for the day shift, the other for the night shift. As soon as his eyes opened when they were there, he instantly became drowsy again. It was extremely odd, but he wasn't given the chance to question it.

His eyes soon closed of their own accord and he fell into a fitful sleep, as the nightmares began.

When the dreams finished their course, Harry's eyes flew open and he let out a shaky gasp. The battle he had with Voldemort still haunted him. These nightmares made him relive the battle again and again. The way he'd stared into the lifeless eyes of the people around him and he could hear Voldemort's high-pitched maniacal laughter as the odds against Harry grew even greater.

He did not let that get to him though. They had trained him well. Even with the numerous injuries, some deep, he was able to push past the pain to deliver that final and fatal blow to Voldemort. He did not feel a sense of pleasure at killing the Dark Lord – he only felt a deep sense of regret at having to take yet another life. He did not like the machine that he had become. It wasn't him - it was what the Ministry had made him into.

The faces of the people he had killed mercilessly flashed continually throughout every waking moment as he stared unseeingly at the plain white ceiling of the hospital. Not only where they the faces of Death Eaters, but of the people they controlled. The innocent people, whether they were wizard, witch or muggle that had gotten in their way. The Death Eater used them for their own twisted purposes – using them to kill or for a shield. Harry had the painstaking task of having to kill them in order to get to the Death Eaters controlling them. The only tiny, miniscule consolation that Harry got from it was that he killed them quickly and painlessly. That type of death he knew that the Death Eaters would not provide, if the situation was reversed. However, it didn't make him feel any less guilty or responsible.

Kill or be killed. That was some choice, Harry thought bitterly. So he killed – took countless lives – so he'd be able to face Voldemort and carry out his mission. He was only a weapon after all, he concluded miserably. The tiredness crept on him and he fell into an unrestful sleep.

When he felt himself on the verge of waking up once more, he began bracing himself for another day of reliving everything; it was all he could think about. That was when pairs of footsteps echoing on the laminated floor reached his ears. Whoever it was stopped outside of the door to his private room. Harry instantly became interested at that. They seemed to be waiting outside his door, hesitating, but for what? He hadn't any visitors since he had been brought here. So it must be hospital staff – orderlies? – Or the Minister, maybe?

There were at least two, as he could make out muffled voices of a conversation, although he couldn't decipher the topic of it. It sounded heated, though.

The door creaked open, almost painfully slow. Harry quickly closed his eyes. He didn't know what was going on and he was determined to find out. He would find out more if they did not know he was awake, so for now, he feigned sleep. Besides, he may be able to use this to his advantage … somehow. Hopefully he could find out what the hell was going on.

He listened as the twin footsteps drew closer. As it was a private room, with Harry as its only occupant, it was also dead silent. The sound was louder then it normally would have been.

Why were they here? Harry asked himself again.

The two orderlies stood at the foot of his bed. They were breathing quite loudly, which he found quite frustrating, yet comforting to know that he wasn't alone and isolated, that someone did exist at there. Their silence, however, made him wonder if they were really just orderlies, like he first thought. Were there even orderlies at St. Mungo's? Harry wondered. He tried vainly to remember if he'd seen or even heard about orderlies during his brief visit to see Mr. Weasley during Christmas in Fifth Year. He couldn't recall anything, much to his dismay. Too much had happened since then and that sort of detail was insignificant at the time.

Harry nearly jerked when one of them suddenly spoke.

"Do we really have to do this? I mean, you know who this is!" the male voice whispered nervously. With the amount of apprehension in the man's voice, Harry could imagine him standing there, wiping his sweating brow, a fearful and frightened expression on his face. However what he inadvertently revealed was disturbing. Just what did the man mean? What did they have to do? He tried not to physically frown.

"Yes, of course!" the second man hissed back just as quietly. "We do what we are told to do. That's what we are paid to do. You know that. Though," his tone became somewhat amused, "I thought we'd have to poison him." Harry had no doubt that killing another wouldn't of phased this man. He did not like this guy. The hair on the back of his head stood up in warning, and a shiver passed down his spine at the man's implications.

"Don't say that you agree with him!" the first man exclaimed in despair. "Handing Potter – Harry Potter! – over like some sort of thing."

"Better him than us, i'll I say. Potter did what he was supposed to do. We just need him to do one lil' thing more," the other replied.

"Do you really believe that?" This man obviously didn't like what they were about to do. Whatever it was didn't sound good for him. Were they about to kill him? This angered him. He'd given up everything for them and not only did they think he was obliged to do so, but they considered him a tool – a weapon – that could be discarded when not useful anymore! Harry was certain that this man only didn't like the thought of killing someone on his conscious and didn't really care about him directly. The thought could both send him in a rage and depression.

"Do you?" the other countered. "The Minister wants him sedated while we hand him over."

Hand me over where? Harry was confused. Just what was going on here?! Who were they handing him over to and more importantly, why? The Minister was mentioned, so Fudge was involved. Harry could only wonder what sort scheme he came up with this time. He only considered Harry a tool and manipulated most of the Wizarding World to the same view. Fudge made no secret of his dislike of him, but tolerated him only because he was useful to his career. A Minister who survived and successfully commanded the troops that ended with the distraction of the most feared man in history was well received by the general public. Too bad they couldn't see the truth, even if it bit the in the ass, Harry huffed inwardly.

"Don't you feel at least a little guilty? I … kind of … already do," the first confessed, confirming Harry's earlier opinion.

"No," the second man stated outright. "He is supposed to be our saviour, isn't he?" There was a slight pause. Probably to get a non-verbal response, Harry thought. "Yes, well, he's just saving us from one more thing, isn't he?"

There was another small pause.

"Yes," the first man admitted reluctantly. "Still –"

"Don't think on it," the other cut it before he could finish. "Just do your job; else the Minister will have our hide! It's not our job to question him. You'll do well to remember that. We've been sworn to secrecy, anyway. Can't do nothin' 'bout it. You want to keep your magic, don't you? … There's a good lad."

There was a movement and clothes rustled. They were doing something; Harry just couldn't work out what, not without opening his eyes, even just to peak. He thought better of it, though. Feigning sleep did have its disadvantages and that was definitely one of them. He didn't know what they'd do if they found him awake and he wasn't exactly in a position to defend himself against attack. Harry inwardly sighed with frustration at his own weakness. He could only just lay in bed like a sitting duck. He was practically dead anyway.

"Well, if you won't do it, I will," the other suddenly said. He whispered a spell Harry did not recognise. "This will make sure he doesn't wake up for the exchange."

Harry's mind instantly became foggy. He couldn't feel, couldn't think. Everything was clouded as his mind slowly blackened and he gave into the impending realm of unconsciousness.

When Harry woke, he felt weaker than ever, if that was at all possible. Although, anything was possible when it comes to me, he grumbled to himself. His body was wearier than before and he soon discovered that his eyes were heavy and he couldn't open them. It could be the side effect of the spell they used to keep my under, he reasoned. He could only moan and turn his head to the side.

He knew that he was someplace different. It felt strange. He was on a bed that was infinitely pleasant and probably a great deal more luxurious and expensive then the standard hospital bed. It was comfortable which Harry, despite the unknown room he was in, began enjoying immensely. It was a brilliant change from the bed he had lain in for months.

The smells were foreign as well. St. Mungo's had the distinctive hospital cleanliness smell. Here, there was a combination of smells that he couldn't bring himself to separate and identify right now. However, there was one dominant smell that he couldn't help but acknowledge. It was a sweet scent and he felt drawn to it, but at the same time it held a hint of danger and made him wary of it. He fought back an unconscious quiver.

It took him a few moments to realise that the enticing scents belonged to the people that stood around him. He could sense their close presence. They took strategic positions on either side and at the foot of his bed. So even if he chose to get up and run, they could catch him before he even got off the bed.

How do I get myself into these situations? He thought wryly.

They had very distinctive voices; he found as well. It was soft smooth and most of all, alluring, just like the smell. He knew that they could not be ordinary humans, if they were human at all.

"…you know…would be discarded…," one was saying. Harry could only make out bits and pieces of it. The words were fading in and out at times. That was definitely not a good sign for him. What did those orderlies do?

"-tential?... extremely powerful…only seventeen…vampire."

Vampire?! Harry thought incredulously. They were vampires? A sudden clarity hit him. It all added up. The smell, the voice of a vampire was designed to draw people in, but humans (and wizards alike) knew, at least unconsciously, that they were dangerous. It made sense - they weren't human after all.

It made him wonder. What would vampires want with him? He remembered that a few joined Voldemort and he'd been forced to tear them apart and set them on fire because Fudge's men wouldn't go anywhere near the same vicinity as them. The men were terrified out of their wits.

Harry could vividly recall a vampire's characteristics. They were incredibly dangerous, obviously, as they had enhanced and superior senses, not to mention their venom. They were incredibly hard to kill as well. Very few spells could actually damage them and even if Harry or anyone else had enough time to actually cast the spells, vampires were also extremely fast – faster than the human eye – and could dodge the spells.

A few questions stood out. Why would Fudge hand him over to vampires, of all things, though? What exactly happened while he was imprisoned in the private room at St. Mungo's? What did he miss out on?

And why was I still breathing? Harry asked himself. Probably because I am dying and wouldn't taste good, he laughed humourlessly.

"…powers… grow stronger… changed."

He could have cringed if he were capable. He was trapped inside his own body. It didn't bode too well with him. He was positive that they were talking about him. Why else would they be here? And, not only that, they were talking about … changing him? Why, for his powers?

He had heard rumours that some vampires had extra abilities, but it was never proven. It was not like many wizards associated themselves with their race. Harry didn't think anything of it at the time either – he was otherwise occupied with taking care of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"… then turned?" a voice reached Harry's ears, full of authority.

Turned? Did that mean they wanted to turn him into a vampire? Was it because he was so powerful? These questions and more danced around Harry's mind, which he unfortunately could not come up with any answers. But one thing remained clear, in any regard. These vampires wanted to use him. Just like Fudge. Just like everyone else. And Harry, at one stage, wondered why he was so bitter. He inwardly snorted at the thought.

It seemed that no matter where he was or who he was with; he could not escape someone or something that wanted to use him as some kind of weapon. It was just his sort of luck.

He was not just going to sit by and let them turn him – he'd enough of that. He tried – struggled – to move his weary body, but it would not give. His body felt like a bulwark – unmovable even to the owner. He attempted again, this time with urgency, but his body still did not budge. Harry became annoyed. He was angry at himself for not being able to move his own bloody body anymore, but, mostly angry at Fudge and these vampires for seeking to use him. It solidified his belief that there just weren't any good people in this world anymore. Hell, even Ron and Hermione had abandoned him!

All too soon, he felt one of them hover over him and something sharp pierced his neck. Teeth, his mind filled in frantically. Shit. Shit. Shit! The bite caused a sharp pain, to which he could not help but gasp aloud. The pain was intense and it burned. Bloody hell!

It was definitely hell. The agony consumed him. It was agony with no escape, no conceivable end in sight. He was in a tunnel, but there was no light at the end. The blackness crept in and out. His heart pulsed rapidly – more active then it had been in months - pounding against his chest. The pain, the fire catapulted across every inch of his body. It felt like white hot knives constantly stabbing him – worse then that, even – growing more and more painful as the minutes rolled by.

The Cruciatus Curse definitely had nothing on this type of torture. Harry could at least withstand that for several minutes at a time, but not this, not this burning!

The agony peaked and he couldn't help but scream in response. He screamed until his throat was raw and hoarse, but even then, it didn't stop him from screaming. All the while, the burning, the agony was unrelenting.

Harry wished he was under the Cruciatus Curse. It was better then this. He could handle all different kinds of torture curses – but this pain, this agony was so intense, so refined. He couldn't handle this. It was too much. It was unendurable. He screamed again. The scorching – the flames – continued still.

He had numerous injuries before – too many, really – some even life threatening, but still, even if all of them were to be put together, they still couldn't match what he felt right now. The unrelenting, unstoppable agony was unendurable.

The darkness crept up again. Harry wanted to reach out to it, let it consume him. He hoped that when it did, he could hide from the pain sweeping across his already worn body. But the pain wouldn't let him - it kept him insanely aware.

He didn't know the time. It was meaningless under the scorching flames. It felt like eternity. A long, unenduring eternity. He could not stand this!

"Please… kill me!" he managed to whimper before being overwhelmed, screaming in agony. If he were to die, the pain would stop and he'd be able to see his parents and see Sirius again. He'd finally be at peace and be with the people who did love him.

He thought he heard someone answer, but he couldn't make it out. It was most likely his imagination – a hallucination from the pain. It wouldn't allow him to process anything else, anyway.

He wanted to die. He wanted anything, anything but this. His wish was not granted – it never was. The fire, if at all possible, burned even more painfully, becoming even hotter.

The pain continued, never-ending. He couldn't move, couldn't escape from its almighty grasp. There was no escape!

He wanted to die, but the pain that gripped him wouldn't let him. It forced him to stay awake, to endure it, even though it didn't seem likely that anyone could. It kept his heart racing – still beating – still tormenting him. Why didn't his heart just stop? It needed to stop – he needed to escape this tormenting, unrelenting, unendurable pain.

Then suddenly, he was able to move, even if it was only a little. He twitched his fingers and then clinched his hands. He was now able to jolt and shudder from the pain and burning as they raged on. It may be his imagination, but was the agony making him stronger?

His mind turned to what happened, how he ended up where he was. The vampire must have bitten him and he was turning into one of them!

The gasping started to subside as his breathing suddenly slowed, gradually becoming even. Yet the fire still raged on. His heart also started slowing.

He found he could now focus on what was happening around him. He heard a voice, it was very clear and nothing he'd heard before.

"Not long now. It's been three days."

Three days! It felt longer – a lifetime, an eternity. He couldn't believe it was only three days.

His breathing hitched and he screamed again, as the burning peaked once more. His throat was sore; it burned from all the screaming.

He could think more clearly now. So clearly, that suddenly he could think faster and more deeply, than before.

Suddenly, the pain turned into something quite a bit different. It was going away – retreating. It disappeared from his feet, his legs and his hands, his arms – all over his body. It was a strange feeling, especially after enduring that agony before. Eventually all that was left was the burning pain in his throat, for some reason that remained. His mouth, dry from all the screaming, began filling with some kind of liquid, although it wasn't saliva. He was thirsty. He needed something – anything – to quench the thirst.

His heartbeat became frantic. He could hear it, as clear as day. He jerked violently and the ferocious fire grew deep within his chest. Somehow it was worse then the one that had swept across his body. His heart tried to defend itself against the fire, but failed pitifully. It couldn't stand up to it and he didn't think anything could.

His magic (which he had mourned its absence since the battle) flooded back to him. He could feel it swirling inside of him once more, strengthening him even more then the pain did. He hadn't felt this strong since the battle with Voldemort. Its presence was soothing and somehow it helped him through the pain.

His heart skipped a few more beats … and stopped. His heart stopped and he wasn't breathing! He was also acutely aware that he also didn't feel the necessity to breathe.

His body was almost impossibly cold. While it was a relief from the fire that had been raging inside him, he also knew that it was a bad thing. It meant that he'd finally turned into a vampire.

And with that revelation, Harry's eyes snapped open.

Beta'd: 25/07/09

-Azure the Dragonlady-