warnings: character death, one-side yaoi, etc.

notes: gaara/harry one-sided, if you didn't catch it in the first chapter.

updates mondays and fridays


Part One: Young Blood

Chapter One

"Hey, boys, look it's the freak!" The voice was a familiar one, creeping up Haru's skin menancingly. He scooted further back into the tube, holding back his frightened whimpers. He wasn't a baby after all. The ten-year old scowled. He wasn't scared either. Despite his brave thoughts, the ten year old stayed in his place, opting to stay silent, listening to the conspiring whispers outside his hideout. It was more like his home, but in his mind the two words were interchangeable.

He scrunched his body into a ball, leaning away from the searching hands that had appeared on either side of the tube. For once in his life, he was thankful for his small size. The boys, too big in size, to actually climb into the tube, could only snatch at him, growling as they tried to reach their prey.

"Aw, forget it," one of the boys complained.

"Yeah, let's go get somebody else," another one added.

"Until next time, freak," the leader spat after a while.

After what seemed like hours, but was only a few seconds, Haru heard the telltale sound of shoes crushing gravels under their soles. He breathed a sigh of relief, uncurling himself from his ball. He peeked through one of the tube holes, out into the growing darkness, shivering slightly from the growing breeze that had begun to pick up. The winter air nipped and teased his body and soon he found himself curled back into a ball again, under a ratty blanket, trembling.

As the silence carried on, Haru's somach grumbled. He frowned down at it, rubbing it with one of his free hands. How many days had it been since he actually ate? The food in the nearby trash cans didn't count as he was more than likely to be chased off for being a monster, a freak. He sniffed pathetically, an all too familiar sting prickling his eyes. He pressed his body further against the shell of the tube. He wasn't going to cry. He was a big boy; he could handle it. It wasn't like it was anything new. It was the same thing over and over again. To prove a point to himself, he peeked under his dirtied blanket. His hands, which were more claw-like than anything, dug into his sides. The nails sharp, the nails of hunter, ready to dig into the next piece of running flesh for him to -

No! No. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts away and storing them in the darkest crevices of his mind. That wasn't him. That would never be him. He closed his eyes, tiredness overcoming his senses.

The sound of a twig snapping, however, jolted him upwards from his position. Haru winced as the top of his head bumped unforgivenly against the tube. He forced himself to focus on the noise rather than the pain, pressing his ear against the shell. Snap! His body jumped again. His mind drew up the image of the group of boys having returned to exact their revenge on him from the failure of the first beating, or almost-beating. He blinked quickly. They wouldn't come back, he acknowledged logically. Besides they had better things to do to beat him up, they often reminded. But those reminders were usually voiced as they were beating him...continuously. Their words about as truthful as anyone else who was out to get him.

None.

Shakily, Haru inhaled. "They're gone," he whispered aloud to himself. He did this often, to reassure himself since there was no one else around to do the job. The ridicule and other abuse of society he recieved practically pushed him to do so. It was a way to survive. His ears flattened to his head. Survive. That was all he did, day to day. It was saddening, true, but it also inspiration.

He clenched his hands together, teeth elongating at the spurt of emotion rushing through him.

"Nata no okosama wa, ima kara, saigo made norowa shinakereba naranai." (Thy child shall be cursed from now until the end.)

The words followed him wherever he went, reminding of what he was at that point in time and what he lost so long ago and of what he planned to regain in the future. He wrapped a hand around his neck, feeling for the locket that had once belonged to his mother. It was one of the only things he had from before. That and his blanket. The raggedy, torn blanket that had seen better days, happy days. He smiled in bittersweet remembrance, lightly touching the soft cover. Its green design had faded to brown and the once white background turned to black.

Haru's smile turned cold. "Why couldn't you do the right thing?" It was his mother fault. Everything. It was her fault. She couldn't do the right thing. When the time came to be the responsible, dependable warrior, she couldn't do it. She was too weak. And now it all it had gotten him was hate and disgust, while she was six feet under next to his father.

"Didn't you love me enough?" The loudness of the shout made his ears twitch. "Didn't you," he repeated softer.

She must not have, he concluded. She couldn't have. His mother hadn't wanted to save his life, so now he was a cursed child. Just like the words said. He looked upwards, was she satisfied? Did his suffering satisfy whatever sadistic pleasure she could take from it?

He laughed harshly. Suddenly, sleep didn't seem so promising.


The sun sat in the middle of the sky, lunch came and went. For the most part, the streets were empty except for the occassional villager walking to the shaded market or a family's house. Sand dune houses provided minute shade before stepping out into the scorching heat. Soldiers stood post at the critical points of the city, watchful and alert. Attacks, or the threats of them, had become a more serious issue and now paranoia was beginning to settle in among them.

Haru lay crouched under a small shadow. His tube had gotten too hot for him to spend the night in; the metal burning into his skin. He panted, mouth parched, but knowing that water would probably be one of the last things he would come by. It was amazing the contrast between night and day in a desert. A fact he pondered, but no longer contemplated seriously. He dug his fingers into the dirt, revelling in the feel. His tail curled behind him, wagging every few moments, while his ears remained pert and alert. In times like the ones the Sand Village was entering, he was more likely to be captured for some false accusation. They had done it before.

He trembled from the thought. "They would have to catch me first," he told himself. He wouldn't be led to his impending execution, although the entire Village was probably clamoring for his capture. It wouldn't surprise him.

Haru was different from them. Differences frightened those who didn't understand them; they frightened him, and he was the main one who had to live with it. The jabs at his parentage, the mocking of his clothing, everything was a result of those differences. It made him come to the conclusion that being different only caused problems.

"The only bad thing is my problems happened to be killer." He laughed dryly at his poor attempt at a joke.

Slowly, he peeked his head out of his shadow. The guards could be anywhere, but with his luck they would be just around the corner. He wasn't in the mood for a fight, or a chase, the heat already beginning to niggle in his brain and destroy what little focus he had. Haru needed to find shelter, cool shelter, or he was sure he would die of dehydration and overheating. He sniffed the air, wrinkling it as dust clogged his nostrils. Sniffing again, he didn't catch any varying scents.

Confidently he stepped out of his shadow. Maybe the day would be a good one after all.


how was it? this is the beginning of the actual story. harry is ten as mentioned. he gets older as the story progresses, but i thought this would be a good place to start.