Buffy X-overs When needs must

When needs must:

Title: When needs must

Book/Anime/T.V: Harry Potter - Buffy the vampire slayer crossover

Author: gundam06serenity

Rating: R (just in case-- for mentions of rape & child abuse)

Genre: Romance, Angst, and Action/ Adventure

Warnings: x-over, romance, slightly AU, mentions of child abuse & mentions of rape, YAOI (Male slash, or male X male love) severe OOCness, dark Harry, Ootp (a bit.... kinda.... totally)

Pairings: Spike/Harry Spike/ Xander Spike/ Xander / Harry Spike/Draco/Xander

Voldemort/ Harry Angel/ Doyle (may mention)

Summary: Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, the savoir of the wizarding world, abandoned by the Dursleys at the tender age of four after suffering through three years of child abuse. His misery, his still child-like innocence, mixed with his still-bleeding wounds call out to the darkness, call to a Master vampire, his Sire and their consorts. Parseltongue can be a useful gift, especially so when it could save ones life.

Authors notes: Based loosely on PxW's challenge (I say loosely because the main similarity is the abandonment, mild child abuse & Harry wanting Voldemort.) mixed with one of my own challenges

Be kind! This is my first non-anime fanfiction that I've posted! Constructive criticism welcomed, flamers will be ignored! They're evil! Please please R&R! Thank-you!

Prologue: Abandon

(WARNINGS! MENTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE & RAPE IN THIS CHAPTER!)

"Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia? Dudley?" A childlike voice whimpered. " Please... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I'll be a good boy, I promise... Please... I don't want to be alone out here... Please..."

The voice belonged to a small boy, a child no older than four, with cracked, taped bottle-glasses and a painfully thin frame. His cloths, at least five times too big for him looked as though not only had they previously belonged to a small killer whale, but had most definitely seen better times; the t-shirt, thread bare, dark red stains, some old, dried and faded, others fresh and bright, the jeans in a similar state.

He had unruly, chocolate brown shoulder-length hair, matted with blood, looking as though it had never been cut once in the boy's short four years of life. Sparkling emerald green eyes peered out behind his unruly hair, brimming with tears, fear, pain and confusion clearly evident in his eyes, eyes that looked too old to belong to one so young. His skin, once milky-pale, was covered in bruises; Sickly yellowish-green to dark, painful-looking blue-black.

"I'm sorry...I'll be a good boy, a good boy... I wont be a freak anymore... please..." He cried, peering through the darkness of the large, seemingly endless forest, everything looking too big, too scary, too alike to the four year old as he desperately tried to find the path, tried to find his only living relatives, tried to find someone, anyone, intentions good or ill, as long as he wasn't alone any more.

Alone, no spare cloths, no food, no water, no shelter, no way of contacting others and no idea of where he was going, he curled up beneath a rather large, foreboding tree, mumbling quiet promises and pleas, slowly breaking down into silent tears, soon crying himself to sleep. And it has started out as such an unusually nice day, too...

"What do you mean-"

"Shush, Petunia, not so loud-"

"Vernon, are you sure? I mean, what if the other freaks find out...."

"Fine out, find out? How?! They've done nothing to stop us these past three years of looking after that ingrate. They obviously don't want him, we don't want him, it's the perfect solution! Don't know why I didn't think of it sooner!"

"But what about the marks? Someone's bound to notice something if we take IT out in public...."

"No-one will notice a thing! I've got it all sorted, Petunia. A trip to the New Forest is just what the doctor ordered! Nice, quiet, secluded, the perfect little day trip out for the family!"

"If you're sure, Vernon..."

"Of course I'm sure! Boy, up! Get up! We're leaving in thirty minutes!"

"Yes Uncwel Verwnon" The sleepy, muffled voice of a four-year-old boy came from the cupboard under the stairs, as one young Harry James Potter was awakened by his Uncle and Aunts rather loud whisperings and discussions.

For as long as he could remember, he had lived in the cupboard under the stairs, only allowed out for school, chores, and, of course, punishments. Chores that had, over the years, grown and grown, more and more, it seemed, being added by the week. The punishments, too, becoming more and more severe as he grew older. But that was how all Uncles and Aunts, mothers and fathers and, of course, cousins treated their children and cousins, wasn't it?

It hadn't been as bad over the past three weeks. Harry had been very grateful for that, especially after the newest punishment his uncle had come up with. It had started off all right. His uncle had finally allowed him to go into one of the bedrooms, into his Aunt and Uncles room after he had had a particularly bad nightmare, involving bright green light, high-pitched laughter and a woman's screaming. Aunt Petunia and Dudley had been staying over at Aunt Marge's house, Vernon, unable to get time off of work, and unwilling to burden his sister with the freak unnecessarily. Harry, thinking that his uncle was allowing him to sleep with him as Dudley had when he had started dreaming about vampires, scary witches and monsters, had eagerly followed his uncle up into his room, quickly settling down on the bed.

That, however, had not been his uncle's intentions. He used the crimson silk pillow cases that Harry had spent many a day admiring to tie his little wrists to the headboard, new darkening purple marks appearing around his pale, already marred wrists. Confused, he had laid there, believing his uncle when he whispered that they were going to play a little game, hoping that, finally, he had stopped being a freak, that maybe, just maybe, he had finally earned his place within the Dursely family. This, however, was unlike any game Harry had ever seen his Uncle and cousin play.

Uncle Vernon had started by removing the small, naive boy's thin cotton pyjamas, large, meaty hands groping his painfully thin frame. Harry, confused, but still trusting his uncle, still trusting his uncles breathy, whispered promises and complements, still keeping his youthful naivety had not struggled. Had not struggled, that is, until his uncle removed his own cloths, roughly parting the young boy's legs. Harry had noted with child-like curiosity, that his uncles member looked odd; It was jutting out, almost standing up against the rolls of sweaty flab, a bad-smelling, cream-coloured liquid oozing from the tip. Confusion clear in his eyes, he looked up, emerald meeting cold, watery blue, before a burning, searing pain, unlike any other he had ever experienced before erupted from his backside. Tears streaming down his face, he looked down, only to see his uncle's member now buried between his legs, a small, rapidly growing pool of crimson seeping out from him, pooling on the bed sheets.

That had been by far his worst punishment. It still hurt when he sat down, not stopping bleeding for days after the incident.

Maybe now he'd been forgiven. After all, his Aunt hadn't awoken him as early as usual to make breakfast for them, and his Uncle had said that they'd all be going out, meaning that he wasn't to be left next door with old Mrs. Figg, the scary, cabbage-smelling lady with too many cats. Maybe this meant no-more punishments, no more spiders, no more cupboard under the stairs, no more hurting or crying himself to sleep...

The day had, by his standards, gone quite well. His Aunt and Uncle had bought him a sandwich and juice box from the small shop in the big forest, the new forest, they had called it. They had stopped Dudley from pushing him into the pond when he had grown bored of the 'nature' and the 'scenery', and had even bought him a small muddy brown and forest green snake toy for no apparent reason. Vernon had then suggested a nature walk to finish the day, Petunia deciding to stay behind with Dudley who, having finally succumbed to boardem had fallen asleep.

After almost an hour of walking, an exhausted Harry had fallen asleep, Vernon, allowing Harry to finish a small flask of strange-tasting liquid, carrying him as he fell into the realms of dreams. That was the last thing he remembered, before waking up out there, in the dark, an all-too familiar burning sensation and sticky trails of blood staining his thin jeans, leaking slowly down his legs, the faint, sickly-sweet smell of blood following him as he had stumbled around in the dark, desperately trying to find his uncle, his aunt, anyone.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I wont do it again... I wont... I'll do better...just please, don't leave me here..." Harry murmured in his nightmare-plagued sleep, one had tightly clutching his little snake plushie, Venom. He never heard his silent stalkers; never saw glowing, cat-like amber eyes in the darkness, nor the glinting, fang-like teeth in the darkness of the night.

He didn't even stir as his silent stalker dropped down from one of the highest branches of one of the tallest, most foreboding trees, where he had taken refuge from the bitter nights cold wind. He didn't see his unearthly pale skin, glinting yellow fangs, strangely ridged brow, the look of hunger in his eyes as the hunt, a rather easy one at that, came to an end.

"Bloody hell..." The faint, disbelieving voice of his would-be attacker broke the eerie silence of the forest. "It's just a kid…" His ridged face shifted, becoming that of a rather hansom human male, looking to be about twenty-three, twenty-four at the most. Running one pale, slightly trembling hand through his bleached slicked back blond locks, he swore, before picking the four year old child up, cradling him carefully in his arms.

"Bloody hell… I can't believe I'm doing this… Peaches'll think I'm going soft in m' old age!…Can't very well leave ya out here, though, can I? Little 'bit's just beggin for the next guy who comes along ta eat 'im…. Fuckin' hell, I am going soft!…Don't you go telling anyone neither, ya here?!" He ordered the still sleeping figure, before silently stalking away, the only trace that either of them had ever been there, a small, darkening pool of crimson at the base of the large tree where the boy had sought refuge. "Oh hell, Irish'll never let me live this down, I just know it! Big bad my arse… Pet's been corruptin' me, he has… He'd better bloody well appreciate this…."

End of Prologue

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Buffy X-overs, Angst, Romance