Hybrid Theory
Disclaimer: Don't sue me; I only own the plot, and a handful of characters. The poem featured below is "Who Will Cry" by Antwone Q. Fisher.
It was a bright June afternoon, and all was well.
Or at least as good as it could get being stuck with a family that hates you all alone in the wilderness. An eight year old Harry Potter sighed as he tried to pitch his pathetic excuse for a tent; while the Dursley's, and about four of Dudley's little gang staying in the deluxe RV, Harry was left to fend for himself outside with only some twine, two sticks, and really a ratty old bed sheet. But never the less Harry was thankful; at least they hadn't left him with their cat-obsessed neighbor Mrs. Fig. Harry shuddered, Mrs. Fig was nice but he hated staying in her house.
Harry finally managed to construct a somewhat decent structure by sunset. Harry flopped back onto the grass besides his tent. He didn't know why the Dursley's had decided to go camping; Aunt Petunia being as anal as she was couldn't stand dirt so she stayed inside, Uncle Vernon was too fat to be hiking around or doing any form of exercise for that matter, and Dudley and his gang hadn't even set foot outside the RV, they were too busy watching T.V. and eating junk food to do anything else.
Suddenly the RV door swung open with a thwack. Out came Dudley and his friends sulking, it seems Petunia had finally cut them off from their precious telly.
"Don't go to far my Diddy Dumpkins!" called Aunt Petunia in (what she most likely thought) a sweet tone.
"Alright Mum" Dudley yelled back then said to his friends "whatcha wanna do now?"
Harry who had already stood up at the sound of the door closing, slowly backed himself behind a tree and stood stock still. Peering out from his hiding spot he caught one of Dudley's friends tear his tent down. 'Darn, that took forever…. Well I guess I could sleep under the RV but-' Harry's thoughts were cut off abruptly as he heard his name mentioned.
"I could go for some Harry Hunting, how 'bout you D?" Piers asked loudly. Harry's insides froze. If he ran he would run the risk of getting lost, and he seriously doubted that the Dursley's would bother looking for him. Yet his cousin though only a month older was more than twice Harry's size and couple that with his rather vicious gang the odds were not in Harry's favor.
"Well we've gotta find him first then." Dudley agreed cracking his fleshy knuckles.
"Oh Harry, come out come where ever you are" he yelled, his friends joining in laughing. Harry could hear them coming closer, the forest looked preeeetty good right about now. Biting his lip Harry bolted towards the woods. His heart pounded in his ears as he ran, he could hear the others behind him. Harry ran faster. His heart felt like it was going to burst, but still he ran. He ran until his little legs gave out from exhaustion, it was dark, he was lost but at least he had lost them.
Harry breathed heavily as he tried to figure out what to do, but it was hard to breathe when it felt like your side had been cut open, and your legs set on fire. Harry was breathing so hard he didn't hear the twigs snap from beside him, or the ragged breathing of another, but hear did hear a faint but menacing growl. He froze, his veins suddenly feeling like they were full of ice water. The forest had gone silent, perhaps too silent. He couldn't see that was for sure, even though it was a full moon, the light was hidden by clouds.
Suddenly a cold and gruesome voice rang out from the darkness of the night.
"Who will cry for the little boy,
Lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy,
Abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy?
He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy?
He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy?
He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy?
The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy?
Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy?
He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy?
A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry with the little boy,
Who cries inside of ME!"
Abruptly a large grisly beast lunged out from concealment.
Harry cried out as he felt claws rake his sides. The beast, no not a beast but a man whirled back around to face the small child. He had gray hair with sideburns and inhuman yellow eyes. He smiled cruely; caked blood could be seen visibly from his wolfish teeth. Suddenly as the moonlight fell into the clearing where they were both standing the hideous man turned into an even more grotesque beast.
His clothes ripped as hair grew and covered his body, his face reconstructed itself with a few sickening snaps as his mouth was elongated into a muzzle. Fangs and claws formed and lengthened. He snapped back his head and unleashed a bone-chilling howl. Harry tried to move back, to run but once again the creature ensnared the small boy.
Harry screamed as he felt the creatures powerful jaws lash onto his left arm, Harry's entire hand up to its wrist trapped in the beast's mouth. Without a doubt Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived would have died that night if not for what happened next. As Harry screams grew louder he felt a strange fizzing sensation consumed him, the raw power burned and caressed him. Suddenly the wind in the area picked up and a large black flame erupted from out of the youth's small bloodied hand, it shot directly through the back of the werewolf's (as Harry would later find out) head. Its death was instantaneous yet extremely painful.
Both Harry and the lycan feel to the ground. Harry whimpered, terrified out of his wits, as he pulled his hand from out of the monsters mouth The flames swirled around his hand and healed the numerous and very bloody cuts on his hand. Only and crescent shaped scar on his left wrist remained. Harry blacked out, but the night was far from over.
Harry's entire flight and fight had not gone unseen. Two figures swathed in black with black masks watched the entire ideal quietly. This was more than what they could have hoped for, not only would the boys "family" believe him dead but head had already completed phase one for them. Receiving the mark of a werewolf, an elder werewolf at that. It was a shame the Fenrir was dead but at least they had a chance to collect more of his blood.
"The Corporation will be pleased." Unnamed guy # 1 said, his voice sounding cold and mechanical.
"Yes, this was definitely a fortunate turn of events. The boy-child even knocked himself out for us." His companion replied in a similar voice. They quickly collected the corpse and child and disappeared from the sight with a small pop.
Elsewhere
"Is everything set?"
"Yes sir."
"Excellent, go fetch Amelia won't you. We haven't much time left the window of opportunity will soon be over."
"Yes sir" with a salute the lackey quickly left the room to do as his boss commanded.
In a small bare cell with only a skylight for light, laid the small, malnourished, comatose body of one Harry James Potter. Suddenly the door opened and a woman was pushed inside. She fell to the floor limply. She was weak; she hadn't feed for a month now. The bloodlust burned her throat yearning to be quenched. The smell of fresh, young blood wafted through the air to her aristocratic nose. Her head snapped up sharply, her eyes which were a permanent bloodlust-blue shone brightly in the darkness.
Her body moved on its own accord finding the strength to dart forward and sink its teeth into the warm flesh. What taste, what power, in her entire time of being she had never sampled such blood. It was nearly euphoric, no scratch that it was ambrosial. She drank till nearly nothing was left. As she pulled herself away, she cried out in horror when she realized from whom she had feasted on.
"A boy" she whispered mournfully "oh gods what have I done?" Amelia, elder and leader of one of the largest and oldest covens in the entire know world wept bitterly. She watched as the child's little heart pumped slowly trying to go on. His memories swimming inside her head. "Father give me strength to right my wrongs" she whispered. She knew that he had already been turned by a lycan, but still something about the boy told her that he would survive.
Quietly and quickly, Amelia used her own nails to slash her wrist, immediately she pressed it to the child's mouth. His body moved without prompting and eagerly accepted her blood. She knew it was forbidden, what she was doing, turning one who had already been turned by a wolf. But she could not bring herself to let him die. He had fought too hard to survive and she'd damned before she let him die now. Children were precious to her and her kin. Treasured above all else, to kill a child would be committing a cardinal sin.
"I shall take the lesser of two evils" she murmured fervently. Once the child had drunk enough she gently pried her wrist away. To complete the turning she gently lifted up his right arm and slit another crescent shaped cut into his flesh. Quickly she pressed her own bleeding wrist to his. A flash of black light filled the room. It had worked but Amelia was unnerved by the light, normally it should have been white or sliver but definitely not black. Than again he would be the first of his kind. Amelia pulled his small fame into hers gently as she smoothly caressed his black locks, they were some much like her own.
A voice in her mind nagged at her telling her she had been tricked, she had played into their hands. But she could care less. Harry opened one eye weakly it flashed from his brilliant green to her blue (nearly white) eyes, then back again. She smiled; he was hers now, her blood, her childe. Her little chimera, the first of his kind. The first Hybrid.
A/N:
So what do you think? I kind of meshed Underworld, Pretender, and Harry Potter together. Next chapter it'll be set quite a few years later and we met our favorite bubbly Auror! Review please.