Title: Shukaku's Shadow

Beta: None (please let me know of any mistakes, but please don't be rude about it)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Harry Potter, not Naruto. They belong to their respective creators and I am making no money from this fanfiction work.

Warnings: at the moment, I can only think of violence, slash, child abuse and child trafficking. I don't condone child abuse, or trafficking it is a vile act.

Pairings: undecided

Poll:

Please leave a review and let me know which of these you want Harry/Daiki to end up with.

Gaara,

Itachi,

Shikamaru,

Neji

(you can also leave a review with another preference but I will only choose them if they have majority vote and the reasonings are good)

I won't post a poll on my profile, just review and let me know. Thank you.

One

Suna

The boy lay in the small, dark, crevice that was his cupboard. His breaths came, slow and even. /For the boy: no more than five: was asleep at the moment.

But his rest would not last. For his aunt was on the prowl. "Boy!" a shrill voice demanded. A sharp wrap was heard upon the door immediately after the call.

"Get up boy."

The child stirred. He sighed, sat up, and pulled his clothes on. "Are you up boy?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." the boy replied.

He followed his aunt from the cupboard into the kitchen. He silently climbed onto the stool and began to work on breakfast for his relatives. His aunt kept a watchful eye upon him, making sure the small boy did not burn their breakfast.

Halfway through breakfast the phone rang. Aunt Petunia stood to answer. While she was gone the boy shuffled more food from the stove to the table for the large beefy man and fat pig-like boy that sat there.

When she came back she looked angry. Her mouth was pinched in anger. "She's unable to take the boy. Says she has some obligations to take care of and can't handle him."

"We can't take him." the beefy man growled. He was known to the boy as uncle Vernon. He sent a glare at the boy as he spoke. As if he had been the one to instigate the obligations.

"Who can we get to watch him?" Aunt Petunia asked.

They were of course, talking about the trip they would be taking. Uncle Vernon's company wanted a small side branch in a place called Suna. None of their rival companies had done such a move as the place was said to be a third world country, so they wanted to take full advantage. For some reason seeing an opportunity. The boy had heard all about it as it had been his uncle's idea. If they managed the deal the family would be able to go on the vacation Aunt Petunia wanted and Uncle Vernon would have a significant pay raise.

The boy: Harry James Potter by name, though he didn't know that himself: shook himself from his thoughts. He wanted to hear where this conversation was going.

"Fine." Uncle Vernon growled. He glared hatefully at the small boy in the middle of the kitchen.

"Get packing!" Uncle Vernon roared, spittle flying from his mouth. The boy was packed and ready that afternoon. He crammed in the backseat with his much larger cousin. Dudley Dursley was not happy, but Uncle Vernon had put his foot down. This deal was a big chance, if he could finish this the family would be set for years. Uncle Vernon would most likely be promoted even.

They pulled in front of the airport. By this time Dudley was throwing a fit. "Listen Diddydums. Would you like to stay with Aunt Marge? Would you like him to have all the fun?" Aunt Petunia asked, shooting a glare at the small boy standing a few feet away.

"N-no. I-I j-just wa-wa-want to have my computer and tv."

"Come now Dinky Diddydums. It'll only be a couple weeks. We'll be back soon." Aunt Petunia assured.

"And we'll buy you that game system you wanted and you can have ice-cream cake for dinner." Ice-cream cake was Dudley's favorite food as it was both ice-cream and a cake all in one.

They reached the hotel that evening. The boy was forced to carry his relatives bags up to their rooms. Some luggage was even larger than the boy himself.

As his aunt tended to Dudley the boy slipped onto the balcony. He knelt in silence: his head bowed as he thought. He could not remember his parents. All he knew was the hatred of his relatives: the anger and animosity of his own blood and the rest of the neighborhood. He didn't even know why they hated him. Why did they keep him if they hated him so much?

The door opened behind him. He stiffened, knowing what would come. He looked up into the purple face of his very angry uncle.

"I don't know what: freakishness: you pulled." the man snarled. He grabbed the boy by the collar and hoisted him up. He struggled, his feet dangling inches above the floor. His breath was cut off by his uncle's grip.

"Un-" he tried to call out, but the grip tightened. Choking him even more. "I will not have your freakishness while we're here."

He released the small boy. The boy stumbled backward: gasping for breath. His footing slipped, he staggered even closer to the edge. His body was in a very odd position. He fell through the bars of the railing and fell toward the ground.

The small child closed his eyes against the fall. Fear coursed through his small body as he imagined splattering against the ground. And his family, his family would care, would they? They would say it was an accident and move on with their lives. They would blame the entire thing on their dead, freakish, nephew.

His fall slowed. He threw out an arm and hit the ground below him. There was a crack, and excruciating pain filled the small boy. He gasped out and curled around the injured arm. His body trembled as he suppressed the pain. Fiery tendrils of pain shot mercilessly up his arm.

A roar from above caught his attention. The door slammed and he knew his uncle was coming for him. He had done something freakish. Something his relatives could not abide. And now the man was coming to punish him.

He scrambled to his feet. He couldn't help but run from the man. The roar echoed behind him as he raced through the streets. And though he knew running would make things worse, his feet carried him on. "Get back here boy!" the man bellowed. But the child couldn't, fear clutched the small boy. He feared he would not live if he didn't get away. He knew he needed to run. To escape from the hellhole that was his life.

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to get away. To run and hopefully escape. Escape, find his freedom after years of torment.

The angry shouts followed him down streets. Chasing him like a pack of wild wolves. Ripping at his heels like carnivorous animals from the depths of nightmares. He could almost imagine feeling the roar, tear at his heels, causing him to pick up speed. His breaths ragged, his legs aching, but still he ran.

He found himself breaking into a park. He held his arm close to his side: every bounce jarring the injured appendage. Pain ripping up his arm like the pack of wolves he'd imagined wanted to.

Glancing back, he saw his uncle behind him. Purple faced, the man was spitting mad. Huffing and puffing like that wolf from the story Aunt Petunia told Dudley once. The one with the three little pigs. Dudley hadn't liked it. He wanted the wolf to have gotten the poor pigs. Wanted the pigs to be slaughtered. But the child felt envious of the pigs. He wished he could escape the wolf like they had.

As he glanced back, he didn't notice the group gathered ahead of him. Didn't see the confrontation that was happening.

He ran into a boy, his arm jarred painfully. He fell back, biting his tongue against the cry that wanted to leave him. He knew better than to show his pain, that only meant more pain in the end.

Looking up from where he lay, he saw the boy. Red hair, jade green eyes. A chill went up his spine. He shivered at the lack of warmth the boy exuded. He was ten times scarier then all three of his relatives put together.

The red-haired boy spoke in the native tongue, but the child didn't speak it. He blinked up at him in confusion. The boy's eyes narrowed in anger. The child flinched back fearfully, expecting the same treatment his relatives would give him.

His eyes were so riveted to the cold gaze he didn't notice his uncle's approach.

"You dare run away from me boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, interrupting whatever the red-haired boy was about to do. Which to the child was a very foolish thing to do, but still he felt kind of grateful to him. "He had finally caught up with him. Finally, out ran his prey. Because the little one knew he couldn't run any more. His arm throbbed in agony. His legs cramped painfully. He was no little pig, he couldn't outsmart the big bad wolf.

The man grabbed him by his broken arm. The pain surged up his arm worse than before. he couldn't bite back the cry of pain that managed to escape him. Even as he attempted to choke it back down his throat. His eyes watering, he pleaded with the near salivating man. Hoping he wouldn't pay attention to his agony.

"Please Uncle." he cried, stabs of pain shooting up his arm continuously. Hoping the man would release him without further pain. "I told you boy. NO MORE FREAKISHNESS! And what did you do? You did some freakish thing.

"I didn't-"

"We took you in. We clothed you, spent hard earned money on you. And this is how you repay us?" he viciously twisted the already broken arm and threw the boy to the ground. Obviously, he was going to expand his pain.

The five-year old's breaths choked in his throat." Sobs racked the small body, he was terrified for his young life. Would it end now?" "You'll go the same way as his parents. They were just as worth less, just as freakish, as you boy." snarled Uncle Vernon. He slammed a foot into his wards stomach before turning and stomping off back towards the hotel. A smirk of relish passing over his face as the boy coughed up blood.

The boy lay where he fell. Pain shooting through his arm, his stomach churning painfully. Exhaustion filled him, He didn't care what happened to him. He just wished for the pain to stop. He was broken, useless.

The red-haired boy knelt down next to the five-year-old. He spoke again, but the younger child couldn't understand. He stared up at the boy, pleading for him to end the pain. But he didn't have to worry, blackness took over his vision. He fell into it gratefully. The pain leaving him as the darkness took over.