Never Again

Rating: M for mature content.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Naruto in any way or form.

Warning: Slight AU and crossover, slash, angst, language and violence.

Note: It would be most appreciated if you reviewed once done with your reading, any comments will be taken into account to better the storyline. I may go back and review it myself time and time again to check for any visible flaws with the structure and fluidity of the writing itself, anything is subject to change.


The Beginning of an End


They had forgotten him. His aunt and uncle's lack of care was nothing new to the raven haired boy; for years they had abused him, forcing him into servitude. Early he woke, before any of the household prepare a light breakfast, a feast in the eyes of any other: plates overflowing with pancakes several feet high drenched in maple syrup, enough scrambled eggs and bacon to feed at least a dozen mouths. He was forced to work in the blazing July heat, tending to the flowerbeds and the hedges; beads of sweat forming against his pale skin, constantly falling his eyes, blurring his vision. Despite the sting, the boy said nothing, choosing to remove his black rectangular glasses before wiping the sweat away as if it was only a minor irritation. The boy would work well into the evening, the setting sun would mark the day's end; he did all this under the ever watchful eyes of his aunt. Despite everything and anything he did however, nothing seemed good enough; nothing seemed to please his aunt or uncle, his only reward ever being a frosted glare and deep cutting words.

He told himself time and time again that they were just words and that they could not hurt him but even he knew he was lying to himself. It was not so much the words themselves, but the speakers. Despite the suffering he endured at their hands, nothing would and could change the fact that to the young raven, they would forever be family, his family. Even if they did not love him, he loved them unconditionally. Even if they did not care, he cared endlessly. Even if they hated him, loathed and despised him, he would never turn his back on them when they needed him, the happenings on his months before his birthday only strengthening his resolve to protect them, to love them, to care.


The day had started out like any other, breakfast consisting of pancakes, eggs and bacon like the days before. The frosted looks from his aunt and uncle remained the same as he served them.

"Do you have any plans today dear?" his uncle asked, addressing his wife. The blonde haired woman turned, the corners of her thin lips lifting to form a sweet albeit small smile. She had a long face and large pale green eyes, long lashes framing them. As the years wore on, wrinkles began to play at the edges of her eyes and mouth. His aunt was not an ugly woman, though not beautiful, she was fairly attractive. As the boy watched on, guilt washed over him. It was because of him that his age had aged so. It was because of him. He idly wondered how their life would have been without him. Would they always exude such warmth and love as they did before him? Would they have no worries in the world? Would they truly be happy? These people had taken him into their life and he would try his hardest to repay them, to protect them. The boy was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear her reply, his musing broken only by his uncle's scream.

"Did you not hear your aunt boy?" proclaimed his red faced uncle. As the boy shifted his large doe eyes towards his uncle, he was greeted with a large and beefy frame, years of pancakes, eggs and bacon clearly evident. The man's dull brown eyes narrowed, his too thin lips settling into line. When he opened to berate the boy, he was suddenly cut off by his wife.

"Did you hear me? I told you to run to the store and return with some flour and sugar. Your uncle has guest coming tonight and I will not allow you to embarrass him." The boy merely shifted his eyes back towards his aunt, startled that she would stop her husband's coming rant. "Now," she proclaimed, lips drawn into a thin like not unlike her husband.

Silently, the boy made his way to the bakery on Pudding Lane, his thoughts wandered towards his aunt's behavior. Perhaps … she cares … For years, the boy had hoped that despite her cold exterior, she held some semblance of love for him. By coming to his defense, the boy was convinced that perhaps she did care. His musing had closed the boy to the outside world, his feet moving of their own accord. So enraptured with his thoughts, the sudden appearance of his older cousin did not even register itself.

"Dear cousin, you really shouldn't be spacing out. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you, do we?" The ebony haired boy was visibly startled, earning himself a smirk courtesy of his cousin. Taking after his father, the blonde boy was quite large but through his involvement in boxing, he had developed a sturdy frame.

Before a retort could be uttered, he felt it: the feeling of complete and utter despair; the images of that fateful Halloween night; the screams and begging for his life to be spared and the green light that enveloped his mother, stealing her away before he could ever truly know her. The pain gripped him so, forcing him to his knees. "Wh-h-at's t-h-h-haaaat!" screamed his cousin, stumbling backwards, landing himself in a heap. No sooner had the words left his lips, a figure clad in tattered black robes glided towards him. Extending a ghostly pale finger, it lovingly traced the older boy's cheek, as a mother would her new born. The junior boxer sat there, as if hypnotized; his eyes clouded, reliving his worst nightmares.

"No … no … stop … stop … NOOOO!" gasped the raven through labored breathed. "You will not hurt him … your target is me." The cloaked figure merely retracted its hand, leaving the blonde where he sat in a pile of his own sweat and vomit, turning to face its new target. Pushing himself up through the aid of the wall behind him, thick wisps of white smoke began to suddenly appear, taking shape before them, condensing to form a stag.

As his eyes trailed over his creation, confusion and awe swirled within the depths of those orbs. "Prongs … ? How … can it be? I don't have my …?" The stag before him craned its neck around, borings its eyes into his, as if willing him to understand. Within seconds, the corners of his full lips tugged upwards, hinting at the beginnings of a true smile. "It's been a long time hasn't it … Prongs." It was more a statement than a question and the stag before him merely neighed his agreement. Focusing his eyes upon the creature before him, those emerald eyes which lost their sparkle so long ago shone bright with determination. They shone bright with familial love. As the stag charged forward, straight towards the creature, the black robed figure before them suddenly screeched, fear clearly evident as it fled, leaving two the cousins to pick up the pieces and move on. With the threat gone, Prongs stood facing the dark haired boy, as if bidding a silent goodbye while the setting sun illuminating him for all to see before he vanished, carried off through the wind.

With his beloved stag gone, the boy quickly rushed to his cousin, whispering sweet words of comfort as he cradled him, hoping that they would be enough. His older cousin's eyes held so much fear, so much despair and helplessness that the boy thought nothing strange of the hug, craving the need to touch, to take the warmth offered as if it was a lifeline.

When the cousins arrived home, the older boy was quickly enveloped in twin hugs, courtesy of his parents. "What wrong son? Are you alright? Did anything happen? Who did this to you?" both parents questioned. They were so distraught at the prolonged absence of their son, fearing for the worst. When they finished their examinations of their son, two sets of eyes turned towards the smaller boy. "What did you do to our son," his uncle stated more than asked, his face beginning to blotch up in varying shades of red, his eyes narrowed into slits.

"Honey, that's enou-" his aunt tried to interrupt but she was quickly silenced when those narrowed eyes landed on her, forcing her to look away, fear evident within those pale green eyes. She held onto her son, shielding herself from the sight before her, knowing what was to come.

"Boy, you will answer me. NOW! What did you do to my son?" threatened his uncle. Even as the large man advanced towards him, the boy said nothing, choosing to stare at his own feet, knowing nothing he said would be enough to placate the larger man.

-Smack-

The sound reverberated throughout the room, causing any who heard to wince but the small boy said nothing as blood began to fall from his lips. He said nothing as he was assaulted by his uncle, choosing to curl up in a fetal position on the floor. He said nothing as punches landed against his ribs, shattering them upon impact through the sheer force of the blow. He said nothing as legs forced their way against his stomach; dark blotches began to form as evidence of each and every kick he suffered. He said nothing as his face was pushed into the carpeting, breaking the black rimmed glasses he wore and burning his skin raw. He said nothing as his uncle locked him inside his cupboard, promising the light of day would never again land upon him. He said nothing because he knew, convinced that he deserved anything and everything that was happening to him.

If I wasn't here … they would be so much happier.


As the young raven thought of his cousin's bout with the cloaked figure, tears unconsciously began to well up, forcing the young man to blink them furiously away. I do not regret my actions that night. I only regret it was because of me that he was hurt so … my presence alone caused such pain and suffering for them. It was me all along … It was because of his failure to stop caring that hurt him so. Every word they spoke hurt, cutting him down until he was no more. Each and every word was like a razor: sharp, lethal and straight to the point. Their eyes were like the frozen Tundra, chilling all that stumbled upon them. When those eyes turned towards him, he was reminded of their hate, of their loathing, of their lack of care and love towards him. Their eyes held so much emotion, so much anger and hatred that he would involuntarily flinch and turn away. After each and every confrontation, he wished himself stronger, wished himself able to simply not care. As the seasons changed, so too did the young raven's heart; with every passing summer he spent with his relatives, he grew colder, showing less and less of his once youthful persona. How much more can this heart of mine take? How much more can I endure? With each passing day, with each passing second and hour, his eyes would lose a bit of their sparkle but despite the changes, it was not enough. It was never enough but today was different.

Today marks the beginning of an end; today, I call Number 4 Privet Drive my home no more. With my leave, this family will have the peace they deserve.

It was with these thoughts that he walked alone, truck in hand towards Number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whining, Surrey. Past the hedges, the benches and flowerbeds the young man walked, but when he reached the door, he stopped abruptly – the front door had been left ajar. Never would his aunt allow such, their neighborhood had such keen eyes and ears. Slowly, he crept inside and with a -click- the door was closed. His thoughts were utter chaos; his mind raced for possible explanations: perhaps his aunt had been careless and was just napping up the stairs? Perhaps his cousin had left the house in haste Piers Polkis for the cinema and the door was the evidence? If not that, perhaps his Uncle had been late for work and thoughtlessness was the criminal to this crime? But as his mind thought up this and other such explanations, his heart knew otherwise. It frightened him so as evidence in his shaking hand still clutching tightly to the doorknob. It was like a lifeline, one he desperately clutched onto for he knew that once he turned, he would be forced to face reality.

"I'm so pleased you could finally join us today Harry Potter. We were growing so utterly bored without you. There just isn't much to do in Surrey is there?" hissed a man's voice, a voice cold and hard like steel. When he turned to face the speaker, a pale snakelike face and glowing amber eyes greeted him. Too shocked to do much else, he stood still and stared at those amber orbs. He would never forget those eyes, those eyes that held so much hate, those eyes that promised so much suffering and despair, those eyes that saw to the murder of his mother and father but there was another emotion within those orbs this evening, one that Harry could not place.

"Voldemort ...?" Harry whispered.

"Now, now, now Harry, I'm sure it hasn't been that long since we've last seen one another, it saddens me so that you've forgotten me. Perhaps now that you've arrived, a little game is in order, one that will leave you with a lasting impression of me." No sooner had he uttered those words did nine other voices laugh coldly, alerting Harry that there were others besides Voldemort and himself. With their laughter, the raven was finally released from whatever silently gripped him, allowing him to take in the scene; before him stood Voldemort and his inner circle of Death Eaters. Their wands held at the ready should the Boy-Who-Lived try his hand against their Master but as Harry eyes trailed down, he was once again gripped by paralysis; at their feet lay his relatives.

His aunt, his uncle and his cousin were bloodied beyond recognition. Their limbs stood out at odd angles, unnaturally so … no … stood flowed freely from the gashes that lined their bodies … what have you done … clinging to them like a second skin. As he looked closely, he noticed the stillness in his Uncle and Cousin's bodies … they were innocent …. He noticed the lack of breathe, the lack of everything and anything that signified them as citizens of the Living.

They were all I had left! How much will you take from me before you are ever truly satisfied? My father and mother … both claimed before I could ever truly know them. Tears threatened to fall as he realized his world had come crashing down once more. Before my Godfather, I was left to suffer and struggle alone. I alone bore the weight of the Wizarding World but with his presence, the weight lessened and I began to see light in the darkness but even that you stole away. Will you take and take until I have nothing left?

Even in pain and strife, Boy-Who-Lived would never allows these people to see him weak, he would rather face death time and time again before he would allow such weakness to be shown. Any and all emotion was reigned in and locked away. What was once an uncontrollable sea was no more and a barricade was erected within the confines of his mind, protecting what the Boy-Savior valued most, his memories; the good and the bad, everything. Those memories were what made him who he was. Slowly, Harry lifted his face towards the Dark Lord and his inner circle of Death Eaters. No longer did his eyes sparkle like emeralds, they had forever lost their luster. No longer did they exude their warmth and kindness that he was known for. As the Boy-Who-Lived glanced at each and every Death Eater, they found themselves involuntarily taking a step back, truly frightened of those eyes. Those eyes held nothing but death.

"Ha … r … ry …?" whispered a strained voice. The raven's head snapped towards the voice and what he saw brought hope to those eyes. It was his aunt Petunia, alive; her pale green eyes shades lighter than they should have been, the pain she suffered evident with every move she made, with every breathe she took. As her eyes looked at her only nephew, tears began to stream down her bloodied face.

"It would seem that our dear hostess has returned from her slumber. It would seem that your dear nephew has decided to grace us with his presence madam; perhaps now the fun can begin," hissed Voldemort, smiling maliciously. Harry now recognized what lurked within those amber orbs, joy. You who have taken so much will take no more. The raven haired boy slowly turned his gaze towards the Death Eaters and their Master. You will not take her away from me. His cold and hardened eyes glanced from one Death Eater to another before landing on their Master, Voldemort. Even if I draw my last breathe this day, I swear it, you shall not lay another hand upon her.

The living room was eerily quiet and void of activity but the followers of the Lord knew something had happened, they could feel it within their magical cores. As ruby orbs observed the sight before him, they began to narrow slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. The boy's magic felt familiar but there was something different about this presence, this energy; it felt ancient but whatever it was, he vowed to himself he would unravel this mystery.

Soon, the Boy-Who-Lived was enveloped in a cocoon of energy, swirling gently, as if to envelope him in a soft embrace, as if protecting him from the world. It would gently caress his cheek, not unlike a mother and her new born babe. It was without a doubt alive and did not take kindly to the danger it sensed towards its master. As the little raven narrowed his eyes towards his adversaries, the presence stilled their ministrations before suddenly pulsing wildly. Chaos ensued.

Every Death Eater's wand fly from their hands and they were immediately thrown hard towards the wall, a sickening -crack- resounding throughout the room at their landing, signifying broken bones and cracked ribs. With a hastily shielding spell, Voldemort had saved himself the loss of his wand and bodily injury.

Narrowing his amber orbs, Voldemort hissed contemptuously, "It would seem you have more than a few tricks up your sleeve boy," hissed the man-snake in Parseltongue. "I suppose the only solution to this little problem is your death, but your Aunt stands in the way of your demise with the Bond of Blood in place. I suppose you'll have to wait a bit." Before Harry could even move a muscle, he was slammed into the door with such force that he began to see stars. When he lifted his hands to rub his aching head, hoping to clear his vision, something warm coating his fingertips. Blood. It flowed freely and with every passing second, his strength waned and darkness soon began to cloud his vision. As he slipped in and out of consciousness, he could see Voldemort advancing upon his helpless Aunt.

I have failed and again you prevail. He was so tired, so exhausted, so full of pain and defeat that he allowed himself to slide to the floor onto his side. He could hear Voldemort's cold laughter and his aunt's screams of pure agony. How much more from me will you take? How much more can I stand to lose? I'm just so … tired … of this … of everything … of life. Every scream reminded him of his failure; his failure to protect his precious people. Every pain filled scream forced him to recognize his own weakness, forced him to recognize how helpless he really was. How can I protect anyone as I am now … As he watched the torture of his Aunt, the tears he held back for so long were finally allowed to fall. He wept for the parents he never knew. He wept for the Godfather he had yet to know. He wept for his Aunt, his Uncle, his Cousin and others that fell because of him, because of his weakness and helplessness. Take me away … anywhere … take me someplace … away … far … away …

Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and proclaimed savior of the Wizarding World saw and heard no more.


TBC