Disclaimer: I do not own these characters (except the vampires). J.K. Rowling is the brilliant mind behind Harry Potter.
Warnings: Overall for this story, there will be child abuse (just in the first chapter and not detailed), naughty language, male/male relationships and male/female relationships (the intimate details of which may end up being posted on a different site, if I end up writing them), and violence. Can't think of anything else but I will make sure there are updates if things change. For this chapter, only the abuse but not very detailed.
Harry fought against the blackness closing in on his vision as he bit his lip against the tears and sobbing that wanted to escape him as every inch of his body burned with pain. His legs had long since given out on him. They may have even been broken, he couldn't tell anymore. Everything just hurt.
But he wouldn't give his uncle the satisfaction of watching him break. He would keep his silence. Even if it killed him.
He watched his uncle's foot swing towards him in a detached manner. He felt the pain but he could also tell that his mind was shutting down, or going into shock. He wasn't sure. He couldn't even think.
All he knew at this moment was that his hatred was growing more and more with every passing second, or maybe it was hours. So much pain. For the first time, he felt his buried hatred leaking into every fiber of his being. Oh, if only he could act on it, for once he actually wanted to. He couldn't imagine even hating Voldemort as much as he hated his uncle right now.
Harry felt hysterical laughter bubbling up his throat along with the screams of agony that he was holding back with every blow to his broken body. Some rational part of his mind that was slowly fading to nonexistence thought that maybe he was beginning to lose his mind with all the pain and hate he was feeling and the laughter was coming as a means to protect himself. Or maybe he was just plain going insane.
A particularly hard kick to his sternum brought a burst of agony unlike anything to yet occur. His vision did go completely black now, and as he began to slip into unconsciousness that he was almost positive he would never wake from, his last thought was of complete hatred and anger and bitterness to the world at large (and especially his family) for the injustice that described his life.
When Harry awoke, which was surprising in itself, he did not recognize his surroundings at all. Almost immediately, he also realized that he could see perfectly, even though he was pretty sure only the final rays of a sunset were filtering into the room and he wasn't wearing his glasses.
He sat up in the bed he was in only to wonder how he was even able to and why he wasn't crippled with pain. He looked down at his naked chest, while absently wondering where his shirt was, and noticed that the skin was flawless, minus the old scars that littered his body from his childhood. Where were the fresh wounds, bruises, broken bones? He suddenly became distracted by his hands, as he noticed that they did not look like his own. He fleetingly wondered if he was possessing someone else's body as Voldemort had done to him not so long ago. Maybe that could explain why he felt like he was experiencing someone else emotions from a distance instead of panicking as he thought he probably should be. Instead, he felt cold and emotionless. Although also definitely confused and disoriented, with a touch of fear and worry, but they felt so distant as to not be his own emotions.
He tried to pull himself together again as he noticed his hands in front of him once again. He couldn't seem to focus on anything for more than a few seconds and was having trouble holding onto one thought. He almost wondered if his brain had gone into shock. Focus, Harry! He studied his hands and immediately became enthralled with studying them. It was easier than sorting through everything else flitting through his mind like lightning. His hands were pale and – dare he say – elegant. The fingers were long and graceful, but with a strength behind them. The word deceptive came to mind as he studied their appearance. Why am I thinking about this?
He finally glanced up with the intention of studying his surroundings when he noticed someone watching him from just inside the door of his room. The man was leaning against the wall and watching him with amusement.
Harry's first instinct was to flee or fight, but a new instinct questioned why he would do that. As a result of his conflicting instincts, he instead ended up just staring at the man with a blank expression and not so much as twitching a muscle. Very smart, Harry. Where is that survival instinct?! He mentally berated himself while acknowledging that it was mostly out of habit as he still felt cold and emotionless.
"I see you have finally awoken," the stranger, who also for some reason seemed like a long time friend, stated. "How are you feeling?"
"Cold and empty," Harry responded without thought. He hesitated a moment before adding, "I feel much better physically than I think I should, however, considering my last memory."
Harry frowned as his last memory of being beaten by his uncle came rushing back to him with vivid clarity and for the first time since he woke up he felt an emotion that actually felt like it was coming from him. Rage and hatred. Maybe even betrayal. It was hard to tell, he only knew that he was going to lose control of his temper in a moment if something-
"Stop," the stranger commanded in a calm voice, and immediately Harry's rage and anger subsided. It was still there, but the emotionless cold feeling was blanketing it now. Harry lifted an eyebrow at his companion in question, somehow knowing the man would understand what Harry needed to know.
"We have much to discuss, Harry," the man said, and Harry finally realized that he had a rather thick French accent. Harry was baffled that he had not noticed it earlier. His expression must have shown on his face because a moment later the handsome (Did I really just think that?) man continued with, "I know you must be confused and feel like a stranger in your own skin at the moment, but I promise that that will pass in a few hours and you will no longer be so disoriented."
"Who are you?" Harry asked before he could think better of it.
"My name is Tristan Renard. We have never met, but I bet you feel as though you already know me," Tristan stated, though there was a hint of a question mixed into his tone. Harry nodded his head in acknowledgement. Tristan smiled briefly before finishing his introduction with, "I found you when you were moments from death, Harry. I saved you the only way I could." He paused for a moment before finishing with, "I am a vampire, Harry Potter, and now so are you."
A/N: So I'm debating skipping most of Harry's time learning about being a vampire and going straight to more of the story. This isn't to say that I will be ignoring that time period, I will be throwing in details/flashbacks/knowledge as they come into the rest of the story. Let me know if this is acceptable... I'm feeling a bit restless and impatient. Hope this was okay! I would love helpful feedback. This is my first time attempting fanfiction and I haven't written a story in years.