Title: The Trophy Room by Felice09

Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns all of the characters, places and intricacies of the world of Harry Potter. I am merely playing with them for my own pleasure and indulgence.

Warnings: This story contains mature sexual content. Dub-con, Non-con, Rape and Adult Themes proliferate this work. It is advisable to pass this story over if such themes offend you.

The Trophy Room

Chapter 1

It was peculiar how commonplace things suddenly seemed more visceral. The vibrancy was astounding. Running a cold finger down the window pane of the Gryffindor common room, watching the condensation on the glass slide down in fluid drips, Harry mused on the peculiarity of his new aesthetic taste, and how bereft of it the masses were. Could no one else appreciate the beauty of a moonlit Hogwarts? Hear the silken sounds of the forest's Mooncalves treading softly against the leaves that covered the ground? Even the crooning, burbled natter of the Merpeople conversing in the lake was hidden from him before. And now they sound so beautiful, culminating in the rich symphony of Hogwarts at midnight.

"Harry." Even Hermione's disapproving tones from Ron's bed across the room were beautiful now. Lyrical and human, the pulsing, alive feeling of the blood in her voice enthralling Harry slightly. Harry turned to face her, trying to school his expression to the more acceptable 'politely expectant' rather than 'emphatically bemused', an expression that Harry learned tended to be off putting to some, seeing it as conformation of his other nature.

"Harry, you're slipping again." Hermione reminded him, her small forehead contorted in concern. Her frame seemed delicate and her eyes glazed and watery. To her, she would consider herself perfectly focussed, but Harry seemed to pick up the imperceptible distraction she felt, measuring her distance to the redhead beside her. It was noticeable mainly due to the fact that Harry now found himself able to focus 100% on things that caught his interest in a way that he couldn't when human.

Harry pulled himself from his musing, recalling that Hermione had been talking to him. He offered a sheepish smile in response, his eyes flicking demurely from Hermione's humanly unfocused eyes.

"Sorry." He looked back up to see Hermione shift to lean forward on the bed.

"You don't have to be sorry." Hermione corrected him. "It was only a small thing. You zoned out and stopped breathing."

Harry gave a self depreciating laugh. "Right. Because not breathing is a small thing."

"Well, it is to us." Hermione included Ron in her declaration, waving casually to the boy reclined against the headboard, reading an article in Quidditch Weekly Magazine. "I'm just telling you in case someone else notices. You've been quite good with it already. I just don't want to see you upset if someone goes off screaming to the Prophet if they notice something's off, that's all."

"It's a bit much to expect we can keep everyone in the dark." Harry replied, drawing his knees closer to his chest, wrapping a thin arm around himself.

"I know, but we don't need anyone shouting 'vampire' and pointing fingers before the first week's even up." Hermione answered pragmatically. "I know it's tough for you, having to repress your instincts all the time, but it's better to have a shield of normalcy up, at least until we've waited long enough to convince everyone you're not a threat."

"Oh." Harry's green eyes widened, and he hastened to correct Hermione's assumption. "Oh no, it's not a matter of instinct Hermione. God no. No, I was just thinking."

"Oh, that's ok." Hermione placated him. "I was silly to think it was the hunger anyway. You just ate. I was there after all." Hermione's grin was inclusive and devoid of any aversion.

In this way Harry felt lucky to have such good friends, or at least, friends that weren't squeamish when he had to bite into the burgundy creation that quenched his hunger suitably. Happy for a solution that allowed him to co-exist in a school full of his friends, Harry drank the potion compiled mostly of blood and noxious ingredients, ensuring he had no appetite for the students. It was a messy process, as in order for his body to consume the liquid, his fangs had to physically bite into something, and so the blood bag was hidden in an animal skin that was now dotted with puncture marks. Even Harry felt repulsed at the process, so Hermione treating it as a nondescript necessity was very comforting.

"Sorry about that." Harry apologised again, embarrassed that his friends had to witness his daily feeding at all.

"Oh no, I found it fascinating. Simply fascinating. It's an interesting process to be honest. The clinical version would be different from hunting naturally I suppose." Hermione considered.

"I suppose." Harry shifted nervously.

He had little desire to find out, as the moment he had been turned he'd been coddled and cared for by the wizards of the order, removing any need for trial and error hunting. He didn't want to hunt because he didn't want to hurt anyone. Although he couldn't deny he had urges in his subconscious, especially when biting into the faux-animal blood bag. It just wasn't real enough, hardly satisfying, especially as there was no pumping flow from a warm heartbeat. If there was one thing that could drive Harry's instincts to distraction, it was a strident heartbeat.

"I don't think I'd like to find out anytime soon." Harry added to ensure his pacifism to his friends. People tended to get antsy when they realised the supposedly domesticated vampire had latent hankerings for hunting human blood.

"Of course not." Hermione gave an indulgent smile. It was her firm belief that Harry should be graduated into natural hunting, to ensure his safety during the war, when the clinical method would not always be available. She was still treating him as 'just Harry', which was a comfort but probably not wise. Ron and Neville, who had grown up with the pureblood wizarding culture were slightly more cautious of Harry's instinct, and thankful for his clinical method of feeding.

"Good for you mate." Ron grunted from across the room, still absorbed in his magazine but half listening.

Harry replied with a crooked grin before taking a deliberately deep breath to satisfy Hermione. With it came the tang of the million scents in the room, of skin, dust, clothing, food digesting, pores secreting oil, adrenaline, and below these vague unimportant scents was the purveying and distracting scent of blood. Hermione's blood. Ron's blood. And the blood of the hundreds of students interspersed throughout Hogwarts, carrying about their business without the knowledge of just how well their blood drove Harry to distraction.

Mastering himself he took another stiff breath before relaxing and breathing slower. Once Hermione was happy with his 'breathing techniques' Harry could just block off his sense of smell by shrugging his shoulders and stopping his antagonising breaths. As long as he looked like he was breathing he'd be fine, although it was important for Harry to take habitual lungful's of air to talk to people.

Turning to look back out his window, Harry heard the satisfied huff of Hermione's breathing as she levelled herself back upon the bed, turning the stiff pages of her charms textbook, her heartbeat relaxed and lucid. Ron's heartbeat was also calm and regular, the swush of the Quidditch magazine brushing against the cotton of his shirt.

Owl's chirped in the Owlery and the burbled hush of the night outside the walls of Hogwarts lulled Harry back into complacency, as he deliberated his fourth day of the new year back at Hogwarts.

So far his 'condition' had been more than manageable, so he rested in the knowledge that tomorrow would likely entail much of the same.

As he did not sleep, he had all night to ponder and listen to the gentle sound scope of night-time at the Scottish castle.