AN: I've just received a review on that I've already spoilt the story with the oversized harem... Well, perhaps, yes. And in response to other comments asking whether Harry will be able to create other ghouls, no. How will I explain the conditions? So, no.
Harem will be there anyway. But do you want me to lessen the size?
Alright, before you say yes, just sit and watch. Let's go!
Time: A Year Later
Harry's stomach had been rumbling with the beginnings of hunger since he had woken up yesterday morning.
Harry stumbled through the crowded streets of Liverpool, trying to make himself shrink and seem smaller as he navigated through the throngs of people flocking to a football game at Anfield, all clad in red and white coats and scarves, with packs of beer in their hands.
He pulled the dirty, hand me down clothes, the only ones that fitted him that he had picked up from the donation box in the downtown homeless shelter, closer to himself, as if it would protect him from the pitying gazes the people sent his direction. The oversized hoodie barely kept him warm from the cold breeze that blew through the streets, making him feel jealous of the children in their little furry coats and mittens and scarves.
His feet picked up the pace, making him hurry to get out of the busy streets, searching for somewhere to watch the game from, trying to ignore the growling in his stomach. Several smells assaulted his nose, the sweaty odour of the men that stunk of hard work, beer and weakness, the smells of the children, so delicious and inviting, and the sweet fragrance of the women. He could smell their emotions, glee, so sweet, anxiety, so spine-tingling, and jubilance.
Football had become sort of like the only thing that anchored down Harry nowadays, to prevent him from going crazy, even as he sat huddled at the corner of some roof somewhere, bawling his eyes out and clawing at his face, sometimes just sitting there listless.
He played football sometimes when any of the other homeless guys managed to get their hands on a ball, sometimes the older boys who played in the streets invited him to play with them when they saw him just standing there, observing. They kicked and fought a lot, but for Harry, who had never played with other boys, it was the most fun experience of his life. Besides, he would sometimes stand outside an electronics shop and watch football matches in televisions put on display, along with a few others, businessmen joining the homeless in watching a match on their way to work.
He had not come to Liverpool straight after leaving Surrey. He had been to the dazzling lights of London, the smoky mills of Manchester, besides Brighton and Newcastle before landing here on another random cross country apparition to escape the police.
Why did he need to escape the police, you ask?
The hunger. It returned randomly. Like now.
If Harry was very conservative, not spending that much energy and getting lots of regular food to eat, he could keep the hunger at bay for one month maximum before it returned with a burning vengeance, making his stomach twist and his body howl in agony, before he was forced to hunt again.
And most of the time, he could barely last two weeks before hunting again.
This time, it had been two and a half weeks since his last feeding.
He had tried to eat other things, killing pigeons and stray dogs and frogs with his bare hands and roasting them before eating. It did not satiate the hunger.
No, he had to eat human flesh. Preferably raw.
He had theorized that somehow, it was the reason of human beings that satiated the hunger. He did not know for sure, he was no expert on the matter.
Just the thought made him feel sick, making Harry hurry to a nearby dumpster in some out of place alleyway to empty his stomach.
So many murders. So many missing bodies that ended up in his stomach.
The first time, the police had taken some time to become vigilant.
However, after he did the same thing in London, Manchester and Brighton, they immediately went on high alert after his first murder in Newcastle, increasing police presence on the streets.
It was only Harry's magic and the fact that he needed only one dead body to sustain himself for two weeks, that kept him from getting caught. Perhaps it was also the fact that he was a tiny, short homeless boy, barely eight years old, furthest in the list of suspects as humanly possible.
Despite that and his paranoia, besides all the precautions he had taken to avoid arrest, he had almost been caught once. The thought made Harry's heart beat faster.
He wiped his face with some discarded newspaper, which was probably not very hygienic, before heading to a public tap to wash his mouth and drink.
However, like a true predator, he had changed his habits. Whereas earlier, he had broken into homes in the dead of night, killing and... eating the inhabitants before using their bathroom and bed, and running away at the first sign of dawn, now, he targeted mostly homeless people, like himself.
Nobody noticed if they went missing, and it was only someone stumbling upon the blood he inevitably left behind, that alerted the police that a murder had taken place. It probably didn't help that Harry always chose the most out of place alleys to kill.
He did not target murderers and such, either. He was not a vigilante fighting for good, to uphold the law. No, he needed food, he needed to kill for survival, and he needed easy prey, preferably the weak and the innocent.
He had not killed any children or elderly people yet, but, Harry thought with growing dread, if it came down to killing them or dying himself, he would probably not hesitate to sharpen his tentacles and rip them limb from limb.
However, in some dark corner of his mind that grew day by day, everyday that he saw the true faces of humanity, that got reflected in his dull, jaded eyes and hollow cheeks, Harry enjoyed killing. Enjoyed eating. It made him feel full, and powerful. Like he was untouchable, on a high, the splatter of blood on his face warm, yet cool.
No need to be so graphic, he told himself.
It frightened him, to be honest. His wild, animalistic instinct working in tandem with his human half to make him the apex predator in the forests of glass and concrete that humans inhabited.
Harry sighed, feeling the cool water of the tap rush into his mouth, so familiar yet so alien, contrasting the usual warmth of the blood that so often filled his mouth and moistened his lips. He rinsed his mouth thoroughly, spitting out the disgusting water, as if it would clean his mouth of the sin, and purify it before he could drink to his heart's content.
His stomach growled. There was no cleaning him. Never.
His prey were flocking to the homeless shelters every night whenever the police sent warnings that the serial killer, 'Body stealer' they had named him, would be around.
Probably foolish on the law enforcement's part, as Harry was forced to change his hunting habits to kill randomly and stuff his belly, which, naturally, followed that sometimes he ate when he wouldn't be hungry for two more weeks. Needless deaths.
But Harry, no matter how much he wanted, could not bring himself to care.
He splashed his face with water, before rubbing it clean with the rag he had stuffed in his back pocket.
The rag doubled as his eyepatch, whenever he needed it. Normally, he kept his right eye closed, on the pretext that he did not have the eye due to domestic abuse.
Not that the excuse was needed much, though. He avoided law enforcement and officials like the plague, and all the 'good' homeless people usually stayed at the shelters, which, invariably, brought with them unnecessarily nosy, irritating officials.
So, Harry hung out with the rejects of society, carried in a current along with the dregs of humanity, out of everyone's sight and languishing in the darkness, mingling with drug addicts and alcoholics, broke gambling addicts, the occasional prostitute, thieves and murderers on the run from the law, much like himself. They did not ask questions, and Harry left them alone. The only times they interacted were when they needed to trade, something which usually went without a hitch, as both needed the other to survive.
The only difference between them and him, was that Harry thrived in this life. The darkness made him strong, untouchable. He could melt into the shadows, and fly like a ghost.
Harry left the park he had drifted to as he saw a young couple enter, his feet carrying him to a nearby alley, lined with tall apartment buildings on either side.
He effortlessly scaled the building's side, grappling and holding onto cracks in the wall, pipes and the occasional sticking out rebar, lifting himself without much fuss to the roof.
Oh yeah, he had learnt parkour, too, and dare say he, he was quite good at it. Probably thanks to the magic aiding him in all his endeavours. It was a necessary skill, if he wanted to enjoy sleeping in peace and avoid the police, after almost getting caught a couple of times in his sleep. Besides, the roofs of houses were good sleeping spots, windy too during hot summers and with enough protected nooks and crannies to stay warm during the winter. The knowledge of parkour also aided him to climb trees if he ever felt like a change of scenery, or had spotted some fruits.
He had learnt parkour from a thief, who had needed money to get his weekly fix of drugs from his dealer. Harry did not ask questions, merely loitering about the casino for an evening, and pickpocketing anybody he could, before forking over the cash to the guy, whose name he had never even bothered to learn.
Like most people and himself, the guy had just stayed in whatever town he had been at that time, before moving on, like a bee in a field of flowers, never staying in one place for long.
He effortlessly vaulted over a pipe, stumbling slightly, thrown off balance by the growing hunger in his stomach, demanding that he hunt before the night was over. He ignored the call for the moment, instead executing a running jump onto the next roof, rolling to cushion his landing, not even thinking about the complex manoeuvres he was executing thoughtlessly, mostly going on muscle memory.
Where was he going now?
He had no idea, letting his feet carry him wherever as he continued his musings on his new life.
What about regular food? Harry guessed he was pretty well off in that regard. He stole sometimes from unattended roadside stalls, besides buying stuff with pickpocketed money and scavenging in dumpsters. He was surprised how much edible stuff was thrown away on a regular basis, so much so that he had made a mental list of dumpsters where he was sure to get food, that was, unless they had been raided already by others.
Harry stopped on the edge of the roof, crouching on the railing and using all four limbs to balance himself, not even feeling an ounce of fear as he looked down at the bright evening lights and the cars that passed below. Inevitably, his eyes drifted over to the bright floodlights of Anfield, with awe mixed with mild, unexplainable hatred at the light that dispelled the darkness, his ears easily picking up the cheery chants and cheering of the crowd.
Harry panted for a bit, his breath coming in short gasps and wheezes, making him take out an inhaler, familiar blue plastic, as he pressed it to his lips, taking a puff. Apparently, they did not make it in any other colours.
Harry ignored the fact that now, he was perched in a very precarious position on the railing, with only his balance keeping him from falling to probable death in the street below.
He was lost in his thoughts.
Every time the medicine in Harry's inhaler ran out, he managed to get hold of some homeless adult in need of some cash, and he paid them to get him the inhaler from the pharmacy. After all, Harry always had some ready cash for those who needed it, thanks to his masterful pickpocketing skills, though, of course, they needed to return the amount with interest. The streets had really hardened Harry, maturing him beyond his age. He didn't need the money, as it was useless for him, but he had learnt to always have leverage to get the things you want. Whether it be money, or blackmail, or some much-desired item.
His attention eventually drifted back to the boisterous sounds of the stadium, making him smile slightly as he pocketed the inhaler again, so that it was safe, before returning his hands to grip the railing and give him a slightly more secure hold.
Unable to resist the temptation, Harry sang along at the top of his shrill, childish voice, imagining that he was with his parents and sisters, in the crowds at Anfield.
"You'll never walk alone~"
"Hey, kid!" A gruff voice called out from below, breaking him out of his musings and making him tense, preparing to flee as he looked down at the footpath.
His muscles relaxed as he spotted the burly, patchwork overcoat worn by the grumpy, gruff old man, with a thick, scratchy brown beard.
"Good evening, Guvnor!" He called out, smiling cheerily, making sure that his right eye, which had been open when he had been freerunning through the roofs, was now closed.
The figure just huffed at the nickname, which Harry usually used since he did not know his real name. Not that he knew Harry's name, either.
"Do you want to go swindle some idiots in a game of poker?" He called out, not even acknowledging Harry's greeting.
"Of course! Whatever it takes to fill my pockets!" Harry agreed easily.
The Guvnor didn't even flinch as he landed beside him on the footpath like a cat, on all fours, grunting slightly as he bent his limbs to absorb the shock.
A nearby lady screamed out in terror, almost having a heart attack as she watched an eight-year-old drop out of the sky.
"I don't get how you can do such outrageous jumps without breaking your bones. What sort of drugs do you take kid?" He grumbled, before hitching his shoulders and walking on, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
"I have no idea!" Harry spoke in a sweet voice, skipping slightly as he followed the Guvnor to the rundown bar they usually went to for poker, ignoring the lady sprawled on the footpath, pointing a shaky finger at him like he was the devil incarnate.
They navigated the busy streets of Liverpool, wandering aimlessly and often going off course as they made their way to the bar.
They had the entire night to get there, after all.
As it turned out, they didn't have even an hour.
Harry's stomach growled loudly, signalling him that there was less than three hours before he went berserk. Probably two hours to hunt and eat, if he wanted to avoid the overwhelming, raging pain that came with the magical starvation.
He glanced towards the Guvnor, noting the slouched shoulders, which meant that he wasn't paying attention to him, allowing Harry to sneak away, stealthily joining a random bunch of people watching TV through the glass at a shop.
He paused briefly, watching the people laugh and cheer amongst themselves, the occasional clinking of beer cans, all his morals at war with each other as he looked at the grainy pictures of the football match on the television screens.
On one hand, all his reason and morals as a human screamed at him not to do this, not to go down this path and lose his humanity, to still salvage the situation somehow. The voice was weak, and fading, like the distant echo through the loudspeakers at Anfield.
Liverpool. Liverpool.
You'll never walk alone.
The voice grew weaker with every murder, with every bite, until it was a grey haze.
He had to hunt. To survive.
It was as simple as that, there were no deeper meanings or hidden connotations.
Animals are to survive, or starved to death. The strong survived, and the weak died.
No predator ever felt remorse for killing and eating prey. The lion did not cry over the dead carcass of the deer... well, if it was stolen away from him, perhaps, but not if he got to eat it to his heart's content.
Harry gulped, feeling his stomach growl again in protest.
He had to begin hunting. Soon.
He separated himself from the little crowd, glancing sideways for any police officers or onlookers, or people that he knew.
There were several police officers around, but that was to be expected. He had already committed two murders in this city. He guessed he would do around three more before searching for a new place.
Harry's little feet carried him to a nearby alleyway, making sure nobody was inside, before he hesitated.
Nah, too many police.
He loitered about, not aimlessly this time, his wandering feet eventually carrying him to another dark alleyway, something that this sprawling metropolis had plenty to offer.
This alleyway was ideal.
He glanced inside, again making sure that nobody was inside, before ducking in.
Harry glanced upwards. There were windows in the buildings that lined the little dark cove, but all the shutters were drawn. Not ideal, but this would have to do.
Feeling another pang of burning hunger shoot through his stomach, this one distinctly stronger than others, had Harry double over in agony before his knees buckled under his weight, sending him crashing to the concrete floor.
It was happening. Again.
He gulped, suppressing his emotion and sensations, allowing the cogs of his bestial instinct and human reason start turning like in a well-oiled machine, working in tandem.
He growled, feeling saliva drip from his lips in hunger as he pushed himself to his feet again, his hands shaking under the weight.
Harry took out the little blue inhaler once again, taking a puff for good measure before he pulled up his hoodie, allowing the oversized fabric to cast a shadow over his face, hiding all of his features except the heterochromatic eyes glowing in the darkness.
He wouldn't get caught in any cameras, sure, but he still had to hide his distinct heterochromatic eyes, just in case. The hoodie would prevent anyone who wasn't his prey from seeing his eyes.
Harry felt a cruel, hungry grin curl on his lips, revealing sharp, gleaming white teeth that were growing sharper by the day, his canines resembling those of a vampire rather than a human.
Harry scrambled up the side of the building, relying on his strength and limbs in the old Muffle style. The tentacles would help, sure, but he liked to do it the old way, call it nostalgia.
Anyway, musings aside, he had something serious to do.
Harry looked out over the sprawling, bustling metropolis of Liverpool, with all the noise and the shining lights, all of which only accentuated the areas where darkness ruled. Mother Night reigned over the sky, the moon a pale yellow waxing crescent, dotted with a generous spattering of stars, like a spray of white paint across a black canvas.
His hoodie fluttered in the wind, making him look like some supervillain, which he probably was. Save for the ridiculously short height, and the young age.
Nah, Harry was sure that he would grow tall once his teenage growth spurts hit, but those were thoughts for another day.
For now, he had to go on a hunt.
AN: Thoughts? The Guvnor is just a side character, no major things here.
Next chapter. Violet PoV. Something a lot of you have been waiting for.
Keep calm and headbang!