As his stomach began to cramp, he surreptitiously hugged his abdomen with one arm. The need to go out and hunt had become more of a priority. It had been several days since he drained his last victim, and his already pale skin was starting to look translucent.
Though being sated all of the time would be much more pleasant than the constant ache he currently dealt with, the trail would be far too obvious. He was already testing the boundaries of what he could get away with.
That reminder got him through most days, and the limited food made his meals all the more enjoyable. So to speak. Actually, not even so to speak come to think of it.
Anyway.
Looking around the street, he watched everyone go about their day to day business.
Going to work, headed to another tourist trap, or just strolling through the city. London was an excellent place to get lost, and many were too distracted with their own agendas to notice a scrap of a teenager wandering down the street.
Living on the street for five months has left him filthy. While not ideal, it helped keep a perimeter around himself, no one wanting to get close to the stench that surrounded him.
He was turned in the beginning of summer holiday, and while it wasn't literally freezing yet, the light decorating the streets told of colder weather to come.
Despite the cold, London was also a good place to spend time lounging in one of the many parks. One of his favorite parts of the city.
With it being perpetually wet, it limited those who were picnicking and people-watching, compared to the spring and summer months.
Perfect for someone who did not particularly want to be noticed.
Settling down on one of the many benches, he let his head fall back in exhaustion. Running low on blood as he was, there was only so much wandering through the city in the middle of swarms of people that he could take.
There was always the possibility of the police noticing he was hanging around for too long, but a latent notice-me-not seemed to be attached to him.
Though not purposeful, it had certainly been helpful.
Noticing there was a charm to being with had taken a while.
He had suspected for a while that something was happening that was preventing his presence from being noticed, but the longer he was on the streets, the more he noticed latent magic around the city.
It had taken getting extraordinarily close to his body shutting down for him to notice the subtly of what he could only describe as auras.
It sounded insane to him at the time, at first thinking he was hallucinating. He did not know if he could have developed this ability without becoming a vampire, but what he noticed matched what he could see physically.
Someone's apartment had wards that were glowing green. The apartment owner was noticeably cautious in their movements, and once you knew to look, they had a wand holster on their arm.
This same shade of green was seen on a few other buildings in London, and it was always a fixed object or place.
A person walking down the street, dressed in a slightly odd manner, that glowed a subtle purple.
Once this person thought they were alone, after waving their wand and muttering a few words Harry couldn't remember, their appearance shifted with the disappearance of the purple glow.
A lot of random humans had a slight white glow around them, which had made him paranoid beyond belief before he figured this likely was the result of Obliviation. So many people were exposed to tactless or careless wizards that those in charge of making sure the muggles remained clueless likely had their hands full.
Thankfully when he fed, magic -as the ministry monitors- is not used, preventing their team from being dispatched.
The colors always had a corresponding effect, and for the first two weeks after he had discovered the glow of the magic, it was incredibly disorientating.
Though the glow made it easier to avoid those with magic, the added level of awareness had also given him a migraine.
Thankfully after those two weeks, he had been able to mute his constant awareness of the auras.
It was a useful skill, but one that is better to use consciously rather than passively.
Noting a group of people start to take a bit too much interest in him, he got back up on his feet, put up his jacket's hood, and continued east. Spending a bit of time outside of central London may help people forget he was there.
The notice-me-not charm only works so long as people do not start to recognize him subconsciously, and seeing him around the area for long enough creates a noticeable pattern of life. So to speak. Of his un-life? No, that's too much.
His loneliness was getting the best of him, either that he was going slowly insane. Which was a possibility.
It was fine to talk to himself so long as he didn't talk back, right? Sounded about right.
Forced isolation was starting to get old, and he missed the days when he at least had Hedwig to talk to. Then it didn't seem so strange to effectively talk to himself.
The only time he spent time with people these days was to suck them dry, and not in the fun way. Taking the time to make it halfway fun would be too dangerous.
And immoral. Shouldn't forget that.
Just because the victim could feel pleasure while being drained didn't mean they consented to that feeling being acted upon. He knew that from experience.
That should prevent him from wanting to force that pleasure on someone else, but the high was addictive.
Harry was certain there must be a way to control it, but without learning from other vampires, he was just making this up as he went.
Instincts would only get him so far, but he could not imagine finding any other vampires he would want to spend the time of day -night, ha- with.
He missed passing letters to his friends, even though they often didn't respond during the summer months.
He missed talking with his dogfather and ranting back and forth about how wizarding politics didn't make any sense.
His heart ached when he thought about Sirius.
Not knowing whether or not his godfather would accept him as a vampire was what kept him from persisting in locating Sirius and/or Remus.
Wizarding society may have made a law against killing vampires, but the prejudice never left. (1)
Remus being a werewolf should be more understanding about Harry being turned into a dark creature, but the uncertainty still held strong.
Remus hated his werewolf half, and contempt seemed to fill his voice when it was brought up.
Harry thought Remus's werewolf looked more sickly than monstrous, but that was his own opinion.
He's sure if he locked his vampire instincts away for years he wouldn't be doing so hot either.
He also wouldn't be alive, so to speak, but that's beside the point.
"I need to eat, my thoughts are starting to ramble." Speaking aloud, even if it was just a mumble, was cathartic in a way.
Not using his voice for so long was undoubtedly also not helping his mental state.
Harry had gotten far too used to taking his fill of human blood. As satisfying as it was, animal blood would have to suffice for the evening.
Veering off the street and into the nearby scatter of trees, which was the best he could do in a city like London, he started hunting for something that would at least sate him for a few days. Enough to get rid of the pain.
He tried draining an injured pigeon once in desperation, and he could still remember the disgusting taste that was left in his mouth.
He also had drank from someone who was high once, and that was an experience and a half. He had been floating for the rest of the day. It was lucky he hadn't gotten caught from his resulting inattention.
He always checked his victim's eyes beforehand after that experience.
Pulled from his thoughts at the sound of a broken branch, he stilled.
About two cars length away was a small deer. He'd seen these outside of the window when being driven to the Dursley's from Kings Cross Station, but they usually were dead on the side of the road.
He vaguely remembered them being called a Reeve's… something.
All he cared about at the moment was making that deer, whatever it was called, his dinner.
With the deer standing only half a meter tall it would be a small meal, but it would be something.
Sending a sense of calm to the animal, he waited until he could see it relax.
About a month ago this ability was also discovered out of desperation. Seemed to be his luck.
Stalking closer to the small deer, Harry couldn't help but be thankful for the development.
Catching small prey had been beyond difficult in the first couple of months, though his determination to limit the number of humans he consumed drove him to get better at the chase.
He felt a pang of vague guilt as his fangs punctured the neck of the animal. While his guilt remained through the months, its effect on his mental state lessened. Arguably not a good thing, but needs must.
The blood tasted sweet on his tongue, and he couldn't stop a moan from escaping his lips.
As much as he didn't want to be found by Dumbledore or the ministry -he knew how they would react-, he was getting tired of being starving.
He pressed on his limits before every meal, and waiting until it was dangerous could not be healthy in the long run.
As the familiar warmth spread and the body in his arms lightened, he let out of heavy sigh as the blood flow stopped. Setting down the body of the deer, leaving it for other predators to finish off, he rose to his feet again.
His stomach was no longer cramping, but it didn't quite take the thirst away. The borderline hunger was almost maddening.
His time on the run would come to an end soon, whether forcibly or by chance. He could continue to barely get by, but his quality of being was slowly decreasing.
What he would do when he got caught -and it always was a when, not an if- had been on his mind since he started living on the streets.
Would he go to Diagon Alley and hope his disguise held?
Would he look for one of the people he knew to have wards and seek assistance? Which would be beyond risky.
He could always go back to The London Library to where he knew there were magical books if the wards were any indication. Perhaps there would be some information he could use.
Lots of avenues he could take, but hesitation -isn't he supposed to be a Gryffindor?- always held him back.
The fear of being caught in a situation outside of his design.
Learning as much as he could through the limited resources he had available was all he could do for now.
Looking briefly toward the light of the city he had been walking away from, he kept walking through the outskirts of London.
The next time he fed, he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied.
The grin that spread across his face was one of anticipation, and the warmth he was now filled with had him walking with an extra spring to his step. Next time, he would let himself have a little fun.
He would risk exposure to gather some more information, give himself a chance a bettering his existence, but why not set out to Diagon with a full stomach?
