—
Author's Note:
Welcome to my first ever posted story, I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think, as well as the direction you imagine it going. I have a general idea of what the story is going to consist of, but the characters always have a mind of their own. It seems they gain sentience the more time I spend writing them.
The story posted on this platform will have scene skips eventually as it is going to get extremely and explicitly heated, but when that happens the non-censored version will be found on AO3 under the same name and title! :)
May the odds be ever in Harry's favor.
—
There was a lot to be said for having the certainty of food, shelter, and companionship.
All of these things he had taken for granted three months ago.
Three months ago, his relatives had been yelling at him as per usual.
Three months ago, his aunt had been slipping soup through the door, and even though it had not been much, it was predictable.
Three months ago, he had not needed to consume blood just to retain a meager level of existence.
Three months ago, the relative safety of his home had been compromised.
After all, Dumbledore had not anticipated Vernon bringing a threat into the house of his own accord.
If Vernon had known that the man he had brought into his home would proceed to suck him dry and leave him as a husk on the floor, the evening would have ended very differently.
If Aunt Petunia had been home, perhaps she would have been able to have a chance at negating the threat.
However, neither of those things had been the case, and as Harry was locked in his room, lacking a wand, and bruised from the last time his uncle had visited him, he had no defense when the man sought him out.
The fresh blood that seeped from his wounds certainly would have been a beacon for the man.
If the man had not noticed the scar of his forehead, the night also would have ended very differently.
However, all of the speculation in the world would not change the current circumstances that he found himself in.
The man had found amusement in leaving a turned Harry Potter alone in a home that soon would house fresh blood. The fact that it would be blood related to Harry made it all the more amusing to the man.
Harry wished he could refer to the one who turned him as anything more specific than 'the man.'
He had no idea who it was, only that Harry had simply been entertainment for the evening, in more ways than as a simple food source.
Harry tried not to think on that too hard.
The act of drinking blood often left the victim as being more receptive to advances, and Harry had been no different before the turning fully took.
Even now, drinking blood brought on a guilty pleasure.
It would be all too easy to give into the instincts that had grown over the last few months. To fully become the monster that the light would without a doubt label him as.
He wished he could say the instincts were repulsive to him. In truth, it was only the memory of his friends and pseudo family that made him shy away from what otherwise would come second nature.
When he caved in and drank from humans, when the hunger got too intense, it was as though his inner instincts rewarded him through the pleasure that would fill him. From the buzzing hum in his head to the warmth that went straight through his being.
The memory of what the last time he caved felt like is what drew him out of hiding tonight.
There was always a hesitance to go out hunting, whether it was for a human or animal.
Worry as to whether someone would recognize him was always present.
Tonight the hunger was too strong to ignore, and he had to admit that the feeling of pleasure a good meal brought was more than a little addictive.
There was a reason the order would call him a monster.
The cold seeped into his bones, the autumn chill ever-present these days. At night it sometimes got downright frigid.
In Britain it was a blessing that it wasn't also raining, that would have made the hunt difficult.
Once a hint of copper filled his senses, his limbs started moving in that direction almost without his consent.
He was so hungry aches had started forming in his joints.
Though the darkness covered much of his movement, the alley he had walked into wasn't completely devoid of light. A shaded window from a story above where he stood brought a soft light to the alley, and the human leaning against the wall facing away from him froze.
Harry's shadow was cast against the wall from the window's light, and his prey was in no position to fight back.
The smell of blood was strong, and the heavy jacket covering the wounds had a dark red patch spreading through its right side.
On the verge of unconsciousness, brought closer by the new shock, the man collapsed to his knees and his shaking worsened.
Stalking closer to the man, Harry felt his hesitance fall to the back of his mind, his instincts starting to take over.
Blood was right in front of him, and the prey was unable to fight back. As much of a thrill as fighting for his food was, compliance made the meal sweeter in a way.
Kneeling down next to his meal, he could hear the quick beat of the man's heart, much like a rabbit's. The bleeding must have been recent if his pulse had not had time to start slowing.
Figuring there must have been another reason the man was so compliant, Harry gave him a quick once over. Eyes landed on his legs, the bloody jeans explained his lack of flight.
A soft grin crossed Harry's face.
"You don't have any hope do you?" He crooned in the man's ear, noting the quick intake of breath that followed his statement, blue eyes closing in a pained grimace.
Three months ago he would never have pictured himself taunting his food. Or casually calling humans food to begin with.
Living on the run in the streets forces a person to adapt. His friends would hate to see how he's changed.
The man he was currently prepping for consumption, so to speak, had started to drift. The blood loss was obviously impacting his brain function.
So as to not waste any more food, Harry pulled the collar of the jacket away from the man's neck.
He could feel venom filling his mouth in anticipation, and his new vampire instincts thrived on the fear the man was exuding.
Biting down on the man's jugular, endorphins flooded his system as the blood flowed into his mouth. The man gasped, eyes fluttering, barely holding onto consciousness, the will to live attempting to override the pull of the darkness.
As more blood flowed, and the heart rate slowed, Harry felt the greatly anticipated warmth spread through his limbs. The nights were cold enough without blood deprivation deadening his being, quite literally.
The pleasure feeding brought still caused a hint of embarrassment, but in the moment, the thrill of the slowing heart overrode his remaining humanity.
As the pull of the blood began to slow, Harry felt his instincts start to settle. He felt properly satiated for the first time in days, and every time he lost a little of the rationale for waiting to eat.
Unfortunately, the more often he ate, the more likely it was that he would be found. There was only so much that could be dismissed by the local authorities before the magical world caught wind of the patterns. All it would take is one muggleborn mentioning what they read in the papers for someone to recognize that a vampire was involved.
Hearing the heartbeat slow to a stop, Harry disengaged his fangs. The man collapsed to the side as he was let go.
Another aspect of his life now that he would have been ashamed of three months ago was how easy it was to search the dead man's pockets for a wallet. Living on the streets wasn't easy, and even a vampire on the run needed funds.
Finding what he was looking for, he took out the few pounds that were in the pockets and looked at the man's ID.
Harry murmured while standing, "Justin McDonald eh? I hope you find peace wherever you are." Stuffing the bills in his pocket, he stood by for a moment. It was hard to take in just how much had changed, but there would be nothing gained by ignoring what he needed to live. As much as he sometimes wished he could, it was illogical. Despite what his friends had seemed to think, he wasn't an idiot.
Hearing someone walk closer to the alley, he walked further, getting himself out of the light of the window. The alley went straight through to the next street, and he walked away casually. When he first started consuming blood from humans he had been a jittery mess afterward, afraid he would be caught. This worry had soothed over time, figuring there must be some form of magic involved. There seemed to be no other explanation for why he hadn't been caught.
Keeping his keen ears on the alley, he found himself three blocks away before he heard the body being discovered.
As the police were being called, he couldn't stop a small grin from forming in response to their panicked heartbeats. He was sated now, so it wasn't tempting, but something within him purred.
These thoughts caused his footsteps to stutter slightly.
He may be a vampire, and he may need blood to survive, but causing terror for the sake of terror was not something he savored when not in the midst of blood lust.
He tried to convince himself this was a part of his humanity that he could cling to, but he also knew three months ago he would not be able to recognize who he was today.
He was changing, and he didn't know how far he would fall. Or who would be there to catch him when he was inevitably found.