It's why he's never stayed in one place for too long. People would realize he doesn't age
Harry's a soul vampire. He doesn't consume blood but souls. He can sate himself on livestock but the true prize is human souls. He experiences the birth, life, death of people he consumes. After he consumes the soul of one Bill Weasley he finds himself obsessed with Fleur Delacour.
It's common knowledge that soul vampires consume souls, refusing the afterlife to their victims. Is it true? Actually they consume memories, the soul moves on but vampires’ photographic memory retains the memories of their victims forever as if they lived them
He can hear it when he's around her, louder than any other, the rhythmic beat of her heart.
thump thump, thump thump
He gets closer to her, at first, because the thing inside of him desires her. Wants her. Needs her. Like a flower that needs water. However, her charming smile and witty sense of humor awaken something in him that he hasn't felt in centuries: true caring.
thump thump, thump thump
He holds himself back, shows restraint in a way that he hasn't since the time he was reborn. It hurts, the longing. The knowing that the animal within wants to tear her apart but what's left of his heart cares for her deeply. He tries to stay away, but she persists.
thump thump, thump thump
It gnaws at him daily, the ugliness in him as he desperately tries to hide it from her. If she knew, she would turn on him, strike him down, a monster slain at the hands of the fair maiden. He wouldn't fight back, he knows, for she has gripped him in a way that put his own abilities with the mind to shame. His final death at her hands would be a welcomed release from the darkness.
If only he could taste her before she finds out...
thump thump, thump thump
She was at war within. Ready to dismiss another awe filled gaze, something in her shouted to pay attention. His gaze was dopey and praising as all the others and yet she found herself intrigued. There was an otherness about him that pushed her to look beyond. It allowed her to notice the masked shock and contentment fluttering beneath his appraising gaze. There was something special about this man.
The moment I stepped onto the edge of the clearing, the branches above shifted under the unnatural breeze that stalked me, dim rays of a dying sun hit the ground ahead and I froze.
I had followed the shine of the unicorns through the leaves, their souls, so pure, burning brighter than anything else, but this....
I could not even tell what this was, this thing, this being.
It was fifty paces ahead, same as the unicorns, it- no. A whiff of memory reached me.
Her.
The leaves moved again and the sun was no more.
Her light dimmed as the sun left her, and I could have cried tears of blood.
She was pretty. I smacked my lips. Luminescent waves dispersed around her with her breath, bouncing on everything, painting the world in colours I had never seen.
I could taste it, in the air.
She's looking at me.
Her eyes.
They danced, hypnotic, changing, delicate.
Alive.
She looked away. I was breathing.
When was the last time I had taken a breath?
She hummed.
My bones shook like nothing but brass tuning forks, struck and left to scream. I could taste flowers on the melody that streamed around flaming air, I could hear laughter and joy, I could taste wine so sweet it almost made me gag, I felt rage and love and hate and heartbreak and-
Darkness.
It was too much. It was too little.
With ringing ears and pulsing eyes my senses opened, slowly. Oil paint sketches paired with the sweetest sounds I ever heard.
'I will deal with him after I look at that wounded leg of yours, you pretty thing. You are the third this week.'
A low whine reminded me of the unicorn.
He was not so bright anymore.