It was a rare thing, for the weather to be so poor that Draco could venture outside during the day, but as luck would have it – today was one such day.
Grey clouds blotted out the light of the sun, smothering everything beneath them in a heavy blanket of claustrophobia. Autumn had fled, leaving in its wake bitterly cold winds that nipped at your extremities, threatening stinging numbness or frost-bite for those forgetful or stupid enough not to bring gloves and a hat. The rain at this time of year was almost perpetual, though for the moment at least it seemed to have let up.
Draco strolled down Diagon Alley, his heels clicking on the cobble stones, his hair slicked back to perfection despite the rising winds. The weather, try as it might, could not touch him. Not today, at least. The sun was tucked safely behind a bed of clouds, and that left the creatures of the night to roam free. He breathed the icy air deep into his lungs, then released it in a cloud of condensation.
Passers-by made beelines between shop doors, their collars up and their heads down. They didn't stop long enough to notice the man who seemed dressed for dinner, not rain, and the way the wind left no impression on his person. Or so he thought, but then a voice came from behind him,
"Draco?" It was definitely a question, not a statement. Should he walk away? "Is that you?" Oh, but this would be too much fun. With a sly grin he spun smoothly to face his company.
"Potter," he drawled characteristically, letting the r rolling off his tongue. Never one for subtlety, Harry stared openly. So he'd undergone some – ah, changes since they last saw each other. He knew that. Harry, however, was the same messy, skinny, dishevelled-looking boy Draco remembered from school – only, no. Not a boy any more, a man now. Draco dragged his steely regard roughly down Harry's form, compiling from his scrutiny a mental list of changes in a matter of seconds. He had wrinkles now where before he'd had none, his shoulders were a little broader; age had filled him out a bit at least, and his eyes… Draco fixed Harry under his searching gaze as he stared into his eyes. They were dark with experience, and ghosts.
Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away.
"So… you look good," he mumbled, as he suddenly found something of particular interest in the torn sleeve of his jumper. Draco's grin only widened at Harry's discomfort; he had been right, it was fun to watch Harry squirm.
"Thank you," he said, genuinely. Harry looked up in surprise at that, but instantly looked away again. Since his changes Draco had found that few would meet his gaze any more, almost like they could sense it, even if they didn't know it themselves.
"What brings you to Diagon Alley on such a," he gestured up at the grey sky, "glorious day?" He spoke conversationally, but Harry only seemed to grow more uncomfortable with each word. His expression was grave as he answered,
"Er, Ginny needed some… stuff, so, I came out to – erm…" Draco smiled encouragingly, but at this Harry only seemed to forget entirely what he was saying and he trailed off. Merlin, humans were simple. He was glad he couldn't remember ever being so feeble. "Well, I should be going…" Harry smiled weakly at Draco, and was about to turn to leave, when piercing grey orbs physically pinned him to the spot.
"Go where… Harry?" This time, Harry couldn't look away. Those steel-grey eyes bore into him like the sharp tips of swords. They threatened blood, should he move but an inch, and the longer he stared, the deeper they cut, but the less he wanted to pull away.
"…I don't… remember…" he replied, almost dreamily. A light drizzle began to fall, sticking his jet-black hair to his forehead and soaking into his clothes but still he didn't move. Draco stood before him, untouched and untouchable. The rain that landed on him seemed to evaporate on contact, and the bottomless pools of grey ash that were his eyes were unblinking and unrelenting. Cold and dark as they were, they seemed to smoulder, and Harry blinked water from his own eyes so that he might continue to meet them. It felt like falling.
Stepping forward, Draco reached up a single hand, and when Harry felt iron fingers close around his throat all he could think was how surprisingly warm those fingers were.
The last thing he saw was Draco's red lips part in a wide grin, sharp fangs glinting with their own light, then all went black.
Written for: the 'Game of Life' Challenge. Prompts: weather, blinking, genre: horror.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
CC cover image (entitled 'Karoll's eye') courtesy of Rodrigo Amorim on Flickr.
A/N: Oooo, was it horrific? I've never written horror before so this was quite a challenge, I'm not sure if I copped-out a bit by going down the classic vampy route, but hey! I'm a noob, what can you do. Let me know how you think it turned out :) Thanks for reading! GG x