The Moon in Gray Eyes
Summary: sequel to 'A Life Lived By Moonlight'
Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Harry Potter.
Sparks and searing heat splashed the wall over Harry as he dropped, barely dodging the Death Eaters' opening attack as he fell to the ground. The shock of the blast roared in his ears and reverberated through his body as its force rattled his head. He kept his wand in a tight grip, but he had no time to raise it up. Over the spell's fading echo through the street, Harry expected to hear another incendio that wouldn't miss.
Instead--the sound of skin shredding. Of blood washing over the cobblestones. Of shoes scuffing stone. Of snarls.
Blinking heavily, Harry starred through a foggy blur as something bright flashed by, and at first he thought it was a spell passing in front of him. There was a burst of red, a scream, and then his sight focused enough that he realized the blur was Draco.
His lover disappeared in a mouthful of fangs. Harry was only used to seeing Draco drinking blood from his wrist, as calmly as he drank a glass of red wine, at the most making little noises like a satisfied kitten lapping cream. He'd never seen more than Draco's spoiled brat temper accentuated by inhuman strength, a lamp crashing against the wall in anger, a sarcastic quip trailing with a hiss. Now he saw Draco's anger, his cruelty, his arrogance manifest violently without the restraint of his humanity.
The slaughter--it couldn't be called a fight--seemed like a rose blossoming and closing again, ending almost as soon as it began. Draco's claws snagged a man's throat and ripped it open with a tearing sound like fabric, digging so deep that blood gushed over his arm to the elbow, that the windpipe lay exposed to the bone and the wizard's head fell back with little to support it. He stopped with catlike agility in front of a witch, turning sideways to avoid her wand as it began to glow, and brought his hand up so fast that it seemed like her stomach and chest just opened up. Intestines and organs tumbled into the cool air, steaming hot, giving her no time to scream.
Harry pressed himself back against the wall, eyes wide open as his breath caught. The next man had time to scream. His arm landed at Draco's feet, fingers twitching wildly around its useless wand, and he staggered in a shocked daze before sinking with a rattle in his throat. Draco was already moving to the next Death Eater, his shoes splashing through a fine puddle of blood that spread outwards. The heel of his hand struck her mask so that she slammed back into the wall, and still he drove the iron deeper into her until blood poured out of the eyes and mouth.
That was the last. Draco had killed too fast for any to escape. Harry took a deep breath, and the sound drew his lover's attention. His elegant, refined, beautiful pureblood...Draco swallowed down a mouthful of gore, his lips stained dark red. His robes dripped. His eyes reflected the lamplight and gleamed at Harry, who stared at his lover as if he was a fallen angel, weighted down by sin.
Painfully aware of the vampire's stare following every move, Harry forced himself back to his feet, never breaking eye contact. Draco watched him like a wolf watching sick prey, gauging when to strike. His lungs heaved, breathing deep the scent of blood all around them, thrown up against the wall, running into the gutter. His claws flexed.
"Draco..." he whispered.
Bared teeth and a growl. Harry swallowed nervously and pressed on.
"Draco, come back. Please."
The blonde turned to face him completely, focusing on his voice, but with no light of recognition. Bloodlust had taken control, and all Harry saw was the moon in Draco's gray eyes. He wondered if there was anything of his lover inside, or if this frenzy had finally eradicated every trace of his loving brat.
Footsteps came at a run. Someone had heard the attack and now people were coming. Harry steeled himself. If they saw Draco like this, they might try to kill him. That could only end in more bloodshed. He could barely stand seeing Draco kill to protect him. He didn't think he could survive seeing innocent blood on his hands.
"Draco," he said, no longer pleading but in a cold command. "Down."
No response. The footsteps were almost upon them. They heard shouting, saw the glow of lumos charms coming fast.
"Draco Malfoy," Harry snapped, and he tried for the tone that he'd heard Lucius use when angry at his son, all hard consonants and snarled confidence. "Down at my feet before I put you there myself."
That did it. Uncertainty rushed back into Draco's eyes, the hurt of whenever Harry yelled at him, and he started to shiver as his wet robes cooled. Draco looked down at himself, his hands completely red, the blood that rippled around his feet, then back at Harry. Flinched when Harry's look didn't soften. Slowly he crouched down, one hand on the ground to steady himself, the other resting on one knee.
Sighing in relief, Harry lay his hand on Draco's head, stroking his hair to reassure him, reassured himself when Draco leaned against his thigh.
When their rescuers came around the corner, breathing sharply and then gagging at the scene, they could do nothing but glance impotently at Draco. His eyes closed and he turned away from their muttering about putting down dangerous vampires, safe behind his Boy That Lived.
And if they thought he purred because Harry was gentle and warm and protective, and not because the blood heated his cold body and truly sated his hunger for the first time since he'd been turned, so much the better. He spotted a few stray drops on the back of Harry's hand and tilted his head, licking his skin clean, making little noises like a kitten lapping cream.