Rating: R

Warnings: Coarse language, slash. That's it, as far as I know.

Disclaimer: To all lawyers, Warner Brothers employees, J. K. Rowling and anyone else who may choose to get offended about this borrowing of characters and setting: I am well aware they aren't mine. They're quite belligerent about that, to be honest. Nor will they show me how to play poker, or let me make any money from selling their stories.

Feedback: Welcome: All and sundry. Unwelcome: *crickets chirrup* *Draco swats crickets*

Thanks To: Myr, Darklites (Yes, the fear of being unable to tell a friend from a foe is something that Harry's going to have to face a lot in this story—and so will Draco.), K. Ashley, S. Maldiva (*Grins* No, it certainly wasn't any of the staff. Justin Finch-Fletchley?...Interesting idea. We'll see…), ailsinjiin, Demeter, ame_chan, cattail prophetess (Dean? Mm…could be, but I don't think so at this point.), Remy (*Grins* Those are some interesting nominations. What do you think could have driven Hermione or Neville to do that to Draco?), Azzie, Scratches, SophieB (You find out what Draco's been drawing in this chapter. Yes, this is probably going to get pretty dark. There are all sorts of ideas I have jumping up and down for attention, and I'm not sure how many I'll wind up using, but they seem to be mainly from the breed Macabre, unfortunately. ^^; We'll have to wait and see how things pan out.), Rhia, Kain Lorhem (The last line in Chapter 2 seemed to echo something I'd heard before when I put it down, but I certainly wasn't using a deliberate reference there. Which piece of Kipling's writing were you thinking of?), …?, Flair, Blaze (Wow. Yes, you're very much on the right trail, I think, particularly about the outside force.), Kawaiikowaikoneko, Caithion, razor-flavoured candy (Don't worry, I have no intention of leaving this story unfinished any more than I do of leaving All Torn Down in the middle of a sentence. It's just…going…to…take…a while. ^^;), liz, Sheron.

The Way of the Beast: Beast in Hiding

I climbed into the wardrobe with my nightmares...

            — Roaches, Isobelle Carmody

            When Harry went back to the Hospital Wing after lessons the next day, he found Madam Pomfrey washing her arms in a deep basin. As he stepped toward her, she said, 'I wouldn't go in there today.'

            Harry paused. 'Why?'

            'He's ferocious.' She shook her hands out of the water and reached for a bottle of ointment. There were small red lines coursing down the entire length of her forearms. Harry's eyebrows rose.

            'Any idea why?'

            'I was trying to get him out of that bed, to see how much he can move around. I've hardly been able to look at some of his—' she barely hesitated— 'lower injuries, and I want to see how they're affecting him.' She began to dab handfuls of the ointment on her arms, and the cuts slid smoothly closed.

            Harry whistled. 'Still a little manipulator, isn't he?'

            'I don't categorise students like that, Potter. I only have patients: good ones and difficult ones. He's a difficult one.'

            He grinned. 'Which am I?'

            'You? Oh, you're an exception. If I had anyone else to help me around here, we'd bet on how many times you'd turn up each year.'

            'That's not fair.'

            'True, though. Are you going to try your phenomenal luck or not?'

            'I think I will. Do you have any nail scissors?' Madam Pomfrey pointed to a cupboard a few feet away, and he crossed the floor, opening the door and trying to look through the contents without sending it into complete disarray. 'Thanks.'

            'Since you're going in, could you do me a favour?'

            'Hmm?'

            'Here.' She handed him a lidded cup filled with a frothy, off-white mixture. 'His body's too weak to take anything really solid yet, but he needs some sort of sustenance.'

            Harry took it and, nodding and smiling at Madam Pomfrey, he went into Draco's room. The smile evaporated from his face as he closed the door and turned around. Harry glared at Malfoy, ignoring the way the other boy was curled up near the head of the bed, and the wary look he'd thrown at the door.

            'You little rotter.' Draco's eyes flickered with confusion as he made his way across the room. 'What did you do that for? She was only trying to do her job, for Heaven's sake! You know, I don't really care any more about you scratching me, but when you start on someone like Madam Pomfrey—'

            'Scratch?' Draco's eyes flickered again. 'Scratch you?'

            Harry sat on the bed, glowering. 'Yes, but it doesn't matter; you were panicking then. But don't you dare—'

            'Show me.'

            '—Hurt Madam Pomfrey again. What?'

            'Show me,' Draco repeated, frowning.

            Harry stared at him. 'The marks are under my robes. It was when you came into my room, remember?'

            'Oh.' Draco raised a finger to point at Harry's side. 'Hurt?'

            'Not any more.'

            Draco chewed his lip. An obvious struggle was taking place somewhere behind his eyes, and Harry watched his indecision with fascination. Eventually he grimaced and mumbled, 'Sorry.'

            Harry blinked, his eyebrows rising into his hairline. Draco glanced away and began to fidget with the sheets. He looked up again after a moment, only to see Harry still staring at him. His lower lip jutted out slightly in a defensive pout. 'What!'

            Harry shook his head quickly. 'Nothing. It doesn't matter. Why did you do that to Madam Pomfrey?'

            Draco waved vaguely at the door. 'Wanted to see—'

            '—How well you could move about, yes. She told me that. And some of your injuries...' The word 'lower' connected with the embarrassed look on Draco's face, and Harry's eyebrows rose again, this time in realisation. 'Oh! Oh. You mean you didn't want her to see you—' Draco nodded. 'I see. Um. Well, I guess I can understand that, but did you have to do all of that to her?' A roll of the shoulders. 'But look, hold on. She'd already have—no, look Malfoy, how do you think you got into that hospital shirt?'

            Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as he watched Draco's eyes go wide, his lip mince under his teeth and his face turn deep crimson. The only flush he'd seen on Malfoy's face before was one of fury. Draco's chin dropped as he fought to regain control of himself, and he looked resentfully up at Harry. 'Traitor.'

            Harry batted the insult away. 'I'm not and you know it. Now here...' He lifted the nail scissors. 'You're not setting those nails on anyone else. Give me your hand.'

            Draco did so, reluctantly, but without fighting, and watched silently as Harry snipped away at the dirty nails. He flexed each finger as the sheared slivers fell onto the mattress and Harry moved on to the next, and smiled a little when Harry glanced up through his fringe.

            'I bet this is what it's like for you at home, isn't it? People waiting hand and foot on you all day...'

            'No.' Draco held up his left hand as the final nail on the right fell away.

            'No?'

            Draco shrugged. 'Clean, cook, message. That's all.'

            Harry bit his lip, trying to iron some sense into that. Servants. He must mean the servants only cook, clean and run messages. Right. Gods, I wonder what sort of messages are run around that place?

            The last nail tumbled to the mattress and Harry put the scissors down. Draco prodded at his arm, trying to press the tips of his nails into Harry's skin—it didn't work. A soft noise that might have been a chuckle bubbled from his mouth. Harry smiled at his mirth.

            'Why aren't you always like this?' Draco looked up, questioning. 'Usually you're so cold—so easy to hate. But now, when you've got your defences down...well, you're almost likeable. Why can't you always be like that?'

            Draco's reaction wasn't what he expected. The amusement in his expression melted and Harry saw just the edge of sharp pain in his eyes as he glanced away. His hand dropped away from Harry's arm to twist in the sheets. Draco stared at its movements dully, fringe curtaining his eyes.

            Harry leaned forward. 'What's wrong?'

            Draco didn't respond for a long time and when he did, his words were so low and close after one another that at first Harry wasn't certain he was really speaking at all.

            '...stupidweakweakidiotstupidlittlesodIhate, I hate....so weak, weak little child...' Draco's shoulders began to quake, but the litany continued, relentless.

            'Draco...' He swayed away from the comforting hand that Harry tried to place on his shoulder. 'This is about more than what they did to you, isn't it?' Draco's head ducked in a brief nod, fingers tightening in the folds of fabric. A tear left a darkened patch by his hand.

            'Oh no, not this again...Draco, look at me. Come on, just look up. Don't cry. Stop talking like that, please...Draco...' He lifted Draco's chin with his hand, trying to look into the grey eyes that flickered away, staring over his head or past his shoulder; anywhere but directly at him. Draco's mouth quivered and another droplet leaked from his eye.

            'Don't do that, Malfoy. Don't be like that. What's this about? What did I say wrong?' Harry raised a hand to brush away the tears, but Draco scrambled back, dashing his hand against his face. Harry gave a frustrated growl. 'Why won't you let anyone help you? Isn't that what you want?'

            'Shouldn't. Mustn't be like this.' Draco closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Harry relaxed a little; it looked as though he was calming down. 'So weak...'

            'Stop saying that,' Harry snapped. Draco's eyes flickered open, razed with reproach and hurt. They stared at each other tensely. 'Is that really what you think of yourself?'

            Draco glanced away, but Harry placed a hand on his arm before he could start up again. He had no idea why, but he seemed calmer when he felt human contact. 'Is it, Draco?'

            A faint answer: 'Yes.'

            'Why do you think that?'

            'True...'

            'No it isn't.'

            Malfoy looked up, eyes flashing. 'Is! Everyone says, everyone thinks...'

            'No, they don't. I don't think that about you.'

            'Liar.'

            Harry wanted very much to argue that point, but the flatness in Draco's voice told him it would be pointless. He stayed silent, waiting for Malfoy to make the next move.

            Draco dropped his gaze again, but this time it was to look for something under his pillow. He pulled out a notebook—it was a new one; most of the pages were still there—and searched through until he came upon a blank page, which he tore out. Harry watched him gather the fallen nails onto the paper. Draco folded them into the page carefully, creasing the paper over three times. He handed it out to Harry.

            'Keep.'

            'Why?' Harry tried to push his hand away. 'They're your nails.'

            'Keep,' Draco said, more insistently. He pressed the paper into Harry's hand. He still hadn't met his eyes. Harry sighed.

            'All right, but I don't understand at all...' Harry pocketed the scrap of paper. He looked down at the notepad, noticing raised edges on the paper where Draco had pressed the pencil down particularly hard in his drawing. 'Can I look?'

            He wasn't really expecting any answer at all, so he was surprised when Draco, after hugging the book to himself for a second while chewing his lip, held it out. His fingers slipped away quickly as Harry took it, and he sat back, arms folded, to watch.

            Harry flipped the paper over. His eyes widened. 'Wow...these are good.'

            'Liar,' Draco said, but he sounded uncertain.

            'No, I mean it.' Harry traced over the sketches, smiling. The shapes, and the subject matter, were oddly childish, but the strokes and shades of the pencil were set down with a kind of familiarity, as though Draco had known what he wanted to do by heart. Harry pointed at a picture of an obese beast with comically small wings, trying with all its might to launch itself into the air. 'The shading here is really good, so smooth...'

            Draco smiled, leaning forward to run a finger over the vignette. 'Like watching...dark to light.'

            'What's it called?'

            'Brundlegog.'

            'What sort of creature is that?'

            Draco sighed. 'Made up.'

            'Really?' Harry looked up. 'I thought wizards didn't make-believe things like that. I mean, I thought you wouldn't need to...'

            Draco looked at his hands. 'Not supposed to.'

            'Oh.' Harry looked at the sketch again. 'I'm sorry.'

            'Shouldn't. Stupid, stupid...'

            Harry tapped him sharply on the arm. 'Don't start that again. It's good.' He glanced sideways at Draco, testing the water. 'If it makes you happy, I think you should draw things like this.'

            Gaining no response, he turned the page to reveal a larger, though incomplete, picture of two figures entwined in each other's arms, the oval faces pressed together as though in a kiss. Harry blinked in surprise.

            'Draco...'

            'Mmm?'

            'Are you going to finish this one?' Draco glanced at the picture and shrugged. 'I hope so. It's...sweet.'

            Malfoy leaned forward, suddenly interested. 'Like?' Harry nodded. Draco looked again at the lovers. 'Want?'

            Harry stared at him. Draco's eyes had lit up a little with something akin to hope. He nodded slowly. 'Yeah, I would, if you're going to finish it.'

            Draco grinned, and Harry was taken aback by the genuine happiness on his face. He'd never seen Malfoy smile like that before, with no malicious scheme behind it.

            He looked again at the picture, pursing his lips. 'You might want to, you know, flesh them out a bit, though,' he said carefully, loathe to destroy Draco's good mood. 'You can't really tell which one's the boy and which is the girl...'

            Malfoy nodded, but his smile became fixed and something flickered in his eyes. Harry wondered what he'd said wrong this time, but Draco snatched the book from him before he could say anything. Harry watched him rifle through the pages toward the back until he found what he was looking for. Draco's hands trembled slightly as he gave the notebook back, but his gaze on Harry was unwavering and intense.

            Most of the page was blackened out by the dark shading, and Harry could see the sharp, sweeping movements Draco had made with his pencil; in some places it looked as if the tip had almost punctured through the paper. It took him a moment to work out that in the white space left was the silhouette of an elongated, sneering face. Grey patches like pockmarks were scattered over its surface, melding into the darkness along the cheekbones. He looked up at Draco and back at the picture. There was something about the other boy's sudden tenseness that he didn't like at all.

            'Who is this?'

            'Mudblood.'

            'Muggle-born,' Harry corrected. Draco clenched his teeth.

            'Mudblood. Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood....'

            'If you don't stop swearing I'll leave.'

            Draco's mouth closed with a snap. It opened again after a second: 'I hate you.'

            'Then you won't care if I just go, will you?' Harry stood, already half-turned away. Draco's hand immediately latched onto his wrist and when Harry looked back his eyes were pleading. Harry almost pulled out of his grasp and walked away, not liking that Draco seemed to think he could be made to stay according to his own whims. He didn't, though, returning to his perch on the bed with a sigh. 'Why won't you let anyone try to help you?'

            Draco's hand tightened around his arm, and Harry knew what was going to come out of his mouth as it opened. He pulled out of Draco's grasp and shook his finger at him. 'Don't start that again.'

            ''S true.'

            'No, it's not. Listen to me. It isn't weak to ask for help when you need it.'

            Draco gave a snort. 'You...you, you. Don't know.'

            'Don't know what, Malfoy?'

            'Me. Them.' The boy gritted his teeth, and pointed at his bandages. 'These, and—and world, and—anything!' His hands moved suddenly to shove Harry back from the bed; his fists and face both clenched, and Harry couldn't see whether it was in resentment or anguish. 'Don't know!'

            'Oh, really?' Harry leaned over Malfoy, feeling sparks go off behind his eyes. 'Just a Muggle with a wand, is that what you think I am? I'd rather be that than a bloody spoiled little brat like you!' Draco flinched; Harry didn't care. 'What do you really know about the world? You've spent your life surrounded by family and friends and wealth—I bet all this is the first time you've ever really been scared, isn't it? Try sleeping under the stairs for eleven years and being your cousin's favourite punching bag, then you'll get some idea—'

            It dawned on Harry that he was holding onto Draco by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the hospital shirt. The boy stared up at him, mouth agape and eyes churning with terror. He was trembling visibly. Harry drew a deep breath and relinquished him. He sat back and watched Draco try to regain control without resorting to tears again.

            'I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'I didn't mean to go off the deep end like that.'

            Malfoy shook his head, not looking at him. 'Deserve it.'

            'Don't say that.'

            For a second Harry saw an echo of the same sneer that had kept their enmity so keen over the years. 'Don't say, do say. No Potter, yes Potter.' He scowled. 'Deserve it.'

            The boy's tone dared him to deny it again. Harry sighed. 'Is there anything we can talk about that won't get you into this state?' He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words were out. Draco's hands clenched tight and deep-set anger boiled in his eyes, but what was worse was the trembling of his lip as he fought to hold back a sob. Harry took hold of one of his hands. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that—no, I didn't, Draco. Listen to me. It's over; whatever happened to you, it's gone now. Can't you just let it go, and stop letting yourself be hurt by everything?' A swift shake of the head. 'Why not?'

            Draco drew a breath; Harry could see him concentrating on the order and sense of the words he spoke:

            'It's all still here.'

            'Here?'

            'Everywhere.'

            'Everywhere as in…what? Inside you, in your mind?'

            'There, and…' Draco gestured at his bandages and around at the rest of the room. 'Everywhere.' His eyes strayed to the notebook. 'They...can still get to me...'

            'So you're just going to stay here and be afraid? That's not like you. The only person I've ever seen you run from is Vo—is that thing we saw in the Forbidden Forest in first year.' Draco didn't say a word. Harry gave up. He held up the cup Madam Pomfrey had given him. 'You're supposed to drink this.'

            Draco took the lid from the cup and drank cautiously. His cheek puckered, giving evidence of the concoction's unpleasant taste, but he didn't actually grimace or complain. When he was done, he put the empty cup down on a bedside table and folded his arms, plucking at the cloth covering some horrific scar.

            'Don't do that,' Harry said automatically. Draco's expression darkened and he continued to pull at the threads of the bandages. Harry rolled his eyes. 'If you didn't put up such a fuss, Madam Pomfrey could heal you with magic and you wouldn't need the bandages at all.'

            'She won't.'

            'Sorry?'

            'Use magic. She won't.'

            'What?' Harry was nonplussed. 'But why would she do things so slowly?'

            Draco shrugged. 'Maybe so I can stay here. Stay until...I don't need to be afraid any more.'

            Harry stared at him. 'You could be right. That actually made perfect sense.'

            Draco blinked, and turned his gaze to the ceiling. 'It…hurts,' he said after a moment. 'To make thoughts make sense.'

            'Why?'

            'Because...They aren't—won't—' He growled in frustration. 'No sense, nonsense. Flashes, words, smells...pictures...' Draco grimaced. 'Why do you fight?'

            Harry blinked at the sudden change of subject, but didn't try to press it. He plucked at the sheets, trying to find the words to reply. 'What do you mean?'

            'Muggles...' Draco waved one hand vaguely. 'Cupboard, cousin, punching bag...so why do you fight?'

            'You mean the fight against Voldemort, don't you?'

            'Against us.'

            Harry glanced sharply up, but Draco's eyes were still closed. 'What do you mean? You're not a—' He reached automatically for Draco's wrists to check for the Dark Mark, but the boy seemed to sense his approach and slapped him away.

            'No! Not. Wouldn't be...one of those...' He flinched at something unseen.

            'Try not to think about it.'

            'Can't. It's everywhere...' Draco's grey irises flashed into sight. 'Answer me?' His voice was as ragged as the night he'd appeared and he stared desperately up at Harry.

            'I...I just...' He bit his lip. 'You just can't let someone like that win. Not ever. I mean...he killed my parents. He's killed countless people, most of them were defenceless, and—and that shouldn't be allowed to happen. Things like that, and this—' He gestured at Draco's injuries. '—It shouldn't happen.'

            Draco pointed at himself. 'Happened.'

            'It shouldn't happen,' Harry repeated. 'Not on either side.'

            'Why does it?'

            Harry shrugged, feeling useless, and not liking the way Draco was looking at him, waiting patiently for an answer.

They were interrupted by a soft tap at the door before he managed to say anything. Madam Pomfrey poked her head into the room. 'It's getting late. You should leave soon, Potter.'

            Harry nodded, and the door closed again. He turned back to Draco.

            'I'm not coming back for two days.' Draco began to protest, but Harry held up a hand and he fell silent. 'I mean it. I have other things I need to be doing, and it's not good for you to rely on me coming here—don't look at me like that. I was the one who had to see that you were fed today, remember? When I come back, I want to see you cooperating with Madam Pomfrey. Otherwise I'll leave again, for longer.'

            His words had the desired effect, more or less. For a second, Draco looked unspeakably upset. He recovered a little and grew angry, then recovered some more and gave a resigned nod.

            'Fine. Don't need you.'

            'Prove it.' Harry stood, but a hand caught at his wrist before he could walk away. He looked back as Draco pressed the folded notepaper carrying his nails into Harry's hand.

            'Keep,' he muttered, eyes lowered.

            Harry grinned, and his fingers tightened around the parcel. 'I only forgot.'

            Draco looked up with a timidity that threw Harry off-balance. 'Can we...' He swallowed, abruptly clamming up with a shake of his head.

            'What is it, Draco?'

            The boy bit his lip. Harry could almost see the words being painstakingly lined up and marched out of his mind. 'I...asked you this once before. You didn't want it then...'

            'Go on.'

            Draco held out his hand. 'Friend?'

            Harry remained immobile for a second before he collected himself. He clasped Draco's hand, and nodded, watching the relieved smile spread over his face. Then he walked away.