Title: "Naught but a Monster"

Summary: Sequel to "Beauty is the Beast". Sometimes the Ever After of Happily Ever After only lasts so long. Sometimes dreams are short lived, and nightmares resurrected.

Warnings: Slash!, Cursing, um…I'm not sure what will happen later but you never know. Also I sort of drift from the Canon description which J.K. has so beautifully written to fit my own story, using her characters to my benefit. So…be aware.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, or anything that J.K. Rowling or Scholastic or Warner Bros. publishes, except in the copies of movies and books which I keep in obvious view.

Author's Note: First of all, BIG HUGE AWESOME thanks to my beta and friend Muse, who read my first story and now is helping me not make as many mistakes in this one. She's great hehe.

On a second note, if you got this email twice, a huge apology on my end. My computer got wonky (yes, wonky) and refused to cooperate. Please forgive me.

Enjoy.

Chapter One: Not Quite Disney

It was a beautiful sunny day, much like it usually was in the summer at the Manor. The trees of the forest were the brightest green where it reached the clearing, and darkened as it went further and further out, spanning to cast a green hue over the vast landscape. The walls were now spotless stone. Each brick practically gleamed the sunlight. The sunrise crept through the large window in Draco's, or rather, Harry and Draco's, bedroom. Yet, once again, as the blonde awoke, he found the bed empty.

The first time he'd found the bed empty and cold when he awoke, no more than a week ago, he'd begun to panic. When Harry found him nearly tearing up every room to find him, he'd calmed his lover with a hug and eventually a kiss as the other held onto him as if he'd been gone for days. Each day, this happened when Harry would be out of bed by the time he woke up. The Gryffindor finally told him that he was standing on the balcony where Draco had fought for their love so many nights ago.

So, this time, he took a peek outside the window, and saw Harry staring out at the sunrise. Draco opened the door as quietly as he could and shut it just as quietly. Reaching out to the raven-haired beauty, he rested a hand on the distracted man's shoulder. He didn't jump, as Draco had anticipated, but he did turn to see that it was, indeed, Draco. Bending down slightly, the blonde touched his lips to Harry's. To his delight, Harry kissed back. The kiss only lasted a moment, but when they pulled apart, the Slytherin was satisfied. That was, until he looked into the green eyes, which enraptured him so, and saw the guilt that scared him each morning he saw it. It was becoming more frequent.

Actually, ever since Harry ceased waiting for him to wake up, there was a worried line between his eyes that made Draco, in turn, worry about the man he'd grown to love. And he noticed other things about his lover that was enough to concern any man when it was down to their lover and their health. Shadows were beginning to grow underneath Harry's eyes, unnatural to his youthful age. His skin was growing to a paleness that alarmed Draco, seeing the man once tanned and fit. There were other things, smaller things that Harry seemed to be experiencing as well. But those were enough to make Draco wish he could just gather up the man in his arms and force him to tell him what was wrong.

"Good Morning," Draco whispered in his lover's ear. He took a small delight when he felt the skin on Harry's bare back become more rigid as a shiver trailed down his spine.

"G'mornin'," Harry said, his voice airy as if he were yawning. Draco pulled back after a moment before taking the man's hand and pulling him down to the kitchen for breakfast.

Draco had discovered he had a very strong fondness for cooking. After all of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and pancakes that a man would ever want (or even try) to eat in a lifetime, Harry had decided to give Draco a new cookbook that was specifically for beginners. With it, Draco learned to make oatmeal, spaghetti, grilled cheese and other kinds of easily made food. Draco quickly moved back to his more advanced book and by the end of the month, he'd become a professional. In fact, his cooking skills had led to one of the more awkward conversations that he'd had with Harry.

It was dinnertime, and Draco had managed to make a turkey potpie for each of them. Of course, it ended up with the blonde having more flour on him than in the pie, but it still became a success. Harry was stunned.

"Draco, this is so good!" he said through his third or fourth bite of it. The cook picked up his fork and scooped some into his mouth. With a proud smirk, he agreed with the Gryffindor that he was, indeed, quite the cooker of turkey potpies. When he looked up, he watched the other shift in his chair uneasily. Patiently, he waited for Harry to say whatever was on his mind. "Draco," he finally sighed, not looking directly at him, "Don't you want to…you know…leave?"

The blonde cocked his head to the side then frowned. "What do you mean? I go outside plenty." Harry shook his head.

"No, I mean…haven't you wanted to leave this whole place?" he continued. "The Manor, the grounds, the forest; haven't you wanted to leave this place at all?" At the end of his question he sounded close to exasperation, so Draco did his best to humor him.

"Well of course I've thought about it," he replied. "After all, I've been here for nearly five years." He picked up a forkful of his food and ate it before swallowing and continued. "But, I was a Death Eater, Harry. Not only that, but I've been on the run for who knows how long. I think if I were even seen in any section of England I would be killed on the spot. It's not something I welcome."

Harry frowned. "But this food you make is so…so good, Draco," he said, sounding almost desperate. "You could be a gourmet chef, a famous one in fact, if you were out in the outside world. Isn't it a waste to stay here simply because you are scared?"

Draco was shocked. It was a provocation and he knew it. It was an attempt to get him angry; to get him to do something that Harry could manipulate him into doing. He knew because he'd done it before, and he often commended Harry on manipulating him into such a state of gullibility, but not this time. Instead he nodded and stood up, storing the rest of his meal away in the fridge. "I was sorted into Slytherin because I know how to protect myself and keep myself alive," he thinned his lips a little and shook his head. He leaned back against the fridge once he shut the door and crossed his arms.

"What concerns me is why you'd like to risk my life to cook food for people. You don't want me to cook for you anymore; is that what you're saying? Would you rather me I cook for other people? If that's the case, Harry Potter, then I'll never touch a kitchen counter again."

By now, Harry looked guilty enough that Draco knew he got his message across. No, he was not going to leave. Besides, he was happy just cooking for Harry. After all, even if he did go out into the world and sold his services as a chef, would he really want anyone knowing that he was lowered to doing a house elf chore such as cooking? No, he would rather still be known as the arrogant prat who went missing one day than a reformed Death Eater. It was far too Gryffindor of him to do such a thing. Not to mention that Harry was the Gryffindor of the two, not him.

"No, I love your cooking Draco," Harry said with a sigh. After that, the subject was dropped. Still, the Slytherin wondered if something else had been on Harry's mind that day.

Draco cooked up an omelet for Harry and made himself, per custom, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When he set out the plates and went to fetch the coffee, Harry spoke.

"Draco, you do know that making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich now that you can make such great meals is rather a waste? Why do you eat it every morning?"

Draco smirked. "Just because your palette has a lot to be desired doesn't mean that I have to give up the delicacy which is the classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich on toast." Harry gave a small, amused smile and tucked into his meal. When he was barely halfway through, he pushed it away, announcing he was full. "But you hardly ate any of it, Harry. Just a few more bites," Draco said, slightly worried.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're not my mother, Draco. I'm full, so I'm going to not eat the whole thing."

"But that's not the point! You've been eating less and less. You've lost so much weight that your clothes are almost falling off of you!"

"No I haven't," Harry argued immediately.

"Yes you have," Draco retorted.

"No!"

"Really, Harry, I would have to say that - -"

"Oh, what does it matter?!" Harry shouted. Draco shot back in surprise. "Most people would be happy to see their lovers losing weight, and would not be chiding them for it. You don't have to worry about me; I'm just fine taking care of myself!" During his outburst, his face had turned red in anger.

Draco blinked.

Draco blinked again.

Slowly he picked up his food, untouched, and threw it in the garbage pail. Then he walked out of the kitchen, into the room of many couches. Many had been discarded after the curse had been lifted, but there were still enough to make the room more than comfortable. He sat down on one and simply stared out the window, the morning light rising just above the trees on the other side of the house. The shadow cast on the trees turned the forest into a dark and ominous sea.

"Perfect mood lighting," Draco thought with a grim smile.

It didn't take too long for Harry to come into the living room. The blonde didn't say anything.

"I finished the omelet," the raven-haired man, who seemed so much a boy when they fought, muttered.

Still, Draco said nothing.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry said. "I didn't have any right to yell at you like that. You were only worried about me."

Draco finally turned his head and looked at the dark-haired man, who looked highly abashed at what he'd done. But that was not what Draco saw.

He saw the pallor of Harry's skin.

He saw little twitches of pain in the man's temples.

He saw the shadows under his eyes.

"Harry, what have you been hiding from me?" he asked. "I promise I'll listen to you and…and…please, just tell me." He would have nearly laughed at himself if he knew how he sounded: desperate, pleading, hopeless.

The other was silent for a long moment, but then he looked out the window.

"I want to leave."

T B C

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