Rating: R

Warnings: Coarse language, slash.

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. Yes…

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

Thanks To: Wednesday, kristy, MiniMe, SophieB, Me, Penelope-Z, Sorceress Jade, Jessica (*Grins* Yes, I do rather like the tortured Draco archetype. He's a character who in canon has built up a great many walls to shield himself from the world, and I enjoy trying to get to the deeper layers. Best way to do that is throw a really big stone at the walls.), Jay, Demeter, Shukumei-of-another-world, Scratches (Heh. Here's more, right now. Just wasn't right then…), Accidental Human Contact, S. Maldiva (Who's beaten him? *Points at chapter below* There are one or two clues there. Actually finding the identities will take a while longer however. *Is still trying to work it out herself*), Blaze, Minna, Girlie-O, dreamsneak, faro, gentle reader (Watch out. I foresee many cliffhangers ahead.), K. Ashley, Savidana, darklites, Rhia (Am writing!)

Thanks to everyone for being so patient between exams. The Twelfth Chapter of All Torn Down is almost finished, and there may be more of this soon.

The Way of the Beast: Them and Us

            'I think life is more like the Monster game...and maybe one day everyone turns around and the real monster is there, and you know his name when you look in his face, because he's you.'

                        —The Monster Game, Isobelle Carmody.

            Draco was sitting up in bed, scribbling in a notebook, when Harry entered the Wing. He had been moved into a private room so that other students couldn't see him.

            Harry was moving fast as he came through the doorway, but slowed to a halt as he took in the surroundings. Draco watched him turn around slowly, digesting the torn pages littered across the room, the dented walls into which Draco had thrown the nearest movable object and occasionally himself. Let him see what it had taken to get him here. He dropped his gaze back to the notebook as Harry's eyes came to rest on him.

            There was silence for a good while as Harry stood watching him and Draco scribbled unconcernedly, pretending not to notice.

            'I hear you're not talking to anyone.'

            The pencil in Draco's hand stilled; it was the only indication that he was listening at all. He heard Harry take a step forward.

            'But they said you wanted to speak to me, is that right? Well, are you going to? Because if not, then I have a potion to brew...' Draco noted that despite his words Harry made no motion to leave the room. He began to draw again.

            'Fine. Your silence isn't worth the tirade I'm going to get from Snape if I don't have my work done—' Harry stepped backwards, but he paused when Draco's eyes rose, slowly, from the pad. They regarded each other for a moment before Draco's gaze reverted to the sketches in his lap.

            'Traitor.'

            'What was that?'

            Draco looked up again, staring at Harry calmly. 'Traitor,' he repeated.

            Harry paced forward to the bedside, his eyes lit with anger. 'What are you talking about? I helped you!'

            'No! No, no, no. You brought me here. I said no!'

            'Well, what else did you expect me to do? You showed up in my room, and I'm sure you're going to have fun explaining that to me, late at night bleeding all over the place—what else was I supposed to do with you?'

            'I said one night. Only to stay a night. I was going, I was going, but not here!'

            'Then wh—'

            'I trusted you! I trusted, and you, you...' Draco's eyes burned and stung. He hadn't wanted to become so angry, had thought to be stone, but...

            'You expected me to be a cat's paw,' Harry was saying. 'That's all it is, isn't it? You thought I'd take pity on you and do whatever you wanted. That's what all of this is! It's just you, and your stupid power games. You're playing for pity, seeing how much you can make people do—'

            Draco looked away, swaying slightly. He felt a hot droplet splash onto his hand. 'I'll call,' he muttered feverishly. 'I'll call, I'll call her, I'll call...'

            Harry shook a finger under his nose. 'Stop it! I know this is just an act. Make sense, Malfoy!'

            Draco stared up at him, lower lip trembling. Hate this, hate this, so weak... 'I just wanted...' he shuddered. 'Just...help...'

            Harry sat heavily on the bed, the anger in his eyes receding. 'That's all you can say?' he whispered. 'Just...just that you want help? God, what's happened to you?'

            The tears fell in earnest then, and all Draco could do was watch Harry watching him, and whimper. Weak little child...

            Harry looked first aghast, then sympathetic, as he stared at Draco. He bit his lip and, in a rush, leaned forward and drew Draco into a close embrace.

            Draco buried his face into Harry's shoulder, disregarding the pain registered via his injuries in favour of the warm comfort of contact with another person. He moved to place his hands on Harry's sides, felt the boy wince, and wrapped his arms tightly around the gracious boy's shoulders instead.

            Very slowly, he began to run out of tears. Draco twisted his head around to the side, still sniffling and shuddering. He stared at the pale expanse of skin before him, stretching down from Harry's neck to his shoulder, crossed by the black of his robe's collar.

            Draco closed his eyes. He opened them. He leaned forward, not slowly but not fast enough to disturb Harry either, and pressed his lips against the soft skin.

            Harry jerked back out of the embrace, his eyes wide. 'W-what did you just do?'

            Draco stared at him, emotionless. 'Nothing,' he said. 'I did nothing at all.' He lay back and turned his face away, pulling the covers close about him.

            Silence. Then: 'Will you let Madam Pomfrey take care of you now?'

            Draco closed his eyes. 'Yes.'

            'All right.' He listened to Harry's footsteps moving away through the scattered papers.

            'Potter?'

            'Yes?'

            'Thank you.'

*

            In a daze, Harry rejoined Ron and Hermione on the way to Transfiguration, having missed the rest of the Potions lesson. Ron looked at him with an upturned eyebrow as they entered the classroom and sat down.

            'Are you okay? What was that about?'

            'Malfoy. He's, he's...' Harry sighed, trying to pull himself together. 'I'm starting to sound like him.'

            'What about Malfoy?'

            'He...isn't himself. I mean really, he's completely...he can barely string together a clear sentence, and he's just—he just doesn't act like—'

            'Do you think he's got some kind of brain damage?' Hermione ventured.

            'No. I asked Madam Pomfrey, but she says he's just traumatised. Traumatised! I can't think what could do that to him.'

            'I can't think what could make you so worried about him,' Ron muttered.

            Harry sighed. 'I...' he laughed. 'I can't believe I really want this, but I wish he would act the way he used to. We had a fight—'

            'Sounds like typical Malfoy to me.'

            'The worst he managed to call me was traitor, and he couldn't even justify that. Tried, but he just...couldn't. And he actually reacted to what I was saying, I mean, not like usual. It hurt him.'

            Hermione cast an odd look at Harry as Professor McGonagall entered the room. 'How do you know?'

            'I tend to think there's something wrong with a person when they start crying.'

            A slow grin began to spread across Ron's face. 'You made Malfoy cry?'

            'Don't,' Harry said shortly. 'It isn't funny.'

            'Quiet,' McGonagall said sharply from the front of the room. 'We'll be starting work on human transfigurations this week—theory first.' The class groaned, and the Professor's lips thinned, although it was difficult to tell whether it was out of suppressed amusement or irritation. 'Yes, I know you would all like to start waving your wands around and sprouting extra ears, but school policy--not to mention wizard law—demands that you know what you're doing first. Longbottom, I expect you to pay very careful attention this semester.

            'Open your books at page thirty and read the next ten pages. I'll be setting a series of questions on the board for you to answer afterwards, and anything you haven't finished by the end of the lesson will be extra homework. Now get to work.'

            Under cover of the noise made by an entire year of Gryffindors reaching for, opening, and grumbling about their textbooks, Ron muttered, 'Well, why are you so worried? He's not your responsibility, Harry.'

            Harry was silent for a moment as he flipped through his book, biting his lip. 'Then why do I feel responsible for him?' He made an undignified and extremely annoyed noise. 'Why did he come to me?'

            Neither Ron nor Hermione had an answer for him.

*

            The question gnawed at Harry's mind for the rest of the day, and eventually he relented and went back to the Hospital Wing while Hermione dragged Ron to the library. Draco's temporary room had been cleared of most of the paper that had covered the floor—or rather; it had been pushed out of the way to the edges of the room. Draco was sitting up in bed, still drawing in his notebook, and looking visibly better though a larger portion of him was bound up in plaster and bandages. Harry wondered why Madam Pomfrey didn't use magic to heal him.

            Draco looked up at his entrance. 'Hello.'

            'Hello,' Harry said. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. 'Can I ask you something?'

            Draco stared at him blankly a moment before nodding.

            'Why did you come to me last night? What did I ever do to deserve your trust?'

            'Trust...' Draco put down his pencil and stared at his wand hand, running a finger along a jagged scar that crossed his palm. 'Harry Potter. You're Harry Potter.'

            'I don't understand. You came to me...because of who I am?'

            'Good, honourable. Harry Potter.'

            Harry had the feeling that Draco was deliberately hedging against his questions. He leaned down until his eyes met Draco's dull grey. 'Who did this to you?'

            Malfoy blinked and a shudder passed through his body. 'Mudblood,' he whispered.

            'What?' Harry felt a rush of anger at the foul word. 'You had better not be talking about Hermione, because I know she wouldn't—'

            'Mudblood,' Draco repeated. 'Mudblood and a Muggle.'

            'You're kidding,' Harry whispered. 'Who would dare do something like that to you?' Draco was silent, so Harry tried another tack. 'Why did they do it?'

            Draco closed his eyes. 'Because Father's Death Eater. And I would be. And because—because they found out—' His eyes flashed open, glistening with unshed tears. He stared through Harry, whimpering softly.

            'Ssh. Draco, calm down. It's all right, they aren't here now.' Harry watched the boy's struggle against his emotions, played out in his eyes. Draco gulped, slowly focusing on Harry, who leaned forward slightly. 'Why else?'

            Draco shook his head, drawing his legs up and locking his arms about them. 'Won't tell. Can't tell you that.'

            'Why not?' Draco just shook his head, and Harry sighed. 'You're impossible, Malfoy.' He turned to leave, and felt Draco's nails latching desperately into his wrist.

            'Don't go. He—he was here. He knows—'

            Harry stared back at him, aghast. 'He? The—the Muggle-born? He knows where you are?' He sat down again, and Draco relinquished his hold. 'That's why you didn't want to come here.'

            Draco nodded.

            'But how could he know where you were? I only told Ron and Hermione, and they wouldn't have—no, don't look at me like that, they wouldn't have told anyone else. Even if it was about you.'

            Draco looked away from him, staring pensively at a spot on the floor. 'Ears listen. Walls talk.'

            Harry's eyes narrowed. 'Are you saying he overheard us? But that would mean--was he a Gryffindor? Draco?'

            The only reply was a half-hearted shrug. Harry bit his lip. His voice was very low when he spoke again: 'What did he do while he was in here?'

            'Watched. Just...watched and laughed, a bit. And, and, tore...' Draco pointed at the mess of paper at the edges of the room. 'Tore some, and took some away. Said he'd burn...'

            Harry growled. 'He should burn,' he said, knowing that Draco was trying to say something entirely different. To his amazement, the pale Slytherin winced at the venom in his voice. 'What's wrong? Did they talk like that? Sorry...' He patted Draco's arm gingerly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.'

            Draco stared at his hand, expressionless. But his own arm swung around as Harry began to withdraw, clasping hold and squeezing Harry's fingers a little. 'I know.' He rested his chin on his knees, closing his eyes.

            Harry withdrew his hand suddenly and stood up. 'I should probably go now,' he muttered. 'Draco, do you know how the Muggle-born got in here?'

            'Errand.' Harry took a second to extrapolate that out into 'He told Pomfrey he was on an errand'.

            'All right. I'll ask Madam Pomfrey not to let anyone in here alone with you from now on, okay?'

            'Except you,' Draco whispered.

            'Yes. All right. Except me, right.' Harry stumbled out of the room. He folded his arms tightly against his chest, drowning the remaining warmth of Draco's touch with his own body heat.

            Madam Pomfrey was tending to a third year Hufflepuff who'd got in the way of one of Hagrid's monstrous charges, but she turned at the sound of his none-too-quiet passage through the wing. 'Potter, wait a moment, please.'

            Harry did so, standing near the back wall of the room, his eyes skirting occasionally to the doorway leading back to Draco's chamber. He'd neglected to shut the door properly, and could see a triangle of floorboards edged with notepaper beyond the frame.

            'How is he?' Harry glanced up at Madam Pomfrey, not having noticed her approach him. She looked drawn and worried.

            'You don't know?'

            'I know how he is physically. But he still won't say a word to me, or anyone else I send in there. I heard the two of you talking about something, though. You're the only one he seems to respond to.'

            'That can't be good.'

            'No, it isn't. I can't get any idea of what he's feeling, and that's as important as healing his physical injuries—perhaps more so.'

            'Well, he—he doesn't make much sense. He'll say a string of words, and you can see him trying to make you understand. And I think he sees things, sometimes. Like when he gets upset, it's as though the memories jump out of his head...'

            'Has he let you see any of his pictures?'

            'Sorry?'

            'The pictures he draws in that notebook. He hasn't let you see them?' Harry shook his head, and she sighed. 'You've seen all those bits of paper he threw on the floor? The pictures on every one of them have been shaded out: for his eyes only, apparently.'

            'You're really worried, aren't you?'

            She hesitated in answering, obviously unwilling to admit defeat. 'Yes. I am. Will you come to see him whenever you can? I can't work properly if I don't have some idea of what's going on in that head.'

            Harry nodded slowly. 'I already promised him the same thing, sort of.'

            'Thank you.' She began to turn away, and Harry bit his lip.

            'Madam Pomfrey,' he said. 'How many other people have seen him?'

            She looked back over her shoulder. 'Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and a few of the students have been in. Why?'

            'He...he told me who beat him. Well, sort of described him a bit. Draco said he was in here today. Said he told you he was running an errand.'

            Pomfrey paled. 'Most of the students I let through were on an errand of some kind. What did he look like?'

            Harry shrugged. 'I only know he was Muggle-born. That's all Draco would say. I was wondering whether you could sort of shut him off, not let other people see him, to keep it from happening again.'

            Pomfrey smiled wearily. 'I can't stop any of the professors from going in there, Harry. But I'll make sure you're the only student who sees him. If anyone has an errand to run, I'll tell them to go back and get the teacher to do it for them.'

            Harry nodded. 'Good.'

            'Good evening, Potter.'

            'Evening...?' Harry blinked. 'Is it that late?'

            'Look out the window, dear. The sun set about ten minutes ago.'

            Harry almost swore, remembering who he was with barely in time. 'I told Hermione and Ron that I'd meet them in the library! They'll kill me!'

            'Then I'd run if I were you.'

            Harry tore out of the Hospital Wing, cursing himself, and raced towards the library, hoping against hope that Ron and Hermione had waited for him. He almost tripped over Mrs Norris as he rounded a corner; the cat hissed at him and leapt away, probably going to complain to Filch. Harry barrelled on, almost knocking Ron down as he skidded to a halt in front of them outside the library doors. Hermione raised her eyebrows, quite obviously fighting the urge to laugh.

            'Sorry I'm late,' he panted. 'I didn't—think—it was so—late. Sorry!'

            'What's to be sorry about?' Ron said, glaring at Hermione. 'All she wanted was for us to help her find books on some Runes-thing I've never heard of.'

            Hermione rolled her eyes at him. 'Forgive me for wanting to do well in my exams. How did it go, Harry?'

            Harry opened his mouth, then realised he didn't know what to say. He shrugged. 'I'm not sure. I think he made a little more sense—either that or I'm getting used to gibberish, which isn't a good sign—but he wouldn't give me a straight answer when I asked him. He told me a few other things, but not what I wanted.'

            'What did he say?'

            'That he was beaten by a Mu—' Harry almost used the epithet Draco was so fond of, and checked himself barely in time: '—ggle-born and a Muggle, Gods only know who. He thinks they did it because of, you know...his father, and everything.'

            'You're kidding! A Muggle-born and a Muggle?' Ron was flabbergasted. 'Can you imagine how far away they'd have had to take him? How did he manage to get away?'

            'Don't know. But I don't think they did take him very far; he was still bleeding when he woke me.'

            'Harry, does he still have his wand?' Hermione interjected suddenly. He stared at her.

            'No, he doesn't.' Harry's eyes widened. 'So he couldn't have been far away at all—he had no way of casting a spell to get back.'

            'Or to get into your room,' she said, biting her lip. 'Wonder how he managed that?' She smiled, reassuring, at the look on Harry's face. 'Don't worry. Professor Dumbledore's probably having it all investigated, so you won't have to bother about him any more.'

            'Yes, I will. I promised Draco and Madam Pomfrey that I'd keep looking in on him.'

            Ron blinked. 'You what? You don't have to, you know.'

            'No, but I want to. I want to know what's happened and I want to see him back the way he was, and—' Harry screwed his face up in frustration. 'I want to know why the bloody hell he picked me to come to!'

            There was a brief, edgy silence, which folded like paper as Ron began to laugh. Harry relaxed, looking sheepish.

            'Well, it's true. So far I haven't understood a thing he's told me.'

            'You're a piece of work, Harry,' Ron chuckled. 'Do you have any idea how much he's going to owe you when he gets out of the Infirmary?'

            'If he'll just tell me the answer to that question, I'll consider all debts paid. I don't understand why he's so stubborn about it.'

            'Well, never mind,' Hermione said, wryly. 'You'll have plenty of chances to ask later. Let's go see how much of dinner is left.'

            Most of the other students had already taken their share of food, but there was still plenty left for the three of them. Harry privately observed that since Hermione's S.P.E.W. escapade in the fourth year, the house elves had seemed even more eager to serve than ever before.

            Ron and Hermione chattered as they ate, but Harry remained quiet. Images kept flashing through his mind: Draco's eyes as he stared up at Harry and pleaded not to go to the Hospital Wing; the appallingly light form curled in his arms as he carried Draco to the Wing; the helpless tears he'd shed in the aftermath of their argument that morning...

            ...Somewhere, behind it all, two shadowy figures loomed in his imagination, waiting to be unmasked.

            A Muggle and a Muggle-born did it. Someone on our side...

            When Harry dragged himself up Gryffindor Tower and tumbled into bed that night, his dreams were fraught with a monstrous Them which constantly shape-shifted into one of Us.