#hp_creatures

He'd had that sort of feeling many times before, even in the room he felt safest in, which was in what was now his mother's house. When he'd wake in the middle of the night, disoriented, everything would seem dangerous. He was no stranger to the things the dark could do to a child’s psyche. A discarded jumper on the floor became a terrifying creature. The pile of stuffed animals in the corner cast twisted, unnatural shadows on the walls. That small crack in his closet door became a void that he couldn’t turn away from, sure as he was that there was some horrifying phantom watching him from the other side. Of course over time he’d discovered the true nature of those shapes and grown to be able to identify them as the harmless things they really were.

However, there was something different about his room in the Malfoy house. Even after he’d taught himself that the dresser was just a dresser, and the curtains were just curtains, he could still feel it—that there was something in there with him. Watching. Waiting for him to get up for the loo, or a glass of water. He could hear its ragged breaths beneath his mattress, its claws scraping against the floorboards.

The past few times he’d been to stay with his father and Mr. Malfoy, he’d ended up in bed with them, instead, within an hour. On the last, just as he’d been drifting off, he’d been jolted awake by such a gut-wrenching growl that he’d practically flown down the hall towards their room, and it had taken them the better half of the night to convince him to lie down again. He pretended to sleep after that, nestled between them and listening to the old house’s pops and creaks, certain they were the heavy footfalls of some bloodthirsty beast.

Everyone told him it was his imagination, no matter how much he insisted. Scorpius always got a bit shifty when he'd try to talk to him about it. Once, he'd mentioned how that room had been his when he was a baby, but then a few years back, he'd decided he didn't want to stay in there anymore. He wouldn't say why, and he hadn't brought up the subject again since. His sister, Rose, was no help, either. Not only did she make it very clear she didn't believe him in the slightest, he would always end up being subjected to an endless diatribe on the many ways the mind can play tricks on a person. She would say that she’d believe the Manor had a boggart infestation long before she’d believe his tales about monsters. She would have that gleam in her eye while she did it, too, just like their mother.

He’d caught his parents discussing it, once. His father said it was preposterous for a boy as old as him to still believe in such things. Then his mother had dared him to claim he hadn’t done the same when he was that age, and he hadn’t had anything else to say.

Hugo had refused to return, and yet he’d still found himself stumbling out of the Floo after his sister on their usual weekend. Much as it frightened him, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint his father, nor to disrespect his new partner’s offer of hospitality. Besides, Mr. Malfoy had been the only one to really hear him out on this whole business, thus far. He’d listened to Hugo’s stories about the monster under his bed with rapt attention, and even seemed a bit afraid of the idea himself.

Hugo had been mostly fine throughout the afternoon, but as soon as the sun had begun to set during dinner, the panic had set in. He’d kept close to Rose and Scorpius, and when they’d taken themselves off to bed, he’d lingered in the parlor with his dad and Mr. Malfoy for as long as they’d allowed him to. Soon, though, they weren’t so much suggesting he head up himself as ordering it, and thus he’d finally relented. His father had tucked him in, given him a kiss on the forehead, and doused the light. As soon as the door had shut behind him, Hugo had felt the fear begin to well up inside his chest.

The dark was suffocating. He was frozen there on his back with only his head poking out from under the comforter. His eyes never shut once. He barely even blinked. There was a shadow across his ceiling like claws grasping for him. He tried to tell himself it was just the tree outside his window, the wind knocking its branches about, and not the monster standing against the wall on that side of his bed. Either way, he couldn’t bear to turn his head and check.

Eventually, however, he was able to argue with himself that perhaps nothing would come of it tonight. Even monsters took breaks every now and then, didn’t they? And if it was really after him, it would’ve already tried something, wouldn’t it have? He lost the battle with his exhaustion, and his eyes closed.

They flew open again as he suddenly felt the entire bed shake as if it had been punched by something very strong beneath it. The movement was followed by a guttural scream that sent gooseflesh pimpling across his arms and down the back of his neck.

He didn’t even think twice: he was on his feet and dashing out of the room without so much as a backward glance. He raced for the stairs as fast as his short legs could carry him. At one point, he misstepped and nearly took a tumble, but he caught himself on the railing and continued on with the new rush of adrenaline the slip had provided him. All the while he was positive the monster was right behind him, and that if he stopped for even a second, it would dig it's sharp talons into his sides and drag him back to the Underworld from which it had come.

He skidded to a stop when he reached the foyer, glancing about for a safe place to hide. Just past him on the left was the kitchen; no good spots in there, he quickly decided. But there was a drawing room on the opposite side, and he could see a large afghan draped over the back of one of the sofas, which he bounded towards, flopping onto his back as he yanked the blanket over his head. He waited for what seemed like hours, shivering and trying not to make a single sound.

A creak out in the corridor made him jump. The first thing that came to mind was that the monster had followed him after all, and the thought alone nearly had him bursting into tears. With trembling hands, he gripped the edge of the blanket and slowly pulled it down. He blinked through the darkness, his heart hammering wildly as he listened to each soft footstep coming closer. They certainly didn’t sound like the footsteps of some huge, terrifying monster, but that might’ve been a trick it was playing on him, to lull him into a false sense of security. He waited with bated breath, never taking his eyes away from the archway leading into the hall.

A shadowy figure appeared, its slender frame blocking out what little moonlight was filtering in through the window behind it. It had spindly arms with curved claws hanging at its sides, and there were spikes sticking out all over its head. It was wearing a robe that Hugo was sure concealed all sorts of devices with which to torture him. He could tell it was looking down at him and that his afghan wasn’t doing much to protect him from it at all. A scream of terror got stuck in the back of his throat as it took a step closer. Then it waved its hand, and the hearth sprang to life, bathing in the room in a suddenly bright, orange glow, revealing that it was in fact a very sleepy-looking Mr. Malfoy.

What he’d thought were spikes was just his hair sticking up all over the place. The claws were his long, nimble fingers, and the robes were an over-sized, long-sleeve shirt and baggy pajama bottoms. He blinked and scrubbed a hand over one eye, frowning down at the little lump of Weasley child still cowering on his sofa.

"Hugo? What are you doing in here?"

The boy couldn’t find his voice for a moment, and when he finally did, it came out as a quivering squeak. "Sleeping."

"I can plainly see you’re not. You’re supposed to be in bed, you know."

"I am in bed. I’m sleeping here."

Mr. Malfoy looked at him as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. "I doubt that’s very comfortable. Wouldn’t you rather be in your room?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine here!"

"No, you're not 'fine,' I'm going to take you back to your room."

Mr. Malfoy crossed over and reached out to pick him up. Hugo scooted back as far as the cushions would allow. The elder man caught him by the shoulders, but he fought him, wrestling out of his hold and shrieking, "No! Please! I don't wanna go back! Please!"

Mr. Malfoy paused, then, and took a good look at him. His eyes looked as concerned as they had when Hugo had first told him about the monster, and somehow the boy thought he knew that that was what this was all about. A single tear finally broke free and rolled down Hugo’s cheek, and the other gently brushed it away with his thumb before stroking his fingers through his messy, ginger hair.

"Would it help if I sat with you for a bit? Till you fell asleep?"

Hugo hesitated. On one hand, he would’ve given every last one of his toys—even the Young Potioneer’s set his Uncle Harry had bought him for his birthday, the one with the self-stirring cauldron—to be able to never set eyes on that room ever again. On the other, he doubted that any of them would ever let him get away with never coming back, and Mr. Malfoy didn’t look like he was going to allow Hugo to make this sofa his new bed. And he had always appeared to be believe him about the monster. Maybe he would be able to make it go away.

He nodded.

"Great. I'll stay as long as you need."

Mr. Malfoy gathered him in his arms to rest at his hip, and Hugo tucked his head into the crook between the man's shoulder and neck as he carried him back upstairs. With every step, his heart beat a notch faster, and he clung to him that much more tightly until he was gently laid down in his bed once again.

"This was my room, when I was young," Mr. Malfoy was saying as he tugged the covers up around Hugo’s shoulders. "It would've been Scorpius' as well, but he'd preferred the one in the east wing."

Hugo very much wished that he could be in the opposite side of the house right now, although he wasn't entirely convinced that his current room was the only one full of little dark surprises. Of course, he’d known this had been Scorpius’ room at one time, but he hadn’t ever heard of it being Mr. Malfoy’s. He idly wondered if there was a reason why the man hadn’t teased him about his monster stories as much as the others had.

"Trust me, I know how scary it can be in this house at night," he continued. "You just have to remind yourself that there’s nothing here that can hurt you. Your father and I wouldn’t allow it."

Maybe he was imagining it, but Hugo thought Mr. Malfoy might’ve been glancing about the room a little more warily than usual. Still, he felt much calmer in there than he had previously. Mr. Malfoy’s hands were rubbing soothing circles across his chest, and he was able to see much better now that the lamp on his bedside table had been lit. There were no tricky tree shadows to confuse him, no bumps and scratches to set his nerves on edge.

"He’s right, you do need to learn to sleep on your own eventually, but we’re always just down the hall if you need us."

Since when was he so tired? It came upon him quite suddenly, like a tidal wave. His eyes began to close of their own accord, and he soon found himself drifting off to the comforting drawl of Mr. Malfoy’s voice.

He woke with a start barely two hours later to the same scraping sound he’d heard so many times before. This time, however, he realized with a sickening flip of his stomach that it wasn’t coming from beneath his bed, but beside it.

He was practically panting with fear before he even turned his head. And then he had to fight back a scream as soon as he saw it…

There, on the floor between his bed and the only exit, hulked the most massive creature he’d ever laid eyes on. It hadn’t spotted him yet, as he could see its back was facing him, the flesh of which was writhing, twisting, long tendrils of inky blackness stretching in every direction. The rest of it was covered in thick, matted fur that hung off it in long clumps. At the ends of the fingers, he saw those claws that had been keeping him up at nights. They winked at him in the sliver of moonlight that fell across them.

Then it turned around, and his blood turned to ice. Three scarlet eyes stared back at him from above a long, wolf-like snout. Hugo was shaking so impossibly hard now, he knew the monster had to see it. It looked at him with an odd expression, then opened its mouth to reveal a set of pointed teeth and said:

"Oh, hello."

Hugo blinked. Did...did the monster just say ‘hello’? Hello? It had, he knew it had, and yet he couldn’t believe it. Its voice—which he’d always imagined as being rough and demonic—sounded so...so…average. Just like any regular person he knew. He was so struck by that knowledge that he never managed to greet it in return, and by the time he’d noticed as much, it was speaking again:

"I heard you run out earlier. Are you alright?"

He blinked once more. The monster simply stared back, its head tilted curiously to the side. After a moment, Hugo realized that it really was expecting some sort of a response, and, not trusting his voice, he nodded. Of course, that was lie; he wasn’t even slightly alright. He was paralyzed with fear, in fact. But he was even more afraid of letting the monster know that. And yet, it seemed to understand, regardless. "I’m sorry if I woke you, before." Hugo swallowed, then shook his head. "You didn’t," he lied again. "I just typically step out for a bit ‘round this time of night. Get some air, stretch my legs, you know. I’m sorry about tonight, I usually try my best not to disturb you when I do this. Go ahead and get some rest, I’ll be on my way." The monster turned for the door again, and Hugo found himself even more confused. Here it was, right in front of his eyes, and it wasn’t trying to attack him, eat him, drag under the bed with it, nothing! All this time, he’d been sure that if he ever saw it, that would be the end of him. Yet, now that it had finally happened, he was unscathed. And it was even going to let him go back to sleep while it "stretched its legs"!

"I tried to tell my mum and dad about you, but they didn’t believe me."

The monster stopped to regard him once more. It had a hint of a chuckle in its voice as it replied, "That’s understandable. Adults can't see us, only children. Even if they’d known one of us when they were younger, they tend to forget about our existence as they age. Or they convince themselves it isn’t possible for us to exist in the first place."

"Then why don't my sister and Scorpius believe me?"

"They're just getting older. It'll happen to you, too, eventually."

Hugo chewed his lip as he thought a moment. "There’s a lot of you?" The monster nodded. "What are you all doing under kid’s beds, anyway?"

"Going about our lives, same as anyone." Hugo didn't know that he thought living under a child's bed sounded as normal a lifestyle as the monster claimed, but he didn't choose to argue.

"Why do you scare people, though?"

"We don't intend to. It comes with the territory, I suppose."

"You hit my bed! And you were yelling!"

"Banged my head on the frame, is all. Really smarted. I try to come and go as quietly as I can, so you can get your rest. I guess I’ll just need to be more careful in future."

"But I’ve heard you growling at me before!"

"Not at you, certainly not. Haven’t you ever known anyone who snores?"

Hugo considered that, and he came to the conclusion that the growling he’d heard last time had sounded quite a bit like his dad when he was sleeping. In fact, now that he thought about it, now that he knew the true nature of the thing living beneath his mattress, he could come up with all sorts of perfectly normal explanations for the noises he’d been hearing―just as he had many times before, with the clothes, and the toys, and the crack in his closet door.

"Well, I think I’ve kept you up long enough, and I’m actually feeling rather tired myself, now. Why don’t we both get back to sleep, eh?"

It returned to the edge of his bed and crouched down beside it, lifting up the comforter to make its way under. Hugo was left feeling a bit overwhelmed, but not at all bad. Actually, he felt happier in this room than he had the past few months. The fur on the monster’s body just made it look cuddly now. The squirming things on its back even appeared friendly, like a dog wagging its tail.

"Hey, uh...Monster?"

"Yes?"

"You're not so scary anymore."

The monster smiled at that. Or at least it appeared to smile, as the flesh around its jaw crinkled, and its eyes shone bright. Its fur tickled Hugo's cheek when it reached out to ruffle his hair, and then it sank to the floor once again and was gone. The boy’s eyes slipped shut shortly after, and for the first time ever, the breathing he could hear under him lulled him into a peaceful sleep.

***

"I talked to the monster under my bed last night!"

Hugo made the announcement as soon as everyone had sat to breakfast the following morning. Had he been older, he might’ve caught the look his father shared with Mr. Malfoy across the table before responding gently:

"Did you, now?"

"Yes! After Mr. Malfoy helped me, it came out and spoke to me!"

"Really? And what did it have to say?"

"It said it’d heard me get up and wanted to know if I was alright."

His father snorted on a laugh that he quickly cut off. Mr. Malfoy gave him that same look of concern as he had last night. Hugo noted that Scorpius was looking equally uncomfortable beside him.

"I’m sure it said no such thing," Rose quipped pompously from his other side, straightening herself like a peacock preening its feathers. "Monsters aren’t even real, you know."

But the other three seemed at least somewhat interested in his story, so her comments went ignored. "It said it was sorry for scaring me. It hadn’t meant to."

"Well, that was nice of it," Mr. Malfoy chimed in.

"Did you ask it to stop keeping you up at night?" his father added, a corner of his mouth turned up in a small grin.

"No," he admitted, shifting in his seat, "but I don’t think it will anymore."

"Well, if you’re so sure it is real, then what does it look like?"

Hugo finally turned to his sister with a glare, as if daring her to challenge his account as he stated firmly, "It’s big and hairy, and it’s got tentacles on its back, and it has three eyes, and they’re huge and red, and―"

The entire table startled and went quiet as Mr. Malfoy's fork suddenly dropped from his hand and fell upon his plate with a clatter. His mouth still hung open, although no longer awaiting his eggs, and his eyes were the size of quaffles. He struggled with his jaw for several moments before he was finally able to ask:

"You said it had tentacles on its back?"

Hugo nodded, looking to his dad, who seemed just as uncertain of why his partner was asking this as he was.

"A-and red eyes? Three of them?"

He nodded again. Even Scorpius was glancing sideways at his father like he’d sprouted an extra head. Rose was leaning curiously over her plate to get a better look at him.

"I don’t believe it...I told you!" Mr. Malfoy suddenly said to Hugo’s father, a weird kind of panic tinging the edge of his voice. "I told you, didn’t I? I bloody told everyone, but they wouldn’t listen!"

"Draco, wait!"