Harry wakes up screaming, then slips into his Animagus form intuitively, like many nights before – away from the terrors, into a simpler existence. The call of nature is plain – run, hunt, sleep, mate. He should stay this way forever.
A white ferret crosses his path; he spends hours toying with it, pummeling, giving chase, until it finally escapes.
That morning, Draco Malfoy is sitting on Harry’s porch, smoking. “Could’ve been gentler there, Potter,” he says. Bruised, he looks vulnerable… human, somehow.
Dropping down next to Malfoy, Harry starts crying. If Malfoy can be simply human, then, perhaps, so could he.