The Veiled Boy

The entire school was exceptionally lively, with both excitement and a sort of nervous agitation. Harry watched the crowd of students as they whispered to one another, constantly looking over their shoulders. Harry could hardly blame them since they'd all been left in the dark and were without any real explanation as to why Dumbledore admitted this student.

"This is crazy! Dumbledore definitely knows of the rumors that are circulating," started Hermione. "But all he spoke of was the prominent Malfoy line; that's it!" 

"He owes us an explanation; the entire castle is starting to suspect something. Sort of dodgy, the way he's acting," agreed Harry. 

"Or maybe his silence is a confirmation. If the rumors are true, then there's no need for Dumbledore to clear the air. Don't you think?" 

"That can't be right!" Ron turned to them with wide eyes; his face paled at their theory. "Dumbledore wouldn't admit a basilisk into Hogwarts! Right? Right?"

Hermione and Harry exchanged glances, and their uneasiness was evident. Ron whimpered and, like many others walking down the hall, began to look over his shoulder with great consternation. 

Harry would be lying if he said he was not at all paranoid. He was. There was something about having a classmate who potentially wielded a life-threatening power that was particularly unsettling. And the timing was odd too. Only last year did the presence of Death Eaters heighten, and the entire school had still been ailing with intense paranoia, suspecting the imminent arrival of Voldemort. Dumbledore must have had some reason for admitting Draco Malfoy, but as much as Harry turned it in his mind, he couldn't possibly think of any earthly reason why such a person should be allowed to be at Hogwarts. Even the kid's parents were definite Death Eaters with their ideology regarding blood status and their obvious praise of the Dark Arts. This just settles it even more, doesn’t it?

The three of them marched into their last class, Potions, and the Slytherin students had already been situated at the front. Professor Snape leaned against the front desk, his face sullen and unsociable, listening to Dumbledore, who'd been whispering to him. 

"Look!" Hermione grabbed Harry's sleeve and thrust her finger at the front of the room. The Veiled sat there. Just like yesterday, he wasn't without exceptional stature and grace as he copied down the assignments in his leather-bound book. The seat beside him was empty. Obviously. 

 "Let's sit in the back," said Ron. "He can't get us from there." There wasn't much confidence in his tone.

"Ah! Harry!" Dumbledore boomed loudly from the front of the class. "Come, come!" The headmaster beckoned him enthusiastically, his face infinitely lighter than when he'd been speaking to Snape. Harry froze in his spot; the entire room turned and looked at him with large, pitiful eyes. "Come on, Harry! We haven't all day!"

Harry reluctantly made his way to the front, making sure to distance himself from Malfoy, who'd been watching him too. His heart hammered in his chest, blood roared in his ears, and he'd felt his entire being tremble under the eyes of that basilisk. It had reminded him of being in the presence of a dementor, but only now it'd been scarier since Dumbledore did not seem to care about the threat among them. Once at the front of the room, Dumbledore gave him a warm smile, as if he hadn't a clue the mental torment Harry had just gone through to get there. 

"Having a good day so far, Harry?" The headmaster leaned against the front table and folded his wrinkly hands on his lap.

"So far," Harry managed. 

"There are twenty-eight seats in this classroom," Dumbledore began, scanning the room with a distant gaze. "Accordingly, there are twenty-eight students. However, the room is not at all capacious, and we mustn't be picky with the seats we choose. Do you agree?"

"I guess."

"Then why is it that there is a student sitting on the floor when there is a perfectly good chair at the front?" Dumbledore asked, pointing at Neville Longbottom, who had indeed settled on the floor at the back of the room. 

"You know why," said Harry, feeling slightly panicked at why Dumbledore was telling him this and not the entire class. "You haven't addressed the rumors about Malfoy," whispered Harry. "The entire school is terrified, sir, and it'd be stupid to believe that we could coexist with..." Harry paused and looked over at Malfoy, who'd been writing meticulously in his book. "With a basilisk."

Dumbledore erupted into great laughter, throwing his head back like elderly people tend to and waving one hand in the air. Suddenly, Harry felt a wave of great humiliation and relief. "Ah, my dear boy! A basilisk, you say?"

"Then it isn't true? If I were to lift his veil and look into his eyes, would I not be cursed? Are his eyes perfectly safe to look at? Would you advise me to do it?"

"No, I wouldn't," said Dumbledore, not laughing anymore. "I wouldn't touch his veil; I wouldn't attempt to look into his eyes. But that being said, another danger is Neville Longbottom sitting on the floor underneath bubbling cauldrons."

"But, professor, you're not denying anything—"

"Should I ask Longbottom to sit beside Malfoy, or perhaps would a braver student take the curse for his dear friend?"  

"Are you suggesting that I sit beside Malfoy?" Harry asked. 

Dumbledore gave him a knowing smile, and then slowly bowed his head. This severely tested Harry's patience since he was yet again denied an explanation but was urged to endanger himself for the comfort of others. It was utterly ridiculous. 

Without another word, Harry angrily shouldered his school bag and marched over to where the Veiled sat. Harry stood stationary for a while, staring at the latter as his miserable predicament materialized before him. If Dumbledore had asked Harry to do his awful favor, then he must have believed that the boy wasn't such a huge threat. This comforted Harry a little, but he was still uneasy. Malfoy stopped scribbling into his book and slowly raised his head to Harry.

"Will you sit, or do you intend to cause a scene before the entire class?" Malfoy brought out rather calmly. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't think it will be my standing that attracts attention," muttered Harry bitterly. To avoid any sort of deadly curse—this was now to be the norm for Harry—he sat as far away from the boy as he possibly could, one leg on the chair and the other dangling helplessly at his side. Even without a hazardous student present, Harry seldom sat himself in front, especially not in Snape's classroom. 

The professor, without saying a word, underlined a potions recipe on the chalkboard and disappeared into his office with Dumbledore. 

The class whispered uneasily with one another as they hesitantly began brewing their potions. Harry slowly looked over at his partner, who'd been pedantically preparing their station, as if he'd been asked to demonstrate every step before the entire world. Even if Harry despised the Veiled boy, he humbly acknowledged that he'd admired how conscientious the boy was in his brewing. 

"I'm so terribly sorry for what I said to you yesterday on the train," said Malfoy suddenly, his Veiled face bowed down towards the ingredients on the table. "I'd been most disappointed with your opinion of me and decided that I should hate you forever. But I realize I'd been rather foolish about it, so I extend to you my apologies." 

Harry had been struck by an unexpected sensation; it was a mix of disbelief and utter terror. There'd been a small voice claiming that Malfoy had merely begun to lure him into his doom. 

"Well, I still hold the same opinion of you," said Harry resolutely, tearing his eyes away from the Veiled, who'd looked up immediately in disbelief. "The Veil is an insult to my friends and many in this class."

"So I've heard," said Malfoy. "And yet the entire school has taken it upon themselves to believe I am a basilisk, as if that is not a great insult." 

"Are you?"

"No." 

"I'm sure rumors like that don't just appear out of thin air, do they? I'm sure there's some ground for it," said Harry, immediately regretting his curiosity. He'd silently declared that not knowing what Malfoy could do was infinitely better than finding out.

"I find it hardly matters what the foundation is," said Malfoy. "But I felt I should be entirely forthcoming with you, for I could see how terrified you'd been merely walking by me." The boy's voice had softened into a timid whisper, as if he'd been ashamed of Harry's fear for him. "Should you decide to lift the Veil now and look into my eyes, you would not drop dead. I promise you." 

"No, I wouldn't drop dead, but I'd go mad, wouldn't I? That's what happened to that ministry official?"

Malfoy's frail shoulders tensed, and he made no immediate reply. The boy continued to slice the bean before him, as if debating whether to answer or ignore Harry altogether. This alone was confirmation enough for Harry. If it had merely been a ridiculous rumor, surely Malfoy would have shot it down as quickly as he had the basilisk one. But the boy's silence made Harry uneasy. 

"You do not know of the entire story. And no, you wouldn't go mad. I look into my parents' eyes just fine. As you've seen them, they hardly seem mad, do they?"  

"Your mother wears the Veil, and for that, I think she is mad."

Malfoy looked towards him, and Harry swore that underneath the black lace, Malfoy's face was twisted into a severe expression. "You're awful," he said. 

"And so are you."

 "I see that we will never be friends, but we will certainly have to tolerate each other."

"I agree." 

Malfoy did not speak to him at all. He'd continued to brew the potion and not once did he ask for help from Harry.

But it seemed Kievount had sufficiently educated him because his skill was admirable, and Harry watched in awe as he brewed the notoriously difficult potion with ease. Harry glanced over his shoulder to where Hermione had been; her potion seemed to be steps behind his own. Harry would never have thought he'd ever be ahead of Hermione. Well, even if it wasn't him, there was still a second-hand pride that overtook him as he watched Malfoy prepare ingredients in a staccato fashion.  

"You're very skilled at potions," observed Harry outwardly, half uncomfortable with the angered silence and half genuinely curious. 

"Severus has been tutoring me since I was very young. It is him who deserves the credit." 

"I didn't take you for a modest person."

"Hardly. I never denied your claim. I know I am good at potions, and I think I'm the best in the class," said Malfoy with a hint of playfulness in his tone. "You're lucky you've been punished to sit beside me. You'll sit at the top of the class with me without having to lift a finger." 

"Well, when tests come around, I'll fall right to the bottom," laughed Harry. 

"I don't believe you to be entirely dull. After all, I've heard of your many great feats; no truly dull being could be able to accomplish what you have," said Malfoy.

Harry blushed at the sudden—and genuine—kindness from the latter. But he'd reminded himself of their exchange. After all, how could he possibly ignore it? There it was before him: the black Veil. It mattered not that the boy was humorously kind, that his voice was pleasant on the ears, or that he'd displayed deep intelligence. None of that mattered; he'd ruined himself by bloodying his hands with the crimes of the Veiled. But it was so easy to forget it just now. Harry almost felt guilty for wanting to give him yet another chance. 

Harry turned away; his eyes stayed on the table, and rarely did he glance at the boy beside him. Malfoy seemed to have noticed the continued silence, because he'd paused for a moment, looked at him, and carried on without saying another word. 

Suddenly, Snape came out of his office and thrust his pale finger towards Malfoy. "Draco, come!" 

The students chattered uneasily and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Malfoy stood and began to make his way towards his godfather. But he paused and turned to Harry. 

"The potion is completed, by the way. Ladle it into a vial and submit it," he said. Then, very slowly and with great humility, he hurried into Snape's office, with Dumbledore looking keenly from the side. The door shut, and the room's air was infinitely lighter. Students began to breathe now; their voices were less agitated and more confused, if anything. Ron and Hermione rushed up to Harry, grabbing an arm each, and implored him for details. 

"Well, he's a prejudiced twat, but he's not as insufferable as I believed," answered Harry. "Malfoy tells me the rumors are false, but Dumbledore implies there's some foundation for them."

"I reckon Malfoy hardly knows anything himself," said Hermione. 

"Oh, here we go again! Hermione believes Malfoy's burdened with an inherited curse of some sort!" Ron rolled his eyes.  

"It's just a theory! I mean, think about it! Every Kievount student had transferred to Durmstrang, but why is it that Malfoy moved to Hogwarts? I reckon his parents are unwilling to send him so far. Perhaps he's ailing with some curse that gives him odd powers! If my son were the same, I wouldn't send him far."

"It's not ridiculous," Harry said. Hermione puffed out her chest and gave Ron a look. "Malfoy's odd. If he were completely confident and proud of his abilities, then he'd boast and brag. And he'd have been proud if he'd learned it. But if it came to him unwillingly, then that would explain his obvious discomfort. He's clearly not wanting others to know, and he's almost too desperate for a friend." Harry felt the same guilt from earlier, but he swallowed it away. 

"Well, theorize all you want; Harry still has to sit by him! That's unfair; Dumbledore really overestimates your curse-repelling abilities." Ron shrugged.  

Hermione opened her mouth to say something but seemingly decided against it and relapsed into silence.  

"Well, I don't think I should complain much. My potion is complete, and I didn't do anything except pester him for answers," said Harry as he began to ladle his potion into the vial. "I'm going to Dumbledore for answers today, and I won't leave until I get something."

"Good idea, Harry," said Hermione. "After all, I do think Malfoy's admission has something to do with You-Know-Who."  

"Perfect, another Quirrell you reckon?" Ron groaned. "Maybe under the Veil there's You-Know-Who right there."

"No, I don't think so."

Class had ended, and students rushed out nervously, laughing and screaming as if someone had unleashed a boggart in class. But Harry purposefully lingered by the door, delaying his exit. His eyes were on the office door where Malfoy was summoned. Hermione did the same, seemingly just as curious as he. 

The door opened. Malfoy stepped out with Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder. They walked side-by-side towards his desk, and the headmaster kindly handed the boy his school bag. "Ah! Harry!" Dumbledore smiled, walking a little faster and pulling Malfoy with him. "Go on, Draco, why don't you ask Harry what you've asked me?" 

Malfoy's veiled head hung low, and his pale hands rubbed each other nervously. "Where is the library?"

"Nicely done," said Dumbledore. Hermione and Harry exchanged glances. With the headmaster treating Malfoy like a child, the theories already in their heads stopped at a dead end. "Well, Harry, why don't you lead him to the library? After all, classes are over for the day, and I don't think you have any obligations."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. "Yes, Professor, we will take him to the library," Hermione said hurriedly, despite Ron's whimpering behind them. 

"I'm not to go with a mud—a muggleborn," said Malfoy firmly. Dumbledore smiled uncomfortably and turned to the Veiled boy. "It cannot be done. If it has to be that way, then I will ask Severus to point me in the correct direction."  

"That won't be necessary! I hardly wanted to take you anyway." Hermione narrowed her eyes and linked arms with Harry and Ron. "Your godfather would be happy to take you!" 

"Ah! Hold on a moment," said Dumbledore with an unnatural haste. "No, no, Harry. You'll take our new student alone, and then you will meet me in my office. Do you understand?" 

Harry looked uneasily at his friends as they slipped away into the corridors. "I understand," he said, utterly defeated. 

Dumbledore nodded, placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and swiftly left the room. So the baton has been passed, thought Harry, and it always seems to come back to me. The two of them stood before each other for a while without moving; there wasn't a word exchanged for a seemingly long time. But then Harry beckoned him to follow, and the other obliged. 

Harry nearly laughed to himself when he'd begun to feel glad to walk with Malfoy. Every crowd dispersed around them the way a school of fish would around a predator. During quidditch season, I should walk with him on game days, and then I'd get anywhere on time, thought Harry. But it was a selfish thought, even Harry could admit. Malfoy, who'd made it clear he wanted a friend, must have felt insulted or without hope. Yet again, the guilt threatened to resurface, so Harry reminded himself of the boy's prejudices. 

"That was a terrible thing you said," started Harry, once they'd turned a corner to a quieter section of the castle. "Hermione is very bright; she's a witch through and through."  

"The Book states that muggleborn witches are born as a mockery of the purebloods. Do you suppose I should hold my tongue and accept service from that wretch?" 

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" Harry laughed out loud. Malfoy slowed to a stop and turned to Harry, his white hands balling into fists. "What is this Book? Did you purchase it from Zonko's Joke Shop?" 

"N-no! It is most disagreeable to laugh at someone, Potter! The Book is a necessary guide to pureblood culture! It educates us of our history and instills proper values to maintain peace and order in our world!" Malfoy brought out with hardly any satisfaction. "And you laugh at me because you deem your beliefs superior to mine, or perhaps you believe me stupid, well, so be it! But you've no standing—with not an ounce of civility—to besmirch my name! I will not allow it!” 

Harry hadn't expected the latter to speak with intense passion. It was as if the boy had never been challenged in his life and suffered a great deal from Harry's tease. Malfoy's hands were trembling with rage, and there was an odd chill in the air that made Harry uneasy. The shadows in the corners around them grew dense and seemed to creep toward them, threatening to consume Harry. 

"What are you doing?" wondered Harry, tempted to turn and quit his task altogether.  

"I'm not doing anything!" Malfoy snapped. As soon as the last word escaped his lips, the candles were extinguished, and the clouds covered the sun. Despite it being late in the afternoon, the corridors they stood in were dark and cold. The shadows moved in an unnatural fashion; it seemed they had a mind of their own as they crept closer and closer. 

"Stop it," said Harry, pulling out his wand. "Calm down, Malfoy. This is you!"

"I swear, it's not me!" Malfoy scolded, his hands clasped to his chest like a hysterical woman in a fervent prayer. "Do you think it is I? Just listen to me; it is not I! 

But Harry didn't want to stick around long enough to find out; there was an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him to run. Run, he thought; there's an odd pull towards the Veil. And he did. Harry turned on his heel and sprinted down the corridor, and the more distance he'd put between him and the Veiled, the warmer and brighter he felt. Somewhere in the distance was Malfoy's shout. "Coward!" 

By the time he stood before the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, he'd felt infinitely lighter. That's it! I will never risk my neck until I get answers. 

"Sherbet lemons," said Harry, thoroughly shaken. The gargoyle sprung to the side and watched Harry distrustingly as he passed through the stone staircase.  

"Harry, that was rather quick," Dumbledore began the moment Harry entered. "Did he find everything he needed?" 

"I didn't do it, Professor; I couldn't have! He's a dangerous student; do you know what he's capable of?" 

There was a flicker of concern that flashed across the headmaster's wrinkled face, but he repressed it and smiled warmly. "Have a seat, Harry; calm yourself." 

"Calm myself? It's as if the shadows are his doing!" Harry protested, but sat down anyway. Dumbledore did not reply immediately. He busied himself by fixing two cups of tea before a pewter samovar.

Harry stared at the pinewood log in the hearth, popping loudly and burning itself down, with embers bouncing gaily. His fear and panic from moments earlier seemed like a long while ago, despite his thundering heart and rapid breathing. Dumbledore placed a cup of tea before him and situated himself on the opposite velvet seat. "So I take it you did not help Malfoy to the library?"

"No."

"And where is he now?"

"Somewhere in the corridors, I think."

Dumbledore nodded slowly and brought the cup to his lips. The tea was much too hot; he hissed and quit the drink, setting it on the table between them. "Do you know why I've been setting you up with Malfoy? Why I wish to acquaint you two?" 

"I was hoping you'd tell me that, in addition to the truth about his abilities," said Harry.  

"We will get to that. Now, as much as I adore your friends, Hermione and Ron, their abilities in helping you defeat Tom Riddle are fairly limited. This summer, I have made a rather significant discovery," Dumbledore began, folding his hands over his knee. "There is blood Tom is after, you know, and it is yours. Thus, it is you who need to be the one to kill him. You've survived his curse once before, so it is you."

"I-I understand that," said Harry. "You've told me this before I—"

"Patience, Harry. When I first met you, Harry, I sensed a great power within you. There are those who are able to cast dangerous curses and those who are invincible against them. You have the latter. And Malfoy the former."  

"How do you know this? How are you so certain that I am safe from him?" Harry asked. 

"I am never wrong when it comes to my ability to identify who is a threat and who isn't. The moment that boy entered the castle, I felt as if my entire body had gone cold, as if every predator had turned their red eyes my way and prepared to lunge. Goodness, I felt it when I visited the manor this summer to meet with his parents—the heir had been standing in the corridor, eavesdropping," whispered Dumbledore, his uneasiness obvious. "There is only one reason why I chose to ignore the facts and admit him: the Malfoy has a good heart." 

"A good heart? You're joking, right? He did not allow Hermione to walk with him because she's a muggleborn! And then he told me of some lauded Book that writes that muggleborn witches and wizards are born as a joke to mock pure-bloods! And you tell me his heart is good?"

"You've wholly mistaken his character," said Dumbledore. "Before now, not a soul dared to challenge what his parents had taught him. Malfoy hadn't ever had a chance to know otherwise. It would be most hypocritical and equally depraved to condemn a child for repeating the very words uttered by those who shelter and love him. And they've been successful at convincing the boy that muggles are tyrannical and cruel, and so he speaks ill of them as if he'd organically produced the sentence himself. But Malfoy shouldn't be condemned; he shouldn't be punished until he is able to make his own choices. And children in general should not be castigated for ideas such as these; they are still innocent, unlearned creatures who've merely realized prejudice is due in exchange for pride, comfort, food and water, and most importantly, love. Does one condemn a lioness for tearing a gazelle into shreds? Do we humans point our lousy, evil fingers at them and declare them demons? And why do we have the right? Man is infinitely more evil and has committed atrocities that cannot be justified by rationality or nature. Children are the very same as these lionesses—in the way we dare not condemn them for their wrongdoings; they do mischief and hold prejudices, but they've yet a chance to challenge themselves—and unfortunately, many of these heavenly beings become rotten once they're given free will."

Harry listened carefully. He'd felt guilty, yes, but he'd still believed he'd been justified in leaving Malfoy just earlier. But now that it had been made a little clearer, Harry silently wished he'd just taken the boy to the library. "I understand," said Harry finally.

"Malfoy doesn't understand the power that courses through his veins. But it is of such a degree that it will help you defeat Tom Riddle. Sending a killing curse at Riddle alone will not suffice, Harry; you must eradicate his—"

"Albus!" Professor Snape and Remus entered the tranquil office with terrifying intensity. "Where is my godson?!"

"Where? That I cannot tell you, Severus. Somewhere in the castle, I suppose." Dumbledore stood immediately. "Harry, where did you leave him?"

"I left him in the corridors outside the Transfiguration classroom," said Harry.

"I knew it," Snape snapped, his teeth gritting together. "Come, headmaster, you must look at this!" 

The four of them hurried down the corridors. Harry hadn't been entirely sure if he'd been invited to tag along because Snape kept sending him nasty glares from over his shoulder, but Harry went anyway because he felt partly responsible for Malfoy's mysterious disappearance. Finally, they'd stopped where Harry'd left him. All of the candles were still extinguished, and the same ominous chill lingered over them like a threat. 

But on the floor had been a black stain, as if Malfoy's shadow had printed itself on the stone. Snape lowered himself to the ground, and with a trembling hand, he gently grazed his forefinger on the Malfoy-shaped print. On his pale hand was something like black ash. 

"What have you done?!" Snape lunged to his feet and grabbed Harry by his robes, shaking him violently. His dark eyes were bursting with hysterical madness, and Harry cowered before him. 

"I don't know!" Harry protested, grabbing the professor's arms to steady himself. "He'd become agitated, the room grew cold, shadows denser, and so I ran! I ran and left him here!" 

Snape let go of Harry, shoving him away, after Remus and Dumbledore grabbed a hold of him and pulled him away. "He's done it!" Snape whispered shakily. "He's disappeared into the shadows."