The Veiled Boy

Draco had become consumed by his emotions, and his desperation and anger had threatened to choke him if he'd stood there in the corridor a second longer. When Potter had left him there, his peers had begun to stare inquiringly at him, whispering among themselves. Draco had never felt such humiliation in his life. It was as if he'd been strung up on a tightrope without any real practice, and the audience stared expectantly at him. Waiting. 

Draco's own heart thundered in his chest; his face burned; and his hands trembled on his body. He'd been beside himself. The darkness grew dense, and his peers stepped away. He, too, was scared. He wanted to reach out his hand and call to them, "Help me! I am a victim too! It's not me! It's not me!" But before he could utter those words, he'd slipped into the shadows, and he saw and heard nothing.  

He'd been in the shadows before. It did not happen often, but Mrs. Wiggum—their family mind healer who'd served them ever since the incident—had told him it had merely been an involuntary attempt at protecting himself. But Draco didn't feel safe at all in the shadows. If anything, the word safe in this situation was something of a jest. It was dark and void, and there'd been a disconcerting silence that seemed to be alive. It was breathing too, like he'd been, but slower. And that wasn't even the scariest part. Draco hardly knew how to pull himself out of the shadows, and every time he found himself in this wretched situation—this has happened only three times before now—he'd take it upon himself to believe that this would be the final time, that he'd never see daylight again, and that he'd be a prisoner here at his own hands. 

Draco took several deep breaths and lifted his Veil from his face, hastily drying his tears with his sleeve. "It's okay," he told himself. "It's okay. It wasn't me. It wasn't me this time." Slowly, he sank to the floor and felt the cool, wet surface with the palm of his hands. Opening his eyes as wide as he could, he saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. "It's okay," he whispered to himself. He stood up and began to walk aimlessly; perhaps he'd be walking for an eternity. 

There was an ominous warble in the distance. Draco paused, his breathing quickening now that he knew he was not alone in the shadows. The dull vibrations grew closer now, and Draco started to weep silently, tears streaming down his hot face. It would get too close, and he'd be dead soon—such thoughts intruded his already uneasy mind. And even if he wasn't too sure what was producing this inhuman sound, Draco felt it’d be safer to deem it a threat. The floor rattled. Draco covered his ears, but he heard it louder still. If it were up to his conscious being, he'd have been stationary there for a while, for his fear had paralyzed him. But some rational part of him took over and prompted him to run; he ran and ran. The shadow's cool air began to burn his lungs, leaving his throat dry with the sensation of swallowing pins. But he kept running anyway.  

"Draco?!" 

"Draco!"  

Then he felt it. Draco began to break through the darkness. It felt like walking through a thick liquid, and he couldn't breathe at all while pushing through. His hands were pushing against the invisible, dense layers; his lips were shut, and his eyes too. 

"Draco?!"

It was Severus's voice. 

Draco persevered through the stubborn darkness, and suddenly he felt his entire body being extracted forward. "Save me," he soliloquized. He wasn't sure who was to save him, but in this very moment, he wished for nothing more than to be safe in someone's arms; it didn't matter whose. 

Then he broke through. Draco fell onto the castle's cobbled floors. They were cold, but there was light from the feeble glow of the torches. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, his entire body exhausted and drained. It is always this way, he thought, and yet I hope this will be the last, even if I laugh at myself for thinking so. 

The moment he'd felt a firm, strong grip on his shoulder, he awoke from a slumber he'd not been aware he'd taken. Draco was sitting upright in a capacious room with towering windows that allowed for the morning sun to extinguish any ailments of his. The daylight was of such extraordinary natural beauty that Draco felt like crying. Severus was sitting at his side; it had been his hand that pulled him to consciousness. 

"Severus." Draco quickly wrapped his arms around his godfather's shoulders. "What happened to me? I-I disappeared again, I know. But I remembered coming back. I've come back this time on my own."  

"I know," said Severus. "Rest now, Draco. We can talk about it later." 

Draco slowly pulled away from his godfather and leaned on the pillow that had been kindly propped up for him by a house elf. "I am not at all exhausted," he lied. "Let us speak of it now, Severus; I cannot bear the silence. Please, let's talk."

"In that case, I will call her in," said Severus, standing slowly, visibly apprehensive to leave Draco alone. He watched as his godfather slowly made for the doors, continuously looking over his shoulder at Draco. In came Mrs. Wiggum, her plump self followed by Dumbledore. They sat mechanically on chairs at the side of his bed, looking at him curiously but with great gentility, as if they'd been afraid he'd disappear should they give him an off glance. For a considerable amount of time, neither spoke, and this made Draco very uneasy. 

"Draco," started Mrs. Wiggum finally, offering her stately smile. "I hear you've had another episode." 

"Must we speak of it before him?" Draco whispered, pointing at Dumbledore.  

"Yes," she answered. "If he believes you in control again, then you may continue at Hogwarts. It is very important that he be here." Mrs. Wiggum bowed her head toward the headmaster. "Remove your Veil, dear." 

Draco didn't realize he'd been wearing it again. Severus must have covered his face while he was sleeping, for it would have been a great scandal if a mudblood waltzed into the ward and saw him. Draco pulled back the Veil and felt infinitely better. 

"Tell me what happened." 

"I don't know," he began—he always began this way, and it's not at all a lie. "I suppose I lost control of myself again. But I didn't feel at all threatened by Potter. There's nothing about him that could possible terrify me. But it was he who'd run away. I think he was terrified that...that I might ‘send him to the madhouse' as they say."

"And does that make you nervous, Draco? If you weren't threatened by Potter, could you say that you were threatened by yourself? Could you perhaps say you were scared of doing the very thing that everyone speaks of?" 

Draco slowly nodded. "But it won't happen again," he said resolutely. "I swear to you, headmaster, I will never, ever allow anyone to become a mere shell of themselves." 

"But it's not up to you, is it?" Dumbledore asked. 

"No, it's not." 

Everyone was silent again.  

"Draco," the headmaster began, "do you know where you've reappeared?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You disappeared in the corridor in front of the transfiguration classroom. That is where Harry said he'd left you, correct? But you appeared as shadows of the dungeons, right in front of Severus." 

"Interesting," Mrs. Wiggum said, nodding slowly. "Draco, what did you do differently in the shadows this time?" 

"I ran," he whispered. "I ran aimlessly. Then I heard Severus's voice and broke through," said Draco. "But I was awake; I knew exactly what had happened."

"You ran aimlessly, but appeared right in front of your godfather?" 

"Yes. I ran where I felt, I suppose. Why? Do you suspect me of falsehoods?! I assure you, madam, that I've been entirely forthcoming since the moment you've begun to interrogate me! And you doubt me, do you?!" 

Severus placed a firm hand on his arm. "Calm down, Draco," he said softly, shaking his head. "This is no interrogation, my boy; this is merely a matter of helping you." 

Draco nodded. "I understand," he said, his voice tremulous with anger and anxiety. "I am telling you the truth, Mrs. Wiggum; I've hardly a reason to deceive you. I want to be at Hogwarts, sir," he said to Dumbledore now. "I want to learn; I want to go to school just like the others." 

"I won't rid you of an education, Draco, but I require you to meet with Mrs. Wiggum biweekly to maintain a right mind," said Dumbledore. "You are in need of regular attention, which you cannot deny."

"But I used to meet with her twice a month, and even then, it'd been suffocating to speak of it! The incident happened years ago, and yes, I've done it again before, but my Veil was down; nobody saw those!" Draco protested, his frustration rising exponentially. “It’s not fair!”

"And we speak of it because, God forbid, it happens again to another student here. Podgers cannot eat as of late, the fear grows exponentially, you know." 

"I'm sorry," Draco said, covering his eyes. The guilt was terrible; he knew he'd been selfish just now, but he couldn't bear a moment of the burden. Not a moment longer. And he'd been suffering as of late because at home nobody dared to speak of it; at home, he was their son. But here at Hogwarts, there isn't a moment where he doesn't think of Podgers's decent to madness. He could see it now. The way the man's eyes widened upon looking into his own and how he screamed and screamed. He'd even tried to claw his eyes out just to be rid of those images, but the images were in his head now. And Draco just stood there, watching. He watched as the man threw himself into their ornate furniture, bashed his head against the crown-molded walls, and on the piano Draco played. Screaming. Even the idea that the man is still alive now, heavily sedated, unearths tremendous guilt in Draco's young heart. But his peers don't understand the burden he carries; they don't understand how it haunts him still. To them, he's a depraved, reprehensible person, undeserving of any warmth. Draco was crying now. 

"I didn't mean to hurt Podgers," Draco whimpered, his hands glued to his face. "I didn't mean it. I wish he'd died, then. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to. Do you believe me?" 

"I believe you, child," Dumbledore said. "I see you are not at all deserving of your powers. But I am glad that it is you. I am glad that you, whose heart is of infinite good nature, have been burdened with this great power."

Draco let out a sigh; his chest felt lighter. The guilt still pervaded his veins, but his heart was stronger now. "Thank you," whispered Draco. 

"I am sorry that Potter abandoned you in the corridors. He and I will have a talk, and hopefully you two can reconcile."

"Reconcile? There is hardly anything to restore, headmaster; we were never friends. Between us, there'd been nothing but animosity," said Draco. "I'd merely assumed he'd been assigned by my side as punishment. Perhaps he'd been behaving badly."

"Nothing of the sort!" Dumbledore laughed and clapped his hands cheerfully. "My boy, Potter is rather fond of you, don't you know? He's an odd way of showing this, but your friend he wishes to become!"

Draco perked up in his bed, his eyes wide, and an involuntarily smile appeared on his face. His happiness must've been easily seen, for Severus managed a small smile too, and Dumbledore seemed very pleased. But there was nobody more pleased than Draco. Upon hearing this, he'd become idiotically happy, his heart thundering wildly and his entire being loftier by tenfold. 

"You aren't deceiving me, are you? Does Potter really wish to be my friend? The Potter? Me? Friends?" Draco asked again, in disbelief. 

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore replied in confirmation. 

Draco clasped his hands together and let out a loud laugh. He fell back onto his bed, staring at the well-lit ceilings, his smile wider still. "Friends with Potter..." he whispered to himself. He'd been in a state of pure ecstasy. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself now," Mrs. Wiggum began, fussing over his crumpled blankets. "We still need to discuss your episode and your appointments from now on." 

"Oh, of course," said Draco. "And to that, I will happily oblige."

Professor Lupin paced the class, looking at each and every pupil as if they had immense potential. Draco already found him impressionable. Not everyone has potential; some of these students can hardly cast a levitation spell as fifth-years.

At the front of the class was a wooden dummy with dangling arms and a menacing face. It was clear they'd modeled this figure after a death eater, for the silver mask it wore was painfully similar to the mask Draco had seen on his father. At Kievount, their dummies had been muggles. They'd wear those cheap clothes with an awfully covetous look on their faces. Draco had always winced upon seeing them. It had reminded him of how tastefully the purebloods dressed, and it was yet another reminder of their material and intangible opulence. Greedy little pests as his father would say. 

Professor Lupin had made them all stand against the walls, with the dummy in the center, and of course, Draco stood alone on one side of the room. He'd be deceiving himself if he'd tried to convince himself that he'd not suffered an ounce from loneliness. Lonely. Yes, that he was. And every time a student lunged out of his way or begged professors to sit them elsewhere, he'd feel it stronger still. 

"I am rather curious about what it is you know in regard to defense," said Lupin, pacing in circles around the dummy with his hands behind his back. "If your defense consists of the basic cast, or if perhaps you'd know an advanced spell or two, now, Hermione, step up in front of the dummy."

The mudblood girl moved toward the center of the room. With her nearing proximity, Draco felt the silver serpent bracelet around his wrist begin to move in warning. She situated herself in front and raised her wand, glancing at Lupin for a cue. 

"Alright," Lupin clapped his hands together. "Show us an impressive offense spell, Hermione." 

Hermione raised her wand and thrust it toward the dummy, shouting, "Bombarda!" 

The dummy exploded; shards of wood showered down on them like rain, and the flame from the explosion diluted quickly toward the ceiling, leaving a black stain on the tapestry draped above them. The entire class erupted into applause, cheering for the mudblood as she happily slipped between Harry and Weasley. Harry looked impressed. He'd been awestricken, and his eyes lively upon her display. There'd been an awful bitterness inside Draco. If Harry had wished for his friendship, then why did he refrain from standing beside Draco now? And if he'd felt an ounce of pity for what he'd done yesterday, then surely he'd have apologized by now. But he'd been too enamored by that mudblood. Suffice it to say, Draco was jealous. Yes, Harry hardly even glanced his way, despite supposedly wanting to be his friend. 

"Amazing! Fifty points to Gryffindor!" Lupin clapped his hands together with genuine affection, beaming at Hermione like a proud father. Then he turned and inspected the room, his eyes narrowing and widening on a prospective pick. Finally, he whirled on his heel and pointed at the only person on the left side of the room: Draco. 

The entire class became uneasy, shifting from foot to foot and whispering cautiously to one another. But Draco'd hardly felt any discomfort. If a simple Bombarda was enough to impress Harry, then the spells Draco was capable of would perhaps be enough to prompt Harry to move to his side of the room. 

Accordingly, Draco moved toward the center and stood before the pathetic dummy and its mimsy arms. The wooden face stared back at him in some sort of mockery. 

"Now, Malfoy, why don't you try and show us a safe offensive spell? Something that'll hit the dummy alone." 

"Only on the dummy, basilisk!" Someone shouted, earning several nervous laughs from the right side of the room. Draco rolled his eyes, glancing at the someone. The boy shrunk back into his corner and acted as if he'd never said a word. 

As if I'd use a spell that I could not control, thought Draco. Draco pointed his wand at the figure, and then, suddenly consumed by the want of showing off, he set it down beside him, sending the audience into nervous hysterics. 

"Draco," said Lupin in a warning tone. "Let's abide by the rules." 

Without a word uttered, he'd opened his palm toward the dummy, and an amazing black dart whirled away into the dummy's eyes, nose, and mouth, producing an inhuman wail. The entire class began to scream, pushing their way towards the door as the dummy moved according to Draco's will. Harry stood with his back against the wall, his eyes wide, but he was still.  

"Draco, stop that!" Lupin scolded him and pulled him back by the shoulders. He obliged and released the dummy from his command. "Come into my office now."

His tone had switched entirely from when he'd spoken to the mudblood; he sounded almost disappointed, angry even. 

Draco had situated himself on a leather sofa towards the back of the office. It'd been neglected for some time, for when he sat down, a cloud of dust billowed from beneath the cushions. Lupin pulled up a stool and sat down in front of him, looking upon him with gentle reproof. 

"Malfoy, why must you terrorize your peers? They're already apprehensive about your being at Hogwarts." 

"You're blaming me for their fear of me? I wasn't trying to terrorize them," said Draco honestly. "You wanted us to show off our knowledge, did you not? I was doing that very thing." 

"Dark magic is not permitted at this school," said Lupin. "The class is called Defense Against the Dark Arts, not Defense Using the Dark Arts. We can't have spells of that nature used on school grounds; it is much too dangerous." 

"But I cast it wandless, and without a word, nobody could possibly know how to cast it unless they asked." 

"I don't think that is the point I am making, Malfoy." 

"Then what would have been enough for you, Professor? Bombarda? Stupefy? Confringo?" 

"All of those are acceptable spells."

Draco scoffed. "How weak! Careful, you might choke on your own tongue." With that, he stood and made for the door. Lupin grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down onto the sofa, catching Draco by surprise. "Have you the right to treat me that way?!" 

"And have you?” 

"Yes."

"And who dictates it?" 

"The Book," answered Draco mechanically. "You're a werewolf, yes? It matters not if you were pureblooded; you're nothing but a mutt now." 

Lupin's face twitched with visible discomfort. "You mustn't speak to your superiors in that way, especially given that I can easily speak to Dumbledore about your conduct. Step out of line, and you're off to Durmstrang." 

Draco pressed his lips together with vexation. Nobody had ever treated him so poorly. If Draco wished to leave a room, he was allowed to. This change of authority bothered Draco greatly, and he'd felt an inexplicable need to break something because of it. 

"Now that I've earned your silence," began Lupin once again in that unbearably calm tone. "Tell me why you find it so humorous that we wish for our students to use proper spells."

"Term it proper if you wish, but against a dark wizard, a 'confringo' isn't going to suffice. Should your opponent send the very curse I used today, then you're at his mercy. Now, if I'd sensed such a curse beforehand, I'd have countered it with another dark spell that would have nullified it before it hit me. Respectfully, sir, I think you hardly know a thing about dark magic. It's everywhere, all the time. It's in the walls and floors; it's in the air we breathe. And you're preparing your students for a school duel when they ought to be learning the art of war." 

Lupin was silent for a while, and Draco inwardly triumphed at this. "Why must they learn the art of war? They're children." 

"So must we idly sit by and allow the adults to slaughter us? Because during a war, even the children cease to be human; even the children are targets."

"A curious boy you are," Lupin began. "No, I will not teach them to use dark magic. But I am rather curious to learn what you know."

"I don't know what I know," said Draco vaguely. "I hardly use spells recorded in books. It comes naturally to me, see? Father says I was born to make a great wizard."

"Do you want to be a great, dark wizard?" Lupin asked.

"I don't think so. I wish I were like everyone else," answered Draco. "Then I'd maybe have friends, and Potter would have chosen to stand by me." 

"Potter? Why do you want Harry to stand by you?" 

"He's quite the character he is. He impresses everyone worth impressing! You know what I mean, don't you? Is he not extraordinary? And Dumbledore has let it slip that he wishes to be my friend." Draco told him excitedly, very pleased with himself. "He is so confident in all other aspects of his life, but he cannot ask me for a friendship!"

Lupin stared at him for a while. "I see," was all he said.

"May I be excused now? I've got an appointment with Mrs. Wiggum; she is my mind healer, and she loves when I am early and, to be frank, you're wasting my time." Draco stood up and shouldered his school bag. "Well?"

"You mustn't use spells of that degree in the classroom ever again," said Lupin. "Do you understand me?"

"I understand. I'll stick to the same Bombarda that prompted such a great applause for that mudblood. I should like great applause too—"

"Muggleborn," Lupin corrected. 

"Right," Draco paused at the door and adjusted the Veil on his face. He wanted to say something that might redeem himself to his professor, for he sensed a great disappointment from him, but he wasn't sure what he could say. So he'd left, feeling embarrassed and more isolated than ever.

Severus and Dumbledore made their way down the empty corridors; their shadows flickered in sync with the flame torches burning alongside them. The stone gargoyle stared at them menacingly from in front of the office's entryway. Dumbledore simply raised his right hand, and the gargoyle permitted them to pass, its stone eyes followed the two as they climbed the spiral staircase before resuming its initial position. 

Upon entering the office, Minerva—who'd been situated comfortably in front of the hearth—stood abruptly, and her appearance was that of great agitation. Opposite her was Professor Remus Lupin, who was rather calm in his presence. 

"What a terrible thing you've done, Albus!" Minerva began, clutching her robes tightly. "Admitting such a child complicates everything! I have six students sitting on the floor just to avoid being near him! 

"I find that as the years go by, Minerva, things become increasingly complicated. Seemingly by principle," added Severus. "But I assure you, I don't believe my godson will cause much trouble."

"You've gone soft, Severus, or mad; I cannot decide! You said it yourself that the boy wields rare dark magic and is not in control of it—" 

"In times of distress—"

"—how do you expect him to coexist civilly among muggleborns? The boy is terrified of them; he deems them the dirt on his shoes."

"Severus," began Remus, casting a nervous glance at Severus. "Surely, you know what they say of him? That he is a basilisk? That one look into his eyes is enough to bring one to their ruin; that a glance from him is a coup de grâce. You should have seen the spell he'd demonstrated in class today; it was indeed deadly!"

"Precisely this!" Minerva raised her index finger into the air. "Tell me, Severus, for you are the boy's godfather; tell me if the rumors are true!" Minerva raised her soft green eyes to Severus, and her steadfast gaze implored him to speak. 

"The rumors are true. Podgers did go mad upon looking into Draco's eyes. But it had been an uncontrollable attempt to protect himself, for the magic he wields was much too powerful for him, and it remains that way today. But he is no basilisk; the curse only arises should he deem someone a threat to him or if he's thoroughly tormented. With careful attention from a mind-healer, the boy has slowly been able to better control the power, but he's still a ways to go. You mustn't think him evil; this is a curse upon him just as it may be upon others. He is comfortable behind the Veil, I know, and I believed wholeheartedly that allowing the boy to keep it would prevent any disruption at the school." Severus whispered carefully; he'd rehearsed these very words multiple times in front of the mirror prior to his arrival. "Please, let him stay. I will answer for his actions. Give him a chance, for he is more than a dangerous child. He's a bright, studious child with a passion for the piano and a desire for learning."

"I see," muttered Remus, nodding his head slowly. 

"Remus, you cannot be on their side! What about the other students? What should happen if Malfoy strips them of their ability to maintain an education? Goodness, as he gets older and his magic matures, he will be capable of a lot more!" 

"Minerva," Severus whispered, shaking his head. "There's nothing we can do. We've already granted him this chance. We can only hope no conflicts arise in his interactions with others. But I will try my very best." 

"It would indeed be most curious to see him among others," started Albus. "If it were any other way, I wouldn't have admitted such a boy. No, I couldn't possibly bring a Veiled child into Hogwarts. But I figured the Malfoy heir would be of use to us," said Albus, stroking his long white beard with a pensive expression. "A boy of that power?"

Severus looked at Albus with shock, unsure if the headmaster was alluding to something entirely different from what he assumed. "Y-you don't mean involving him with Potter, do you?"

"But I do." 

"Albus! The boy will not be of any use to Potter! What ever do you mean? If anything, Malfoy would be a roadblock, or, I daresay, a terrible influence," Minerva gasped. 

"I agree," Remus joined in. "He is obstinately set in his parents' ways, Albus. And I suspect they intend to join the Dark Lord should he rise again. That is a foolish thing to do!"

"Ah yes! Tom Riddle himself is very well-versed in dark magic. Wouldn't it be ideal for Harry if he'd collected a friend who is also "very well-versed" in dark magic?" Albus wondered out loud, giving Minerva and Severus an inquisitive glance.

"That explains your intentional slip at the infirmary today. You're trying to get Potter to befriend him, aren't you? You mustn't use my godson as a tool, Albus. I care deeply for my godson; I will not permit it," said Severus with finality. "Do we not wish to avoid distressing him? Don't put him against his family; it is not your place!" 

"Worry not, Severus. I did not intend to place him in dangerous situations. I was merely interested in his abilities. I could sense an immense sort of power in the child the moment he entered the castle." 

"Dark magic?" 

"A lot of it." 

"Yes, that is why I am assigning you three to keep things contained."

"Yes! Leave it to us three to clean up after you, Albus! None of us had the authority to admit him, yet we have the authority to keep him in line! It makes perfect sense," huffed Minerva. 

"Ah, perfect." Albus clapped his hands together, giving the three of them pleased grins. "And I will work on figuring out how to get Harry to befriend him." 

"Potter will do quite literally anything if you ask him to," muttered Severus. 

Remus scoffed, turning to him. "Implying Harry is a mindless sheep? Is it not your godson wearing a veil due to a ridiculous pureblood certitude?"

"Enough," said the headmaster. He raised his hands between the two of them. "Children, even those under the Veil, are not mindless sheep. We can learn a lot from children if we merely learn to take them seriously. A pity that many adults never listen to them; I find that children carry some of the most wonderful insights. It's a waste, really." 

"And some of them carry deadly abilities," Minerva added bitterly. 

"Some do. And it so happens we've let one into our walls."