The Veiled Boy

"Malfoy!" Harry ran up to the Veiled boy when he'd spotted him in the corridors—it was at all difficult; one would merely have to search for an opening in the crowd. "What happened the other night? I didn't say anything, did I?"

"No, you did not. I apologize; I'd been almost agitated after an insufficient rest." 

"Do you always run away when you're tired?" Harry asked.

"I will not apologize for it. Let me remind you that it was you who startled me."

Harry laughed. "That's true. I'm sorry about that. But I'd seen that you left your room, so I'd pursued you last night."

"How could you have possibly known that I left my dormitories?"

Harry peered over both shoulders and beckoned Malfoy to follow him. The two of them moved quickly behind a rich tapestry. Once Harry felt they were away from any sort of private audience, he opened his school bag and pulled out the Marauders Map. 

"Watch this, Malfoy. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." With a tap of his wand, the red ink spread out across the parchment, forming the familiar map of Hogwarts.

Malfoy moved closer, their shoulders now touching, as he peered with great curiosity over the map. Harry's heart thundered in his chest; perhaps he'd been anxiously awaiting Malfoy to become irritated with their proximity.

"See that there?" Harry pointed at their footprints side by side and labeled them, respectively. "That's us; I know where everyone is at all times."

"That's extraordinary!" Malfoy gasped. "After my many years of studying the dark arts, it is rarely that I am thoroughly impressed! May I hold it, Harry?"

"Of course." Harry handed it to the Veiled boy, their hands brushing against each other in the exchange. That jolt of anxiety hit him again.

Harry watched as Malfoy's hands brushed against the parchment, his dainty fingers pointing at moving footprints as if he'd wished to follow everyone at every moment. Harry could not see Malfoy, but he could feel his childlike wonder through mere observation. "Goodness, Harry, wherever did you find this?"

"It was my father's."

"Oh." Malfoy's tone switched entirely, adopting a more sympathetic air. "What a waste he'd married a mudblood; I dare say he'd have continued to be an exceptional wizard."

"Great, thanks." Harry cleared his throat. It took everything in him to not let out a lengthy castigation of the boy's beliefs. "That evening, you'd said you couldn't accept my friendship just then. Well, after some time, would you reconsider—"

"Yes!" Malfoy blurted, his hands clutching at his chest. "I have not even the smallest objection to your friendship, Harry Potter!"

The previous bitterness he'd been nursing for Malfoy disappeared completely, and Harry smiled upon his success. Earn his allegiance, and your success is practically guaranteed.

"Perfect! Let me take you to Hogsmeade. I can show you around," Harry suggested hurriedly; he'd unknowingly stepped closer to the latter. “How does that sound? Are you willing?” 

"Really?" Malfoy gasped.

"Yes, really."

Malfoy's Veiled head nodded eagerly. "Yes! Thank you for the invite, Potter. I scarcely go places without my parents, and Hogsmeade is the last place I'd be prevailed upon to go with my mother and father. So, yes, I am ever so grateful for your invitation," Malfoy said breathlessly, laughing towards the end. "May I shake your hand, Potter?"

Harry blinked. This excessive joy had been rather unexpected. "I mean, I guess you could."

Malfoy slowly took Harry's outstretched hand and shook it twice before letting it go. Malfoy's hands were soft and smooth, clearly stranger to laborious work. Harry wondered if the skin on his face was just as soft. Or if the skin on his entire body was flawless and as soft to the touch as his hands. He'd been startled by the sudden intrusive thought. He buried it deep in his mind and vowed to neglect it until the day he died. 

"Thank you for permitting me to shake your hand, Harry Potter," said Malfoy rather awkwardly. Mechanically, he picked up his school bag, shouldered it, and ran down the corridors with impressive speed. Harry couldn't help but smile. He'd never met someone quite like Malfoy, and he'd figured if he continued to ignore the prejudices, he'd might even enjoy being his friend.

Upon hearing of their handshake, Hermione and Ron adopted a look of great surprise, nodding to each other with approval. Hermione had even given him a gentle, inquiring smile, which confused Harry greatly. It was as if she'd known something otherworldly but decided not to interfere. She had always been this way.

They were seated in the darkened common room the night before Harry's eventful trip to Hogsmeade, and he'd been hoping for some guidance—from Hermione—on how he should conduct himself with the Veiled. Again, the common room was completely deserted; everyone decided their priority was to be sufficiently rested before a day at Hogsmeade. The three of them were situated by the window; a moonbeam lay across the carpeted floor without an interrupted shadow, for there was not a cloud in the sky: a clear indication of tomorrow's being a lovely day.

"Physical affection is highly frowned upon. Maybe, to a Veiled individual, a handshake is probably something like a kiss." Hermione smirked, raising her eyebrows at Harry.

Ron erupted into great laughter. "Ha! Malfoy snogged you, Harry!"

Harry felt a dreadful blush on his face, and he'd suddenly become angered by their unserious behavior. "Oh, shut up! It was nothing of the sort!"

"We are just joking, Harry," Hermione chuckled. "But you're right, we should be taking this more seriously. After all, you're the one who needs to earn his loyalty."

"I just need to know if there are any rules," said Harry, looking outside at the sky. "You know, dietary restrictions and such."

"They drink blood, mate; I hardly think diet is something they're fastidious about," snorted Ron.

"They are not vampires," said Hermione. "The blood is a ceremonial drink. And from what I've read, Harry, there aren't any dietary restrictions except that they are not permitted to have anything made by muggleborns or muggles. It must be prepared by a pureblood or a servant enslaved by a pureblood."

Harry recoiled at the injustice of the matter but decided not to argue. "What does it say about revealing one's face?"

"Why? Do you wish to see what he looks like?" Hermione wondered.

"Yes, actually. I've become irritated at the Veil now. Sure, okay, it's a prejudiced display, but it's so difficult to converse with someone without seeing their expression. How do I know if I'm amusing him?"

"You could tell by his tone of voice," suggested Hermione. "He's weary of you still," she said. "I don't think he will show you what he looks like until you stop blurting insults at the Book and the Veil."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I act on impulse, alright? Do you know how difficult it is to just let him insult you? He referred to my mother as a—you know."

Hermione shrugged. "It's despicable, yes, but the quicker you learn to tolerate him, the quicker you can teach him. Then, we don't have to live in a world of Veils."

"You're right," sighed Harry. "I find that I can tolerate him. If he wasn't so prejudiced, I'd have found him to be very...nice."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Nice?"

"Yes. Nice. I like the way he acts," said Harry. "It's stupidly amusing. He's awkward and pompous at the same time."

"Turns out Dumbledore was wrong! Harry is not resistant to Malfoy's curses," muttered Ron. "You've gone mad, Harry. Absolutely bonkers. Go to bed before I vomit."

Harry laughed and did just that. After all, he, too, needed to be sufficiently rested before his first outing with Malfoy.

Harry waited at the castle's gate for Malfoy, leaning against the cool stone wall, his fingers tapping against the rusting iron gate. The trees had become entirely golden, and the dead leaves piled on the floor as the autumn wind stirred amidst the feeble branches. In the distance, the great mountains were crowned with white peaks that would soon meet the spires and turrets of Hogwarts. Just as Harry'd predicted, the day was as lovely as yesterday's evening. A strange sort of exquisite joy overcame him.

He'd be deceiving himself if he denied his growing excitement. Yes, but more than he was excited, he'd been a bit agitated by the fact that he'd be absent from Ron and Hermione's plans, but Malfoy had never been to Hogsmeade on his own before. It was a naughty sort of excitement. Maybe Harry could get the Veiled boy to break a rule or two.

"Harry!"

Two hands firmly gripped his biceps and shook him. Harry let out a startled yell and whirled around to see Malfoy standing proudly behind him. The boy had on a veil, of course, but instead of his uniform, he'd been fashioned with an expensive cloak to shield his thin body from the cool wind.

"You scared me," Harry let out, smiling anyway. "I'm your guide, you know. If I had died of a heart attack, then you'd have nobody to go to Hogsmeade with."

Malfoy laughed merrily. "Then I apologize; I'd wanted to make it even. I seldom pull pranks like that. Mother says it is most improper to intentionally startle others."

"Your mother would hate me; I'm confident of that now," said Harry. He'd almost placed a hand at the small of Malfoy's back to guide him wordlessly toward Hogsmeade but restrained himself.

"What's the matter?"

"I was about to put my hand on your back just now," said Harry. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. You know, because I hear the Veiled are conservative in that sense."

"Oh, yes," Malfoy agreed. "That reminds me: I am so terribly sorry if I made you uncomfortable with a handshake yesterday. You must forgive me," he brought out with startling urgency. "I meant nothing significant by it! I'd been consumed by a great deal of rapturous joy at the idea of going to Hogsmeade."

Harry laughed.

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"You're odd, you know that? I find you to be a little cute," said Harry. "Let's go, okay? I forgive you for the handshake."

"Cute?!" Malfoy followed Harry down the gravel road after visible reluctance. "That's insulting, Harry! How dare you! My mother ceased to call me cute the moment I turned ten!"

"Oh, right," Harry snorted. "Now she says to you, 'There is none other like you; none other with your heavenly eyes and exceptional grace!'"

"You're embarrassing me, Harry," scoffed Malfoy, crossing his arms with great indignation.

"Relax, Malfoy. I'm just messing with you. That's what friends do, you know? They tease each other and poke fun. Somewhere underneath all of those haughty manners and your fanciful words, I'm sure you've got a sense of humor."

"I assure you, Harry, I am not without a sense of humor," Malfoy huffed.

The two walked with ease toward Hogsmeade. Harry had completely forgotten he'd been walking with a Veiled until the moment they'd entered the little town. Upon seeing him, people whispered to each other and hastily made way for the two of them. It was as if someone had let out a guttural cough in times of plague, and suddenly everybody had been overly aware of their relative placement.

Malfoy seemed to have noticed the shift in the air, for he'd stopped his lively conversation with Harry, and his ivory hands gripped the hem of the Veil. Harry wondered what exactly he had been feeling in this moment. Malfoy did not walk with pride; he did not stand tall so all could cower before him like his father had done at the station; he'd sort of shrunk back into his robes, wishing to disappear completely. Could it be that he was ashamed of the Veil? Or maybe he'd become conscious of the power he wielded, and he was merely afraid he'd cause yet another commotion in public. Harry silently agreed with the latter.

"Have you had a butterbeer before?" Harry asked suddenly.

"A what?"

"It's a drink, but your clear confusion will suffice as an answer. Let's go."

"Wait," Malfoy whispered. "By whom will it be prepared? I am not to have anything—"

"Made by anyone who is not pure-blooded or hired by pure-bloods. I know; I read up on your lot."

"My lot?"

"Yeah, the Veiled. Come on, Madam Rosmerta is pure blood; I'll have her personally fix you a drink on me."

With visible reluctance, Malfoy followed Harry into the Three Broomsticks. Compared to the fear-stricken crowds outside, the pub housed an entirely different atmosphere. Infused with the aroma of ale and pipe smoke, the Three Broomsticks was proving itself, once again, to be a popular refuge for cold and bored witches and wizards. It had been warm with drunken bliss, and somewhere along the way, a grown man was belting and butchering the lyrics of the Hogwarts anthem. Students were messily crowded in booths and seats, the tables before them populated with emptied glasses of butterbeer.

Harry smiled and gestured for Malfoy to enter behind him. But he was like a bad omen, and the entire bar quieted; even the man singing silenced—it is no doubt many were glad for this. Harry hadn't seen the pub this gloomy since his third year, when the dementors had been patrolling the streets. "A Veiled," a man situated at the bar declared loudly.

As if the bar needed this confirmation, upon hearing those words, the deafening silence increased still, and those nearby stepped away in caution.

One man dressed in all black bowed toward Malfoy. Looking at him, his eyes welled up with tears, and he reached for the boy with trembling hands. "From which House do you hail, child?"

"The House of Malfoy," replied the Veiled. The man's beady eyes widened, and he'd deepened his bow, lowering to his knees.

"The Malfoy heir," the man breathed. It sounded like he'd begun to weep. "Oh! Let me kiss the ground you walk upon! Pure child! For your Viewing I am ready!"

"Get this nutter out of here!" Madam Rosmerta shouted from behind the bar. Grabbing each arm, two men raised the strange man to his feet and marched with him out of the pub. "Now what's this, Potter? Hm? What sort of errand are you on today?" Rosmerta asked him, jutting her nose in Malfoy's direction.

"I've been assigned to ingratiate myself with the heir," Harry whispered, hoping Malfoy didn't hear, but the boy was too preoccupied with the commotion at the door. "Don't worry about it, but I need a seat and two butterbeers. One of them must be prepared by a pure-blood. I'm sorry."

Rosmerta lifted an eyebrow and studied him for a moment. "You're always getting yourself involved in odd errands, aren't you? Well, so be it. I'll get you a table in the back with a partition, but once he starts causing trouble, you get him out."

"Thank you," Harry smiled. "Come on, Malfoy, let's go."

Once they'd been seated, the pub slowly returned to its original, lively state, but occasionally someone would look their way. Harry pushed the glass toward him and stared. Surely, he'd have to lift the Veil to drink, right?

On the table before Malfoy, a straw had materialized, and he'd placed it in his drink. Harry observed with deadly intrigue. The drink lowered in his glass, and this alone unearthed an odd sort of excitement in Harry. Look, he's drinking! There's a person behind the Veil!

"Don't you know it is most impolite to stare, Harry?" Malfoy said.

"Oh." Harry blinked. "Was I staring? I suppose I'm just eager to hear how you like your drink."

"I like it just fine, thank you. In fact, I might add that it reminds me of a time from my childhood that I cannot have back. I'm not sure what it is, but excessively sweet drinks tend to have that effect, don't they?"

"You're weird, Malfoy," laughed Harry. I have been laughing way too much; his consciousness reminded him. Shouldn't I be using this time more productively? After all, his sole objective was to pull Malfoy toward his side, not tease him. "Do you go out in public often?"

"No," Malfoy said, shaking his Veiled head. "Mother fears for my safety, so I seldom leave the house," he said. "And when I do go out, I am always accompanied by my parents."

"So you must feel a little uneasy, then?"

"Yes, but I'm much too excited to be affected," Malfoy turned to him, his voice lofty and angelic.

You could tell by his tone of voice. Harry guessed Malfoy had been smiling under the Veil, he could hear the happiness in his voice, and Harry, too, had been smiling.

"Tell me more about yourself, Malfoy," said Harry, leaning closer with faux intrigue. "Do you play sports? Anything besides reading the Book?"

"I play the piano," said Malfoy rather sheepishly.

"Ah, yes! You're a very skilled player, and I'm sure your mother thinks it a safe hobby since you're seated. I heard you play that night and I think you’re very, very talented!” This was not at all a lie, but the eagerness of his compliments were slightly forced. Yes, Malfoy was a talented player, but Harry was not one to dote. 

"I believe myself to be competent, I suppose. After all, I've been playing for a decade now. Mother is passionate about the piano, but she cannot play. I do adore playing for her; it eases her nerves."

"Your mother is so lucky to have such an obedient child. What would drive your mother crazy, Malfoy? Hm? Maybe if you ate sweets for dinner? Climbed an old tree? Slept in your day clothes?"

Malfoy laughed loudly; his hand went to the sides of his face, and Harry could see the point of his nose against the Veil. Never before did Harry well up with pride upon making someone laugh. Yes, it is much easier to stand by someone who makes you laugh, isn't it?

"Mother would indeed go mad if she'd known that I'd merely considered doing such a thing!" Malfoy chuckled. "Are you going to be a bad influence, Harry?"

"I didn't know being fun was a bad thing." Harry stood and held out his hand. "Come on."

"I cannot," Malfoy whispered. "It is most improper. Especially because you are of the same sex."

"You can't hold hands with a guy?"

"Holding hands is an affection reserved for men and women who've established an exclusive relationship with one another."

"What if I were trying to keep you from falling off a cliff, huh? Would you let go just to adhere to the rules?"

"I sense you are teasing me, but I'm not so hasty to be upset with you. Especially since you've just treated me to a lovely drink," said Malfoy, scooting out of the booth. "Well? Where to next?"

The pair spent roughly two hours wandering aimlessly around Hogsmeade. Remarkably, Harry had enjoyed himself. Harry even wanted to prolong their trip and show Malfoy the backside of the town, but the Slytherin had suddenly become agitated and wanted to return to the castle. Of course, Harry obliged. He couldn't imagine the commotion that would occur if Malfoy lost control in the middle of the square. The walk back was quieter, and Harry wasn't sure if he should question Malfoy's sudden change in mood. He'd remembered the tone of his voice when he suggested their return. Tremulous and weary, his hands trembled as they fiddled with his veil.

They were walking along the forest, with the only sound being the gravel crunching under their shoes and the occasional screech from an unknown creature. Harry occasionally glanced at Malfoy just to check if he'd still been there—this was not at all unreasonable; the boy did have a terrible habit of disappearing into thin air.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Yes," Malfoy replied. "I'm sorry for cutting the day short; I'd just been much too aware, if you will."

"Oh." Harry paused. "It must've been overwhelming too, I understand. When I first came to Hogwarts, I was still wrapping my head around being a wizard."

Malfoy's head snapped in his direction. "Do you mean that you weren't at all aware of your abilities until you'd turned eleven?"

"Yeah."

Malfoy gasped. "Oh, those wretched mudbloods were trying to suppress a great being in you."

"Hey, don't use that word, Malfoy," Harry reminded him.

"Oh, what of it, Harry? They mistreated you, did they not? Should you have been born into a magical family, you'd have experienced the paradise that is childhood."

"But your lot killed my parents, so I was robbed of this so-called paradise."

Malfoy stopped in his tracks. Harry cursed himself silently for this impulsive slip. Like a hawk, he'd tried to decode Malfoy's body for any indication of what he'd been feeling. His white hands were balled at his sides, his shoulders were tensed, and his breathing had become rather erratic.

"My lot," repeated Malfoy after a considerable time of silence. "There it is again: my lot."

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "But know the Veiled did what was necessary—perhaps not to kill your father too, but your mother was a mudblood and had it coming. I do wish they'd spared your father; it's not right at all for a child to be without a parent. I couldn't imagine being without mine."

Despite how deeply annoyed he was, Harry'd silently noted that it was a good sign that Malfoy declared he'd disagreed with the murder of his father. The loyalty of Draco Malfoy presented itself to him, and Harry could almost reach out and grab it. "Let me show you something, Malfoy," said Harry, in desperate need to change the subject.

It'd been rather late in the day when they'd finally entered the woods. The sun was golden, and its light fragmented itself between the branches of the trees. Harry moved quickly through the twisted roots and dampened leaves, searching for a specific tree he'd inwardly reserved for this moment. After a considerable time of silence, Harry turned to find that Malfoy had still been far behind, stumbling over upturned roots and rotting, moss-strewn stumps.

"Let me help you, Malfoy," Harry laughed lightly and held out a hand for him. Malfoy froze and stared at his offered hand. "It's not an affectionate gesture, Malfoy, I'm merely making sure you don't fall."

Malfoy hesitated, but accepted anyway. Harry became stupidly happy, and a large smile broke out on his face. Ha! I sense he’s beginning to trust me! This is proving to be too easy! 

"Are you sure this is safe?" Malfoy wondered after tripping on a rotting branch. "Goodness!"

Harry grabbed the boy by his waist and steadied him on flat ground. The two of them froze there momentarily, and Harry wondered if Malfoy had just needed a moment to recover from his near fall. But Harry, on the other hand, had become overly conscious of the thinness of Malfoy's body and the fine figure he seemed to possess. Harry's hands tightened there as he'd begun to think about the hidden splendor he'd sensed under the Malfoy's robes.

"Let go of me," said Malfoy, but he'd yet to make an effort and pull away.

"Sorry, I thought you'd been recovering from some sort of shock," said Harry, ridding himself of his thoughts. A concealed face unearths all sorts of curiosities, thought Harry with quiet desperation. The moment I see his face, the less of these ridiculous ideas I'll get.

The deeper they'd gone into the woods, the cooler it became, and the musty smell of the old, dampened trees only heightened. Finally, they'd made it to their destination. The tree was healthy, large, and had branches that bowed low enough for even a first-year to grab a hold of. Its leaves had abandoned it a while ago, carpeting the ground around it so that it could act as padding should anyone fall off.

"Ready to climb?"

"Climb?!" Malfoy gasped. "Let me remind you, Harry, I hardly possessed the natural skill to even approach the thing, but now you want me to move upwards?"

Harry smiled and grabbed the nearest branch, pulling himself up onto it. "Come on, Malfoy. You can either watch me climb or join me. Let me tell you now that you don't want to be alone in these woods when it gets dark."

"How long do you plan to be in that tree, Harry?"

"A while."

Malfoy let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed Harry's outstretched hand, pulling himself up on a neighboring branch. "Mother would faint if she'd known I'd been climbing a tree."

"Then don't tell her," Harry said, hoisting himself up onto a higher point, pushing himself through the tangled twigs.

"You mean to tell me to lie to my mother?" Malfoy scoffed. "Ah!"

Harry's heart dropped, and he'd looked down to see Malfoy hugging himself steady against the old bark of the greater trunk. "You alright, Malfoy?"

"Hardly," he replied. Harry grabbed the boy's bicep and pulled him out toward a more convenient spot where the branches were steadier. "What will we do once we've climbed it, Harry?"

"I think you should concentrate on climbing, princess."

"Don't call me that."

Harry smiled and comfortably situated himself on the topmost branch. "You're almost there, Malfoy."

The Veiled slipped but caught himself just in time on Harry's calf. "My apologies," he muttered, hoisting himself up with Harry's aid and sitting himself on the branch beside him.

The sun was setting now behind the castle, shining brilliantly through the spires and turrets, blanketing the forest around them with a golden ray. All around them was nothing but a sea of vibrant autumn oranges, beyond the snow-capped mountain. The wind was sweet even at this altitude, delicately grazing their hair from their dampened foreheads like a mother's hand would. At the sight, Harry felt all of his troubles had become mere afterthoughts.

Malfoy audibly gasped, leaning forward in awe. "Never before have I seen something so beautiful," he breathed, his voice as gentle as the wind.

"It's a nice spot, isn't it? Do you like the view?"

"Very much so."

Harry smiled and silently celebrated his victory. His first accomplished rendezvous with Malfoy was a small step closer to earning the boy's loyalty. It'll all be worth it, he thought; all of this trouble will have paid itself off once I get there.

"Thank you, Harry," whispered Malfoy after a long silence. "I am forever grateful that you've decided to befriend me. Thank you for giving me a chance."

Harry's previous triumphant reflection dissolved immediately. In its place, there'd been tremendous guilt and sorrow for the boy beside him. So what, Harry thought, so what I break the heart of one boy? It's his family's ideology that spreads like a disease. What does it matter if I'll hurt him if it means every man and woman keeps their rights as they were intended? If it meant every child was guaranteed their parents, by all means, let Malfoy be forever lonely! But oddly enough, this attempt at justification did not suffice, and Harry suddenly wished to be anywhere but the top of that tree.