The Veiled Boy

With his still-bandaged hands, Draco played the piano with fervor, his blood thick and his marrow frozen. He was alone under the pleasantly high ceilings, surrounded by the extravagance of the decor. Louder, louder! Let the melody play louder still; let it overflow my young ears so that I cannot produce a single thought of my own. Genius composes the music, so music composes the dumb, and I will let an unbroken stream of notes reign over my entire being. What a spectacle! What an honor I shall be! They will kiss my hand, and I will think of nothing but pastries and feather pillows until the day I die! 

Slit.

Robbing Draco of his innocent pleasures, a slicing sensation in his hand halted his playing. He'd looked down at his palms and stared with increasing fright at the ever-expanding bright red stain on the bandage. He leapt to his feet and held his trembling hands under the feeble glow of the candle. Bleeding again. What was now a scar, not at all in danger of reopening, was bleeding fresh, hot blood.

Draco ran out of the room and into the nearest boy's restroom, thrusting his hand under the faucet, whimpering more out of fear than pain. 

"Your hands, if you will."

Draco gasped, and his eyes moved slowly to the mirror in front of him. There he stood. The Dark Lord was as naked as the day he was reborn. He was standing there, staring at him through the glass with his snake eyes. Thirsty eyes. 

He froze. He was oppressed by fear of Him, by the shame of the former, and by the terror of the latter. Draco could not move; even if he'd gained control of his senses, his body seemed to have shut down. Not even his eyes could tear themselves away from the emaciated, smooth face of the Dark Lord. 

"Your hands, if you will."

Draco watched helplessly as He moved to his sides and slowly turned him around, gripping his wrist with bitter gentility. The Lord's eyes became jewels at the sight before him. Draco shuddered involuntarily. The slits on his face flared at the scent of his blood; his smile widened, his lips twitching impatiently. 

"Pure blood," the Dark Lord cooed, slowly bringing Draco's hands to his mouth. He took another whiff and let out a hearty laugh. "So pure! So noble!" 

Suddenly, it seemed He could not restrain himself a second longer, and he'd begun to lick Draco's hands. The relentless onslaught of sheer terror overtook him, and Draco sobbed with his palms held out before him. Unwilling was he, but much too cowardly to pull away. They will think I am crying tears of joy, Draco thought. They will not Cleanse me for my fear, for they cannot prove it! I worship as they do; my tears are signs of my devotion. I'm not scared; I am too young to understand the feeling of love, and that is what I feel now. But he could not fortify himself with these thoughts. Fear he knew very well, more than any other emotion. He'd felt it for himself and for others, most of all. That is what he is feeling now. Between every hot breath, between every smack of those lips, between every gulp and lick. Fear. Terror. Not love. 

"STOP THAT!" Draco screamed and pulled his hands away. The moment he'd uttered those words, the terrible agony finally took hold of him, and he'd crumbled to the bathroom tiles. In his descent into unconsciousness, he'd seen no other soul in the bathroom. There was no Dark Lord. He'd managed to deceive himself in broad daylight. Draco could feel himself slipping into the shadows; he'd welcomed it wholeheartedly. What a terrible thing consciousness is! What a terrible thought he'd had.

Harry Potter sat before him, looking so wholly unbothered, and sipped on the tea while Weasley unapologetically finished off the last biscuit from the curate stand. Severus watched them with growing distaste, almost infuriated at their nonchalance. They ought to be so possessed with remorse that not a sip of tea can quench their thirst for forgiveness, and not a crumb of biscuit could forgive their hunger for justice. But Severus could see nothing but biscuit crumbs covering the front of Weasley's shirt. The only well-behaved friend was Granger, who'd been sitting rather quietly beside her friends, taking great interest in the great oak log in the hearth. Perhaps she feels something human about the ordeal, thought Severus, and her friends ought to learn from her. 

Finally, to cure him of his growing contempt, the headmaster finally entered the office with Lupin by his side. It seemed the two were engaged in what seemed like a lively conversation, but the heaviness of silence in the room killed it stone dead. Lupin situated himself beside Severus, casting a nervous glance his way, and checked twice to make sure he'd not been sitting on his robes. 

"Well," the headmaster began, pulling up a chair at the head. "Harry, have you noticed anything odd about Malfoy?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, setting down the teacup. "He seemed sort of upset about Voldemort being back. I don't know what happened, but he sort of freaked out on me."

"Elaborate." 

"Well, he said he had some sort of fit over the break; something scared him real bad. I asked what scared him, and he expressed his own feelings about it. I guess it scared him so bad he got sick."

"Do not listen to him, sir; he has an imperfect knowledge of the matter," Severus blurted, unable to mask the undertone of annoyance. "They ressurected the Dark Lord, and to do so, they slit Draco's young hands and offered his blood to the Lord. The first thing that wretch did the moment he breathed air and opened his eyes was grab my dear godson and lick his hands clean. It terrified the boy, don't you see? There was something so unfitting about it, so unnatural, that Draco's poor heart couldn't take it. And his aversion to the Lord scared him into a fit." Severus turned to the headmaster, who was listening with great interest. "He could not eat; he'd been in a daze for a week, and he'd scream for hours and hours for no apparent reason. We thought he'd gone mad, that he'd looked into the mirror at the wrong time and had done it to himself." Severus's voice wavered, but he'd caught himself. He knew better. "Draco calmed down eventually. He stopped his screaming; he stopped his crying. But I'm afraid it torments him just the same. I don't dare ask him about it because I'm afraid it might kill him to say it out loud."

"Say what?" Weasley asked.

"That he's not fit to wear the Veil."

Severus let out a sharp exhale and leaned back into the sofa, ignoring Lupin's prying eyes. That was all he could have said in the moment, but in his heart, he'd been nursing a deep resentment for everyone who could not shed a tear for Draco. Albus was nodding slowly to himself, combing through his beard with his bony fingers. Then he let out a great sigh and stood. 

"If just a disloyal thought is enough to send the boy into hysterics, he may very well die before he helps us," said Albus. 

"Then I'll ditch the effort, sir," Harry blurted. Everyone turned to him, giving him a look of surprise. "I don't care if he's on our side or not; if he'll go mad, then I won't have it."

Severus immediately dropped his growing antipathy for the boy before him. Of course, he hadn't truly hated him—he was a child after all, and all children are foolish—but a conscience he proved to have, and to Severus, it was nothing short of admirable. 

"Caring for the boy now, are we?" Albus asked, smiling. 

"Of course," Harry shrunk back into his seat. A flush of color overtook his face as he glanced uneasily at his friends, who'd been inquisitively watching him. "I care for anyone, really. But I don't like the sound of what Professor Snape was saying. You know, Malfoy going crazy. I'm sure we can find some way to get by without a dark magic prodigy. Malfoy's just a kid like me. Doesn't he deserve our support anyway?"

"Who knew there was something in that thick skull of yours, Potter?" Severus muttered. Lupin gave him a nasty look. 

"I'm afraid there's not a way—well, not one with good chances," said the headmaster as he'd begun to pace the room. "Deep in a sea of oak, far underneath the earth, is a cavern. It's shielded by mist, almost impenetrable without the knowledge of its being there. Hidden in an underground world of dark curses and impenetrable walls lies one-third of Tom Riddle. Mind."

"Mind?" asked the children, so pitifully naive on the matter. 

"There are three parts to any human. Mind, body, and soul. Now, the body of Tom Riddle had disappeared, but Tom has never ceased to exist. It took me a long, long time to decide if I was right about the cavern. With Severus attending his first Cleansing, I was able to collect his memory of the attendance and look closely at the location. Harry, you've seen it, haven't you? The night you came and begged me for your reassignment to Malfoy, you'd seen it in a dream. And when you'd come crawling into my office, soaked with sweat and terrified, you'd merely seen Severus's memory. Yes, it was all too real, wasn't it? Under the floor of that Cleansing room is the very entrance to the labyrinth, and without Malfoy's expertise in dark magic, I'm afraid you'd all die trying. Even I hesitate to attempt it for myself."

"But how do we know Malfoy's an expert? He's got some weird curse, but he's not a genius, is he?" Weasley asked, throwing Severus a cautious glance. Don't worry, Weasley, another wrong word from you, and you'll be scrubbing cauldrons on a Saturday morning. 

"Precisely, he's possessed with dark magic. It coursed through his veins like no other. A good boy, surely, but I can smell it on him—the magic is evil; it's got a mind of its own. It'll grab the boy by the ankles and suck him into a bituminous mire until he's buried alive. But you've seen how well he has grown to control it, Severus."

"Yes," he whispered. "He's a ways to go, but he's using dark magic more frequently and with as much ease as breathing air. Frankly, sir, it is disconcerting to understand that at the flick of a young boy's wrist, he may procure a dangerous curse no imagination could augment."

"Fifteen, is he?" Lupin wondered out loud. "What an age to wield such power! I'd have made terrible decisions."

Albus laughed loudly, which sounded inappropriate in a room whose air threatened to put the fire out. "How amusing! Doom may be brought upon us all by an unprecedented stroke of adolescent anger. But let us not forget my point here. I'm not at all sure what the underground will have in store for you, and we've yet to see Draco's face, do we?"

Harry nodded gloomily. 

"I don't think that you will make it to the mouth of the cavern without him, Harry," Albus said, adopting an entirely serious attitude. "You will befriend him at all costs. Because at the very least, he will be our prisoner. And we do not want that, do we?"

"So, it's absolutely necessary." 

"Yes."

Harry nodded and thought for a while. Then he turned to face Severus and looked him in the eye with great resolution. "Professor Snape, I will take care of your godson. I won't let anything happen to him."

Harry was a simple, half-witted sort of student—mischievous in his nature and possessed by vanity—but Severus could not deny there was a heart beneath it all, and at this moment, when he'd felt only himself wholly dedicated to Draco, he'd felt Harry's words with incontrovertible clarity. Suddenly, in the headmaster's office, Harry ceased to be a boy and became a man. To those words, Severus clung desperately, for he'd felt the fate of his godson slipping slowly out of his hands. 

"Thank you," was all he said, but he'd hoped desperately that Harry could see how much Severus rejoiced in his otherwise empty heart. 

"You only spoke of Mind," said Granger finally. "What about the Soul?"

"I've yet to figure that out." Albus sighed. "But I have my theories; very good ones, I'll have you know."

"Alright." Harry stood up and gave the room a heroic sort of smile. "Malfoy won't go mad; he can't go mad if he realizes how much good comes from his sacrifice. I'll make it a goal to see his face before the spring. Severus, warn me now so that I don't laugh, but he's easy on the eyes, is he?"

"Both the appearance and the soul of an angel."

Harry nodded, his face deepening in color again. "Well, that settles it. Let's put an incentive on it, shall we? Before March, I get three free assignment passes. If not, I'll take detention for a week. Does that sound good to you, Professor Snape?"

Severus hardly wished to entertain the idea, for incentives as silly as that might take away any real effort in trying to get to know Draco for Draco. But Harry didn't need any help in that sense, since he'd already expressed the desire to protect him indefinitely. So Severus gave the boy a nod.

"Perfect!"

But lighthearted moments seldom last a minute; Minerva barged into the office, loose strands falling out of her bun, and a look of nervous agitation. "Malfoy's disappeared again. The entire school is in a panic."

Severus stood, trying desperately to remain calm, but his heart nearly burst. "Where? Why did he disappear? Did something happen to him?"

"There was only one witness," she told them, beckoning them to leave the room. "She says he's gone mad."

"Gone mad?" Harry, too, leapt to his feet. Everyone in the office followed Minerva, bombarding her with inquiries, but Severus remained silent. Instead of his curiosity, he'd been overcome with a terrible guilt for leaving Draco unattended, especially in his delicate state of mind. What had frightened him so badly? 

They'd made it into the boy's restroom, where there'd been a crowd formed in front of the sink. "Move!" Severus shoved his way to the center and found the stain of shadow on the bathroom tiles. The guilt still braced him with its bitter vigor, but he'd have no time to feel sorry for anyone, not even Draco. 

"What happened in here?" Severus suddenly turned to the students. They backed away and shrunk under his gaze, looking at one another like they'd no idea what they were doing there. "Tell me! Who witnessed it?!"

"I did."

Severus turned to see Moaning Myrtle standing against the nearest stall. Her face expressed great terror; every feature in her ghostly pale face reflected the unease from which she'd be suffering. "He's mad; he is. He came in here while I was feeling sorry for myself and washed his hands like he had something on them. He'd been shaking already by then; something scared him, surely. I was watching from the stall there because I heard what they said about him. I died by a basilisk, you know, and I wasn't at all wanting to relive that event."

"Just get to the point!"

"Oh! Please don't yell at me, Professor; I'm only a girl." Myrtle whimpered with a dramatic turn. "Anyway, he'd seen something in the mirror, I think. Then, he slowly turned around and held his hands out like this, almost unwillingly, like someone was telling him to do so. Then, in a burst of something like hysterical defiance, he'd screamed, "Stop that!" And then he'd fainted. Crumpled to the floor right where you're standing, sir, and then..." Myrtle shuddered. "The room grew dark; every shadow in this measly bathroom crept towards him and swallowed him whole. I closed my eyes; I was much too scared to see it. I'm only a girl, you see, and I'm already so distressed! Woe is me!" Myrtle covered her face and sobbed into her little hands. "Then he was gone!" 

Everyone began to whisper amongst themselves. "He looked himself in the eyes and went mad," one said. "Definitely. He's gone now," said another. "Doesn't matter much to me. I'd sleep better knowing there's not a basilisk under that Veil."

"Shut up!" Harry stomped his foot and raised his voice, shoving the boy who'd had his last say. "There's a boy under the Veil and that's all there is to it!"

"No pushing and shoving," Minerva quickly said, pulling the two students away. "Harry's right. I understand you are not at all keen on what the Veil stands for, but he's just a child."

"What are we going to do, Professor?" Harry asked quietly, staring at the blackened floor and then turning to Snape. "How do we get him back?"

"The same way we lost him. Shadows."

The funny thing about Hogwarts was its duality of being. With its turrets and spires reaching for the heavens and the halls and towers at such a height, the sunlight discriminated against no room. But in the late hours of the night, when the castle housed the densest of shadows, one could only rejoice to perceive an imperfect ray of moonlight from a window somewhere. 

Severus had been possessed with a certain distress since the incident earlier that day; he'd felt it stronger still every time the boy disappeared like this. Harry seemed to be genuinely concerned as well, restlessly bouncing his leg, which Severus soon grew annoyed with. The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence against the stone wall of the darkest corridor they could find. When Filch would make his rounds with his torch, the two of them showered him with reproach, until Filch never walked their way again. 

"What's wrong with him, sir?"

Severus turned to where Harry was seated. In the total darkness, he could hardly manage to outline the latter's figure. "What do you mean?"

"Why is he like that? I mean. Why does he disappear in that way? Why is he sick?"

"I don't know," answered Severus honestly. "He's always been ill—but nobody thought much of it until he'd begun to really suffer. Podgers," Severus paused and glanced at where Harry was seated. "The incident with Podgers had been unconsciously done; I hope you know that. I won't go into it much, for it is his story to tell. It'd scared the family so vigorously, but Draco even more so. What a dark time it'd been for the entire family," reminisced Severus. "That's when he started disappearing like that. He scared himself too much, I think." 

"Is that why his mother doesn't let him do anything exciting? Climbing a tree, flying on a broom, or maybe even swimming? She's afraid he will frighten himself and disappear."

"She's afraid he will frighten himself, and it'll kill him," Severus whispered. "Draco knew his mother's thoughts and respected her wishes. What a sheltered upbringing he'd had, without so much of a blade of grass to cut his cheek and conscious that he was to merely utter a request for the entire house to bend to his wishes. I never really approved of their methods, but Draco was safe, and to that I hardly could object." 

At length, Harry was silent, but Severus knew the boy was considering the entire thing as much as he could. "I meant it, sir," Harry whispered finally. "I meant it when I said I'd be good to him and that I'd protect him."

"I know. And for that, I am immensely grateful." Severus recoiled at the sound of his own gratitude. "But before anyone, you must save yourself, Harry. I've got Draco, too. I'd like you both to make it out of this alive. Not just—"

"Malfoy."

"Yes, not just Malfoy."

"No! It's Malfoy!" 

Severus leapt to his feet and whirled around the room, looking for any sign. Then he'd seen it. There was an odd warble in the shadows, a particular spot denser than the rest and moving unnaturally. 

"Draco," Severus gasped. Harry stepped closer to the wall and extended his hand bravely toward it. "Harry, be careful."

"It can't take me too, right?"

"I don't know."

Harry hesitated a moment, but he stepped closer anyway, his curiosity getting the best of him. Severus was about to grab him and pull him away, but two black hands thrust themselves from the wall and grabbed Harry's face. Severus froze. The uncertainty of total darkness had the effect of giving the impression that escape was hopeless. One does not know what to do when it floods and takes over; one cannot do much but stand and wait. Do not mistake him for an enemy, thought Severus, his eyes fixated on the hands still on Harry. Why Severus did not cast lumos and expel what took hold of Harry was the very nature of the hands. It did not seize Harry in a threatening manner; it did not seem to wish to consume him either. Those hands were affectionately holding Harry stationary, and it was at that moment that Severus knew Draco was on the other side, wishing with every atom of his being to fling himself into the arms of his friend. 

"Malfoy," Harry whispered.

Just like that, the boy eased himself out of the shadow. With his Veil secured on his face, his appearance resembled that of a dementor emerging from the darkest cells of Azkaban. But Severus was relieved, liberated from his shackles of grief, and rejoiced at the sight of his godson falling into Harry's arms. 

With a healthy balance and youthful strength, Harry carried Draco, who fell limp with exhaustion, and held onto him tightly. "It's okay," whispered Harry, his eyes wide from shock. "Everything will be okay."