The Veiled Boy

The funny thing about man is that he could always surprise himself with his own internal condition by not paying attention to the discreet alterations he'd made to it. Sometimes being made aware of a newfound sense is so shocking that it shakes his bones, rattles his soul, and leaves him stuck in a stalemate with himself. He will look himself in the mirror—unable to recognize himself most likely—and wonder what specific event made him change so drastically, so abruptly. But what he fails to comprehend is that man changes gradually; that is why abrupt events send him into shock, and he may be paralyzed with numbness until he's used to having experienced such a thing.

But it isn't much use to dwell on when and why. The truth is, Harry has grown to care about Malfoy. Even if he'd still nursed a childish resentment towards him every time he'd point out the Veil to himself, he'd gotten used to it for the most part. Perhaps the best way to cure oneself of prejudice is to think: What would I have been like if I'd lived his life? Most of the time, if he is without an inflated ego, he will realize he's the very same as their opponent.

However, if he'd been forced to choose between Ron and Hermione and Malfoy, should he even find himself in such a bizarre situation anyway, without a doubt he'd pick Hermione and Ron. But unlike before, when he'd asked himself that question, he'd felt a certain tightness in his chest with fear that a situation much like that might arise. He'd toss and turn in his bed, thinking about having to unnaturally lose Malfoy. Why have to sacrifice such a boy who rejoiced at the thought of flying or climbing a tree? The boy was much too innocent and inexperienced; it was equivalent to losing faith in a small child. A great strain on his moral compass. 

It'd been exactly three weeks since the incident. Malfoy was cooped up in the infirmary under Madam Pomfrey's care, eager to leave it, but his own mind healer would not let him unless he went a week without an episode of delusion and hysterics. Every day after classes, Harry visited him to maintain their friendship, tend to the gardens of favor, water the growth of trust, and pull the weeds of disloyalty. Malfoy was usually propped up by a pillow, and having finished all his schoolwork, he'd be either reading the Book or playing with whatever Harry had brought him. Today it was a small, faded top Harry found under Professor McGonagall's desk. They would talk for two to three hours, and then Harry would wish him well and leave for dinner. 

On this particular night, Hermione and Ron had been waiting for him outside the doors of the infirmary. 

"Anything yet?" Hermione asked, walking along with Harry. "You've got a week, Harry. Let me remind you that it was not us who entertained this stupid idea. You shouldn't rush this sort of thing."

"Well, I think Harry was clever to do it," Ron protested. "Nobody wants detention with Snape, and as much as he doesn't, he will try to get Malfoy to reveal his face. I was sure it'd work! Are you sure you're trying hard enough?"

"Yes, I am," said Harry. "I visit him for two hours each day and bring him small gifts. He's very unsettled as of late, anyway. If I'd known how fragile he would be weeks later, I'd not have promised anything. But I'm stupid; I've acted on impulse, and now Dumbledore expects it of me."

"What was your bet anyway? See his face before March, three assignment passes, and if not, then detention with Snape? Why do you need assignment passes if you're just going to copy off of 'Mione, anyway?"

Hermione scoffed and jabbed her elbow into Ron's ribcage. "That's not my focus, Weasley! I want Harry to take it seriously. It is a significant moment for Malfoy, and you've wagered upon it unceremoniously!"

"It's significant for Malfoy," Ron jeered. "Not to us. I don't care for it, nor should you, 'Mione; especially not you."

"Enough, Ron," Hermione hissed, her face flushed with mutiny. "I hardly have the time to be annoyed by the Veil. I'm trying to get to the Mind by the summer; that way, we can help Dumbledore find the Soul over the summer."

"Woah!" Harry stopped in his tracks and turned to her. "Who said anything about that? Did Dumbledore make plans for us?"

"No." Hermione blushed again. "I just thought it was practical; I've yet to propose it to him, but consider it very carefully, and you'll see it is the only plausible option. You need to work on Malfoy's character, Harry."

"I have been."

"Not nearly as much lately now that he's still considered ill. I say you ought to be spending every minute of your spare time with him. I might even encourage you to break a rule or two." Hermione grabbed both Harry and Ron by their robes and pulled them closer. After looking over her shoulders for onlookers, she turned to them with a mischievous grin. 

"Uh-oh," Ron whimpered. 

"Shut up, Ron; this has nothing to do with you," she whispered. "Snape said it himself that Malfoy is a sheltered sort; his mother seldom allowed his leave of the house in fear he may frighten himself to death. Well, Mrs. Malfoy's behavior isn't at all arbitrary; we quite literally have proof that Malfoy is capable of it. I think, before we even lure him into those caverns Dumbledore spoke of, we need to condition him to be used to fear and unease."

"Yeah, that makes sense. But how? His mind healer follows his parents' instructions, and she doesn't let him leave his room either."

"Do what you're so good at, Harry. Sneak out after curfew, kidnap the heir, and take him for a risky rendezvous." 

Ron raised his ginger eyebrows and nodded with approval. "Brilliant, I think. Nothing like it has ever crossed my mind."

"Does anything ever cross your mind? I assumed it to be void of anything but food," said Hermione triumphantly. Harry laughed and playfully shoved the blushing boy. "So, what do you think, Harry? Tonight the sky is clear, and I think Malfoy is growing a little restless in the infirmary."

"I'll do it." Harry nodded. "But I don't want him to disappear again, you know? How do I condition someone to get used to feeling fear?"

"I'm not saying shove him headfirst into the Shrieking Shack, lock the door, and leave him there all night." Hermione rolled her eyes. "You need to take him on a dark path, one where you are certain it will be nothing but tranquil, and tell him a haunting tale. Malfoy will be fearful, but soon he will realize that he's safe anyway."

"I think the Shrieking Shack idea is better," muttered Ron, but they ignored him. 

"What if I screw up, Hermione? What if he frightens himself into another fit, or worse, death?"

"Then protect him. But it shouldn't come to that if you're planning a simple walk along the forest. I think what you did for him after break was good—taking him flying, I mean. I'm sure there's plenty he's itching to do, but he's unsure. Ask him."

"What do you reckon he will want to do?"

"Probably snog his dear Harry," said Ron in between giggles. 

"Oh, shut up, Ron!" Hermione punched him, but Harry was much too bewildered to do the same. He'd been held prisoner by a dreadful embarrassment that took hold of him. "Just consider it, Harry. Okay? Malfoy won't be of any use to us if he's gone mad out of fear. The poor boy can't even be alone with his own thoughts without it ending in a fit. Even if he doesn't want to help us, it'll be good for him anyway."

"Yeah."

That night, Harry was determined to carry out Hermione's plan. She had brought forth an issue Harry was not at all aware of. Well, he was aware, but he hadn't thought about it enough. If Malfoy were to declare his loyalty to Harry, he wouldn't be of much help to them if he'd retained his fragility. And if Harry had wanted Malfoy to reveal his face to him, he'd need to prove himself trustworthy. So, when the entire Gryffindor tower was silent with slumber and the hour was late, Harry crept slowly out of bed, flung his cloak over his head, and made for the infirmary. 

When he'd arrived, he waited for Pomfrey to finish her last rounds—since Malfoy was the only one staying, she was in her office rather quickly—before he snuck in. Malfoy's bed was at the far end of the room, surrounded by tall white curtains, so he could sleep without the Veil. Harry was half tempted to draw them back and behold Malfoy while he slept, but that was just a temptation, one he couldn't possibly act upon. But admittedly, his hopes were high and his curiosity was at its peak. There was evidence of his being angelic and very handsome, and Harry, who'd never really considered anyone truly handsome beside Diggory, was naturally intrigued. 

"Malfoy," whispered Harry, giving the curtains a gentle rattle. "Psst! Malfoy."

"Who's there?" Came a weary voice from the other side. "Hello?"

"Harry. It's me, Harry. Put on your veil and come with me."

"Why?" Malfoy asked. "Where will you take me?"

"Do you want to stay in here all night, Malfoy? You'll be rotting here until next Monday, and frankly, I can't have that." Harry slowly pulled back the curtains to see Malfoy fitting the Veil over his head. He smiled. "Come on, now. Unless you're chicken."

"Your sense of right and wrong is rotting under the influence of fifteen years of mischief; I dare say I wish not to follow in your footsteps. But you're right, such boredom, as my situation produced, will only be cured by whatever mischief you have planned." Malfoy stood slowly, wrapped himself in his cloak, and quickly joined Harry under his. 

"That's what I'm talking about," said Harry. "You may have the hobbies of an eighty-year-old, but I never doubted your ability to be fun."

"Let me kill your enthusiasm; I cannot stay out late. Mother says the natural sequel to a sleepless night is illness, and I'm quite done being ill."

Harry chuckled. "You know what, Malfoy? You're so adorable, and you don't even know it."

Malfoy let out an annoyed huff, and his head recoiled from the comment, but he did not say anything about it. 

The two of them strode out onto the castle grounds, and once they were out of sight of any potential groundskeeper or watchman, Harry pulled the cloak from their heads. The night was cold, and Harry was glad he'd layered his clothes before leaving his room, but he'd grown concerned for Malfoy, who'd been wearing pajamas under his singular cloak. But the boy did not seem at all tormented by the chill of the air, for not a shiver or sigh left him. They'd moved down a winding walk bordered by lacewing bushes toward the darkened gravel path neighboring the borders of the forbidden forest. Malfoy slowed considerably in his pace, and Harry observed his pale, white hands rubbing each other uneasily. Seeing his opportunity, he moved closer to Malfoy and placed a strong hand on his tensing shoulder. 

"Don't be afraid, Malfoy. I've been in there several times at night, and the real danger is deep in the forest, not out here."

Malfoy turned to glance at Harry. "I am not afraid of being attacked. I'll have you know I am more than capable of defending myself," said he, his tone wholly unconvincing.

"Alright." Harry gave his shoulder another squeeze anyway and smiled. 

The destination he had in mind was a little ways into the forest, which was the point entirely—to frighten Malfoy and establish a sense of comfort between them. Harry knew this. The forest is loudest at night, with the nightingale singing along the way, the crickets chirping in the shrubbery, and the occasional screech from a creature in the woods a mile off. Their dirt path became a pebbly gravel, which was then patched away by the natural ground as they'd entered the forest. Claw-like branches laden with cobwebs stooped over them, and uprooted trees made their trek seemingly impossible. The mist blanketed the entirety of the forest floor and beyond, adding to Malfoy's evidently growing unease. It was dark, almost unnaturally so, but Harry moved onward, and Malfoy followed unwillingly. 

"Harry, I'll admit, I'm a bit apprehensive about this," he said quietly, afraid something or someone might be listening. "Ere we are noticed by some foul creature let us return."

"Like I said, there is nothing dangerous on the edge of the forest. We are fine," said Harry. "Are you afraid?"

Malfoy stopped, planted his feet in a rare flat spot of earth, and stood there resolutely. "Yes, I am. Before you call me a coward, be it known that I have lived a healthy fifteen years because of my caution. Your words were much more appropriate on the path, but we'd forsaken it a while ago, and I feel we are nearing the center of the forest. And I have a strange foreboding that we are being watched."

"Well, yeah, probably. And?"

" 'And?' Harry, I cannot take you for the idiot you are revealing yourself to be! Rather against my will, I entertain your foolish acts, but I cannot risk our lives for the sake of fun. Can't we go back and enjoy a quiet game of chess? This is much too dangerous."

"Malfoy, we will be fine. We are almost there, anyway. You really want to turn back and miss out?"

"Miss out on what? Shall I find myself in the jaws of an actromantula matriarch?" Malfoy visibly shuddered. "The aforementioned dangers are very much real, and you'd be a fool to deny them." 

"Yeah, it's dangerous in the forest, but not where we are going."

"Harry, my dear friend, we are already in the forest!"

"Malfoy, do you trust me?"

Malfoy froze and rubbed his hands together, glancing over his tensed shoulders. "Indeed, I do. But I also deem you exceptionally foolish, and of your judgment, I am terribly afraid."

"Have faith in me, okay? I promise nothing will happen to you."

"Or you?"

"Or me," promised Harry. "Here, take my hand so none of us fall over."

Malfoy begrudgingly obliged. 

The two carried on their journey through the twisted roots of the forest. Malfoy gasped at the rushing of the wings of a raven and held onto Harry's arm. Triumphing with their closeness, Harry straightened his posture and carried on with newfound confidence and pride. They made for the wicket and moved through a parting, finding themselves exactly where Harry wanted them to be. In a small clearing in the forest, there was a section of thick wood that formed a dome-like structure over a small pond. The air was wetter here, and gravel returned under their feet. Most of all, however, the charm resided with the plentiful fireflies that glittered enchantingly over the pond. On the water, the lily pads and waterlilies housed some of the flies and produced a colorful glow for the scene. Harry smiled and led a stunned Malfoy toward the embankment where they were seated. 

"See? Not so scary, is it?" 

Malfoy shook his head. "Not at all," he breathed. "I could have missed this for a game of chess."

Harry laughed. "I'd have never let you drag me back for chess, Malfoy. You trusted me, and this is your reward."

"I cannot find the words," he whispered. "I've never seen anything half so extraordinary. You must know I adore extravagance. Growing up around brilliant gold and sparkling glass, I believed I should never be so impressed by anything else. But you've proved me wrong, Harry. How could I merit so unlikely an observation? The natural world is beyond me, and I find I will never cease to be in love with its grandeur. Thank you."

Harry smiled. In his chest, there'd been a warmth that started at the center and moved quickly throughout. It pleased him immensely to hear Malfoy's bliss not only in words but in his voice. Lofty and light, sweet as a caress, Malfoy spoke with a breathlessness that could only be described as nothing short of ecstasy. The bliss was contagious, and Harry gravitated toward it; he moved closer to Malfoy unknowingly. 

"Well, thank you for trusting me. You know I wouldn't risk your wellbeing, don't you?"

Malfoy looked and nodded. "Worry not, I trust you even now."

Harry nearly asked for the favor of seeing his face, but he held his tongue and decided Malfoy needed to make the offer first. He waited a while, but nothing came of his silence; Malfoy was too enamored by the view to produce a word. He needed a segue; they needed to be vulnerable with one another first. 

"Malfoy," Harry began, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What really happened to that ministry official?" Harry whispered. Upon seeing Malfoy's shoulders tense, he regretted it immediately and thought of ways he could recover their serene silence. 

"The rumors are true," Malfoy started, his voice quiet and tremulous with nervous agitation. "I made him go mad." 

"By looking into his eyes, right?"

Malfoy nodded slowly and brought his knees to his chest. "I didn't mean to, Harry. That is why it torments me. Father believes I ought to be proud of myself, but I cannot find it in me to rejoice in another man's suffering. Even if that man intended to do me harm."

"What did he do?"

"He deceived me; he took advantage of my childlike naivety for his own gain," said Malfoy. Harry suddenly felt overcome with a sense of guilt; Malfoy had just described their very situation now, and perhaps the very real adoration Harry adopted for Malfoy would not suffice as justification. 

"What did he want to gain?"

"Profit," Malfoy whispered. "He told me he was pure, and he'd been insulted by my Veil. Mind you, it's only us two in the drawing room; he'd separated me from my parents, and skillfully so. It was only after I'd shown him my face did he reveal his identity as a muggleborn."

Harry's eyes widened. "That must've been terrifying for you. Did you make him go mad then?"

"No," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "He made me prisoner with the fist of a man, and with the intention of selling them, he took photos of me. It was then when I..." His voice trailed off into a whisper, almost like he'd forgotten what he was going to say. "I did not do it intentionally, Harry. I hope you know that I would never, ever wish such a fate on anyone. I don't care if he'd nearly destroyed me and my family—you should have seen the torment in his eyes." 

"Like what?"

Malfoy held onto the hems of his Veil with a strong grip. "Podgers was glad to see my eyes turn silver; he thought it would add to my allure. But suddenly, his face was drained of all humanity and, in its place, utter terror and despair in their purest form. Have you ever seen someone so terrified that their own heart still beats? So much so that they're bashing their heads against a pallid mantle and clawing at their eyes like a beast? Have you seen someone so eaten up by terror, Harry?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"You."

Malfoy quickly turned to Harry; there was alarm in his movement. "Whatever do you mean? I have not clawed my eyes out."

"Not yet. But there's something inside you that torments you, I can tell. Maybe it's easier for me to see because I have only a short moment of knowing you, but you weren't this way before Yule."

"What way?"

"Aware of some danger you're shackled to." 

Malfoy shook his head and covered his Veiled face. "Please do not speak to me about it. I am not Podgers, Harry. I'm not mad."

"And I am grateful for it. You're prisoner of something bigger than yourself, Malfoy. I don't know what it is; maybe it's all of that power you have, but it's not helping you at all. You were right when you said it was more of a curse than a blessing. You're bending at its will, and it breaks my heart."

"You've put it so nicely," Malfoy whispered shakily. "But I haven't a clue how to proceed."

"Have you tried practicing to control it?"

"I seldom attempt to. Of it I am much too afraid. I'm a coward, Harry. I may have the manners and breedings of a fine gentleman, but I am that child, now and forever."

Harry took Malfoy's hand and held it affectionately in his own. "You're not a coward. Never did I think of you in that way, even if I teased you for your caution. You're still at Hogwarts when the entire school has ostracized you and tied you to a moment that has frightened you so deeply. No coward would have stayed."

"I thought of leaving."

"But you didn't. You're here in the forbidden forest at night because nothing can control you but your own will."

"Then, at my own will," Malfoy whispered, slowly removing his hand from Harry's. "At my own will, let me lift my Veil."

Harry's heart thundered in his chest. The moment he'd been silently waiting for had presented itself before him, and he couldn't do much but wait. With trembling hands, Malfoy reached for the hem of his Veil and slowly lifted it. Harry held his breath. Blood roared thick in his ears. His entire being was submitted to those eternal seconds. Waiting.

Draco then turned to him the moment the front half of the Veil fell behind his head. Time stopped. Eternity rested itself in their patch of gravel. Harry beheld the boy with something between equanimity and hysterical terror. Terror at the magnificence and how unprepared he'd been to see. The soft glow of the fireflies shone full on his face like a whisper of heaven, and his features were those of an angel. With his straight, pointed nose, his rose-colored curved lips, and the natural severity of his jaw, Harry thought he was handsome—only adding character to the beauty naturally there. Colorless were his face and hair, but the charm lay entirely in Draco's eyes, which Harry declared to be terrestrial silver stars that only divinity could produce. Harry could not feel anything so certainly as awe and attraction rather against his will. Every fiber of his being trembled wildly. How could something so beautiful wield the ability of doom and destruction? His face was not at all the match for his malicious power; he ought to have been without innocence, but he sat before him an angel. 

"You're not afraid to look me in the eye," Draco whispered, a small smile appearing. "A brave sort you are; a true hero you've presented yourself."

"I could look into your eyes with every minute that I have if I could. On the contrary, I may go mad without it." 

A lovely blush colored the pallid face of Draco as he looked away toward the pond. "Should I be struck at how skillfully you flatter me?"

"No. Draco, if you'd rid yourself of the Veil the entire school would fall in love with you. Do you really think so low of yourself?"

"Perhaps I'd thought myself plain."

"Plain? You? Don't make me laugh," Harry gasped. "You're an angel, and your eyes are stars."

Draco's smile only widened, and his personal loveliness only increased. "Well, then let me tell you that I think you are very handsome. Even if your hair is unruly and most inappropriate for dinner."

Harry laughed and still could not pull his eyes away from the latter, almost in a trance from the shock of it all. "I brought something so pure into the forbidden forest. Let's go, and let me hold your hand. Not because I adore you, but because I don't want you to fall. If you've gotten a scratch on your face, I will be punished by some force larger than us."

"Your dramatics amuse me," Draco laughed. His face darkened suddenly, and he stared at the Veil resting on the gravel beside him. The look of sadness pained Harry, and he could not bear to see the mist that came over the latter's eyes. "Harry, how I wish to be free. I wish to suffer the consequences of my own behavior. I want to scrape my knees on the ground and argue with my peers. I do not want their madness to be on my mind; do you understand? I wish I'd been rid of my power, for it's depleted my sense of self, and come of it is a shell in my form."

"Then I'll help you."

Draco looked up at Harry with eyes full of doubtful hope. 

"You've got to practice controlling it, and you can't hurt me. Let me help you, Draco. Please?"

Draco nodded and smiled, and at the sight, Harry marveled. "If there is absolutely anything I can do for you, name it and whistle for me; I will be there for you just as you are for me." 

—

Harry arrived back in the Gryffindor common room rather late, but not an ounce of exhaustion had reached him. After he'd dropped off Malfoy at the infirmary, he'd been almost in a trance. The three assignment passes seemed so stupidly insignificant now, for the reward was to see a cherub and to consolidate his favor. Their fateful night had proved successful, and on the high of triumph, Harry walked almost mindlessly. 

"Harry," Hermione stood from one of the sofas. She'd worn a look of expecation; perhaps she'd been there all night, much too impatient to hear if he'd been successful. "Well?"

"I've seen him."

"Have you really? What was he like?"

"He's an angel; he's the physical incarnation of heaven."