The Veiled Boy

Our dearest son, 

Miss Wiggum has informed me that your condition has improved greatly, and you’ve been dismissed from the infirmary all together. How glad your father and I were to hear of it; I cannot think of a better way to begin the spring. I’d been beside myself every day since Yule because you were not fully recovered; forgive your faulted parents for sending you away while you still ailed tremendously. Your father and I shall visit you at school soon so that I may kiss your little hands and dry my happy tears on your soft hair. 

To avoid further distress on your part, I had not at all mentioned your marriage to Miss Parkinson. But let me speak of it now that I am sure of your good health. It is to my understanding that you did not wish for it; that such a marriage would only cause you great unhappiness. What about her character that prompts such aversion I do not know, but I am willing to send condolences to her family and contact others if you absolutely detest the idea. My dear son, you will worry for nothing, for everything you are troubled by will be resolved effortlessly by your father and me. All you must do is love your parents as you do and continue your education at Hogwarts—I hear your efforts are highly esteemed by your professors. How I should rejoice that my son holds both intelligence and a sweetness of character!

As of now, the manor hosts a guest, but let me inform you on the matter more sufficiently before you return for the summer. Alas, I shall remind you once again how loved you are! How terribly your parents miss you and crave the song of your voice! Should you wish for anything at all, write to either of your parents, and we will be your slaves. 

With love,
Your dearest mother 

“She wished for you to have it immediately. An owl might’ve taken an hour or two. But I’d just returned from the manor,” said Severus, sitting down at Draco’s private dinner table. 

“Of the guest, I am most curious, but the news having followed that of the marriage, I suppose it is another family whose daughter she wishes me to court,” Draco said, sighing woefully. “If I could remain free for the entirety of my youth, I’d like it very much.”

Severus gave a start, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise. “You know it is your family’s way to marry you young. And to produce an heir is deemed the most esteemed accomplishment one could ever achieve. Do you not think so?”

Draco’s heart gave way to panic, and he’d felt the weight of expectation on his shoulders. The confrontation startled him, for not an ounce of disloyalty was meant by his words. If Severus was to question if his own thoughts were the same as his parents’, it proved his words were thoroughly incorrect. 

Severus must’ve sensed the weight of his words, for he’d forsaken his slight shock and smiled instead. “Your father was the very same,” he said. “That is, until he was presented with a portrait of your mother. Never before had he seen a woman so beautiful, and he was determined to have her. A portrait of that nature shall come to you one day, and you will be willing to throw away all your ideas of youthful resistance,” said Severus, giving him a comforting smile. “But I’ll have you know that even if you decide against marriage even then, your parents and I will adore you all the same.”

Draco nodded slowly, his heart still churning with the previous panic, but he’d calmed considerably upon hearing Severus’s reassurances. Never had he considered a woman beautiful in that way, so naturally, he’d assumed nothing of the sort would happen to him—submitting himself to a mere portrait of a woman. Of course, he deemed his mother the most loveliest woman, and some of the girls at Hogwarts were agreeable in looks. But his feelings toward them were not at all strong enough to be taken as attraction. There’d be nothing so striking as handsomeness in men; the severity of their features only increases its impact. Feminity is much too subtle, Draco supposed, to find exceptionally attractive. In men, their rugged jaws, broad shoulders, and geometric figures often overpowered their female counterparts. Draco wondered if his own father felt the very same. 

“What are you thinking of?” Severus asked calmly, setting his chalice down on the table before them. 

“Men, I think,” said Draco. “Do not misread my words, but it is most difficult for me to scour the female populace for a lovely woman when the handsomeness of men overpower it entirely.”

Severus paled, and Draco knew his statement needed explanation. He quickly pushed away his dinner plate as if its being there in front of him was the cause for the miscommunication. 

“Undoubtedly, men are bolder than women. They are strong, willful, and dominat. So consequently, they overpower the women in both handsomeness and attitude. It is only nature, I suppose, for one’s eyes to be drawn to the larger, bulkier being. Perhaps we’ve an innate fear of being overpowered, so our attention is turned to these men consistently rather than toward the fairer sex,” Draco explained. Severus’s visage calmed, but he’d still been wearing the odd expression from before, and it set Draco’s nerves at unease. “You do not understand.”

“I do,” said he, but his tone suggested otherwise. It was almost as if he’d said it just to avoid further explanation from Draco. “But I am curious to see how you’ve come to that conclusion. I don’t suppose you’re proving yourself a philosopher at fifteen.”

Draco laughed nervously. “How else shall I come to such a conclusion if I do not make my own observation? Everything I’ve just uttered is the result of my own experience.”

“So you find yourself distracted by the handsomeness of men. Do you deem women handsome?”

“Some, I suppose. But in no way is it the same handsomeness possessed by our own sex; it must be the reason why men are not encouraged to partake in the application of cosmetics. They already outshine the women in their attractiveness! I dare say nobody would ever be attracted to another female again if men took the same caution in their appearance. My own dear friend Harry Potter, for example. You know of his unruly appearance. It is the very same for a lot of men. They don’t brush their hair or pay much attention to fashion. But despite it all, Harry is remarkably attractive. Could you imagine if he’d put effort into his looks? I’d never take my eyes off of him. Even with his disorder I find him so pleasant to behold, but it is only natural that I feel that way for the aforementioned reasons. Let me ease your mind; I do not think women are ugly or distasteful. My own mother is marvelous; she is an angel on earth, and she naturally shines despite her age. But I share the same sentiment towards women in general. If they are lovely like her, then I might adore them like I do my mother. If I am to marry, to which I am opposed at the moment, I suppose she will have to be immensely breathtaking to distract me from the innate beauty of man.” 

“Then she must share the features of man.”

Draco laughed, feeling his face heat up at Severus’s comment. “Goodness, Severus! If I were not pure, then you’d be accusing me of a wretched crime.”

“What crime?”

“Homosexuality.”

“Ah,” Severus gulped and glanced down at the table. “And you cannot be one because...”

“Because I am pure-blood. You see, it is a defect in only mudbloods, half-bloods, and blood traitors so they cannot reproduce. Have you not read the Book recently, Severus? You are still young, I dare say; I don’t suppose your mind is already forsaking you.”

“No, I just needed to be reminded.”

“I see,” Draco muttered. “But I am most glad to get it off my chest. Why must you look so solemn? You’ve brought it up, you know, homosexuality. We dare not utter the word at the manor, and you’ve tormented yourself with it so naturally.”

“It’s common now, you know. It’s become rather accepted among the rest.”

Draco’s heart ached for a moment, probably the result of being confronted with the savagery of the other world. “Vermin the lot of them,” whispered Draco. “I suppose it is a good thing then,” said he. “If muddied men married their own, then they could not produce more pests. It is how it ought to be, Severus.”

“Professor Lupin,” Severus began, forcing a smile. “Professor Lupin resides with a man.”

“And he’s a mutt,” said Draco. “The moment he was bit, he was diseased with homosexuality too. Merlin forbid he ever reproduce anyway.”

“You mustn’t speak that way.” Severus’s tone was so severe that Draco jumped at the confrontation. 

Draco placed his hands into his lap, quite unsure why Severus could be so vexed with him; it pained him to be at fault, and for seemingly no reason too. “Have I said something wrong, Severus?”

“Yes,” his godfather answered quietly. “Professor Lupin was not willingly bit; it was a tragic accident, and he was quite helpless. The very same way you’d been when Podgers went mad.” Severus noticed the tears in Draco’s eyes and stopped his stream of castigation. “I’m sorry,” said Severus quietly. “There is plenty I wish to say to you, Draco, but I cannot.”

“You’re agitated, Severus. It was my sentiments that I’d expressed earlier, I am sure, about my aversion toward marriage.”

“Not at all. There’s nothing I could wish for more than your happiness, Draco. If you wanted me to throw myself into Mount Vesuvius for a laugh, I’d do it.”

Draco smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Severus. I’d never allow it.”

“Yes, I know. I just wanted you to know that anything you do, I will approve. Even if you’d removed the Veil and threw yourself into the arms of a man, I’d love you the very same.”

Draco recoiled and narrowed his eyes at his godfather. “Well, that’s even more ridiculous than your first thought. It is possible to fall into Vesuvius, but the latter is wholly impossible, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Severus’s eyes saddened for a moment, but he smiled and took Draco’s hands and squeezed them tightly. There was a look of knowing in his eyes and a mist that Draco found ever so revolting. Something lingered there between them—some otherworldly, unspoken truth that felt profound in its secrecy but dreadful in its existence.

“You must tell me everything, for it is in me you can confide in. If there is a word you cannot utter before your parents, I shall be the one to receive it, and the Veiled will never know. I am most loyal to you above all. Before your parents, even before the Dark Lord, it is to you where my loyalty lies,” said Severus seriously. 

“You’ve adopted such a grave tone that I admit I’ve become quite nervous. Why do you speak to me as if the next hour is our very last?” 

“My apologies; I see I’ve worried you; it was not my intention. But remember what I’ve said to you and hold it in high regard, because it is truer than anything you will ever hear. There is not a whisper of a lie in it.”

“Loyal to me before the Dark Lord? I am very flattered, but you mustn’t say it loud, Severus. I’ve heard He is most cruel to opponents, and his opponent I wish not to become.”

“Of course.” 

Draco smiled at his godfather and kissed his hands. “It is a shame you did not marry and have a child of your own. A child of yours would want for nothing!”

“Nonsense. I love you as if you were my own.”

Draco kissed his hands once more and stood. “And I to you. Permit me to be excused, Severus; I’ve received a letter from my Harry that I need to meet him in the library.”

“Your Harry?”

Draco blushed and immediately pulled the Veil down to conceal his evident embarrassment. “My friend, Harry. Don’t smile like that, Severus!”

His godfather nodded, still smiling anyway. “Off you go, then.”

With much attitude, Draco turned and left their private dining room with great haste. That smile was terribly annoying! It was the very same sort that would appear when Draco lied blatantly to his parents, and they hadn’t the nerve to confront him about it. Severus often stood in the background of these elaborate scenes of deception and smiled just like that. It was as if he meant to say, I know what you’re doing, but let me observe cautiously so you may cower at my knowing. There was nothing to know about his mistake anyway! My Harry! So what, thought Draco, his white hands balled tightly at his sides as he made for the library. So what I’ve referred to Harry as mine. Is he not a friend of mine? To be in my company? Severus is much too lonely, so he resorts to odd ideas! And what sort of ideas should they be? Draco wondered and slowed down considerably. Pah! I haven’t a second to dwell on the thoughts of a private audience!

Draco arrived in the library at precisely seven—he was fifteen minutes early, for punctuality was a matter he’d held in high regard—and was silently disappointed to see their designated table deserted. It wouldn’t be at all in character for Harry to arrive early. Draco took his seat and anxiously watched the doorway with growing anticipation. Fifteen minutes passed, and Harry was still yet to arrive. Being on time wasn’t at all in character, either, so perhaps in five to ten minutes Draco would be able to reprimand his tardiness. 

Five minutes passed, then ten, then thirty. Still no Harry. Beginning to question his memory, Draco pulled out the letter he’d received from his pocket. There was written in thick, black ink:

Tuesday in the library at seven fifteen. 

After two hours of painful disappointment, the librarian approached the lonesome boy and tapped her pocket watch to communicate that his curfew was nearing and that he ought to start for his dormitory. 

“I’m waiting for a friend,” said he, blushing, for he was conscious of how pathetic he must seem. 

“Sorry, dear, I close the library at nine exact. I doubt your friend will show up so soon before closing. Go to bed; maybe they forgot,” she said, giving him a sympathetic smile.

Draco stood and angrily snatched the letter from the table. “That wretch! I suppose he thinks I am wealthy enough to buy minutes!”

The librarian shrugged. “Could it be he forgot?” 

“That couldn’t possibly satisfy my rage; if I were of any significance, then he wouldn’t have forgotten,” said Draco. “Well, goodnight, madam. If he does make an appearance, would you be so kind as to tell him that I did not wait as long as I did?”

“I will say you left thirty minutes after arriving.”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Sure.”

Draco nodded and bowed towards her. “Much obliged!” 

He read the letter repeatedly on the way back, utterly disappointed. Just like his company, the halls of Hogwarts were deserted and barren. Draco was suddenly struck by a presentiment that he’d not felt in a while—that Harry had merely wished to make a fool out of Draco. Their rendezvous had been nothing but an effort to conjure up his trust just to disappoint him later on. But Draco didn’t deserve such a thing, did he? Everyone’s hate for him stemmed merely out of superstition and insecurity. Was it Draco’s fault they were of dirty blood? Bitter they are to those they envy. Who is not better to target than Draco, whose blood is purest and his breeding is so fine? Harry perhaps works on their behalf, promising them they could see Draco in shame so great in ways that could baffle societal comprehension. 

The next morning, Draco was determined to reprimand Harry and force him to apologize, but he could not find him anywhere. After scouring the halls for nearly an hour, he’d been marked by an inordinate desire to seize any student and force them to help him. There was one girl Draco knew who he’d exchanged a word with before—a girl who’d befriended Harry long before he. Hermione Granger. Wasn’t that her name? It hardly mattered; he didn’t believe vermin deserved names anyway.

He found her walking out of the library with two large books close to her chest and immediately stopped her in her tracks. Her brown eyes widened upon seeing him. “Malfoy,” she breathed. Their proximity called for the little silver serpent on his wrist to hiss and writhe angrily. A mudblood is near, it warned him. 

“I acknowledge humbly that I am doing you an immense honor by offering you a sense of purpose in your life,” he told her, straightening his posture so that he could tower over her and display physically their hierarchy.

“And what is this sense of purpose in my life?”

“To assist me.”

“And you believe this is a great honor? Why? Because you supposedly rank higher than me?”

“In short, yes.”

The mudblood’s eyes flashed with indignation. “Listen, I can help you with whatever you need if you learn to ask respectfully.”

“I have,” Draco scoffed. “I’ve told you what you may earn, and yet you’ve taken it upon yourself to self-designate status you simply do not have.” 

Granger rolled her eyes. “I haven’t designated myself any status, Malfoy. I’m just asking for your respect.”

“What a scene! A mudblood asks me for respect? I haven’t a drop of blood to spare, you pitiful creature! I’ve decided I could be without your assistance; I do hope you’ve committed yourself to those two books you’ve picked up, for your Euclidean mind needs to learn its place.” Draco turned on his heel and made for the hall. 

“My mind is far from Euclidean, as you so rudely put it!” she shouted after him. “I know you’re looking for your dear Harry!”

Draco stopped in his tracks and felt a deep blush color himself scarlet. 

“And since you’ve acted so rudely, I will not tell you where he is or what he’s been up to. I am a witch whether you like it or not, and my use of magic should put me on par with yourself. If you can’t treat me as I deserve, then I’ll make sure you are stood up at the library ten times more.”

Draco whirled around to face her, and what a visage she wore! Her eyes narrowed with animosity, but a look of triumph overcame her previous expression of offense. Draco felt small in her presence, and he wanted to curse her for it. “How do you know I was stood up?”

“I am Harry’s best friend. Shouldn’t I know what he’s up to?”

“Then you ought to let me know, for I am also his friend.” Draco clasped his hands together and stepped toward her. The serpent hissed loudly. “You will tell me!”

“Apologize to me for calling me a mudblood. Or else I will walk away,” she said. 

“Apologize to you?” Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I’ve forgotten that I am forbidden from using the term. But, alas, you do not deserve my submission, and if you thought for a moment you did, then you’re as trivial as you are ill-judged.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” Granger asked. There wasn’t a hint of anger in her voice, as there was genuine curiosity. She’d been studying him with a look of great interest—the very same way his mind healer would after a fit of his. “Haven’t you noticed that I am willingly speaking to you? I haven’t run away or called you names. We share a mutual friend, but you’re so determined to be rude anyway.”

“Me? Rude? Was it not you that demanded respect and my apologies? You’ve certainly no right to demand it; thus, it is not wrong for me to reprimand you, and rightfully so. If you'd been as you ought to, you’d have told me everything about Harry. Do you understand to what degree you have disgraced me? How offensive your acts of savage mutiny are?”

“Savage mutiny? I just wanted to be treated with manners.”

“And if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions, then you are wasting my time. I shall find out by other means.”

“Wait!” She stepped toward after a short while. “Harry finds himself occupied by Dumbledore. I think he’s attending private lessons or something.”

“Oh,” Draco said—he was evidently surprised at her fix—and straightened the Veil on his head. “Thank you.” After he’d said it, he gasped in horror, and clasped his hands onto his Veiled face; the words he’d just uttered shook his entire frame. The weight of it hung in the air, nearly palpable, and he’d he could not take in a breath. Thank you? Such manners were  too inappropriate! Mother would’ve fainted; father would’ve deemed him ill! So naturally did I thank a creature made in the image of waste! 

“Are you alright?”

“Pray not speak of this to another soul,” Draco managed, choking on his panic. “I did not mean to express gratitude to you.”

“I know; it doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean it. Must’ve been a habit, right? I mean, when was the last time you even spoke to a muggleborn? You typically exchange with half-bloods and pure-bloods, so naturally your manners will slip.”

Draco nodded, his hands still clasped over his eyes, for his misery reigned. 

“I won’t say a word, okay?” she said. “I promise.” Then, as if to pain him further, she’d offered him a smile of infinite good nature that worsened the tightness in his chest. How tempting it was to thank her again—to thank her for her troubles and her selflessness! If she were a pureblood, he’d have kissed her hands! But she is not. What a shame, for she would have deserved every earthly blessing. What a waste!

Draco did not answer her; he remained trembling pitifully in the corridor. For a considerable time she remained behind him, watching him closely. Then she left without a word. But their silence was confiding in its nature; he knew she’d keep her word, and his internal gratitude for her brought on dizzying nausea.