The Veiled Boy

Somewhere behind a particular bookcase in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom is a collection of dark artifacts. The room was hardly occupied and was built solely for the purpose of the occasional inquiry by professors for research. Professor Snape and Professor Lupin were its most common visitors, and today, accompanied by the two professors and the headmaster, Harry discovered it for the first time. It was grim, uninviting, and unnaturally cold without a sliver of natural light. Harry shuddered as they moved further in and watched Snape close the door behind them with unease. Candles were lit, and the artifacts emerged from the shadows in their respective glass cases, which were lined up against the walls with a small, walnut table situated in the center. They were surrounded; they were being watched.

Inside the cases were all sorts of artifacts: a shriveled head on a pike, silver chalices, ornate pieces of 18th-century jewelry. Harry wondered what prompted their imprisonment and marveled at how harmless some of the items seemed. Snape moved swiftly toward a bureau, where he lifted a small inkwell and placed it at the center table. 

"Ink made with the blood of a unicorn," said Snape as he lifted the small vial for all to see. Dumbledore reached into his robes and produced a quill and a piece of parchment, setting it down before them on the table. Snape handed the headmaster the ink, and using it, Dumbledore began to write. 

The ink was wholly invisible upon touching the parchment. Harry, thoroughly confused, looked to either of the professors in a fruitless attempt at answers. But none spoke until Dumbledore was done writing; what it was he wrote, nobody could tell.  

"What did you write?" Harry asked. 

"I wrote to Draco Malfoy," replied he. "I wrote: Meet me in the library on Tuesday in the library at seven fifteen." Dumbledore set down the quill and folded the seemingly blank letter. "You see, if I am correct, the boy will see it written as if we'd borrowed any normal inkwell."

"He will see it," said Snape with certainty. 

"Yes, I dare say he will. But I'd like to be sure."

"But why?" asked Harry, blushing at his own incompetence. "I know he can use dark magic, but why do you think he would be able to see it? I'm sorry, I just don't know how it works, anyway."

"This ink, my boy, was created to smuggle letters and write illegal documents. Obtained by the slaying of the most innocent of creatures, it is both a poison and a tool. You see, unicorn blood stained with the blood of its user creates this invisible ink, and if it is consumed, the soul is extracted and the remnants are used to form the color. So, if someone wanted to read a secret document written with this poison, one would need to poison another and use their soul to produce the black color."

"And you want Draco to poison someone?"

"He won't need to," said Snape assuringly. "Dark rituals are done by ordinary wizards, but some are born with the ability to witness curses by default. Draco is one of them."  

"Precisely. If our dear friend is in the library on Tuesday at seven fifteen, then we can be certain of his ability for our own use. It is not dangerous, Harry. Don't worry, I see how pale you've become," Dumbledore offered him a good-natured smile.  

"I said I'd help him control his abilities; I feel odd about testing him without his knowledge," said Harry. 

 "Believe me, Potter, every fiber of my being resents the very idea," whispered Snape. "But the headmaster needs proof; my word is not enough for him." Snape gave an irritable look toward the headmaster. 

"I'll have Madam Pince report directly to me," said Remus quietly with an undertone of chagrin. "I believe you, Severus. I will receive word of Malfoy being there."

"Well, that is all, Harry. Meet me in my office in two days time; we will get our answer then," said Dumbledore. The headmaster left the room with great haste; it was almost as if he'd been afraid to stay too long. Snape left soon after, muttering angrily to himself. 

Harry was sitting in Dumbledore's office when Remus came in with the report. The results were in Dumbledore's favor; Pince had seen Draco come at seven in the evening, who, upon being asked, was indeed waiting for a friend. The headmaster rejoiced and clapped his hands together at his own success while Harry watched begrudgingly from the ottoman.  

"My boy, why do you frown like you do? I've found you a boy who will help you bring down that wretched Tom Riddle, and you look upon me with immense distaste," said the old man, still smiling triumphantly. 

"How long did he wait, then, Remus?" Harry ignored Dumbledore completely. "Not long, I hope."

"Pince did not say how long."

Harry's face was now more explicit in its expression of heightened agitation.

"You're celebrating too much, headmaster. We are not dealing with another dark artifact that one can just lock away until it can be of use; we are dealing with a human being. Let's not celebrate someone's usefulness." 

Dumbledore's visage, for a brief moment, flashed with indignation but continued in its stupidly calm manner. "I celebrate our progress, Harry. I celebrate our step closer to holding onto a paradise for wizards and witches. Do you believe it weighs not an ounce on my old shoulders to use Malfoy like we do?"  

"I don't think it does, no."

Dumbledore's face twitched again. "Then you've mistaken my character. I wish paradise for Malfoy too."

"I know you do. But if it should happen that we have to sacrifice a life to get to this paradise, you'd slit his throat before your own."

"Harry," Remus whispered, giving him a look of caution. "Come."

"No, no," the headmaster said, waving a hand and shaking his head. "Harry has every right to be upset now. After all, he's just learned that his friend waited in hopeful anticipation for him, and it was premeditated circumstances that kept him from attending to his duties as a friend." 

"Yes," Harry agreed. "So, if you truly understand. You'll let me tell him what I've done, won't you? You'll let me tell him that I'd been selfishly testing him."

Dumbledore tensed and turned to Harry with wide eyes. "But let it be all you say, Harry! Do not tell him of our efforts; it'll get you killed!"

"I won't; I will say that I'd broken into Remus' artifact closet and wanted to see if Draco could perform the ritual out of curiosity." 

Dumbledore let out a tremulous sigh and nodded his weary head. "Fine. If it eases your mind, then you ought to do so. But you mustn't allude to anything more, do you understand?"

 "I understand." With that, Harry stood and left the headmaster's office without another word. 

"Wait," Remus called after him and caught up to him in the corridor. "You must understand the fragility of our circumstances, Harry. Don't you think that telling Malfoy of this test would break the trust you've finally established?"

"Then I will earn it back," said Harry, stopping. "Remus, I thought you'd know better than to side with Dumbledore on this matter. When I accepted this task, it sounded like the best-case scenario, but these assignments are gradually becoming more selfish. There is a better way to earn his trust and become acquainted with his abilities, don't you think? Draco may be childishly naive, but he will soon sense the false qualities of my friendship if we carry on following Dumbledore. Look, I want this as much as he does; trust me, but not in this way."

Remus was listening carefully, nodding the entirety of the time and finally producing a heavy sigh once Harry had finished. "You're right," he said finally. "Dumbledore is much too strategic in his approach. I find we should leave much of it up to you. I apologize if we've been suffocating you with requisitions, but let me answer for myself when I say my consistent inquiries are more out of concern for you than anything else. I want you to be safe, Harry."

"I know, and Snape wants Draco's safety more than anything. I think Dumbledore is far too focused on the goal that he's starting to dehumanize us."

Remus glanced over his shoulder at potential eavesdroppers. "I agree," he said in a low voice. "His heart is in the right place, but his methods are questionable. Would it make you feel better if I'd kept my eye on him, Harry?"

"Yeah, it would."

"Then let it be so," Remus gave Harry a strong-willed smile. "Goodnight, Harry. I hope you can make it right between yourself and Malfoy."

The next morning, Harry joined his friends in the Great Hall for breakfast, and after having spent nearly the entire day yesterday with Dumbledore, both Ron and Hermione were eager to speak with him.  

"Tell Harry what you told me," Ron urged Hermione with a gentle jab of his elbow. 

"Tell me what?"

"Hermione followed Malfoy into the library to help with Dumbledore's little test," said Ron. "And get this—" 

"Will you let me tell him, or do you plan to say it all for me?" Hermione hissed. Ron blushed and pressed his palms to his mouth as a physical vow of his silence. "Well, I'm sure you know by now the test proved in your favor. Malfoy pulled out the blank note and seemed to be reading it over and over again, but when I'd snuck behind him, it was nothing but a blank parchment."

"And that's not even the best part; Hermione says Malfoy waited for you until the library closed," Ron snorted. "And even better, he was so desperate for your company he'd asked about you to Hermione."

"Two hours, then?" Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I feel terrible now. He must've thought I was playing some trick on him."

"Well, I did tell him you were occupied by Dumbledore, so he must think you were called elsewhere and merely forgot to call off your meeting. I'm sure there's no hard feelings, Harry," said Hermione, giving Harry a reassuring smile. 

Ron shrugged. "I don't know, that Veiled boy thinks too much. I bet you a good galleon that he's convinced of the truth, and now he's going to send some wicked curse on us all." 

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes. "He didn't seem at all bitter about it when I'd spoke to him; it was a tense conversation, of course, but he was almost desperate for some sort of answer about your whereabouts, Harry."

Harry heaved a sigh. "Well, I'm going to tell him I was testing him. I think I owe him that."

"You don't owe him anything," Ron scoffed, narrowing his eyes at the vacant seat at the Slytherin table. "If you heard the details of Hermione's conversation with him, you'd play this trick ten times over."

"Don't be silly," Hermione's face flushed pink; she placed a gentle hand on Ron's tensing shoulders. "You should've heard how inorganic the words sounded from his mouth. It was like he was going off a script, and because I didn't play along, he panicked and slipped up." 

"Slipped up?" 

"You know, stuttered a bit," Hermione blurted, still blushing. "That's all." 

Ron eyed her carefully but didn't say much. Harry could sense his friends' had some further discussion of the matter prior to his arrival, but he wasn't too keen on prying on an exchange he could hardly care for.  

"But do not concern yourself with it too much," Hermione continued. "I can tell he's wholly devoted to you; I am optimistic about our efforts. Are you, Harry?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good," said Hermione with resolution. "I have another suggestion for you—that is, if you're willing. Someday you ought to invite him to spend time with us; it'll do him good to be near those he considers lower-class citizens. I mean, how would we possibly reverse his ideology if he never speaks with us?"

Harry nodded and considered her suggestion while Ron was shaking his head furiously. "I think that's a good idea. Maybe our next trip to Hogsmeade?"

"Perfect," said Hermione. "In the meantime, I will train Ron to act normal for once." 

"Me? Normal? I'm the only one acting normal!" Ron protested, his face red with indignation. 

Hermione and Ron continued to bicker, but Harry's attention was entirely concentrated on how he would clear the air between Draco and himself. If he did not do it today, he was sure it'd take over him completely until it was done.

Draco wasn't at all difficult to find; if anything, it seemed as if he was looking for him too. They found themselves in the courtyard and without much of an audience when they'd finally met. 

"Come, I need to tell you something," said Harry and grabbed the latter's wrist, pulling him down the pebbled path toward the quiet part of the grounds. 

"Awfully rude of you, Harry. I'd greeted you politely, and now you're dragging me someplace against my will," Draco said, half-laughing. 

They moved into a run-down garden that had not been tended to in years. Ivy was strewn along the gray stone walls; a small fountain at the center, carpeted with moss, held more leaves than it did water. Stone statues with hands outstretched toward visitors and toward heaven surrounded them and looked upon them with superb artistry. But Harry knew that beneath the Veil was a visage more heavenly than theirs. Draco, who was in a lofty mood, was seemingly pleased with the location. He strolled along, lifting vines to study their growth and brushing his pale fingers against the rough stone walls. It was like watching a lone angel wandering an abandoned garden of Eden. 

"What was so dire that you felt it necessary to separate me from the crowd?" Draco asked with his back turned to Harry. 

"The library. I sent you a letter to meet me in the library, didn't I?"

"Indeed. You've wasted my time," said Draco. "A good fifteen minutes I've waited in vain; if you were occupied elsewhere then I am not too upset about it."  

"I have to tell you," said Harry and gently took Draco's arm, pulling him close. "I was interested to what extent you could manipulate dark magic. So, I put you to the test. That letter was written in cursed ink and—"

"You tested me without my knowledge? I am excessively disappointed in you, Harry! Testing someone like you do is a psychological prerequisite to condescension. Do you hold me in such low regard, Harry?" Draco tried to pull his arm out of Harry's hand, but the latter's grip only tightened.  

"No, no! How could you say that, Draco? You know I think the world of you. Look, I'd broken into Lupin's dark artifact closet—"

"That's much too dangerous."

"—and retrieved a special ink made out of unicorn blood. Did you know it is invisible to everyone unless some odd ritual is performed on it? So, with the ink, I wrote: Meet me in the library on Tuesday at seven in the evening. Right? Did you know to perform the ritual?" Harry blurted, his face burning with shame and guilt, but he'd used every ounce of strength he had to maintain a visage of forced curiosity. 

Draco stole his arm from Harry's grip. "What are you doing, Harry? Do you rejoice in my suffering? Whatever jest you've conjured up, know that I am not laughing," said Draco, his voice trembling. Harry panicked. 

"What are you talking about? I'm not poking fun at you at all. I was just curious." Harry whispered. "Lift your Veil, Draco." 

As Draco was turning away, Harry grabbed the hems of the Veil and threw it behind his head. Draco seemed almost ashamed of his tears; his face burned red with great humiliation. To see a face so lovely shed tears at his expense, one feels almost irredeemably malicious, and the guilt Harry felt was entirely his own. 

"I'm sorry," whispered Harry, placing a firm hand on the side of Draco's face and drying his tears with his thumb.  

"I didn't perform any ritual. On the contrary, it was the first thing I'd seen, and I waited for you in the library, but my efforts were fruitless; you'd been performing a dreadful test." Draco shut his eyes; tears formed droplets on his long eyelashes. "I performed no ritual; I'd seen the ink as it was. Don't you know how it is to be so unwillingly tied to dark magic? Cowardly as I am myself, I cannot rejoice in the power I wield, and you've so gallantly promised to help me. Well, you're doing a terrible job, Harry. You cannot be at my side if you've heightened yourself to a mere spectator and reduced me to a lousy test subject."  

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, his words feeble against the tremendous display of suffering before him. "I won't do it again; I was being stupid. I, too, know what it is like to be born with a terrible fate. Knowing how disturbed you are about your curse, I should have let it be known to you. I'm truly sorry, Draco. That's why I needed to tell you about it. Because I really do cherish our friendship, and it'd be a shame to ruin it over a trifle like this." 

Draco blinked away several more tears and nodded slowly. He remained for a while in the same motionless, melancholy pose. Harry could not stand the silence; he could not stand the visible reluctance of his friend to forgive him. It was not Harry who wronged him, but he'd felt it was entirely his fault anyway. He fought back the urge to tell Draco everything; to tell him to run away, far away, so that he never has to shed another tear again. But Harry couldn't. He knew that if the boy's godfather wouldn't dare, then Harry wouldn't either. 

"Why don't you say something?" asked Harry finally. "An insult will do. Anything, Draco." 

"Well, I just think you're awfully stupid," said Draco finally. "I'd been trying to convince myself that perhaps there'd been some underlying reason for this test, but I cannot seem to believe you to be a scheming sort. So, I've come to the conclusion that you're stupid. And for it, I pity you."

Harry blushed and managed a smile, his heart still aching anyway. "Well, a bit late to say it, don't you think? I'm always copying off of you in potions."

"Yes, that is true, too." Draco held out his hand. "I forgive you, for stupidity cannot be helped."

Harry took his hand, shook it, but did not let go. Instead, he held it in both close to his chest and stepped closer to Draco, who was staring, bewildered. A pink flushed over his pale skin, and his silver eyes lit up with an unearthly excitement.  

"Really, Draco, I'm sorry."

"I've forgiven you," whispered Draco almost breathlessly.  

"You're trembling." Harry studied his hand more closely, which was tremulous in his own. "Are you cold?"

"N-no," Draco stammered, pulling his hand away and holding it close to his chest. "Quite the opposite really; I'm almost feverish." 

"Are you alright?" 

"More than."

Draco's smile lasted only for a moment before it gave way to an odd look Harry could not decipher. Perhaps it was unease, but Draco seemed to shake it out of his head as his smile—this time imitative—returned.  

"Let's head back to the castle," Harry said, understanding somehow that Draco wished to move on. "I think it's going to rain, anyway."

With a nod from the latter, the two made their way slowly—despite the distant rumble of thunder beyond and the heavy clouds forming above—toward the castle.

"Harry," Draco began after a short while of silence. "Are you courting anyone at the moment?"

Harry laughed and looked at his companion. There was nothing joking about his air; he was firm in his question. "No, I'm not. Why? Is your mother wanting you to court someone, and you wanted my advice?"

"It is true that she wants me to marry quickly. After all, I am my father's successor. It is quite normal for those like us to marry young—seventeen, that is. I find it is too heavy a burden."

"Why is it your burden? Doesn't your mother invite only the most beautiful witches for your choosing? I'd say you're luckier than most blokes."

Draco slowed down his walking and heaved a great sigh. "Well, I ask you, Harry, if you wish to be married so young."

Harry shook his head. "No, but that's because I grew up with the idea I'd marry whenever I wanted. Do you want the same?"

"I suppose so," said Draco very quietly. "There's something wrong with me, I perhaps. But I am young, and my mother—though she never says this in regards to me—believes young people are terribly vain. I am vain." 

"I don't think being vain has anything to do with it," Harry said. "Could it be you're just being cautious?"

"Cautious? But I trust my mother to choose a well-bred woman; why must I be cautious?" 

"Because women are more than just their upbringings; they have their own character. A woman with a dowry of a million galleons could have a personality as tasteless as yesterday's dinner."

Draco laughed. "As if I'd marry a woman with a dowry of only a million. But I understand what you mean, Harry. I suppose it would apply to men as well? I could be the wealthiest suitor, but I may have a personality so bland a woman may pay me to quit my pursuit."

"That's not possible." 

"Why not? Shouldn't men have terrible characters the same way women may?"

"No, I meant the latter half of your comment. No woman would ever find you dull, Draco. Anyone would be very lucky to have you." 

Draco was silent for a while, but Harry sensed he was smiling handsomely under his Veil, and the very thought of it lightened Harry's own mood. 

A crash of thunder, acting like a cue, marked the moment of torrential downpour. Laughing, Harry took Draco's hand—the boy was notoriously terrible at walking on uneven ground; Harry did not want him to slip—and moved toward the castle, whose turrets seemed to pierce heavy clouds above. 

Arriving in the otherwise emptied halls drenched with rain, the two laughed wildly at their own expense. 

"We shouldn't have walked so slowly," said Draco in between laughs. "I must get changed; my shoes are muddied, and I've begun to feel a chill about me." 

"I swear, Draco, if you get sick from a little rain then—"

"That was not a little rain!"

"Draco." Came a stern voice from behind the two. Harry recognized the sound almost immediately and turned to find Lucius Malfoy standing beside his wife before them. The silence that followed sent his nerves into hysterics, or perhaps it was the way Mr. Malfoy looked at Harry with suppressed antipathy. 

"I urge you to let go of that half-blood's hand, Draco." Mrs. Malfoy's voice, soft as a caress, came from behind her Veil. "Goodness, what shall I make of this?"

"Nothing, mother," Draco blurted, his hands outstretched before him. "You see, we'd been on a walk, and it'd started to rain. Afraid that I may slip, Harry took my hand and led me quickly up a more stable path. Isn't that right, Harry?"

The two Malfoy's turned their heads to him mechanically. "It's true," Harry managed. "There are a lot of rocks on the hill." 

"And mud," added Draco. 

"Yeah, and mud."  

Lucius's upper lip twitched with vexation, but when he turned to his son, his face softened considerably. "I believe your mother mentioned to you our imminent visitation." 

"Yes, indeed."

"Well, we've come to meet with you for the afternoon. I pray you are not occupied."

"No, father."

"Narcissa, dear, call for Miss Clarke. Our poor son has been exposed to disagreeable weather and is in need of a warm bath. Merlin forbid he falls ill again."

Narcissa took Draco by the hands, kissed them, and pulled him down the corridor while other students—scarce in number on a Saturday—moved quickly out of their way, but not far enough, for their curiosity outweighed their fear. 

Lucius stood tall in front of Harry, still wearing the expression of sheer contempt. "Potter, this friendship is against your better judgment. Any respectable wizard would cease to fraternize with the opponent." This was spoken in almost a whisper. 

"He is not my opponent," said Harry.

"I sense you are not being entirely forthcoming. Now, if my observations of your character are true, I hope you quit your ambitions and leave my son alone. As a friend, you may have him, but as a tool, yours he shall never be. Understand, Potter, the wall that separates you from utter destruction is in the shape of my son. I shall not lay a hand on you, for a pool of your blood is not worth a single tear of my son's. But know this: You may deceive my son—bless his naivety—but I know your intentions, and if I sense you wish to endanger him, then I will make it look like an accident."

Harry's blood beat thick in his skull. "Has it ever occurred to you that I want his safety just as you do?" 

"No, not as I do," Lucius sneered. "Not nearly as much as I do." 

With one final narrow of the eyes, the man turned and walked swiftly in the direction of his wife and child, his black cloak billowing out behind him.