The Veiled Boy

There was a promise made to Draco that Harry was determined to keep—that is, to help the former control his malicious power. But when he'd met Draco after his obligations with his parents, he found the boy in an exceptionally irritable mood with seemingly no willingness to recede. Harry watched Draco send dark curses at the dummies lined up before him with great skill and control. There Draco was, insisting that Harry aid him on his journey to better control his abilities, yet ignoring him for the entirety of their session. 

There was one dreadful thought that kept Harry's mind on edge and his lips sealed: perhaps Draco had been punished for their friendship, and therefore Draco had resented Harry for it. That must've been it; if Mrs. Malfoy could hardly stand the thought of her son in the rain, then Harry could only imagine the colorful lecture Draco received when he'd presented himself muddied, drenched, and behaving wildly. 

And Draco's mood was no mere prediction, for his expression was explicit in its display of utter outrage. So, without even a breath, Harry watched in terror as Draco inflicted the worst sort of curses on the helpless props. 

After sending the last dummy up into flames, Draco tossed his wand on a nearby table. Letting out a sigh, he slumped down in the neighboring chair, rolling up his sleeves and dabbing his perspiring forehead. "It must ever be a thrill to see dark curses like those," he began, sending a quick irritated look Harry's way. "Well, at least I assume that is the effect I've had on you. Why else would you be so silent and useless?"

"I think you're upset with me," said Harry quietly, not wanting to further upset his friend. "And seeing you decapitate a dummy with one swish, I wasn't about to start conversation."

"Coward," Draco scoffed. "And I am not upset with you."

"You're not? Are you sure?"

"I've already had the honor of saying no," Draco hissed. "Why would I be upset with you anyway? You haven't done anything to merit my antipathy." 

Harry, slightly reassured, sat down beside Draco, who'd been fussing with his sleeves. "I thought you might've gotten in trouble for being out in the rain with me."

"Hardly," said he. "When we'd parted, I was taken to a dreadful tea party with two other Veiled families. There were two boys my age, stuffed with pastries and littered with crumbs, who were the most insufferable wretches I've ever conversed with."

Harry raised his eyebrow, still unable to understand why a sour conversation could leave residual anger to this degree. He expected Draco to continue, but the last sentence was spoken with such great resolution that he'd felt almost scared to ask for more. But he didn't have to; Draco regained his composure and continued anyway. 

"They talked of their fiancés, of course. And after I'd expressed my distaste for the subject, one of them accused me of homosexuality!" As if reliving the insult he'd suffered, Draco's pale face deepened in color; he picked up his wand and pointed it at a spare dummy, which splintered after an inhuman wail. 

"I reckon it is frowned upon among your lot," said Harry slowly, semi-frozen. 

"Oh, indeed! The implications that come with such an accusation are just as dreadful! Pure-bloods cannot be homosexuals, so he'd also accused me of being dirty and ill-bred." 

"Do you think I am dirty and ill-bred?"

"It is not the matter of whether I think you are. It is a fact that your mother was a muggleborn," Draco shrugged. 

While Harry was hovering amid his great anger at the insult to his mother, he'd quickly noted Draco's reluctance to use "mudblood" when he'd so comfortably said it in front of him not long ago. Harry, who'd swallowed his pride, allowed himself a little triumph at this point. 

"Well, I don't think I'm ill-bred, as you've put it. If I'm so defective, then why do you think I was born immune to great curses?" Harry wondered.

"I'm not sure, Harry. Perhaps there was such a thing embedded somewhere in your father's lineage. Do not dwell on the fact. Know that even if you are not in my caste, I adore you the same," said Draco. 

Harry blushed. "What a shame pure-bloods cannot be homosexuals, then! I'd have kissed you for that," he teased. 

Every feature in Draco's face reflected the shock he'd been confronted with. Harry felt himself laugh and smile at the lovely splendor of emotion Draco showed. He wasn't sure whether the boy was shocked, amused, or both, but regardless, Harry thought his visage to be rather cute. 

"You mustn't joke like that, Harry." Draco scolded, but his expression did not match his faux irritated tone. "You've severely tried my patience; I am leaving at once!"

"Oh, come on, Draco," Harry said, laughing now. "Loosen up, will you? I was trying to make light of the situation! I sensed you were about to laugh yourself."

"Laugh at that? It is not the sort of joke you ought to make." Draco began to pack his wand away and gather his school bag. "No respectable man laughs at the prospect of being kissed by the same sex! But I don't expect you, who severely lacks propriety, to understand the savagery that was your joke."

"You're all talk, Malfoy," said Harry. "Your words alone tell me you're upset with me, but you've removed your Veil, and your expression is that of amused shock rather than offense. There's no need to pretend to be upset."

"I'm not pretending! I really am upset!" Draco blushed, reaching for his Veil. 

Before he could cover his face again, Harry snatched the Veil out of his hands and held it behind his back. Draco was seized with a violent trembling. Determined to conceal his expression of self-effacing vanity—such that only Harry's joke could produce—Draco wrestled with all the strength he could muster to retrieve his Veil. But Harry would give in too easily. It wasn't that Draco did not dare to laugh at his joke—the pain of such a rejection was long gone—but he'd been terrified of Draco's unwavering resolve to conceal himself from Harry once again. That couldn't happen. 

"Give it up, Draco; I'm not giving it back," said Harry as he was backing against the wall, bundling up the cloth in his hand while Draco swatted and slashed at his arms. "Give up!"

"Do not torment me!"

"You're tormenting me! You're going to hide behind the Veil because you actually liked my joke, but you don't want to show it. Merlin, so what if you have a sense of humor?" 

"A sense of humor? Is that what my expression reveals? That I have a sense of humor?" Draco stopped reaching immediately and was paused, standing mere inches away from Harry, allowing him to behold the former in his entirety. 

He observed everything—the way Draco's luminously pale skin flushed at their proximity; his determination to maintain a semblance of strength was short-lived, for it gave way to a discreet sort of shyness. And his alluring gray eyes had met his own, but for a split second, they had turned their attention to Harry's lips. He must be thinking about my stupid joke, Harry thought, trying to justify the tumultuous beating of his heart. 

"Merlin, I forgot what we were arguing about," Harry whispered. 

"You'd said a heartless sort of joke," Draco replied breathlessly. 

"Have I?"

Draco nodded, looking almost fondly at Harry, whose knees shook under those statuesque gray eyes. I cannot still be fearful of his gaze, can I? wondered Harry, who's struggle continued. Why am I trembling with nervousness if I am not afraid? 

"Do you forgive me then if I'd offended you?" Harry asked. 

Draco nodded again. 

"Then you'll agree to join us tonight outside in the courtyard?" Harry blurted. He regretted the invitation immediately and hoped Draco would reject him. Hermione and Ron would not have prepared to accost him just yet. 

"Us? Who will be there?"

"Hermione and Ron. But it's okay if you don't want to come; I'm sorry for asking."

"I'll go," said Draco. Harry gulped, nodding to hide his regret. "It shouldn't matter to me who comes. Why do I have to alter my plans around those sort of people? It is not for me to do."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"I am sure," said Draco, smiling softly. "Because you've invited me. I am willing to follow you quite anywhere."

Harry blushed. "Great. See you tonight in the courtyard at seven."

"Likewise." 

Because spring was still young, the evening wind still stung with winter's afflictive bite. The surrounding trees and bushes were fashioned with sleeping buds, and small animals were creeping in the crevices of the crumbling walls. Even despite the cool air, pale blossoms, hung with natural delicacy along the arcade, bloomed early and graced the yard with its natural perfume. And at half past six, the meager moonlight penetrated through the towering stone columns of the courtyard; in its dark shadow, the three stood hidden away from the prying eyes of spirits and watchmen. 

The time leading up to seven in the evening was wholly restless and was spent devising a plan for every possible scenario—that is, of course, should things go terribly wrong. Ron and Hermione expected this meeting to take place at their next Hogsmeade trip two weeks away. But Harry had impulsively invited Draco, and disaster reared above their heads. 

"What will Hagrid say when we arrive with a Veiled boy with us? You know what they say about half-giants," Ron hissed, spinning on his heel. "You know, I was looking forward to whatever Hagrid had planned."

"Were you? I swear just this morning you'd been complaining about the prospect of going into the forest," said Hermione, who'd been miraculously calm as the time approached. 

Ron rolled his eyes. "My point is that Harry inviting Draco on impulse is a bad thing. I haven't prepared myself to be around a prat. What if I irritate him? Then what? He'll send me to the madhouse, and I'll be afraid of my own shadow."

"You're already afraid of your own shadow," muttered Harry, earning a laugh out of Hermione. "Look, I'm sorry for inviting him. I couldn't help it. You should've seen how he was looking at me."

"Oh, give me a break, Harry!" Ron threw his hands up in frustration. "I'm not liable to invite every person I think attractive to our events!"

"That's because Hermione comes with us anyway," Harry said. Ron turned a bright shade of red, and Hermione did as well, frantically fixing her hair to conceal her smile. "And it's not because I think he's attractive. He's got loneliness in his eyes, and I felt sorry for it all."

"Cry me a river!" Ron exclaimed. 

"Having a friend is one thing, but could you imagine the effect we could have if more than one person befriended him?" Hermione wondered out loud. "Ron, you have to behave yourself. Prove yourself to be a well-rounded man; there are formidable prejudices that need to be dismantled, and we cannot risk these opportunities."

"Well, if you're so determined to befriend him, 'Mione, then you might as well forgive everyone who's ever wronged you!"

"Shush!" Hermione hissed, grabbing hold of Ron's shoulder and shaking him violently. "You get yourself together, Ronald!"

"No, you two get yourselves together! You've both deluded yourself that this is okay! You've lost your sense of morality and humanity for Dumbledore's little task, and now you're allowing a Veiled prat to rule your entire existence! 'But it's for the common cause!' Rubbish! I've been against this from the get-go, but I don't have a say, do I?"

"Then what do you suggest we do, Ron?" Hermione snapped. "If not Malfoy, then who? Who is going to help us safely get to where we need to be? Do you suppose we send Harry into those caverns alone? I don't think so. We need Malfoy whether you like it or not, and I'm not at all in favor of kidnapping him to do our bidding."

Ron rolled his eyes and crossed his arms with mutiny; it seemed as if he wanted to say more but could not find the words at the moment, so he'd resorted to silence and a deathly stare. Hermione's mood had also plummeted, leaving Harry in painful anticipation alone. 

"Harry!"

The three of them turned to find Draco walking toward them with ease, his black Veil gently fluttering in the wind with a richly thick cloak to shield him. With his heart in his throat, Harry stepped forth and put on the best smile he could, praying that Draco could not read the tension. 

"You made it," Harry chuckled nervously, casting a glance at his friends. "Well, these are my friends."

"I understand that," said Draco in a low tone. He'd barely acknowledged Ron and Hermione with a turn of his head. "I suppose these are one of those twists of fate where I find myself before the dishonorable. But if they mean the world to you, Harry, then I may tolerate their being here."

Hermione looked pleased with this and gave Harry a nod of encouragement. "Well, great! Let's go then."

On the way to Hagrid's, the four of them walked in almost perfect symmetry, with one pair in front and the other at the back. Nobody conversed with any other than their partner, and Harry, who'd sensed Ron's wrath, dared not invite him to join his and Draco's conversation. They moved down the winding path, and as the ground gradually grew more uneven, Harry took Draco's hand and helped him across the terrain. 

"Veiled snob," Ron muttered behind them. But Draco did not hear, for he'd been too occupied with the lacewing flies inhabiting the shrubbery bordering their path. Harry sent his friend a warning, looked over his shoulder, and shook his head. Ron merely stuck out his tongue in defiance but never let out another snarky response. 

After an eternity, they'd made it to Hagrid's hut. From inside, Fang snarled and barked ferociously. "Stop that!" Hagrid bellowed, and his heavy footsteps approached the front door. "There ye are! I was afraid you lot wouldn't show."

Upon seeing a Veiled child, Hagrid stumbled back and caught himself on his doorframe. On his large face was a look of horror and confusion, and he'd blinked several times before convincing himself that a Veiled child stood on his doorstep. 

"Who's this?" Hagrid asked feebly. 

"Draco Malfoy," Harry answered. "A friend."

"A friend?" Hagrid finally took his eyes off of Draco and started scouring Harry instead. "Are ye feeling alright, Harry boy?"

"Yes, I am. Trust me, Hagrid." Harry laughed to maintain his casual air, but out of Draco's field of view, he'd given Hagrid a serious nod. "So? What did you need us for?"

Hagrid quickly recovered from his shock, adjusted his coarse, white shirt, and smoothed out his hair. "Well, I had a favor to ask. I thought ye might want to accompany me to the Forbidden Forest to collect pink lacewing flies. Ye see, Fang's got a nasty ulcer, and then flies are a remedy. But..." Hagrid glanced uneasily at Draco. "If ye don't want to, then that's okay too."

"How about it, Draco?" Harry turned to his friend, whose expression he could not read. "Pink lacewing flies?"

"Will it be at all dangerous? Isn't it already bad enough that I am performing a favor for a half-human along with traitors and muggleborns?" Draco said, his tone sorrowful and reluctant. "It would be most improper to follow through, Harry. Pray understand my quotations as merely doing a duty and clearing my conscience, but I'm afraid I cannot go any further than this point." Draco's head hung low, and he'd stepped away from Harry, who'd felt the utter lack of will in Draco's voice. "Good night, Harry." 

"Really? I mean, I was looking forward to spending time with you. We all were, weren't we?"

"I doubt that very much," Draco said, turning to Hermione and Ron, who were wearing looks of surprise. "I don't suppose beings of inferiority enjoy very much to be reminded of the wide gap severed by blood and rank. You understand my resistance, don't you? I have a better understanding than you, Harry. Besides, I am sure they would be glad of my absence, for it is no pleasure to walk along side a Veiled snob." Draco turned to Ron, who flushed with color. "Again, I bid you farewell, Harry." 

With that, the Veiled boy left slowly, peering over his shoulder only once more before disappearing into the shadows. While they'd all been apprehensive about his company, now that Draco had gone, the entire group was overcome with a melancholic silence. Hermione felt the bereft of success deepest, and Ron felt Hermione's faith in him disappear, but it was Harry who felt the loss stronger than the rest. He who'd been so foolishly confident that Draco would readily defy everything to be at his side had faced the reality of the hold prejudice had on Draco. It was almost as if he'd forgotten the sort of rotten beginning Draco had, and maybe he'd been too enamored by his elegance of mind and sweetness of character to really separate the ideology from the man. But it was the reality, and watching Draco walk away to avoid doing Hagrid a favor hurt more than it ought to have. 

"So he's come to his senses then," said Hermione. "I figured it was too good to be true. He'd been so willing to accompany us."

"So are ye coming?" Hagrid asked, clapping his large hands together. "I don't know what ye were thinking bringing a Veiled kid to me house, but I think I know better than to question you kids." With Fang at his side, Hagrid marched toward the forest, beckoning to them.

"Way to go, Ronald," said Hermione bitterly as they made for the forest. "Calling him a snob? A real class act."

"He'd held out his hand for Harry to take, as if he'd expected Harry to guide him down the path by obligation," Ron retorted. "Right, Harry?"

"Actually, I'm usually taking his hand first," said Harry. "Merlin forbid he scrape his knee."

"You wouldn't want to spill a drop of that pure blood, right? I mean, listen to yourself, Harry!"

”Cut it out! That’s not what I meant!”

"Keep ye voices down, kids," warned Hagrid from the front of their line. "All sorts of creatures wander around at this hour."

Harry and Ron glared at each other and continued in hushed tones. "I am doing this as much for his honor as for mine," Harry whispered. "You just don’t understand how important this is to us."

"To us or to you? Because you laud his looks more than you speak of your progress," Ron said. 

“Oh, that’s low—“ 

"I've heard enough of this argument." Hermione interrupted. "I wouldn't have agreed to come along with Malfoy if I believed him to be truly rotten. But he's a victim of brainwashing, and it's clear. Can't you tell by the way he speaks?"

"The way he speaks? Oh, my dear Harry, your friends have been marked by inordinate desire and jealousy of my rank! There is consequently nothing that I would do for them!" Ron mocked Draco's high-class accent and intonation, covering his face with his hood to imitate the Veil. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, realizing that her efforts to convince Ron were fruitless. Harry also had enough, but he wasn't too upset with Ron, for he'd held the same unreasonable bitterness before he'd known Draco's character. 

The four of them—and Fang—moved down the winding walk that led them into the depths of the forest. Cobweb-laden branches hung low, with finger-like twigs tugging at their clothes. It gave them all momentary relief to find a ray of clouded moonlight from an opening in the seemingly impenetrable forest top. The respite was short, for they plunged further into darkness, and they were without natural light yet again. Moving deeper into the forest, the oppressive air grew thicker, and the mist-shrouded grounds seemed to only hinder their progress. Hagrid assured them they were close to their destination, but even he'd become victim to the unforgiving climate. 

"I could've sworn it was around here," he muttered, holding his lantern up high. There was a flutter of leathery wings nearby, causing all three of them to huddle close together. "Odd. There was supposed to have been ruins right down here." 

"Are we lost, Hagrid?" Hermione asked reluctantly. 

"Nonsense," he replied, giving him an unsure smile. "We just have to turn around and walk back."

Before they could determine where they'd come from, to their right sounded a distorted snarl. Ron fell to the forest floor, his pale finger pointed in that direction, his face utterly horrified. Harry followed his gaze and saw an unnaturally tall figure peeking out from between the trees. 

Harry drew his wand immediately and moved bravely in front of his friends. Even if his own blood had gone cold, and his heart could not decide whether to race or freeze, Harry kept his hand steady and his mind clear. 

"What is that?" Ron whimpered, scrambling to his feet. 

"I don't know," Hagrid admitted. Fang's tail had tucked itself in between her legs, and she stood stationary by her owner. 

The figure, around four meters tall, came closer and revealed itself before them. It wore a long, tattered black cloak, and beneath its hood was a pale, sickly looking face that was not quite human. At its side, its unnaturally gaunt arms swayed eerily as it slowly crept in their direction, producing a guttural sound. 

"Get back," Harry told his friends with his wand still drawn. Before his friends could obey—which they wouldn't have anyway—the creature lunged toward them and slashed its way through the low-hanging branches.

"Confringo!" The spell was utterly useless. Their predator seemed to have absorbed it entirely and continued its pursuit. 

"Run!" Hagrid bellowed, grabbing Fang, and shoving the three of them toward an opening in the trees. 

They ran with great speed across the upturned roots, stumbling and fighting for balance. Behind them, the creature's groans echoed, and its long limbs assisted in its great speed. 

"Ah!"

Hermione quickly fell behind, her ankle caught in a half-rotten stump. Ron and Harry rushed to her side, grabbing hold of her two arms, and attempted to pull her up. Hagrid waved his lantern at the creature, attempting to ward it off with flames. 

"Push with your leg!" Harry told her and yanked her up again and again. "Turn your foot to the side!"

"I can't!" she whimpered. "I can't move my foot at all! I'm stuck!"

With its long arms, their pursuer swatted the lantern out of Hagrid's hand. It shattered against a nearby tree, plunging them into a subterranean darkness. They went dead silent and froze. It seemed there was nothing living in the forest, and all sanctity had departed from it long ago. 

Then the creature moved. Its heavy steps thumping on the wet leaves beneath them, producing bone-rattling growls. Harry had his wand still in his hand, but the sounds were omnipresent, so he'd waited before pointing it in any direction. 

Then, from right behind them, came a deafening screech. Harry protectively grabbed onto his friends and pulled them close, away from the jet of purple light that pierced through the towering being. It had been mere centimeters away from them, and if it weren’t for this beam, surely they were seconds away from death's grace. 

Fire engulfed their predator, melting its flesh unceremoniously off its skeleton. Then, as quickly as it came, it'd evaporated into absolutely nothing. 

Harry, frozen with something between shock and awe, released his friends from his grip and stepped toward a familiar silhouette. It stood tall where their attacker died, but there was nothing threatening about it. It was him. 

"Harry," Draco gasped, moving toward him with ease, and put his pale hands on Harry's face. "Are you well? Goodness, how pale you've become!"

Harry indeed must've been pale, for his blood drained completely from his extremities, and he'd been trembling from both terror and relief. "But you left," he managed. "How did you find us so quickly?"

"You see, I did not leave at all," Draco whispered, his voice as sweet as a song. "Pardon my deception, but the moment I'd left, I'd been overcome by a dreadful sensation. Telons are remarkably rare, dark sort of creatures that are materialized curses of the heart. I'd sensed it, but my pride kept me from returning to the group. So, I followed you should you encounter one," Draco explained. "Oh, how terribly pale you've become! Do not fret, Harry, it shall not return again."

"W-what did you do to it?"

"Goodness, how should I know the name of the curse? The magic I use hasn't always a name to it, Harry. Have a seat, will you? Your weariness makes me most uneasy," Draco fussed and set Harry down on the stump that claimed Hermione's ankle. But he did not acknowledge Ron's gawking and Hermione's pale expression, nor did he regard Hagrid, who'd been asking Draco a thousand questions about the Telon. 

"You saved us," said Hermione finally. Draco's head turned to her briefly, but he'd did not respond. "Thank you, Malfoy."

"Even if your birth is a mockery, your life is no one's to take,” Draco whispered hastily. He then turned away from her and continued to fuss over the state of Harry's clothes. 

There'd been a warmth that overtook Harry, and all godliness had returned to the forest at once.