The Novella
The telon's appearance in the forbidden forest caused a stir among the students at Hogwarts. As stories do when passed by the mouths of children—adults, too, are prone to this—the story became so terribly warped that Draco, who at the beginning was the hero of the story, incidentally, and conveniently for all who despised him, became the villain. Severus hated to see a fresh, irrelevant reason to hate his godson materialize from quite nothing; he'd even been hopeful that such a story could've released his godson from the shackles of preconception. Some people, most people, are so protective of their preconceived beliefs that they delude themselves to avoid going through the toil that is admitting to oneself that they are wrong—to admit one's mistake to oneself if the hardest of all.
But what pained him most about the debacle was that Draco's triumph at saving his friend had become a reluctant regret. Severus implored Dumbledore to do something about it, perhaps giving Slytherin a lot of house points for Draco's bravery. At least, in that case, Slytherin's favor for Draco would improve tremendously, for they've been neck and neck with Gryffindor all year. Having approved, Dumbledore made it a point to announce it in the Great Hall at dinner.
Severus was sitting in excited anticipation at the professor's table; his eyes never left his godson, who was sitting at the Slytherin table for the first time in a long while. Students were very agitated with his being there again, scooting away, shooting him dirty looks. Unfortunately, they were brave enough to shout insults at him—this sudden bravery came from the idea that Draco is prone to frightening himself, thus his reputation of being deadly diluted into mere maliciousness.
"Veiled scum!" One student yelled from the end of the Slytherin table.
"The Veil only covers how deformed you pure-bloods are from all that inbreeding you do!" Another shouted. This earned laughter from every house; even one professor snorted. "I bet he's got three eyes!"
"Silence!" Dumbledore roared from the head of the room, raising his palms high in the air to appear larger than he was. "I will not stand for bullying. Draco Malfoy is one of us; it is about time you except that."
A lot of students mumbled begrudgingly, sending more sour looks toward Draco, whose Veiled head hung low with humiliation.
"Now, there was an incident in the forbidden forest earlier this week that nearly cost the lives of three students." With this, Dumbledore glanced at the Gryffindor table where Harry, Ron, and Hermione blushed with helplessness. "Telons are very rare creatures. In fact, the modern textbook has omitted it completely. They are the residual by-product of a curse of the heart. A person spited so deeply could cast a curse so powerful that a telon is released. A spectacular sort of creature it is, but I dare say, they're very deadly. With one in the forbidden forest, we have now dispatched aurors and cursebreakers to further investigate it, and we pledge that no other student may witness one again. That being said." Dumbledore turned to the Slytherin table and nodded toward Draco. "Draco Malfoy had saved those three students from the spiteful wrath of a telon. Having sensed its presence, he bravely journeyed through the forest in time to come to their aid. And for that, I give Slytherin House fifty points!"
Slytherin House looked rather impressed with the great sum. There was a scattered applause at the table, but most were visibly reluctant to praise Draco, who, at hearing this award, sat up straight with surprise and triumph. Severus stood in his seat and applauded his godson, nodding with approval.
"How do we know the basilisk didn't conjure the telon himself?" A student shouted from Gryffindor, obviously vexed with being placed in second. "Seems like something he could do, right? He's trying to buy house points!"
"Yeah! He set it up himself to attack Harry but was too chicken to follow through! House points for deciding not to kill? This is ridiculous!" A student from Ravenclaw stood and threw a bread roll toward Slytherin's table.
"Enough! Enough!" Dumbledore's demands were fruitless against the roar of disapproval coming from the three houses. Even some Slytherin students demanded the points be taken away, saying they were "dirty points" or "bloody points."
"Silence!" Severus scolded loudly. The entire room's air switched entirely from agitation to submission. Students immediately sat in their seats and glanced uneasily at one another, for seldom did the potions master raise his voice. "A telon, you pathetic fools, cannot be seen by its creator—it is a byproduct of the most disgusting human emotion, and that is invisible out of sheer stubbornness. If Draco Malfoy had created it, as you so unjustly accuse, then Potter, Granger, and Weasley would have been slashed to pieces, and this dinner would have been a memorial rather than a celebration. You foolish children talk more than you think. Slytherin students, thank Malfoy for putting you in a tremendous lead. Another word doubting this award, and I will see you all in detention." With that, Severus sat in his seat and watched reluctant "thank you's" being exchanged at his table.
The entire hall was silenced with tension, even the ghosts did not dare to tease each other or the students. It seemed everyone was painfully aware of each other and of the sound they made. The girls whispered and blushed; the boys cleared their throats and adjusted their seats. There wasn't a single word exchanged for nearly ten minutes, and even the professors became wearily uncomfortable by it. Finally, as if having enough, Draco stood and left the dining hall with such a casual air that it was almost as if he'd gone to use the bathroom. But he never came back.
Soon, the room soon returned to its usual energetic atmosphere. Dumbledore turned to Severus and gestured for the door, having discovered his impatience to follow his godson. At once, Severus stood and left, not once acknowledging the way the children eyed him with suspicion.
He found his godson in a quiet part of the castle, not too far off from the Great Hall, sitting under an archway with his legs dangling off the side. Severus leaned against the wall beside him to compass a private conversation.
"Somewhere beyond those trees over there, and behind a tall set of vines, is a tranquil respite from the wickedness that is the forest," said Draco. In his voice was a sort of passion for tenderness. "It was then when I'd told Harry about what really happened between Podgers and me. And bless my dear friend, for he nearly wept for me. In me was a sort of renaissance; I'd seen myself faultless and within me a great glow of freshness. I am merely a boy, indeed, but what fine consequences come with being an unlearned boy."
"You're hurt," said Severus bluntly, noticing the trembling in the boy's voice. "Because nobody dared to believe you to be good."
"Oh, it is always much more than that, Severus." Draco sighed and shook his head. "How is it that Harry decided to befriend me all of a sudden? Surely, it is not out of pity. All of this torment that I feel because of this friendship, I now begin to wonder if it was all intentional."
Severus felt his heartbeat quicken and his mouth go dry. Has he found out? Is Harry's tongue too loose? "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't think you could ever understand. You ought to have heard his wretched friends speak of me when they thought I was absent—that night in the forest, I mean. A victim of brainwashing they deemed me, well, the muggleborn did. And why is it that Harry's friendship with me is important to them all? This is what I've come up with: Harry wishes to ingratiate me with the rest, but he cannot stand my beliefs colliding with his friends. He wishes to change me, surely."
"Change you? Well, all friendships can change their members," said Severus; he was most relieved to learn his godson was still unknowing.
"Why does it have to be me that has to change? Do you think I have to change, Severus? Do be honest; I cannot bear another one of your forced affections."
There was a pause between them, and Severus knew his godson was staring at him, imploring him to speak. After a few more seconds of silence, Severus nodded slowly.
"What about me needs to be changed, Severus? Is it my character? I know I am much too emotional, vain, and fastidious, but I can't help it. Or is it—"
"It's your view of others, Draco," said Severus curtly. "Muggleborns being lesser than humans in your eyes is utterly wrong. You ought to know that, Draco, because you'll find out sooner or later, and it'll be too late then."
Draco recoiled. His hands on the wall tightened, and, as if by instinct, he'd curled into himself like a timid child. "Severus, I know you've never been one to read the Book, or follow our practices, but you mustn't speak of such blasphemy."
"It is not blasphemy."
"And it is for that reason Harry's friends deem me brainwashed? Because of what the Book says? Goodness, don't they know it is them who—"
"My dear boy, it is not them. Harry is not worth any less than you because his mother was a muggleborn."
"Pray never utter nonsense like that again, Severus. Harry is a half-blood, so, by natural law, he is less than me. But I don't treat him such a way, I assure you. I cherish him with all that I am."
"But he's less than you, regardless. You believe so in your heart. You believe that if a pureblood stood before him in the galley, you'd preserve their life over Harry's because of natural law. Yes?"
"What a dreadful scenario you've conjured up, Severus!" Draco hopped off the wall. "Have you no sympathy for me? I've told you so willingly about my feelings, and you respond with heartless interrogation."
"Draco, I am only answering your question."
"Well, quit your efforts immediately. I'm much too tired to answer that kind of question. What a stupid question, anyway!"
Severus took hold of Draco's shoulders and held him firm in place. "Draco, you don't understand that what I've asked you is no mere hypothetical. Don't you know the Dark Lord's plans for Harry? Don't you?"
Draco shuddered in his grip, and his breathing wavered uneasily. "Yes, but it shall not happen. Harry will pledge neutral; I know he will. Why would Harry be involved in something much larger than he is? The Dark Lord is foolishly threatened by my dear friend, and once it is known that Harry's first attack was a mere accident, the Dark Lord will kennel his hounds."
"You don't know Him like I do, Draco. It is not so simple, and the sweetness of innocence in your tone leaves an awfully bitter taste in my mouth," whispered Severus, staring into the Veiled face.
"Then what are you implying, Severus? Turn against the Dark Lord if I wish to preserve Harry's life. But what about the Dark Lord's plans for my family? Shall I rid them of everything too?"
"I am not telling you to do anything. But listen to me carefully. You must follow your own path. Not the one your parents have carved for you, not the one Harry is building for you, not even the one I suggest you take. Your very own. And whichever way your wind blows, I will follow."
"Goodness, why do you and my father speak to me with great ambiguity? Perhaps this has something to do with my getting older as adults prepare to turn away their watchful eye. But I'm not ready for such a decision yet, Severus. Oh, how you terrify me now."
Severus placed a quick kiss on the boy's head and stood, releasing him from his grip. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to scare you. But think about what I've said without fear but with comfort, for there are people in your life that would give up the world for you."
Draco nodded slowly. "You, mother, and father?"
"And Harry, remarkably," said Severus, recalling Harry's words the night Draco had disappeared into the shadows.
"Harry..." Draco repeated under his breath. "Remarkable, indeed."
After the departure of Severus, Draco was consumed by the impression that every decision to be made depended on his own judgment. That sort of pressure Draco could not stand. Growing up, he seldom made any decisions on his own without his parents peering over his shoulder. And this sudden revelation of some great personal freedom ought to have terrified him, but it did not. Of course, there is something like unease, but Draco finally felt like he was at the helm of his own vessel. Just the feeling sufficed for now, and all the decisions about his own life and his own path would have to be made later. I have time, he assured himself. I have plenty of time before my coming of age to decide who I ought to be. What a liberating thing free will is!
Consumed with childish thinking, Draco swiftly made his way to the library because he believed—in this moment—that any decision he will have to make must be done so by a well-read mind. And having been confronted with Severus's implication of his importance, he felt he'd not read enough novels. Draco did not think again about the Dark Lord; his mind, in an attempt of self-preservation, blocked it out entirely. Instead, he focused more on simple, personal matters that he could decide once he came of age. Travel, home design, and other base concepts. He knew he was distracting himself from the more important subject, but he couldn't handle such a thought now when his heart was brittle and his soul was weak. So, he did what he does best, ignored it, and moved on.
He scanned the shelves for something enlightening; there were novels written by purebloods that he'd already read—despite thinking he was not well-read, seeing the selection, he'd decided he was mistaken. His mother would grimace when he read a novel by a pureblood who was not Veiled, but there was simply not enough Veiled authors to occupy Draco's thirst for fiction. His father pre-read every novel before handing it off to Draco. But neither of his parents were here. They did not punish me for being reckless in the rain, and I've flown on a broom without their knowledge. Should I open a novel written by a half-blood, what are the odds they would know of it? And if it is fiction, what harm could possibly come of it anyway? Draco, giddy with this newfound free will, swiftly moved toward the books he knew were written by half-bloods. Upon seeing titles he did not know, he let out a small laugh and blushed like a child.
Stealing him from his bliss, he'd noticed the silver serpent around his wrist begin to move and hiss. A mudblood is nearby.
"Do you need help?"
He turned to find Granger standing before him, smiling. Draco froze and shuddered with the confrontation. "I needn't ask for your aid; your assistance to me should come naturally to you," he whispered. "It is your place, anyway."
Granger merely bowed. "Then I'll help you. What are you looking for?"
Eyeing her still, he moved reluctantly behind her as she traced the row with her finger. "Something fantastical; something I've never read before."
"Well, what haven't you read before? There are plenty of thrilling books here."
"I haven't read anything written by a half-blood or a mud—a muggleborn." Draco blushed when he'd seen Granger freeze at his almost using that term. But she did not say anything except give him a warm smile.
"Then you have plenty of books you need to read," she said. "This was written by a muggleborn; it's called Crime and Punishment—"
"No. I dare not read anything written by muggleborns. I will sink as low as half-blood, but no more," Draco blurted. A look of offense flashed across Granger's face, but she merely nodded and put the novel away. "You're vexed with me, aren't you?"
"A little. I mean, it is only known that wonderful novels have been produced by my lot. Most of my favorite books, even. I sense you are a bright young man, and it's a real shame you close yourself off to brilliance on paper."
"Well, I cannot help it if I am just a victim of brainwashing," Draco hissed.
The girl froze and turned to him with wide eyes. "Oh, that's right, you were there that night," she whispered.
"Indeed. And if Harry is so determined to ingratiate us, then those words could check the growth of our mutual esteem. It cannot happen, for you do not understand anything about my character," said Draco. His voice trembled with discreet wrath.
"But I understand more about you than you about me," said Granger. "You see, Harry speaks about you so often. It is only natural that I pity you."
"Often? How often?"
"All the time. He lauds your character and your looks and cannot stand to be apart from you. Ron's really tired of it, you know. Before bed, Ron says there's never a moment when your name isn't in the air. 'Draco Malfoy' has become his lullaby," said Granger, studying him carefully.
Thank goodness for the Veil, for Draco was blushing wildly, and there was an irreplaceable smile spread across his face. And he'd become so terribly nervous—a good sort of nervousness—that he'd begun to fiddle with the hem of his Veil and needed to lean against the shelf for support. Draco Malfoy has become his lullaby. Oh, what a thrill! To be on Harry's mind is the only place for me! "What a fool," he giggled.
"Really? Does that mean you don't think of him the very same?"
"Oh, definitely," Draco nodded. "We are indefinitely tied by the ribbons of platonic love, us two. He is my dearest friend; of course I think of him often."
Granger smiled and nodded. "Well, then you understand why I said it, don't you? Harry's conflicted, you see. There is a sort of inner turmoil that might come with befriending a Veiled. I'm like a sister to him, and he must feel guilty for having a friend so determined to hate me."
"I don't hate you."
"You don't?"
"No, I don't. I cannot hate you for your birth. You're just lower than I am, tremendously so. I don't hate the vermin in the streets the very same way I don't hate you. Why should I be obligated to feel anything more than indifference for you?"
"Jeez, that is hurtful," said Granger, lowering her eyes. "Harry would be very upset to hear you say that to me."
"Why?" Draco gasped, panicking now.
"Well, because that was very rude of you. To compare me, a real girl with feelings, to vermin."
Draco blushed. "You ought to rejoice, miss. For my lack of hatred for you is a wonderful thing. Some of us writhe with hatred and make it a point to slaughter your lot. That's not for me; I shall never dare to. I sneer at you from afar, but never shall I stick a dagger in your chest. Never."
Granger was silent for a while. "I see," she whispered. "I won't rejoice, because I hoped for your friendship. But it is alright for now, I guess." She turned and grabbed a book from the shelf and handed it to Draco. "Here."
"What's this?"
"A romance."
"Between?"
"Between a boy and a girl, of course," said Granger. "Unless, of course, you wish for a romance between two men, then you ought to read this." She plucked a book from the shelf and placed it in his hand.
Draco, as if it were bound by hot coal, dropped the novella as soon as he touched it. The book was so terribly repulsive that he dare not even be seen in its presence. Granger promptly picked it up and dusted it off casually. How could she touch a thing?
"Misty," she said, reading the title. "It's a lovely story, really. A romance between an auror and a man released from Azkaban. I think you might enjoy it, Malfoy. I enjoyed it."
"You've read it?"
"I've read almost everything in this room," she said proudly. "You're repulsed by it, though, I can tell. I take it homosexuality is frowned upon in your family. What a real shame, that is." Granger grabbed the book Draco was already holding, and in its cover, she tucked away Misty so that it was hidden from view. The two of them shared a confiding look of secrecy. "I guess you'll only have to read this one then," she let out a fake, solemn sigh, and handed the two books to him.
Draco, whose hands were shaking, reluctantly received both books in his hands. His heart pounded in his chest, and the excitement he suffered sharpened every discomfort he'd felt in that moment. But something in him resisted the terribly strong urge to remove Misty from the larger book's jacket and toss it aside. Something in him so desperately wished to ingratiate himself with that realm so far away.
"Let me escort you out of the library," she said. "I know how to sneak books out of here." She guided Draco—who was burning with terror and adolescent curiosity—behind the towering shelves. The two of them snaked their way to the front, safe from the surveilling eyes of Madam Pince. Once they were out, she turned to him and presented him with a friendly smile.
"I'm a curious girl," Granger said, and she put her hands behind her back. "If I ask you a question, will you ease my mind?"
"Is this blackmail?" Draco hissed, holding the two books to his chest. "If so, take your filthy novels; I haven't a need for them."
"Oh, not blackmail at all!" Granger shook her head. "Do not worry, I will not tell a soul about your novels if you do not tell about my sticky hands," she winked. "I'd merely wanted to know why you've started to read novels by half-bloods."
Draco let out a sigh of relief, but the books were still glued to his chest. "Severus told me I need to make my own decisions now," he whispered. "I have consequential choices on my path; I cannot possibly confront such a grave situation. So, I'm merely making the choices that I know I can make now."
"And what sort of choices are those?"
Draco smiled. "I shall read more—even if written by half-bloods," he whispered giddily. "I will travel the world with Harry. Perhaps I will go to a Quidditch World Cup. And mother cannot tell me no, because Severus said she'd bend at my will." He laughed to himself and clasped his hands together. "And I shall not marry a fine lady, laden with pearls and satin. No, indeed."
Granger laughed along with Draco. "It is no wonder Harry adores you," she said. "You are very fun."
Draco blushed and stood up straight, forgetting completely her low caste. Panicking at the realization of his agreeable conduct toward her, he'd quickly scoured his mind for some quotation to reestablish their proper standing. "I must be going," he whispered.
"Oh, really?" Granger frowned. "Can I walk with you?"
"Of course not," he said. "You cannot walk by me; your place is behind me."
"I thought that was Harry's place," she mumbled under her breath. Draco tilted his head with confusion but did not wish to serve her a response, for he'd sensed she was making a joke, a rather unserious one too. Without exchanging their goodbyes—which was proper—Draco reluctantly left the girl standing solemnly in front of the library. If she were a half-blood, Draco would have wanted her company until he reached his own dorms, and then he'd have thanked her for everything. Surely she knows that he would; she's an exceptionally bright young girl. Draco hoped with all of his heart that she knew this.
There it was, so profound an object, placed at the end of his bed, tucked into the dust jacket of another romance book. Misty. During his bath, it was this very novella that occupied him the most. It was of this that he was thinking most of all as he lay on his modest bed. After nearly half an hour of just staring at it, he rose and paced around the room, still staring.
In a fit of bravery, he removed the novella from the dust jacket and threw it on the bed. Draco gasped and covered his mouth to conceal the playful smile that lingered on his boyish lips. There it was out in the open for only his eyes to see. A novella containing the most scandalous sort of love; the portal to a twisted sort of Elysium. "How disgraceful," Draco suddenly frowned and recalled the insult he'd suffered at the hands of Crabbe and Goyle not too long ago. "I ought to read it, shouldn't I? If I am not knowledgeable on the matter, then how do my words of denial hold any credibility against those two lards?" Draco soliloquized.
After another half-hour of debating how to approach it, he finally reached for the book and grazed his fingers on the cover. Oh, how his heart raced in this moment! The self-condemnation had been swept away with a powerful intrigue; such had rendered it necessary should he read the novel without shame. Then he yielded completely, and finally picked up Misty. To feel it in both hands was a physical display of his strength, surely, for he'd acted against his better judgment. Misbehaving is no stranger in my home, he thought, overcome with guilt. Was it not father who was scolded by his own father for bribing muggleborns for banned goods? This is the very same. And mother says all children learn through careful disobedience.
Fortifying himself with these sentiments, he slowly sat himself down on the bed, tucked himself inside the covers, and opened the book. At first, he could not read, for his hands trembled and his brain could not comprehend the very first sentence. After calming down, he'd breezed through the first chapter with a thundering heart. Then the second was spent without a single breath taken. By the third chapter, Draco was prone to sighing with bliss and pleasure at the subtly romantic affection between the two characters. Then he'd begun to mouth the dialogue or even repeat it out loud, and then blush as if he were truly the recipient of such gallant words.
"'And for the rest of my life, even if you hate me, I'll devote myself to your happiness. Let me pathetically follow you with an umbrella when it rains; let me ruin myself before the ministry so that you may be a free man; and should they decide against it, let me follow you to Azkaban, and I will cover your ears so you may sleep without hearing the evil cries of the other inmates'," Draco repeated. A shaky breath escaped his lips, and his left hand grasped his chest in an attempt to silence his pounding heart.
Recollecting himself, he sat up straight as the couple exchanged their sentiments, and his hands resumed their trembling. He'd been burning hot with thrill and anticipation, so, with his free hand, he'd unbuttoned the top four buttons on his pajamas.
Then they kissed.
Draco gasped, partially because they were not married and still rather strangers, but more so because they were two men. In a fit of panic, he slammed the book shut and threw it across the room. But somewhere in his mind, he'd been picturing himself in the shoes of the ex-Azkaban prisoner, the helpless man in denial about love and affection, at the mercy of the auror who suffocated with freedom. And to be kissed so fervently by such a gallant man, his strong hands on the waist with a grip so earnest and wanting. Draco threw his head back and laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Surely, the romance between the man and the woman was as thrilling as this. The romantic books he's read were all so conservative, with barely a caress of the hand before they are married—which tends to be the climax of the story. Never did a Veiled, pureblood author write of such a passionate kiss. Oh to be kissed! Underneath the stars, away from a private audience, a little secret of love so pure in its nature. Draco let out another tremulous sigh, and with his right hand he cupped his own face and pretended it belonged to the auror. His hand was much too dainty, but with his imagination so vividly awake, it soon felt like Harry's hand, strong and firm. Then, with his left, he'd moved his hand along his neck and down his chest. He was blushing now. Sufficiently flustered by the gentle touch of the auror, he lay still with inexperience and nervousness.
After managing to slip back into reality, Draco sat up and noticed himself shamed with the physical display of arousal and sin. He quickly stood and made for the bathroom to run a cold bath; he was much too startled to resume the last chapter.
What a terrible thing, adolescence. Draco quickly undressed and submerged himself completely; he shivered from both horror and physical chill. His mother had always warned against temptations, for all men and women are victims of them. She would say her son was much too pure for senseless excitement, but Draco was now submerged in icy cold water to relieve himself of that very thing. Shameful indeed, but nobody knew of it. Anyone, even Crabbe and Goyle, would have been thoroughly enamored by a romance such as Misty—so wild a story with premarital kisses and caresses. And Draco was much too attracted to it, rather against his will. But it was a mere novel, and nowhere in the Book did it condemn romantic novels.
After calming down, Draco dried himself off, drained the bath, and quickly moved under his covers once again. The book still lay on the floor near the hearth, but Draco did not dare finish the rest today. Tomorrow, surely, or perhaps the day after that, he will find out what comes of the two men after their kiss.
It took a long while for him to fall asleep, for his mind still raced with a residual high. But when he did sleep, he dreamt of the auror, his unruly black hair, and his vibrant green eyes.
