The Veiled Boy

If one asked Draco Malfoy what his talents were, he would say simply the piano, or maybe even singing. Perhaps, on a good day, he'd even deem himself academically gifted. But on the day of the inauguration, Draco proved himself to be an exceptional actor, for there were many, many things that had tormented him, but not one guest found him disagreeable.

Since the terribly unsubtle discussion about his sexuality with his father, he'd become closed off from them, not so much out of irritability like before, but more so out of fear and shame. How his marrow froze; how every nerve shuddered when his father spoke of it before him, and so knowingly. But then, to add to his torments, Draco was also sure that his fear was misplaced and that his parents would never condemn him for any crime in the world. So when the dining room became quiet and the last thing that had been carried through the air was a laugh, Draco would always become intensely tempted to tell them everything. Everything. The mere prospective relief only made possible by earnest confession brushed against his fingertips. It teased him and beckoned him with its light, dovish air. Four words: 'Father, you are right,' and all would be right again. But his jaw never opens, and the words never leave his mouth; they sit there on his tongue, bitter and stinging like a canker sore, for it was the pathetically bold thought that maybe his mother and father would sentence him. Outrageous, stupid even, but it was there, and it held Draco in the most tormenting stagnation above the otherwise silent dining table. The three days since then had become so excruciatingly painful that Draco was even considering asking Miss Parkinson for her hand so his mother and father would not look at him so calculatedly. And he would have the evening of the execution of Hammock if it weren't for Harry. 

It was most unexpected to see Harry yesterday, and the terrible shock he'd suffered when he'd turn to see that it was Harry who reached for him, grabbed him only briefly, and slipped away. In that moment, an insurmountable sensation gained control of Draco's entire soul, and his own fear became an offense, for the boundless love that filled his breast nearly propelled Draco to run after him. Harry, his dearest Harry! Stood there with his soot-covered face, his unruly hair, and his green eyes momentarily upon his own, and in his chest, Draco's heart beat in harmony with his. He'd been genuinely smiling under his Veil for five whole seconds, bewitched by the intense feeling and his craving for more of that boy. An embrace would send him into a fit surely; a kiss would kill him! But the bliss became a mere sever to his heart when his parents, willingly ignorant of the happiness they'd rid him of, moved him into the carriage and sent him back to his spiritual and physical imprisonment. 

The inauguration dinner only invited the uppermost government pawns and their families to the manor for publicity or some other two-dimensional reason Draco hardly cared for. But he knew one thing: if he'd shown his misery, the other people would grow suspicious. And what if, out of spite of having embarrassed him, his father tells the world? 'Yes, my son has had many entanglements with the boys at Hogwarts! His favorite being our Lord's enemy, Harry Potter. Draco, isn't it true you are liable to do anything that boy says? How shameful! I plan to Cleanse him in public so everyone knows that I hold this position (minister, that is) fiercely.' They'd all laugh at him as Draco was dragged away to the dungeons. Yes, these thoughts made him particularly ashamed, for his parents had never once been cruel to him (except, however, for ridding him of Harry, and that is an offense hardly forgivable). But if he'd been a completely stranger to himself and viewed his own predicament as an apathetic omniscient being, then he'd be deemed cautious, intelligent even. 

The sun had begun to set now; the meager daylight began to forsake his room, but from his balcony, Draco stood, dressed in his nightgown, watching the several carriages line up on the gravel roads, and from them emerged men and women in the most strikingly handsome clothes. Their laughs and chatter a mere whisper, for the bugs of summer sang their song loudly. How insignificant they seemed in comparison to the symphony of insects and the verdant orchard beyond. Nonetheless, Draco watched them from his balcony, and in his heart, he recited a silent prayer that he hide his suffering well. 

"Your grace, it is time to get dressed," called Miss Clarke from inside the room. "Goodness! You step away from the window at once! To be stood on the balcony, in the view of a crowd, practically naked! Oh, your mother shall be reduced to hysterics if she knew of this!" She grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him away quickly, shut the glass doors, and drew the curtains closed.

Miss Clarke sat him down behind a highly-waisted latticed partition and swiftly removed him from his nightshirt. "You must look appropriate to your title, Draco," she told him, and slipped on his stockings. "The Malfoys are considered royalty, you know. You ought to look the part."

"How should I behave?"

"Smile, make conversation. You're charming when you're in a good mood, truly. It is a real shame we don't see that side of you lately. How solemn you've become!"

Miss Clarke put on him an open-necked blouse accompanied by a florid waistcoat and tightened it considerably. 

"What if tonight I am so exceptionally charming that I receive several proposals and inquiries? Would mother and father soon forget all I've done to trouble them?" Draco asked quietly. 

"You ought to wish for their forgiveness, not their forgetfulness."

"Oh, I dare say they will never forgive me," said Draco quietly under his breath. "I will do my best, Miss Clarke." 

"I know you will." She gave him a half-smile while she applied a gentle color to his lips. "Your parents love you, Draco. And I suppose you are at the age where that seems very hard to believe, but I promise you I would never tell you so if I believed otherwise." Miss Clarke handed Draco a hand-held mirror from his mahogany sideboard and looked with pride upon him. 

Draco looked at his reflection and attempted to smile. There it was—his upturned lips, all of his pearly white teeth, his dimples, and a youthful flush about him. But gathered there in the corners of his eyes were tears. And they fell as he attempted to put on the best, stately smile; he could only hope this smile could impress his father's subordinates. Miss Clarke sighed and left his room with a heavy head. 

Severus arrived on time but had to wait—as custom dictates—behind all the pureblood guests before his own entry into the manor. There must've been at most fifteen guests total, all of whom were dressed with almost a ridiculous extravagance, desperate to ingratiate themselves further with the minister. While still outside, he looked up to the Dark Lord's apartment and saw the tall, gaunt figure of him standing near the window watching his new victims enter into his trap. He knew the Lord would not appear to them, for he wished to manipulate their impressionable minds into believing him to be a blessed thing that only a select few had the privilege of seeing. 

Rather foolish Severus believed it to be, for it is the men consumed by their egos that are most blind. Perhaps it was a good thing, for if it wasn't for this ego, Severus might have been distrusted earlier on, and maybe the Lord might have considered the possibility Draco would not remain loyal to him. Ah, ego! What a terrible folly of man's! At one point, surely, man will realize that desperation for power is a trap. Desperation to a pathetic degree—as is accompanied by egotistical men—is as hindering as a brick wall. But men are men, and as much as they want progress, they cannot admit their wrongdoings. 

Finally, Severus made it into the drawing room, where the guests mingled before the parlor was to be opened up for the event. The intimate crowd was bustling with suffocating panegyrics of Lucius's character and boasts of having had faith in his family for decades. He found himself feeling ashamed for their sake to hear them lie without much skill (and so excessively!). They stood around the table at the end of the room, where there stood a stack of two dozen Venetian glasses filled with expensive champagne. The drawing room was rather spacious despite guests, and the band—having occupied only a small corner neighboring the embroidered silk tapestry of a peacock—produced a lively waltz that filled the entirety of the room. 

He found the family at the windows, distant from their subordinates. Severus felt Narcissa looked exceptionally youthful. Her feminine figure was framed in its perfection by her emerald brocaded gown, and the flawless complexion reduced the jewels she wore as a mere accompaniment. And when she'd bowed to greet him, her smile and grace caused—even in a man as unforgiving as Severus—a blush to color him. But it was Draco who Severus was very relieved to see, for a large part of him believed him to be consumed by too intense a melancholy to present himself publicly. There his godson stood tall, stately in his posture and garments, smiling at a nearby man who bowed repeatedly toward him. In his eyes, Severus sensed an incurable sadness, and it seemed his parents could see it too. 

The parlor was made ready for them all in due time. The typically large table crafted to host a crowd was appropriately made smaller for the more intimate-sized party. The linen cloth draped neatly over the rich mahogany, on which stood fantastical candlesticks studded with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. Upon the table lay silver trays of fanciful pâtés, delicatessen, and assorted cakes, both savory and sweet, colored brightly with sauce and creams. Despite having been a guest of the Malfoys plenty of times throughout his life, Severus never ceased to be astounded by the richness in both decor and ingredients so readily prepared. The band followed them into the room and settled into their plain corner, resuming the waltz they'd begun in the drawing room. The guests settled near the tables or in the chairs placed strategically about the place, except for the divans in the center where the Malfoy family sat. Desperate for good favor, five people—three older women, one younger man, and one elder—moved their seats before the family and acted as if they'd been placed there for their good conduct. 

"Champagne?" Narcissa gently picked a coupe from a silver tray and handed it to her son. "You're sixteen; I declare you old enough to enjoy your first."

Draco accepted it with a gentle smile and drank it at once. Lucius cast a weary look toward his son and then at Severus. "Let us keep an eye on him," Lucius said to Severus in a low voice. "I ordered the drinks to be particularly strong to unearth inconsistencies in my peers. If Draco drinks too much...

"I know," Severus nodded. 

Severus had become surprised with the natural ease of Draco's entertainment. He drank his champagne and complimented his guests while also insulting them in a manner that was socially appropriate and amusing. Everyone simply adored him, and Severus knew that even if Draco was not of the highest society, his character would have been loved tremendously amongst the common people. 

"It is a terrible shame that I was dressed in such plain clothes! Look at you, madam, around your neck are the loveliest string of pearls, and your brooch is a fine sapphire! Why ever did my mother dress me so plainly?" Draco cooed, earning a laugh from the small group that surrounded him.

"But there is none other like you in the room, your grace," said the viscount Viktor Krum. "I could sense you the moment you came near. It is the same sort of feeling one gets when walking into a dark artifacts exhibition." 

"A dark artifacts exhibition?" Draco gasped. "The viscount has deemed me ugly, old, and worn down! Quelle mégère!" As his godson said this, he'd relayed to Severus as a playful sneer. The guests laughed once again. 

"Please forgive me. I only meant it in the highest regard; I am not good with words, but I'd merely meant that you as an individual produced in me a deep feeling of sublime."

"Wherever you hail it may be so, but in England, a dark artifacts room is not much of a compliment, even if it houses the rarest of them all," said Draco, with a playful pout. "Tell me, Viscount, are you so old yourself?" 

"Twenty," said Krum. "And you have turned sixteen just recently?" 

"Yes, mon cher monsieur!" 

"An exciting time it is before an unveiling," said Krum, looking over his head with a reminiscent air. "During my own ceremony, the crowd was very enthusiastic to see me. The mudbloods grew ever more frightened of me. I must be ugly."

"No, not at all. In your eyes rest the condensation of strength and power; I dare say they were afraid for their own sake." 

"You're as charming as you look," said Krum, bowing. "You ought to be Veiled until the day you die; even at seventeen, the mudbloods don't have the right to see you."

Draco blushed and gracefully accepted another glass of champagne that was offered to him. "Cheers then! I forgive you for your comment; it seems your country can indeed produce a gentleman." 

Severus managed to lean over to Draco and tap him gently on the shoulder. "Remember, Draco, you are to behave yourself." 

"Oh, I am so very well behaved," Draco laughed sweetly. "Gentlemen, my godfather has assumed the role of my chaperone because he believes that I shall misbehave! Have I been so very naughty?" Draco asked, leaning toward the viscount with a mischevious grin. 

"Oh, how lively you are, your grace! I could hardly ever imagine that anyone could compete with the minister’s son in both face and figure!" A woman with three chins and no neck, who fanned herself in excess, took advantage of an opening in front of Narcissa and Draco and plopped herself down without much grace. But by the furs about her collar and her glittering accessories, the lady of the house soon forgave it all and did not send her on her way. Severus watched with growing unease how tipsy Draco had become, and the novice flush only deepened in color. 

"Indeed," said Narcissa, giving her son a prideful smile. "My son is truly my highest accomplishment."

"And when will you find yourself a wife, your grace? It is quite the expectation, I dare say," the woman began as she looked at him over the brim of her glass of red wine. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Draco scoffed softly. Lucius cast a look at his son and raised an eyebrow. "I suppose you have daughters then?"

"Yes," the woman said matter-of-factly. "Three. Would you like their portraits?"

"S'il te plâit," Draco sighed and held out his hand. From her pearl clutch, the woman handed Draco three photographs of her daughters. They all seemed to be around his age, with round faces like their mother and not at all disagreeable in appearance. Severus knew the entire exchange was painful for the entire family, and he could even sense the tension among Lucius and Narcissa, who watched his son with discrete carefulness. "I will consider," he said, folding the portraits carefully and putting them in his waistcoat pocket. The woman's eyes lit up tremendously, and suddenly every woman in the room who'd brought portraits began to offer them to him with pathetic desperation.

"Enough!" Lucius snapped. The entire room fell quiet almost in an instant. "As you were before, you all decided with great insolence to begin your opaque campaign." 

"Only if all of the young men were like you nowadays, Draco," continued the woman. "Don't you know it is rather common among the young ones today?"

"What is?" Draco asked.

"Dating their own sex," she said with a grimace. Draco dropped his glass of champagne, and it shattered into a thousand pieces upon the marble floor. "Oh, my apologies, your grace! I am glad the mention of those faggots appalls you as it does me."

Narcissa flicked her hand toward the woman, and the red wine spilled all over the front of her silk gown, leaving the ugliest stain on her bloated stomach. The woman gasped and began to stand in pursuit of the powder room, but Narcissa held her hand up to halt her progress. "No," said the lady of the house. "I did not excuse you from the conversation."

"But Miss, I will be gone only a short while to clean up," said the woman, becoming as red as the stain on her belly. "I assure you I will return when I am seemly and presentable."

"Sit down," said Narcissa sharply. The woman hesitated for a moment but begrudgingly lowered herself onto the chair once again, holding her head down low as the other women laughed at her humiliating state. Narcissa gave her son a gentle smile, and Severus was immensely relieved to see the boy return one too, this time full of earnest gratitude. 

Draco continued to drink until Lucius finally put a stop to it, telling all servants that should they serve his son, they would be punished severely. Severus listened scrupulously to Draco's every word, ensuring that he did not condemn himself with a tongue loosened only by intoxication. But the boy was careful, and the only concern raised during the entirety of the evening was Draco's slight flirtation with every gentleman in the room, especially with Krum, who seemed wholly unknowing. Even when Draco had blushed and humored himself out loud with the prospect of kissing the viscount, Krum merely thanked him for his generosity and declared him charitable. The delivery of this line startled Lucius immensely, so much so that he ended the event earlier than anticipated. 

"What a shame you all must leave!" Draco laughed, bowing at everyone as they left the manor. "Viscount, you must return as soon as you can!"

Krum bowed and kissed Draco's hand after his mother's. "I have been invited by your father to attend tomorrow's council meeting. It is my stepfather who has been ingratiated with him. I will return."

Draco blushed. "Ah! Linger for a while longer, monsieur! It is so refreshing to have a man as young and sturdy as you are."

"Your father is still strong for his age; surely you do not see otherwise?"

"Foolish man! I love men who are particularly foolish! They make me laugh!" Draco giggled and stepped forward to the viscount. Severus quickly grabbed the boy by his arm and pulled him away into a nearby room where the guests had no access. 

"Draco, you're flirting so openly with the gentlemen," Severus hissed, gripping his godson with a tremulous panic. "You are not at Hogwarts any longer. Should your secret slip amongst these ears, you'll be in terrible danger." 

"Oh, what of it? Cleanse me by all means! I don't care. If I can't flirt, laugh, and be free, then I don't want life anyway!" Draco scoffed and tried desperately to unfasten his waistcoat. "I need Miss Clarke; I cannot breathe in this wretched garment!"

"Let me take you to your room," said Severus, who, upon hearing Draco's drunken declaration, had become so severely frightened. 

Through the darkened corridors and away from the stream of leaving guests, Severus led his swaying godson to his room. Miss Clarke waited for them at the door and understood without an order that her boy needed to be given a drought and sufficient rest. The two hid behind a partition as Draco was undressed with great difficulty, for he kept falling over or attempting to lay himself onto his bed. 

"What a miserable life I will have," continued Draco. "Forever this way, the only hands that will undress me are those of a woman's."

"Draco," said Severus with a tone of warning. The boy was silent momentarily. "I have a post for you, but I think it would do you good if you replied tomorrow morning."

"Post?" Draco leaped out from behind the partition with his nightshirt on and a stocking clinging pitifully onto his leg while the better part of it dragged across the rug. Miss Clark gasped and hastily removed the sock from his foot, nearly falling over in the attempt. "Read it to me, Severus! I'm afraid I am too drunk." 

"Read it to you? I-I cannot," said Severus, standing to leave. "I will come back tomorrow."

"Severus, if you don't read it to me, I'll have you thrown from the manor at once!" Draco screamed. Miss Clarke and himself froze in their respective positions, staring at him with bewildered astonishment. 

"Your grace! You must be feeling ill," whispered Miss Clarke, and upon her lips was a weary smile in an attempt to diffuse the terrible tension that had befallen them. "Sit down; I will bring the rose water. A bath? Teas? Which soaps shall I bring?" 

"Whichever will remove you from this room," said Draco, falling helplessly into a Chesterfield chair placed strategically by the hearth. "Read, Severus."

Severus eyed Miss Clarke, and she quickly left to the bathroom, where she busied herself with the preparation of a bath—which for Draco is a complicated matter, for he is very fastidious about soaps, temperature, and decoration. Yes, decoration. Severus, weary of his godson's turbulence, obliged by sitting across for him and unraveling the letter. 

"Dear Draco,

I cannot write as much as I can because the climate is becoming unsafe and uncertain. I'm staying at the Crowned Crow Inn, and I think it is important that you know that. You'd simply faint if you saw the state of this place. Even I find it repulsive. Please forgive my idiocy yesterday; I just couldn't stand not being near you. Are you mad? You probably are; the next time you see me, you'll scold me about it, and I won't be annoyed at all. I'll listen and nod, but I'll be smiling because if you're scolding me, that means you're with me. Hermione gives you her best and hopes you are safe and comfortable.

You said you were worried about me, but please don't. It is the Weasleys I am worried about. They've begun to pawn their things just to eat for a week, and when they shop, they're forced to walk on the roads like cattle. What times we live in, Draco? I wish it would all go away and you'd come stay with us all. It won't be as grand as the manor, but I'd make you happy, I think.

Anyway, I'll have to cut it short this time. As I said, there's not much time for idle relaxation anymore. Know that I don't regret grabbing your hand yesterday; I just wish you'd held on tighter instead of stealing your hand away so quickly. Send me a portrait of yourself if you can. Any longer without seeing you even in two dimensions, I'll actually go mad. Here's mine. Consider?

Your friend,

Harry James Potter

House of Potter

Half-Blood.

From the end of the letter, Severus unclipped a rather handsome photo of Harry's and handed it to Draco. He retrieved it with trembling hands and looked upon it with tear-filled eyes. And as if Severus were not there, Draco took the photo and pressed it tenderly to his lips in a fashion consumed by longing and unrequited love. It seemed that in that moment, Draco cut himself off from everyone and everything with a blade of his own hand. 

Then, slowly, Severus watched his godson stand and moved across the room almost in a trance toward the balcony. "Draco, I think your bath is ready," he said, himself standing and watching the boy with increased paranoia. "Miss Clarke is calling you."

Draco threw open the glass doors and stepped onto the stone veranda with his bare feet, moving in contradiction. There was a terrible thought that overcame Severus in that moment, a terrible intuition that propelled him into a run. He seized his godson, who leaned heavily over the stone railing, and held him firm in front of him. The boy's silver eyes, glossy with tears, looked upon him with a tremendous sorrow so unnatural for a boy of sixteen. 

"What are you doing?" Severus asked, breathing heavily. 

"Severus," Draco whimpered, still clutching the picture to his chest. "I cannot stay here," he said in a hushed voice. "I am so unhappy, so terribly unhappy. When you look at me, don't you marvel each time at the sheer inauthenticity that I ooze? Seeing Harry now seems so wild and strange to me. Everything that had once made me happy is playing before me like a slideshow spectacle, so unattainable, impossible, and barely visible. Don't you know that I haven't much of a choice?" Draco began to cry and leaned into Severus with a heaviness only true suffering could merit. "I cannot think, I am dizzy, and most of all, I am so, so frightened of life."

"Sleep," said Severus, slowly bringing the boy back into his room. "Your mind is possessed by the natural intensity of life's first intoxication. All of your thoughts and feelings intensify and become unbearable. I will listen to you tomorrow. There will be a solution for everything; you mustn't worry. I promise you."

Draco dragged his feet heavily toward his bed, and he threw himself down and wept loudly, clutching his pillows as if below him were not a mattress but a void that threatened to swallow him whole. Miss Clarke watched the entire thing silently from beside the bathroom door and moved to the bedside divan to take up watch. Severus and her exchanged a knowing bow as he bid her farewell. 

Immediately following the scene, Severus had been fueled with a forcible determination that had numbed his previous fright and resolved at once to find Lucius and Narcissa. The couple were in their grand bedroom, which is larger than the drawing room and the parlor combined. Narcissa had laid herself beautifully across the satin sheets while her husband paced the room in his night robes, muttering incoherently to himself. When they saw Severus, he assumed his face painted the horror he felt, for they seemed to understand at once. 

"Draco, is he alright?" Lucius asked, stopping completely. Severus gave him a nod. "Sit down at once. You must tell me everything."

With selective diction, he carefully relayed to the couple of Draco's woeful intoxication with the care necessary when speaking of tragedy to a mother. Narcissa listened with a stern expression, unlike her usual self, which would have panicked and perhaps even fainted. The two of them listened diligently without a word spoken until Severus had finished his tale, and following, a heavy silence that hung over them like a storm cloud ready to burst.

"I have thought of everything," began Lucius, his voice barely audible. With both hands, he reached blindly for his wife, and when he found her at his side, he held onto her firmly. "Everything. I've inflated and exaggerated every scenario over and over, and each time they've come up clumsy and pathetic. No, Draco simply cannot stay with us without losing himself along the way. He is not wicked as the Lord. He cannot execute and purge a city of mudbloods using a doctrine to fortify his will." At this, Narcissa finally began to weep, covering her face with her hands. "He shall return to Potter, where, I pray, he will be happy once again."