The Veiled Boy

From behind the kitchen door came only a muffled conversation, and any attempt to make out even a single word proved feeble. Being eaten alive with curiosity meant sleep would remain far from him, so Harry sat patiently on the stairs with his heavy head pressed against the banister. It was four in the morning now, and from the iron-lined transom window, summer's early sunrise slipped between the grates and onto the fading carpet. With each minute, Harry watched with increased boredom and frustration as the light gradually made its way from the entryway to the foot of his steps, where his untied shoes lay unmoved for the past two hours. 

Lucius Malfoy had arrived unannounced at the Burrow two hours prior—the morning following the unsuccessful raid of Crowned Crow Inn. The Order was called immediately, and a meeting commenced before Harry had the chance to inquire about Draco. And when the minister passed him to enter the kitchen, he'd looked upon him with a decisive, calculating look, and of its meaning, Harry had no clue. Naturally, it was odd. It was so very odd that Lucius should arrive in this unfitting environment, and despite it all, his manners and demands came naturally to him as if circumstance dictated it absolutely necessary. Harry noticed some difference in his visage. There was an undertone of panic in his gray eyes, and when he'd entered—without verbal invitation—he moved as if in a hurry.

The grandfather clock struck five, producing, in the otherwise dull silence of the house, a deafening chime. As if on cue, the kitchen door was swung open, and from it Lucius Malfoy stepped out, hastily wrapping himself in his brilliant cloak. Harry immediately stood on the steps at the sight of the minister and moved to place himself in between him and the doorway. 

"Sir," Harry said breathlessly, blushing with embarrassment, for his voice came out with a pathetic desperation. "Draco... How is he?"

"Better," said Lucius, studying him once again with his inquisitive look. 

"Why have you come?" Harry asked. "If it's about Draco, then I'd like to know."

"Let it be known that I am not unaware of your initial efforts to beguile my son. I have known it to be your object when you pursued friendship with him. However, when I had seen you so boldly endanger yourself merely to present yourself to Draco and attend vigorously to his bedside when he fell ill, your character had become more complex than the mule I assumed you to be. If you maintain that you truly care for my son, even if he should remain idle and submissive during this war with his allegiance to the Veil, I should believe you. Am I correct or simply blind for the sake of my son?" 

"You are correct," said Harry unwaveringly. "I care for him unconditionally. Even if he doesn't want to help me, his life and well-being matter the most. I think we have that in common."

"Your gallantry is admirable indeed, and your selfless generosity is almost pitiful. But I dare say it proves to me a convenient resolution for my son's inability to continue with the Lord. So, look me in the eye now—do not think of deceiving me, for it is no coincidence that I've risen to such power; I can easily detect liars and scoundrels—and tell me once again if you truly care for him." 

With the head of the silver serpent, Lucius Malfoy lifted Harry's chin to implore him interrogatively with his steely eyes. But Harry could not feel the natural nervousness merited only by this action, for of the question at hand he was most certain, and there was no doubt at all in his answer. 

"Of course," Harry said. "I never once wished harm on Draco. Understand, sir, that, for him, I would do everything and more. He is my sincerest friend, and in my humble opinion, he deserves the world."

Lucius's softening expression suddenly grew very agitated, causing alarm in Harry. But the minister rid himself of the look and pulled away immediately. Then, without another word, he left the house with an alarming haste. 

"Well done, my boy." Dumbledore moved swiftly from the kitchen and took Harry firmly by the shoulders. "Well done, indeed! You've skillfully managed to bring the Malfoy heir into our very hands!"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, pulling away from the headmaster and looking to his godfather. Sirius had become a dreadful pale, such caused only by being so close in proximity to the man who'd executed his brother. Sirius's eyes briefly met his own and were followed by a quick nod. 

"Draco Malfoy is coming to stay with us—not with us at Grimmauld Place; it would be foolish to give Lucius the knowledge of our headquarters—but here with the Weasleys. It is a secluded place in an empty country. I suppose Lucius thought the fresh air and isolation from society would do his son good," said Remus firmly. "The minister will erase this property from all records. Draco will be under this roof; come tomorrow." 

The Burrow was consequently placed under a rather powerful charm—only possible with a minister's wand—to conceal its residents from prying eyes. Such was that if a scout was to inquire there by accident, perhaps to update the residential roster, he should find the property quite barren. The lawn should be a dense overgrowth of sharp thistle and weeds, the garden very much unattended, and inside, the furniture would be rashly tossed about in a way to imply the family had left in a hurry, perhaps lacking the financial means of maintaining it. But such was only an illusion, for the real house was as lively as ever, with every single member pedantically preparing for the arrival of the highly esteemed Draco Malfoy. 

Harry had yet to learn every detail of the matter; why it was that Lucius had decided—when the dreaded renaissance of magical society had just dawned upon them advantageously—to remove his son from his watch. Sirius had been vague in his explanation, focusing the most on helping Molly prepare the kitchen for the guest. 

"You know how Lucius Malfoy is! He's always speaking in tongue; Severus hardly knows a thing because Lucius adores his secrecy," Sirius had said as he was frantically drying off the dishes. "You should've heard how he spoke to us all! As if we were mere plebeians at his disposal!" 

"Well, surely you know now, don't you? I mean, I don't think you'd let Draco stay here with a bunch of members of the Order unless you knew it was safe," Harry pressed. 

Sirius ran his hands through his tangled black hair and tossed the dishrag to the side. "Well, yes, of course not. But I don't have the time to get into the details. I'll say this: Draco didn't have the guts to do what Riddle demanded of him."

"He doesn't have a depraved soul, Sirius," Molly corrected. "It takes guts to run from his birthright, I'll say. Sirius, you should know it best."

Sirius tensed momentarily. "Yes, that is what I meant. But forgive me for not having the eagerness to embrace the son of my brother's executioner." He turned his back to Harry and continued drying the dishes. "But know this, Harry: His coming to stay with us is by no means a symbol of his defection. The minister was very clear on that. Draco was firm in his resolution to continue to wear the Veil."

"The boy's willingness to neglect his duties at the manor is the first step of his defection. We cannot expect him to forsake everything he's learned at once. It is a gradual thing. Isn't that right, Harry?" Molly's tone softened that of Sirius's, who, since the morning, had been plagued by some nervous agitation. "All that matters is that we give him a comfortable place to stay. If fate should have it that his mind is changed, a good bed and a warm meal could only encourage it." 

"Whose room will he be staying in?" Harry asked. "Ron and mine?"

"No, no, dear. His father insisted he be given the largest room and his privacy," said Molly. "Draco will be the sole occupant of the third floor. I think he should be very comfortable there."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed Molly around and readily attended to every chore she assigned. They scrubbed the floors, polished the wood, dusted the furniture, patched up the fabric, and even helped repaint the sills and frames of every window of the house. The Weasley family along with Sirius and Remus—who'd been partially staying at the townhouse for the sake of Harry and the Order—were very apprehensive about their imminent guest. Their predicament had befallen them much too quickly for anyone to properly accustom themselves to the idea of hosting a Veiled child. Harry did not mind their apprehension, for it was only him who was very well acquainted with Draco. All the family had to ease their nerves was Harry's word, and this time that was hardly enough. 

At five precisely, when Molly had only just begun clearing charcoal dust and ash from the hearth, a brilliant carriage pulled itself elegantly upon the vast lawn before them. Ron's eyes widened at the sight of it. With four black horses of excellent build and a carriage gilded with gold trim, it stood out against the barren country and the rotting shed just steps away. With the late hour, the sun was lowering behind the carriage, casting a length of shadow that stretched toward the house in a way that whispered almost perfectly who it will possess. But the scene’s grandeur mattered not to Harry; from inside the carriage, the most decorated of all beings would emerge, and Harry could hardly contain his enthusiasm. 

Harry rushed out onto the lawn despite Sirius's warning.  The carriage door opened and out stepped his beloved friend. At the sight of the Veiled boy, Harry was struck dumb and gaped, unable to produce a word or thought. Draco was dressed modestly from head to toe in black; there was no sliver of his pale skin visible, but Harry knew by the thorough gracefulness in his movements and manners that it was certainly him. It all seemed but a momentary reverie—this insurmountable rapture that took him. It was this shock, and only this shock, that kept his legs stationary, for surely, if he'd been any less happier, he'd have spoken to him at once. 

“Malfoy, let me collect your things.” Arthur bowed to him politely and offered the boy his hand, but as soon as he had laid his eyes on Harry, Arthur’s entire being had gone completely ignored. Draco tossed his luggage rudely at his host’s feet and disappeared into the darkness with an effortless ease. The Weasley family began to fret with nervousness, but Harry stood with perfect anticipation. Then, almost in an instant after his disappearance, the shadows took a solid form immediately before him and Draco emerged, throwing himself into Harry’s arms with a heavenly  laugh.

Harry, possessed by a raw human passion, embraced Draco fully in his arms just to feel, in its entirety, his tormenter's modest frame. Their mutual happiness only grew stronger with every press of the body, and Harry felt everything he'd ever want in life was instantly satisfied at once by Draco alone. Everything in this moment bewitched him—the way Draco seemed to melt in Harry's arms; the sweetness of his voice as he repeated his name over and over in his ear. Harry had not realized, but he'd lifted the boy from the ground and had been laughing wildly. Mine! Mine at last! 

"Merlin, Draco, I've missed you a lot," said Harry, pulling away from him just to behold his tall stature in its entirety. 

"I even more so," Draco gasped. "I am at a loss for words! What a rarity it is for me to have absolutely nothing to say. Do you not believe so? How happy we should be from this day on! Oh, look at you, my handsome friend, you've gotten to be a healthy color! It is the sun's doing, and let me thank the sun for making you look so attractive for my sake, I am sure!" Draco embraced him once again. "Harry, I could not think of any earthly reason why we should part ever again now that we share the scarce riches of time! Did you truly miss me enormously?"

"I did," Harry said, laughing. "Don't you want to come in? I want you to settle down comfortably."

"Oh, indeed! Let it be so! But wait another second, for I wish to have an honest look at you! Good heavens, Harry, how I adore your aesthetics! Truly, even a god could not compare! Tell me, what is it like to possess the highest claims a man could have?" Draco sighed.

Harry blushed, not entirely sure how to respond to Draco's dramatic praise, but found most of his pleasure to derive from his friend's being unchanged rather than his niceties. "Let me return those compliments when you take off your Veil. Come on, let's go."

"Ah, yes! Tell me where we head off to next!"

"What do you mean? You're staying here," Harry said, pointing at the entryway where the other residents stood with an indiscreet curiosity. "We've made a room for you and everything."

"Oh, my! Is this truly where I am to be? Forgive me, I assumed this was the quarters for staff or a place to keep the horses! It very much resembles an inn for the poor folk. But I digress. I dare say I shall be happiest wherever you are, Harry! Even if we are to reside in disagreeable poverty, I will be happy." Draco said this loudly despite his hosts being so close by. "Offer me your arm, Harry. It is only proper that I ingratiate myself with everyone else," said Draco cheerfully. Harry blushed again, but for Draco's sake, not his own, and helped him into the Burrow. 

The boy stiffened upon entering, and Harry understood at once that he found the place very unpleasant. Draco did not once acknowledge Molly Weasley, who greeted him warmly in the corridor, but moved about the entire ground floor as if this were his very own. Hermione and Ron exchanged looks with Harry but said not a word of Draco's odd conduct. 

"Hm," said Draco finally. "Well, I suppose this will do. Father said I should be comfortable, and comfortable I shall be at the very least. Why am I to be without a garden and a tea room? And by the state of the furnishing I humbly assume I am to be without a pianoforté! Nothing ever comes good for a young man to raise his expectations so high, but I cannot help it. I should not care, really. After all, my sole object was to receive you." Draco turned and beamed to Harry once again. 

"Oh, I am sure you are glad to be receiving Harry," Ron said from the staircase in a half-laugh. Harry shot him a look. 

"Your friends reside with you, Harry! I had not noticed them until now," Draco said with an undertone of displeasure. "Where is my luggage? I wish to see my room, Harry."

Remus and Arthur carried Draco's many belongings up the three flights of stairs to the small apartment at the top. The room was of moderate size, with two windows embedded under the angled ceiling at the far end. Decorated modestly, it possessed everything necessary for comfort and contentment but scarcely anything more. Just hours before, the room had been dust-ridden, with clutter draped entirely in canvas coverings. But Molly and the rest, with great effort, skillfully restored it so that only the chill in the air could indicate its being inhabited for some time.  

Without a word, Draco paced the room, his hand gracing each piece of furniture—few in number—and studying the fabric closely. Just seeing him move—even exist—before him, Harry could not stop smiling. It was the very same as seeing an endangered animal thrive naturally; there was both an irrepressible urge to protect it but also leave it untouched, for the hand of man was not worthy. After heaving a great sigh, Draco fell gracefully onto the bed as if he'd suffered great physical exhaustion.

"Men, my luggage shall be placed by that dresser if you will."

Remus and Arthur obliged without a word, but Harry was worried this haughtiness would check the growth of their mutual esteem. "Draco, they're not your servants. They're your hosts."

"Yes, I am aware," said Draco with a yawn. "What of it?"

"You should thank them."

"Thank them?" Draco sat up quickly. "A mutt and a blood traitor?"

"A professor and a father," Harry corrected with a stern tone. "You don't want to be rude, do you?"

"Not at all. But it is that behavior that ought to be deemed an impropriety. You see, I am of higher authority, so my gratitude dissolves their low existence into none at all. It is a disgrace to the both of us, do you not see?"

Before Harry could speak, Remus had placed a firm hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear, "It's alright, Harry. We cannot push. His temperament is already fragile from leaving. Let us be patient." 

The evening passed rather quickly. Draco had fallen asleep almost immediately following his return, undoubtedly both physically and emotionally exhausted. Of this, Harry was very disappointed, for he’d been impatient to share a private conversation with him. The entire house moved slowly and almost in a hush; if it was not to wake Draco, Harry was unsure, but everyone was tense with anticipation of his stay. Only Hermione's temperament matched Harry's own in its contentment and calm; she seemed glad for Draco and did not seem at all bothered by his indifference toward the Weasleys. It was a "regulating moment," according to her. In her humble opinion, Draco having left everything familiar in his life shocked him tremendously, and his management of this loss was to continue on as he had been with his family. Deep down, she believed Draco could have thanked Arthur and Remus, but doing so would be a sore reminder of his departure. Molly agreed with this and declared Hermione blessed with female intuition and compassion, while Ron—who'd complained first about Draco's behavior—was an unknowing boy. But no one was more unnerved than Sirius, who did not once approach Draco the moment he'd stepped foot into the house. It was not out of spite or hatred, but out of a residual apprehension of seeing a Veiled wizard so close. 

When it was supposed that Draco would not wake up for dinner, everyone continued on as usual and made for their own rooms. Before entering his own, Harry lingered on the landing between the second and third floors, staring with his heart full to burst at the room that housed his dearest. Draco’s act of great moral strength, as admirable as it was, could not seize Harry’s heart the same way it used to. Even if the boy had not had the change of heart, if he were to suddenly revert back to the state he’d been in a year prior, Harry would stand before his room with this same adoration. Harry thought him a truly captivating character, such that he cannot ever be recreated if the gods above had given it their all. And in that room, Draco lay asleep on a stranger’s for Harry’s sake. Mine! 

"Did you hear what Fred and George said?" Ron asked when Harry finally entered. "They said Malfoy is positively obsessed with you. I think the same; he gave you more compliments in ten seconds than my own girlfriend gives me in a year." Harry laughed with a blush. Hermione, who typically joined them until she herself was tired, sat on the end of Ron's bed and playfully hit him with a throw pillow. 

"Well, then I guess the affection is shared because I'm obsessed with him too," Harry said in a half-whisper. Both of his friends stopped their bickering and turned to him with looks of pleasant surprise. 

"You mean you're in love with him?" 

Indeed Harry  desperately wanted to tell the world, 'I am in love with Draco Malfoy!' Then several people might question who this was, and Harry would have the honor of showing them Draco's portrait, and they would understand at once. But love is but an unattainable dream; Harry knew he could not pursue Draco without greatly endangering the very soul that drove him mad with fervent passion. He frequently even became very angry with himself for falling in love. Slamming his face multiple times into his pillow, he'd declare over and over his carelessness and utter idiocy to himself. But then all was forgiven the moment he pictured those silver eyes and his innocent smile in his head. How could he not fall into a maddening love for Draco Malfoy? And how could he deny it forever? With that question still looming over them, Harry stared at his friends with a desperate expression, inwardly begging at least one of them to understand. But they would not speak until Harry denied or confirmed. So, he lowered his gaze to his feet and managed one feeble word. 

"Can't."

"What do you mean you can't? Love is not a choice, Harry. Shouldn't you of all people know this?" Ron asked.

"Well, yes, I know that. During the initial stages of love, I didn't necessarily have a choice. It just sort of happened. But I can choose if I want to entertain the thought and pursue him, can't I?"

"Look, I know I've been jesting at Malfoy's expense for a while, but if he truly makes you happy, then who cares if he's a little snobbish and prejudiced? All of that can be changed if he's really a good person," said Ron. "Right 'Mione?"

Hermione did not say a word but continued to stare at Harry, waiting for his further justification. "It's not about whether you like him or not, Ron. It's about the consequences. I mean, if I don't nip this in the bud and I pursue him, he gets his throat slit. I can't love him; it's as simple as that." 

"Doesn't sound very simple to me," muttered Ron. "Personally, mate, I don't think Lucius would sentence Draco. I don't think you think so either."

"No, I don't. But with Voldemort in the manor and Lucius's dodgy behavior, one of these days the hierarchy is going to shift, and maybe it isn't Lucius's word that will command the executions." 

"You've thought it out."

"Of course I have."

Hermione, who, up until this point, had not spoken but listened with a pensive air, suddenly sat up quickly as if struck with an idea. "What if Draco pursues you? Do you reject him? Have you thought about that?"

Harry blushed, his heart beating wildly at the mere suggestion of it. Yes, he had thought about it, but he considered it an impossibility. Draco was much too consumed by his dogma to even consider Harry's hand. In fact, because he'd thought about it so much, it even slipped into his nightly dreams. Draco would appear to him covered head to toe with black fabric, or, on exceptionally good nights, the boy would be dressed in a thin nightshirt under which he wore absolutely nothing. And in those dreams, Draco would confess his undying love beautifully with the words of a poet and the intonation of an angel. Harry would listen to this with terror that would soon give way to an irrepressible craving that only Draco could pacify. Each and every time Draco's confession would end, Harry—his heart earnestly wishing him success—would grab hold of him and kiss him with almost an animalistic hunger.

"If he ever came to me telling me he loved me and asking for my love in return, then I'd... I would have to reject him." 

"Harry! You cannot do that," said Hermione almost in a scream. Her volume and her passion startled the two of them so greatly that they both looked upon her with wild, imploring eyes. Her face had become a bright red with indignation, and she looked as if she wanted to weep. "Will you really reject him if he ever builds up the courage? You're a cruel man, Harry! Dare I even call you a man! You're a boy! A pathetic boy! And save me the pitiful justification of protecting Draco as if he hasn't been deemed highly valuable on both sides! No, you're a cruel coward, which is what every boy becomes before he degrades himself into a bad sort of man. You only think of yourself!"

"Myself?!" Now Harry had become possessed by this same state of swelling resentment. "Did you not hear a word I just said? If I could have it my way, he would be mine right this second! But I'm—"

"Protecting him, are you? Boys always justify their actions by self-designated nobility. Have you tried to regard Draco as a human? Your equal? He who trifles with all of the emotions that come with being sixteen who has just left everything to be at your side and is gradually learning the most terrifying possibility his parents have been entirely wrong. Now, if he ever finds the will to pour his heart out to you, know that it would have taken every ounce of his strength to do so. Because in this confession is not just the fear of rejection but the fear of having left everything behind for absolutely nothing. And you'll break his heart simply because it's for the best? My god, Harry. You'll send him into the pitfalls of depression and self-hatred. Will it all be worth it if he becomes paralyzed by fear and unwilling to continue on? You'll answer, 'Yes, because at least he is alive!' It honestly makes me sick how easily you disregard his feelings for the sake of his physical health. As if we haven't had enough evidence that those two things are very much mutually inclusive!" 

"Alright, say that I accept him. Someone finds out, reports him, and the scouts come for his neck."

"Yes, precisely! Because if my most powerful pawn had gone missing and was spotted in the arms of a man, I would want to slaughter him immediately! Harry, I just want you to stop being so stubborn and accept how you feel. It's cruel to him, and it's definitely cruel to yourself. Sacrifices have to be made in every relationship, and some are heavier than others."

"What sort of sacrifices have you had to make for ours?" asked Ron, evidently at ease with the lowering of Hermione's volume. 

"My sanity!" With that, she stormed out of the room, muttering insults at the both of them. 

After spending the entire evening tossing and turning with Hermione's castigation rattling in his head, the morning proved a generous respite for his torments. Harry met her on the landing as they both headed down for breakfast, and she blushed with shame and apologized immediately. 

"I couldn't help it," she whispered. "It bothered me some much to hear you abuse yourself for absolutely no good reason. I know you have loved him for a long time now. I swear, I wouldn't have yelled at you if I didn't care about you." 

"No, it's fine," said Harry, smiling. "You were right anyway. I was being stupid and two-dimensional. Thank you."

Hermione beamed happily at him, and the two of them continued to the table where breakfast was being prepared. It seemed that rest and good food were all that was necessary to cure the nerves. The Weasleys—newly joined by Ginny, who had spent her previous evening at the Lovegood residence—were their usual selves, lively and in good humor. Draco had not yet come down, so it must've been owing to that.

"Quit hogging the food, George!" Fred's remark was met with a piece of toast flying across the table. Molly became red with vexation and began scolding her sons for their behavior. "That's right, George! The minister's son is upstairs!"

"Who cares? What is he going to do anyway?" George laughed. "Make us go mad? No, he won't with that Veil still on. Besides, he'll listen to anything Harry asks of him."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.

"Nothing," Harry told her, blushing. "They're just being stupid."

"Are we, Harry? Or did Malfoy compare you to a god the moment he saw you again?" George sneered, nudging Harry suggestively with his elbow. "Say, is he pretty enough for you to be blushing like that?"

"Alright, you two, that's enough." Remus looked up momentarily from the Prophet at Harry with a curious eye before resuming his scrupulous dissection of the news. Such was his routine, and Sirius, whose sour mood could not produce the will to read, would listen to Remus's carefully crafted summary. "I wonder if he's awake."

"I should check on him," Molly agreed and set down her pan. 

"Maybe he's run off," Ginny whispered, eyeing the door with tremendous unease. 

Just moments later, from the corridor, one could hear Draco's never-ending speech, which did not once slow down as they'd approached the kitchen door.

"No bath salts, no scented soaps! A tragedy indeed! It will not do! If I have to pay for it myself, then I shall, but it is most insulting that you expected me to bathe in plain hot water with but a meager hint of sweet pea to accompany it. If you'd like, I could provide you with better soaps as well. If you are to maintain the house, miss, then I deem it an absolute necessity that you have the means of relaxation. All caretakers ought to be of mild temperament if they are to do their duties well. And thank goodness that I've brought my—Harry! Good morning to you!" Draco gasped upon seeing him and clasped his hands at his chest. He stood out amongst the rest, dressed nicely in expensive fabric and, of course, the black voile draped over his head. 

The Weasley children discreetly laughed amongst themselves, causing another blush to color Harry's face, for it was known only to him what exactly they found humorous. Molly crammed a seat in between Harry and Ginny for Draco's sake, and he happily placed himself there. Of this proximity, Harry was very glad, and the mere warmth that radiated off of the Veiled boy tempted his every sense to reach for his ungloved hand. What a fool he must've been to even think to reject Draco if the sight of his bare hand almost threatened Harry to abandon all of his morals. 

"How did you sleep?" Arthur asked him, handing him a cup of tea. 

"Well, if I weren't so exhausted, then perhaps it would have taken me half an hour to fall asleep. The bed, you see, is rather firm and much unlike mine at the manor. Actually, I was fairly cold. How terrible! To be cold and restless is a prerequisite to only the most serious illnesses. I am susceptible, you see. I was telling your wife about the disagreeable bath I was forced to endure this morning, so perhaps if someone is to go to town, they ought to purchase a new blanket, soaps, and pillows too. Do not worry about the expenses—I can tell by the look of your clothes that finances are of great concern to you—I will happily oblige to pay for it all. Why don't we all have new blankets and soaps? My gratitude to you for keeping my Harry well fed and safe!" 

Everyone stared at him with wide eyes, not expecting such a lively speech from a boy who wore the fabric of evil. Clearing his throat, Arthur nodded and glanced at his wife, who was smiling the entire time. "Well, Malfoy, I'll go into town to fulfill your requests."

"Lovely! You must buy a feathered quilt for me; of course, on the condition they're swan feathers. Pillows the very same. My demands are always easy to follow—this came to my knowledge in the words of my governess—so I dare say you shall struggle very little. But what do I know? I've never, by the by, done my own shopping. You see, I love to receive everything I want in pretty wrapping." 

"Is that right?" Arthur had begun to write down every one of Draco's conditions. "Is that all?"

"For now, yes." Draco took the cup of tea and brought it under the veil. Then, with a pause, he set it down at once. "Loose-leaf tea as well. Yes, this will not do," he said. Molly blushed and covered her face to conceal her laugh. Then, Draco turned to Harry and took his hand. Harry jumped the feeling of his skin on his own, and he knew that he'd made his affections obvious to everyone at the table. "Harry, how did you sleep?"

"Alright, actually. I actually don't mind the beds."

"Of course you don't. You're good-natured, and I'm vain! Are you so very happy this morning? I am superbly incapable of feeling quite literally anything else. Let us spend the whole day together, Harry." Draco laughed sweetly, pressing Harry's hand to his chest. "Alone."

The last word alone blurred his vision and brought upon him an intolerable temptation to tell the boy every affection that lived in his heart. Harry had to bite his tongue until the metallic taste of blood encouraged him to exist in concord with his beloved tormentor. Gathering his senses, he managed to agree to Draco's request with a smile of saturated casual air. "Yeah, sounds great." 

"It is certainly odd to have a companion in my own living quarters! Understand how tremendously lonely I had been at the manor," Draco sighed, turning to Harry completely. Upon bringing up the fateful manor, Sirius and Remus began taking an interest in the conversation. It immediately became clear to Harry that they knew only a vague version of the reasoning that propelled Lucius to bring Draco to them all. "I'd grown up alone; anyone with good sense might surmise that I should be very content. But the loneliness was not entirely physical. I am so very fortunate that my mother and father understood me at once. They must be ever so aggrieved that I have left." Suddenly Draco stopped; his entire frame seemed to sink at the mention of his parents. "Well, I've decided that I am without an appetite, and the residual fatigue from yesterday continues to plague me. Lest I fall ill, let me be excused to my room." Draco said this, in stark contrast with his lively orations just moments before, quietly and with the weight of sincere lament. Harry watched with disappointment as his friend stood and left the kitchen.