The Veiled Boy

The morning following the absence of Draco Malfoy had brought upon the manor a catastrophic disaster. Lucius had begun to clean up after himself, setting off early the evening prior under the air of a political endeavor with his wife. Draco was to stay behind—so believed by the Lord and the staff—when in actuality he joined his parents in their supposed trivial departure. Accordingly, Lucius and Narcissa returned to find the boy's room in complete disarray with the furniture turned upside down, clothes sprawled messily here and there, and most critically, the bed empty and the entire room devoid of Draco Malfoy. It had conveniently happened upon them that Rookwood had a rather memorable disagreement with Draco, and Lucius touched up his plan under the influence of these powerful impressions. Narcissa skillfully succumbed to a convincing hysterical attack, and Lucius placed Rookwood under the eye of condemnation. The poor man could not defend himself, for the master of the house had tampered skillfully with his memory, cut out his tongue, and placed before him a series of fabricated letters of conference between himself and a secret member of the Order. The Lord, trembling in agony and despair at the loss, read the correspondence between Rookwood and this member and wailed to find that Draco Malfoy had been kidnapped, overpowered, and held for barter at the extraordinary amount of 12.6 million galleons! It was all there! The letters, the check, the manor's blueprint, and council itineraries! Lucius, playing a most aggrieved father, smiled behind the length of his hair as the Lord mercilessly punished the wretched Rookwood and allowed Lucius to finish the job, reducing the mighty councilman to a large red stain on their drawing room rug.

But besides the Lord's emotional distraught—such that could only be augmented by solid belief—Lucius also rejoiced in knowing his son to be both safe and at peace, even if he desperately wished to exchange but one word with his dear Draco. The following day, the Dark Lord, still ailing with an intense paranoia and rage, appointed Lucius the head of the search for his son and obliged every member of the council to carry on as usual. The knowledge that the Veiled Son had been abducted and absent was not to be known, and he pledged to slaughter any man who whispered but an inkling of their loss. But first and foremost, he is still a father! Even if everything Lucius wished had gone accordingly, he still felt himself in a whirlwind caused only by a storm of mixed winds. Could it be his dearest son was to defect from them? Under the influence of time and company, his son could very well abandon everything Lucius had worked tirelessly for. And the consequences could not be logically accounted for; personal sacrifice and the reconstruction of the soul would be absolute, the strength for which Lucius could only hope to possess. All of this and more commanded his will, and it seemed in these last two days, Lucius had lived two decades, for the stress of his son's departure and consequently, his fate, had indeed aged him tremendously. To remedy his sufferings and his inner ailments, Lucius thought only of the expression on Draco's face to hear he was to return to Harry. On full display was the emancipation of his heart, capable of all the treasures of passion, but it was the unspoken gratitude toward his parents embedded in that look of serenity that erased every temptation in Lucius to refuse his leaving. Happiness and infinitely more for Draco was a shared sentiment between Lucius and his wife, and having the pledge honored could bring upon them nothing less than absolute ease. The manor had certainly become a gloomy, strict sort of place (more so a ward than a home), but Lucius could hardly mourn for it. His dear wife—whose strength he admired consistently—seemed at peace despite it all as well. Let the entire manor burn! If Draco wears a smile and laughs with sweet extravagance, who gives a damn what becomes of so insignificant a house?

Draco stood at the window looking out at the vast country that surrounded the pitiful house. A truly fine day it was. The summer sun poured upon the sea of gold, rippling with the natural grace of a tranquil wind under a sky of a vibrant blue produced only by good air. Out on the lawn, he watched the children of the house playing a silly game, laughing and shouting at each other most affectionately as all children seem to do. But of them, Draco could hardly care, for in the midst of them all was his very own Adonis. 

With wistful eyes and a full heart, he watched Harry in all of his splendor move with good health and perfect athleticism. Truly admirable, not Harry's evidently being good at the mysterious game, but the way that tormenting boy wears it so well! The perfect symphony of a healthy tan, the dampness of sweat, and the showing of the arms! It seemed a scandal, and it certainly would have been deemed so at the manor. No boy of fine breeding should behave like that, tackling a friend in pursuit of an object. No, it is most unseemly and lacks every bit of propriety! But perhaps, if Draco and Harry were the sole participants, he may be obliged to give in to that verboten temptation! 

Entertainment from observation could only palliate his sorrow fractionally, and Draco—since breakfast—had been overcome by a stubborn determination to not be seen by anyone at all. If it was his shame or guilt that prompted his sudden attack of shyness, he could not tell, but indeed he was melancholic and sick with bereft. The initial bout of happiness had worn off, and the utter realness of his own situation took hold. It is certain moments in life when one is acquainted with regret for not having appreciated one's parents thoroughly, and it was now that Draco felt it firmly. If his parents could only join him here, he knew he would be perfectly happy and contented. And having not seen Severus since his departure from the manor, Draco could only surmise that his childhood home was up in hysterics, most of all the Dark Lord, over his orchestrated disappearance. 

With you, dear boy, we shall conquer the world effortlessly. That is your duty; that is your birthright. Your reluctance means nothing to me. The curse within reigns firm over your conscience. You belong to it. You belong to me. 

As if a divine force pulled him, Draco moved at once toward his luggage and graced it with his hand. All would be set right again if he would just pack everything and take leave. His mother and father would embrace him as they do, kiss him, praise him, and Draco would no longer be without the necessary comforts of his life. Then, if it was truly his birthright, he might be able to conjure up the will to assist in fortifying his family's position. If he partook in those atrocities, surely Harry could not forgive it if Draco Malfoy turned out to be a malicious sort of boy with an immobile determination to slaughter. It was wholly out of character! And it mattered not if Harry could not forgive, for Draco would sooner fall ill with grief before he ever spilled but a thimble of dirty blood. Even if he did manage to even abuse even one perfect stranger, Draco would decay the quickest of any one of those soulless men—mind his father, of course, for his sacrifices for Draco granted him a pardon. What a sore twist of fate that it should happen that someone as ill-fitted as Draco should wield a power at all. Often Draco thought how leisurely his life would have been if he'd been plain, unforgiving, and even weak. Poor Podgers haunted him still, and God forbid there ever be another victim! Curse my birthright, thought Draco. Who spouts the foolishness that one cannot bend according to the demands of human life but is damned to adhere to a perfect stranger's poor advice? But am I too young to forsake my own traced-out path? Have I the courage and intelligence to wield that responsibility? 

He was standing before his luggage, in the midst of an internal examination, when his thoughts were interrupted by the raucous entry of the other children into the house. The manor could never produce a sound so disruptive, but a house with walls as fine as coffee wafers, Draco could hear their laughter even from the third floor. Among the terrible clamor was the wonderful symphony of Harry's profound happiness, speaking of his triumph in the game. Pressing his ear against the door, Draco listened as his voice approached the landing, joined by a fairer one, not at all similar to Granger's—it must be the daughter. 

"Malfoy's still up there," she had said and adopted a more hushed voice. "I wonder if he's going to leave."

"I hope not," said Harry. Draco's heart expanded at the mere thought that Harry could desperately wish for his detainment. "I wouldn't worry; he is probably getting used to the new place. After all, it happened as suddenly to him as it had to us."

"If the minister wanted to hide him and keep him uninvolved with the whole thing, then why did he bring him here? I mean, this house and everyone in it will stop at nothing until the Veiled are back in their place. But yet, we are hosting a Veiled boy—their most powerful Heir, mind you—like an inn."

"Ginny, he's here because of me," said Harry more quietly. Draco blushed and pressed his head further into the rough door. 

"Because of you? Do you mean he's spying on us all?"

"No, he and I are very good friends. Draco wanted to stay with me simply because he trusts me."

"'Simply' you say! But if I were to guess, I'd say he's in love with you," laughed the girl. "I don't think I could ever leave my family for someone unless I loved them, Harry. Don't you feel the very same?"

"I'd leave for any one of you."

"For Draco? Would you leave the Burrow to stay at the Malfoy manor for his sake?"

The landing was overcome with an impenetrable hush; the only sound to be heard was the fierce drumming of Draco's heart. The silence had continued for nearly thirty seconds when Harry's reply came in the form of a laugh. 

"I'd be killed instantly, Ginny, if I ever stepped foot in the manor. The only reason Draco could make this sacrifice is because the people here are civil and humane. What good would it serve anyone if I did such a thing?"

Ginny laughed along with him. "Right. It almost angers me that Malfoy doesn't understand how diabolical the Veil is. I hate to even have him wear it under the roof, especially in front of Hermione, who's shown him nothing but kindness."

"It's more complicated than that," said Harry quietly. 

"Yes, I know. But let me be angry on my own; I won't ever treat him ill because of it. I just wanted to tell you how irksome it feels for me. Surely, you feel the same."

"Yes, a little. But I know of his character and wouldn't have borne it well if he were a stranger. Trust me, Ginny. There is not a better person in the world."

"How sweet, my dearest friend, Harry! Let me kiss you for that," the girl teased, and there was an obscene sound of a kiss upon the landing that brought upon Draco a tremendous jolt of frustration. He pulled away quickly from the door and brought his trembling hands to his face. Indeed, she was agreeable in appearance, and her closeness with him could only imply history and deep connection. Could it be that his Harry, his dear, beloved Harry, could have affections for her? And if it is so, and their hands are intertwined and their lips pressed against one another, could Draco possibly stay with the justifications he'd solidified with utmost confidence just moments earlier? 

Draco fell onto the threadbare ottoman and grabbed his head with a deep resentment toward everything divine that made it so.

My Harry cannot be disposed to some common girl! Can he never be mine—God forbid!—he must marry a stately woman who, despite her wealth, looks plain and is dull in conversation. So that when Harry kisses her and loves her, he can only think of who he deems infinitely superior: me! I absolutely forbid him to sink so low and entangle himself with disagreeable poverty! Shall he be happy? Should I not wish him happiness if I truly adore him? Good God! How I hate to do it, and with every fiber of my being resisting a needless blessing, I will! But I cannot be under this roof any longer; I shall sooner go mad. 

There was a firm knock on his door, one he instantly recognized to belong to his tormentor. His trembling hands dove into his drawers, and he quickly applied rose powder to his cheeks to conceal the pale horrors he'd succumbed to. Draco hid it away as quickly as he'd applied it and stood with his back against the mirror, hoping that this position could relay to Harry his effortless charm and complete unaffectedness. The door opened, and he stepped in, handsome and obliging, with a gentle expression upon his face. 

"Draco, I was hoping to spend time with you."

"You were partaking in a most disagreeable—dare I call it a sport—activity. Your occupation takes you from me, not the other way."

Harry laughed and approached him slowly. Draco could not hold his gaze and dropped his eyes to the floorboards to conceal the tears that had blurred his vision. How odd it felt to tremble before him again; such he had not done since before their friendship. It was not fear but utter nerves that took hold of him, and Draco felt so utterly embarrassed for his own sake that he almost quit the room. 

"You're crying," whispered Harry, lifting his chin to observe him closely, but Draco dared not look him in the eye despite his being requested to do so. 

"Forgive me," Draco let out a forced laugh. "I do confess to being susceptible to the unease brought on only by a change of situation. I'll have you know I wept bitterly my first night at Hogwarts. But I dare say you do not ail from so trivial a sentiment, for you are brave and firm in character."

Harry smiled gently, but it lasted only a second as it gave way to a frown. "You think too highly of me."

"So you are modest too," Draco said hurriedly. "I am but a mere shadow in your likeness; I am not so dull as to be ignorant of your value. But I ask you to be honest, my dearest friend, if you detest me the very way I thought you had before you'd asked for my friendship."

Harry looked almost startled and removed his hand from Draco's face at once as if he'd suffered a burn or a jolt of electricity. "Why do you ask?"

"I see that I do not possess the qualifications necessary in what I ask, but I had been curious. If I had been tricked or beguiled into my perception of our relationship, then I might have been horrified, for I have left everything behind for it. But if it is not the case, then forgive my foolishness, I beg you." 

"Well, I promise that I don't resent you in any way."

"But you have before? Before you'd known me in my entirety—yes, I dare say you do know me most intimately, for I have never concealed a single thing from you." Draco was now able to look his friend steadfast in the eye. 

"I resented the Veil and the person who I thought you were. Of course, the same way you held prejudices against me."

"And why did you befriend me, Harry? Tell me, do I know you as well as you know me? Can it be that something so terribly wrong has gone on without my knowledge? Tell me so I may sleep another night here and be happy, so that I may sit with pride upon my decision and render myself a fool for ever doubting my conscience."

Harry blushed, but not such with pleasure but with humiliation. The boy let out a nervous laugh and shook his head as if Draco had uttered the most foolish thing in the world. There was not a word as a reply but merely this feeble display of unease. Draco shuddered and pulled away from Harry at once. 

"Answer me, my dearest Harry. Goodness, your silence terrifies me. Do not tease me. I am incapable, at the moment, of being anything but serious. Why do you not answer?"

"You're asking why I befriended you as if that matters now," said Harry hurriedly. "If it had been a stupid thing just to satisfy boredom, a dare, or curiosity, then it doesn't matter, does it? Because I care about you more than I care about anyone else, and our friendship is the only thing that challenges my entire existence. Draco, you're important to me. I want you to understand that the only thing that matters is that I never want you to be separated from me."

Draco blushed and felt the weight of shame upon him. "Was it a dare? A childish act of impulse?"

"Something of the sort, I guess."

"So you had lied to me for your entertainment?"

"No, nothing after our first exchange was for my entertainment. The anticipation, yes, but everything after was genuine."

Draco wrapped himself in his arms and moved away toward the window. He peered out at the golden waves of dried summer grass and how miraculously they've lost their allure. "I am embarrassed. But I dare say it is a lot better than if you'd had some ill intention behind your askance, if you had some ulterior motive, that is. If it was merely to satisfy a curiosity, then I cannot claim myself a saint, for I had merely wanted a friend to cure my loneliness. I suppose we have started out on the same level of lowliness." 

"Hypothetically, if there even was an ulterior motive, I hope you'd understand anyway that I could not do without you."

"You could not do without me until I've satisfied that motive, you mean."

"No, because I'd do anything for you even if it went against everything I wanted."

Draco turned and studied Harry carefully. "How solemnly you speak to me, Harry. Was there an ulterior motive? Pray do not lie."

"No," said he, laughing the same nervous laugh again. "Come downstairs, will you?"

"But I wish to speak to you, only you," Draco whispered. He took Harry's hands and pressed them against his tear-stained cheek. "Will you hold me so that I cannot regret my being here?"

Harry obliged at once, taking Draco's waist and bringing him into the warmest embrace. Though his sadness still ached tremendously in his heart, his happiness shined through brighter still, and he smiled in the crook of Harry's neck. "I hope you really don't regret it at all, Draco. You coming here, I mean. I think you made the right choice because I might have been sick to know what sort of crimes they'd have you commit."

"Any reason why else?"

"Yes, but they are selfish and my own," said Harry quietly, wrapping his arms tightly around Draco's waist. "I really missed you."

He removed himself from Harry's embrace to see the expression on the face that had uttered those beautiful words. Missed me! Me! My dearest Harry has missed me only a fraction less than I have—if he adored me the very same way, he'd have kissed me, for Harry is an impulsive sort. "Oh, how you look at me now. I cannot decipher it at all; I pray it is of happy contentment, but if it is a shy regret, you wear it so well!"

"I hate that you question me," said Harry. "It's like you think it an impossibility that I actually like you."

"It is an impossibility for you to adore me the same way I adore you," Draco said with a smile on his blushing face. "Yes, I hold myself above all else, but before you I am a small, feeble little creature. You're upset? I rejoice in my humility before you, and let me act accordingly, on principle, so that you may understand that nature has let it be so. Oh, the shock on your face, Harry. I have fallen from high society into this godforsaken house for you, Harry, and you dare to wear that look of surprise when I tell you that I happily kneel for you and only you?" Draco startled himself with his words of passion and stepped back in horror. "I am a fool and have to learn to hold my tongue."

Harry merely laughed and took Draco's hands again. "There's no one like you, Draco. But I like to hear it. You'd kneel for me, would you?"

"Readily."

"I've just made a dirty joke, but you don't have a clue to what you've just admitted," said Harry, still laughing. 

Draco gasped and removed his hands from Harry's. "I despise you, I really do! You're a lowly, depraved sort of man. Only you could twist my words and stain them with prurience! You ought to be ashamed! You're very right; let us go downstairs so that you may not be tempted to be so disagreeable before company."

"As if they think I'm an angel," laughed Harry. He took his hand and walked with him down the wretchedly decorated corridors. 

The entire family, at ease with their sufficing exercise and tired from the sun's influence, sat in the living room laughing and talking contentedly amongst themselves. Upon seeing Draco, with the Veil fixated on his crown, they silenced, and a tension most unnatural in this harmonious home settled at once. The guilt and shame Draco suffered attacked him suddenly; despite his being immune yesterday, it came upon him so violently and intently that he felt nothing at all could remedy it. But Harry had given him a look of encouragement and pulled him to sit down beside him on a tattered sofa. 

How incorrigibly decorated this house is, thought Draco. If they should ever be my guests, their shame will come in the form of humility, poverty, and a severe lack of propriety. With Harry at his side and the clear representation of his status—his stately appearance and expensive accessories—his confidence was restored, and he sat with a regal air, looking upon his subordinates with indifference. Was it habit or a feeble attempt at comfort? Draco was not sure, for it being both could be a possibility, but he had been grateful that he did not give in to his temptation to run away most shamefully. 

"A fine day it was outside," said the matron, handing him a cup of tea.

"A saucer?"

"Oh, yes," she blushed and ran to the kitchen. She returned with a saucer that clearly did not come with the cup and set it down most disagreeably before him. Draco dared not touch it and shuddered at the terrible sight. The manor's porcelain saucers always match the cup! Any other way had not been considered by Draco until this moment, and the sense of unfamiliarity that ailed him earlier settled in once again. 

"Dad's gone to town to get your stuff," said one of the Weasley children sitting beside his copy. "The swan feathers, the soaps, everything."

"Good," said Draco. 

"And how are you feeling, dear?" The mother asked warmly. "Of course, if you are still uneasy, we cannot blame you. This must be a great change from your earlier situation."

"Indeed," said Draco. "But I do not wish to speak of how different it all is, for I may grow obsessed with your unfortunate situation."

The girl who might have kissed Harry just earlier laughed gently, sprawled out as rudely as she was on the floor in exiguous pajamas most disagreeable for any young lady. Ginny is her name, recalled Draco. Thus perfect, friendly, and energetic, Ginny Weasley was surely catching the eye of Harry in a lowly, improper way. 

"I really admire your confidence, Malfoy," said Ginny, leaning forward and revealing her cleavage. "To tell us how worse off we are as our guest. If I had an ounce of it, then maybe I could conquer the world." 

"I dare say you possess more confidence than I, being that you have only a stitch of clothing upon your back."

Ginny recoiled with a smile. "Well! My apologies, your grace, that I don't want to cover every inch of my skin in the middle of summer. You act as if you've never seen a woman in pajamas!" 

"I have, but only that of proper ladies who dress conservatively in shapeless nightgowns."

"And because I wear this top, I am not a proper lady?"

"Precisely. It has never occurred to me that I should label you as such. For not only do you reveal your cleavage, your shoulders, and your legs, you sit so unladylike upon the floor—a spot reserved for servants and dogs even." Draco had become immensely hot with indignation, nursing every ounce of animosity toward this girl and only more so at the lack of vexation upon her. How strong-willed she is, thought Draco! For I have just corrected her conduct in her own home, and yet she looks upon me with great amusement. 

"We will be good friends, I can tell," said Ginny finally, bearing the insult very well. Harry looked upon her with immense satisfaction, and Draco's hatred only increased.

Harry seldom looks upon me with that look. He blushes with shame when I open my mouth; he corrects me and deems me a fool for my belief. But her, even if she—in her whorish display—proves herself to be headstrong, there is not a reproach that leaves him. Truly, he does not adore me as I do for him. He may tell me that he does, hold my hand, and embrace me with warmth, but I am a friend, and only that rank merits his actions.

Ginny Weasley, amiable and lovely, has caught his eye, and perhaps when Draco's head is heavy on his pillow, the two of them may partake in sinful behavior beneath a coarse sheeting where Draco ought to be.

He was trembling with a vigorous jealous rage, and he let out an exhale to stifle the cascade of insults ready to leave him. But he resorted to a calm voice that carried from him elegant poise. "Harry, it pains me even more to learn the company you keep. How does your head not twist most violently when you speak with them after being introduced to proper society with me?"

"Well, my head does twist the other way. I'm used to this; you know, the carefree way, unformed by the rules of class. But when I'm with you, I am always shocked to learn what expectations you have and the rules."

The Weasleys shared a hearty laugh, but this only amplified Draco's anger. "Carefree is kindly put! I'd have used a plethora of other adjectives, but let me be obliging and remain silent so as to spare their feelings. Harry, let it be so that my ways shock you even more, but let's not be fools and deny that they are reasonable and proper."

"Reasonable for you, yes," said Harry. "But I could never function in that way. It's too suffocating. Come on, do you blame me?”

"Rude!" Draco gasped, blushing furiously now. "Harry, I believed you better behaved!"

"I am very well behaved. We all are. Just not to your standards, but that is just fine. Because I think you'd like to loosen up a bit, right?"

"So if we must coexist, I would have to give up humanity for pure savagery?" Draco gasped. 

"Savagery!" Ginny laughed loudly. "Yes, a tank top is pure savagery!"

The family giggled again. Draco's gloved hands grabbed his own robes tightly, and fresh tears emerged in his eyes. Harry seemed to notice his discomfort, for he was the first to stop his laughing. Without a word, Harry took Draco's hand and held it firmly in his own, but Draco stole it away as soon as it came. Upon his friend's face was a pained perplexity that Draco rejoiced in seeing. Has he not realized that I love him? Have I deserted my family for the mere sensation of unrequited love? I cannot bear it be!

Beneath the Veil and before the unknowing family, Draco silently wept and wished for more than ever for his family, his drawing room, and a cup with a matching saucer.