The Veiled Boy

The indigo gave way to a gentle gilt as predawn bore a radiant sun, coming forth the clearest of all summer mornings that ever should follow so grim an evening. The dew settled upon the house's creaky upholstery, and Harry sat solitary upon the porch step as a respite from his sleeplessness. How ironic that there be a day of transparent clearness blessed upon a house riddled with unwilling secrecy; Harry found it too unbearable to know that very soon, a boy to whom he must lie, made in the likeness of an angel, would wish him a good morning. 

The incessant inquiries laid upon him just last week uprooted in him a profound terror: Draco Malfoy's heartbreak. His friend, justified in his curiosity, had nearly brought Harry to the truth. It was on the tip of his tongue, and he nearly said it: "the only reason I became your friend was to use your curse for my selfish gain." But Draco's gray eyes dewy with fresh tears, the flush of color upon the whiteness of his frame, and the look of a soft, unclouded admiration for Harry rid him of his temptation entirely. How could Harry ever destroy such an expression! How lovely he looked then! Harry did not have the strength. No, it was not Dumbledore's forbidding that kept his mouth shut; it was the sole purpose of preserving in Draco a heavenly tranquility. 

The secret had been dormant in the pit of Harry's stomach for the longest time, but now, with his heart seemingly stronger than his head, it swallowed up his entire soul and would not give him any rest. Harry had even become disgusted with himself for having kept it for so long. If I were a decent person, I'd have told him a long time ago, was his resolution. The circumstances were no excuse; the war was no justification; the fact lay in the deception of an unsuspecting, honest boy whose only company had been loneliness and solitude. And for the sake of Harry's unworthy friendship, that unlearned creature left everything behind. That was the wretched crime he'd committed. 

"Harry, you're up so early," said Ginny as she sat down beside him. "Got something on your mind?" 

Harry did not answer; he continued with his eyes fixed on the dried stalk that swayed beyond. His silence was almost a protest against his own actions, and he despised himself tremendously for agreeing at all to the task. Ginny rested her head on his shoulder with quiet acknowledgment. 

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

"Is it so easy to tell?"

"Yeah. Your face is all screwed up like you've heard the nastiest piece of gossip. Harry, don't trouble yourself too much over all of this."

"I can't help it. I can't stop thinking about everything that I've done to him. If I hadn't agreed to Dumbledore's plans, then he'd be at home with his family without anything to derail him."

"You're guilty."

"Guilty doesn't cover it. I'm mortified by it all."

"But would you rather he be committing the worst sort of crimes as the Veiled Heir?"

"Just because this alternative happens to be less immoral than the first doesn't take away from how messed up it is. I lied to him from the very beginning; every one of our "spontaneous" rendezvous was all premeditated to earn his trust. But he thinks I truly wished for it, that I actually cared from the start." 

"You don't?"

"Merlin, I do now. I want nothing but his company, but I am certainly going to lose him if I tell him the truth." Harry sighed and hung his heavy head between his knees in a display of inner defeat. "I can't lose him."

"You love him," whispered Ginny, removing her head from his shoulder. He looked to her and studied her visage. Radiant was her color, a stark contrast from the whiteness of Draco, and she looked upon him with a beautiful, fiery expression characterized only by a silent impatience. 

"Yes," he whispered. "With all that I am."

She nodded slowly and turned toward the field. There was a resolute silence that separated them just then, and she carried an air of an irrepressible disappointment that was desperately attempted to be concealed. "Harry Potter is in love with a Veiled boy."

"Yeah."

"You're always getting yourself into some kind of trouble, so I can't say that I'm surprised this is where your heart goes," she said. "If it bothers you so much—the secret, I mean—why don't you tell him? You won't lose him."

"You don't know that." 

"I think I do." Ginny laughed at him, rolling her eyes. "You're really stupid sometimes, Harry. Everyone else sees how much Draco adores you. Your honesty is infinitely better than his discovery, don't you think?"

Harry nodded. 

The rest of the family woke from their peaceful slumber, including Draco, who, upon seeing Harry, told him most enthusiastically a good morning.

"How did you sleep?" Molly asked Draco with a genteel voice. 

"Quite alright. My comforts have gradually been improved, but how I crave to hear from Severus," said Draco woefully. 

"I hear that he is to come tomorrow," said Remus from the opposite end of the table. "To see you, of course."

Draco's entire frame jumped, and with a loud gasp, he clasped his hands together with a profound bliss. "My dear godfather is to see me tomorrow? Oh, I am ever so glad to hear of it! Thank you, sir! Do you hear, Harry? Severus shall see me and bring word of mother and father!" Draco let out a sweet laugh.

The boy's happiness lightened the entire table at once, and there was not a single person without a smile as they beheld Draco's never-ending panegyrics of his missed family and his uncontainable excitement. Harry's smile left him prematurely to observe Draco's fortified happiness. One sentence could ruin it all, were his thoughts. One sentence will steal away his smile, wet his glittering eyes, and rob the accursed Harry from hearing the song of his laugh; such will surely be replaced by weeping and distressed denial. 

The entire day continued like this. Draco was in a state of tranquil calm and entertained every single person without his previous aversions. And passing Harry in the corridors would bring out a small laugh from him as if he were the one carrying a secret. But with each passing moment, Harry's entire being was in extreme torment; his compassion swept away every one of Draco's charms of happiness, and he stood there before Harry as a pitiful, wounded little boy. It was this state of mind that kept the air of summer so bitter and suffocating. There was not a single moment of breath, for Harry's heart was bitter at how human his capabilities were, how vile he had been. Such could not happen if man were not equally plagued with desperation, frailty, and the necessary naivety. Harry watched him at every moment of the day, nearly reaching for his arm to stop him, pull him outside, and tell him everything at least three different times. And when the family was asleep in their bedrooms and Draco enjoyed his usual quietude before the burning hearth without his Veil, Harry stood behind the banister of the stairwell with every intention, watching. 

The incandescent light fell upon Draco's face and blessed the Weasleys' tattered wallpaper with a shadow of his heavenly proportions. He sat on the sofa with the regal air of contentment. The thin robes he wore concealed a stranger's eyes from his night clothes, but the sliver of his ankles, exposed from his pose, was so beautifully nonchalant, like an exceptionally fine, romantic painting. The entire scene had not yet become a tragedy, and Harry watched to preserve this moment in his head; it was all so wickedly and rudely glorious to him. 

Before he could make a decision on whether he might intrude, Draco took notice of him and straightened up at once. His downcast eyes lifted and looked at him with a gentle invitation. With grace upon his moments, Draco provided Harry with an opening beside him and wordlessly beckoned him with a smile in the likeness of spring. Slowly, Harry positioned himself on the sofa and grew nervous to feel the warmth radiating off of his unknowing victim. 

"Are you growing used to living here?" asked Harry, desperate to fill the silence. 

"I don't think I shall ever be used to living in such poverty. But I am content now that I am with you." The sweet words did nothing but amplify Harry's contrition. "Are you growing used to my being here?"

"There's nothing more natural than having you so close. I couldn't think of anything else that could guarantee my happiness as having you." 

Draco blushed. "Is that so? Do you truly believe my company to be a blessing? Have I not bored you, Potter?"

"No, of course not. You'll never bore me."

"Then if I cannot bore you, then I shall drive you mad. It will not be my eyes but my eccentricities," said Draco, jesting at his own expense. "I see the other children become much too vexed with my expectations and demands, but you bear it so well. One day, though, you'll go mad."

Harry managed a laugh. "Never. I need you around, or else I could not function."

"But you cannot sleep as of late, can you? What a terrible thing it is to struggle in the late hours; I am no stranger to it myself," said Draco with a tender voice. "As selfish as I am, I am rather glad that it steals you from your bed and occupies you here beside me."

Harry blushed to perceive the hint of seduction in his tone and the way Draco looked upon him with low lids and a soft languor. It seemed impossible that a mortal could, with a mere sentence, improve their already stately appearance. It transcended the very laws of nature that bound him pathetically to this earth. And Harry's anxiety worsened. 

"It is so difficult to speak to you privately like this," Draco continued, with his eyes still fixated upon Harry. "With there being prying eyes at every corner, I've learned privacy is a privilege. From the hours of ten to twelve, I sit here in this room so complete in the image of its owners just to think for myself. It makes me tired, so I suggest you do the same if you struggle to reach the land of slumber." 

Draco finally turned to face the hearth, leaning his arms and head on the back of the sofa, curving his body with effortless ease so that the thin robes could shape the thinness of his waist and every tormenting curvature of his leg. Harry's mind, already plagued by his own guilt, felt the shock of physical attraction and the temptation to reach out and touch him. And becoming conscious of his own attraction pushed him further into the depths of his mental prison. What if this is the very last time that I am beside him like this? And if I tell him the wicked crime I've committed, I will never get the chance to feel the hidden splendor that I sense awaits me beneath the selfish georgette. 

Without any self-restraint, Harry placed a hand upon Draco's thigh just to get his attention. The boy slowly turned to him with a smile and took his gesture as a sign to move closer. "I'd like to talk to you seriously," said Harry softly, his hand still gracing Draco's thigh. 

"I have not a single objection to it. What of?" 

"You, I guess. I want to talk about our friendship."

Draco's eyes widened momentarily, and he adopted a serious look of impatience. "Ah, so you pursue a long conversation; when the topic is of me, I'm afraid I shall speak for a millennia," he joked without a smile—but it seemed he was on the verge. 

"You know how much I care about you," said Harry quietly, begrudgingly watching the color rise to Draco's face. "Nobody truly understands this but you. I think I have to stress this a thousand times: I cannot be without you, Draco. You must know that. It is the most important thing I wish for you to understand."

"Of course," said Draco with a small smile. Oh, please rid yourself of it, thought Harry. I am going to break your heart very soon, but you look at me as if I am on my knee presenting you with a diamond. 

"Do you remember our conversation last week? You know, when you asked me why I became your friend and I answered in a way that disappointed you."

Draco nodded. "Yes, indeed. But I forgive you for it, Harry. Every friendship starts out with some kind of intention, and if yours was sheer curiosity, then I cannot be vexed for more than a moment, for it was that curiosity that brought you to me," said he. Draco placed his hand on Harry's—still rested on his leg. 

"Yes, and do you remember when I'd said that even if I had some odd ulterior motive, I'd give up everything just for your company? That nothing could ever matter to me more than you?"

Draco blushed again, and a brilliant smile appeared on his face. His gray eyes sparkled with a youthful expectation; there was so much beauty in his visage that Harry was forced to look away so that he could continue. A second more with his eyes on such an angel would steal his confession from his mouth once again. It was for the first time in his life that he wished Draco wore the Veil. 

"And I cannot continue with you until you know absolutely everything, Draco. I've struggled with this secret for so long, and frankly, I cannot live another day until you know." 

"Oh, Harry, I feel the same."

"There was an ulterior motive," said Harry at the same time Draco blurted his own sentence. Just shy of receiving what was certainly a confession, Harry rid himself of unequivocal happiness as well as Draco's hand. The boy moved away at once, and the heavenly expression gave way to one of tremendous terror and confusion. 

"Pardon?"

"There was an ulterior motive, Draco," he said again, slowly this time. "Dumbledore wished for me to earn your trust, your loyalty, so that you may aid us in the efforts against the Veiled."

Draco's eyes widened; he turned away from Harry at once with one hand on the arm of the sofa as if he were preparing to push himself up and leave at once. He could not speak. 

Silence. 

"Dumbledore knew of your curse," began Harry, whose voice began to tremble. "And he knew how useful you could be to our pursuit of peace, so, from the very beginning, with guileful intentions, I have acted in every way to pull you to me and away from your previous life..."

Draco still could not reply; his lips quivered like a child on the verge of a fit. 

"It is cruel, selfish, and even if I have abandoned that sentiment a long time ago—"

"You've abandoned it, have you?" Draco snapped suddenly, still unmoved. "Am I not in this wretched house away from my family for a friend who has apparently skillfully rewired my psyche? You pronounce the word 'abandoned' as if you believe it to redeem you. But I mourn to hear it,  Harry..." Draco stood up and wrapped himself in his own arms tightly. The robes he wore lifted, and one side slipped off his shoulder, but Draco did not cover himself. He stood there shaking like a leaf with his small shoulder exposed like the helpless boy he realized himself to be. There were tears in his eyes, and Harry's throat choked him for it. 

"I'm sorry, Draco." Harry stood and reached for his friend; Draco recoiled at once. "My feelings have never been a lie. I have truly cared about you for a long time, and it pains me to see you are questioning it right now."

"Oh, it pains you! Woe is you! In vain you have struggled with this secret and even more so to see that I have the nerve to be repulsed by it!"

"I do not lie to you when I say that you mean everything to me," he said slowly so that Draco's attention could be his own for a little longer. "You have been and always will be my beloved friend; that has not changed." 

Harry hated the distance that his words created and reached again for him, even knowing that he would not feel him at the end of his fingers. Draco had begun to shiver with a startling violence, his face crimson with anger, and tears fell continuously. To perceive it felt like hot iron pressing tortuously against Harry's breast. The boy who had been leaning into him just moments earlier stood rigidly at a distance.

"Draco, please—"

"I wish not to hear my name upon your tongue!" cried Draco. "How dare you decorate the utterance of my name with 'friend' or 'beloved'; it appears to me now that I have never been close to either."

"No, you’re misunderstanding! My secrecy is not out of fear of your leaving the premeditated effort but out of fear you will leave me!"

"And so you've trapped me! You, in all of your wickedness, waited for a moment when you were certain that I could not take leave. And this is the result of it! That I find myself unwillingly at the center of an elaborate system that you've deceivingly stained with the words friendship and affection!"

"Can't you understand that I would leave everything behind for you? Only for you! Everything for you!"

"A practiced prevaricator stands before me! Do you not understand that loyalty worked on by a weak hand produces only a feeble whisper of it? And I have suspected for a long time that there must've been something beyond my knowledge, for it was so incomprehensible that someone as good and incorruptible as you could swoop down to meet me. But I find now that you are beneath me in all ways possible; that you are a coward, and I am not; you are wicked, and I am not, yet I wear the Veil, and you do not!" 

Harry stood there, his mouth agape and his hands pathetically outstretched before him but unable to catch Draco, who crumbled to the floor with his head in his hands, struggling to catch his breath. 

"I am so, so sorry, Draco," whispered Harry, clutching his chest to ease the pain settled there. "Even if you don't believe, I have to say it aloud that I love you. It is hell to see the pain that I've caused you. Don't you know that my agreeing to do this task only came from the belief that I thought it was best for you? You'd have ruined yourself if you remained with them."

"What did you care for it all?!" Draco stood defiantly to his feet once again but wavered with the gradual weakness that took hold of him. "You despised me at the start! I was nothing but a mule of ideology and a slave to absurd ideas to you! Pray quit your ambitions of telling me it was all for the best; my power tempted you first and foremost, and your success mattered to you more than my well-being. Do not attempt to deny it! You have probed the depths of your vanity and found me so eager to please and oblige to your wishes, but I am no longer willing," he said, between sobs. 

Draco made to leave, but Harry, suddenly struck with a fear of losing him, grabbed his arm and pulled him close. Draco did not pull away and stood there an inch away from Harry with his face turned away and his hands to his chest. The warmth that should have been there was now a terrifying chill, and there was no sign of any adoration coming from the latter. It seemed as if he were being held there in Harry's arms against his will, as if he were a victim too weak to defend himself. Draco's composure finally left him, and he began to weep with great fervency, startling Harry ever more. 

"Draco, I'm so sorry," whispered Harry. "Say the word and I'll take you away from here forever. I cannot be without you." 

"Please, don't do this to me," he whimpered between his tears. "You, on the night I had lifted my veil before you, had told me that I had been a prisoner of something bigger than myself. Mother and father have never deceived me, wished to use me, or lied to me for their own gain. I was not their prisoner but yours. Yours I shall remain until the last breath is stolen from my lips just shy of color."

"My prisoner? Draco, don't say that," begged Harry. Instinctively, he pulled the boy closer, who only stiffened and recoiled at their increased proximity. "I would never force you to do anything you were not willing."

"But you have. You've demonstrated that you're rather skilled at it."

The situation ought to have produced only a visage of extreme hatred, but Draco's glistening eyes spoke an entirely different conviction of heartbreak and a subtle yearning. 

"I really do love you," whispered Harry. 

"No, you don't. Those are empty words; an attempt to please me and keep me submissive." Draco shook his head and gently pressed his hands against Harry's chest, attempting to push him away but having not the strength to. "Let me go."

"Draco—"

"Let me go!"

Harry finally released him and watched with a racing heart as Draco disappeared into the dense darkness beyond the wall. The third floor shook with the slamming of the door, and Harry could hear Draco's wails of grief and the windows shattering from the sheer emotion that radiated from him. The Weasley home found itself in perpetual darkness; not even the moon's silver could grace the roof.