The Veiled Boy

It was due to the poor boy's temperament that Severus was obligated to navigate the impenetrable fog that settled upon the Weasley house with a lantern in hand. And despite it being two weeks shy of August, there was such a sharp chill about the air that the poor family—unprepared for the drop in temperature—had asked Severus to bring with him firewood for their now barren hearth. Though he should mourn his godson's illness, there was an inner relief that came upon knowing what had brought it on. This is only natural; this is the world of Draco Malfoy as he courageously defines his life with the little knowledge he possesses. It is dark, grim, cold, and unforgiving, but Severus preferred that it existed in this way than not at all. A child must acquaint themselves with discomfort, absent from the looming figures of authority, should they desire a character entirely their own and crafted organically with influence vice instruction. Such hardships do plenty for a boy, and even if in Severus there was dread and guilt, he understood there was nothing more necessary in theory and in practice than Draco knowing.

What a truly solemn scene it was, and if not for the feeble glow of the oil lamp held by the father of the house, Severus would have been trapped forever in an aimless walk. The perilous journey of subsurface darkness thus came to an end upon his entry; wordlessly, he bowed his head admirably toward the brave Harry. The absence of the usual energy and amiability in Harry's features was replaced by an uncharacteristic severity; Severus could surmise further a general conviction that the scene had unfolded horribly, and Harry had been suffering greatly for it.

As if the house were not already surrounded by a thick darkness, the stairs and upward seemed to have been erased completely by the Divine hand, for the light from the half-extinguished tallow candle neighboring the banister stopped most unnaturally. From the stairwell came a constant draft of a chilling air, and if not knowing who resided in these perturbed conditions, Severus would have stolen away at once.

Arthur offered him a freshly lit oil lamp and smiled apologetically as a silent admittance of the lamp's utter uselessness. But Severus obliged, retrieved it, and stepped into the shadows without hesitation. The darkness surrounded him at once, and the moment his foot pressed against the firmness of the first step, a blast of chill extinguished his oil lamp entirely. His spirit stronger still, Severus persevered up the steps and into a foreign nothingness.

The Weasley house was completely unfamiliar to Severus, but with careful calculation, he counted the very last flight of stairs before he saw a sliver of light from beneath a door beyond. Reaching it, he'd become certain of his being in the right place, for on the other side of the door were the sounds of woeful moaning and crying. With two curt knocks, Severus made his presence known.

"Leave me be!" cried Draco, his voice a perfect reflection of his wavering spirit.

"It is I." Severus's response silenced the former at once, and after a brief pause, thus came the hurrying of a light step.

The door opened, and without a word, Draco grabbed Severus firmly by his wrist and dragged him into his chambers.

The room was complete in its reflection of the current resident's temperament, polluted with an air of indecision; drawers were hung on their hinges with clothes pouring out onto the floor, some of which made it into the several portmanteaus that accompanied Draco from home; one window's curtain was completely shut, and one was open; the bed's sheets were neatly tucked in, but the duvet was sprawled messily off the side; there were two bags completely packed, one half-full, and one completely empty.

But nothing that managed to reflect this tormenting state of mind more clearly than Draco's manners. He himself was certainly attempting to stay or leave—whichever proved more difficult—while at the same time it seemed he was trying to debate himself against whichever decision lingered in his mind a second too long. Draco's eyes lost their transparency, such that his unawareness of the true vileness of man had given him. And his entire frame seemed on the verge of caving inward as his indestructible youth gave way to one worn down by deception, and what used to be a lively innocence became a primitive form; modesty became insecurity and shame; faith became skepticism; love became an ideal. To perceive the influence of the revelation on his godson was an extreme sort of torture; with the slow acknowledgment of Harry's decision, there too in his breast was a terrible anger at himself and everything that forced this task to be a necessity.

Draco, with a weak hand, shut the door behind them and began his tear-filled speech.

"I am sure you know what has happened as of late; I cannot comprehend how sorrow alone graces your brow when there ought to be a vengeful sort of anger there too. Perhaps you do not understand entirely, but I'll have you know that I have been skillfully lured by the ideals of union, and that Harry proved himself to be vain and clandestine by nature; he was attracted to my usefulness rather than by the human qualities I possess." Draco paused momentarily, for he'd begun to choke on his own tears. "And he dares utter the words, 'I care for you; you are my dearest friend.' Foolishness as ever was spoken aloud! And for the better part of a year I had believed it to be true!"

"And what keeps you from leaving?"

This question seemed to be the exact one that had been torturing him; it pulled him up with a jerk, and, with tears and gasps, he began to pace the room.

"I have not a clue! I sense that every ounce of self-respect has abandoned me; that is why I struggle to uproot myself from this polluted soil. But I imagine I will become even more miserable if I do, for my departure could only actualize this nightmare that has befallen me." Draco began to weep again, hiccoughing like a young child. "What use am I anywhere? I am a vessel unique with the craftsmanship of the populace but not my own. I am pathetic and dumb. Let my name perish in mockery!"

"Don't you say that," whispered Severus hurriedly. "I wish to never hear you degrade yourself; you are undeserving of the consequence you've been put in, but regard it as not a reflection of your character but a catalyst for who you may become."

"You always tell me that I must take charge in my own life, and believe me, I thought I had been doing so by coming here. But I've been lured here, cheated out of my comforts, and now I am trapped with indecision."

"Indecision is a blessing, Draco. You have options and free will."

He met the words with considerable silence, during which he glanced at his packed bags and then at the empty ones by the door. Then, his face became troubled, and at once, he lifted his glossy eyes to Severus. "You knew."

Severus wondered how he could have come to this conclusion so quickly and without much foundation, but Severus's secrecy had not been out of fear but more so practice and respect for the boy. The remorse stepped full before obligation, and, with a dull pain in his chest, Severus bowed his head in confirmation. Draco stumbled away from him and backed helplessly into the corner, clutching his chest with a look of unavailing horror upon his brow. Severus's soul trembled to see that it was himself that produced a stray, tremendous look of dismay in his godson.

"There had always been a sense of urgency in our exchanges, but I had foolishly believed them a product of impending war and not the encouragement of docility."

"You are mistaken, Draco. I never have encouraged you toward one side out of personal preference but have merely observed you and advised you based off of what I believed to be the best for you. For my entire life, I have never pledged loyalty to the Veil, but as a bystander for your sake. Pray do not stand there with the airs of someone who might've thrived under your former circumstances. I could not have lost you to the cruelness of the Lord."

"Let us speak about cruelness! So naturally you've allowed me to be deluded into the pretenses of the affections I had been yearning for!"

"And is there no affection?""Indeed, there is none. My heart is but a fine powder, and in it is not a single drop of love for that wretch; I haven't a clue who he is."

"He is exactly who you believe him to be; just remove your pedestal and let him stand before you as your equal. You believed him to be perfect."

"I did not! If he were perfect, he'd have also been pureblood and proper!"

"These attributes are unattainable. Perfection is indeed impossible, but you had admired him intensely."

"Do not dilute my love to an intense admiration! By doing so, you overlook the intense ache in my breast!"

"It was not love if you have ceased to nurse it in the course of one night," whispered Severus. His words had lifted Draco's eyes from the floor and momentarily softened the hardness of his features.

"Was your love not strong enough to bear the weight of imperfection? Could it not bend to the arbitrary nature of man and the inconsistencies in us all? If you have lost every affection over a single night upon discovering a fault in him, then it was simply an intense infatuation, a singular adoration, but definitely not love."

"You condemn me for having had expectations of him, yet it is he who's held them firmer still! You act as if he'd merely played a silly prank! He's removed me from my home!"

"Harry did not remove you; your father did!"

"At your request! Simply to aid Harry!"

"For your sake! Draco, do not become so blinded by hatred that you neglect the facts! You were suffering greatly under that roof, and the severe depression startled everyone so deeply that we felt it necessary to have you removed at once. Do you not remember how tormenting it was for you?"

"And is this not infinitely more?"

"You've not fallen into a fit. You, deep down, know you are safer here than anywhere else. That curse protects you in the most vile fashion; it neglects to attack, for here you are before me with a clear head and a voice of your own. Draco, you are so desperately seeking someone to sink your teeth into; the shame you bear is too great. I cannot stand to see you so mortally injured, but I rejoice in our mutual understanding that your grounds now are the best for you."

"You were not going to let me make a decision at all, were you? If I told you now that I wish to go home and quiet every ambition I had here, you would not let me."

Severus's blood froze in place, and he stood rigid, numb, and positively frightened at the words his godson had produced. Such words only he knew came from the pursuit of a knowing self-destruction.

"Draco, as I have said, I will not force you to do anyone's bidding unless you absolutely feel a self-designated obligation to do so."

Draco nodded slowly with fresh tears welling up in his eyes. Then, he wrapped his arms around his own shivering body, turning away completely from Severus in a desperate attempt to shield himself from human eyes. "I wish to see my father," he said with a voice just above a whisper.

"Draco, I pray you are not considering—"

"Silence!" Draco scolded. "My decisions are my own! Every sentence you produce may as well be a carefully crafted persuasion! Send for my father at once! I shall not speak to another soul until I have spoken to him."

Every single bag was packed, and Draco descended the stairs of the Burrow with a tremendous heaviness in his entire body. It felt as if cast iron chains were bound to his ankles and wrists, and he dragged an iron ball through the thickest mud. With every step, his entire body grew weaker, and his every sense screamed with an unclouded resolution to turn back and stay. Be it his wounded pride, but Draco simply could not return to the faces that had fooled him with calculated ease and careful deliberation. As he passed the living quarters, he could hear the entire family muttering amongst themselves, whispering speculations about his behavior and decision. Severus, with a voice of austerity, silenced them at once with Draco's intention.

"He is leaving."

Draco did not say a word, nor did he turn to look at the family whose eyes he sensed upon his back. In his own were fresh tears, and in his heart an intense urge to quit his ambitions and turn to Harry's arms. Some part of him wished to be fooled for the rest of his life, for in Harry's arms the happiness he'd attained there was unlike any other. But Harry would not want him back. Everything had changed. One could only hope and pray for a fool's happiness knowing it is the very thing that rots one quicker than life's most intense sufferings. Draco inwardly cursed the unfairness of his life, for both choices presented before him, he felt, would surely degrade him into an absolute nothingness. The titles would cease to matter. The Heir is just a decoration upon a weapon, and Dearest Friend upon a vessel. Through the door and into his darkness, Draco ventured, visualizing perfectly where his father and their carriage stood waiting. Beyond he could hear the coachman fussing over the thick fog and attempting to calm the horses whinnying with disconcertion.

"Draco!" Came Harry's voice. Without hesitation, Draco turned to find the boy with a lantern in his hand. The darkness still heavy against the house seemed not to bother him, for he looked as valiant as ever, but there was a remarkable sadness in his eyes that Draco had never seen there before.

"You haven't the right to make yet another request of me," whispered Draco from underneath his Veil.

"I don't wish to. Inwardly I beg you in the most pathetic way for you to stay. But that too would be a lie. Let me tell you what I sincerely want: I want to somehow get away with you and simply be a man who loves you. Nothing on this lousy earth could matter to me but you." Draco burst out into a shocking laugh, startling Harry.

"You choose your place and timing well to confess. But as your last attempt to make me stay, I do not wish for it, and I find it cruel and distasteful under our circumstances. If you truly felt with sincerity for me, you'd have told me a long, long time ago."

"I know," said Harry with a pitiful tremor in his voice. "But don't you love me?"

"In what way?" Draco whispered, nearly turning away from him.

"In the highest possible way."

"Don't be ridiculous," he exhaled. "I am pureblood. I cannot."

Harry was evidently hurt by this lie, for his entire visage crumpled and recoiled as if he'd suffered a burn. There was a silence heavier than the fog that surrounded him, and Draco's heart ached more with every second he stood before his torturer. Then, very slowly, he reached for the hems of Draco's veil and lifted it slowly. Draco could not resist pulling away, so he stood there with his crying and blushing exposed to Harry.

How could I resist him? He who looks at me as if I were made of glass and one gust of wind threatens to knock me over and shatter me beyond repair? Ask me again, Harry, and I will tell you that I love you most of all. That I love you even now after your deceit! And it pains me to take leave, but I might love you forever.

"Draco, I will not ask you to stay. I will not ask anything of you. But I wish you might, for one second, consider that I am so guilty. My apologies can only carry a portion of my true feelings, and maybe you're happy to hear it."

"I can never be happy again," whispered Draco. Harry's eyes met his. "I am leaving you, and I must. The truth still braces me with its bitter vigor, and my wounds still bleed. I do not want to stain your clothes, your sheets, your skin. I must go and bear this strain alone so that I am not tempted to return, for I may again be deceived in broad daylight if I should ever return."

"Draco, I would never..."

"But you have."

"Against my will."

"I know it all too well. Cease your begging; I am going," said Draco with finality. "You haven't an idea what bitterness you have unearthed in me. There are accidents, mistakes, and then there is calculated error. My love, I'm afraid you've committed the latter, and thus you've become a stranger to me. What a shame, Harry, for I was sincerely fond of our friendship."

A singular tear fell from Harry's eye as he listened with polite patience. "Can I kiss you goodbye?"

Draco did not refuse. He simply turned his face away, afraid to approve or deny the requisition. As he had hoped, Harry turned his face slowly and kissed his cheek with loving gentility.

Such was the kiss you had given me when I had fallen ill. For it was you who waited for weeks by my side, tirelessly, for my recovery. It was you who looked into my eyes at your own risk simply to comfort me through my mental torments. My Harry! So valiant and good! Why did you have to lie to me? Why did you play your part so well? Can the actor ever become the role?

Draco suppressed a sob as he quickly pulled his veil down to cover his face once again. Such opposition, as these feelings produced, could not stop his turning and continuing down the walk. Harry had whispered his name once more, but Draco dared not reply, for he'd become afraid that he might change his mind simply to hold him in his gaze for longer than a second. With tears streaming down his face, he found his way to the carriage and to his father, who stood tall before the door. He fell weakly into his arms and began to cry earnestly like a child who'd scraped his knee, but the pain was much greater. His father had not said a word but merely pulled Draco into the carriage and shut the door. With a knock on the roof, the carriage gave a jerk, and they were off.

Lucius had ordered the carriage to walk aimlessly through the woods, away from visible eyes and lingering ears. The feeble daylight of a young morning penetrated the carriage windows and lay beautifully against the velvet seating on which Draco wept most innocently.

A detrimental blow it was to Lucius's efforts as a father. Never had he believed that Draco would leave Harry. Even knowing the former intentions of the boy, Lucius had trusted him wholeheartedly and seemingly had an entirely different impression of him than his son. So when Severus ventured into the drawing room and whispered into his ear, "Draco wishes to return," the shock Lucius suffered had been so great that he quit every single obligation and took leave in the middle of the night. Seeing his son even now so helplessly naive, Lucius wished to be selfish and bring him back home so he may resume his most beloved role as a father. But Draco's needs mattered the most, and his being only sixteen rid him of the sense necessary for him to realize that his place still remained with Harry and not beneath the Lord.

"Draco," said Lucius with a strength only natural for a father, and gently, he pulled his son's hands away from his face and into his own. "My dear son, it pains me to see you so willingly heartbroken."

"Willingly?" Draco gasped between his tears. "Father, I have been deceived. I had met a perfectly charming friend who turned out to be nothing but a soldier against us. I am so, so sorry, father."

"Do not apologize," whispered Lucius. "Why must you? You have not done anything wrong, my dear son."

"Haven't I? I have nearly quit the Veil for a love of my own sex. I nearly betrayed the Book! But the Divine has revealed to me the crookedness of half-bloods and those outside of our kin. I am returning to all that I've known. All that must be right." Draco looked with teary eyes at the Veil that lay beside him on the seat and, with an intense struggle, smiled.

Lucius listened to his son's speech, and there had been nothing more pitiful than to hear how rehearsed it all sounded. "Do not deceive yourself, Draco. You cannot forget everything in one day and, with impulse, return to the situation that tortured you for months. Understand that the moment you come back, the Lord will never once take his eye off of you and you will be more so a prisoner than the heir to the home. Reconcile with yourself and come to your senses. You could not live under His thumb; you suffered greatly.” 

"But I never wish to be without you and Mother again." Draco moved beside him and leaned on his shoulder, hugging his arm tightly as if he were a small child again. "I cannot go back. Harry is not the man I believed him to be."

"Is he not? What sort of saint did you believe awaited you there?"

"You and Severus have taken it upon yourselves to believe that I have idolized him most unnaturally. But your fatherly love cannot blind you from the truth. I have been a fool first and foremost, and it has earned me the rightful heartbreak."

"A fool for a month, surely, but do you sincerely believe that Harry did not care for you with the natural progression of time?"

"I dare say he never cared for me," whispered Draco. "But I am not sure what to believe."

"Then let me help you." Lucius whispered and leaned his own head on Draco's. "As you know, I have met Harry on several occasions. The first time, I could sense there being an ulterior motive, but it lay dormant beneath a genuine solicitude for your happiness. The second, I had found him entirely negligent of those selfish motives, and in him a profound affection for you. Haven't you seen the way his eyes look when he admires you, Draco? Do they not blink twice in sequence as if you were an angel and he believes himself unworthy? When a man lies, Draco, he fails to maintain eye contact, and even if he does, his pupils might contract with shame and guilt. The man might fidget with his clothing and move with an unsteady foot. He might laugh or quickly change the subject. But the third time that I met him, Harry stood before me as a man of sincere conviction and said, "In my humble opinion, Draco deserves the world." That was enough for me; I could never part with you, my son, for any less."

Draco pulled away from his father and studied him with an enigmatic expression of something between relief and tremendous concern.

"And you deny it, but the pain you feel with intensity is a clear compass that points towards pure, unequivocal love. Rid yourself of it, and you'll be destroyed by weakness and cowardice. Don't you know that it is a soul that loves that emerges triumphant above all else?"

"But it is this supposed happiness that has caused me so much suffering. How can I stand to bear it any longer?"

"My son, cease to encourage the image that you are helpless. I have never known a stronger man in my life than you, and of you I cannot be more proud and grateful! It must be your mother's doing, I am sure, for the character you possess is wholly unknown to me but is a miracle indeed." Lucius smiled finally and took hold of Draco's shoulders. "Is it not absurd? Is it not monstrous chaos? Yes, but let me rejoice that it is love and not decadence that casts you into the sea of despair. You will emerge on the banks as glad as children, as free as the bird, and as impenetrable as the walls of an impossible empire. And I may sleep with a smile knowing that my son has not eroded into dust but has been carved beautifully with each crash."

Draco managed a blush with newfound courage and determination. "Father, do you sincerely believe it?"

"You do too, I dare say. For my mere urging or your returning back to Harry relieves you; my promise of his goodness is but a confirmation for you. Please, do not ruin yourself for wounded pride, but release yourself from expectation and do as you wish. Now, what do you want?"

"Harry," said Draco after a short pause.

"Do you love him?"

"I do."

"And will you not forgive him so easily? Will you torment him and hate him as he'd done to you?"

"Readily," said Draco with a shy laugh.

Lucius nodded and kissed his son's forehead, sighing with relief. "The Lord cannot lead an angel like you. Let me return you to Harry. I ask that you do not say a word to anyone. Spend today thinking, reevaluating, and forgiving yourself. Then, after a night of rest, you may have a conversation with Harry, and that will decide how much longer you will need to heal. But Draco, you love him, and deep down you know he is a good man, so I pray you heal quickly and quietly. Forgive Severus; he is smarter than I will ever be, and he moves in our direction."

Draco threw his arms around his father and kissed him repeatedly on his cheek. "I love you, Papa."

'Papa' had not been uttered since the boy turned twelve, and to hear it now brought forth tears to Lucius's eyes. 

When Draco Malfoy returned to the Burrow, summer had returned and graced the roof with uninterrupted sunlight. The light wind of the season graced Draco's hair with an insistent caress and dried the tears upon his cheek. From the comely reserves of fruit and vegetables came the lively symphony of insects and a songbird or two. The air in its clarity mirrored Draco's disposition, and while he still suffered from the sting and bitterness of betrayal, he felt himself free from his heavy fetters to feel his pain as an individual vice an idea.

Hermione, who was sitting on the porch, rose to her feet upon seeing him and did not say a word. The two stood before each other with a mutual understanding, and he felt that she, despite his veil, could see him in his entirety. When he'd approached the doors with his luggage in his hands, she simply made way for him and silently took one bag to lighten his load.

When he entered, the matron of the house smiled and bowed, gesturing that his room remained unoccupied by pointing with her washcloth toward the stairs. "Arthur, don't just stand there! Help the poor boy with his belongings!" she hissed and slapped her husband with the towel.

The father stood with a start and hurried to rid the vacancy of his hands with Draco's things. They moved like a procession up the three flights of stairs. Arthur and Hermione gently placed his luggage by the dressers and made to take leave but were stopped when Draco suddenly turned to them. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Yes, of course," said the father with ease, assisting the speechless Hermione out of the room. Draco opened every window in his room and removed his veil the moment he was alone. Breathing in the sweet summer air, he felt so perfectly content with his pain, such a feeling so foreign to him, for any sort of emotional torment ought to have sent him into an illness. But he felt so strong and capable that he never believed it possible for him to possess. All I needed was to be trifled with, he jested internally.

The door opened suddenly, and there was Harry. The two looked at each other for a long time with an unspoken confession lingering on both of their lips, but their circumstances yet again could not encourage the exchange. Draco felt he looked very handsome, even more than he did before, and his heart, as beaten and bruised as it was, beat healthily in his chest. No, he has not forgiven him yet, but there, still intact and perhaps reinforced with vigor, was his undying love for Harry.

The words of his father rang through his head like a song, 'Don't you know that it is a soul that loves that emerges triumphant above all else?'