The Corner by the Hearth
Harry stood on the landing between the second and third floors, body limp against the banisters and eyes upon the uppermost door, firm in the grips of inaction. It was evident—by way of his conduct and persisting absence—that Draco had suffered greatly at the hands of the truth and continued to do so. And perhaps to punish himself, Harry took to believing that the only reason Draco ever came back was solely for the reason that he could not perform the duties of the Lord.
The realization was a feat in itself, but Harry declared himself young and selfish; a pathetically large part of him hoped that he himself had been the reason for the boy’s abridged departure. In the brief moment Draco had gone, however, it had been marked by extreme misery that it had become clear in its quantity and vigor, Harry’s love for Draco; it hit him like a blow from a dagger! Having—for even a brief moment—been convinced that he had lost his beloved could only produce the most agonizing inner pain. How could one rejoice in the departure? Indeed it had brought upon the sunlight, the birds, and the summer season, but it took away with it the boy who is too favored by the angels; he who expressed in his little way the delicate love of life. And to have perceived to lose him was a one-way plunge into the staleness of unforgiving terrors and darkness. But Draco returned. He was standing there by his window, beneath his Veil, in all of his splendor. As if there was not a covering over his face, his visage had been clearest to Harry then. His heart flooded with relief; it took every fiber of his being to resist grabbing hold of him and pressing his lips on every sliver of exposed skin.
Harry stood there on the landing for a while, listening for sounds of movement, the rustle of cloth, or perhaps a hum. And when such a sound came—it had been the scraping of the curtain rings against the rod—Harry’s hands tightened around the railing as he leaned forward with the desperation of a hungry man. Then, the door opened. In its frame, Draco stood tall and clad in an expensive black fabric. To see the boy he’d hurt so badly aroused only the bitterest guilt, and he nearly wept each time he saw him out of utter shame and disgust toward himself. How could I have done it for so long? Morbid melancholy could only be produced with Harry’s hands, and yet he’d done it so knowingly.
With grace produced skillfully by strict upbringing and society, the Veiled boy slowly descended down the stairs, and when he’d reached the landing where Harry had been standing, Harry spoke: “Please, let me speak to you,” he whispered.
Draco lingered there for a moment, but without even turning his head, he continued down the stairs as if Harry’s voice was the passing of an insignificant breeze. Harry reached for his friend and only briefly caught the hem of the voile in between his index and thumb. It slipped away from his fingers after producing in him a longing and the intensified sense of rejection.
Draco did not converse with the family at all. In fact, the only moments he would take leave from his room were to walk around the property for exercise. And Harry watched him as he did this. He moved as quietly as a shadow, as effortlessly as the breeze, and with the grace of a prince. When the Veiled boy stepped out of the house and began his turns about the gardens, Harry mourned the loss of his chance again today and took up his post by the kitchen window. It had been a week since the secret had let out, and the poison produced by this silence killed him slowly.
I cannot reach him, touch him, or speak to him. He has become but a fleeting idea or a phantom, and I want him back so desperately.
The day progressed, and by noon the Weasleys were all sat around the table for lunch, lively and raucous with laughter; they all silently acknowledged Draco’s absence and occasionally looked out the window to see if he still stood there by the fields, that he had not left the property line. The lone, black figure was like a misplaced shadow, somehow stationary as time passed. Harry could not eat, he could not laugh, he could not live until he knew Draco was contented.
“I hear the Order wants to take you on an errand soon, Harry,” said Molly with audible disagreement. “Those silly men think you’re old enough to be involved is one foolish thing I can’t quite get over. But this!” She slammed the basket of bread rolls onto the table. “What a real shame it is that children must be involved.”
“Draco and I never stood a chance of being left out of it, anyway. Both of us were born with predetermined duties,” said Harry.
“And yet you’ve ended up on the same side,” added Hermione. “Interesting how it could play out that way.”
“Well, let’s not forget it did not happen organically,” Ron said, stuffing his mouth with food. “It’s not that interesting, is it? Now, the falling-in-love thing is! Harry’s got it for a Veiled boy.”
“Is he cute?” Ginny asked with a smile.
The boldness of the question startled him into a deeper complexion. The entire table seemed to have taken interest in the inquiry of Draco’s appearance, for a silence of interest fell and settled there.
Clearing his throat, Harry slowly nodded. “I’m not even sure the word ‘cute’ suffices. But yeah, he’s very attractive.”
“More so than Diggory?” George asked.
“A thousand times.”
The entire table erupted into high giggles. Arthur Weasley, who had been occupied in the basement writing to the Order, presently appeared for refreshments and smiled to find his family in good humor. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” said Harry, thoroughly embarrassed. As much as he wished to fade into a corner to hide away from their knowing smiles, he also felt the simple joy of pride that everyone knew that Draco was somehow his. They laughed because Harry loved him, and the two of them were caught in some indecisive dance. Such was deemed an accomplishment, so Harry could only smile and blush. Suddenly, he became too impatient to be reduced to speaking of Draco when the boy stood but only several paces away. Harry hurriedly left his seat and the kitchen toward the boy at the end of the thoroughfare.
Draco did not turn but stood facing the tall, swaying summer grass. Harry was silent beside him, not out of cowardice but out of the overwhelming peace he felt radiating from the other boy. It seemed truly as if the physical being ceased to exist, and the spirit of some otherworldly being descended onto earth to grace mankind with this sensational touch. Little by little the scene became his reality, and the gravity of their situation settled into the lofty compartment.
Harry turned to face Draco. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, absently reaching for his hand. Draco did not reject him, but even if Harry held it gently and tenderly, the boy stood rigid in his position against him as he continued to face the grass.
“I’ve heard the sentiment several times. But I haven’t given myself permission to deem you expiated,” he said firmly.
“I understand,” whispered Harry. “But I just needed you to know.”
“Are you afraid that I won’t forgive you?”
“Not necessarily. I’m more afraid that you might not know everything. I’m afraid you’ll forgive me without knowing how, from this day on, I will condemn myself vigorously for having wronged you.”
“I pity you.”
“Do not take it that way,” Harry said. He looked at Draco’s gloved hand in his, slowly turned it so that his palm faced the heavens, and removed his glove. Draco finally tore his eyes away from the grass to watch as Harry pressed his lips tenderly against his palm. Under his kiss, he could sense Draco’s faltering will; the brief attempt to break away and the pleasure incapably masked by indifference. The hand pressed up against his chin and lifted Harry’s eyes to face the one hidden behind the voile.
“What keeps you from becoming a memory of mine? A ghost?” Draco whispered. “Do not think that you prevent my mind from becoming an echoing place; I am rather capable without you.” He spoke with the simplicity of a reigning sovereign. “Tell me what it was you tricked me for. There was a motive, no? What for?”
Harry had not expected so fierce a confrontation, and he could not understand this flame that burned inside his friend and if he should cower before it or rejoice in its health.
“Voldemort keeps his Mind separate from his body. It is placed in an underground chamber riddled with all sorts of dark magic. Because you were born with the uncanny ability to manipulate that sort of magic, Dumbledore deemed you the perfect candidate to aid us in our pursuit of it.”
Draco pondered for a moment and finally pulled his hand away from Harry’s jaw. “I understand,” he said quietly. “You’ve skillfully covered up your inkblot test and your insistence of your helping me as pure curiosity to verify if my capabilities would suffice. Clever, I dare say, but nonetheless cruel.”
“The inkblot test was supposed to be a secret, but I couldn’t keep it from you,” whispered Harry. “Not after you waited for me for so long…”
“Ah! Shall I thank you for that?” Draco became visibly irritated. “I have lived a thousand weeks in one; I am not as impressionable as before. My eyes have lost their tranquil unawareness, and you will find me much more difficult to control. I could lose my grace with the Lord for who I am today, and I ask if I might do the same for you.”
“You think I might grow bored of you simply because you’re less naive?”
“Simply! You say simply as if it is a trivial matter, as if my askance has not a foundation. But our entire friendship flourished under my naïveté, my unworldly existence. Is it not rightly justified that this should be a concern of mine? Not your boredom—please humble yourself, Harry; you wrongfully possess the confidence of an honest man. I don’t have a care if you are bored with me, but if you’re loyal to me. You’ve earned mine, not in ideology but in character; I’m here with you today. But I wonder if you would do as I have knowing you cannot manipulate me.” The confidence with which Draco spoke was an indication of some newfound strength, some sense of individuality he had not sensed in him before.
“Of course,” said Harry, blushing. “A thousand times over.”
“But yet I prove myself a fool, for I’ve asked you a well-formed question knowing that I cannot fully believe your answer.”
Behind the black fabric, he could make out the shape of his head, and with a vivid imagination, he could predict the heavenly expression the boy must’ve been wearing.
“Draco, you can hate me, but do not do it from the distance I’ve created. Spit on me, laugh at me, but do not silence yourself. I will wake up to your castigation for the rest of my life, but do not shy away as you have done. Our friendship can be reborn without a single request. Let us start over.”
“No,” Draco whispered. “Starting over would cleanse you from the crimes you’ve committed; it is a request for my forgetting, and I will never forget this for as long as I live. Let us continue our friendship and test its strength against the absence of its initial foundation. Having cherished you as I have, I dare say it will be with ease that I detect your inconsistencies.”
“You will find none. Maybe the only one being that I now admire you more than ever. Draco, even if I have started off indifferent, I do not lie when I say that I have grown to worship you.”
Draco was silent for a moment. Then, with his ungloved hand, he slowly reached for Harry’s face and caressed it gently with the smoothness of his skin. How severe his tone could coexist with the gentility of his touch was clear only to God. And Harry experienced a blast of chill under his hand, and his composure threatened to leave him entirely.
“You cannot command me to not distance myself away from you. Anything you ask of me will be unrealized until I am ready to be your friend again. And if you are truly without motive, you will not rush me. You can be amiable on command, or when it proves advantageous, so forgive my reluctance to oblige.” Draco removed his hand and faced the grass again. There was an air of perfect indifference that reduced Harry to something like a petulant flea. “You are excused.”
“Draco—“
“Leave.”
Harry, utterly defeated, took a step away from him and slowly removed himself from the scene.
By evening, the entire family had retired into their respective rooms, and Harry reluctantly left the Burrow for Grimmauld Place. He found the Order in the midst of a heated exchange in the living quarters, and upon seeing him, the rage of the headmaster only increased tenfold.
“Telling Malfoy about the task was foolish indeed, Potter! I deemed you clever enough not to jeopardize peace!”
“Jeopardize peace!” Harry managed a laugh, shocking the other members who’d seemed much too agitated to produce a sound remotely close to it. “With all due respect, sir, I think the ruining of a boy’s life is too high a cost for an easy path to victory.”
“Easy path!” Dumbledore threw his hands up in frustration. “The only path! You fail to acknowledge the gravity of our situation, and thus it becomes no surprise how you could ruin it with such ease!”
“Draco deserved to know!”
“The rights of Draco Malfoy are no concern of mine in times when we all risk losing ours!”
“Why do you always set this up in a way where it is always Draco or the world? Can we not have both?”
Dumbledore’s lip twitched with the purest essence of vexation. “Because that is how it is! Without him, we cannot succeed. We need him above all else! We don’t have the time to get philosophical. Let us stick to the facts—“
“Ah! It is your dedication to logic that has rid you of a heart!” Sirius laughed too. “The man we are up against is weak because of his ignorance of heart.”
“The man we are up against has not a Mind! He is vulnerable and weak without the Heir; we must strike as he is in this condition. I care not if he is ignorant or learned; he is the enemy of the people and will continue to terrorize us all unless we stop him.” Dumbledore turned swiftly to Harry with an unlikely agitation. “And you’ve risked it for a pretty smile.”
“And I admit it with pride,” scoffed Harry.
“Look, we are divided by reason and motivation, but we are united by purpose.” Remus spoke methodically and with a tone that soothed the rough, bitter air. “Draco Malfoy knows, and yet he has chosen to stay at the Burrow. And if Harry and Sirius insist it was correct, and Dumbledore demands we focus on the logic, let me compromise and provide a beautifully crafted, logical justification for Harry’s actions. Should Draco’s psyche have entered that cavern clouded with impressions wholly untrue and doubts unresolved, his abilities may not fully be under his bidding—for it is our understanding that his temperament controls his ability. They might’ve become threatening to both himself and the rest of the party. Draco has undergone a tremendous personal reevaluation, and I dare say he shall conclude it with a mind stronger than ever. A mind that shall aid us with its fullest capacity.”
Dumbledore blushed momentarily to have been proven wrong that Harry’s actions might’ve lacked reasoning and concealed it skillfully with a polite nod.
“You’re right, Remus,” said Harry. “I managed a brief conversation with him, and I found his sense of self stronger than ever.”
“I suppose that too may be a threat,” began Dumbledore suddenly after Harry finished; his pride was intact but threatened all the while. “A boy with tremendous power and ego may just as well mold himself into the likeness of his Lord.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sirius scoffed. “If that was his desire, then he would not have come back after being as injured as he was. Ego!”
“Let us not deny that while the boy was naive and impressionable, he is also very quick-witted and intelligent. Give him the opportunity to create an identity, and our efforts, being but a mere second in the span of his life, will have very little influence on who bursts from the cocoon.”
Harry, who’d sat down to portray an air of dismissal of Dumbledore’s efforts, grew very angry and could not continue his act. He leapt to his feet and shouted most improperly to his headmaster. “You just wish for Draco to remain docile and dumb so he is easy to maintain and watch! And you had the audacity to preach to me not even a year ago that I must be patient with his ignorance and give him a chance to grow, without knowing that in you is a desire to capture him young in an inflexible mold so he will remain as stupid as you believe him to be!”
“Do not accuse me of wishing to do such a thing! How wretched an accusation! I do not believe Draco Malfoy is a dumb child, and I have certainly not created a predetermined expectation for him!”
“Then what are we doing here?” Harry asked. “If there isn’t a predetermined expectation, then why do we gather here and not at the Burrow where he can hear us? You want him, under any circumstance, to choose us. No more lying, sir. Let’s be completely honest. Personally, I hate your approach, and I think you’re selfish.”
“How is wishing for the common interest at all selfish?”
Remus spoke. “Must an individual always be sacrificed to what is supposed to be the esteemed common interest?”
Dumbledore threw his hands up in frustration. “Let us not debate ethics! If you despise my approach, then by all means. My aid has come to an end at this stage. However you desire, get Draco towards you. No more foolishness! From there, I can aid you again.”
“Your ‘foolishness’ is Draco’s ‘right,’” said Harry under his breath.
“Snape intends to meet with Moody and Kingsley to discuss the intercepting of Veiled attacks. Let me have them bring you, so you may see what danger man is in and how trivial feelings are in times like this.” The headmaster’s entire frame stiffened as he stepped into the bright green flames of the hearth.
Harry returned late, and upon his arrival, he found the entire Weasley family standing in the living room—it seemed everyone believed he had been taken in action and worried for his safety. Everyone except Draco.
Molly let out a sigh of relief and clasped her hands on her heaving breast. With arms outstretched, she met him at the door and hugged him tightly.“Good! I thought they’d taken you on an errand!”
“No, not tonight. Dumbledore is angry with me, with us all, but especially me.”
“For telling Draco the truth?” Hermione asked. “Well, Dumbledore has always seemed to not care about anything but success. I think you made the right choice, Harry. It’s only fair to Draco.”
“And what do you mean, ‘not tonight?’ I don’t suppose you mean that they do plan to take you somewhere soon,” said Molly—her previous air of relief left her entirely with its predecessor.
“Yes, they do. Dumbledore’s orders.”
“That man! No! I will not have it! Arthur, do not just stand there! Go write him a letter!” Molly shoved her husband toward the writing desk at the far end of the room.
Harry was finally met with exhaustion, and he let himself fall into the sofa with a heavy sigh. One by one, the other children had gone back to sleep, except for Ron and Hermione, who watched him carefully as if worried he’d run off.
It was not the meeting necessarily that stole his youthful energy, but the sole realization that Draco had not been amongst the greeting crowd. The boy who followed Harry once into the forest to protect him had become the boy of indifference, so much so that when the entire family fretted over him, the boy lay upstairs in his room comfortably. There was a certain banality in these reflections: those only natural for the injurer to ail with after having brought upon their victim the same sort of feeling, perhaps ten times over. And to have understood this self-abasement was to feel even more wretched than committing the crime alone. Harry stared at the center of the room where Draco had been upon hearing those fateful words. How, that evening, he looked more winsome and fragile. The summer air had deepened the redness of his blush and given him a youthful vibrancy. And Draco still miraculously maintained this softness, though there was a pain there somewhere between his eyes. When he’d seen him after the fact, the inner happiness that Harry had perceived gave way to some bitterness, elegant in its repression and dignified in its slip.
How Harry could feel the pain of his absence! How wicked, selfish, and cruel! But how could he help it? He, with every reproach against himself, still loved and adored Draco—he would for the rest of his life, even if the boy continued to ignore him and never once spoke to him again.
“You don’t want to sleep in your room?” She asked gently. “The bed’s all made up for you.”
“No,” Harry answered. He rested his heavy head on his hand and shut his eyes so he may rid himself of the room of three. “I’ll be fine. You two go ahead.”
Ron was the first to leave; his heavy steps were slow going up the stairs, and he called to his girlfriend to leave Harry alone. She whispered in his ear.
“The corner by the hearth.”
Harry listened as both of their footsteps retreated. When he heard them no longer, he opened his eyes to look. There, in the darkest corner of the room, was hardly anything worth noticing. But a trained eye could spot the slight movement there, the unnatural shift of light. Draco had been watching.
“Draco,” he whispered, sitting up out of his chair with his heart eager. And with Harry’s slight surprise and sudden start, the shadow sank back into the slight recess, revealing itself as plain as the others. A glow of feeling awoke in him, and the absence now somehow felt emptier than before. I need to hold him, touch him. I will never be satisfied until he is willingly at my side. But he is as fleeting as that shadow, as distant as a word unspoken, but somehow remained the sole possessor of the word mystification. Consumed by frustration, Harry grabbed his hair and fell back onto the sofa once again.
With Harry’s face buried in the pillow, he could not perceive the perfect emptiness of the room around him. There was a silence during which the tick of the clocks settled on every surface, growing loud and almost oppressive. With his senses clouded and his heart aching with yearning, he could not have possibly noticed the looming figure that stood over him. A tall, slim figure with the Veil upon his head. stood directly behind the sofa, leaning with observation. The pale hand reached for Harry but dared not touch him, and the figure retreated back into the darkness with the same fears possessed by his beloved.
Draco and Harry remained the only ones awake, and they thought of nothing else but each other.
