The Veiled Boy

The pair moved without a word through the tall grass that bordered the house; with August in full bloom, the sun abused them relentlessly, slowing their pace as they'd reached the sunk-iron fence where the charm had stopped. Draco removed the shorter voile from his head and looked to him, overflowing with evident displeasure. Harry raised his eyebrow. Without a word, he wiped the sweat off his brow with his gloved hand and carried on forward, with the cruel voile draped over his head once again. How cruel, thought Harry, how cruel to cover his face when he knows there is not another soul for miles. That tease!

The closest house in the area belonged to a good-natured family, the Lovegoods, and of their eyes, they were not afraid, for they were far away. A little beyond the field was the object of their pursuit, a dense forest that separated placid, undisturbed greenlands from godforsaken civilization. Harry had been here several times in the past; he and his friends found respite from summer's heat in the shade of the densely covered branches, and there they would speak of imperative fixations—who would make the Quidditch team the coming year and who ought to be kicked off. But Harry was older now, not so much in number but in being, and in the past year, he'd thought less and less about Quidditch and more and more about Draco.

He looked heavenly now with his voile removed from his blonde head, so that clusters of fragmented sunlight fell like jewels on his pale little face, kissed by the sun into a perpetual coy blush. Harry watched drunkenly as he swayed like a wonderful mirage between the trunks. And the forest agreed with him; the trees seemed to shift their arms so that another sliver of that merciless sun could not reach him, and when he stumbled over an upturned root, it was always done in a spot where he could catch himself on a cushion of moss.

Draco soon grew tired and weary; the sun seemed to rid him of his lively energy and good nature, for now he swayed apathetically and grew extraordinarily detached from his surroundings. Still, he was lovely, his little darling.

"How much further?" he asked. "I feel like we've been walking for ages and have made insufficient progress. In fact, I am likely to believe we have been moving in a circle." Draco caught himself on Harry’s arm, stumbling on an out-of-place boulder. "Let it be known that I am not enjoying myself," he added quickly. "Such arduous treks, naturally, are predecessors to all sorts of revolting aches. If necessity commands, I might oblige for another ten minutes. If not, I'd much rather be inside with a chilled tea and perhaps some foreign fruit."

Harry laughed and took his hand firmly. "I think fresh air will do you good. Being inside all summer in a small house with me would drive you crazy."

"Ha! As if I am not cherishing displeasurable feelings toward you now for dragging me out here, I'd say you were hoping for a premature strain between us; no sane person would consider this favorable in accelerating mutual esteem."

"Why not? Here you are leaning against me, and here I am supporting you; how is that not romantic?"

Draco offered him a playful look of disdain. "Because I am not willingly on your arm; I am simply trying to keep alive. That strips our entangled arms of everything romantic and dilutes it with duty; it is the same as holding the hand of my father when I step out of a carriage."

"Good point."

"Such is the standard."

Draco, still vocal about his loathing, continued on his arm for fifteen more minutes until the grass beneath them receded into a bank of flat rock. They'd reached their destination.

In a small clearing of wood, beneath a canopy of leaves, was a pool of clear spring water, glittering with the arabesques of golden sunlight. Much cooler now as if a separate enclosement, the quietude interruped only by the lapping of the stream that fed into the pond and the occasional bird. Harry watched triumphantly as Draco’s expression changed from that of severe impatience into delight; he let go of Harry’s arm and ran off toward the water.

"It's cold!" he laughed, taking it into his hands and then letting it pour out into the pool again. "I see what you had planned: a picnic by the water. It relieves me to find you capable of being romantic. I'd begun to quietly regret my suggestion of being surprised."

"You were certainly not quiet about it," said Harry, grinning. "And you're wrong; we are going for a swim.”

Draco rose to his feet and retreated from the pool, shaking his head. “I couldn’t possibly!” he gasped. “How unseemly! Is it that you so desperately wish to humiliate me?”

“Calm down, Malfoy,” said Harry with a smile. “I put a privacy charm on the bank. Anyone passing by wouldn’t hear or see a thing. I won’t pressure you, but you can’t stop me from going in.” He swiftly removed his top, tossed it onto a neighboring boulder, and took a strategic position by a half-rotted stump that he knew, from past experience, was a leap-distance away from the deepest part of the pond—about five feet.

“Harry, you really mustn’t,” said Draco, holding his hands together pleadingly. “You’ll catch cold! You’ve just recovered from that dreadful gash.”

“Be a doll and set my clothes down under the sun. I want them to be warm when I get out,” said Harry, unbuckling his belt now and handing it to Draco, who looked at it as if it had just fallen from the heavens. “Don’t look at me like that, Draco; you’re going to make me feel terrible for wanting a swim.”

“Me? Make you feel terrible? You seem to have claimed that responsibility by jumping into cold water as you do.”

“It’s not so cold after a while,” said Harry, dipping his foot in. “Ah, see? I’m already used to it.”

The icy chill enveloped him; after the initial violent shiver, his body slowly acclimated to the needle-like sensations that thrashed him. Draco watched him carefully, his body tense with learned rigidity; how Harry wanted to drag him so the boy might cling to him indefinitely.

“Fool!” Draco turned and placed his clothes in a patch of sunlight. “For once in your life you might act gentleman-like! It is certainly not today!”

Harry laughed. “I never promised anything like it, Draco. I hope you weren’t expecting a gentleman when I asked to court you,” he said as he began to float on his back.

“No, but I had not expected a ruffian either; a brutish barbarian sort you’ve revealed yourself to be.” Draco crossed his arms and sat down on a nearby boulder, turning his head toward the forest so Harry could scarcely see the sweet smile there.

“You want to join me, don’t you?” Harry sneered. “I want you to join me, Draco. Nobody’s going to see you; just me and yourself.”

The boy glanced briefly at him and again over his shoulder toward the trees. He pressed his lips together in silent deliberation, tapping his long fingers on his knees for a good while. Then, he stood and slowly reached for the buttons on his collar. How Harry’s heart thrilled to see it! The pinkish fingertips with clean nails were working on his little shell buttons; Harry wished he could do it himself: dress him and undress him like a doll just like his governess had done.

“Turn around, pervert,” Draco hissed, blushing all over.

“Why? You watched me get undressed. Don’t be a prude.”

“Harry.”

“Draco, darling.”

Draco laughed and grabbed a handful of pebbles and threw them playfully at him. Harry dove under the water’s surface as the little rockets fell like petals on either side. When he resurfaced, he’d been struck by the sight of his faced-away darling half bare, in the process of unbuckling his belt. The mere sight offered acquiantance to something incomprehensible to the physical being. With drunken awe, Harry watched the delightful curve on his ivory back tilt as the belt was placed to the side. Draco hooked his thumbs on his waistband and revealed two marvelous little dimples on his lower back—Harry wondered how sensational the dip might feel on his tongue as he dragged it across the length of that supple back. Soon enough his gabardine trousers joined his belt on the banks and Draco Malfoy stood there with nothing but his pants, those tight ones—briefs—that hugged selfishly his pert bottom. And the entire length of his long white legs were on full display, those thighs that had devilishly appeared in his dreams; thin but ample enough to perhaps pinch.

Harry’s shivering had nothing at all to do with the water’s chill, but the sheer force of the sight had on him; it took his breath away and stole his sanity as he relished every detail of Draco’s intoxicating physique, and when he turned to face him, the boy blushed and his hands instinctively covered his crotch; Harry’s eyes threatened to blind themselves to save him from impending madness. Oh Draco Malfoy, thought Harry, his mouth agape. My Draco Malfoy, my darling, Draco Malfoy!

“Turn around,” said Draco as he approached the water. “Staring is awfully rude, Harry.”

“Come in; I’ve got to have you,” he replied in a low voice. Draco dipped his foot in and recoiled with a hiss. “It’s better if you come in all at once.”

“Mother used to say that one could become so terribly shocked and drown oneself from the temperature.”

“Well, she’s right. But I’m here, and this pool isn’t cold enough to paralyze you. Come on.”

“All at once?”

“All at once.”

Draco, with one hand still covering his crotch and the other plugging his nose, placed himself by the stump and jumped into the spring. Harry rushed to him as he resurfaced, gasping with his hands outstretched toward him. Harry pulled him into his arms and pressed Draco’s body against his own.

“Better now?” Harry asked, placing a kiss on Draco’s smooth shoulder.

“No! I’d like to get out!” Draco trembled, his teeth chattering intensely.

“You need to get used to it. I’ll keep you warm,” Harry cooed, hugging the shivering boy tightly. Draco wrapped his arms around his neck, still shaking like a leaf, while Harry savored with his hands Draco’s bare skin under the water’s surface. The water! Oh, how Harry pathetically grew to envy the water; it could surround Draco, matte his hair, his lashes, surround those thighs, and everything in between all at once! And the wretched spring could not fathom the mythical being at its center.

Draco buried his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, breathing in shudders. “Are you sure nobody will see us?” he whispered very quietly.

“Positive,” whispered Harry, running his hand through Draco’s wet hair. “Are you warm yet?”

Draco shook his head, but he wasn’t shivering anymore, though he demanded Harry not to let him go by keeping his head on his shoulder.

They spent an hour swimming—Harry teaching Draco—and enjoyed themselves thoroughly in the coolness of the spring and secretly the view of one other nearly in the nude. And the pair had finally begun to resemble a pair of young lovers, free lovers, the way they laughed, shouted, and flirted loudly with one another as if they were the only souls left on earth.

Harry watched adoringly as Draco lay himself on his stomach and rested his tired head on his arms with dazzling beads of water along his back. Harry, propped up with one hand, used the other to trace his lover’s spine with his index finger. The boy’s eyes fluttered open, and a shy smile emerged.

“What are you doing?” he asked groggily.

“Nothing,” Harry whispered. His index was joined by the middle, and when he reached the dimples on the back, he quickly got up and pressed his lips there, kissing the soft skin tenderly. There was an aching sensation in his lap. 

“Stop that,” Draco scoffed, pushing Harry’s head away and rolling over on his back. “You depraved, prurient young man.” Those were his words, but he wore such a tender complexion; Harry reveled in knowing that the latter had enjoyed himself just then.

Harry laughed. “You agonize me, Malfoy.”

“How come?”

Harry lay completely flat on the ground and sighed, folding his hands over his abdomen. Now Draco was propped up, looking curiously down at him, imploring him to speak, but all Harry could think of was the little pool of water in Draco’s clavicle and how he wanted to drink from it.

“Ignore me then,” said Draco, pouting. He turned on his side and faced away from him, curling into himself in a fetal position. “It’s not as if this is a date, anyway. You’re just a lowly sort who presses kisses wherever he pleases and does not encourage conversation. Hmph! To have gotten entangled with you: a man who is capable of all the horrors of passion! Oh, the plunge I have made!”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry chuckled. “You made your choice; I didn’t force you to come out here or to lie out on the blanket in your underthings.”

“And what of it?” Draco shrugged. “I’m getting warm again, not seducing you.”

“You’re right. I won’t kiss you anymore; that was my bad,” said Harry. Draco peeped over his shoulder with a wicked little smile. “What?”

“How it thrills me to hear you tell me that I am right,” he snarked. “I’d hoped you to be reasonable in time! Harry Potter does not have a head full of sawdust.”

“And Draco Malfoy ought to have a mouthful.”

Draco laughed, throwing his head back, his entire porcelain neck on full display. “I must ever be revolting if I have been deemed aggravating on my first ever date! I sincerely hope my next first date shall go a lot better; what shall I improve on next so that the next man is better satisfied?”

There was a tinge of genuine irritation that took hold in Harry’s heart—already weak with strain from temptation. “Don’t even joke about that,” he scoffed; his tone was unmatched with Draco’s more playful one.

“You are jealous,” said Draco slyly; he rolled over on his stomach again and propped his head on his hands like a schoolgirl. “You’re threatened by my wandering eye when, since I’ve been rid of my clothes, your eyes very seldom meet mine.” 

Harry, who was indeed looking at the boy’s thighs, blushed and quickly looked toward the water once again, mentally dousing himself in the cool spring. “Sorry.”

Draco merely smirked; he reached for a lollipop in Harry’s bag and put it into his mouth, watching Harry with a sort of puerile reproach. “I think you’re very handsome, Harry,” he said quietly, blushing too. “You can look at me if you’d like. I’ve been looking at you.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.” Draco removed the candy from his mouth with a pop and held it out for Harry.

That gesture alone sent waves of arousal pulsating throughout Harry’s tired body; he nearly lost himself in the not-so-innocent game Draco had begun—who knew the boy could be a skilled tease? He took the candy in his mouth, relishing in the already wet state of it. Raspberry.

“Good?” Draco asked innocently. Harry nodded. “Can I have it back?”

“You flirt,” Harry laughed, handing the lolly back. Draco smirked; shrugging, he placed the candy back into his mouth, blushing as he did so—a victim of his own delicious tease.

The two were silent for a while; however, they both wore mischievous grins on their faces—the sort performed by adolescents talking about intimates. After a while, the candy had dissolved into nothingness; Draco disposed of the stick and cleared his throat loudly to earn Harry’s attention. But it had always belonged to Draco; and when he’d cleared his throat, Harry had just been taking mental pictures of him so he could recall them later when he abused himself repeatedly behind the curtains of his bed.

“Harry, will you kiss me?” Draco asked.

What a thrill it served Harry to hear that sentence spoken! Like a song, it swam into his ear in the key of want and the tempo of insecurity! And Draco’s visage was every match for it; brightly colored with a fleeting eye. Harry moved closer to his tormentor, grinning as his own hand crept toward the boy’s bare waist. Draco lay flat on his back and gulped; he began to chew his lip rather harshly.

“Don’t do that,” whispered Harry.

“Oh, will it make the kiss dreadful?” Draco gasped.

“No, but you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“If I prove to be rather unskilled, will you like me less?” 

Harry laughed and shook his head. His thumb traveled from Draco’s jawbone to his bottom lip; the boy kissed it gently and blushed. “See? Not so difficult, is it?” whispered Harry. Draco shook his head. “Can I kiss you now?” Draco nodded.

Harry leaned down and kissed him, placing his mouth against Draco’s opening lips and tasting the raspberry saliva. Time seemed to be transfixed so that nothing could exist except the heavenly sensation of Draco’s lips on his own. It mattered not if Draco’s kisses were stiff and delayed in movement—his little darling was inexperienced indeed. Harry, possessed by a raw human passion, embraced Draco fully in his arms just to feel, in its entirety, his tormentor’s modest frame. Their mutual adulation only grew stronger with every press of the lips or squeeze of the body, and Harry felt everything he’d ever want in life was instantly satisfied at once by the kiss alone.

Harry pulled away, half-ecstatic and half-mortified by the sheer beauty on display before him. Draco looked up at him, cheeks aflame, with low lids and half-parted lips, his shallow breaths with undertones of whimpers and whines. Harry leaned down and kissed him again hungrily, running his hands through the soft blond hair and pressing the heat of his body into Draco, who had begun to squirm restlessly under him.

“I love you,” Harry whispered in between kisses. “God, I love you.” All Draco could do was respond with a hardly legible message stifled by whimpers and breathy moans. Control gained hold of him, and Hardy pulled off of Draco with a loud smack, and with one last chaste kiss on the bottom lip and one on the cheek, their first kiss had come to a conclusion.

Draco still lay on his back, staring up at the canopy of trees above them. “Did I do okay?”

“Perfect,” said Harry. “If you’d let me, I’d kiss you for hours.”

Draco finally looked toward him and laughed. “You’re a fool, Harry Potter.”

“You make me so.” Harry cupped his face once again, but a rustle in the bushes caused Draco to shove him off. “It’s probably just an animal. Come back.”

“No.”

Draco’s face had switched completely from thay languorous pleasure to one of severe horror; his eyes were fixated on the point where a low branch across the spring bounced up and down. With trembling hands, he began to reach for his clothes and slipped them on with nervous agitation. “What if they could indeed see us? Their dark magic is no match for a student’s privacy charm. How foolish I was! How could my judgement be so clouded by want that I’ve let it all slip just as I’ve grabbed it?” 

“Draco, relax,” said Harry again. “It was an animal. Nobody can see us.”

“Silence!” he hissed. He threw Harry’s clothes at him with his eyes still on the same point in the woods. The leaves rustled again followed by a snap of a branch. Draco froze completely; his trembling hands abandoned the buttons on his shirt and, slowly, he raised them in surrender. 

“Draco,” Harry whispered.

From the opening in the recess of trees came a pair of large antlers; a magnificent deer propped its head through the bush and approached the spring with tranquil ease, dipping its mouth for a drink. The relief stole the strength from Draco’s legs; he fell to his knees, grabbed his head in his trembling hands, and let out a panicked sob. Harry grabbed his darling into his arms and embraced him tightly, not saying a word at all. His heart ached; the unforgiving silence resurfaced the dreadful circumstance, and in an instant, rain-heavy clouds rumbled over them to mirror the terror that had ailed its caller.

After Draco’s attack dwindled into a perpetual silence, Harry packed their things and suggested they return home—after all, it had begun to rain. Through the forest they walked again, and this time Draco did not dare to reach for Harry’s hand or acknowledge him. In his black ensemble, walking through the darkened woods, Harry thought he wielded an uncanny resemblance to a council leader, not so much his father—he lacked the broad stature—but the sovereign-like grace.

And suddenly it struck him that he’d kissed—almost fondled—a Veiled son, the Veiled Heir to the Council. But for a lovely moment, Draco Malfoy was just Draco Malfoy, a thrilling individual with a robust intellect, restrained only by a coquettish shyness, and who drew much pleasure from innocent teasing and luxury. Yes, that is his darling stripped of his title, his duty, his dogma. That is his darling on the banks of the spring and under Harry’s lips; that was his darling on August 19th.

When they’d reached the house, the storm really set in, thrashing the windows with bullets of rain and rattling the casement with booms of thunder. The family grew unsteady and watched Draco—somehow knowing that it was his temperament that brought on the torrential downpour—as he moved slowly up the stairs toward his lodging.

“What happened?” Hermione asked. “Did you not have a good time?”

“Excellent time,” said Harry. “But I think we moved too quickly.”

“Ah.” Hermione looked toward the stairs again with tremendous pity. “You mean you two…”

“Nothing like that. We shared a kiss.”

Hermione smiled and nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Look at you! How was it?”

“Brilliant.”

“I should think so. Only took you forever.” She glanced at the stairs once again. “You ought to be with him. He thinks too much when he’s alone.”

Draco’s room was locked for half an hour, and then the door opened slowly, allowing Harry—who had been waiting outside—to step in. It seemed he had just come out of the shower and had begun to brush his hair before the vanity mirror. Through the glass, their eyes met, and a small blush colored the boy’s pallid features. He looked heavenly even now with his rosy eyes from crying, his lashes heavy with tears; Draco had one of those complexions that could somehow be enhanced by a cry.

“I ruined our date,” he whispered, slouching forward. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. I came on too strong, I know.” Harry sat down on the foot of his bed and sighed heavily. “I forgot about it all. I forgot about the war, the Veil, the Book; everything. But it’s always in the back of your mind tormenting you, reproaching you, suffocating you. I think I forgot about that too…in the moment, at least. I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco stood from his vanity and took his place beside Harry, crossing his legs and revealing from underneath his robes only a sliver of ivory leg. “I’d forgotten for a moment too,” he whispered breathily. “When you kissed me, I’d forgotten about it all.”

Harry blushed and turned to him. Draco’s rosy features bloomed and softened the rigid paranoia that had had a firm grin just moments before. His gray, starry eyes framed by his darkened lashes moved from his own and to his lips. Draco leaned forward and kissed him again softly, hesitating with a pause to proceed, then, Draco pressed his mouth further into Harry’s, and his trembling hand slipped its way into his.

Draco pulled away, studying him with a quizzical expression as if trying to decipher if his move had been well received. “Am I doing okay?” He whispered. The innocent charm of his shone through beautifully here, and Harry nearly went mad just to see it.

Harry’s response came in the form of a tight embrace and a trail of kisses along the length of his neck and clavicle. “I love you,” he whispered into the boy’s shoulder. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you. Don’t you?”

“I know.”