Soul Mate - Chapter 17:
Only two left, Draco said, his black robe soaked through with bl00d.
Harry didn’t look much better. One each? His voice came out strained and uneven.
Harry nodded, gathering what strength he had left. He hurled a Stupefy across the room.
Draco followed instantly with a Sectumsempra.
The last two Death Eaters fell one to the left, one to the right
and then there was nothing but the ragged sound of their breathing echoing
through the shattered wooden cabin.
Harry struggled upright and cast Finite Incantatem on Draco, then on himself.
At last, freed from the Cruciatus, their trembling bodies began to relax,
though the ghost of that agony still lingered deep in their nerves.
Draco inhaled sharply several times before lifting his wand toward
Harry and muttering a healing spell. It wasn’t Madam Pomfrey’s level of skill,
but at least it stopped the bleeding. When he finally turned the wand on himself,
he noticed something strange. The wand in his hand wasn’t the one he’d bought years later to
replace his old one it was that wand. Hawthorn, unicorn hair, ten inches, reasonably springy.
The one he had first bought at Ollivander’s, seven years ago.
He stared at it for a long moment, expression unreadable,
before sighing and holding it out toward Harry.
Harry blinked at him in confusion.
Potter, you’ve taken my wand again, Draco said evenly.
Or is it that my wand simply suits you that well? Twice now, if I recall.
Ah—sorry, Harry stammered, quickly trading wands back.
It only hit him afterward that the one he’d been using of course had belonged to Malfoy.
Again.
Draco didn’t comment further. Looking utterly exhausted,
he pushed himself up off the filthy floor, intent on securing the unconscious Death Eaters.
Some had only been stunned; best to make sure they stayed that way.
He barely made it a few steps before the world tilted violently.
A wave of dizziness slammed into him, and he groaned,
one hand catching the side of an old cabinet for balance, the other pressed to his temple.
Two Cruciatus Curses and half a Sectumsempra his body was long past its limits.
Today, it seemed, luck had completely abandoned him.
Malfoy, you alright? Harry tried to move toward him, but his own body reeled.
He nearly fell himself. When his vision finally steadied,
he saw two potion bottles set in front of him. He looked up, surprised.
Draco had already uncorked a bl00d-replenishing potion and downed it in one go.
You should be grateful, Potter, he said hoarsely. During my three years as a spy,
I made sure never to go anywhere without emergency potions.
Otherwise I’d have died a dozen times over by now.
Oh. Thanks, Malfoy. Harry grimaced as he drank both potions
each one tasting nearly as foul as anything Snape had ever brewed.
After the bl00d and energy restoratives kicked in, they both felt marginally steadier.
Draco raised his wand again and methodically cast Petrificus Totalus on each of the fallen
Death Eaters just to be sure then added a binding charm for good measure.
Alright, he said, we need to get out of here and figure out where we are.
Then see if we can Apparate back.
Harry nodded. They took up positions on either side of the door.
Wands ready, they opened it slowly. It wasn’t paranoia it was survival.
If they assumed all the enemies were down and turned out wrong, there’d be no second chances.
Peering cautiously outside, Harry found no movement, no threat.
He gestured to Draco, and together they stepped out into brilliant sunlight.
The world outside the cabin was impossibly peaceful
birds singing, trees swaying, flowers nodding gently in the breeze.
Not a trace of another soul.
After scanning their surroundings several times and finding nothing,
they both began to relax, though only slightly.
Malfoy, can you Apparate yet? Harry asked, eyes still darting around.
This place wasn’t anywhere he recognized.
Draco tried, then cursed under his breath. Still nothing. Completely blocked.
Alright, fine, Harry muttered, then frowned. So where are we?
We need to contact the Ministry get someone to come for us.
Draco started walking, hoping to find a road sign or any indication of civilization.
They trudged through dense forest for what felt like ages before he finally spotted one and froze.
When he read the words, he nearly screamed.
Merlin’s beard. We’re in France! That damned Portkey was international!
France?! Harry’s jaw dropped. Bloody hell, how are we supposed to get back?
Draco mentally cursed their attackers every creative way he knew.
He was sorely tempted to march back and finish them all off with an Avada Kedavra each.
But priorities. Unfortunately, his knowledge of the French Ministry of Magic was almost
nonexistent. And as for Potter well, no one could seriously
expect a thick-headed Gryffindor to know a single thing about international
wizarding bureaucracy, could they?
Alright, listen, Potter. The sign says if we keep walking straight,
we’ll reach the edge of this forest park. One step at a time
we get out, then find the French Ministry. Or a Muggle contact point.
Either way, we can’t stay here.
You can read French? Harry asked, genuinely curious.
Draco gave him a long, withering look.
You really should ask Granger what traditional aristocratic education entails.
Too tired to argue, he flicked his wand. In a shimmer of magic,
the bloodstained, tattered robes he wore transformed into sharp Muggle attire:
a black shirt under a crisp white blazer, fitted white trousers, and polished black shoes.
A quick cleaning charm fixed the grime, then a few grooming spells smoothed his tousled hair and
brightened his features. Satisfied, he tucked his wand away.
Harry blinked. Malfoy now looked like he’d stepped straight out of a Muggle fashion magazine
charming, immaculate, annoyingly perfect.
Don’t just stand there gawking, Potter. You’re not going out there dressed like that,
unless you fancy being mistaken for a lunatic.
He lifted his wand again. Forget it. I’ve long since given up expecting you to understand fashion.
But since I refuse to be seen with someone who looks like a deranged scarecrow, let me handle this.
Harry responded with a spectacular eye roll.
Draco ignored him and flicked his wand once more.
Harry’s shabby robes vanished, replaced by a white T-shirt, a fitted dark green leather jacket,
light jeans, and white sneakers. Several hair-taming charms later,
the infamous Potter mess was miraculously tamed.
The bright green eyes, however, were beyond fixing. For now.
Harry looked down at himself, tugging at the jacket.
Why not red? Gryffindor colors, you know.
Because you look better in green, stupid lion.
Draco turned away, clearly done with the conversation.