Soul Mate - Chapter 18:
After walking for what felt like hours Draco leading and Harry a few steps behind
they finally emerged from the endless forest and stumbled into the outskirts of a quiet town.
A handful of Muggles moved about, and not far away,
a bright red double-decker bus hissed to a stop.
Without hesitation, Draco started toward it. He didn’t even glance at the route sign;
as far as he was concerned, he would simply ride until they reached somewhere busier,
then get off.
Harry caught his arm.
What now, Potter? Draco’s voice was all sharp impatience.
Harry ignored the tone and gave a tired little smile. Malfoy,
he said, do you… have any money?
I always carry a few Galleons, Potter.
Right, Harry nodded, because I have Galleons too.
But Malfoy you do realize Muggles don’t use Galleons, right?
Bullseye.
Draco’s face darkened halfway. These ridiculous,
tasteless Muggles even Potter had better sense than they did.
He stood there for a long moment, jaw clenched, before pulling a handful of gleaming Galleons
from his pocket. With a flick of his wand, he turned them into French francs.
Harry groaned. Oh, Malfoy, that’s illegal! You can’t just transfigure currency,
it’s against wizarding law!
Draco’s smile was thin, his chin lifting in quiet defiance. Oh no, Potter.
I’m not breaking any laws I’m simply engaging in self-preservation.
Perfectly acceptable under the principle of magical self-defense.
And honestly, compared to Muggle paper money, Galleons are worth far more.
I’m not cheating anyone.
Harry stared at him, utterly speechless. The infuriating part was he was technically right.
And considering their situation, arguing over magical ethics in the middle of rural France seemed
pointless. If the French Ministry wanted to complain later, the British Ministry could sort it out.
Satisfied, Draco arched a brow. Problem solved?
Harry sighed, shook his head, and followed him onto the bus.
They climbed to the upper deck and found seats near the window.
Harry slid into the left side, watching the slow-moving scenery drift by
so much slower than flying. His eyelids grew heavy.
He hadn’t slept well the night before, and after two Cruciatus Curses and an entire battle,
even potions couldn’t fully restore his strength.
The moment he sat down, exhaustion rolled over him like a tide.
He fought to stay awake, forcing his eyes away from the window.
When he turned, he found Draco with a stack of parchment in his lap
family financial reports, by the look of them reading as if nothing had happened.
Harry couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and exasperation.
Malfoy, somehow, never seemed to tire.
How did he even have the energy to work right now?
Sensing the stare, Draco didn’t bother to look up.
A small glass vial appeared in his hand. A stimulant potion.
If you’re that sleepy, drink it, Potter.
So that’s what it was. Harry accepted it, curious.
How much stuff do you actually carry around with you, Malfoy?
Draco’s tone was casual. A few Galleons.
Bl00d-Replenishing Potion, Energy Restorative, Stimulant, Dreamless Sleep, Basic Antidote,
Strong Bl00d-Clotting Potion. A Malfoy family tent. A few sets of robes. That’s all.
Harry gaped. Merlin. That’s practically Hermione-level preparedness.
You never know when someone will attack you or when something will go wrong,
Draco replied calmly, turning another page of his report. It’s just standard gear for a spy.
Though my godfather never needed quite this much.
Harry fell silent.
He turned the potion over in his hands, realizing perhaps for the first time
just how little he had understood about what Draco had done.
Being a spy wasn’t about glory or recognition.
It meant living under constant threat, sending information to the Order through shadows,
hunted by both sides. Only Kingsley had known his true allegiance.
If another Auror or Order member had found him, they would have attacked without hesitation.
If the Death Eaters discovered his betrayal…
it would have been over, not just for Draco, but for his family.
Heroism, Harry realized, didn’t always happen in open battle.
Sometimes, it lived in the quiet, dangerous places no one ever saw.
You know, Malfoy, Harry said softly, at first… I didn’t really believe you were a spy.
Draco’s eyebrow lifted, wordlessly inviting him to go on.
I couldn’t understand, Harry continued.
If you were really helping us, why did you corner me in the Room of Requirement?
Why did you walk straight to Voldemort when he said I was dead?
He took a breath. But now I get it. A spy can’t reveal himself before the war is over.
It’s a rule you can’t break.
I think you went to the Room of Requirement to make sure I was still alive.
You never attacked me even when you could have.
And when you walked toward Voldemort, maybe it wasn’t loyalty.
Maybe it was to protect your parents.
His green eyes shone with warmth as he looked at Draco.
Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. After a long silence, Draco’s voice came out low and dry.
I was simply ensuring I’d bet on the winning side. Your life was irrelevant.
Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Typical Malfoy prideful to the end.
Thinking back now, the first time they’d met in Madam Malkin’s shop,
Draco’s endless chatter had really been a kind of awkward attempt at friendship, hadn’t it?
Just delivered in that uniquely Malfoy way.
If he’d understood that back on the Hogwarts Express
if he’d seen what lay behind that haughty mask
maybe they wouldn’t have been enemies for so long.
Maybe, in another life, he’d have had a Slytherin friend.
The thought made him smile wistfully.
But it wasn’t too late.
Sorry, Malfoy. For everything, Harry said, holding out his hand. Let’s start over.
I’m Harry Potter. Can we be friends?
Draco stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Platinum hair, grey-blue eyes, skin pale as marble.
The sunlight filtering through the bus window made him look almost ethereal
an angel reluctantly fallen to earth.
At last, he sighed, as though surrendering to something inevitable.
Then he reached out and clasped Harry’s hand.
Of course. My name is Draco Malfoy.