Soul Mate - Chapter 19:

Minister Kingsley! It’s been an entire day! Harry and Malfoy have been missing for a whole day!

Hermione’s voice rang through the Minister’s office, sharp with panic. In moments like this,

she couldn’t care less about decorum or hierarchy. She slammed her hands on the polished desk,

eyes blazing. We don’t even know if they’re alive or dead!

Ron stood behind her, not quite as fierce but no less worried.

His freckled face was drawn tight with anxiety, though he tried to keep his tone calm.

Kingsley, for his part, looked exhausted. The pressure had been mounting since yesterday’s

disaster. During what should have been a celebratory ceremony honoring heroes,

no less an escaped Death Eater had managed to infiltrate the event disguised

as a member of the Order of Merlin. The result: the Savior of the

Wizarding World and the heir of the Malfoy family had both vanished without a trace.

Now there was chaos. The press demanded answers. The public was furious.

And the flood of Howlers arriving at the Ministry could probably fill an entire wing.

Kingsley rubbed his temples. Hermione, please, calm down.

The Auror Office has mobilized every available agent to search for Potter and Malfoy.

We’ve interrogated the captured Death Eater under Veritaserum.

All he knew was that the medals awarded to them were turned into a Portkey.

Nothing else. With so little to go on, we have no way to track where it sent them.

That’s not an excuse, Minister.

No, it’s not an excuse, Kingsley said wearily, but it is the truth.

I promise you, the moment we find any trace of them, you’ll be informed.

And we will do everything possible to bring them back.

Ron stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders

before she could shout again. Don’t, Hermione, he murmured gently.

The Minister’s doing what he can. You know Harry if Voldemort couldn’t kill him,

no one else will. And that ferret he coughed, I mean, Malfoy he’s not exactly helpless either.

Hermione pressed her lips together, trembling with frustration. But still.

Mrs. Weasley placed a comforting hand on her future daughter-in-law’s arm.

Yelling won’t help, dear. You’ve always been the sensible one.

You’ll see that waiting is all we can do right now.

Hermione took a deep breath. Reason slowly settled back into her expression.

I apologize for shouting, Minister, she said finally.

Kingsley smiled faintly, waving it off. No harm done, Miss Granger.

I understand. You’ve been through enough to earn a few outbursts.

Now, you start work at the Ministry tomorrow, don’t you?

Go home, get some rest, and prepare.

Hermione nodded. With Ron and Mrs. Weasley beside her, she left the office,

though the tension in her shoulders lingered.

Kingsley leaned back in his chair the moment the door closed,

letting out a sigh that seemed to come from his very bones.

Hermione had been difficult but manageable. After all,

she was one of Harry’s closest friends, a comrade from the war.

But the Howlers Merlin help him the Ministry had received more in the past twenty-four hours

than in the last ten years combined.

Potter, where in the world are you?

The answer: a five-star hotel. In the presidential suite.

When Harry had followed Draco through the lobby and

watched him nonchalantly hand over a platinum credit card to book the largest suite in the hotel,

he’d been utterly speechless.

Alright, fine, Harry thought. Of course the great Draco Malfoy would

only stay somewhere that matched his aristocratic pedigree

but since when did he have a Muggle credit card?

He had really wanted to roll his eyes.

The night before, after failing to find any way to contact the

French Ministry of Magic and even after taking stimulants,

both of them were still exhausted they had finally decided to rest for one night.

The presidential suite had at least seven or eight rooms, more than enough space.

Each of them had taken one, showered, and promptly collapsed into bed.

It had been a long, brutal day.

By the next morning, Harry felt reborn. A full night’s rest had cleared his head,

and when he emerged from his room, the sunlight felt almost golden.

Draco was already at the dining table, calmly enjoying the

breakfast that room service had delivered on a silver tray.

Morning, Draco, Harry greeted.

Morning… Harry, Draco replied, hesitating only slightly.

Harry had insisted they call each other by first name now they were friends, after all.

That had been Harry’s exact argument. Draco still found it unnervingly casual.

I can only imagine what the British Ministry looks like right now,

Harry mused between bites of croissant. Total chaos.

Hermione’s probably stormed into Kingsley’s office by now, yelling at him.

Draco arched a perfectly shaped brow. That does sound like something Granger would do.

Harry grinned. You know, I just realized—you haven’t called her a Mudblood once.

Draco set down his knife and fork, his movements refined and unhurried.

He lifted his glass of milk with aristocratic grace and took a sip.

And why, Potter—no, Harry—do you sound disappointed?

Of course I’m not. Harry glared at him, though it was half-hearted.

He’d long accepted that he’d never match Malfoy’s effortless elegance.

Centuries of pure-bl00d breeding really did leave its mark.

Then what exactly are you complaining about?

Oh, nothing at all, my noble Lord Malfoy. Harry shot him a teasing look and a mischievous wink.

But seriously, Draco what now? Apparition still doesn’t work.

We can’t reach the French Ministry. Are we supposed to start some magical riot just to get noticed?

That would be the worst possible plan, Draco said flatly, frowning. Think, Potter.

Isn’t there some kind of Muggle method of communication we could use?

Harry blinked. Had he heard that right?

The words Muggle method had just come out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth.

He almost laughed.

I don’t really know any Muggles who could help us, he began, then paused.

Wait actually, maybe I do.

What did you think of?

I think… I remember the phone number for Hermione’s parents’ dental clinic.

I’m not sure if they’ve changed it it’s been over a year but I can try.

Phone number? Draco frowned at the unfamiliar term.

It’s a Muggle device for communication. Very useful.

Though they change their numbers all the time, Harry explained.

Anyway, this is a presidential suite there has to be a phone here.

Determined to try, Harry searched the room and found the telephone on the desk.

Bless five-star luxury international calls were no issue.

The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Harry was about to give up when

he heard the click of a receiver being lifted.

A polite voice came through, crisp with a British accent.

Hello, who is this?

Harry’s heart leapt in relief. Mr. Granger it’s Harry. Harry Potter.

Do you remember me?