Soul Mate - Chapter 3:

Professor McGonagall looked at her student with a touch of sadness in her eyes, but she said nothing more.

Harry took a quiet breath, forcing himself to push away the heavy thoughts lingering in his mind. Reality was what it was—harsh, inevitable—but he wouldn’t let it swallow him whole. There were always things in life that turned out differently than expected.

That thought suddenly sparked a question. He hesitated, then asked if she knew when the trials for Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy would take place.

McGonagall replied that it would be next Thursday, during the first public hearing. The Ministry had likely arranged it that way out of consideration for their son, Draco.

The first to be judged.

Harry nodded quietly. Memories of Lucius Malfoy drifted through his mind—cold, sharp, and distant—but the hatred he once carried toward the man had curiously faded. As for Narcissa, he felt only gratitude. He would never forget the lie she told on the battlefield, the lie that saved his life. If not for the love she had for her son, stronger than her fear of Voldemort, he might not be standing here now.

Even so, the memory of Sirius’s death still ached deep inside him. No matter that Lucius hadn’t been the one to cast that final spell—his name would always remind Harry of that loss.

After politely taking his leave, Harry hurried down the corridor toward Defense Against the Dark Arts. He still had class that morning, even though Arthur Weasley, their temporary professor, had told him more than once that he hardly needed to attend.

Ron was waiting at the classroom door, waving as soon as Harry appeared.

Hey, Harry!

Harry smiled helplessly, still trying to shake off the attention from a group of admirers who had cornered him in the hallway earlier. He finally escaped and joined his friend, glancing around.

Where’s Hermione?

Ron tilted his head toward the classroom. She’s saving us seats. Thought I’d wait for you here. How’d it go with McGonagall?

Harry sighed softly, his eyes drifting toward the castle around them, now almost fully restored after the battle. The house-elves had outdone themselves. The trials are starting earlier than we thought, he said. Next Thursday. No one knows how long they’ll last.

Good, Ron muttered, his brow furrowing. The sooner the better. Hope they lock those Death Eaters in Azkaban for life.

Harry understood. He’d lost a brother in the war—Fred. Even the calmest heart would carry that wound forever. Harry admired the Weasleys deeply; they weren’t nobles, but their loyalty and love for each other were stronger than any pureblood title. He envied that.

Hermione waved from the front row. Harry pulled Ron along and took the seats beside her.

Moments later, Arthur Weasley entered the room, his round figure familiar and warm. But Harry couldn’t focus on the lesson at all. His gaze drifted to the other side of the classroom—Defense Against the Dark Arts was still taught jointly with Slytherin.

Since the end of the war, the Slytherins had become almost invisible. Even though McGonagall had done everything to protect the entire house from backlash, they had all grown quiet—unnaturally so.

Outside of meals and lessons, they were nowhere to be seen. Even in the Great Hall, their table was eerily silent, while the others buzzed with laughter and chatter.

Harry couldn’t help thinking back to that night of the final battle—Pansy Parkinson’s blunt words, the Slytherins’ refusal to fight for either side. They hadn’t helped Voldemort, but they hadn’t stood with Hogwarts either.

And then there was Draco Malfoy—the Slytherin Prince, his rival for six long years.

Among all the Slytherins, when most had chosen to serve the Dark Lord or to hide, Draco had chosen differently. He had joined the Order, lived as a spy, and risked everything.

Even now, Harry thought, most people in Hogwarts probably still couldn’t believe it.

But it was true.

Just like Snape’s truth had been hidden all those years. Harry still struggled to understand how much that man had done for him—the years of danger, the humiliation, the endless sacrifices driven by a love that never died. Severus Snape had been the true Headmaster of Hogwarts, and one of the best professors Harry had ever known.

A sudden nudge snapped him back. Hermione was glaring at him.

Harry, what are you thinking about? Class is over!

He blinked, startled. Oh. He shot Arthur a sheepish look, mumbled an apology, and rushed to pack his things before hurrying out of the room. Daydreaming through Defense Against the Dark Arts was one thing—but he couldn’t afford to zone out in other subjects, not with N.E.W.T.s only months away. The thought of repeating a year was unbearable.

Watching Hermione carrying her towering stack of books day after day, he finally sighed and gave in. Hermione, I’m studying with you from now on.

She looked up from her notes as they walked toward the Gryffindor common room, her eyes lighting up with approval. You’ve finally come to your senses. Of course, I’ll help you catch up. We’ll get through the past half-year’s lessons together.

Ron groaned at the memory of Hermione’s study sessions. To him, exams were doom, but Hermione’s revision schedules were pure torture.

Harry didn’t look much more enthusiastic. He’d asked for her help himself, but even he wasn’t sure he could survive her rigorous methods. Still, there was no other way.

Hermione clapped her hands decisively. Alright then, since neither of you are complaining, we’ll start reviewing right now.

What? Now?! Ron’s eyes went wide. He didn’t remember volunteering for this.

Hermione gave him a sharp glare and smacked him lightly on the head with her book. You think it’s too early? Do you even know what month it is? If you don’t want to repeat a year, you’d better start studying properly.

Ron’s face fell instantly, a picture of despair.

Under Hermione’s fierce gaze, Harry could only surrender too, silently raising an imaginary white flag.

And so, the Golden Trio’s path turned sharply toward the library.

Following Hermione’s list of review materials, Harry and Ron split the work—one half each. When they returned to her reserved table, both of them were buried under mountains of books.

They exchanged a resigned glance, each picking up the first heavy tome. The great study marathon began.

Merlin help him. Harry would rather face Voldemort again than endure Hermione Granger’s exam training.

As he flipped through the first dense page of text, Harry could only cry in his heart.