Soul Mate - Chapter 5:
The first class of the day was Transfiguration, shared between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
The Slytherins, unaffected by the morning’s tension, slipped back into their usual silence. Draco said nothing as he quietly took a seat near the back. His left hand absentmindedly brushed against a ring on his right index finger—one that Harry noticed wasn’t the usual heirloom of the Malfoy family.
Because Hogwarts still suffered from a shortage of teachers, Professor McGonagall, though now Headmistress, continued to teach Transfiguration. When she entered the room, her eyes softened briefly toward Draco with a restrained smile before she returned to her usual stern composure and began the lesson.
Harry tried to appear focused, but his mind was far away.
For some reason, he suddenly remembered his second year—how, in this very classroom, he first heard about the Chamber of Secrets and the founding of Hogwarts. Back then, those were just stories. But after everything he’d seen and survived, the thought carried a new weight.
Had Salazar Slytherin truly been so different from the other founders? Had he and Godric Gryffindor really hated each other so deeply? A hatred that lingered through centuries, dividing students long after their time?
He recalled the Sorting Hat’s song from fifth year—the one that said, *“What friends could be closer than Slytherin and Gryffindor, unless you count another pair—Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.”* Once, they had been inseparable friends. So how had it all come to this?
His thoughts drifted too far.
“Mr. Potter?”
“Harry!” Hermione pinched him sharply.
He winced but forced himself upright under the weight of McGonagall’s disapproving gaze. “Yes, Professor.”
“Mr. Potter, your preparation time for N.E.W.T.s is not generous. I suggest you refrain from daydreaming in my class.”
“Yes, Professor. I’m sorry.”
The words came out automatically, but what followed was silence. Not even the usual sneering laughter from Slytherin’s side. Harry realized he almost preferred their taunts to this uneasy quiet.
McGonagall simply nodded and continued her lecture.
Hermione leaned toward him, her voice low enough not to be noticed. “What were you thinking about? The professor and I have been calling you for ages.”
“Uh… about the Founders,” he admitted.
“Harry, you do realize the N.E.W.T.s won’t test you on Hogwarts’ history, right?”
“Sorry, Hermione.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you fail, I’m not retaking the year with you.”
Harry shared a helpless look with Ron from across the aisle, then resigned himself to opening his book again.
At the Malfoy Manor.
“Master Lucius, Mistress Narcissa, young master Draco has already begun his lessons at Hogwarts without issue,” the house-elf Rabi reported solemnly.
“Good,” Lucius replied. “You may go. Remember, continue obeying Draco’s orders.”
“Yes, Master Lucius. Rabi understands.” With a bow, the elf vanished.
Narcissa exhaled softly. She had been worried Draco might encounter rogue Death Eaters on his way to school. Knowing he arrived safely at Hogwarts—perhaps the safest place left in their world—was a relief beyond words.
Lucius was quiet for a while before he finally spoke. “Cissy, once I leave this time, I likely won’t return. I’ve already passed the family headship to Draco. Help him where you can—he’s still young.”
A shadow crossed Narcissa’s graceful features. “Lucius, you might not—”
He shook his head, moving to sit beside her. His smile was faint but genuine, stripped of the polished coldness he usually wore. “Let’s not deceive ourselves, Cissy. We both know I won’t escape punishment. But you saved Harry Potter’s life, and Draco fought on the side of the Order. Because of that, they’ll be lenient with you. Perhaps a fine or community service at worst. And gold… gold has never been what the Malfoys lack.”
Still, sorrow lingered in her eyes.
“Enough, Cissy,” Lucius said quietly. “You’re strong. You’re a Black by birth, and the Lady of the Malfoy house.”
She nodded, a sigh slipping through her heart. Their marriage had always been one of alliance between two old pure-bl00d families. They had respect, friendship, even kinship—but never love. To her, Lucius had always been more like an elder brother than a husband. And she knew, even now, that his heart had always belonged to someone else.
“Do you think Draco will try to do something?” she asked hesitantly. No matter what it cost, she didn’t want Lucius to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.
Lucius shook his head, pride flickering in his tone. “Cissy, Draco is a Malfoy. Even if he once stood with the Order as a spy, the pride of our bloodline would never allow him to beg Potter for help.”
If Draco ever did, Lucius thought, even freedom would taste bitter. The Malfoy pride must not break, even if their name lost its place among the pure-bl00d elite.
“I understand, Lucius. I was foolish to ask.” Narcissa drew in a breath and composed herself, her expression returning to its dignified calm.
Lucius smiled, pleased by her poise. Rising to his feet, he extended a hand to her. When she took it, he gently pulled her up from the sofa. “Then let’s go to the Ministry. No need to wait for Aurors to drag us there.”
She looped her arm through his, elegant as ever.
Outside the manor, a carriage awaited. Because of Draco’s alliance during the war, no Aurors guarded the Malfoy estate. The couple climbed into the carriage, looked back one last time at the home that had carried their family’s legacy for generations, and then allowed it to roll away toward the Ministry of Magic.