Soul Mate - Chapter 6:
The Day Before the Death Eaters’ Trial
Draco rose early.
In the quiet of the Head Prefect’s dormitory, he pondered whether he should ask
Headmistress McGonagall for leave tomorrow. Even if he did nothing special,
he ought to be present at the trial as a son, as family. But he also understood
what his parents had meant by sending him back to Hogwarts.
He was now the Order’s informant, a hero of the war.
He could no longer be seen as entangled with his parents the Death Eaters.
He was the current head of the Malfoy family, pure-bl00d aristocrat, heir of an ancient house,
and war hero. These titles alone paved a smooth path toward his future in politics.
That he might one day become Minister for Magic would surprise no one.
For now, his focus was to achieve an impeccable set of N.E.W.T. results in six months’ time.
With a frustrated motion, he tossed the fine wooden comb aside.
If only reason could always triumph over emotion he would never have become a hero of war.
He would have been in Azkaban by now, or perhaps dead, buried in the chaos
that had consumed so many others.
He loved his parents. He loved his family. That bond ran too deep, carved into his very bloodline
long before he was born. It could not be erased, nor did he wish it to be.
Perhaps others could not understand what family meant to a pure-bl00d,
but to him, it was as natural as breathing.
And yet, tomorrow, his father would stand trial and be sent to Azkaban
and Draco could do nothing. For the sake of his future, he could not even be there.
Bloody hell.
His expression darkened as he left the dormitory. The Slytherin common room,
already known for its silence, grew even quieter when its prince appeared with that stormy look.
No one dared to speak. No one wanted to anger a dragon on the verge of losing control—especially a dragon named Malfoy.
Since the war’s end and the revelation of Draco’s true allegiance,
his position among the Slytherins had become delicate.
He was still their prince, unquestionably. Though he had fought alongside the Order,
his actions had always aligned with Slytherin principles: watchful, strategic, never reckless.
Many sought alliance with the Malfoys now, just as many sought their downfall.
Most of the Slytherins’ parents were Death Eaters, bound for Azkaban without a doubt.
What awaited their children was less certain, and that uncertainty gnawed at them.
Headmistress McGonagall had insisted that Slytherin students remain to finish the school year
a mercy, a buffer of time. But the Ministry’s announcement of the
Death Eater trials had torn away that fragile calm, plunging them back into fear.
And then Draco returned.
No one knew quite how to face their leader again. Many wanted to ask about their parents,
but no one dared. Not one word in an entire day. Draco was no longer just an exceptional student,
he had become a figure equal to their elders, one who had survived a war
that had destroyed families.
Their emotions toward him were complex, to say the least.
Draco, you’re terrifying the younger students again.
Blaise rose from the sofa with his usual easy smile, clapping Draco on the shoulder.
Don’t take your anger out on your own, he murmured.
There are plenty of targets around here for that.
Draco gave him a Malfoy smile perfectly polite, perfectly false and left the common room.
He needed to think. About tomorrow, about the future, about everything.
He needed to give himself clear, unshakable direction so he would not stray,
would not ruin what had been planned since his birth.
He could not, would not, allow the Malfoy name to fall into ruin because of him.
Walking slowly through Hogwarts’ long corridors, Draco let his turbulent emotions settle.
By the time he entered the Great Hall and took his seat at the Slytherin table,
he had once again donned his usual calm, elegant mask.
Draco.
The voice belonged to Pansy. She looked calmer than yesterday,
restored to the poised young lady of the Parkinson family.
Years of breeding and etiquette had helped her recover from yesterday’s near-hysterical outburst.
I owe you an apology for my behavior yesterday.
That’s nothing, Pansy. But remember—Slytherins do not forget their manners.
He raised his voice slightly at the last part, ensuring others heard.
Yes, I understand.
Pansy exhaled and smiled again, and as if her composure was contagious,
the tension at the Slytherin table began to thaw.
The heavy silence of the past few days melted into something more natural.
No one spoke of fear or despair; instead, they returned at least outwardly to the cool,
dignified poise that defined their House.
From the High Table, McGonagall watched with quiet satisfaction.
She had never borne prejudice against Slytherin. True, none of them had joined the final battle
but none had aided Voldemort either. That was enough. Slytherin’s loyalties,
she knew, had always been complicated.
At the table, Blaise nudged Draco with his elbow, whispering.
You really are the Slytherin prince. Look at that only you could lift the mood.
I was suffocating in this gloom.
If you’re so uncomfortable, Draco replied, smiling faintly,
you could always transfer to another House. I’m sure Hufflepuff would welcome you.
Blaise’s handsome face fell instantly. Transfer to Hufflepuff? He’d sooner die.
Draco’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of amusement.
Blaise Zabini’s family had managed to remain surprisingly neutral throughout the war.
In Slytherin, that made him perhaps the only one besides Draco who could breathe easily.
Or perhaps more easily than Draco for Blaise carried no family legacy to protect.
Blaise’s tone shifted, the lightness gone. Tell me honestly, Draco.
What do you think the outcome of the Death Eater trials will be?
I can’t say for certain, Blaise.