The Noctis Codex | DRARRY

TEN

The Room of Requirement had shifted yet again, molding itself to their silent needs. Tonight, it had transformed into something cozy and unexpected—a small nook covered in blankets and pillows, a space just large enough for the two of them to sit close together. Draco glanced around as he and Harry stepped in, feeling a strange tension settle over him, heavier than before. This felt more intimate, more like a space crafted for something other than frustrated research, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Harry was already kneeling on the soft blankets, flipping through the book with an air of familiar determination. After the blond joined him, he sat just close enough that their knees brushed. It shouldn't have felt odd, sitting like this, but the closeness tugged at the edges of his awareness, tightening his focus on Harry's face in the dim light. They both knew what they were supposed to do—they'd done it before—but somehow, reaching for Harry's hand felt different tonight.

Their fingers touched hesitantly, like they were both testing the boundary between them. Then, slowly, their hands slipped together, a cautious yet steadying grip as they angled the book to read its worn, yellowed pages.

It was strange how quickly they both fell into the rhythm of it, scanning through the passages again as if answers might magically appear where none had been before. But the book was frustratingly silent, revealing nothing they hadn't already seen. Finally, after nearly an hour, Draco let out an exasperated sigh, snapping the book shut. "Nothing," he muttered, feeling a surge of anger that had nowhere to go.

Harry didn't respond. His fingers still held Draco's, not tightly, just a loose, unthinking grasp. Neither of them seemed to notice they hadn't let go, the quiet connection somehow comforting after the fruitless search.

Suddenly, a long yawn escaped the Gryffindor, his eyes flickering tiredly. "I don't want to sleep," he admitted softly, his voice betraying the hint of fear he'd been holding back. "I don't want to see...whatever it'll be tonight."

Due to Draco knowing what the other meant, his throat felt tight. He'd seen enough of Harry's pain to feel its weight himself now, and the prospect of another night witnessing it was unsettling. He lay back, loosening his grip on Harry's hand but not quite letting go. "Me too," the words slipped out after a moment, barely a whisper.

At his admission, Harry's fingers brushed his again, a small, instinctive gesture of shared understanding. It wasn't a lot, just a light touch, but it softened the sharp edges of Draco's nerves. Without another word, they lay close together, eyes drifting shut, each of them feeling the fragile comfort of the other's presence.

They were standing in the Department of Mysteries, the room dark and endless, shadows flickering like living things around them. Draco felt a sense of dread ripple over him even before he saw what was ahead before them. In the middle of the room, a battle was raging, and he recognized the figures at once—Harry, Sirius, Bellatrix.

Draco knew, in a split-second, what was about to happen. His stomach twisted as he saw Harry's expression, the raw agony in his eyes. It was all unfolding again: the wild spell, the blinding green light, Sirius falling backward into the veil. Draco flinched as he watched his aunt's gleeful, unhinged smile, the triumph in her voice as she screamed, "I killed Sirius Black!"

Beside him, the dark-haired seemed to break, his face twisted in anguish as he stumbled forward. Instinctively, Draco stepped in front of him, holding him back, shielding him as best he could from the scene. His own heart was hammering with the weight of it all, with the memory of what he'd seen and done in the war, but he forced himself to stay steady, if only for stupid Potter.

"I'm here," he whispered, barely audible over the distant echoes of battle. "You're not alone."

In a matter of seconds Draco awoke with a jolt, the dim light of the room greeting him. His breath steadied as he realized he was back, out of the memory, safe. And then he noticed how close he was to Harry, their faces mere inches apart. The other was still asleep, his glasses askew, one lens nearly slipping off his nose. Draco felt a strange warmth settle over him, a feeling he couldn't quite place as he looked at the Gryffindor's peaceful expression. How ridiculous he looked—hair wild, mouth slightly open, one arm sprawled haphazardly across the pillows.