The Noctis Codex | DRARRY

TWENTY-FOUR

The biting winter air nipped at Harry, Ron, and Hermione's faces as they trudged through the snow toward the Three Broomsticks, their cloaks wrapped tight against the chill of early evening.

The whole of Hogsmeade was dusted in white, and the cold was almost palpable, settling into every cell. Once inside, warmth washed over them, a comforting contrast to the chill, and the lively crackling of the fireplace melted the ice in their bones. They found a table close to the fire and sat down, stretching their hands toward the flames. Madam Rosmerta brought over three frothy mugs of butterbeer, and they gratefully wrapped their fingers around the warm handles, sipping as they chatted.

They fell into a relaxed conversation, skimming over school gossip and the usual complaints about coursework. Ron was already sizing up Slytherin's team for the upcoming Quidditch match, but Harry only shrugged, looking down into his mug. "I can't play this time," he muttered, tracing a thumb along the handle. "McGonagall's forbidden it. Ever since... you know, that incident the last time. My marks, they've been getting worse. She said if it happens on the pitch again, it's too risky."

Hermione's face softened, brows knitting together in worry. "They're growing quicker than in the beginning, right?"

"Yeah, every few days. Hurts like mad."

Their conversation was interrupted by the door swinging open with a blow of cold air, and a new group of students came in, chattering and laughing. Blaise led the way, followed by Pansy, a few others, and—unmistakably—Draco. Harry's heart seemed to kick-start, beating faster at the sight of the pale-haired Slytherin, though he quickly looked down to avoid giving himself away.

As Pansy strutted past their table, she smirked, tossing them a dismissive look. "Oh, look who we have here," she sneered, her voice dripping with scorn. Her group chuckled, though dark-haired noted that Draco didn't join in, remaining silent as they settled at a larger table.

Harry forced himself to focus on the warmth of the butterbeer, but his attention drifted repeatedly to the corner where the other sat, every stolen glance becoming more difficult to resist. When, at last, Draco stood and slipped his coat on, Harry's instincts took over. He mumbled a quick excuse, didn't bother with his own jacket, and followed him out into the frigid night.

Outside, he called the blond's name, his breath a foggy whisper against the biting cold, but Draco didn't turn. Without thinking, Harry lunged forward, reaching out to grab his wrist. The other boy jerked, whipping around with surprise etched across his face, a protest on his lips. "Let go, Potter!"

"Why have you been avoiding me?" The Gryffindor's voice cracked slightly, but he held Draco's gaze. "After everything that happened... you haven't spoken to me. You didn't even come to see me when I was unconscious. I thought whatever we had meant something."

For a moment, Draco's face was unreadable, but then a soft sigh escaped him, his breath clouding in the air. "You really believe I didn't come to see you, Potter?" Although his voice was faint, it came out as a hiss nonetheless. "I did. Right after we arrived back at Hogwarts. After everyone else went to bed, I sneaked to the hospital wing. All of it despite being at the verge of collapsing, exhausted and weak, just to see if you were alright."

"You... really did?" Surprise broke through the dark-haired boy's frustration. His heart felt warm again, for the first time in a while.

As Draco nodded, his gaze slipped to the ground. "I stayed the whole night. Watched you sleep. Made sure you were breathing. Pathetic, right? Draco Malfoy ever doing such things for someone. But when they told me you'd finally woken up, it was the only bit of relief I'd felt in ages." He glanced back up, his eyes shadowed with something unspoken.