The Noctis Codex | DRARRY

THIRTY-FOUR

Draco's eyes drifted open, heavy and hazy as he registered the cold, dark stone walls surrounding him. The weight of it settled on him like a shadow; he knew exactly where he was, and yet for a split second, he wondered if the whole ordeal had just been a nightmare. Then he shifted his arm, and a sharp, searing throb reminded him otherwise. His right arm lay bandaged, but the pain lingered, relentless and deep, throbbing in time with his pulse.

When he turned slightly, he saw his mother at his bedside, her face pale and tense with worry. She gasped softly when she noticed his eyes open, then leaned closer, whispering, "You're finally awake." Relief softened her voice, but it was edged with urgency.

Narcissa hesitated, her gaze scanning his face as if searching for words that would somehow make this better. "I spoke with your father. He... he's agreed to let you go back to Hogwarts. One last chance, Draco." Her voice was barely more than a murmur. "But if anything happens again... if he even hears a whisper... I don't know if I'll be able to help you."

She took his hand in hers, and with a soft crack, they Apparated. The world spun, Draco's stomach twisted violently, and he found himself back in his room at Hogwarts, the familiar walls a surprising comfort. But the moment of relief passed quickly, leaving him dizzy and nauseous, clinging to the side of his bed to keep his stomach down. Everything felt surreal and disconnected, but one feeling seeped through the haze—Potter was near.

That thought alone lifted some weight off him, but then reality slammed back down like a cage. He couldn't see Harry. Couldn't speak to him, couldn't even be near him. Draco's heart pounded at the thought. Lucius would never tolerate it. He had already tested his father's patience too many times, and this time, Draco knew there was no more leeway. The threat wasn't just an empty warning; it was a promise of something far worse than he could bear to think about.

But then another, colder truth dawned: he and Harry had to find a way to break the curse, and they couldn't do that apart. They had felt the curse in their bones, in their marks that crawled over their skin like vines. They were connected in a way that went beyond even Draco's understanding, and if they couldn't work together, that curse would devour them both.

His mother watched him, a steady, determined look in her eyes as though bracing herself for something. "I know about the curse," she said softly. Her voice was calm but carried a weight that surprised him. "Lucius... he doesn't understand it, but I do. You need to be careful, Draco. I'll do what I can to find a solution, to learn more. But this has to stay between us. Your father mustn't know."

A surge of frustration broke through Draco's weariness. "It doesn't matter, Mother. This... this curse doesn't just disappear. Nobody knows how to stop it, not even the people who carry it," he said, his voice rough. "Harry and I don't know how to make it stop, not yet, at least."

Narcissa's expression softened, a sadness flickering behind her eyes as if she had known all along that her words wouldn't bring much comfort. Draco pulled himself up and stumbled toward the mirror. The room tilted slightly, but he steadied himself against the dresser, his breath hitching at the sight that met him.

The dark marks had grown over his skin, weaving intricate, haunting lines across his neck and creeping up toward his jawline. They were no longer something he could hide, even if he wanted to. The bruised purples and deep blacks were striking against his pale skin, and he stared, transfixed, feeling a horror so profound it left him frozen.

His mother was silent for a moment, watching him from a few steps behind. She reached out as if to comfort him, but stopped short, letting her hand drop to her side. "You'll need to stay close to Potter," she said quietly, an instruction spoken with unspoken resolve. "Whatever it is you both need to do, find a way to do it quickly. I will keep Lucius distracted as long as I can."

Draco looked away from the mirror, trying to suppress the bitterness in his throat. "I don't even know where to begin, Mother," he murmured. The silence between them hung heavy, and finally, she took a breath, giving him a nod before leaving the room, as if giving him space was the only gift she could manage.

When he was alone, Draco collapsed back onto the bed, exhaustion tugging at him, his eyes burning. The marks burned too, a dull, continuous throb that reminded him of every agonizing moment under Lucius's wand. But somewhere beneath that pain, he felt a flicker of something that warmed him—Harry.

Almost on cue, he suddenly heard a soft knock on his door. He barely had a second to react before it swung open, and, speaking of the devil, Harry stepped in, his face drawn with worry and exhaustion, as though the distance between them had drained him of every ounce of strength. Without a word, the Gryffindor crossed the room and pulled Draco into his arms, pressing him close in a way they never had before. Although the blond froze, startled, his instinct soon took over, and he wrapped his arms around Harry, feeling the solid warmth of him, grounding him.

However, a sharp pain shot up his bandaged arm when he moved it, and he flinched, unable to hide it. Harry pulled back just enough to look at him, eyebrows raised in concern. His gaze dropped to Draco's arm, taking in the layers of bandage wrapped tightly from wrist to elbow. Draco could see the questions forming on the other's face, but before he could speak, the Slytherin managed a quiet, "My father..." He said it like an explanation, simple but heavy, and watched as understanding filled Harry's eyes.

When the other sank to his knees, he settled between Draco's legs, as if the weight of what he knew had finally brought him down. He leaned his head gently against the blond's thigh and let out a long, weary sigh, his breath warm against Draco's skin. His chest abruptly tightened, a strange vulnerability filling the room in the quiet that followed.

He wanted to lighten the tension, to be the Draco Malfoy he always had been, the one who shrugged off pain like it was nothing. "It's— it's fine," he started, forcing a smirk. "Nothing can break the Draco Malfoy." But his voice came out unsteady, thin, and he could feel it waver in his own throat. Even Harry could hear the unease lingering in his words, the faint tremor of fear that he couldn't mask.

Harry lifted his head, his expression soft but steady, seeing through every pretense the blond was trying to put up. "You don't have to pretend with me," he murmured before reaching out and covering Draco's bandaged arm with his hand. It caused a warmth to seep through the layers of fabric and skin, grounding him in a way that Draco didn't know he needed.

For a moment, the blond just looked down, his defenses crumbling in the quiet between them. "I—I didn't want you to see this," he admitted softly, eyes focused somewhere distant, avoiding the Gryffindor's gaze. "What he did... it's not just my arm, Harry. It's everything. He'll never stop. He'll just keep taking... everything from me."

Although Harry didn't respond with words, he tightened his hold on Draco's hand, a silent promise that he was here, that Draco wasn't alone in this. They stayed there in silence, the weight of the Slytherin's pain shared in the quiet, until he found himself leaning forward, resting his forehead against Harry's. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath, the solid presence of him, and let it steady him in a way nothing else could.

"Tell me what you need," Harry whispered.

Draco's voice was barely a murmur, but the words came out honest and raw, stripped of all pretense. "Just... don't go." It was all he could manage, the only thing that felt real in a world that was crumbling around him. And in that small, fragile space between them, Draco felt, for a moment, that he didn't have to be strong. That here, with Harry, he didn't have to be anything but himself.

Right after, the dark-haired nodded, pressing his forehead more firmly against Draco's, his fingers laced between the other's. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, the quiet promise filling the space around them, giving Draco something solid to hold onto. And as they sat there, wrapped in each other's warmth, the world outside felt like it could wait—just for now.