The Noctis Codex | DRARRY

FOURTY-ONE

The Great Hall was alive with the kind of joy Harry had never experienced so intensely. Students clapped, whistled, and cheered, their voices echoing off the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the brilliant summer sky outside. A palpable sense of freedom and relief surged through the Hall; they had all made it. After eight long years—marked by laughter, loss, battles, and the binding relationships that only Hogwarts could create—the Golden Trio was finally ready to graduate. Harry could hardly believe it, as if he were looking down on this moment from a distance, watching his own story come to its bittersweet end.

Up at the head table, Professor McGonagall stood, straight and poised as always, her voice steady as she began a farewell speech. Her tone softened as she acknowledged the eighth-year students, those who had returned after the war for an extra year.

"Today," she began, "marks a journey's end—one that has been marked with trials, bravery, and, yes, great loss. For many of you, this extra year at Hogwarts was meant to give back some of what the war took, to allow you to rebuild, to heal, to grow. I have watched each of you show strength and resilience beyond what anyone could expect of a student—no, a child." Her voice wavered slightly, but she continued on with pride. "You leave this school not only with knowledge but with courage, and with bonds that I hope will last a lifetime. As you step out into the world, know that Hogwarts will always be here, its doors open to welcome you home."

The Hall erupted in applause. Students rose from their seats, clapping, cheering, some even crying as they celebrated one another. There was a fierce pride in every face Harry looked at, a triumphant resilience as they celebrated not just their achievements, but their survival.

The Headmistress began calling each graduate to the front to receive their certificates and N.E.W.T. results. As Harry's name echoed through the Hall, he rose, feeling an odd weight in his chest. His feet carried him forward almost without thinking, as if his mind couldn't quite grasp that this moment was really happening. Standing there, looking at the faces of his professors, he felt a tangled mess of emotions swell within him. There was pride, yes, and happiness—he'd come so far, done so much. But it was also so surreal. He realized this place, these walls, the enchanted ceiling that had been his silent witness for eight years, would now become memories, locked away with every other piece of his past.

This castle had been his home, had seen him through nightmares and triumphs alike. And now, it would be in his past. The faces he had grown accustomed to, the friends and even the rivals he had come to know—many of them would drift away after this. They would scatter to jobs, lives, families of their own. That thought struck him hardest of all, twisting a strange sorrow into his heart. As he looked out across the crowd, a pang of longing pierced him—he should have been sharing this moment with everyone.

With Draco.

The applause and cheering continued as each student took their turn, and finally, McGonagall invited them all outside for a graduation photo. As they made their way out, Hermione nudged them into conversation about the future, her eyes bright with purpose. She spoke of the Ministry and her dreams of working in Magical Law Enforcement, describing how she wanted to change outdated laws, to make a real difference. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Harry found himself smiling at her, nodding along even as his own future remained a fog in his mind.

"What are your plans?" The girl asked him, to which he hesitated, a small frown creasing his brow. The idea of becoming an Auror had once burned brightly in him, but now, it felt complicated. His life had been filled with so much danger, so much darkness already. Part of him longed for something quieter, something he could build for himself. But he wasn't sure. Ron echoed his sentiments, shrugging and saying that he, too, hadn't decided yet, though maybe, he joked, he'd just take over the joke shop and give George some much-needed help.

They laughed together, feeling the weight of the unknown as they stepped out into the open air. Outside, the grounds were crowded with people—families, friends, all gathered in joyful clusters, waving, cheering, their voices rising in a symphony. Harry looked around, feeling a surge of warmth. They took the photograph quickly and Rita Skeeter was, as always, hovering nearby.

No sooner had the photo been taken than the crowd surged forward, families enveloping students in embraces. It wasn't hard for Ron to find his family; the Weasleys' bright red hair stood out among the crowd, and soon, they were surrounded by every member. Harry smiled as Molly pulled them all into a hug, her voice thick with pride as she congratulated each of them. She squeezed Harry's hand, looking at him with that motherly love that never failed to make his heart ache a little. She promised they'd have a celebration at the Burrow and reminded him that he was always welcome to stay, to live with them until he found his own way. That offer had touched him deeply, and he'd accepted it with heartfelt gratitude, though part of him felt a quiet sadness that the family he'd been born into would never be here to see this day.

As the conversations buzzed around him, Harry drifted slightly away, letting his gaze wander over the crowd.

But then, suddenly, he saw it; a glint of platinum blond, unmistakable even in the bustling throng.

His breath hitched. His heart seemed to forget its rhythm, then slammed back into motion, racing with a mixture of disbelief and desperate hope. He couldn't believe it—Draco? Draco Malfoy, here, at his graduation? It was as if the entire world had narrowed down to that single flash of blond hair. Without thinking, he started moving, pushing through the crowd, murmuring apologies to those he bumped into, feeling almost dizzy with urgency. His vision blurred, a prickling heat rising as he closed the distance, every instinct urging him forward, faster, until he reached out, almost afraid of what he might find.

His hand closed around a slender wrist, and the figure turned.

It was Draco. After months of wondering, months of longing, he was standing right there, so close Harry could feel the warmth of his skin. For a moment, neither of them spoke, their eyes locked in a stunned silence that seemed to swallow the noise of the crowd around them. Draco's eyes widened, flickering with a mixture of shock and something unreadable, and Harry's throat tightened.

"Draco..." The name felt strange, almost sacred on his lips. His voice was raw, barely above a whisper. Without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the blond, holding him tightly, breathing in the familiar, long-missed scent of him. "I can't believe it. I wrote to you so many times. I—I thought..."

But even as he clung to him, Harry could feel the tension radiating off him. Draco's arms remained stiff at his sides, unyielding, and Harry's heart sank. Slowly, he released him, pulling back, confusion and hurt clouding his gaze.
"Are you... are you not happy to see me?"

Draco's face was a tumult of conflicting emotions, his expression a mixture of sorrow and restraint. His grey eyes, usually so sharp, now seemed almost vacant, as though he were holding himself back from feeling anything at all. The silence stretched painfully, and just when Harry thought he couldn't bear it a moment longer, Draco's mouth twisted into something like a grimace, frustration and sadness flickering over his features.

And then, in a low, steady voice, Draco said, "I'm getting married next week, Harry."

The words slammed into the dark-haired like a physical blow, piercing through every fragile hope he had managed to hold onto. It felt like the world had been yanked out from under him, the ground dissolving, leaving him weightless and spinning, unable to anchor himself to anything real. His heart splintered, the pieces scattering like glass. He tried to breathe, but it felt as though the very air had been stolen from his lungs.

Even the world around him blurred, the crowd, the sounds, all fading into a dull, lifeless background. Only Draco remained sharp as he stood before him with that expression Harry couldn't fully understand—restrained, and yet holding something back, something he could almost reach if he just dared to ask.

"Married...? But... why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you write back?"

The unspoken plea in his voice lingered in the silence, aching and raw. He needed an answer, some explanation, anything to make sense of this nightmare unraveling before him.

"It was easier this way," Draco murmured, his voice laced with a quiet bitterness. "For both of us."

A sick, sinking realization gripped Harry's heart.