The Noctis Codex | DRARRY

FORTY-THREE

Two days. Just two days until Draco's wedding, and the weight of it felt heavier than Harry had expected. Though he'd had time to reconsider, time to back out, he remained steadfast. The pull to see it, to witness Draco say his vows and truly understand that chapter was closed, was more than a decision—it felt like something he needed to do, no matter the pain it might cost him.

Now, he, Hermione, and Ron were at a small, unassuming shop picking out their attire. Hermione had already chosen a modest dress, elegant but simple, knowing the last thing they wanted was to draw any attention to themselves.

Standing before a full-length mirror in a corner of the shop, Harry tried on a dark, unadorned suit, the fabric plain yet tailored enough to fit him well. As he adjusted the lapels, pulling the jacket just right over his shoulders, he caught his reflection and paused, studying the figure that stared back at him.

The suit fit perfectly. It was neat, unremarkable, but somehow made him look more mature. A quiet satisfaction crossed his face, even if the purpose behind wearing it was far from joyous.

As his friend stepped beside him, her eyes crinkled with a gentle smile. "This one's perfect, Harry," she said, her voice soft but encouraging. "You look... well, you look like yourself. In a good way." Harry's lips tugged upward, echoing her smile with a faint nod.

He was pleased, yes, but as he stood there a little longer, tilting slightly from side to side to see every angle, a dull ache twisted in his chest. He let out a soft breath, almost as if that could dislodge the feeling, but it lingered, more stubborn than before. There was something quietly surreal about the scene. For a moment, he imagined a different kind of day—a wedding day. His wedding day. He envisioned himself standing at the end of an aisle, a similar suit draping his shoulders, surrounded by friends, loved ones, and a sea of well-wishing faces. The vision shifted, forming a hazy image of Draco at his side, a soft smile and bright eyes focused on him alone.

That thought alone made the ache in his chest sharper, cutting deeper with an old, familiar longing. Harry had never thought much about marriage before. He'd never really let himself. Maybe it was a result of years spent fighting battles that made him feel older and weighed down by loss and duty rather than dreams of the future. But if he'd let himself picture a future with anyone, a forever with anyone... it would've been Draco. There had been something so all-consuming about their love, even in its fragility, that he'd thought for a time it might last. There was an intensity to it that he'd never known before, something that made him crave Draco in a way he hadn't even realized he could, or would.

Now, though, those dreams seemed almost cruel. They hadn't been together or a couple, not truly, not in the way that counted, but the rawness of his love for Draco had overshadowed anything else. A part of him wasn't even sure if he could let go, even now when he had accepted the heartbreak. Or had he? The lines between acceptance and denial blurred in his mind. The closer the wedding day approached, the more he felt a strange, painful pull toward Draco, as if somehow, being there might provide some form of closure. But if he was honest, he wasn't sure what to expect. He didn't even know if he wanted that closure, not really. Maybe some stubborn part of him clung to the last thread of hope, the tiniest flicker that refused to go out entirely.

A loud chuckle beside him broke his reverie. Ron, now in a deep red suit that suited his complexion perfectly, stood in front of his own mirror as he fidgeted with his collar and pulled faces at his reflection.

"Glad to see you in something else than that ghastly attire from the Yule Ball," Harry joked, to which Hermione laughed as he covered her mouth, and Ron rolled his eyes, chuckling along with them. The light-heartedness broke the tension in the air, and for a moment, Harry felt lighter. It was these small moments with his friends, the laughter and teasing, that reminded him he didn't have to face everything alone.

Once they'd finished, satisfied with their choices, they made their way back to the Burrow. The walk through the cool night air was quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

By the time they arrived, most of the house had fallen silent; the comforting sounds of creaking wood and distant snores added a cozy warmth to the darkness. They gathered around the kitchen table, settling in with warm cups of tea and biscuits, conversation weaving from topic to topic in that easy, natural way that friends who've seen everything together could manage.

As they spoke, Harry found himself half-listening, letting his friends' voices wash over him as his mind drifted back to what awaited him in two days. Part of him still tried to steel himself against the pain he knew would come. Watching Draco marry someone else, seeing that happiness on his face while knowing it wasn't meant for him... he could hardly think of anything more painful. Yet, at the same time, he knew he had to face it. He'd come this far, crossed every barrier his mind had thrown up, to witness that truth and finally be free of whatever hope still clung to his heart.

But even now, despite his resolve, he couldn't ignore the flicker of something else deep down—a quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, something unexpected would happen. That against all logic, against everything he knew in his heart, Draco might look up from that aisle and see him. Perhaps he'd see Harry, recognize something still unresolved between them, something unfinished. It was foolish, he knew, and he told himself not to expect anything, not to cling to fantasies that were more likely to hurt him than heal him.

Yet, that tiny hope persisted, stubborn as always.

While Harry wrapped his hands around his cup, he felt the warmth seep into his skin, and leaned back in his chair, glancing at his friends. They would be there with him, whatever happened, and that knowledge grounded him. He didn't have to hope, didn't have to anticipate, because whatever he faced—whether it was acceptance or the lingering ache of watching Draco's life carry on without him—they would be by his side. With that thought, he allowed himself a breath, slow and deep, as if preparing his heart for whatever lay ahead.

The night stretched on, and as the conversation faded to comfortable silence, he felt the first threads of exhaustion settle over him, though his heart remained restless. Ready or not, he would face the coming day with whatever courage he could muster. Even if nothing awaited him but the quiet, painful truth he already knew, he would be there. He would let that truth sink in, let it reshape whatever future he still had to find on his own.