The Noctis Codex | DRARRY

FORTY-FOUR

As he stood before the mirror, Harry adjusted his tie for the last time, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. He wanted to look his best, as though looking put-together on the outside might somehow steel the mess of emotions inside. His fingers grazed his glasses, straightening them, then smoothing a stray lock of hair in a rare attempt to control his nest. He could hear Hermione rushing about in the background, her heels tapping sharply against the wooden floor as she grabbed whatever last-minute items she thought they might need.

The scent of his cologne lingered in the air around him, fresh and grounding, giving him a small boost of confidence. He inhaled deeply, his pulse steadying for a moment.

Then Ron came clomping down the stairs with furrowed brows, looking thoroughly flustered. With an exasperated sigh, he pointed at his crooked tie, and Harry didn't need an explanation. Smiling despite the tension in his chest, he stepped forward and straightened Ron's tie, tugging it into place with a precision he barely felt himself. The simple task helped; it anchored him, giving his hands something to do as he tried to bury the anxious thrill flickering through his veins.

Once everything was ready, the three of them stood in a small circle with their hands linked tightly. Hermione gave Ron a quick look, her expression stern but encouraging. "Right, Ron, remember—Apparate us just in front of Malfoy Manor, a few houses away, so we can slip in unnoticed."

Although the man nodded, his usual confident smirk faltered slightly. The space around them twisted and folded with the magic, that familiar rush of being pulled through space disorienting them briefly. When they landed, the girl whispered a quick, "We're here," her voice low and cautious.

But as soon as they looked around, their breaths caught in their throats.

They weren't at the edge of Malfoy Manor's property, hidden among the trees or behind the iron gates. No, they were standing dead center in the middle of the ceremony itself. The rows of guests stared at them in open-mouthed shock, the elegantly arranged chairs and black-and-silver decor creating a grand aisle on either side of them.

Instinctively, Harry's hand clenched into a fist as his face heated with the sudden realization of how out of place they were. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering over the unfamiliar, disapproving faces turned toward them.

Even Ron's face drained of color. "Bloody hell..." he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

"Ron!" The dark-haired hissed, clenching his jaw as if that would somehow shield them from the hundred pairs of eyes bearing down on them.

And then, just beyond the rows of guests, Harry saw him. Draco stood at the end of the aisle, his shock mirroring that of everyone else. But in an instant, the blond's expression shifted, anger flashing in his eyes as he strode toward them. Harry's heart thudded painfully in his chest, every muscle in his body tensing as Draco approached, his face etched with disbelief and fury. Before Harry could even try to explain, Draco's hand shot out, gripping his arm with an urgency that made the other's pulse spike. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" Draco hissed, his voice barely controlled as his gaze darted over Harry's shoulder.

Although he opened his mouth, no words came. His heart was racing so fast it drowned out his thoughts. He could feel the heat of the blond's hand through the fabric of his sleeve, grounding him and yet unsteadying him all at once.

"You need to go. Now," Draco growled. "You're lucky my father hasn't seen you yet."

But Harry's feet remained planted firmly in place, something in him refusing to move. He didn't know if it was stubbornness or pride or something far more vulnerable, but he couldn't walk away. He looked at Draco—really looked at him. He looked devastatingly handsome, his dark green suit fitting him flawlessly, the color so deep it was nearly black. And his hair... it fell naturally, without any gel, which framed his face in a way that softened him and made him seem almost human beneath the icy facade.

"No. We're not leaving."

Draco's frustration was nearly palpable, his jaw clenched, but after a tense moment he released Harry's arm with a final glare. "Fine," he muttered under his breath, quickly ushering them toward empty seats at the back row. "Just... stay out of sight, and don't draw attention. For Merlin's sake."

As Draco turned and strode back to the front, Harry found himself unable to look away. From behind, he could take in every detail, the sharp lines of Draco's suit, the way he held himself with a controlled dignity even as he readied himself for what was to come. There was an air of tension around him, as if every step he took was calculated. Harry's heart twisted with a bittersweet ache. Draco looked so... majestic. So composed. And so utterly unreachable.

Suddenly, the soft strains of violins filled the air, and Harry's stomach tightened as he turned toward the aisle. The back doors to the manor creaked open, revealing Lucius Malfoy, arm linked with the bride, who glided alongside him in a vision of white and ivory lace. Her dress was exquisite as it flowed down in folds that trailed behind her. In her hands, she held an elegant bouquet out of the most gorgeous flowers ever. Harry's chest tightened at the sight and a knot formed in his throat. She looked like a dream—like everything a bride was meant to be.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Hermione's voice was soft as she leaned closer. "Yes, she is. I heard someone say her name's Astoria."

Astoria. The name suited her perfectly, Harry thought, his gaze drifting back to Draco, who stood with a calm, awaiting her arrival. The ceremony was about to begin, and Harry's heart started to race in tandem with the music. He tried to brace himself, to accept what he'd come here to witness, but his resolve wavered with each passing second.

As the bride and Lucius reached the front, the man took a seat, and Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. If Lucius had noticed him, he would've ensured they were gone by now. But their luck held, at least for the moment.

As his gaze drifted back to Draco, a strange feeling tightened in his chest, like a pressure building with no release.

The officiant was none other than Narcissa Malfoy herself, her voice soft but carrying easily over the crowd. She spoke with elegance, guiding the ceremony in a way that felt both formal and personal. Her gaze flicked between her son and his bride with a kind of reverent pride.
Harry barely heard her words, his focus entirely on the blond, on the way he stood so straight, on the way his face was nothing but an unreadable mask.

But when Narcissa's words fell silent while her gaze swept over the guests, Harry's stomach lurched.

"If anyone has any reason these two should not be wed," Narcissa intoned, her voice clear, "speak now, or forever hold your peace."

The silence that followed was deafening, pressing in from every side. Harry's pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else as his gaze locked on Draco's profile. For a moment, he was sure his heart had stopped. He could feel the weight of the moment bearing down on him, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Even sweat began to crawl down his forehead, and he was sure that his friends noticed.

From beside him, Hermione's whisper was urgent and panicked. "Harry, no. Don't."

But he could barely hear her. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to stay silent, to remain hidden, to let this moment pass and allow Draco to move on, to be happy. But he couldn't shake the feeling that this was his last chance, that if he let this moment slip by, he'd never get it back. The fear of losing Draco forever overpowered any rational thought.

In one sudden, impulsive motion, Harry pushed himself up from his chair. The sound of it scraping against the stone caught everyone's attention and caused heads to turn in his direction while a murmur rippled through the crowd. His face flushed under the weight of all those eyes, but he forced himself to stand tall, meeting Narcissa's startled gaze before shifting to Draco.

The blond's eyes widened, a flash of shock and anger crossing his face. In that moment, they were the only two people in the world, the rest of the ceremony fading into a blur. Harry's voice shook as he spoke, barely more than a whisper, but loud enough to carry.

"I... I have something to say."