TW: Dissociation
This chapter is illustrated, you can find the fanart on my socials, I'm NovaFrogster there.
It was the first thing that came to his mind. Draco hadn't thought about it for long. Only, now that he was presented with a self-inflicted fait accompli, he didn't know what to do. He was lost.
He set some water to boil, but wasn't sure if that was how to make hot chocolate. He had never seen a recipe that would tell him how to make it. Why had he suggested this? He felt like burying himself in a hole and never coming out. Pansy would be disappointed. Granger was going to be mad at him. He was going to screw it up. And he hated that.
The water had been boiling for a few seconds now, but Draco didn't dare go near it. He thought he was pathetic like this. It wasn't the first time he had heated water, he should have been able to improvise something. But he was unable to do so, it was as if his brain had been emptied of all its cooking knowledge.
With his head in his hands, he leaned on the central table trying to think of a solution. He didn't have a recipe book on hand, as he had left them all upstairs. Nor did he have any idea how to make the damn hot chocolate. Chocolate he had, but what else did he need? Water? Sugar? Milk? He had no idea!
All these thoughts made him dizzy. Since when did he care so much about serving Hermione Granger? She hadn't asked for anything, yet here he was, torturing his mind to please her. Pansy was one thing, but Granger? He didn't know her! She wasn't his friend! What if she thought it was strange that he was doing so much at home, for her? What if she argued with him for his overconfidence?
After all, he had been cooking every day for only a week, and he had only been preparing lunch for three days. He remained moderate, he didn't impose himself. He didn't even dare to suggest to Granger to do the evening meals. He was afraid she would get angry, without really knowing why. He felt like he was walking on eggshells. He expected every morning that she would ask him to stop, that she would make him understand that he was imposing himself too much and that he didn't belong here.
And yet, after such a short time and despite all these fears, he was already making it his mission to please Granger and Pansy. That is, if he could do anything other than boil water. He wanted to make things right. He had promised them hot chocolate, not tea or coffee!
However, the more the seconds passed, the more Draco started to get perspective on the situation. It was unbelievable. Nothing made sense anymore, he was losing his mind. Since when had he taken the place of the elves he had grown up with? Since when did cooking or washing dishes become a pleasure and not a thankless task?
Suddenly he felt as if he no longer belonged to his own reality. He was looking at the kitchen around him without recognising it, without recognising anything. He wasn't supposed to be there. This was not his life. This reality did not belong to him. He was being lied to, tricked.
He no longer belonged to his body, he was observing the scene from the outside. He was empty, he didn't remember setting foot here. He blinked several times, as if to wake up, but it made no difference. What was he doing here? This was not him, this was not his life, his presence here made no sense.
He could feel the panic rising as he struggled to get his feet back on the ground. This was not him. He didn't cook, he'd never learned to do that. He was a wizard, he was supposed to use his wand. What would his father say when he found out he was replacing the elves in the kitchen? What would his mother think of him if she saw him doing the menial tasks? What would his friends say when they saw him doing this?
His father would probably punish him. His mother would be disappointed, most likely. And his friends... He would lose them, no doubt. He would soon find himself alone, abandoned. He would be mocked and humiliated. He himself felt weak, insignificant, he had fallen very low.
All this was unreal. He couldn't be there. What he thought he had been experiencing for months had been a game in his mind, hadn't it? It couldn't be happening.
"Malfoy?"
He gasped and turned sharply towards Granger, who was standing in the doorway. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she was looking at him with concern.
"Is everything okay?" she asked. "Pansy–Pansy told me to come and check on you because she didn't want to miss anything from the film."
Draco swallowed and clenched his fingers on the wood of the countertop. He felt as if he had passed out, that all his thoughts had been illusions. His head was spinning slightly, he felt dizzy.
How could a simple hot chocolate have made him feel that way?
It wasn't him! He should have laughed at Granger and made a derogatory remark about her crazy hair, shouldn't he? It was him, it was that Draco Malfoy that he was, wasn't it? He should have looked at her condescendingly, he should have been surrounded by his friends and threatened her.
Yet Granger's hair wasn't crazy. It was tied in a loose ponytail down her back and he had no desire to laugh at her. He hadn't wanted to do that once since he'd arrived here. He was alone and he liked it. He didn't want to hurt anyone. It was absurd. It wasn't him, not anymore.
He should have been somewhere else, not in a house in the south of France. He should have been at the head of an army, as the Dark Lord had promised him the day after he joined his ranks. He should have been in his manor, leading a dozen house elves. He should have been married to a Pureblood and had an heir. He should have...
He didn't want that. He never did, really. It wasn't him either. This was not his life, he did not aspire to this. That time seemed so far away, so far from his reality, from his present.
"Do you want help?"
He was startled. He had forgotten about Granger. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to get rid of all those thoughts, he had to forget about the dimension his life would have been in if things were different. He was here, he was in the present, in his reality.
"No, I don't."
He didn't need her, he told himself. He was capable of managing himself. He could do all that. He knew how to do it all, didn't he?
Besides, he didn't want to owe her anything. Who knew what she might ask of him in return for this? Who knew what the consequences of all this would be?
Nevertheless, he was still surprised by her proposal. Since when had she offered to help him? She had never done it before. He was confused. His head hurt because his thoughts were so jumbled, mixed with dark memories and ambitions he'd long since abandoned.
He didn't recognise anything, things were changing too fast, it was destabilising him. It was as if every time he managed to build something stable, something came along and disturbed the pillars he had built in his life. His habits were disturbed too often for him to keep his feet on the ground and his mind straight.
He felt dizzy, his head spinning as he tried to regain consciousness of his reality.
It wasn't the first time Granger had been kind to him, gentle even. He remembered that now. She had never asked for anything in return. She had not shown any anger towards him. Not anymore. Not for a long time.
He turned to her and silently examined her. She seemed more intrigued than worried, as if she was trying to understand him. He felt very small. Incapable. A child caught in the act facing the authority of an adult. It was absurd.
Making hot chocolate. It seemed so simple.
"My hot chocolates have always been complimented," she then said, shrugging a shoulder.
Was this a proposal? He was surprised. He was more surprised when he nodded. He didn't really know what he had just accepted.
She smiled shyly at him before walking past him to the pot of boiling water. He stood still and kept his head up, concealing the panic still rumbling inside him.
That was all he was good at: hiding what he was feeling. He had grown up that way. It was his nature. He gritted his teeth as he realised that he was following this pattern without even thinking about it. He'd changed, he wasn't the same insensate man his father raised him to be. At least, he didn't want to be.
Granger had her back to him, facing the refrigerator. Draco couldn't take his eyes off her. He was analysing her every move, trying to memorise what she was doing.
She grabbed the milk and headed for the pantry, from which she emerged with a box of unsweetened cocoa powder. She then went back to the hotplates and grabbed a bowl and spoon as she went. With these she mixed some hot water with sugar and cocoa until it was smooth.
She poured the remaining water into the sink and replaced it with milk, putting the pan back on the fire. The room was completely silent as she moved away from the plates.
Draco could occasionally hear snatches of strange music coming from the living room, but otherwise he and Granger had fallen into a long silence–long enough for the blonde to wonder if his housemate had forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.
Eventually, she moved again, under Draco's watchful eye, and removed the pan from the heat. He noted that she had not used her wand once and logged the information that she was back to her Muggle ways in the back of his mind.
A few years ago, he would have been annoyed by this or even insulted her. He winced at the thought. That was no longer his reality. Now he didn't mind, as he hadn't used his wand in nearly eight years. It was even natural for him now, magic was no longer a reflex.
He sometimes wondered if it still flowed through his veins, if he was still capable of producing even the slightest spark.
Granger took two cups out of a cupboard, then stopped and turned to face him. Her gaze was hesitant as she looked into Draco's. He didn't dare say anything, frozen by the attention she was giving him.
"Do you want some too?" she asked quietly.
He was still surprised that she was talking to him, that she was interested in him in any way. Why did she bother to do so? Did she feel sorry for him? Did she want to manipulate him? Trap him? That was what he asked himself every time.
Nevertheless, he always ended up rationalising the situation and answering.
"Yes."
Granger nodded with a shy smile and turned back to the pan.
Draco's heart felt light. They were interacting cordially, even gently and it was reassuring. He couldn't help but enjoy it..
oOo
Harry wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and stood up, staring at his parents' grave one last time. He was alone that night. He hated being alone.
He wished Theo were there, to accompany him, to support him. But that was impossible. His husband was stuck outside Britain and would never be able to follow him there to greet his parents and pay his respects.
He was alone that night. He hated being alone. Hermione accompanied him once on the horcrux hunt and, though it was utopian, he couldn't help but terribly want for her to be with him now.
The two most important people in his life, his husband and his best friend, were so far away and he felt the weight of their absence having to bear the grief of this day on his own. He was alone that night. He hated being alone.
He took out his wand, sniffing loudly, and conjured a circle of flowers on his parents' grave, the arrangement from last year long since lost in the wind.. He only came once a year, on October 31st, unable to bear the grief and pain of more frequent visits. The rest of the year was spent trying to forget the parents he never really got to know.
He took a few steps back, eyes still fixed on the grave. He didn't want to leave. Even with the heaviness of grief, cold morning wind and his loneliness, Harry was free in this place.
October 31st had become his day, in a way. It was the only day of the year no one bothered or questioned him. . He allowed himself to cry, to be fatalistic and to have negative thoughts. He could breathe and take a break from the obligations he hated.
"See you next year, Mum. See you next year, Dad. I promise one day I won't be alone here."
The wind shook the lilies he'd placed on the grave and it felt like an answer. They were here with him. They always were.
He laid his finger on the portkey that would take him home, without another glance at the Godric's Hollow cemetery.
He fell to his knees as soon as he arrived in the manor's tiled entrance and wept loudly. With no strength or energy left to go on, he felt miserable from his place on the floor. But he let himself collapse. This was the only day he could.
"It's all right, Harry, I'm here," the voice of his husband said, as he joined him on the ground.
He cuddled up to him and sobbed, unable to say a word.
This year was harder than the others, he realised. Theo was there, without really being there, and that broke his heart. He couldn't do everything he wanted, he wasn't really free. And Harry was lonely. He hated being alone.
He clung to the collar of his husband's shirt as if his life depended on it did. He didn't know. He was lost.
He had never felt so bad coming back from Godric's Hollow. It became an unspoken tradition to go every year after he had first discovered the cemetery. It was always hard, but this was drastically different.
All of his woes had been reawakened, and they made him open his eyes a little more to his reality. This distorted reality in which the hero he had promised himself to be turned out to be the antagonist of his own loved ones. He felt pathetic.
"I'm here, Harry. I'm here," Theodore repeated in his ear, stroking his hair.
Harry heard his husband talking to Satine, without really listening to what they were saying. He didn't want to try to get well, to get his head up. He wasn't making an effort, he was allowing himself to cry.
It was so strange for him to reverse the roles, to be the one being comforted when he had been doing so for months with those around him. Nevertheless, he relented to this contact. He felt human, he felt loved in Theo's arms.
Soon Theo helped him to his feet and together they made their way to their room. Harry had clasped his hand in his husband's, keeping that precious touch that reminded him he was no longer alone. Not really.
Theo sat him down on the edge of the bed and helped him remove his clothes one by one.
His cloak. His scarf in the worn colours of his Hogwarts house. The leather gloves that his husband had given him in sixth year.
Harry smiled sadly through his tears and grief. He couldn't have imagined loving being cared for so much. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened to him.
He thought himself so selfish for weeks, but now he was looking for the smallest attention. He wanted to be helped, to be accompanied and supported. He dreamed of a world where he would no longer have to make an effort. A world where he would not have to take care of others before himself.
He wanted to give up, to stop fighting. He wanted to admit to his loved ones that he couldn't take it anymore, he wanted to apologise for giving up.
It had meant sleepless nights in his office writing letters he would never send. All the ones he had written to Hermione had ended up in the flames of the fireplace. He was simply unable to send them, too afraid of losing her. What if admitting he was wrong would open his best friend's eyes? What if she realised he was worthless?
This day was awful. It was amplifying all his woes.
He swallowed as Theo undid the buttons on his black shirt. He had stopped sobbing, he was lost in his dark thoughts. The more time passed, the easier it was for him to let himself sink into them.
A few minutes later he was lying against his husband, the remnants of his tears still wet on his cheeks. He was shaking ever so slightly, his fist clenched in Theo's ironed shirt.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered in a quavering voice.
"Sorry for what?" replied Theo, frowning.
"For showing up like that. I should have calmed down before I came home."
Theodore was silent for several seconds before he lifted his husband's chin to look at him. He removed his glasses and wiped his tears with his thumb.
"Harry, you have a right to grieve. To cry and break down. Today of all days. I won't judge you for it."
"I shouldn't put you through that too," Harry replied, shaking his head. "It's not fair."
"What's not fair is you going alone. I'd give anything to go with you for even five minutes."
Harry closed his eyes painfully. He was so angry.
"I should have fought for..."
"You've done everything imaginable, love" Theo interrupted him, placing a hand on his cheek, looking serious. "Let's enjoy what we have here rather than dream about what we could have had. I'm happy to be here with you, to be able to comfort you and hold you. Please, Harry, enjoy this."
Harry bit the inside of his cheek and looked away.
"I feel like I'm messing up on everything at this point," he admitted in a whisper. "In fact, I feel like it's been going on for years."
"Harry, you can't save everyone." Theo had whispered that, looking into his eyes so seriously that Harry felt like crying again.
"I'm trying, though," he replied, letting his forehead fall back against his husband's.
"Oh, I know that," Theo laughed softly. "And I promise to do my best to help you now. Even if it means welcoming Weasley here."
Harry pulled back sharply, staring wide-eyed into Theo's.
"Are you serious?" he muttered disbelievingly.
"If it's enough to make you smile," Theo replied, shrugging a shoulder.
"You're not doing it reluctantly, are you?" checked Harry, resting his forehead against his.
"No. I promise."
Harry closed his eyes, a smile on his face.
"Theodore Potter, if I wasn't already married to you, I'd wed you right now!"
oOo
Ginny,
I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. To be honest, Theo and I needed to discuss it, to think about it.
I'm terribly sorry to hear about what happened between you and Astoria, even though your descriptions are quick and vague. But Ginny, we'll take you in. I can't bear the thought of you being left alone and homeless. I want to see you again, I want you to tell me everything.
I don't know if you're planning to visit your parents anyway, but Theo and I are ready to take you in whenever you want.
I sincerely hope you are well,
Harry.
PS: Theo demands that you bring him some tea straight from eastern India. I quote: "It's the quid pro quo for taking him in.