Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

KREACHER'S DAY OFF

CW: This chapter also contains recreational drug use. Honestly, at this point, just expect the fluff to be stoner Drarry.

Sure enough, Draco remembered every little detail of the night before when he woke up. He wasn't sure how he felt about any of it—the way Harry consoled him, cared for him, looked into his eyes. It was a lot to make peace with, and he didn't have the strength to face the reality just yet. Draco put on his silk robe before rushing past Harry's bedroom door and heading downstairs for breakfast. To his surprise, nothing had been prepared, and Kreacher was nowhere in sight.

"Kreacher!" Draco called out. There was no reply.

"He must be taking the day off," Harry hummed happily, deciding not to announce his presence beforehand. The nerve.

Draco whipped around, quickly readjusting his robe closed. He didn't even process what Harry had said, at first. "What? Y-you let him take time off?" he sputtered. 

"I mean, yeah. It's like with any job, you're allowed a certain amount of vacation days." Harry shrugged, "He's never gone for long."

Draco huffed. He was a little upset with himself for depending on a House Elf—Harry Potter's House Elf, at that. He had spent so long without one, but it only took three days for him to become reliant, once again. It was a little embarrassing. 

Harry didn't seem to notice Draco's chagrin. "I don't really feel like cooking," he winced. "Let's just go to a café."

"Muggle, right?" Draco asked. He couldn't bring himself to show his face in a magical establishment. Aside from Luna, the lone exception, everyone else in the wizarding world still thought he was dead. Sticking to Muggle areas was really Draco's only choice, and he had to be sure that Harry was on the same page.

Harry raised an eyebrow, asking if it would be a problem, going to a Muggle café.

Draco shoved his nose in the air, snobbishly, "Quite the opposite." He thought for a moment, hesitant, and his untouchable demeanor shriveled. "I just don't know what to wear."

Draco felt his cheeks warm as he looked down at his robe once more. He wanted to scream, to shout, but nothing would ever quiet the thoughts of his roiling mind. It was highly unbecoming.

"I have just the thing," Harry said, remembering Kreacher's purchase from the Muggle for Wizards boutique. Draco trailed after Harry all the way up to his bedroom, looking a little bit like a lost puppy. So much for him not being a dog.

Harry didn't have to rummage through his dresser for very long, as Draco's new clothes were at the top of the pile. He handed him a pair of black jeans with distressed rips at the knee. Draco grimaced at how heavy it felt in his arms. He brushed a hand over the fabric and gagged.

Harry slapped a short sleeve button-down patterned with teal illustrations of flora over the folded jeans, not giving Draco the chance to make any smart remarks. The Slytherin touched the shirt with his fingertips and let out a sigh of relief that at least the shirt wasn't made of cardboard.

Harry went to look through his closet. "It's supposed to be cold today," he said, handing Draco a dark green leather jacket. With trepidation, he took the clothes into his bedroom to change while Harry slipped into the bathroom to tame his hair—the effort, of which, was futile.

They both seemed to step out of their respective spaces, in sync, as they locked eyes.

Draco blushed a little, but Harry was absolutely beside himself at how normal he looked—as if he'd worn clothes like this all his life. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with how he dressed before. Draco just looked more approachable when he ditched the formal wear.