Title: Nightmares and Chocolate
Disclaimer: I own nothing, absolutely nothing.
Summary: It’s the little things that connect people.
Author’s Notes: I’m stumped as to what to call this universe. I can’t decide between ‘Connections’ or ‘Little Terrors’, since that was the first ficlet I wrote for it.
Nightmares and Chocolate
Gasping, one hand flung out to block the green light, Harry woke up, waking Rabbit when his blanket flopped down on her head. Panting, Harry closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of his dormmates and other nighttime sounds of Ravenclaw tower--Terry’s soft snores, Michael’s muffled mumbles, Stephen’s heavy breathing, Anthony’s soft, even breaths, Rabbit’s worried whimpers. The mirror in the bathroom was practicing its insults and a house elf, probably Dobby, was quietly popping in and out, collecting their dirty clothes.
Harry slowly relaxed, the familiar sounds soothing his nerves. It wasn’t as good as crawling in Squall’s bed and getting the older boy to make him hot chocolate, nor was it as good as hugging Rabbit, but it worked. That his bed was too small to comfortably curl up with Rabbit, and Squall was in another reality were also major factors in Harry’s preferred method of forgetting his nightmares. It could never be as calming as telling Squall everything that happened while Squall just listened to him, but it worked. Sometimes.
Harry lay down, moving closer to the edge so Rabbit could squirm up the bed to check on him like she wanted to. Squall had ordered her to guard, and since he wasn’t around to tell her to stop, the big dog always needed to make sure Harry was safe. Harry scratched her behind the ears, and she huffed and sniffed at him like she always did after one of his more frightening dreams. He would have to talk to Professor Flitwick in the morning about getting a bigger bed. He and Rabbit barely fit now and he missed being able sleep next to her at night; she helped keep the nightmares away.
Harry sighed and curled up against her, despite how uncomfortable it was. They wouldn’t be able to stay like this for long, not without one of them falling out and ripping off the bed curtains on the way down, but Harry wanted the comfort that came from having Rabbit close. He didn’t want to see Cedric fall or Voldemort climb out of the cauldron or Moody’s scarred face slowly replaced by Crouch’s insane grin again.
As he fell asleep, Harry had the passing thought everything would be perfect if he had someone he could talk to and a mug of hot chocolate like the ones Matron used to make in the winter, the same kind Squall had once made for him when his nightmares about his parent’s deaths sent him running to Squall. Made with real chocolate, not the powered stuff or insta-choco potion the house elves used, and lots and lots of tiny marshmallows. The chocolate would need tons of marshmallows to make it perfect.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Squall stared at the box of instant cocoa mix for a moment, before pushing it aside and grabbing the bar of Galbadian chocolate and bag of marshmallows he had hidden in the back of the cupboard, then he grabbed the milk from the refrigerator. He had no idea where the craving had come from, but he wanted a mug of real hot chocolate, the kind Matron made in the winter.
Losing himself in the familiar motions of heating the milk and chopping the chocolate, Squall let his mind wander back to the small party they had held to welcome Seifer back. It felt odd to have Seifer in Garden again, but it felt right, too. Squall wasn’t any closer to forgiving Seifer for what happened in D-District prison, but it had felt wrong not having the blond around, challenging him to fights and being an ass to everyone. Now that he was back, Seifer was stirring up trouble again, this time with old photos instead of with words. Squall almost missed the insults.
Those photos bugged Squall. Harry, the boy with him in the photos, was familiar, but Squall and the others hadn’t known his name or recalled his face before seeing the photos. After finding the boy’s name in the description on the back of one of the group photos, he had called Matron, and she had told him what she felt comfortable telling him, like how Squall’s talents for changing dirty diapers and braiding hair had come from looking after the boy. Believing it was better if he remembered on his own, she hadn’t told him much else, leaving him to figure it out. He could, without using the photos to jog his memory, bring up the vague memory of someone small with a messy black braid sitting up on the cliffs under the light house, but no other images. If he tried, just sat down and thought about the kid, Squall could remember braiding the boy’s hair, hearing himself teaching a dog how to sit, and listening to the boy’s trembling voice describe an old man with a melted face and a bright green light.
“It was a nightmare,” Squall said quietly, voicing his thoughts as he ladled the chocolate into a mug.
Forcing his thoughts to stop long enough for him to get settled, he stirred in his marshmallows, put the empty pot in the sink, and carried his mug into his small living room. He had initially resisted Rinoa’s urgings to move into one of the mini apartments reserved for couples, but at that moment, Squall was thankful for the small kitchen he wouldn’t have if they hadn’t moved. The act of making the hot chocolate had knocked loose a few more memories, making Harry hot chocolate after a nightmare being just one of them. Squall sat down on the couch and let the new/old memories loose as he sipped his hot chocolate.
Harry had shared a room with Irvine for a while, but he had always gone to Squall when he had nightmares. There were always flimsy excuses for why Harry woke him up and not the others--Irvine had stopped sleeping with his feet on the pillows when he was seven, for Hyne’s sake--but Squall had never said anything, because he had been proud the younger boy had preferred him to the others. Harry had always babbled after a nightmare, getting all the details out in one big rush--how red the man’s eyes were, how much the green light hurt, how loud the woman’s screams were--before grabbing his mug with both hands and mumbling something about chocolate making the darkness go away for a while.
Squall poked and prodded the memories for a few more minutes, shaking loose a few more vague impressions and thoughts and feelings, but nothing that would help him find the kid. But now he did know why Quistis snickered when Selphie had compared his gunblade class to ducklings, the name of Irvine’s old cowboy doll, could picture the look of awe on Seifer’s face when he saw ‘A Sorceress’s Knight’ for the first time, the happy dance Zell had done when he beat Seifer in a game of checkers when he was five, and the name of the dog he and Harry had found--Squall could not believe he had let the boy name the tiny puppy, the puppy that by now would be a massive Estharian Hunter, Rabbit.
“Squall?”
Squall looked up from his empty mug and nodded at his girlfriend, ignoring the small voice saying she didn’t belong here. He wanted her here with him, perhaps not right at that second, but he loved her and wanted her around. That, he told the rebellious voice, was all that mattered. “Rinoa.”
She smiled at him, her eyes flickering from the mug to the light coming from the kitchen and back to him. Squall frowned as he watched her inch closer, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold or afraid. Rinoa had been acting nervous ever since Seifer had first shown them the old photographs, and Squall couldn’t figure out why.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, internally wincing at how much it sounded like a demand or an order. Rinoa never responded well to those.
True to form, she frowned at him, a tiny line appearing between her eyebrows, before sighing tiredly and gifting him with an indulgent smile. Squall stiffened at the sight, but she didn’t seem notice.
“I woke up and you weren’t there,” she said as if it explained everything. “It’s two in the morning, Squall. You normally don’t get up until five,” she added when he didn’t move from the couch.
Squall resisted his urge to just shrug, knowing Rinoa wouldn’t take that as an answer, and said, “I’m coming back in a minute. I just needed to think.”
Rinoa nodded and turned to go back to their bedroom, only looking back once to smile at him again before shutting the door behind her. Squall breathed a small sigh of relief as his muscles relaxed, then scowled. What was wrong with him? First the unexplainable craving for hot chocolate and now being around Rinoa put him on edge like she had when they first met.
Squall looked at the stack of photos sitting on the coffee table. Seifer had just happened to have the photos with him and handed them over without a fight, and Matron had been all too eager to hear from him, even if she had been reluctant to part with details. Seifer suspected something; Matron knew something, something about Harry. Squall’s gut instinct was telling him whatever Matron wasn’t telling him was the same reason why he was having trouble talking with Rinoa. A part of him that he had been ignoring for the past six months suddenly had a new reason for protesting Rinoa’s presence.
Squall sighed as he stood up. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but now that he knew about the kid, he suspected Matron had been hiding more than her powers for the last decade. Something about him and Harry in those photos reminded him of Cid and Matron, the same something he felt he and Rinoa were missing for all that he was her knight. He wished Matron would just tell him so he could stop trying to figure it out.
It was time to ask the others if they had something left over from their time at the orphanage. He didn’t have anything, but he knew Quistis still had her first pair of glasses and Zell still had his old chocobo doll. Maybe Selphie or Irvine had something that could help him figure this out, or maybe Quistis or Mrs. Dincht had some photos. Potential parents were the reason Matron said she had taken all those photographs, for the parents to have childhood pictures of the child they adopted, and Zell and Quistis were the only children from their group who had been adopted. It was a small chance, but they were the only people Squall could think of who wouldn’t be offended if he went knocking on their doors, asking about things most people would rather not remember.
Squall paused in the act of putting his mug in the sink. Why was he so sure Harry hadn’t been adopted? For that matter, why was he sure Harry had been sent to a boarding school and not a Garden?
Gasping, one hand flung out to block the green light, Harry woke up, waking Rabbit when his blanket flopped down on her head. Panting, Harry closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of his dormmates and other nighttime sounds of Ravenclaw tower--Terry’s soft snores, Michael’s muffled mumbles, Stephen’s heavy breathing, Anthony’s soft, even breaths, Rabbit’s worried whimpers. The mirror in the bathroom was practicing its insults and a house elf, probably Dobby, was quietly popping in and out, collecting their dirty clothes.
Harry slowly relaxed, the familiar sounds soothing his nerves. It wasn’t as good as crawling in Squall’s bed and getting the older boy to make him hot chocolate, nor was it as good as hugging Rabbit, but it worked. That his bed was too small to comfortably curl up with Rabbit, and Squall was in another reality were also major factors in Harry’s preferred method of forgetting his nightmares. It could never be as calming as telling Squall everything that happened while Squall just listened to him, but it worked. Sometimes.
Harry lay down, moving closer to the edge so Rabbit could squirm up the bed to check on him like she wanted to. Squall had ordered her to guard, and since he wasn’t around to tell her to stop, the big dog always needed to make sure Harry was safe. Harry scratched her behind the ears, and she huffed and sniffed at him like she always did after one of his more frightening dreams. He would have to talk to Professor Flitwick in the morning about getting a bigger bed. He and Rabbit barely fit now and he missed being able sleep next to her at night; she helped keep the nightmares away.
Harry sighed and curled up against her, despite how uncomfortable it was. They wouldn’t be able to stay like this for long, not without one of them falling out and ripping off the bed curtains on the way down, but Harry wanted the comfort that came from having Rabbit close. He didn’t want to see Cedric fall or Voldemort climb out of the cauldron or Moody’s scarred face slowly replaced by Crouch’s insane grin again.
As he fell asleep, Harry had the passing thought everything would be perfect if he had someone he could talk to and a mug of hot chocolate like the ones Matron used to make in the winter, the same kind Squall had once made for him when his nightmares about his parent’s deaths sent him running to Squall. Made with real chocolate, not the powered stuff or insta-choco potion the house elves used, and lots and lots of tiny marshmallows. The chocolate would need tons of marshmallows to make it perfect.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Squall stared at the box of instant cocoa mix for a moment, before pushing it aside and grabbing the bar of Galbadian chocolate and bag of marshmallows he had hidden in the back of the cupboard, then he grabbed the milk from the refrigerator. He had no idea where the craving had come from, but he wanted a mug of real hot chocolate, the kind Matron made in the winter.
Losing himself in the familiar motions of heating the milk and chopping the chocolate, Squall let his mind wander back to the small party they had held to welcome Seifer back. It felt odd to have Seifer in Garden again, but it felt right, too. Squall wasn’t any closer to forgiving Seifer for what happened in D-District prison, but it had felt wrong not having the blond around, challenging him to fights and being an ass to everyone. Now that he was back, Seifer was stirring up trouble again, this time with old photos instead of with words. Squall almost missed the insults.
Those photos bugged Squall. Harry, the boy with him in the photos, was familiar, but Squall and the others hadn’t known his name or recalled his face before seeing the photos. After finding the boy’s name in the description on the back of one of the group photos, he had called Matron, and she had told him what she felt comfortable telling him, like how Squall’s talents for changing dirty diapers and braiding hair had come from looking after the boy. Believing it was better if he remembered on his own, she hadn’t told him much else, leaving him to figure it out. He could, without using the photos to jog his memory, bring up the vague memory of someone small with a messy black braid sitting up on the cliffs under the light house, but no other images. If he tried, just sat down and thought about the kid, Squall could remember braiding the boy’s hair, hearing himself teaching a dog how to sit, and listening to the boy’s trembling voice describe an old man with a melted face and a bright green light.
“It was a nightmare,” Squall said quietly, voicing his thoughts as he ladled the chocolate into a mug.
Forcing his thoughts to stop long enough for him to get settled, he stirred in his marshmallows, put the empty pot in the sink, and carried his mug into his small living room. He had initially resisted Rinoa’s urgings to move into one of the mini apartments reserved for couples, but at that moment, Squall was thankful for the small kitchen he wouldn’t have if they hadn’t moved. The act of making the hot chocolate had knocked loose a few more memories, making Harry hot chocolate after a nightmare being just one of them. Squall sat down on the couch and let the new/old memories loose as he sipped his hot chocolate.
Harry had shared a room with Irvine for a while, but he had always gone to Squall when he had nightmares. There were always flimsy excuses for why Harry woke him up and not the others--Irvine had stopped sleeping with his feet on the pillows when he was seven, for Hyne’s sake--but Squall had never said anything, because he had been proud the younger boy had preferred him to the others. Harry had always babbled after a nightmare, getting all the details out in one big rush--how red the man’s eyes were, how much the green light hurt, how loud the woman’s screams were--before grabbing his mug with both hands and mumbling something about chocolate making the darkness go away for a while.
Squall poked and prodded the memories for a few more minutes, shaking loose a few more vague impressions and thoughts and feelings, but nothing that would help him find the kid. But now he did know why Quistis snickered when Selphie had compared his gunblade class to ducklings, the name of Irvine’s old cowboy doll, could picture the look of awe on Seifer’s face when he saw ‘A Sorceress’s Knight’ for the first time, the happy dance Zell had done when he beat Seifer in a game of checkers when he was five, and the name of the dog he and Harry had found--Squall could not believe he had let the boy name the tiny puppy, the puppy that by now would be a massive Estharian Hunter, Rabbit.
“Squall?”
Squall looked up from his empty mug and nodded at his girlfriend, ignoring the small voice saying she didn’t belong here. He wanted her here with him, perhaps not right at that second, but he loved her and wanted her around. That, he told the rebellious voice, was all that mattered. “Rinoa.”
She smiled at him, her eyes flickering from the mug to the light coming from the kitchen and back to him. Squall frowned as he watched her inch closer, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold or afraid. Rinoa had been acting nervous ever since Seifer had first shown them the old photographs, and Squall couldn’t figure out why.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, internally wincing at how much it sounded like a demand or an order. Rinoa never responded well to those.
True to form, she frowned at him, a tiny line appearing between her eyebrows, before sighing tiredly and gifting him with an indulgent smile. Squall stiffened at the sight, but she didn’t seem notice.
“I woke up and you weren’t there,” she said as if it explained everything. “It’s two in the morning, Squall. You normally don’t get up until five,” she added when he didn’t move from the couch.
Squall resisted his urge to just shrug, knowing Rinoa wouldn’t take that as an answer, and said, “I’m coming back in a minute. I just needed to think.”
Rinoa nodded and turned to go back to their bedroom, only looking back once to smile at him again before shutting the door behind her. Squall breathed a small sigh of relief as his muscles relaxed, then scowled. What was wrong with him? First the unexplainable craving for hot chocolate and now being around Rinoa put him on edge like she had when they first met.
Squall looked at the stack of photos sitting on the coffee table. Seifer had just happened to have the photos with him and handed them over without a fight, and Matron had been all too eager to hear from him, even if she had been reluctant to part with details. Seifer suspected something; Matron knew something, something about Harry. Squall’s gut instinct was telling him whatever Matron wasn’t telling him was the same reason why he was having trouble talking with Rinoa. A part of him that he had been ignoring for the past six months suddenly had a new reason for protesting Rinoa’s presence.
Squall sighed as he stood up. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but now that he knew about the kid, he suspected Matron had been hiding more than her powers for the last decade. Something about him and Harry in those photos reminded him of Cid and Matron, the same something he felt he and Rinoa were missing for all that he was her knight. He wished Matron would just tell him so he could stop trying to figure it out.
It was time to ask the others if they had something left over from their time at the orphanage. He didn’t have anything, but he knew Quistis still had her first pair of glasses and Zell still had his old chocobo doll. Maybe Selphie or Irvine had something that could help him figure this out, or maybe Quistis or Mrs. Dincht had some photos. Potential parents were the reason Matron said she had taken all those photographs, for the parents to have childhood pictures of the child they adopted, and Zell and Quistis were the only children from their group who had been adopted. It was a small chance, but they were the only people Squall could think of who wouldn’t be offended if he went knocking on their doors, asking about things most people would rather not remember.
Squall paused in the act of putting his mug in the sink. Why was he so sure Harry hadn’t been adopted? For that matter, why was he sure Harry had been sent to a boarding school and not a Garden?
Tags: connections, crossover, ffviii, hp, squall/harry