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Harry kept waking up shivering.
He opened bleary eyes every time too, to see if it was starting to get light outside. But no. The small bedroom was always perfectly dark. He just kept drifting in and out of sleep ; discouraged by a night that was shaping up to be very long and uncomfortable.
His legs and hips felt stiff. They ached from being curled up tight against his body. He knew they’d feel better if he’d let himself stretch out and roll around a bit in the bed, like he usually did but it was just so cold. The bed, the sheets, and especially the air.
He tried to preserve warmth by keeping all limbs inside the perimeter of the Harry-sized spot on the mattress. To cross those imaginary boundaries meant instant icy toes. Not that they weren’t already helplessly so.
Too thin covers pulled all the way up to his chin to conserve heat, Harry started weighing the pros and cons of emptying the contents of his and Tom’s wardrobe on top of the bed covers at the risk of losing a limb to the cold floor.
He must have drifted back to sleep.
*
Harry woke up again.
Not from the cold this time, though he was still trembling slightly, but from the dip of the mattress and very loud squeaky bed frame.
“Tom?” His voice came out raspy. He tried to clear it a bit. “‘s that you?”
He barely had time to register the cold air against his back, and much less turn around, when someone slipped under the covers. Someone blissfully warm.
“Hush, it’s late… Why aren’t you asleep?” Tom’s voice answered, low as to not disturb the quiet.
Harry turned around then, unfolding his legs and moaning at how good it was to finally stretch himself out fully; a pitifully short-lived relief when icy daggers dug into him.
Harry hissed a few colourful words before latching onto his new bedmate for warmth.
Tom, who was about to reprimand him for language, yelped and tried to kick away those freezing toes away from his person. “Keep them to yourself, leech…!”
“But, Tom,” Harry whined, twining their legs more tightly and tucking his feet in between Tom’s toasty warm ones. “It’s so cold tonight… Please, just a little while?”
Tom tried to get away again, but it was both half-hearted and no use. His ten year old little brother would not let go, he was so much like a snake.
“... Fine.” Tom finally let out before shifting a bit away. “But give them here instead, I’d prefer we not both lose our feet.”
Although it was wasted in this dark, Harry grinned sleepily, before curling up again and pressing his cold feet to his brother’s stomach. The position sent a little twinge to Harry’s hips, but stretching had done a world of good for his lower body and the ache was considerably muted.
Tom lifted the hem of his soft sleeping shirt and tucked Harry’s feet underneath it, wincing at how cold they felt on him. He started rubbing them.
Harry knew Tom hadn’t learned this from the Orphanage. Neither of them had. Who would have done this for them? The matrons? No. It was their adoptive mother who had. She’d done it for Harry, while Tom wouldn’t let her do it to himself. Tom called her Martha, but to Harry she was Mum.
Snuggling as close as he could in such an awkward position, Harry hummed his contentment, eyes drifting shut, lulled by the scent of soap and soot and Tom. “ ‘anks, Tom…”
Tom sighed, not saying anything for a few seconds, which was as good as ‘you’re welcome’.
“Sleep.” He finally said, but Harry was already snoring softly, toes no longer freezing against his warm belly.
*
When Harry came to, Tom was already up and gone and there was sunlight peeking from underneath the closed door.