Work Text:
Tom never knew how to respond to being given a gift. His first reaction always was greed — something brand new, for him. The orphanage had never celebrated Christmas with Santa and presents; it had always been about the birth of Christ and other esoteric nonsense. It was considered ungrateful to express any wants or desires. He had watched commercials filled with “Christmas spirit and holiday cheer” —that revolved solely around the consumption of material possessions — in between the sitcoms the nuns would watch during media hour. And he had seethed at the injustice.
His second was suspicion — what did the giver want from him? Elizabeth had given him his first present: a cherished book of fairy tales. He hadn’t looked any further into her motives than “She must have noticed I wanted it.” Later that week, she had stopped him in the hall and whispered that Billy needed to “have an accident.” It was easy enough to cause the boy grief — having a pathetically vulnerable pet like a rabbit was just asking for pain — but Tom remembered the sick feeling of being obligated to do what she wanted. He had been wary of others since then, and rejected their offerings if he felt they were bribing him.
His last was contempt — how pitiful it was that the giver thought they could buy him, that they couldn't accomplish the task alone. He learned to read other's motives, to disparage those who gave him trinkets thinking he would move their mountains, to value them based on the cost or rarity of their gift.
Tom was unprepared for his roommate to leave a gift outside his door, like a smug cat offering a dead mouse. The package was wrapped in newspaper — which he knew Harry must have grabbed from someone else, because he certainly never read one — and scotch tape. It was flat and, when he picked it up, was surprisingly light. His immediate suspicion was that this was a prank, that Harry had wrapped an actual newspaper as if it was a present and then left it as a joke. Tom had certainly not expected a gift, and hadn't even thought of buying something for the other boy.
Curious, Tom slid a finger under the lax tape and pulled it cleanly away from the paper. It unraveled slowly to reveal… a selfie? Dropping the newspaper, he lifted an 8x10 photo of him and his roommate. Harry had taken it one night as they were cleaning up after dinner.
“Hermione will never believe we did this.”
“That we cleaned?”
“I mean, that too, but I was talking about the whole cooking thing.”
“That's pathetic.”
“Smile!”
And Tom had smiled, head close to Harry's. Nothing had been said of it after, and Tom had almost forgotten its existence. Apparently Harry had not.
Frowning, Tom turned it over to find no explanation. Just a photo of them looking somewhat domestic and comparatively… happy? He scoffed and tossed the photo on his dresser. It meant nothing.