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Tom has always preferred this study table, tucked away in the stacks, quiet and cosy but with a slim, tall window providing some natural light and a view of the forest and mountains behind Hogwarts. He doubts many people even know the table exists; those who do have learned this is Tom’s table, jealously guarded. Even on a rainy day like this, with the library much more full than usual, he claims it with no challenge.
The clouds hang low over the forest today, fog hiding the mountains from view. It’s raining steadily but not too hard, the drops tapping against the glass illuminated by the occasional lightning strike in the distance. It’s been several years since he started at Hogwarts, but to Tom it’s still quite novel to be able to enjoy an early spring thunderstorm while warm and dry and comfortable.
A soft sigh draws his attention to another novelty in his life: Harry is curled up in the chair across from him and sleeping with his face mashed into a book. Tom smiles, safe in the knowledge no one can see him. Harry had joined him, ostensibly to study, though it appears his potions text couldn’t hold his attention.
A tuft of hair has fallen in front of Harry’s mouth, each inhale drawing it closer to the other boy’s lips. Tom reaches over and gently tucks it behind Harry’s ear, stroking his hand over the fluffy, chaotic mass the other boy calls hair. A quiet, contented hum is his reward, though Harry looks no closer to waking.
For a few moments, Tom watches Harry’s peaceful face, lax and unburdened in repose. The dim light through the window is briefly lightning-bright, casting Harry’s features in stark contrast. Tom thinks that Harry is always handsome, but there’s something about this moment of rare tranquility, how it is Tom’s alone, that makes Harry particularly beautiful.
Silently, he returns to his essay, the scritch of his quill and the patter of raindrops the only sound in their corner.