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Harry sat at the window of a small kitchenette, peering down at the street. Despite the early evening hour, it was already dark. Fat snowflakes twirling with the howling wind. As he sat there, young Harry shivered and rubbed his right arm for warmth. That shabby window frame did very little to keep the cold out and whistled with its many gaps and imperfections.
This brought back memories of not so many years ago. Of a time where Harry was less abashed and would perch himself on windowsills and cover whistling gaps such as these ; pretend he was a great musician. The ‘window-flute’, he called it. It was an overly childish game. They couldn’t have afforded anything as costly as a musical instrument back at Wool’s. Still couldn’t nowadays.
Now Harry was ten and bored. But maybe the boredom could be attributed to his being all alone in the apartment. Tom’s first year books had lost their appeal several months ago when he’d read and re-read them in preparation for his own first year at Hogwarts. He couldn’t wait for his letter. He’d even started perusing Tom’s second year books, but he couldn’t concentrate, what with Tom finally coming back for Yule.
Harry got up from his chair with a sigh.
“What am I doing? I look like a fisherman’s wife...” He chastised himself for this, making his way to the small kitchen pantry. He found there some bread and butter. The loaf was not the freshest but Harry liked it that way. It felt more filling and he liked the added chew. Mum always made sure to put aside the stale-ish bread for him.
Bread sliced then properly buttered, crumbs be darned, Harry took that first rich and chewy bite and made his way back to his chair by the window. Which is when he heard the telltale racket of something heavy being dragged up a flight of stairs. Heartbeat picking up instantaneously, Harry felt the weight in his stomach like a living thing ; fluttering wildly in poorly contained excitement.
Harry abandoned his bread on the counter and rushed out of the apartment, not managing or caring to stop the door from hitting the wall on his way out. Once in the corridor he ran to the stairs railing and looked down, in time to see a head of dark neatly combed hair look up at the sound. The lazy grin that Harry received made Harry shiver once before he grinned widely back and rushed down the stairs. He was a sight, to be sure ; thickly-socked feet slipping too smoothly on the stairs, so much so he caught himself three times on the railing and barely avoided tumbling down to Tom.
Tom.
Tom was home!
Tom, watching Harry stampede down the stairs towards him, had judiciously stopped and had barely secured his trunk when his arms were full of young bespectacled boy. They almost toppled down too but thankfully Harry was still grabbing the railing and they found their balance.
Tom has grown some again , Harry thought. But he could be wrong. Maybe three months wasn’t enough time, even if he did eat better at Hogwarts…
Harry pulled away a bit so he could drink in his brother’s face. Tom looked good; healthy if not a bit tired. He had this look in his eyes. The one he got when everything was going exactly according to his meticulously thought-out plans. It was a downright jolly expression for him.
“You look happy,” which was something highly suspicious in Harry’s book. “You should have been back one hour ago! Where have you been? But first…” Harry promptly let go of the railing, much stabler now, and wound skinny arms around Tom’s shoulders and neck. Tom too was slender - Harry could feel him through his damp coat and scarf - but he was already growing into the awkward shape that preceded that of a man’s. Not that Tom really ever appeared awkward. He much prefered to appear supremely affronted by his body’s uncooperativeness.
Tom snaked his arm around his waist a second after. This was typical. He rarely held onto Harry as Harry held onto him ; tightly and breathing him in. His arm would hold Harry loosely, but he’d rub his waist with a light hand and caressing thumb.
“I might just be happy to see you rush to me like a faithful crup.” Harry scowled at being called a puppy but shortly got distracted by the sight of a familiar paper bag on top of Tom’s trunk.
Harry’s face lit up. “Did you get…?” Tom’s hands were entirely too full of prepubescent boy to stop said boy from reaching and grabbing the bag. Its heavy contents were jostled with some noise when Harry turned his back to Tom - so that Tom wouldn’t be able to easily snatch it back. By the unseen smile tugging at his lips, Tom was not so inclined. He simply settled his chin on top of Harry’s messy head of hair and looked down at the boy’s hands eagerly opening the bag.
“Raw chestnuts,” came Harry’s happy cry. “How many did you buy?” The bag was quite hefty.
“I didn’t buy any. I sneaked into Old Toby’s orchard on my way here and helped myself to them. There might be fifty in there,”
Tom knew his little brother was not above nicking foodstuff from the merchants who saw Harry as nothing but a street urchin - “Serves those bigots right,” he’d cry, missing the irony - but Harry liked Old Toby. While not a kindly old man, Old Toby Wiggins was fair and paid Harry in fruit, old pruning tools and gardening advice. Harry wouldn’t want to steal from him and cause him prejudice.
Tom also knew chestnuts were Harry’s absolute favourite treat and while he couldn’t see his brother’s face, Tom could well infer the unhappy twist his mouth must be set into from his silence and slight shuffling. Tom waited on the cusp of a grin for the predictable words :
“Fine. We’ll tell Mum you bought them in London!” Harry turned around then, dislodging in the process Tom’s chin from its perch. “But I’m not helping you drag your trunk up the stairs.”
“Is that my penance?” Tom cocked an eyebrow, supremely amused.
“That, and you have to tell me everything,” Harry grinned cheekily before bounding up the two flights of stairs.
Tom chuckled before resuming his ascent after his brother, his trunk conspicuously soundless.