Chapter Text
Tom trudged pathetically behind James and Harry. They were twenty feet ahead of him, racing down the road in their bikes. From time to time they would slow down, circle back to Tom and keep his pace for a few minutes, before setting off again.
Harry had first taught them how to ride the bike a month ago, and James had taken to it like a fish in the water. Now they spent every day on the ridiculous device, coming home with giant smiles and nasty sunburns.
Tom hated it, as much as he hated swimming, mosquitoes, the sun and leaving the comfort of his own room.
A drop of sweat slid down the back of his neck.
That morning was hellishly hot, despite the early hour. When they went to The Burrow Harry insisted on leaving at the crack of dawn, so they could make the most of it.
“Hey, Tom! Did you see that?”
Tom looked ahead, pretending he hadn’t heard James. Maybe then he’d go away.
James circled back in his bike, which was three times smaller than Harry’s. He traced a circle around Tom, raising dirt as he went.
Tom scowled at him. “You’re staining my clothes, stop it.”
James continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “Did you see what I did? I took my hands off the steering wheel for ten seconds. It was awesome!”
Tom bristled. How unnecessarily petty, bringing up his mastery of the damned vehicle in front of him. How vile, knowing full well Tom’s astounding lack of equilibrium was a sore spot for him.
“Good lord, James. Do you want a prize? A standing ovation?” he snapped, glowering at the other boy.
James faltered, almost falling off the bike.
Good riddance.
“Tom,” Harry warned.
Tom snapped his mouth close.
The road towards The Borrow was more difficult that day. It hadn’t rained in days, so the ground was drier than the Sahara desert. Tom was sure he had inhaled enough dust to produce some kind of blood poisoning.
Tom huffed. “I’m sorry, but walking with you brings it out in me.”
“Tom.”
“I’m being honest! This is a ridiculous waste of time! I don’t understand why we can’t just use the Floo.”
Harry looked over his shoulder. “Cause it’s more fun this way! And you need to get some sun.”
Tom scowled. “I get sun alright.”
James slowed down, waiting for Tom to catch up with him. “The one coming through your bedroom window doesn’t count.”
Tom adjusted the bag’s strap over his shoulder. “Reading the cereal’s box instructions doesn’t count as reading either, but you don’t hear me saying anything about that,” he sneered, “or about your monumental lack of brain cells, if we’re on it.”
“Tom!” Harry slowed down the bike, stopping in the middle of the road not two seconds later. He frowned at Tom. “Control yourself or I'll walk you back home.”
Tom flushed, immediately yielding under Harry’s gaze.
“He started it.”
James frowned. “That’s not true! I didn’t mean it in a bad way!”
Harry huffed. “I know, kid. I know,” he said, looking at James with an unreadable expression on his face. He stayed like for a few seconds and then shook his head, seeming to snap out of his thoughts. “But take it from me, sometimes we need to take certain cues.”
“Cues?”
“Yep. Like how to stop making conversation when someone’s in a rotten mood.”
“I’m not in a rotten mood,” Tom grumbled, just as James cried, “But how do you know when someone’s in a rotten mood!?”
Harry spent the rest of the way to The Burrow talking to James in low voices, probably instructing him in the wonders of casual observation.
By the time the house started looming into the horizon he was already soaked in sweat.
The grass tickled Tom’s legs as he walked, making his skin itch horribly. He stopped and scratched his legs while James and Harry parked their bikes by the fence.
“Harry!”
Ronald Weasley appeared by the door, all 6’3 feet of him. He was wearing a pair of muggle pants —jeans, Tom’s mind supplied— and an orange shirt that read Go Canons!
Harry straightened when he heard his best mate’s voice, grinning like a little boy.
“Hey there,” he shouted, waving his hand in the air.
Ronald was in front of him in three strides of his long legs. He wrapped his arms around Harry, enveloping him in a fierce hug.
“It’s good to see you, mate,” the redhead said.
Tom rolled his eyes.
They’d seen each other last Sunday.
“You too.” Harry patted Ronald’s back, before squeezing his neck and taking a step back. “Tom! Come say hi!”
Tom scratched his leg one more time and adjusted the strap on his shoulder, walking towards the group.
The thing with the Weasleys was complicated.
(Meaning Tom could barely stand them)
They were loud, messy, and terribly obnoxious (and too many of them). They ate like a pack of rabid dogs, had absolutely no manners and didn’t seem to have heard of personal space before. Yet Harry glowed every time he saw them, so Tom was willing to put up with their lot if it meant he could bask in the aftermath of Harry’s happiness.
The fact that Mister Voldemort loathed their weekly visits to The Burrow helped too. Tom didn’t especially fancy spending the entire day with him when he got in one of his moods.
Ronald scooped James in his arms, squeezing him against him and filling him with sloppy kisses.
“Ew! Uncle Ron!” He laughed, pushing the man’s face away from him and pretending like he wasn’t enjoying every second of it.
As if reading his mind Harry looked Tom’s way, warning him against commenting.
He just rolled his eyes harder.
A gust of breeze came in through the meadow, blowing Tom’s t-shirt. He sighed with relief, wishing the wind would dry off the sweat clinging to his back.
“And you, little devil? Planning to take over the world yet?” Ronald hadn’t set down James, wrapping one arm around him while he extended the other towards Tom instead.
“Don’t be stupid. I will take over the world after Hogwarts, of course,” he said primly, trying not to frown when the man ran a hand through his hair and did his best to dishevel it.
He had a feeling Ronald knew exactly how much it bothered him, doing it so often just to annoy him.
“Still a moody git, huh?”
Harry snorted.
Tom didn’t bother replying to that. “Is Aunt Hermione coming?”
Ron exchanged a look with Harry. “Figures that the Evil Snake’s spawn would get along with Mione the best.”
“Mr. Voldemort is not my father.” Tom scowled. “And you didn’t answer my question. Is she? Coming, I mean?”
Ronald shook his head, amused. “Yeah, she was in the shower when I Flooed here, she shouldn’t take long.” He grinned, showing a row of white teeth. “The swot wouldn’t miss her weekly debate with you, mini swot.”
Tom nodded, satisfied. “Good,” he said, ignoring Ronald’s crude choice of words. He was not a swot, Ron was just intellectually impaired.
He set off towards the house without another word.
Tom adored Harry, but he knew he’d go crazy in Hermione’s place, having only him and the dunderhead she called a husband as friends.
He heard James whisper behind him. “You shouldn’t talk to him right now Uncle Ron, he’s in a rotten mood.”
“He’s always in a rotten mood, love. Reminds me a bit of Harry here, actually.”
“Fuck you, Ron.”
“See! Merlin knows how you turned out to be such a ray of sunshine, James, dear.”
Tom crossed the threshold of the house, anxious to get under the cooling charms.
Mrs. Weasley was bustling around in the kitchen, finishing breakfast. When she saw him a huge smile broke in her face.
“Tom! Hello, darling!”
Tom walked closer to the counter, observing the pile of waffles, eggs and sausages spread over it. It smelled delicious.
“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” he said politely. He’d always been on his best behavior around the woman, aware that she took every decision concerning the Weasley clan.
“Doesn’t it look nice, Tom?”
“It does,” he answered, nodding enthusiastically. His mouth watered and his stomach grumbled, loud enough for Mrs. Weasley to hear.
“Oh dear, better get started then. Help me set up the table and you’ll get to choose your plate first.”
Tom did as she said, reflecting on how much his circumstances had changed in the span of four months.
Back in the orphanage he never would have dreamt of having such an abundant breakfast. Food was scarce and the Matrons cruel, more often than not withholding their rations as a form of punishment.
“Good morning boys! Don’t you two look wonderful? You’ve been spending some time under the sun, haven’t you?”
Tom heard Harry’s smile.
“Yes. We’ve been eating a lot too, Molly, so rest easy.”
“Nonsense. You’re still too skinny.”
Tom took the plates from the kitchen counter, setting them on the table as carefully as he could.
Huh
There were only seven.
“Molly, there’s only seven plates,” he said over his shoulder, interrupting James blabbering.
“Oh, yes dear. Andromeda and Teddy will arrive for lunch, with the rest of the family. I think they had a healer appointment at eleven.”
Tom smiled to himself. He couldn’t stand the Monstrous Color Changing Creature and his unnatural attachment to Harry. It was even worse than James’.
“Are they alright?” Harry asked, concern lacing his voice.
“Yes, it’s a checkup appointment, no need to worry.”
Tom tuned out the rest of the conversation, focusing his attention on the arrangement of the cutlery. He put each fork at the exact same distance of each other, pleased with how symmetrical they looked.
“Hey Tom?”
Tom groaned. “What?”
James’ face fell. He looked away, gripping his hands with anguish.
Tom swatted them. “Don’t do that. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
The other boy swallowed, going red.
“So? What is it?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. On the bike, I mean. I think you’re amazing in many things, and I—”
Tom kept silent, waiting to hear the rest. There was an uncomfortable tightness on his chest.
The bloody heat again
James continued. “I guess I just wanted to show you something cool, y’know?”
Tom hummed, looking at the flowerpot in the center of the table. “There’s nothing cool about a bike, James. You’d be better off learning some tricks in the broom.”
The idiot’s face brightened. “Really?”
“Of course. It takes more time to dominate those things, after all.” More guts too, but that he didn’t say aloud. “The physics behind a flying object, and one that can support human weight at that is rather intersting.”
“That’s brilliant! We can ask Harry to teach us! Uncle George still has some of his old Cleansweeps.”
Tom scoffed. As if. “I’m not getting on a broom, James. Over my dead body.”
“Oh,” James whispered. “But you can watch me, right?”
“I can read outside while you practice, I suppose.”
James’ smile was blinding.
***
In the end, Harry didn’t agree to teach him.
“We are having breakfast in a minute, James.”
“But later!”
“Later we’ll help Molly clean up the table and wash the dishes, and by the time we finish Andy and Teddy will have arrived already.”
“And?”
“If Teddy sees you in a broom, he’s going to insist on trying it out too, and he’s still too small. Maybe tomorrow, kiddo.”
So there was that.
Tom had the nagging suspicion that Harry had blown him off, given the ridiculous nature of his excuse. (There was plenty of time between breakfast and lunch, honestly)
He probably wanted to drink a beer with Ron and play a couple rounds of chess before the rest of the Weasleys arrived.
After breakfast James settled in an armchair on Mrs. Weasley legs, watching with rapt attention as she knitted.
“Did you bring the books?” Aunt Hermione asked, looking at him with fondness.
Tom nodded, getting up for his bag. When he returned she had already put hers on the table. A few weeks back they’d developed the tradition of exchanging books and discussing them every Sunday.
Harry was always happy to take Tom to the library, so now he had enough of them to actually sustain the tradition long-term.
“Well, did you like it?”
Tom pursed his lips. “It was a bit boring.”
Hermione gasped. “No!”
“I’m afraid so, yes. The setting was unrealistic, the girl was insufferable and the prose was way too pompous. I prefer it when you give me books that cover modern problems, to be honest.”
The bushy haired woman frowned. “That’s too bad, because novels are vital for your development. You can’t just read non-fiction!”
Uncle Ron snorted.
“Oh shush, Ronald! I actually read a lot of novels back at Hogwarts!” She turned towards Tom again. “And I was still bullied for it, mind you.”
“Oi! That’s not fair!”
Aunt Hermione scoffed. “Right. Thankfully, Tom won’t have to experience any of that. I’ll make sure of it,” she finished, sending one last glare at the two men in the living room. “Here, this is the second book.”
Tom almost banged his head against the table. “Can the protagonist not be ginger, at least?” He cried, alarmed by how whiny he sounded. He lowered his voice. “I mean, I already see enough of them on an everyday day basis.”
“Anne prefers the term auburn haired, thank you,” Aunt Hermione said, scrunching her nose.
Tom buried his face in his hands, ignoring Mr and Mrs Weasley soft chuckles.
“Good Lord.”
When they arrived home that night Harry drew him aside, kissing his hair and murmuring: “Thank you for today Tom.”
And if that made the entire day worth it, he didn’t tell.